A/N - The beginning of this story is an idea I've seen in multiple Jason x Michael stories. I really didn't want to copy the idea, but it's really the only thing that makes sense to me.

*M*

The car crash was nothing to Michael, other than another misfortune in his life. The famed Haddonfield killer expected something like this to happen. It always does. But, he was happy with it. Less work that he had to do to escape. He glanced around the wrecked vehicle, double checking that both the driver and passenger were dead. We don't want any witnesses, now do we?

Michael brushed the dirt off his mechanic suit. He took in his surroundings, taking note of the thick forests on either side of the road. He thought for a moment before choosing to wander into the woods. Myers didn't want to be around if someone happened to pass by and call the police. As much as he loved the thought of brutally murdering any people who would arrive, he didn't want to have to deal with them. He was much too tired from the drugs the doctors administered, which were still slightly in his system. The forest was quiet, only the sound of Michael's muffled breathing and his large work boots hitting the dirt could be heard.

The so-called psycho came to a clearing in the woods. The area looked like what he assumed was a camp, the water of the lake beside it seemed to glitter in the sunlight. Michael saw a sign over near the entrance to the area, which he curiously read. "Camp Crystal Lake" it said. Ah, so it was a camp! Come to think of it.. The name sounded familiar to him. There were a few small cabins lined in a row, they looked beat up and old, he didn't think they've been used in a while. A dim light in one of the cabins caught Michael's eye. Maybe somebody was there after all. The killer slowly made his way over to the cabin, as he got closer to the old building, he saw how bad it really looked. The wood looked rotted, any metals on the building were rusted and falling apart.

He gently pushed open the cabin door, peaking in to make sure nobody was inside. When he was sure it was empty, he entered, shutting the door behind him. Myers was glad to see that the inside of the cabin was a lot more nice than the outside. The walls on the inside didn't look as rotted or fallen apart, the furniture that was placed around wasn't the prettiest, but he was sure they got their respective jobs done well . The cabin was only one floor, but he assumed that it wasn't meant to hold many people anyway. The living room was small and attached to an even smaller kitchen. He raided the kitchen of its largest knife and gripped it tightly in his hand. Michael traveled down the hallway, passing a tiny bathroom with only a toilet, sink, and stand-up shower. At the end of the hall were two bedrooms. They both held decent sized beds, dressers, and nightstands, the essentials for a nice bedroom.

Suddenly, the door of the cabin slammed open. Michael whirled around to see who -or what- it was that came in. An absolute giant of a man stood in the doorway, Myers' breath caught in his throat as he took in the glory that this man was. His eyes widened a little when he saw the weapon the other had. A machete, dripping blood, was held in the giant man's hand, leaving a small puddle of the red substance that collected on the hardwood floor. Michael brought his eyes back up to look at his face, which was covered with an old looking hockey mask, decorated with a few red markings. The man was breathing heavily, Michael thought he looked angry, probably because he barged into his home uninvited. But it's not like he could leave now, this man was basically a brick wall standing in between freedom and death.

After so long of staring at the massive figure, he remembered why this place seemed so familiar. It's that camp from the story his psychiatrist, Dr. Loomis, told him. The one about a little boy who drowned and apparently came back to haunt the camp. Jason was his name. Jason Voorhees. Doing another full-body check of the man standing in front of him, he kindly assumed that this was the famed Jason Voorhees. Jason tilted his head slightly, probably wondering why Michael was just staring at him. Myers hoped that the undead killer understood sign language. He cautiously made motions with his hands to talk to the other killer.

/Are you... The killer from that weird story? Jason Voorhees, right?/ The psycho signed. Jason bobbed his head slightly in a nod. Michael was relieved that he could understand sign language. He didn't want to have to use his voice. Myers laughed quietly at himself, thinking about how frustrated his psychiatrist would because of him being so silent. He enjoyed watching the grey-haired man grumble to himself while scratching down who knows what on his notepad.

His eyes met Jason's again for a moment before the undead killer shoved passed Michael, heading to the bathroom. He turned around to face the hallway, hearing the water running in the sink and the tinging from metal hitting a counter top. Michael decided to take the opportunity to leave, swiftly exiting the cabin before the other came back out. He strolled down a dirt path that had multiple different trails attached, he chose the one that looked like it could take him the farthest away from the other man's cabin. He surely thought that he should be dead by now, should've been sliced in half by the machete-wielding killer. He was glad that he wasn't though. Cause somewhere in the back of his mind, he was hoping he would be able to run into Jason again. A smile spread across the psycho's mask-covered face at the thought of seeing the wonderful specimen of a man again.

This was surely going to be interesting.

*J*

Jason wished that something interesting would finally happen around here. Something new. Y'know, something other than horny, high teenagers intruding all the time. It's always the same old thing. Kill, kill, kill, and wow, kill again. Sometimes he'll go visit his mom and tell her the stories of how he killed each teen, he's always looking for ways to make her proud of him. She listens to him, sometimes even giving him some tips for future murders, which Jason always appreciates and keeps in mind.

Jason was heading back to his cabin after he had killed a small group of teens. When he got to his cabin, he felt like something was... Off... He opened the door way too hard, the door went slamming into the wall. He was startled to see a smaller man in his cabin. The man wore a dark blue mechanic's suit and had a white, emotionless mask covering his head. Something about him reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. The little man was weaponized with a kitchen knife. Jason's grip on his machete tightened out of reflex. He noticed the man's eyes go wide at the sight of his weapon.

The small man just sat there, staring. It was starting to make Jason uncomfortable. He tilted his head at the other, who took a deep breath and began waving his hands at Jason. He was doing sign language.

/Are you... The killer from that weird story? Jason Voorhees, right?/ The man signed to him, his hands looked incredibly soft, Jason had the sudden urge to reach out and take hold of them. Jason answered his question with a quick nod. He didn't think his story was odd. How dare he say that? The man's eyes softened, he looked relieved about something. He chuckled to himself, which made Jason a little more uncomfortable. Was he... Checking him out? Okay, he needed to get out of there.

The smaller man made eye contact with him again, then Jason shoved passed him to get to his bathroom. He turned on the sink and placed his machete on the counter. He grabbed an old rag from the towel rack, added soap to it, and scrubbed at the blood covering the blade of his weapon. Soon, the machete blade was looking shiny and new again. He smiled brightly under his mask at his work. Jason tries to keep the machete in as good of shape as he can. It was his mother's, after all. He shut the tap off and tossed the now blood-soaked rag into the tiny laundry basket beside the sink. When he exited the bathroom, he saw that the man in the mechanic suit was no longer there. He frowned, feeling a bit... Sad.. That he didn't stick around. Then again, Jason doesn't think he made the greatest first impression.

He remembered that he didn't ask for the other's name. He knew Jason's, but Jason doesn't know his! He began giving himself trouble for not using proper manners. But it wasn't really his fault. Something about the man with the emotionless mask made him feel something. He wasn't quite sure, but whenever they made eye contact, Jason's heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest. He had the desire to give the world to this small man, and he surely wanted to try to do so.

All he can do is hope that the man would come back soon.

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