There was a rushing sound out in the woods, and I saw the tops of several trees swaying in succession as something, something big, moved among them. From tree to tree, the unseen threat moved, circling the little glade. I looked down and saw ripples on the surface of my coffee. My hand was trembling.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son," he said. He took a sip of his coffee and regarded the motion in the trees without fear. "You know what it is. You know what it wants."

I swallowed. "The demon."

He nodded, blue eyes on mine.

"I don't suppose—"

"I'm fresh out of vorpal swords," my father said. He reached into the pack and tossed me a miniature candy bar. "The closest I can get is a Snickers snack."

"You call that a funny line?" I asked.

"Look who's talking."

"So," I said. "Why haven't I dreamed about you before?"

"Because I wasn't allowed to contact you before," my father said easily. "Not until others had crossed the line."

"Allowed?" I asked. "What others? What line?"

He waved a hand. "It isn't important. And we don't have much time here before it returns."

I sighed and rubbed at my eyes. "Okay, I'm done with the stupid nostalgia dream. Why don't you go back to wherever you came from and I'll have a nice soothing dream of going to work naked."

He laughed. "That's better. I know you're afraid, son. Afraid for your friends. Afraid for yourself. But know this: You are not alone."

I blinked at him several times. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm not a part of your own subconscious, son. I'm me. I'm real."

"No offense, but of course the dream version of you would say that," I said.

He smiled. "Is that what your heart tells you I am? A dreamed shadow of memory?"

I stared at him for a minute and then shook my head. "It can't be you. You're dead."

He stood up, walked around the fire, then dropped to one knee beside me. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Yes. I'm dead. But that doesn't mean that I'm not here. It doesn't mean that I don't love you, boy."

The light of the fire blurred in front of my eyes, and a horrible pang went through my chest. "Dad?"

His hand squeezed tighter. "I'm here."

"I don't understand it," I said. "Why am I so afraid?"

"Because you've got more to lose than you ever have before," he said. "Your brother. Your friends. You've opened yourself up to them. Loved them. You can't bear the thought of someone taking them away from you."

"It's getting to be too much," I said. My voice shook. "I just keep getting more wounded and tired. They just keep coming at me. I'm not some kind of superhero. I'm just me. And I didn't want any of this. I don't want to die."