Don't believe in no-win scenarios

Jim stays quiet and lets the sound of his friends drifting off wash over him. This is probably the weirdest night he has ever had. A woman he will never sleep with is in his clothes sharing his bed using him as a body pillow.

His goddamn alternate reality supergreat grandpa is crashing on his couch.

Jim falls asleep to the thought of 'what the hell am I even doing' crossing his mind.

What he's doing is getting beat. Starving. Watching friend and family alike die in the Purge. Sometimes Sam's face is among the dying, staring up at him with accusing, dead eyes.

Sometimes it's his crew. His Aunt.

Tonight it's Clint, a makeshift bow splintered and broken over his lifeless body. And arms snaking their way around him. Smothering him. Choking him. He's next.

"No!" Jim's pulling and flailing at the hands around him, blindly panicking as he rips himself free from the strange embrace. How had he let someone get so close? His breathing is irregular, eyes wide and unseeing as he shuffles to the far side of the bed, nearly falling off in his hurry to get free.