NOTE: I don't own any of these characters. Seriously, not a single one. And I just wanted to get this off my chest because I had a dream that this happened. And then Windyfontaine made a suggestion that was somewhat similar, so I elected to write it. It's odd, but so am I, so it works out. By the way, Blairstown is a real place, but I'm making up everything that happens there. Sorry.

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Sam Winchester sat straight up in bed, the familiar pains of a receding vision gnawing at his aching head. Breathing heavily but not wanting to wake his brother, he rolled off the squeaky bed and headed for the bathroom. This last vision was completely bizarre. If he and Dean hadn't been so exhausted from their most recent hunt, he would have immediately gotten the elder Winchester up to use as a sounding board. Sam almost didn't believe the flashing scenes he'd seen in his own mind.

As the door to the bathroom swung shut, Dean opened one eye. He'd heard his brother get up and knew it was either a nightmare or a vision. Either way, Sam would want to need to talk about it. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rolled onto his back, flicking the switch on the lamp so the room was dimly lit. Then he rested his head on his hands and prepared to wait his little brother out.

After a few minutes of throwing cold water in his face, Sam turned off the light and opened the door, immediately noticing the lamp. Sheepishly, he hung his head as he returned to his bed and crawled under the covers.

"Well?" Dean prompted.

"Sorry," the younger hunter muttered.

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant, and you know it, Sammy. Nightmare or Vision?"

"It's Sam," came the automated response. "Uh . . . I'm pretty sure it was a vision."

Dean sat up, leaning against the headboard. "Pretty sure? You've been having these for a while now, Sam. I know you know the difference between a nightmare and a vision."

"Yeah, well – this was odd."

"I find that almost everything about you is odd, geek boy," Dean grumbled. "What about this is so different? I mean, normally you're throwing up from watching people die or cradling your head in your hands from the pain of it, not splashing water in your face in the middle of the night. What happened? Did you see people die?"

Sam took a deep breath. "I did see people die, Dean. It's just . . ." He trailed off.

"What?"

"Have you ever seen 'Friday the 13th'?"

Dean's eyes roamed around the room wildly as his brain tried frantically to connect Sam's statements together. "Yeah, why?"

"That's what I was dreaming about."

"You dreamed that you saw a scary movie?"

"No, I dreamed that we were hunting the guy with the chainsaw."

It was all the elder Winchester could do to refrain from laughing. Finally, he asked, "Wait – dreamed or had a vision?"

"That's the thing, Dean. I don't think it was a dream, but I can't have a vision of a movie."

"Why not?"

"Because my visions are premonitions – they're of things that are going to happen! They're not flashbacks from things that Hollywood producers thought up."

"Well, Sam, it may sound strange, but those visions of yours have never been wrong yet. We should at least check it out."

"You want to check out a vision about a movie?"

Dean smiled. "Did you get Hollywood coordinates with this vision?"

"Don't you know where it took place?"

"In a fictional place, Sam. Do you know where your vision took place?"

Sam sat up again, still under his blanket. "New Jersey."

"Did you really get coordinates?" Dean asked, surprised.

"No. The guy with the chainsaw told me where to find him."

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It only took about twelve hours for the Winchesters to arrive at their destination in Blairstown, New Jersey, where they found many upset locals. Apparently, teenagers had been found in the nearby forest, hacked to death with some sort of saw or axe. And no one could explain it. Naturally, since the sun was setting, the air was slightly chilly, and everything was eerily lit by the rising full moon, the brothers somehow decided it would be a good idea to head straight to the forest to hunt this Jason creature down.

"You don't suppose it's just another thing that became real since so many people believed the movie, do you?" Sam asked as they drove.

"Please, Sammy – that was one of the worst scary movies ever. Terrible acting."

"Dean, some people are actually scared by scary movies, since they don't hunt those types of things all the time."

Dean sniffed. "True. But I can't imagine this guy becoming real just because some terrified movie-goers thought it might be true."

They pulled to the side of the road at the forest and got out of the car, arming themselves with handguns. Sam tucked a knife in his belt when Dean turned around. He hated to seem petulant and worried, but the images from his vision still flashed through his mind, making logic and reasoning almost impossible. With a quick glance at each other, they headed straight in to the darkness of the trees.

The two had been walking in the forest for about an hour, eyes shifting competently even though their gaits were casual. Sam had his gun out at the ready still, although Dean had long gotten sick of holding the gun out, still not totally convinced that this Hollywood chainsaw guy was what was killing people. And his carelessness showed through loud and clear when he tripped. He put a hand out to catch himself before his brain belatedly caught up to him and registered what he had tripped on. It was the top of an old well. His arm slammed painfully into the side of it as he tumbled to the bottom with a splash. Briefly, he realised his ankle hurt, too, but that thought went away when he found himself in three inches of icy water.

"Dean!" Sam was calling from up above.

"Yeah," Dean snapped back, irritated with his own delinquency in tripping.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine; just hurt my pride."

"Really?" Sam asked skeptically. "Then why did you yell 'ow' when you hit the wall?"

"Get me out of here, Sam," Dean hissed. "And I mean sooner rather than later. Two minutes ago would be nice."

Sam grinned. "I'll be right back, then." And he ran off.

Dean had only a few short minutes to sit by himself before his brother returned with something in his arms. And those few minutes were interesting for the trapped hunter. He came to a fascinating realisation that he suddenly wanted to share. "You know, Sam, in a sick, Winchester-twisted sort of way, this makes me feel better."

Sam stopped what he was doing to look at his brother. "Being stuck in a wet well makes you feel better?"

"I'm always having this complex that you're about to get hurt and it's my fault, but this time I fell down into the well and I didn't even do it to save you."

Sam nodded uncertainly, trying to appease his brother even though he was having doubts about said brother's sanity at the moment. "Must be hypothermia," he murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing, Dean. You were saying?"

"Yeah, well, I realised that even though I always want to save you, you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. And I'm not invincible."

"That discovery only took two decades too long to make."

"Come on, Sammy, I'm trying to make a statement here."

"You're wet, you're injured, and you're trying to instigate a chick-flick moment, Dean," Sam countered calmly. "So I'm going to discount pretty much everything you say."

"What does my being wet have to do with anything?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I'm tossing you a rope. Tie it around yourself so I can pull you out."

Dean flinched as the thick twine hit him, but quickly did as his brother suggested. "You think you can drag me out of here by yourself, Sammy?"

"Sam," the younger hunter corrected. "And I know I can."

Dean chuckled in spite of the situation, shrugging off more shivering . . . that is, until he felt himself get jerked into the air. He twitched, instinctively grasping for something to hold onto in order to steady himself, and stopped when he heard his brother's strained voice from above.

"Stop . . . moving . . . Dean," Sam ground out as he pulled on the rope, moving Dean upward surprisingly quickly. "Makes . . . it . . . harder."

"Sorry," he answered, trying to still his movements as much as possible.

Within a few short minutes, Dean felt his brother's hands on his jacket, bodily dragging him up and over the edge of the well. They both dropped to the ground, Sam panting his exhaustion and Dean shaking from the cold, moisture, and pain.

"Thanks," Dean finally said, holding his injured wrist tight to his body and grumbled as he remembered that his gun had dropped from his hand in the water when he landed.

Sam was sitting up at this point, coiling the rope around his hand and elbow to put it away. "Thanks for having a rope in your trunk," he answered. "I guess this means you pretty much saved yourself."

"You know me, Sammy. Always prepared."

Sam snorted and climbed to his feet, offering Dean a hand up. When the two were on their feet again, the elder Winchester smiled up at his little brother. "As fun as that was, let's not make a habit of you saving me, okay?"

"Don't make a habit of needing to be saved, and then I won't have to."

"I won't," Dean grumbled, wincing as he put weight on his right ankle and pain shot up his whole leg. He tried to "walk it off," as their father had always taught them to, but Sam caught the movement before he could recover.

"What's wrong now?"

"Nothing," the elder hunter said, shrugging in typical Dean fashion.

Sam stopped what he was doing once again so he could give his full attention to the "I'm not as dumb as you seem to think I am" expression that he carefully painted across his face. He even put his hands on his hips to complete the look.

Dean looked away for a second, and then turned back. "What?"

Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Sighing frustration, Dean threw up his arms. "Fine," he growled. "I think I twisted my ankle when I fell. Happy?"

An almost evil grin creased Sam's face. "Admitting you have a problem is half of the battle, Dean."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean snapped as he tried to hobble away. Sam's smile faded, and he quickly put his shoulder under his brother's good arm for support, snaking his free arm around Dean's waste. To his surprise, the elder Winchester offered no resistance. He must have been in a lot of pain.

"You all right?" Sam asked after they had walked for a few minutes in silence.

"Wonderful."

"Well, we'll be at the car in just a minute and then you can be wonderful at the motel."

"What about the hunt, Sam?"

"We'll finish it in the morning."

Dean stopped moving, wrenching himself away from his younger brother. "In the morning? As in after more people die?"

Sam took a deep breath. "What do you want to do? You want to finish it tonight? You want to go out there and limp around trying not to get yourself killed? You want to get chased down and hacked up by a chainsaw? Is that what you want, Dean?"

The older hunter was taken aback by this unexpected outburst. "You saying I can't fight?"

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean, I'm saying you're not at a hundred percent. I'm saying this guy has been killing people for decades, and he knows what he's doing. I'm saying you've been injured and it hampers your ability to defend yourself."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and finally Dean sniffed in the chilly night air. "So what then?"

"Look," the younger Winchester offered, holding out his hands to his sides, "we can go back to the motel and try again tomorrow, or I can finish this myself. Those are the options right now."

"I don't like those options."

"I know, but there aren't any others."

"I can fight this thing, Sam."

Sam almost smiled mirthlessly. "Dean, you feel overly protective of me, especially when I'm not functioning at my best. You feel like you need to defend me and make sure nothing even looks at me wrong, Did you really believe it doesn't go both ways?"

Dean hadn't ever thought about it like that before. And in spite of how much he wanted to argue, he knew it was true. Just as he never would have allowed his shivering, wet, little brother to continue a hunt – especially with a twisted ankle – he couldn't make Sam do both the hunting and the protecting. It was dangerous enough to be hunting this creature, but adding the fact that his brother's attention would be divided between their prey and himself made it nigh onto suicide. And that was completely unspeakable.

Sam could feel his older brother's reluctant acceptance of their predicament long before Dean ever responded. So when the resounding "Fine," echoed in his ears, he had already moved back into his position as a human crutch until they could get back to the car. And before they had taken two steps, they heard a familiar rumbling begin, causing them both to halt once more.

"Tell me that's not a chainsaw," Sam whispered.

"Tell me we're really close to the car," Dean shot back softly.

"We're really close to the car," the young hunter mumbled unconvincingly.

"Then that's not a chainsaw," came the snide reply. "What?" he asked when Sam glared. "You lie to me and I'm going to lie to you."

Sam suddenly shoved them both behind a nearby tree and bit his bottom lip in thought, unconsciously steadying his brother with one hand. "Here's what we're going to do," he announced as he pulled the gun from his pants with his free hand. "You're going to make a break for the car . . . as quickly as you can." He checked the clip to make sure it was full, even though he had checked it three times before they'd left.

"And you?" Dean asked with some degree of curiosity and some dread.

"I'm going to finish this."

"We don't know exactly how to kill him yet, Sam. People have burned him, axed him, shot him, stabbed him and thrown him from a four-story building but nothing has kept him down."

"I appreciate the recap, Dean, but I already did the research, remember? Anyway, just get to the car and I'll be there in thirty minutes." He put the gun back and made sure his silver knife was where he left it.

"Thirty minutes? Just like that?"

Sam finally focused his attention back on his brother. "What do you want? Would you rather I promise to be back in ten? I'm good, Dean, but seriously –"

"I just want you to be realistic, Sam," Dean growled.

"Fine. I'll be there in three hours. Now run along."

Dean was going to argue with that. At the very least, he was going to say something witty and sarcastic and rude to his brother. But Sam had already turned around and headed away before he could come up with something suitable. Standing and staring at his little brother's retreating back, the elder hunter could only shake his fist angrily and hobble toward the car in order to relieve at least a small portion of Sam's worry. By the time he made it to his precious impala, though, his own worry for his brother was overriding any of the logic that had separated them in the first place. He opened the trunk of the car, pulling out his trusty shotgun, kerosene, and two long knives. Yes, all of that had been tried before; however, his brain could get past the "my little brother is out with a demonic madman and no way to kill it" stage. He could still hear the sound of the chainsaw, but hadn't heard any noises that might suggest Sam was anywhere near the guy. That was comforting, in a strange way.

Once he had everything strategically placed on his person, Dean locked the car and headed back into the forest. As the sounds of the saw grew louder, the elder hunter's ears picked up something far more terrifying. He heard a woman screaming, and then Sam's voice shout, "NO!" Then there was the slight catch in the chainsaw's motor as it obviously hit something solid.

Then there was silence.

"SAM!" Dean shouted as he tried – unsuccessfully – to run to where he thought he'd last heard sounds. He hadn't gotten very far when he heard the chainsaw start up again . . . right behind him.