I hauled what I could out of the plane — bottles of water, cans, a ratty old tarp — and dumped them in a rough pile just outside.
The sun beat down mercilessly, but there was a wide patch of shade under the broken wing. Good enough for now.
I grabbed the tarp, shook it out, and started clearing a space. Rocks, sticks, anything sharp had to go unless I wanted to wake up impaled on something.
Inside the plane, I could hear him moving around, dragging stuff, metal clanking against metal.
I dropped to my knees, tugging the corners of the tarp into place, grumbling under my breath. "Of course I'm out here playing maid while Mr. Boy Scout gets to play detective."
"You're welcome," he called from inside, voice muffled.
I rolled my eyes and kept working. I stacked a few bigger rocks around the edges to weigh the tarp down, then started sorting our supplies into rough piles — food, water, 'mystery gear' — while my stomach grumbled pitifully at the smell of some kind of canned stew.
He appeared at the doorway of the plane a few minutes later, holding a battered clipboard in one hand and something else tucked under his arm.
"Find a treasure map?" I asked, shielding my eyes from the sun.
He jumped down easily, landing in a soft crouch. "Manifest," he said, tossing me the clipboard.
I caught it clumsily, squinting at the faded writing. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"
He snorted. "It's not mine. It belonged to the crew."
I flipped through the pages. Names. Cargo lists. Some scratched-out notes in the margins.
"This flight was supposed to be delivering supplies to some research station," he said, dropping down next to me. He held up a battered patch — a faded blue circle with a symbol I didn't recognize. "Looks government."
I blinked. "Like… secret experiments government? Or just boring weather balloons and bird-watching government?"
He grinned. "You hoping for aliens, sweetheart?"
I made a face. "Honestly? I'd take a ride off this rock from little green men at this point."
He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky through the broken trees.
"We should inventory everything," I said, flipping the clipboard shut. "Figure out how long we can survive if no one comes."
He gave me a sidelong look. "You really think no one's looking?"
I hesitated, heart sinking a little.
"…I think we should plan for the worst," I said quietly.
He didn't say anything. Just stared at me, like he was weighing something.
Then he nodded once, sharp and sure. "Smart."
I pushed to my feet, brushing dirt off my legs. "Come on, Boy Scout. Let's finish setting up before we both pass out."
He groaned, dramatic as hell, but followed me anyway.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, "we could strip some of the metal off the plane."
I blinked up at him. "For what? Building a luxury condo?"
He smirked, unbothered by the sarcasm. "For pots. Pans. You know, cooking."
I stared at him. "You know how to do that?" I asked slowly, eyebrows raising.
He shrugged, but there was a glint in his eye. "Metal's just metal. Bend it, hammer it out… it's not that complicated."
"Right. Because makeshift blacksmithing in the jungle is obviously common knowledge," I muttered.
"You got a better idea, sweetheart?" he challenged, one brow lifting.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
"Didn't think so," he said, grinning.
I huffed, crossing my arms. "Fine. Genius Boy Scout plan it is. How exactly do you want to do that? We don't exactly have a forge lying around."
He tapped the side of his head. "Heat from the fire, rocks to help shape it. Just need to find the right pieces — thin enough to bend without snapping."
"And here I thought I was the workhorse around here," I muttered.
"You still are," he said smoothly, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm just the brains."
He disappeared back into the plane.
I shook my head, half-exasperated, half… impressed.
A few minutes later, he came back down, dragging a dented sheet of thinner metal behind him.
"This'll do," he said
He put the part aside, propping it carefully against a chunk of broken fuselage, then dusted off his hands.
"First things first," he said, nodding at the tarp and our sad little supply pile. "We get camp sorted."
We moved around in a kind of clumsy rhythm — dragging what we could salvage into the shade, laying out the food and water so it wouldn't bake under the sun.
He rigged a second piece of tarp into a flimsy lean-to, tying it off between the broken wing and a twisted piece of frame.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
I sat back on my heels, wiping sweat off my forehead. "Home sweet home," I muttered.
He dropped beside me with a grunt, resting his arms on his knees. "Better than nothing."
"Think this'll hold if it rains?" I asked after a minute.
He tilted his head, squinting up at our sad little tarp roof. "Nope."
I laughed — short, sharp. "Well. At least you're honest."
He smiled sideways at me, a real one this time, tired but still a little cocky.
"You hungry?" he asked, nudging one of the cans.
My stomach answered for me, growling loud enough that he raised an eyebrow.
"I'll take that as a yes," he said.
We dug through the supplies for a can with something edible — beans, maybe stew, anything but tuna — but without a can opener, it was going to be a whole production.
I leaned back, scowling at the pile. "We can bash it open with a rock," I suggested.
He looked offended. "These cans are like gold, sweetheart. You want to ruin 'em?"
"Pretty sure they're already ruined," I said, poking at one suspiciously dented can.
He found a shard of metal sharp enough to jab into the top of a can and pried it open with slow, careful movements. It wasn't pretty, but it worked.
"Behold," he said, holding up the can like it was a trophy. "Dinner."