My goodness, this has certainly been a long gap between updates! I'm, sorry everyone, but school's started again and I've had tons of homework. Exams are coming up, so I've got to study for those. And there's been some problems at home I'm still dealing with. I'll try and update again soon, but no promises.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter! There's actually some action in this! And kinda sweet, in a way. Enjoy! Hugs to to you :D

Dean wandered through the cemetery, looking out for the familiar, spine-tingling name. His mind wandered with him, meandering through different memories and thoughts. Most of them were about Sam. He wondered if Sam would be okay. He had no idea if Jason would try something back at the house, and if he did, it could end badly. He didn't want anything to happen to Sam.

"Over here," Mary called softly, her voice carrying far in the enclosing darkness.

Dean looked up, startled out of his thoughts. He saw Mary over by one of the graves at the far back of the cemetery, watching him. Her face was shadowed by the torchlight she was pointing at him, so he couldn't see her expression, but he knew it would be something along the lines of impassive mixed with concern. Concern that he might stuff up on this hunt.

He shook his head, walking towards her. He couldn't afford any mistakes. If Jason didn't die, he would continue to torment Sam in any way possible. He would kill him if he could, but not before torturing him the way he had done for years before. Dean knew he had to win this fight, but he wasn't sure he could. He'd fought harder battles than this, but never one with so much at stake. This fight saw Sam's fate turn one way or the other. He couldn't let the chance to pay back the bastard who'd hurt his brother to slip by him again. He'd let the son of a bitch get away once before, and he wasn't going to do it again.

As he reached Mary, they exchanged glances. He could see his mother's face now, and he'd been right. She was worried, and she had every right to be. Dean sighed, waiting for her to speak as he knew she wanted to.

"Are you okay? Can you do this?"

Dean looked at her with determination as he replied, "I can do this. I have to do this. I can't let him get away with everything he's done to Sam and me."
Mary nodded, and handed him a shovel. The pair started digging in silence, only the cold night air and the quiet chirping of crickets to keep them company.

/\/\

"John?"

John looked up as he heard his name being called in a quiet, worried tone. He saw Sam in the doorway, one hand bracing himself against it. He looked terrible, his eyes sunken and half-closed with exhaustion. The cuts on his face were still red and barely scabbed over yet. His skin was pale, and he was shaking slightly as if he were about to fall over.

"What's up?"

"Is Dean going to be okay?"

John sighed, and gestured for Sam to come over. The boy moved slowly, and John could see he was trying not to trip. He sat down heavily in the seat across from his father, hanging his head.

"Sam..."

"I don't want him to do anything stupid. He's gonna do something stupid, isn't he?"

John reached out and put a hand on his son's shoulder. He wasn't sure what to say, because Sam was probably right. In his state, Dean could go either way. He could win this fight, or he could lose. John knew neither he nor Sam was prepared for the consequences if Dean lost. Because if Dean lost, he would die.

"He'll do what he has to to make you safe."

"But what if he doesn't win? What if Jason beats him? He's strong, and now that he's a ghost, he could..."

John cut him off with a small shake. Sam looked at him with defeat, eyes dull, lifeless, tiredness taking over him. John hadn't seen such loss since the time Mary had walked out on him with Sam in her arms. He'd seen it in the mirror for months afterwards. Even now, he still saw it occasionally, but never as strong as he saw it now on Sam's face.

"Sam, Dean's been doing this nearly all his life. He knows what he's doing."

"But..."

Sam trailed off, keeping his worries and doubts to himself for the moment. He gave John a quick look, then slumped, eyes already closing with exhaustion. John caught him before he fell from the chair, and held him close.

"You can't sleep, Sam. Not yet. Soon," he whispered, shaking Sam.

The teenager muttered something under his breath, but didn't move. John stayed still as well, just holding Sam as his son fought off sleep. He brushed the hair from Sam's face, making sure he was still awake. His mind flashed back to a time when he'd done a similar time thirteen years ago, and his jaw tightened at the memory. He could remember holding a little baby Sam, starting to fall asleep after hours of crying and grumbling. He could remember looking down and forgetting all about the fights he'd had with Mary, and all the problems of his life in that one moment. Looking down at Sam now held the same magic. He almost forgot about Jason, and the scars he'd inflicted on his family. He almost forgot about the pain that had been caused to everyone.

"I'm tired," Sam mumbled, closing his eyes again.

John shook his gently to force him awake again, "I know. When Dean calls, okay?"

Sam wrapped his arms around his father's shoulders, and muttered a few words into the silence.

"Okay. Thanks, Dad."

John smiled, in a way he hadn't done in years.

/\/\

The thud that echoed through the darkness as Dean's shovel finally hit something solid was gratifying. Dean could hold back a savage, angry grin as he brushed away a little more dirt to reveal Jason's wooden coffin. He glanced up at Mary for a moment. She was standing on the edge of the grave, shining the torch down to give him light. She smiled a little. Dean nodded, and turned to slam the end of the shovel onto the coffin. It shattered easily, revealing a not-yet skeleton. Flesh and skin still clung to the bones, and Jason's rotted face stared out at them. Teeth grinned, and Dean shuddered. It wasn't often he had to dig up a grave so fresh.

He climbed out of the grave with a helping hand from Mary. He took the salt from her, and started to shake it over the body. The white grains clung to the rotting flesh, colouring it a mouldy grey. He paused for a moment.

"This is too easy," he said as he watched the salt seep into the body.

Mary poured the fuel over the body, dousing it until it was soaked. She gave him a quick look, curious.

"It is, a little," she said slowly, pulling out the lighter.

"He wouldn't just let us burn him. He's not stupid. Unless," Dean's mind instantly went to his worst case scenario, the scene that had been playing at the back of his mind ever since he'd demanded to go with Mary to finally get rid of Jason forever. He imagined Sam, back at the house, with Jason taunting and torturing him. His father wouldn't let Sam sleep, would he? Bobby wouldn't either – he couldn't see it happening. He couldn't allow himself to see it.

He looked behind him, tense. He saw a flash of red before he was raised up and thrown violently backwards. He crashed into a gravestone, a crack resounding as his head collided with the stone. He saw stars, and the world spun around him as he tried to stand. He vaguely saw Mary being tossed to the side like a rag doll, and another figure standing over her fallen body.

Jason

Dean heard the man's voice floating over to him. He tried to listen as he struggled to stand.

"Trying to get rid of me, eh?" Jason growled, kicking Mary in the stomach as she tried to reach for her salt-loaded shotgun leaning against one of the nearby graves.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere," he snarled.

Dean staggered, leaning against the gravestone as the world started to slow down and settle. He watched Jason deliver a savage blow to Mary's head. The woman didn't move or make a sound. Jason stared at her for a moment, then turned slowly to face Dean

"Hey Dean. Nice to see you again. Sammy still talking to you?" he said cheerfully.

Dean growled lowly, stalking towards his enemy, eyeing the shotgun behind the ghost. Jason smirked.

"You know Sammy's almost asleep? When he falls, I'm going to go in there, and I'm going to make sure no one can ever wake him up. Salt ain't going to stop me."

"You bastard."

"That's all you got?" Jason laughed, brushing his hands down the front of his jacket. Dean's eyes followed, and he started as he saw the blood still soaked into it.

"Yep. Sammy's blood. Nice little souvenir, isn't it?"

"Stop calling him that," Dean said as he inched closer to the gun, circling around Jason.

"What, Sammy?" Jason chuckled, "Sammy. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. He's gonna get it, you know. Sammy's gone, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Wrong."

Dean lunged, his fingers closing around the gun. He felt someone grab his legs, and he was pulled backwards. He held onto the gun like a lifeline, rolling onto his back and aiming. There was a deafening bang as he pulled the trigger and Jason vanished.

He scrambled to his feet, knowing he had to burn the body before Jason returned. He ran to Mary. He needed that lighter.

"Mary?" he shook her, checking her over.

There was blood covering her face – he'd kicked her and broken her nose at the very least. She was unconscious, but Dean realised she was still breathing. The lighter was laying a few paces away where it'd fallen. He snatched it up and ran to the grave, feeling dizzy. He could feel something running down the side of his head, but he didn't have time to check it. He flicked the lighter, but it didn't light.

"Dammit," he muttered as he tried again. And again. Still there was no flame.

"Hm. Not working, hey Dean?"

Dean spun as Jason threw a punch, smashing his cheekbone. He heard something crack as he went down, falling into the grave itself, on top of Jason's body. Fuel and salt coated him, along with flesh and other body material. The lighter still in his hand, he flicked it open once more as Jason jumped down beside him, grabbing the back of his jacket and lifting him up. Dean smirked, just as Jason slammed him against the wall of the grave, dirt running down his back. Jason growled, and Dean chuckled.

"Die, you son of a bitch," he said, opening his hand and letting the lighter fall, the flame flickering as the breeze blew past it.

It all happened in slow motion – or so it seemed. Jason glared at Dean, and moved to throw him. Dean flew through the air, landing in a heap as a whoosh of air and fire rose up from the grave. He saw a tongue of flames shoot up high into the air, sending sparks flying. He rolled to avoid being hit. He was still covered in the same stuff as the body, and he didn't feel like becoming a human fireball tonight. He watched from the ground as the body burned, and Jason's spirit along with it.

The world spun again, and everything went black as warmth ran into his eyes, blinding him. He closed them, letting the darkness take over and block out the fire.

/\/\

John looked up as he heard Bobby enter the room. Sam was still trying to fight off sleep, and it was a losing battle. Bobby gave the pair a small smile, but it faded quickly.

"What's wrong?" John asked quietly, to avoid worrying Sam.

"Neither Dean or Mary have called yet. It's almost sunrise."

John nodded. He knew it shouldn't take this long to salt and burn Jason's ghost. Even if he had turned up, it shouldn't have taken them all night. He was worried to say the least, but he hid it deep inside. He didn't need both Bobby and Sam seeing how weak he really was at that moment. If the call never came, he wasn't sure what he'd do. It was a possibility he wasn't allowing to poison his thoughts.

"He's done something stupid, hasn't he?" Sam muttered quietly.

John sighed. It was a genuine prospect that Dean wouldn't be coming back. That the phone would never ring and he would never hear his elder son's voice again. He shook his head, banishing the thoughts. He'd lost one son once; he wasn't going to lose his other one.

"They'll call," he said, faking his confidence.

Bobby raised an eyebrow and gave him a quizzical look. Sam just mumbled something lowly, and sighed.