John could hear Deanna, as if she were far away. Or as if he were far away, at the bottom of the well. That wasn't right. What was she doing? He told her to stay in the car. She needed to get back in the car, it wasn't safe. Why wasn't it safe? John couldn't remember. He felt warm and heavy. Something slick and unyielding pressed against the side of his head. He felt as if his whole body was sinking into the ground, sinking into blissful darkness. That wasn't right. He needed to get up. Deanna kept screaming for him to get up, to wake up. He felt so peaceful though, why get up? His body was too heavy to move.

Deanna screamed for him again, long and drawn out. "DAD-DY!" It echoed, bouncing around in his skull. It was faint, but tugged at John's consciousness. Deanna needed him. He had to get up, he had to protect her. John grunted, fighting to open his eyes. They were so heavy. His eyelids shouldn't be that heavy. The darkness pulled at him, lulling him back into oblivion. It was such a familiar feeling. Where had he felt that before? A slow, lulling cadence thrummed through his veins. Too slow, and too familiar. Like the motion of an old grandfather clock slowing down. Tick. Tock. Down to it's last minutes. When had he felt this before? The heaviness pulled away from the thought. Too difficult, too long ago to think of. It'd be easier to sink into the darkness. So familiar, though it'd been, what twelve years since he'd felt it? John felt like laughing at the thought. Twelve years? Twelve years ago he'd been in Vietnam. As if a gong had been struck in his mind , realization dawned on John. Twelve years ago he'd nearly died. Deanna was screaming for him to wake up and he wasn't waking up.

No!

John's eyes snapped open. Adrenaline soared through his veins, heart painfully pumping in an effort to keep up. He lay on his side, looking underneath the Impala. The snow was freezing cold against his face. Something large and dark loomed over him. Movement down towards his feet caught his eye. Craning his head down, he could see little legs struggling to find purchase in the snow as the Impala rolled backwards—

John shot up, bracing himself against the Impala. It lurched to a halt and Deanna slipped in the snow, falling to John's feet; her hands still pressed against the back of the Impala. She breathed heavily, breath leaving her body in shuddering heaves.

The fog lifted from John's mind. He must have passed out while pushing the Impala out of the snow bank and it rolled back towards him. Somehow, Deanna noticed and tried to stop it from crushing him. Tried to get him to wake up.

"I told you to stay in the car!" John's first thought was panic. What was she thinking? The Impala could have crushed her! It would have killed her! Worry and panic vanished at the look on her face. Her body slumped with exhaustion, she sobbed quietly. John threw his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. She started shaking in his arms, crying aloud now.

She'd tried to save his life. No, she had saved his life. He patted her back, trying to soothe her. "Good girl," he whispered. Pulling back, he smoothed her hair away from her tear streaked face. "Now, what do you say we get this car back on the road?"

Deanna nodded, fighting down her sobs. Together, though it was mostly John, they pushed the Impala forward until it finally rolled free of the snow bank. It slid to a stop as they stopped pushing. John picked Deanna up. She shivered against his chest, stifling sobs. How could he have let it come to this? Deanna wasn't supposed to protect him, he was supposed to protect her. He'd stupidly put himself in danger and she nearly paid the price for it. He held her tighter, rubbing her back in an effort to warm her up with the friction.

The back door hadn't closed all the way when she jumped out. He didn't ask how she knew he'd passed out. Propping the door open with his leg, he set her back in her seat, buckling her in. Sammy was awake, whimpering. Snow had drifted in through the gap and the car was noticeably chiller. Both girls stared at him with somber eyes that cut at his heart.

The engine was still running. John couldn't believe he'd left it running. Perhaps adrenaline cleared his head, but his behavior before he'd passed out surprised him. He'd been acting like a moron. It was clear to John now that he was ill, dangerously ill. From exhaustion, lack of sleep or food, or just plain old sick didn't matter. He was weak, and that dark oblivion crept at the back of his mind like a hungry wolf.


Author's notes:

I'm actually on time this week! Campnanowrimo is still going, so I nearly forgot and had to do a mad scramble to edit this to get it ready. Totally worth it. I hope you're enjoying this! I certainly am. It's a bunch of fun interacting with you guys and hearing what you have to say about the story. I love it!