Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Tommy/Jason, blood brother
Tommy winces as the wounds on his shoulders are tended to. They can handle monsters the size of humans, monsters the size of buildings, crazy alien witches, and swarms of animated lumps of clay, but they still got their butts kicked by a blackberry bush.
Not that it was their- okay, yeah, it was entirely their fault. They had seen the bushes late into their second evening out in the woods, and decided that leaning over the edge of an embankment to reach the ripe fruit was an acceptable risk. The embankment clearly thought otherwise, and crumbled beneath them, tumbling them downhill through thirty feet of nasty thorns. The fact that neither had broken or sprained anything was a lucky break; they were way out in the wilds, with no one but each other, and while, theoretically, their morphers could transport them anywhere, Tommy certainly didn't want to test it.
"The bush really liked you," Jason mutters around the flashlight in his teeth, dabbing away blood with a strip of torn-up t-shirt. His brother-rival-friend is leaning in close, trying to clean away ground in dirt by the light of their meager camp fire and the dying flashlight (Tommy somehow left batteries off the list of things to buy) Close enough that his body heat is palpable, close enough to be comforting (and this far away from civilization, the woods were creepy as all hell, so comforting was good) Despite the scratches, the too-wet wood of their campfire throwing out choking clouds of smoke, the creepy woods, and the fact that his foot had fallen asleep under him, he feels good. He's here, his best friend is here, and there's damn little they can't take on together.
Jason starts snickering, dropping the flashlight into his lap when he bows his head. Tommy twists to look at him, and Jason grins. "Just thinking," he says, almost giggling. "If Rita made a blackberry monster, we'd be so hosed."
The statement is ridiculous and silly and untrue and completely hilarious despite all that. Tommy snorts, trying not to laugh, which just makes them both laugh harder and they probably sound like a pair of lunatics howling at the moon. It feels good, a deep belly laugh, and when he looks up and Jason is right there snickering into his maimed shoulder, it feels just as good, just as right to lean forward that two inches and kiss the other boy firmly.
Jason gasps against his lips, and Tommy almost laughs again at how girly the sound is until Jason sits back and stares at him, almost-angry. "Did you mean that?" Jason demands, hard-voiced like a leader, like the Red Ranger, all razor teeth and pride.