Desperation can do funny things. It can completely tear a man's world apart, ruin everything he was and everything he could be. It can destroy a healthy body and mind with seemingly no effort at all. Alternatively, it can give a man a reason to go on. A reason to keep breathing. To keep running.

Tim ran blindly through the streets, not noticing where he was going for a long time. Tears still ran in constant streams down his face, the image of Lars' dead eyes and bloodstreaked face burned into his mind. Each time his feet hit the ground, it was like a scream. A scream of lost hope and injustice reminding him of the friends he was leaving behind. There was nothing he could have done for them now, he knew that. He knew that staying there was sealing his own death. But he still felt more like a traitor with each step he took.

His sides burned and his breath came in ragged gasps. He reached the edge of the city before he finally stopped running, dropping against a dead tree and gulping in air. He slid down to a sitting position and crossed his arms over his knees, buring his face against them.

"Oh, fuck, Lars...," he lamented as his breath returned to him. "Lars...Dana, Rachel, Pete...fuck. Stax...Hollywood..."

Hollywood. Hollywood had said something, yesterday, when they had all been sitting in the compound - his heart tightened in his chest at the memory of them all, alive, but he forced his mind to stay clear. Something about a group of rebels in the woods. Across the bay, he remembered vaguely. Maybe he could find help there. He found that now he would have no qualms with killing cops, whatever their reason for joining the force.

Tim stood up, thighs and calves on fire from the overexertion they'd been through, and turned to look across the bay. There was no way he could swim that far, he knew he'd have to go around. The forest wasn't as expansive as it once had been, due to widespread deforestization, but it was still quite large. He knew it would take days to get there, and finding anyone inside of the woods would take even longer, if he found them at all. But it was his only hope.

'Didn't you see where hope got you last time, Armstrong?,' he chastised himself. Despite this pessimistic interlude, he found his feet had already started on the beaten path that would lead around the bay to the other side. He couldn't argue with their direction, so he followed helplessly.

He couldn't calculate how long he'd been walking, how many times the sun had sank and risen or how many hours had passed, when the forest finally came into view. He was tired, having not even stopped to sleep. The sharp pains in his stomach from not eating had subsided a while ago into a dull ache that was there to remind him if he didn't get any nourishment soon he would die. But the trees loomed in front of him, and he felt now more than ever that he had to keep going on.

The cool shade of the tall trees was a welcome contrast to the heat of the sun he'd been dealing with since he'd set out, and it made his eyelids droop lazily. Apparently, comfort wasn't a commodity that leant itself well to desperation. Still, he kept on, the trees and foliage became more dense the further he walked. There was no path here, nothing telling him which way to go except his heart. And it spoke clearly that he should go straight ahead.

The will of a person's heart can only take them so far before the rest of their body rebels. Tim had made it nearly a mile into the woods before this truth took hold. He began to stumble over the uneven ground, littered with roots and tangled weeds. The screams echoed by his footsteps had started to sound less urgent, the pounding headache in his temples and burning of his eyes that had been open too long taking precedence. Grasping onto a thick tree trunk, he made one last attempt at balance before his will gave out completely and he collapsed.

Tim probably would have died there, underneath the shade of the trees, malnourished and exhausted. Maybe luck was on his side, or the Gods were smiling on him, or whatever euphimism you'd like to use. Either way, he didn't even stir when a pair of thin but strong arms lifted him from the dirt and carried him away from where he'd collapsed.

"Lars...," it was the first word that emanated from Tim's throat, scratchy from thirst and lack of use. He warily lifted his eyelids, blurred visions of a roof of leaves coming into view. He tried in vain to sit up, finding his body was still too exhausted to let him move.

"Lars?," a voice reached his ears, causing further confusion. "Is that your name?"

Suddenly something obscured Tim's view of the leaves, a face came into view. A curious half-smile graced the thin lips, short black hair framed the upper half of the face, and the thing Tim noticed most was the eyes - a dark hazel color, shining with something it took Tim a fair moment to place - happiness.

"Well?," the voice, which obviously belonged to the angelic creature hovering over him, cut into his observation.

Tim's brow furrowed, clearly expressing his confusion. "What...," he managed before his parched throat closed up. The figure disappeared, then shortly returned to Tim's side. The lanky man, dressed plainly in a pair of jeans and a zip-up hooded sweatshirt, knelt next to Tim and offered him a chipped blue coffee cup.

"It's all right, it's only water," the man informed him, then realized that Tim was so weak that even if he wanted to grasp the mug he wouldn't have been able to. Carefully, he pressed the rim of the mug to Tim's lower lip and lifted it so that the water ran into his mouth.

Tim gulped greedily at the cool liquid, finishing the entire amount before the man set the cup next to him. Tim swallowed a few extra times, attempting to repair his esophagus, before speaking.

"Where am I?," he asked, voice still scratchy but feeling much better.

The man reached over Tim and tapped his sternum with two fingers. "Right here. Always," he told him with a playful sort of grin. "What I was wondering, is who are you?"

Tim gave him a confused look, then decided that questioning the man's weird behavior wasn't exactly acceptable at this point, and answered him. "Tim."

The quirky grin widened a bit. "Well, Tim, I'd suggest you lay here for a bit longer, not that you have much of a choice with the condition you're in, and get some rest. I'll get you something to eat, you look like you could use it."

Tim watched, entranced and still very confused, as the man stood up and started to walk away. He realized now that he was inside a building of some sort and that the leaves he had seen when he first woke up actually were a roof. As the enigmatic figure reached the door of the structure, comprised of thin strips of bark, Tim called out to him.

"Who are you?," he inquired, raising his head a bit off the floor to look at the man. He slowly turned and looked back at Tim, strange smile still on his thin lips and an odd sort of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Jesse."

Tim let his head fall back softly and stared up at the ceiling, feeling like Alice and wondering when, exactly, he'd jumped down the rabbithole.

Left to nothing but his thoughts, Tim couldn't help himself from going back to the discovery of Lars' body. A sick sort of pain clamped around his heart and tears pricked behind his eyes but didn't spill. He managed to roll onto his side, looking for anything to keep his mind off of the ghastly images of his dead friend. The structure he was inside of was small, but the back wall was made of stone and there appeared to be an opening to a natural cave. The room was mostly empty aside from Tim's own form and the coffee cup that lay next to him. His modified army jacket was folded neatly beside him, marked with a bit of dirt from his fall.

What was this place, then? He had come looking for a bloodthirsty milita, armed with deadly weapons and determined to take down the system one cop at a time. What he had found, instead was...well, he wasn't entirely sure. A pale, lithe man with a strange smile and eyes that spoke of peace. The thought that he had died and gone to heaven, and that this Jesse character was an angel, briefly crossed Tim's mind - before he remembered that he didn't believe in God and realized how cliche the idea was anyway.

A scuffling noise found it's way out of what Tim had assumed was a cave, followed shortly by a black mutt of some sort with white markings on it's chest, legs, and tail. It inched close to him without hesitance and sniffed at him, and from this distance Tim could read the tag on it's collar.

"Buddy," Tim muttered as the dog nosed his hand, weakly reaching up to pet it. "Well that's original."

"Thanks," Jesse's voice came through the doorway, sounding amused. He pushed past the door and re-entered the small abode, carrying a bag of something in his right hand. Settling onto the floor, he patted the dog on the head. "He isn't mine, really, but I sort of inherited him."

"Ahh," Tim muttered understandingly, not really having anything to say about that. His brain wasn't processing quite as it should be in his weakened state, anyway.

Jesse appeared to remember that state and dug into the bag now at his side. He produced an orange and began to peel off the skin, as Buddy-the-inherited-dog ambled back into the cave. Without provocation, Jesse began to talk.

"Oranges aren't necessarily the best thing you can eat when you're dying of starvation. The acid sometimes upsets one's stomach, especially if it's empty," he informed Tim, who really didn't care, as he finished peeling the orange and started separating it. "But, it's about the quickest thing I could find. There's an orange tree nearby, part of the reason I chose this place. I like oranges."

He looked up at Tim, grinning, and Tim gave him a small nod of understanding, feigning interest. Jesse's grin faded to a small, knowing smirk.

"Sorry, I'll shut up. You don't care anyway," he said in a disenchanted tone that Tim hadn't heard from him before. A slice of the orange was lifted to Tim's lips and he leant forward, taking it into his mouth and muttering a 'thank you' around it before chewing.

Tim was fairly convinced that he wasn't quite weak enough to warrant Jesse hand-feeding him, but the other man continued to do it anyway and Tim didn't object. Sticking to his word, Jesse was silent and the only sounds that resonated through the air were the natural sounds of birds and other forest things. Tim noticed how incredibly peaceful it was, and instantly cursed the peacefulness. How could anything be so peaceful when not 30 miles away people were being killed for voicing their opinions?

Jesse had started to peel a second orange, oblivious to the dark thoughts running through Tim's mind and completely focused on what he was doing. He fit in well with his peaceful surroundings, Tim noted, the only way he could have been any more in tune with the Zen that these woods seemed to radiate would have been if he was humming. Tim briefly assured himself that were Jesse to start humming, he would somehow muster up the energy to slap him, savior or not.

Luckily, Jesse didn't hum, only pressed another slice of orange against Tim's chapped lips. He managed to hide the curiosity he was feeling, but inside he couldn't help wondering exactly why this man had shown up. Jesse himself had been living out here, away from the bleakness of civilization, for close to three years. In that time no one had stumbled into the forest, or at least if they had he hadn't found them. As much as people might bitch about how harsh civilization was, none of them seemed willing to leave it for a lifestyle like the one he had.

Every once in a while, Jesse would have to trek back to the nearby town for essential supplies, and each time he did he found the condition of society worse and worse. The thing that really bugged him, more than the tightening government power or the riotous crowds, was that no one cared. Honestly, he hadn't found a single person who gave a damn about anything besides themselves. It had been wrong of him, he realized now, to assume that Tim was any different just because he had found his way out of that world and into his.

Jesse let his gaze linger on Tim after feeding him the last slice of orange, still lost in his thoughts about what could have possibly brought him here. Judging by his condition, Jesse had at first assumed that he was completely mad. Who would have travelled long enough in that state to reach the woods, but a hopelessly insane man? Jesse figured now, that maybe Tim wasn't quite insane - only desperate. But that was a question to be answered later, he supposed.

Tim raised an eyebrow at Jesse as the other man tilted his head, apparently deep in thought while watching him in the fading light. Jesse smiled softly and shook his head, as if to clear it.

"Sorry, I was thinking," he apologized. "Do you think you can stand up? It gets quite cold out here at night, and I usually light a fire in the cave. It holds the heat a lot better."

Tim shrugged slightly and managed to sit up as Jesse stood. He pushed up with his arms and stood, but his legs quickly gave out, strained from the incessant walking that he'd done. Jesse quickly caught him, wrapping an arm around Tim's back and pulling him up again gently. Almost begrudgingly, Tim wrapped an arm around Jesse's shoulders and allowed him to help him into the cave.

They ducked through the opening and walked, hunched over, for about ten feet before the cave opened up. Everything that had been missing from the constructed room outside was found in here. In the corner, there was a matress complete with linens and pillows; scattered in one corner were papers and also an acoustic guitar proped against the wall; there were various household items around the cave as well - books, clothing, and food along with other things. The only light came from a few candles situated on a table near the bed.

Jesse led Tim to the bed, Buddy promptly leaping off of it but not appearing too happy about doing so. Tim groaned as he sat down, having discovered an unknown pain in his back and attributing it to whatever he fell on when he passed out. Jesse gave him a worried glance but kept silent. Laying down, Tim was astonished at the difference between the soft bed and the cold, hard forest floor that he'd been on since this morning, and almost instantly felt sleepy.

Once he was sure Tim was situated, Jesse backed away and started piling peices of wood onto a small firepit near the center of the cave. Tim rolled onto his back, looking up at the top of the cave, which he estimated to be about twenty feet above him at it's highest point. He pulled his beanie off and set it on the ground, then glanced at the figure crouched by the slowly-building fire.

"Jesse?," he muttered sleepily, causing him to look up from the fire. Small flames were licking at the logs he'd placed, illuminating his pale face with a sort of orange light. He arched an eyebrow inquisitively at Tim. "Thank you," Tim finished, and Jesse smiled slightly before turning and blowing on the fire some more. Before the flames had reached any notable size, Tim had fallen asleep.

Jesse relaxed next to the fire, idly petting Buddy and watching the flames. Normally he would have been playing guitar, writing, or drawing. Tonight he found that his mind was far too preoccupied to focus on any of those things. He thought for a long time about the man laying on his bed, to no definite conclusion or decision. Having exhausted his mental process for the night, he roasted some rabbit meat over the fire and ate, leaving some to give to Tim when he woke. When the fire had died down to a safe level, Jesse stood up and pulled his shirt off, then collapsed onto the bed beside Tim. Buddy curled up dejectedly in front of the fire, not happy about his sleeping place being taken over.