Title: Break Down and Cry
Summary: The last time Sam saw his brother, Dean claimed his name was Jason. Friday the 13th crossover. Sequel to "And The Warden Sang."
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers for My Bloody Valentine and Friday the Thirteenth.
A/N: After I posted "And The Warden Sang," my MBV crossover, people requested that I do one for F13, as well. Honestly, I hadn't planned to, but my muse attacked me with a machete, and these are the scars I have to show for it.
A/N2: Song lyrics and title are from the Taken by Trees version of Sweet Child o' Mine. It's the song played in the theatrical trailer for Last House on the Left. It's haunting.
Disclaimer: I don't own either of the movies or the show. I just like to dump sand from one sandbox into another and make a pretty castle.

Break Down and Cry

"Cas! Castiel!"

The angel was at his side in an instant. "Have you found anything?"

Sam nodded. "I think so." He handed over the local paper, flipped and folded to a page boasting a headline that declared massacre at an old summer camp.

Castiel took the paper from the hunter and skimmed the article, his eyes stopping on the picture of the only survivor before looking back at Sam. "I don't understand. He looks like you, but-"

"Not him. The article."

"Some people are truly monsters, but Dean-"

"Dean's been missing for a little over a month," Sam reminded him, "and the first group of kids, including this guy's sister," he pointed at the picture, "went missing about six weeks ago."

"Yes, but Dean hasn't shown himself."

"Harry hasn't shown himself," Sam corrected. "Dean called once. While you were out fighting or whatever. Said he woke up in Kansas, some Podunk town called Smallville. He'd left by the time I got there."

"You should have told me."

"Why? It didn't change anything. We're still looking. If I had just locked the door behind me, he never could have run. You could have fixed him and we wouldn't have lost him."

"It wasn't your fault, Sam. No one could have guessed he would leave." He sighed, turning his attention back to the paper. "Now, what makes you think that Dean killed these people?"

"Last time we saw Dean, back in Pennsylvania, he said his name was Jason, right?"

"Yes. He'd also been Tom Hanniger and Harry Warden that day. Have you found out who Jason was?"

Sam nodded. "I think so." He took the paper from the angel and opened it up, tapping his finger on a highlighted sentence. "This kid, Clay, says that the guy who attacked them was named Jason."

"Was it Dean?"

"Dunno. Doesn't describe him. Poor kid's traumatized, though. Thought he killed the thing before it drowned his sister. Cops are saying he did it. He'd been hanging around the town for a while, acting kind of suspicious, and they're thinking that he based the kills off a local legend."

"But you think it was Dean."

Sam shrugged. "Best lead we've got right now. Crystal Lake's about a day's drive from here. You up for it?"

Castiel nodded. "Of course."

--Reminds Me Of Childhood Memories--

Clay Miller glared at the two detectives. "I've already told you," he growled. "I didn't kill Whitney. Or Jenna. Or Trent. Or any of them. It was Jason. And he's still out there. He's still alive. You have to stop him."

"We will, Mr. Miller," Castiel said with a reassuring nod. "We're on your side. Just tell us what happened."

He sighed. "My sister went out to Crystal Lake with some of her friends and she didn't come back. So I went looking for her. I found some punks in a lake house and then they started getting picked off one by one-"

"How?" Sam asked, leaning forward and trying to ignore the stark similarities between himself and the man who had been taken from a padded room.

"What?"

"How did they die? Blunt force trauma? Maybe their ribs were hacked open?"

Clay wrinkled his nose. "What the hell, man? No. he killed them however he could. Hatchets and coat hangers and he had a machete. Hell, he tried to shove my face into a woodchipper, but Whitney saved me." His voice cracked at the last bit and he closed his eyes. "He took opportunities, you know? He drowned her in the end. Jumped right the fuck out of the water and pulled her down. Left me. Bastard."

"But he never used a pick axe?" Sam clarified.

"What the hell would a pick axe be doing out in the middle of the woods?"

"Good question," Cas said, stepping around to Clay's back. "Now, this Jason-"

"Voorhees. It was Jason Voorhees."

"Very well. What did he look like?"

Clay shook his head. "I don't know. He was wearing a mask."

"A gas mask?" Sam offered. "Like the miners wear?"

"No. A goalie mask. Like, hockey. He was wearing a hockey mask and carrying a machete."

"Did he say anything?"

"No. Just came after us. No reason. We were there and he was there and I guess he didn't like that."

Sam nodded, his spirits sinking. "All right. Thank you, Mr. Miller."

"Don't thank me," Clay muttered. "Just make sure he's really dead this time."

--Where Everything Was As Bright As The Bluest Sky--

Sam picked his way slowly through the brush, branches grabbing at his legs as he stumbled. Castiel waked fluidly through the forest ahead of him, never tripping, never slowing except to give Sam a chance to catch up.

"We're almost there," he informed the angel as he glanced down at his map of the area. "Camp Crystal Lake."

Castiel turned and frowned at him. "You really believe that it's Dean?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. I mean, he's been known to do the masked killer thing before, and the names match up."

"He's laid low until now," the angel observed. "Why would this Jason start killing people now when he could have easily attacked us at the motel?"

"How come I never knew Dean was sick?" Sam countered. "How could I go through nearly 27 years of life and have no idea that there were three other people living inside my brother's head? It doesn't make sense, but I guess it doesn't have to. Turn onto this path here," he nodded in the direction of what used to be a trail, now choked with weeds.

Castiel turned down the path. "And what if it isn't him?"

"We kill it. Whatever it is. Simple as that."

"What if we can't find him?"

"Thing likes killing so much-"

The angel spun to face him. "That's not what I meant."

"We'll find him," Sam said, pushing past the angel, determination etched on his face. They would find him. They would find him and they would fix him. No more Tom. No more Harry. No more Jason. Just Dean. Sam's big brother and the savior of the world.

He shoved the map back into the duffle bag flung over his shoulder and kept walking. Hey had to find him. They had to fix him. If they didn't, people could die. Dean could die. Some people just wouldn't understand. Some people would take him for a monster. Some people-

A branch snapped to his left.

Sam turned in the direction of the sound, his body going stiff, readying for the attack. He glanced back at Castiel to see that the angel had stopped, too. They stared off into the forest.

Another twig snapped, this time off to their right. He was playing with them.

"Dean?" Sam called out. Nothing. "Tom? Harry?" Still nothing.

"Jason," Castiel added, his voice barely above a whisper. Sam glanced at him and gasped.

The angel was staring up a hulking figure in dark, torn clothing and a goalie mask. Jason.

The murderer cocked his head, a sick impression of the being he was staring at. He pulled a machete from the sheath at his side.

"Dean?" Sam choked.

Jason didn't even bother to look at him, just stuck the machete far enough through the angel that it came out the other side coated in blood. Castiel turned to the hunter and mouthed run.

For once in his life, Sam did exactly as he was told.

--Now And Then When I See Her Face--

The camp hadn't been too far from the place where the paths in the woods diverged. Sam ran under the old sign and straight toward the dilapidated cabins. He jogged up the steps of the sturdiest-looking one and wrenched open the door.

Boards had cracked and fallen, the old bunk beds were all lopsided, and the smell of decay permeated the air. All in all, maybe not the best place to hide, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice.

Sam hunkered down by one of the old beds and watched out the window, waiting to see if this new masked killer came his way.

Instead, there was a sudden rush of wind and the sound of flapping wings. The air around him cleared and Sam looked to see Cas on his knees beside him. A large pool of red was slowly spreading across his shirt, tie, and coat, but he didn't seem to be too disturbed by it.

"We need to leave," he whispered, "now. He's coming."

Sam nodded and got to his feet, ignoring the temptation to ask if the man with the machete was Dean or just some sick killer. He moved slowly toward the door, keeping himself low to the groaning floorboards in an effort to stay hidden.

He glanced back once to see Castiel inspecting the blood on his shirt, and then the door to the cabin opened with a bang. A large shadow stood silhouetted in the doorway, bloody machete held lax at his side.

Without thinking, Sam reached up and tore the hockey mask from the man's face. It wasn't Dean, he realized with a shudder. It wasn't Dean, was as far from Dean as anything ever got.

The flesh that had been hidden under the mask was twisted and deformed, bulging under small wisps of hair. Sam dropped the mask and stumbled back, falling into Castiel and through the rotting boards.

They fell together, the angel and the boy with the demon blood, down and down and down, and Sam was screaming, yelling to the heavens. It wasn't Dean. It wasn't Dean. It wasn't Dean.

It wasn't Dean.

And everything went black.

--She Takes Me Away To That Special Place--

Sam woke to dim light and a shockingly clean angel dragging him through an earthen tunnel.

"It wasn't Dean," he muttered.

"No," Castiel agreed, "but he's still dangerous."

"Where are we?"

The angel stopped walking and slowly lowered Sam's arm from its place around his shoulders. "I'm not sure. Under the camp, I suppose. We fell into an underground system of tunnels."

"Where is he? Where's Jason?"

"I don't know," Castiel confessed. "I hid us from his sight after we fell. He left the cabin. That was about fifteen minutes ago. You've been unconscious."

"Figured that out," Sam said. "What did I hit?"

"Me. You fell on me."

"Oh." And now that he looked, he could see the telltale purple of a bruise forming just above the angel's right eye. "Sorry."

"Nothing I can't fix." He started walking again, deeper into the tunnel. "We need to get out of here."

Sam stumbled a bit as he followed Castiel. "You know where you're going?"

"Hopefully out."

"Couldn't you just, I dunno, poof us out?"

Cas turned to look at him, amusement shining in his eyes. "Now where's the fun in that?" He sighed. "Besides, I've spent too much energy today, healing the vessel and keeping up with you."

Sam just nodded and let the angel lead him deeper into the tunnel. Funny, it kind of reminded him of a mineshaft. He almost expected the villain wearing his brother's face to jump out at them, brandishing a pick axe and threatening death.

Absently, he ran a hand over the rough walls of the tunnel. Dirt crumbled under his fingertips and rocks scratched roughly against his skin. "You think this was part of the old camp?"

"For both our sakes," Castiel muttered, "I hope it was."

"What you mean? You think that Jason guy knows about it?" He stopped, his hand catching on something hard on the dirt. He looked at the wall, the splattering of dried blood that had caked the dirt, turning it to smooth stone. A woman's shoe lay at his feet, her torso not too far ahead, set off into a bloody cove.

"Cas?" The angel turned. "I think he knows about it."

Behind them, something big and heavy hit the ground, the sound echoing down the rough walls.

"Shit."

--And If I'd Stare Too Long--

They ran. Sam realized fleetingly that it was probably the only time he'd ever see an angel run, and in the moment that the thought hit him, his foot snagged on a rock. He nearly went down, visions of death and destruction and machetes flashing though his mind before Castiel could reach back and pull him up to his feet.

He looked over his shoulder once to see if they were truly being followed. The man in the mask, Jason, was there, lumbering along. Taking his sweet time as he followed them through the twisting turns of the tunnel, machete glinting in the poor light, just bright enough that Sam could make out the dried blood on the blade.

There was no way this was ending well.

He turned back toward Cas, trusting the angel to at least know his way around, to have same sort of heavenly insight on the place. Heavy steps followed them as they turned into an off-shoot of the main path. Another corner, and Sam could have sworn he could hear the thing breathing. Another corner and he knew he could feel warm breath ghosting across the back of his neck.

That had nothing to do with their speed and everything to do with the fact that they'd just hit a dead end.

Sam spun and threw out his arms, an ingrained act designed to protect the apparently indestructible angel from harm. He found himself face-to-face with Jason, green eyes meeting the single dark orb that could be seen through the mask.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, backing himself and Castiel up until the angel was pinned against the wall.

Jason merely stared at him and tightened his grip on the machete, breathing deeply. Somewhere in the tunnel, there was a popping noise. The masked man turned his head slowly, looking for the source of the sound.

If he'd been a stupid teenager, or someone who hadn't dealt with monsters and legends before, Sam probably would have figured that someone had come to their rescue. The sad truth was, nobody knew that they were at the camp. Not Clay, not Uriel. Certainly not Dean.

So it was a rat. Just like the next noise, the one that made the lights far off in the tunnel dim. And the next, casting a whole section of earth into darkness.

Jason set off down through the cave, leaving Sam and Cas where they were. Saving them for later.

Another pop. More darkness spreading through the tunnels. Maybe it wasn't a rat.

Sam looked over his shoulder at the angel. "Are you..?"

Castiel shook his head. "I thought you were doing it."

Pop. Whistle. Moan.

Footsteps. Slow and calculated. Sam closed his eyes, wishing he'd thought to bring a gun or a knife or something. He regretting thinking he'd found his brother, thinking he'd tracked the Jason that Dean had thought himself to be. His hope, coupled with the fact that he refused to hurt the older man, would be his downfall.

Perfect.

A body rounded the corner, shorter and slimmer than Jason's. The machete had been traded out for a pick axe. The man stepped into the light and Sam gasped. "Dean?"

His brother's mouth curled into a snarl. "Think again, Sammy."

Sam felt himself fall back toward the wall, trying to put distance between himself and the man that obviously wasn't Dean Winchester. "Harry."

"Bingo. Been trying to track you down for a while now, boy."

"What happened to Jason?"

"Who? Smallville in here?" Harry tapped at his forehead with a scabbed and bloodied finger. "He tried to tie up some loose ends a few weeks back. You know intestines make the best rope for that kind of thing?"

"Not that Jason," Sam clarified. "That one." He pointed over Harry's shoulder at the hulking mass of a monster.

Harry turned in time to block the machete that was sailing through the air and toward his neck. Jason cocked his head, looking at the man that had halted his attack before letting his eyes rove over the pickaxe that has stopped his machete mid-swing.

Harry was the first to pull back, using the other man's apparent shock to lodge his axe in Jason's side.

Sam watched with wide eyes as the man that looked like his brother pulled the axe from flesh, expecting the body to fall. Jason just kept staring at him.

Harry took a step back, shocked by the turn of events, and swung the axe again. This time, Jason caught it. He used the tool to pull Harry closer, the shorter man just barely avoiding the blade of the machete. He spun in Jason's grasp and elbowed him in the stomach.

There was hardly a change in the taller man's stance, a barely perceptible wince as the force of the blow caused him to stumble back a step and loosen his grip. Harry ducked from his grasp and pulled the machete from his hand.

He held the weapon with the same skill and dexterity that Dean had always shown, but the look in his eyes was different. Dean fought for self-defense. Harry fought to kill.

He swung the machete, the blade slicing across Jason's face, cutting the mask in two and leaving a line of blood dripping down his disfigured features.

Harry stumbled back, closer to Sam. "Holy…"

Jason stared down at his fallen mask before his eyes tracked back up to Harry. His face contorted as he swung the pick axe. Harry leaned to the side and easily avoided the swing, his eyes still locked on the taller man's face.

The axe lodged in the hard-packed dirt of the tunnel walls, giving Harry the time he needed. He pulled himself from his daze and cleanly cut Jason's arm off at the elbow. The monster turned to him, eyes full of pain, and Harry dealt the final blow, shoving the man's own machete through his stomach.

Jason fell to his knees as Harry ripped the blade out and turned to his axe. He unwrapped Jason's fingers from the blood-soaked handle and wrenched it easily from the wall with the practiced ease of someone who had done it many times before.

Sam tried not to think about that as the sharp point of the axe fell through the top of Jason's head. Blood splattered as Harry ripped it out and set to work on the taller man's chest cavity, coating himself and Sam with the warm liquid.

Bones broke and blood flew and once the heart was visible, Harry stopped. Breathing hard, he dropped the axe, his hands shaking, and turned to Sam.

There were tears in his eyes. The blood on his face did little to cover the pain etched in every line, the self-loathing that Sam had missed so much since his brother had claimed a new name and run out into the night, disappearing, but apparently always one step behind.

"Please," Dean whispered, his voice hoarse and choked. "Help me."

--I'd Probably Break Down And Cry--

Castiel pushed past Sam and stepped toward the bloody man near the entrance of their off-shoot. Dean took a step back, holding his arms up as if to fend the angel off.

"Dean," Sam said, hating the way his hands were shaking from adrenalin, the way his voice filled with the unshed tears that over a month without his brother, a month chasing a killer had brought. "He can help. He was going to, before, but you - Jason - ran. Please, just let him help."

Dean shook his head. "You've gotta kill me, Sammy. I can… I can feel them," he tapped his forehead, almost exactly as Harry had, "up here. I always could, I guess, but now… There's so many. Before I just… he never…"

"You knew?"

"I'm sorry."

"You knew. About Tom and Harry and Jason."

"Tom," Dean shrugged. "He never… never did anything. Kept me company, I guess. I made up this whole life for him, with friends and a nice school. Even had a dog. But then-"

"He wanted to go back," Sam guessed. "He got too real."

"And Jason?" Castiel asked, using the conversation as a distraction, sneaking ever closer to his charge.

"Witch hunt," Dean explained. "Kansas. Year before the demon came back. Fake id. Fake family. Made some friends. Got selfish."

"They are born from your desires," Cas noted.

Dean shuddered. "Harry," he whispered.

"It's ok," Sam said. "It was Hell. Hell made Harry."

The older man nodded before finally noticing how close the angel had gotten. "What are you doing?"

"Making right what is wrong." Castiel reached out and placed his hands on either side of Dean's head. He let his eyes slip shut and bowed his head, muttering something under his breath.

Dean watched the angel with wide eyes, waiting for something to happen, for the insistent voices that had grown slowly louder over the previous month to finally quiet. Warmth spread from Castiel's hands and over Dean, seeping through his pores and going deeper, calming his thoughts and quieting his mind.

The hunter stumbled back, but Cas held him tight. Gripped him tight. Didn't let go until the warmth had faded from Dean's system, taking everyone with it. The angel raised his head and met Dean's eyes.

Dean blinked. "Um…"

"You're welcome," Castiel replied with a slight smile. He turned back to Sam. "Let's go."

Sam nodded as the angel turned back to lead the way out of the tunnels. He placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. "You ok?"

"I've killed more than twenty people in the last two months. How would you be?"

Sam flinched. "It wasn't you."

"But it was. You heard Cas. I made them. All of them."

"Harry-"

"I liked it." It was less than a whisper, little more than a breath. "When I woke up. When I remembered. When I thought about it. It was like I was back there."

"You didn't like Hell."

"No. But I had promise. They liked me. Like Tom's parents and friends liked him. Like Jason's mom and girlfriend liked him. They shouldn't have saved me."

Sam was about to ask who his brother was referring to, when he caught the glance that Dean was throwing toward the angel. "You didn't deserve to be there."

"Yeah, I did. Harry did. And sooner or later, they're gonna see that."

"You're better now," Sam pointed out. "Right?"

Dean nodded. "I guess. Can't feel them any more. But-"

"Then it's all right. Come on, let's get out of here." Sam passed his brother and followed after the angel, who had hung back for them. He heard Dean behind him, bringing up the rear, softly stepping over the dirt and blood.

They never saw Jason's body twitch. Never saw him reach out to grasp the pick axe that Dean had dropped beside his body. Never saw him climb to his feet. The only indication that he was even still alive came too late, with the sound of the axe slicing through the air.

Dean whirled and caught the tool by its handle, his eyes hardening as his mouth turned up in a snarl. "Not so fast, Pretty Boy."

--Oh, Oh, Oh, Sweet Child O' Mine--