Chapter Ten

The first thing Johnny realized when they hit the water was that it was fucking cold. His instinct on going under was to gasp, and he stopped himself just short of doing so. He spared a fleeting thought to hope that Daniel could do the same. There was an instant sensation of millions of pins and needles stabbing into his skin at one time. If he'd had the presence of mind to notice it, he'd have felt himself shivering.

The second thing he realized was that it was a hell of a lot more than ten or twelve feet deep because once they started going down, they didn't stop. He knew there had to be something under them somewhere, but wherever it was, it was too deep for them to touch. His clothes weighed a hundred pounds more than they had a few seconds before, and his shoes had become anchors, pulling him farther and faster than he'd been ready for. All of that was compounded by the man in his arms, whose body was mostly dead-weight on land, whose clothes and shoes were doing the same thing Johnny's were, and who also had what amounted to a small tree tied to his leg.

'Fuck!'

He needed to get them up and out. His sense of self-preservation screamed at him to let go of Daniel and swim, but he wouldn't. Daniel couldn't make it back to the surface on his own, and if Johnny let him go, he'd sink straight to the bottom of the lake. No way in hell was he letting that happen.

He shifted his grip, hooked his left arm under Daniel's, and grabbed a handful of the front of the jackets. With his free arm, he started slicing through the water. He kicked his legs as hard as he could. They started moving up, but they were moving too slowly. Johnny tried to go faster, but he'd already reached his limit. He was giving everything he had, but it wasn't enough. He was starting to worry they weren't going to make it.

Then Daniel's survival instincts started working, too. His free arm was moving in unison with Johnny's. He could only bend one leg, but he could kick them both. And that was exactly what he was doing.

'Atta boy, LaRusso. Swim!'

It took entirely too long, and Johnny's lungs were screaming when they reached the surface. He threw his head back as they broke through, heaving in such a massive breath that he was instantly light-headed, and he had to hold back the cough that wanted to erupt from his lungs. Less than a heartbeat later, Daniel's head came up the same way. One look at his face told Johnny it wouldn't be a cough coming out of him, and he wouldn't be able to hold it in. He managed to get his right hand across Daniel's mouth just in time to silence the scream he hadn't been able to stop.

"Shh," he whispered into Daniel's ear. "I've got ya. You're okay."

Johnny looked up, wanting to see how exposed they were and praying he wouldn't be looking into Mike Barnes' face. He was both surprised and relieved to realize they'd come up much closer to the cliff than they'd gone in. The rock wall rose from the water less than three feet behind them, and there was an outcropping no more than ten feet above them. It jutted out far enough to keep them from being seen by anyone looking down. He didn't know how they'd avoided bouncing off of that as they'd fallen past, but it wasn't worth wasting time thinking about. They'd made it; that was what mattered. He only had to get them up against the rocks, and they'd be hidden.

He leaned back, dragging Daniel with him as he kicked toward the cliff face. His feet brushed against something solid, and he let his muscles sag somewhat in relief. There was finally something beneath them. He hooked his toes on the rocks and used his legs to pull them against the cliff. He didn't know how wide the ledge was or if there was enough room for Daniel's feet, too, but it was large enough for him to stand on. The water hit him just below his shoulders, which meant their heads were above it. That was all he needed. He could hold Daniel up with the water's help, but he hadn't been looking forward to treading water while doing it.

He glanced up again, checking their position and looking for any sign of Mike, but he couldn't see past the outcropping. If he couldn't see Mike, that meant Mike couldn't see them, either. But it wouldn't matter that he couldn't see them if he could hear them, which he would do if Daniel didn't stop whining like a kicked puppy.

"Quiet!"

He hadn't known it was possible to shout and whisper at the same time until he did. Then he realized he'd done it to a man who was in more pain than he could imagine. His leg and side hitting the surface of the water after falling that far had to have hurt like hell; Johnny's back and shoulder hadn't enjoyed it. Daniel had dropped less than a foot when his knee gave out, and that had made him scream and zone out for at least four or five minutes. On top of that, the water was so bitter it felt like flames against Johnny's skin. How much worse was that for Daniel, as high as his fever was?

And Johnny was ordering him to shut up about it.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I know it hurts. But you gotta be quiet, Daniel."

Daniel wrapped his right hand around Johnny's arm and nodded. He understood what they were facing, and he was doing his best. Daniel tensed his muscles, trying to keep himself from shaking. He bit his lip to stop the whimpers and moans. But Johnny had to face the fact that what he was expecting Daniel to do wasn't possible. At least, it wasn't possible without help. He kept his hand across Daniel's mouth, pulled his head back against his shoulder, and tightened his left arm around him.

"Relax." He kept his voice soft and the word as gentle as he could. His intention was to make a suggestion, not give another command. "Lean into the cold. Don't fight it. It gets better."

"Oh, Daaaannniel …"

Mike's sing-songy words floated down from above, startling them both. Johnny couldn't stop himself from looking up again. He still couldn't see anything but the bottom of the outcropping, but he didn't have to see him to know he was standing right above them.

The effect the voice had on Daniel was instantaneous. He jerked his head up, dug his fingers into Johnny's wrist, and held his breath.

"Where aaaare you, Daniel?"

"Breathe," Johnny whispered. "We're safe. You're fine. But you gotta breathe. Because I ain't kissin' you if you stop."

Daniel closed his eyes, and his head thumped against Johnny's shoulder again. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as the pain he couldn't scream out found an outlet.

Johnny let his eyes fall closed, and he rested the side of his head against the back of Daniel's. He'd let him have his cry, and he wouldn't say a damn word about it. They both needed one, and they both deserved one, but Johnny didn't have time. He had one job: get Daniel off the mountain. He might think about crying after he was done with that.

So, he let Daniel cry while he concentrated on keeping them hidden and keeping their heads above the water, all while whispering stupid platitudes in his ear.

"It's okay. You're okay. I got ya. Just hold on."

"I'm coming for you, Daniel!"

"Fuck this son of a bitch." He didn't realize he'd said that out loud until Daniel nodded in agreement.

"I will find you. And when I do, you'll be all alone. You know Blondie won't save you. He helped me the first time. He'll help me again."

Daniel stiffened in his arms, and that pissed Johnny off. They were having enough trouble getting from Point A to Point B as it was, and that was with them trusting each other. The last thing they needed was for Daniel to give in to Mike's stupid mind games and start doubting him again. He tightened his arm around Daniel's chest and his hand across his mouth as he glared up at the overhang in hatred.

"I'm right here." He spoke the soft words to the sky, but he knew Daniel heard them. "I'm not helping him." He still had that nagging doubt that he had helped him, but he hadn't done it on purpose, so it didn't count. "He's lying. Don't listen."

"You can't run forever!" The words were softer, and the echoes died faster. He was moving away. "You will have to stop sometime!"

Daniel started struggling, not only shaking but fighting, pressing his shoulders into Johnny's chest, and shaking his head. He was trying to say something, but through Johnny's hand, the sounds came out as nothing more than muffled grunts and groans.

Johnny didn't look at him, instead keeping his eyes on the cliff face, half-expecting Mike to come back and jump into the water with them. He tightened his hold again. "Not yet. Give it a minute," he said. "Let him leave."

Daniel wrapped both hands around Johnny's fingers and tried to pull them away from his face, but he wasn't nearly strong enough. Johnny had no idea what was making him freak out, but he had to get him calmed down.

"Stop it!" he whispered forcefully. "You gotta wait. We don't know he's gone."

Daniel kicked his legs wildly, and his right heel connected with Johnny's shin.

"Ow, shit! Damn it, LaRusso, stop kicking me!" Daniel was growing increasingly difficult to keep hold of, making their already precarious position even more dangerous. "What the hell, man? Stop!"

And then Daniel bit him.

Johnny jerked his hand away, and even after the warnings he'd given Daniel about being quiet, he only just stopped himself from shouting in pain and surprise. It wasn't until he heard Daniel's desperate gulps of air, drawn in with such force that they nearly plunged his face into the water, that Johnny realized what he'd done.

He hadn't only had his hand across Daniel's mouth. He'd had it across his nose, too.

"Shit!" He pulled Daniel's head away from the water and back against his shoulder. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm sorry. I didn't know I … shit!"

Daniel's eyes were open, and he was staring up at the sky without blinking. But his chest heaved, and his whole body shook with every breath he drew into his lungs.

"LaRusso?" Johnny shook him. "Hey, man, say …"

"Want … me breathe … or not?" The words were forced out between chattering teeth, and they rode on ragged gasps for air, but they were relevant and aware, and there was no heat in them. He was okay. And more importantly, he was trying to joke about it, which meant they were still okay.

"Yeah, I want you to breathe." Johnny shrugged, burying his guilt and embarrassment under the words. He had to be more careful than that. He'd been so worried that Daniel might believe he'd ever help Mike kill him that he'd almost killed him. Because that made perfect sense. "Guess that wasn't very clear while I was suffocating you, huh?"

"Rude," Daniel gasped. "At the very … least."

"You okay?" Asking stupid questions had become so common that Johnny wasn't even going to try keeping count of them anymore. "Your knee still in one piece?"

Daniel didn't lift his head, but he nodded somewhat. "More or less," he answered. "Far as I can tell. Much as it was. Mostly numb."

"What about the rest of you?"

"I'm cold," Daniel answered. He lifted his head, looked at the surface of the lake, and sighed. "And wet."

"Yeah. Jumping into a lake will do that to ya." Johnny glanced around, trying to get his bearings. He pushed away from the cliff with his feet and turned them in the water, so they were facing it. "You're just never happy, are you?" he asked distractedly. "Half an hour ago, you were bitching about being hot. Fixed that, and now you're bitching about being cold."

Daniel snorted.

"Where the hell are we?" He thought he knew, but he wanted to confirm it before he started swimming. "Can we get out anywhere near here?"

Daniel shook his head. "Not … for a while …"

"Okay. Can we get to camp from here?"

That got a nod, and Daniel lifted his arm weakly and pointed in the same direction Johnny was looking. "That way," he said. "Not far. I can see it. The shore. And the trees. Lake comes up. Right by it."

"Where you and Robby were when I showed up?"

Daniel nodded again.

"All right." Johnny changed his position in the water again, turning so he was on his right side. He pulled Daniel against his chest with his left arm, and as he'd done to get them up, he used the other to move them forward. Daniel tried to help, but every time he moved his arm, his face dipped below the surface, and he threw Johnny's rhythm off.

"Relax," he said. "I got this. Let me do the work. You just worry about not drowning. Okay?"

"I can … do that."

Daniel was still shivering, and his teeth were still chattering. Johnny allowed himself a second to wonder when he'd stopped doing that himself and to question whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, but he didn't give it any more thought than that. He probably didn't want to know the answer, anyway.

He turned his full attention to swimming. It took him a few strokes to find the most effective method to compensate for Daniel's weight and only being able to use one arm. Daniel was right about one thing, though. His back, ribs, shoulder and various aches and pains that had plagued him on the mountain weren't bothering him in the water. He couldn't feel them at all; he was completely numb. The only thing that still hurt was his head, and even that wasn't as painful as it had been. At least he could think a bit more clearly.

Daniel's eyes started to close, and Johnny shook him again.

"Nope," he said. "Keep your eyes open. Need you to tell me when we're getting close. Don't want to miss our exit."

Daniel nodded once more. "This sucks."

That made Johnny smile, though it wasn't the least bit funny. Never had two words summed up one day so perfectly.

"It does, but cheer up, LaRusso. Look on the bright side."

"What … bright side?"

"Well, your body temperature has to be lower. As cold and wet as you are, at least you're not walking on that leg. And there's no way you're still thirsty."

The sound that passed Daniel's lips was part snort, part gasp and part moan, but it was clearly meant to be a laugh. "Some … bright side …"

"Take the W, LaRusso. We haven't had very many."

"This is … true."

He'd gotten into a comfortable pattern, and he was moving them through the water at a much faster pace than he'd expected. They were going straight to the camp. Mike would need to make his way not only down the mountain, but also around any obstacles he might run into. If it would have taken Daniel fifteen minutes to walk from where they were, with as well as he knew that mountain, it should take an inexperienced person like Mike at least twice that long. If Daniel could already see where they were going, then they were only a few minutes away. When they got out of the water, they should be at least half an hour ahead of him.

"We're gonna make it, Daniel," he said. "We're getting the hell outta here. There's your bright side." He shifted his left arm across Daniel's chest, tightened his hold on the jacket, and kept swimming. "Hold on to that."

"You left him there?!"

The accusation wasn't unexpected, nor was the fact that she'd aimed it solely at him, but Robby's heart jumped into his throat all the same.

"It wasn't like that, Sam. We didn't have a choice." She was shaking her head at him, and the look on her face said she wasn't listening to a word he said. "You weren't there. You don't understand. You have to believe us. We —"

She sliced her hand through the air and cut him off. "You know what? It doesn't matter why you did it. What matters is we're here, and he's there, and we have to fix it. That's all." She turned on her heel and stalked toward the Audi. "Let's just go."

Kev and Hawk saw her coming, and they both wisely jumped into the back seat without a word.

"But, Sam," Miguel said carefully from behind Robby. "It's your dad."

"So?" She spun back around and pointed at Robby. "It's your dad, too, right?" To Miguel, she said, "And your sensei." And again to Robby, "And yours. If I can't go because it's my dad, neither of you can go, either." She tipped her head as if daring them to argue with her.

Neither of them did.

"Actually, if we're looking at it like that, then none of us can go. We're all too invested. And we should forget the whole thing right now."

"No!" Miguel and Robby protested in unison.

"Good. We all agree. You're going; I'm going. So let's go." She dismissed them both and walked away again.

Robby and Miguel both turned to Aisha, hoping to enlist her help in getting Sam to stay behind, but she shook her head at them.

"She's got a point. And I agree with her." She shrugged. "All of us or none of us, and all of us is definitely the better choice." She gave them a tight smile, then turned and walked toward the car.

Sam stalked straight to the driver's door and opened it. She wasted no time getting in, and she slammed it behind her.

That left Robby and Miguel standing together on the sidewalk.

"This is a terrible idea," Miguel said softly. "I really don't think she should … I mean, he's her dad, Robby. What if he's really hurt? What if it's really bad?"

"It is." Robby spoke the words with the same certainty he'd had from the beginning. He'd been making progress on getting the images from his nightmare to leave him alone, but all the talk about Mr. LaRusso being hurt had brought them back with a vengeance. If he closed his eyes, he saw nothing but blood. He shook his head to chase the memory away again. "He is hurt," he insisted. "They both are. And we're wasting what little time we have left arguing." He turned to walk to the car. "We have to go."

"What if he's dead, Robby?" Miguel's voice was quiet, and the words were hesitant. He obviously didn't want to say them, but it was equally obvious that he'd been thinking them for a while. "What if he's dead, and we take her up there, and we find —?"

"He's not."

"What if they both are?"

"They're not."

"Robby …"

"We don't have time for this, Miguel!" Robby spun on him. Miguel was the last person he'd have expected to give up on his dad and Mr. LaRusso or argue with him about getting back to the mountain as fast as possible. "They don't have time for this! Look, she's your ex, and you want to protect her, and I get it. Okay? I think it's bullshit, but I get it."

"Bullshit?" Miguel looked offended at that. "How is it bullshit?" he demanded.

"Because she can kick both our asses, and you know it." That was one thing Miguel couldn't argue with. "You said we need badasses, right?" Miguel nodded reluctantly. "Well, the biggest badass we both know just got in that car." He took one step forward and lowered his voice, so there was no risk of Sam overhearing him. "She doesn't need you to protect her. She can handle herself just fine, and she's got every bit as much to lose as we do. There's no good reason to keep her out." He knew Miguel was considering his words and starting to agree with them. "And besides, if we don't get in that car right now, she's going to leave without us."

Miguel sighed. "Okay," he agreed, nodding his head and stepping forward. "Okay, whatever. You're right. Let's go."

"Fine."

Robby turned around, and they both made the short walk back to the SUV. Miguel went around the front; Robby walked to the driver's door and pulled it open.

"Get out, Sam."

"What?" Sam's voice dripped with anger, and Miguel glanced at him across the hood in surprise. "If you think I'm staying here, Robby, you're —"

"You're not staying here," he said. "But you're not driving."

Miguel opened his door and climbed in. Sam put both hands on the steering wheel and stared out the windshield.

"This is my dad's car. I've driven it a dozen times. If this is some sexist crap about girls not being able to —"

"Jesus, Sam, this isn't some 'sexist crap.' This is you don't know where we're going, and I do. You're going, but I'm driving. So move."

She looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but it didn't last long. She nodded her head once in acknowledgment of Robby's point and got out of the car. Aisha scooted over as Sam opened the back passenger door and climbed in beside her, and Robby resumed his place behind the wheel.

Once everyone was settled, and the doors were closed, Robby looked at them in the rearview mirror. "Everybody ready?" he asked.

Five heads nodded in silent unison.

"Great," he muttered, glancing at Miguel as he shifted into drive. "Finally. Let's do this."

"That seemed easier," Daniel gasped, "when we came up with it."

They both lay on the ground, side-by-side, panting and exhausted. Johnny was flat on his back with his arms out to his sides, and Daniel was on his side with his arms in front of him. Neither had moved from the positions they'd landed in when Johnny's wet shoes had slipped and they'd fallen to the ground.

"Yeah, well. You're still heavier than you look," Johnny announced breathlessly. "And even more when you're soaking wet."

Daniel hadn't gotten the jolt through his side that he expected from being dropped, and he chalked it up to the numbing effects of the water. It had been nice while it lasted, but that almost pleasant, nearly-frozen-but-mostly-pain-free sensation was wearing off quickly. He'd have to move at some point, and the rate at which feeling was returning told him he wanted to do it sooner rather than later.

He pressed his left hand against the dirt and levered himself up far enough to get his right arm under him. He was halfway to sitting before Johnny realized he was moving, opened one eye, and squinted at him.

"Time to go already?"

Daniel nodded, bit his lip, and focused his newly-found but rapidly-fading energy on getting himself upright and stable. Johnny sat up beside him. Daniel felt eyes on him again, but it didn't make him jumpy or nervous. He knew who was staring at him and what his intentions were. At first, it irritated him that Johnny was watching him that closely but not making a single offer of assistance. The least the guy could do was help him sit up. But by the time he'd reached a sitting position, he found himself pathetically grateful that Johnny had let him do such a small thing by himself. He had an overblown and most likely disproportionate sense of pride and a smile on his face.

He also had an ache in his side, a weight on his chest, a floaty sensation in his brain, and sweat pouring down his face. But Johnny's words came back to him, and he took the small win for what it was worth.

Johnny climbed to his feet, smacked the twigs and leaves and some of the mud off his jeans, and looked around. Something in the distance seemed to catch his attention, and he stared at it for a few moments. Then he looked at Daniel and hitched his thumb over his shoulder.

"That's it right there, right?"

Daniel followed Johnny's hand with his eyes and tilted his head in confusion. "What's what right where?"

"Where you and Robby were when I got here?" He turned not just his eyes but his full attention back to the spot, studying it intently. "Where you did that thing with your arms?"

"Oh." Daniel glanced over and nodded. "Yeah. That's it."

Silence fell around them, and Daniel closed his eyes. His mind wandered back in time, to when he and Robby had been standing less than 20 feet from where he was sitting. That was where he'd managed to reach Robby through his fear. That was where he'd shown him how to center himself to regain balance and focus. That was where he'd begun to think he might be a decent teacher. That was where he'd sensed Mike for the first — no, the second time. That was where he'd let Johnny's arrival distract him so much that he'd dismissed the genuine threat in the woods.

That was where he'd been standing when he'd gotten three innocent people — two of them children — sucked into Mike's sick game.

"How far is it from the camp?"

"Hm?" Johnny's question pulled him out of the well of guilt he'd been sinking into. He blinked his eyes languidly as the question sank into his suddenly very addled brain. "Oh, yeah. Right up there." His teeth were still chattering, his body still hadn't shaken off the effects of the cold water, and he was having such a hard time catching his breath he was lucky to get any words out at all. He waved his hand. "Up that path. You walked it. You should know."

Johnny nodded absently, still absorbed in his own thoughts. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. Just wanted to make sure I was right." He bent his knees and squatted at Daniel's side. Daniel appreciated that because looking up at him with the sun in his eyes had been starting to give him a headache. "We'll be to camp in, what? Five minutes?"

Daniel nodded. "Go soon, faster than that."

"We're going," Johnny said. "Just gotta do one thing first."

"What's that?"

"Get someone to meet us there." Johnny smiled broadly, reached into his pocket, and pulled something out. "Let's see this thing say there's no signal down here."

Daniel's heart sank.

Johnny flipped the phone open and looked down at it expectantly. The screen stayed black. He pushed a few buttons, but nothing changed. "What the …?" He pressed and held the power button, held it up to his ear, and tapped it against the inside of his other hand. Water poured from every crack and crevice of it, splashed against his skin, and pooled in his palm. The half-excited expression that remained on his face froze there.

Daniel leaned back on his hand. "Cellphones and water. Not exactly friends."

"It's dead." Johnny's voice was empty, and his face was blank. "I killed it." He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his empty hand. "An hour ago, we had two phones. I lost yours, and I killed mine, and now, we don't have any."

"Just a phone."

"It wasn't just a phone!" Johnny argued. "It was the one thing I had that could have ended this whole damn thing right now. The one thing that could have gotten us some damn help, gotten the cops here and you out of here. It was the one thing I had to keep alive, and I fucking killed it."

"But saved us." Johnny lifted his head, and Daniel smiled at him weakly. "Right?"

Johnny shook his head. "Barely!" He pushed himself to his feet and spun toward the lake. "I almost killed you, too!"

He pulled his arm back, stepped forward with one foot, and threw the phone as hard as he could. Daniel rolled his eyes at the distant splash.

"Johnny."

"You need an ambulance," he growled as he turned back around. "You should be in the hospital. You needed to be there hours ago. All I had to do to get you there was make one phone call, and I can't even do that, because I screwed it up!"

"Johnny?"

"What?!"

"Wasting time. Need to go. To the hospital. Both of us."

Johnny leaned his head back and rolled his shoulders. He took a deep breath, lifted his head again, and sighed as he shook it. "You okay to walk?"

Daniel tipped his head up and smirked. "Dumb question." Then he lifted his right arm. "Get me up," he said. "Keep me there. I'm good."

"Yeah," Johnny said with a huff. "You look it." He wrapped one hand around Daniel's forearm, hooked their thumbs together, braced their feet against each other, and pulled.

Daniel rose swiftly — though not gracefully — to his feet. It took him a few seconds longer than usual to regain his equilibrium, but he managed to stand more or less on his own two feet without falling over. Johnny kept a steadying hand on his shoulder, and once he'd stopped wobbling, he lifted Daniel's left arm and ducked under it.

Daniel hissed and flinched as soon as he touched Johnny's shoulders. Even through the fabric of both the jacket and sweatshirt, the shredded hamburger that was the inside of his left arm was reminding him of its presence.

"Damn it," Johnny muttered as he pulled away. "How are we gonna do this with your arm all torn up?" Johnny didn't seem bothered by the fact that he was doing most of the talking for both of them, but Daniel found it a little disconcerting that his thoughts were coming out of Johnny's mouth. "It's obviously hurting you. You barely used it in the water. You haven't used it at all since we got out. And if it hurts that bad, just touching my neck with it …?"

"I'll deal." Daniel didn't like that plan, but they didn't have time to come up with another. They didn't have any other options anyway. Using his other arm would pull on his side too much, and there was no way he was going anywhere on his own. "Ignore it."

Johnny sighed in frustration. "Is there a single part of you that isn't beat to hell?"

"No," Daniel answered with a shake of his head. "Not really." He held his arm up, but Johnny just looked at him, reluctant to touch it. "Come on." He would have waved it at him if he'd had the energy. "Let's go."

Johnny sighed again, that time in resignation. "Okay." He gently grasped Daniel's wrist, lifted it the rest of the way up, and stepped back under. "Yeah, okay." He settled into place and wrapped his right hand through Daniel's belt again. "You got it, LaRusso." Daniel didn't know how he held the hiss in that time, but he did. By the time Johnny took the first step forward, he'd almost blocked the pain from his mind completely.

"Let's go."

The atmosphere in the car was somber and subdued. Everyone's thoughts seemed to be a hundred miles away, even though they had to be thinking about their immediate futures. Even Hawk had dropped the attitude he'd had when Sam had gotten in the car, and he was listening and contributing to the plans they were making.

Sam still didn't know exactly what had happened, but the picture she'd drawn in her mind wasn't a pretty one. She knew they had more details, but she hadn't started pressing for them yet. Whatever happened wasn't just bad; it was bad enough that Robby and Miguel had set their personal issues aside and work together to fight back against it. She'd never imagined she'd see them even speak to each other, let alone back each other up.

But that was not her primary concern.

"I don't understand. You didn't see him get hurt?" Robby and Miguel shook their heads in unison. "And they both told you he was okay?" The shakes became nods. "Why don't you believe them?"

"Because they were lying," Miguel said with a shrug.

"But you don't have any proof, do you? So why would you think that?"

The look that passed between Robby and Miguel said there was more than one answer to that question, and though they both knew the real one, neither of them wanted to share it with her.

"Just a feeling," Robby finally said. "Something, like, something I've heard, or maybe … seen … before. Somewhere." He glanced at Miguel and then shook his head. "I can't explain it, Sam. I just know."

She tilted her head slightly. He had answers, and she needed them, and she wouldn't let him off that easily.

Robby caught her eye in the mirror and sighed. "Okay. The big thing was his voice. I mean, he sounded normal, but it was fake normal? I got the same impression from him before we knew Mike was there. I knew something was going on. His voice didn't sound right. Does that make sense?"

That made a lot of sense. "Like he was pretending." It wasn't a question. She knew precisely what Robby was talking about. "So you wouldn't know there was anything wrong."

"Yeah." That answer came from Miguel. "I may not know him as well as you two do, and I didn't pick up on it right then, but I can kinda see it now."

Sam knew what they'd heard because she'd heard it, too. Too many times to count. And she knew Robby had seen and heard it at least once before.

She bit her lip and looked back and forth between them before starting her explanation. "My dad, he gets headaches sometimes," she said. "Migraines. And they're awful. My mom closes their bedroom curtains, and she turns all the lights off. We have to be super quiet, and no one can go upstairs until he comes down. And sometimes not even then, because sometimes, she'll make him go back up and go back to sleep."

Robby's eyes narrowed but then widened in sudden understanding. "That just happened!" he said. He looked at Miguel quickly before turning back to the road. "Seriously. It was like three days ago."

Sam nodded. "She did that because of his voice. She knew it wasn't gone yet." She'd been hearing that too-perfect, fake-normal tone in her dad's voice for as long as she could remember, but for Robby, having experienced it for the first time only recently, it would be fresh in his mind. "That's how he sounded on the phone?"

Robby's whole face brightened, not in happiness but relief. He had a way to explain how he knew what he knew. "Yes!" he said. "He sounded exactly like that."

"Then you're right." She shrugged. "He's probably hurt. What did the police say when you called them? They're not who told you to come back and get us, right?"

Silence was the immediate answer, followed by a soft, "Um … no one told us to do that. We didn't call anyone," from Miguel.

Sam's stomach dropped, Aisha gasped in surprise, and even Hawk and Kev leaned forward in their seats.

"Why not?" Sam demanded. "You know there's this guy up there with them, you know he knocked Johnny out, you know my dad's hurt. And you didn't bother to call anyone who could help them? How could you be so —?"

"And tell them what, Sam?" Miguel spun in his seat, and he held his hand against his face to mimic a phone. "Hi, yeah, I need an ambulance and the cops to this place on this mountain. No, I don't know the address. No, I don't know if anyone's really hurt, but one of them hit his head, and … No, I don't know if there's any real crime going on, except that guy getting hit, and … oh, yeah, by the way, I'm sixteen." He turned back around, flopped against the seat, and shrugged. "They'd have hung up on us."

Sam rolled her eyes at Miguel's theatrics and stared at the headliner. Robby noticed her expression in the mirror, and he spoke up.

"He's right, Sam," he said. "They wouldn't have believed us. And they wouldn't have sent ambulances for two people we can't tell them for sure are hurt. My dad got up and took off on his own, so how hurt is he? We've heard Mr. LaRusso, but we haven't seen him. And we don't even know where they are."

He did have a point, and in fairness, so did Miguel. That didn't mean she had to like it or admit it.

"Whatever."

She looked over at Aisha, who was holding her phone up. Her message was clear — she agreed with Sam. Curious if that might be true of anyone else, she glanced at the back seat. Kev smiled softly and nodded at her. He agreed with her, too. Hawk seemed to weigh the options and consider his answer before he gave it. Then he shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

"I'm with Miguel and … Robby." She noticed the slight pause before he said Robby's name, but she didn't call attention to it. "I say no."

"No to what?" Miguel looked over his shoulder, then at each of them. He looked to Sam last, and not only did he not turn away, but he lowered his eyebrows at her. "What are you doing, Sam?"

She held his gaze, but she didn't want to speak directly to him. There was too much there. Too much had happened, and it was still too raw. She couldn't just act like everything was fine. But then she remembered what they were discussing, what they were getting ready to do, and why. And she felt like an idiot.

Johnny Lawrence and her dad were … her dad. She saw his smiling face in her mind like he was sitting right next to her, but he wasn't. She felt his hand on her hair as though he was comforting her, but he wasn't. She heard his voice in her mind, imagined him saying, 'Stay calm, Sam. Stay focused. Everything's going to be fine,' but he wasn't.

He was missing, probably hurt, and definitely in danger. She closed her eyes and pretended he was at her side.

'I'm scared, Dad. I'm really, really scared.'

'There's nothing to be afraid of, Sammy. Just do what I taught you. Breathe. You know what to do.'

She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and pushed her hurt feelings aside.

"We have to call someone."

It was Miguel's turn to roll his eyes as he turned away.

"No, Miguel, listen. Listen to me!" She grabbed his shoulder and leaned as far forward as her seatbelt allowed. "Robby, listen. I'll admit you're right, but you know I'm right, too. They need help."

"Why do you think we're going back?" Miguel asked hotly. "We got this, Sam. We promised. We will bring them home." He shook his head and muttered under his breath. "This is why I didn't want you to come."

"Miguel." Robby's voice was quiet, but the warning in it came through loud and clear. "Don't do this now, man."

"No!" Miguel was so angry he was shouting, and Robby flinched. "I told you this was a bad idea. You wouldn't listen to me. We had everything under control without her. We had it handled. And now she's back there saying we can't do this!"

No, Sam realized, Miguel wasn't angry. He was scared. So was Robby. So was everyone in that SUV.

What were they doing? What could they do? They were in way over their heads, and they were all scared. They were just kids.

'Everyone gets scared sometimes, Sam. Even me. The trick is to keep yourself from giving in to it. The second you let that fear control you, you've lost. Even if you win.'

"I'm not saying we can't do it." She tried to keep her voice calm, but her emotions made it impossible. "God, Miguel, do you think I don't want the same thing you do? Do you think I don't want to find this Mike guy and rip him apart? Like you keep telling me, he hurt my dad!" Miguel grimaced. He hadn't expected those words to be thrown back at him, and she hadn't intended to do it. She took a steadying breath and tried again. "I'm not saying we shouldn't go. I just think we need some adults with badges and maybe medical experience for backup."

Miguel shook his head, but it was less defiant and more regretful. "They won't believe us, Sam."

"So what if they don't?" she asked, leaning forward again. "But they might. If they do, then they'll come help. And if they don't, they'll … track my phone and come to arrest me for making a hoax call. Either way, they'll be there."

She didn't intend to sew division between them because what they needed most was unity. But they also needed help.

"What about a compromise?" she offered. "Three of us want to call the police and an ambulance, right? Three don't want to call either. What if I call one or the other?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, and he seemed to consider it. "Which one?"

"Ambulance," Aisha suggested. "We know Sensei's hurt. We can use that to convince them to come."

"They're not sending an ambulance for a concussion," Hawk argued. "And with Sensei's rap sheet, if we called the cops, they'd probably arrest him instead of that Mike guy, anyway. I say we don't call anyone, and we take care of it ourselves like we were gonna do."

"They're both hurt."

Sam turned her head and blinked at the back seat in surprise. She'd known Kev since third grade, and she'd never heard him say that many words at one time. She didn't remember if she'd ever heard his voice before at all.

"If Robby knows what Mr. LaRusso sounds like when he's hurt, and if that's what he sounded like on the phone, we should err on the side of caution. We should bring an ambulance with us. And if Mike is a real threat, then we'll need the police to take care of him, too. So I still vote for both."

"Robby?"

It was Miguel who said his name. Whatever had happened to and between them that afternoon had done more than make them set their issues aside for a while. It seemed to have erased them. Not only was Miguel asking for Robby's opinion, but he honestly wanted it.

Robby kept his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road. He didn't speak, and it was clear he was considering everything before he did. The car fell into silence as they waited for his answer.

"Police."

He glanced over at Miguel, who tilted his head, waiting for an explanation. Robby took a deep breath and gave him one.

"Mr. LaRusso is afraid of him, Miguel." He said those words so softly that Sam suspected she hadn't been meant to hear them. It wasn't new information to either of them, but it was to her. And the implications of it terrified her.

"I think Kev's right about the cops. We're gonna need their help with Mike. But Aisha and Sam are right, too. We'll need someone who knows more than we do about first aid, and the police'll have medical supplies in their cars. They'll be able to take care of them until an ambulance can get there."

Miguel looked at him for a few seconds before nodding his head. "Fine," he said. "Police then."

Sam leaned back in her seat and lifted her phone.

"Call 911, though." Robby looked at her in the rearview mirror again. "They'll respond faster that way. And if they think it's a prank, they'll be more likely to come looking for us."

"Good idea," Miguel said. "If we're getting them involved in this, the faster they get there, the better."

Sam nodded and pressed the emergency button on her phone.

"Yes, hello. Something's happening, and I need the police. I need a lot of police. Two people have been attacked up in the mountains, and they're missing, and we … my name?" She glanced up at Miguel and Robby, and they both nodded. "LaRusso," she said. "My name is Samantha LaRusso."

Johnny took a small amount of comfort in how familiar the trees around them seemed. He hadn't paid much attention to them when he'd walked past the first time, or when he and Daniel had run past the second, but they were the first even vaguely recognizable things he'd seen since he'd taken off after Daniel.

How long had it been since he'd stood and watched Mike stab him? Three hours? Three days? Three weeks? It seemed like years. In that time, Daniel's eyes had gone from open to half-mast to closed. He wasn't even pretending to pay attention to which direction they were going anymore. He'd gone from not trusting Johnny to touch him, to allowing him to bandage his wounds, to sleeping on his legs, to letting him lead him — blindly — through the woods.

Johnny wanted to take those as good things, but he knew they weren't. Daniel was only letting him do them because he couldn't do them himself.

The trip that had taken them less than a minute the last time took close to five, but it was worth it. Those trees parted ahead of them like the gates of heaven itself sliding open. For the first time since he and Daniel had walked into the woods together all those hours earlier, Johnny laid eyes on their fire pit, their chairs, and their tents.

The relief that swelled up from his stomach was so overwhelming it nearly knocked him over.

"LaRusso," he said excitedly, shaking Daniel lightly. "Hey, wake up. We're here."

"Hm?" Daniel's eyes fluttered, but he didn't lift his head. "Where?"

"Back at camp."

Johnny's smile grew wider as they took the last step from the path and into the clearing. They were back. They'd made it. He gave himself a second to celebrate their minor victory before shifting his full attention back to what he was there to do.

"Hang in there, Daniel," he said. "We got this now. We're gonna get you fixed up, rest for a few minutes, and then head for my car."

Daniel nodded slowly.

"Where's your sleeping bag?"

Daniel opened his eyes and gave him a look that spoke to his opinion on the stupidity of the question. "My tent. Where else'd it be?"

"Well, I'm gonna have to get it. You don't need to be laying on the ground. It's too cold."

Daniel looked down at himself. His clothes were soaking wet, small drops of water fell from the hair hanging in his face, his jaw was quivering, and his body was trembling so hard it was amazing he hadn't shaken himself apart. He looked back up at Johnny. "Gonna worry 'bout cold? Now?" he gasped out. "Really?"

Johnny rolled his eyes and took a few more steps forward. He disentangled himself from Daniel's arm and propped him up against a tree near the tents. "Don't get smart with me."

"How come you're not … cold as I am?"

Johnny shrugged. He'd been wondering that himself, but he didn't know the answer. Maybe it was because Daniel's fever was so high, and the cold was affecting him more because his body was so much warmer. Or maybe there was more to it than that. Whatever it was, he didn't have time to worry about it. So he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Maybe I'm just stronger than you."

"Are not."

Johnny smirked, and Daniel grinned back at him weakly. Their normal may have been pointless and immature, but it was theirs. If they could keep it going, even half-heartedly, it meant they could hold on. Their hope rested on it. Johnny hadn't admitted it, but he knew it. Daniel had to know it, too. They needed that interaction as much as they needed each other.

At some point, at least one of them needed to acknowledge that.

"You're right, Daniel," he said. "I'm not. I don't know anyone who is."

Daniel's expression changed slightly, and a bit of fear crept into his eyes. Johnny had switched up the script without warning. Daniel hadn't expected or been ready for that, he didn't know what it meant, and it scared him. Johnny smiled, squeezed his shoulder to reassure him, and moved past the moment as though it had never happened.

"Stay here a minute."

Daniel started sliding as soon as Johnny moved his hand away. Johnny caught him by the shoulders before he'd crumpled more than a few inches, and he pushed him back up.

"Come on, LaRusso," he said. "You're gonna have to do better than that. Give me time to get to the tent and back, at least."

Daniel's head bobbed up and down lazily in what was passing for a nod at that point. The slowness of that motion only drew Johnny's attention to how rapidly his shoulders were rising and falling as he inhaled and exhaled. He'd noticed that Daniel's breathing had been speeding up since they'd gotten out of the water, but that was way faster than he'd thought it was.

"Lock your knees … I mean, your knee."

"And? Pass out?"

"No," Johnny answered, drawing the word out. "No passing out. Passing out is bad. Don't do that. Do whatever you need to do to stay on your feet. Just don't fall over."

Daniel shifted position slightly, leaned his left shoulder on the trunk, put his right hand on it for stability, and rested his head on the back of it.

"Go," he breathed. "Got it. Won't fall."

Johnny moved as quickly as he could, which wasn't half as quickly as he wanted to. He was hampered by how slowly his joints were willing to bend and how stiff and swollen his fingers were. He pulled Daniel's sleeping bag out of his tent, and he had it open and spread out before Daniel's balance and strength failed him.

Johnny grabbed him around the chest, turned away from the tree, and lowered him to the ground carefully. Daniel got his arms under him, and the second his hands touched the sleeping bag, he started pushing himself away.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Daniel didn't answer. He kept moving until he was leaning against the tree again but sitting up instead of standing. "Need to look. At your back."

Johnny shook his head. "No. What you need to do is lay the hell down and let me take care of you so we can get out of here."

But, as he'd been saying all day, Daniel LaRusso was a stubborn little shit. "You're hurt, too," he said. Those words took more out of him than they should have. He was having trouble talking and breathing at the same time. "You clean my side. We bandage it again. I'll be …" His eyes slid shut, and his head drooped forward.

Johnny grabbed his shoulder. "What's wrong? You having trouble breathing?"

"Wiped." Johnny didn't know if he was answering the question or finishing his sentence or both. "Be too wiped. To help you." Daniel opened his eyes and lifted his head, and though he looked half a second from keeling over, Johnny couldn't ignore the determination on his face. "Let me see. Your back." That wasn't a request; it was an order. Daniel was in no position to enforce it, and he had to know that, which only made the effort he was putting into it more obvious. "Then'll lay down. Promise."

Johnny didn't like it. Yeah, he'd hit his back and shoulder on that little slide down the mountain, but he wasn't hurt. A little banged up, sure, a little scratched up, maybe, a bruised bone or two, probably, a little headache trying to rip his skull open from the inside out, definitely, but he was fine. They didn't have time to waste on him.

But there was no convincing Daniel of that until he'd seen it for himself. And the argument was already taking a toll on him. Not only was Daniel breathing too hard and too fast, but he was also doing it way too loudly.

"Okay," Johnny agreed reluctantly, holding his hands up in surrender. He turned and knelt next to Daniel, with his back to him. "Fine. If it makes you feel better, you can play nurse."

"No different than … you've been doing." Daniel settled his back against the tree. "Lift your shirt."

Johnny sighed as he reached over his shoulder with his right hand, grabbed the back of his t-shirt, and pulled it up. "I really don't think you need to do this," he tried again. "You're the one who's hurt here, buddy. Not me."

Daniel pressed his fingers lightly against Johnny's lower back, just to the side of his spine and above his right hip. Johnny honest-to-God yelped.

"Yeah," Daniel said, obviously not too wiped to be sarcastic. "You're not hurt."

"What the hell was that?" Johnny demanded. Daniel moved his hand to different parts of his back, pressing his fingers against each of them in turn. "Ow. Would you stop — ow!" He tried to see what Daniel was doing, but he couldn't turn his head that far. "Seriously, what the hell? Did you just wanna find out where it hurts so you could poke it?"

Daniel snorted. "That's your kidney. Tough guy," he said. "Gonna be pissin' blood. For a week."

"Yeah, well, somebody let me fall down a mountain and slam into a tree," he shot back. He cringed the second the words left his mouth. Making Daniel feel guilty about his little tumble wouldn't help. He sighed.

Daniel looked him over as best he could. "Hurt anywhere else? Head? Side? Shoulder?"

Johnny shook his head carefully. Telling Daniel the truth would mean he'd spend more time worrying about Johnny when he should be worried about himself. Besides, there was nothing he could do to fix them, anyway. He'd take some aspirin or something for the headache when Daniel wasn't looking, and as for his shoulder and side, well, he'd bruised his collarbone and ribs before. He knew what they felt like. He'd just have to be careful.

"How does the rest of me look?"

Daniel grinned tiredly. "Not touching. That one." He leaned back and heaved in several more breaths before speaking again. "Few scratches. Bunch more bruises. No blood."

"Good. You've lost more than enough for the both of us." Johnny pulled his shirt down and turned around. "Are you done now?"

Daniel nodded, but his eyes were already closing. Whatever reserves he'd been forcing himself to run on were running out — fast. He slumped to the side.

"Hey." Johnny put his hand on his shoulder and kept him from toppling over. "Lay down before you fall down. Again."

Daniel let Johnny lower him to the ground. Johnny didn't understand what was happening. Ten minutes earlier, Daniel had been more awake and alert than he'd been in over an hour, and his skin had been cool to the touch. But that clarity was gone, and his temperature was already on the rise again. He was in worse shape than he'd been in before they'd jumped, if that was possible.

Johnny didn't know how or why Daniel was going downhill so fast. Had he gotten hurt when they jumped? Had he not been able to stop himself from gasping when they went under? Had he inhaled some water? What kind of bugs and germs and bacteria lived in that lake? Had something gotten into that wound? Was it getting infected from the outside, too?

Johnny had to get him the hell off that mountain.

"Easy," he said, as Daniel's head came to rest against the sleeping bag. "It's okay." He put the palm of his hand against Daniel's chest, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart and counting the quick, shallow breaths. "You need to calm down."

Daniel swallowed and tried to slow his breathing, but it didn't work. "Don't."

Johnny waited for him to finish his thought, but after several seconds of silence, he knew there were no more words coming. "Don't what?" Daniel's eyes slid closed, and Johnny tapped his cheek. "Nope, don't do that. Keep those open. Stay with me here, Daniel. Talk to me."

Daniel snapped his eyes open and nodded. Then he wrapped both arms around his abdomen, rolled to his side, and curled his right leg toward his stomach. "Don't feel good."

"Ya don't say." Johnny put one hand on Daniel's arm and rolled him to his back again. "Calm down," he said as he gently pulled Daniel's arms away. "Relax."

Daniel gasped when Johnny pressed his leg back to the ground. "Hurts," he protested.

"I know. I know it does. But one thing at a time, okay?" He put his hand on Daniel's chest again. "First things first, you keep breathing like that, you are gonna pass out. You need to slow down." The memory of Daniel and Robby standing next to the lake flashed into his mind. "What about that thing you were doing with Robby? That meditation thing? Would that help?"

"Can't. Can't focus." He was breathing faster than he had been. "Hurts." It was harder for him to get that word out than it had been the first time. "What's wrong? With me?" There were a thousand answers to that question, none of them good, but the most immediate was that he was starting to panic. "Johnny? What …?" He wasn't just shivering anymore, and it wasn't just a matter of him being cold. His whole body was shaking, and his eyes were rolling back.

"Daniel! Look at me!" Johnny commanded. Daniel's eyes were open, but barely so, and he wasn't focusing them on anything. Johnny leaned over him and put his hands on either side of his face, ignoring the heat that rose from Daniel's skin. "Look at me." He repeated the words much more gently. Daniel blinked at him. "Breathe with me." He had no idea what he was doing. He was making it up as he went, and he was running out of ideas as quickly as Daniel was running out of oxygen. "Slow. Down. Now."

Daniel's attempts at matching his breathing to Johnny's exaggerated inhales and exhales did not end well. He was borderline hysterical, and if he wasn't hyperventilating, he was damn close to it.

"Okay, listen to my voice. Do you hear me?"

Daniel nodded weakly.

"Just breathe," he said. "Listen to me and breathe. Easiest thing you've ever done. Breathe in. Breathe out." He forced himself to speak calmly, and he pushed his rising fear down. It was a last-ditch effort before he threw Daniel over his shoulder and ran for the car.

Daniel's eyes fluttered closed again, and when they did, his entire face changed. The tension in his facial muscles eased, the creases around his eyes smoothed, and then his whole body relaxed. And though his chest was still catching and shuddering, his breaths were much slower and deeper.

"In and out. That's it. Breathe in. Breathe out." Johnny didn't even know what he was doing, let alone why it was working, but he wouldn't question it. He'd actually managed to do something right.

After a few minutes, Daniel looked up. His eyes were glazed, cloudy, and filled with fear, exhaustion and confusion. He'd gotten through it, and his breathing was better. But whatever was keeping him going, he was hanging onto it by his fingernails, and he was slipping. He wouldn't hold on much longer.

Johnny patted Daniel's shoulder lightly. "That's good. Just keep it up. Don't lose it. I gotta go get something. I'll be right back."

"'kay."

Johnny pushed himself to his feet, ran back to the tent, and grabbed the first aid kit and two bottles of water from the cooler. He stepped over Daniel's legs, knelt at his left side, put the box on the ground, and flipped the lid open. "Okay, Florence. My turn."

He pushed the red jacket out of his way, unzipped the sweatshirt, and moved it aside, too. As he reached for the strips of t-shirt that held the makeshift bandage in place, he looked up at Daniel's barely-open eyes once more.

"You ready for this?"

Daniel nodded sluggishly.

Johnny untied the bindings and let them fall to the ground. Then he peeled the folded-up t-shirt away carefully. It was sopping wet, and it wasn't stuck to either Daniel's skin or the wound, but he still expected some kind of reaction. He didn't get one. At least, he didn't get one from Daniel, but he got one from his own stomach. He gagged, but he managed to keep himself from throwing up.

No wonder Daniel's temperature was going back up so fast. Johnny had no way of knowing what direction that infection was coming from, inside out or outside in, but it didn't matter. Because wherever it had started, it was going everywhere.

Johnny swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, and he turned away. "You got Tylenol in this first aid kit of yours?"

He started digging through the box frantically, shoving and tossing things he didn't need out of his way. He was in a hurry, but he wasn't desperate. No. Not scared at all. No way. "Ibuprofen? Aspirin? Anything?" He realized Daniel wasn't answering, and he glanced over his shoulder. "Because you're gonna need …" He let the sentence fall off when he realized there was no point in finishing it. There was no one to hear or answer him anyway.

Daniel was out cold.

"Shit."

He turned back to the first aid kit and resumed his digging, finally willing to admit that scared was an accurate description. Possibly even getting close to almost terrified. He found a bottle of Tylenol, clean dressings, bandages, antibacterial cream, tape and a bottle of peroxide. He pulled the latter from the box slowly, debating whether he should use it. He remembered hearing something about peroxide being a bad thing, but he also remembered his mom using a hell of a lot of the stuff. Every time he wrecked his bike or busted open an eyebrow, she'd pulled that brown bottle out of the medicine cabinet. How bad could it be if moms used it on their kids?

He didn't remember it doing much worse than stinging, but he'd never had a hole in him as large or deep as the one Daniel had. He decided whatever harm it might cause would be worth whatever good it may do, and he put it on the ground next to his knee. Everything else, he arranged on top of the box, so it would be easy to get to when he needed it. Just before he twisted the lid on the peroxide, the bottle of Tylenol caught his eye. It looked rather pitiful and pathetic, sitting there with its plain white bottle and red cap. It was so simple, so basic, and it could be bought at any store in the country. It might bring Daniel's fever down, but what about the pain?

It had taken him long enough to recover from being patched up the first time. How much worse would it be the second? There was no way Tylenol would be strong enough to touch it. Johnny stood up, jumped over to his own bag, and unzipped it. He suspected it would take a hell of a lot more than a half-pint that time, so he was glad he'd brought the fifth. He ran back to Daniel, knelt back down, and put the bottle on the ground.

"Not what I planned to do with all my booze, ya know." He was talking to himself, but the silence was starting to get to him. "Just so ya know, I'm running a tab for you. You're paying me back for all this." He picked up one of the water bottles and opened it.

He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what he was about to do. He could hardly stomach the sight of Daniel's wound — the curled-up edges of the swollen skin, the streaks of not just red but purple and black that radiated from it, the vaguely orangish mix of blood and pus that oozed from it and spilled out over his stomach and side. He tried to swallow the bile that rose into his mouth, but it refused to go down, so he turned his head and spat it out.

How was he going to clean and bandage a wound he couldn't even look at without wanting to puke?

'Stop screwing around.'

'I'm not!'

He reached back into the box with his other hand, grabbed a pack of dressings, and ripped it open with his teeth. "Yeah. You owe me booze." He picked up the one-sided conversation where he'd left off. It was absolute nonsense, but it was better than listening to that voice in his head again. "You're buying me the good stuff, though." He poured some water on the gauze in his hand, and he took two deep breaths before he made himself start wiping the skin around the wound. "Real Scotch. From Scotland. The expensive stuff. What's it called?"

With the surface cleaned, he put the lid back on the water and opened the peroxide. He didn't bother with the gauze, thinking it better to get it over with as soon as possible. He tipped the bottle and dumped it directly on the swollen, oozing hole in Daniel's side. The red-tinged infection erupted into a swirling mass of orange-tinted bubbles. "Glenfarc—"

He didn't know what surprised him more — the scream or the fist that slammed into the side of his face.

"Hey!" He shouted as he watched the bottle of peroxide go flying, spilling its contents on the ground. "LaRusso, what the hell?"

Someone had flipped that switch again, but it was a hundred times worse. Daniel was howling like a wounded animal, scrabbling his foot and hands against the ground, trying to push himself away. Every time he moved, his wound got pulled open wider, and more infection pumped out of it.

"LaRusso! Stop!"

Johnny tried to grab him and hold him still, but Daniel was still fighting, arms swinging wildly. He had to duck to avoid catching another fist with his face. Then Daniel started swiping and clawing at his wound like he was trying to rip a chunk out of his own flesh.

"Hey!" He glanced at Daniel's side. The reddish-yellow color of the pus had given way to red — dark red. The wound wasn't oozing infection anymore; blood was running from it freely. And Daniel was making it worse.

"Stop!" he cried out. "Daniel, stop!"

But Daniel didn't stop. He kept screaming, and he kept fighting, and Johnny couldn't hold him.

"You're alright, Daniel," he said. "It's okay. You're okay."

"No. No!" Daniel fought with every ounce of strength he had left, trying to get away from whatever was hurting him. "Burns! It burns!"

That was why peroxide was bad!

"Oh, shit," Johnny muttered. "Okay. I got it. I'm gonna fix it. Let me …" He did everything he remembered his mom doing to make that burning sting go away. He tried waving his hand over it, tried using the last of the water from the open bottle to wash it away. He even tried blowing on it. None of it helped.

Nothing was working, and he was out of ideas. He couldn't make it stop; he could only try to make it easier. So he knelt behind Daniel, hauled him up from the ground, pulled his back against his chest, and pinned his arms to his sides. He could only hope to keep him from hurting himself worse while he screamed and struggled his way through Johnny's latest massive fuck up.

And pray that Mike was still too far away to hear him.

He whispered the same stupid platitudes in Daniel's ear he'd used earlier. "It's okay. You're okay." He didn't know if Daniel could hear a word he was saying, but it was all he had to offer. "I'm right here. I got ya."

Daniel's voice gave out before the pain did. His screams became broken and breathy, and then they became silent. He dragged frantic gasps of air into his lungs, and the effort they'd both put into getting his breathing fixed had been in vain. He clutched at the back of Johnny's shirt with one hand and gripped his arm with the other. He turned his head to the side, buried his face in Johnny's shoulder, and let out one last weak, desperate cry.

"Daniel …"

The wail became a whimper and then faded away, taking the last bit of strength he had with it, and he crumpled in on himself.

"Johnny," he gasped. His shoulders were heaving, his breathing was ragged, and his whole body was racked by tremors. "Done."

"Yeah," Johnny said, rubbing his hand up and down Daniel's arm absently. "You're done. It's over. You made it." He didn't know if that was true or not, but he didn't much care if it wasn't. Making Daniel believe it was true was all that mattered. "You got this."

"No. No more." One- and two-word sentences. "Johnny. Please." One syllable words. "Done." Gasps for air between them.

"I'm. Done."

And with those two words, it became impossible for Johnny to pretend he didn't know exactly what Daniel meant.

An invisible fist slammed into Johnny's chest and drove all the air from his lungs. The same phantom hand grabbed his heart and squeezed it, tied his stomach in knots, and lodged itself in his throat, nearly choking him. It sapped all the strength from his muscles, and he couldn't keep himself upright. His legs went out from under him, and he landed on his ass on the ground. He didn't feel the jolt of pain that shot up his spine and down his legs. He didn't hear the hiss that escaped between his own teeth.

All of his attention was focused on the shaking, shuddering, sobbing Daniel LaRusso in his arms.

"Please. Stop. Just let me. Done."

"No."

He tried to put force behind it, but he failed. He was almost as desperate for it to be over as Daniel was, but he wouldn't let him give up. He couldn't. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the top of Daniel's hair. "I can't."

He didn't know how he got the words out, but he knew where they were coming from. They'd been building all day. He'd allowed himself to think and say them to himself on the cliff, and he didn't see a point in keeping them hidden anymore. Something drastic had changed between them, and he couldn't pretend it hadn't. It wasn't about the kids. It wasn't about Kreese or Mike. It wasn't about Miguel and Robby. It wasn't even about Johnny.

It was about Daniel. It always had been.

"I can't, Daniel." He tightened his arms around him. "I won't." Daniel's head rolled back and forth against Johnny's chest. "We've come too far. You've fought … God, you've fought so fucking hard. We're almost there. I can't."

He opened his eyes, tipped his head back, and stared up at the sky. The tears he'd been ignoring all those hours filled his eyes. He let his head fall forward until it was resting on Daniel's still-shaking shoulder.

"I won't let go," he whispered. "Let it out. It's okay. I'm right here, and I won't let go." If he'd thought about the words before they left his lips, he may not have spoken them, so he didn't let himself think. For the first time, he let himself feel. He didn't try to hold it back or ignore it or avoid it. He stopped pushing it away to deal with later.

He felt it all.

"The boys need you," he said.

'Say it.'

"Robby needs you."

'Say it.'

"And …"

'Say it, you fucking coward.'

"God damn it!"

'Say it!'

He buried his face in Daniel's neck, and he allowed the tears to fall.

"So do I."

"Off the edge of the mountainside …"

He knew where they'd gone. They'd had nowhere else to go.

He'd chosen their "escape" route. He'd decided what direction they would go. He'd herded them toward the edge. And like the good little sheep they were, they'd gone right over. He may as well have pushed them. He couldn't deny he would have enjoyed that — he'd been regretting not throwing Daniel LaRusso off a cliff since he was seventeen years old — but he hadn't touched them. He hadn't revealed himself to them. He hadn't spoken to them. He had done nothing. They'd done it all for him.

They thought jumping into the lake was their idea. He did nothing to challenge that belief. They thought he'd given up and walked away. He wanted them to think that. They thought they'd evaded him. He chose to let them believe it. They thought he didn't know where they were. He took pleasure in letting them delude themselves.

He'd smiled as he watched them swim away.

"The monkey chased the weasel."

He'd known where they were going. They'd had no other options.

LaRusso couldn't walk, and Blondie was exhausted from dragging him around. They had no choice but to stop and rest. The wounds he'd inflicted on LaRusso — and the ones they'd inflicted on themselves — needed attention. There would be bandages and braces and undoubtedly more of that ridiculous bonding they'd taken to doing. Those things would take time. He knew the most direct path back, and he'd used it. He'd taken his time, and he hadn't run. He'd been in no hurry. He'd known they would still be there when he reached the camp.

He knew the area as well as LaRusso did. He probably knew it better. He'd scouted the most concealed observation points. He'd been using them all day. He settled into the closest one and watched them through the trees. LaRusso tried to tend to Blondie's back. Blondie tried to help LaRusso breathe. He smiled when he saw the first aid kit. He laughed when he saw the booze. He knew the peroxide was a wonderfully, horribly, terrifically painful idea. He looked forward to seeing LaRusso's reaction to it.

He imagined they felt safe. Surrounded by their own possessions. In a familiar place. He imagined they had hope. They'd made it that far. They were almost to the car. But hope and safety were fragile. They could be destroyed easily. They were also effective at controlling prey. They could be perverted into fear. They could be utilized as weapons. And he was enjoying the game too much to want it to end. So, he would allow them their illusion. He would grant them their false sense of security. He would even let them see what they believed was their salvation before he shattered it right in front of them.

It would make destroying them that much sweeter.

"The monkey's game is nearly done …"

The sound erupted and exploded around him. It wasn't unexpected, but it was earlier than he'd anticipated. It was familiar to him. He'd heard hundreds of people make that sound. But it was different. Stronger. Physical. Visceral. It cut through the stillness of the late afternoon. It fractured the silence of the mountain. It split the air and sent birds into the sky. It welled up through the trees, echoing and bouncing between them. He breathed it in. It sliced into his mind. Sent chills down his spine. Ripples of electricity flowed across his skin.

He didn't recognize it for what it was. Not at first. The screams continued, each more desolate than the last. They came in waves of increasing intensity. Pain. Misery. Anguish. He felt them crashing into him. Washing over him. Rising and falling and rising again. He'd felt nothing for so many years. But that sound — Daniel LaRusso surrendering to his own mortality, crying out to whatever god he believed in, raging against the dying of his light — was incredible. It reached into him. It grabbed hold of him. It captivated him. For the first time in decades, he didn't stop it. He welcomed it. He wanted it. He needed it.

He closed his eyes. He bit his lip. He spread his fingers on the ground. He felt it building. He braced himself against it.

He felt it all.

He'd spent thirty-four years keeping it at bay. Denied it. Shoved it into the same dark place he kept the memory of his failure. His defeat. Daniel LaRusso. The boy who'd destroyed him. He'd made him his prisoner. He'd locked him away. Hidden him. Buried him. Kept him for himself. But he hadn't known. He hadn't understood. He hadn't imagined the boy who'd destroyed him could become the man who set him free. Daniel LaRusso made him feel.

As the screams faded, he realized he never wanted that feeling to go away. He didn't want to lose it. He wanted to chase it. He didn't want it to leave him. He wanted to capture it. He didn't want it to end. He wanted to surrender himself to it.

One last weak, desperate cry rang out. Something in his mind snapped. Pleasure like he'd never felt. Release like he'd never known existed. It crested over him. It dragged him under. Daniel LaRusso's agony. His bliss. He shuddered. He gasped. He threw his head back. He fell into oblivion.

Mike Barnes opened his eyes and smiled.

"Pop! Goes the weasel."