Darkness.

That was the only thing that Jason's eye could interpret anymore. The entire painting of his world had melted. The shapes that curved on his cornea deformed into blobs of color. Darkness was the only thing that kept its form; for what form was there to keep? The child of the void had no color. It simply was, just like its parent. A permanent resident that draped Jason's world with his sorrows, his anger. These emotions that'll never go away as long as Jason's soul was still tethered to this reality.

Jason could feel the gravity pull his ribs toward the ground. There was nothing stopping his muscles from losing their grip. Fatigue overwhelmed him—he was too tired to continue. The steel chains penetrated his brown coat and bored its coolness into his skin. Freezing the blood that decorated Jason's body into dark rubies that held the remnants of his malice. Jason's mind had drifted so far. Only able to focus on this freezing sensation; the cold touch of death. His mother's voice tried to reach out to whatever part of him was still conscious.

"Jason!" she cried. "Jason! You're not dead, they can't kill you!"

Despite the hopelessness of his situation, she was right. As long as there were people around that needed to feel Jason's wrath he'd live. Even Michael, much to Jason's regret.

Wherever Michael was he was gone now. Jason made sure of it the last time they fought. Two months went down the drain, but Jason's muscles relaxed knowing Michael was dead. He thought he could enjoy a moment of peace, and he did for a few days. Until this new group of intruders charged into his home. They were different from the usual crowd that Jason encountered. Rage replaced fear as they screamed their battle cries. Their vengeance soaked and singed Jason's flesh with every bullet they fired at him. Every swing of an axe that cleaved his side, and his shoulder. Every crowbar that bent as it shattered his bones. They chained Jason and brought him to his knees like a prisoner. Arms forced behind his back. The intruders slammed Jason's face into the ground. They made sure Jason didn't feel comfortable sitting in his defeat.

Beaten and broken, Jason could feel their eyes pierce his soul. Curious if the aching of his wounds agonized him. They could never know for sure since Jason remained dazed. Unresponsive to any attack, his head fell down as he shifted his posture. Unable to stay up as the muscles in his neck pulled apart. The searing sensation warned that Jason's head would detach from his body any minute. Onto the soft earth that grazed his solemn world. It wasn't the cloudy cushions of the bed back in the cabin, but Jason'll take anything at this point to not be conscious.

The brighter blob amongst the group had other plans. It forced Jason's head up and studied him. Finer details became clear once Jason refocused. The huge mass of gold around the head turned into long straight hair. Blue eyes, hardened by pinched brows, were clear even without the illuminate rays of the moon. Her round cheeks stretched downward with a frown. When the woman in front of Jason decided she was finished looking at him she stood and slammed a crowbar on the side of his skull.

Jason's ears rang as he fell into the mud. The world shifted and moved in his vision. The trees multiplied, creating clones of themselves that closed in on him. Jason closed his eye, unable to cope with the dizziness he was experiencing. His mind was fractured like his cheekbone. Scrambling between the current injury, the older ones, and his crippling exhaustion. Darkness fell on his consciousness again. The sound in Jason's ears muffled. As if cotton filled his eardrums. The sound of the crowbar slamming into his side stopped. An argument broke out. Jason barely made out the words.

"Enough Andy! He's had enough!" A lower-pitched voice screamed.

"Fuck off, Bradley!" A higher voice screeched. Jason assumed this voice belonged to the crowbar-wielding woman beating his side.

"I ain't gonna stop until this maggot muncher's back in the dirt! He's gonna pay for what he did to Joey!"

"You don't think he's had enough?"

"There is no 'enough,' he's a deranged killer, goofy!" A new voice sprung into the conversation.

"Shut up, Bernie!" Bradley yelled back.

The voices grew louder. Somehow screaming even louder than the sky, who voiced its discomfort. Warning of a thunderstorm. Jason rustled. No longer was he able to get any shut-eye; first the arguing, and now the snowflakes that danced down his spine. If only this could be over with. Then Jason would have nothing to worry about now that Michael was gone. Why were there even people coming to Crystal Lake in November? Jason dismissed the thought as he felt a gooey substance stick itself to his neck. It was as sticky as the snow, but a lot warmer. If Jason were alive, he'd cringe.

A throbbing pinch sat in the middle of his spine and forced Jason upright. He was alert, the exhaustion left as his mind restored the melted painting. The trees stood tall—contorting into intricate webs. Past that, a shadowy frame leaned on one of the stagnant trunks for support. Like Jason, it too struggled to stand as it returned his gaze. The people in front of Jason froze. They put their argument on hold to witness his standing ovation. His final act as Camp Crystal Lake's guardian. Jason's eye widened as his eyebrows shaped the inside of his mask with rage. Shapes and details returned to his vision. The blobs chiseled into a couple of young adults, still dressed in their college gear. And past that Michael stood. His white mask and baggy coveralls lightened as lightning struck the earth's crust.

The chains shattered and slid toward the ground as Jason pulled his arms apart. Bradley rushed past his friends, swinging his crowbar toward Jason's face. Jason catches the crowbar in his hand and threw Bradley. Shattering his spine into a tree. Bernie stabs Jason in his leg with a knife. Jason grabs Bernie, as a bullet explodes into his right shoulder.

"Run Bernie!" Andy yelled.

Bernie ran for it. Jason misses his catch again. He revved up for a chase, screeching to a halt once he heard a scream.

It belonged to Andy. A bear trap crunched its rusty jaws into her shoulder. Andy dropped her gun and reached for the knife in her left leg's sheathe. Michael stumbled backward. Andy tackled Michael. He gasped as pain surged on the right of his abdomen.

He caught Andy's wrist before she could plant her knife in his chest. Andy screamed as she forced her left hand to move over her right hand. Adding more force to her knife.

The jaws of the beartrap tore the flesh of her shoulder and cracked the socket with no effort. Threatening to tear her ligaments if she tensed the muscles in her arm. But she had to keep going. She had to do this. Because there was no pain worse than the hole in her heart left by Joey's missing poster.

Andy flew as Jason pulled on the beartrap's chain. He threw Andy overhead and slammed her down to the ground. Ending her screams of terror.

Jason eyed her body. He tilted his head once he realized she was still breathing. Still twitching. Still alive. His vision shook, the details melted again as his knees weakened.

Once again, Jason faceplanted onto the dirt as Bernie tackled him. Bernie slammed the crowbar into the back of Jason's skull. Hoping that he could avenge his friends. But Jason picked his head up with each strike; mechanically moving his head up and attempting to stand.

Bernie kept going. Hoping the effort of he and his friends wouldn't be in vain. Hoping that they could make it out of this with a few cuts and bruises. Hoping that this encounter wouldn't cost them their lives. It could just be an incident they thought back on when they were older. Around a water cooler in some mediocre office talking with their coworkers. They could think back on this and think; god we were so dumb. Nothing but just stupid kids doing stupid shit. That would be nice, so nice. But the tears that cooled his warm cheeks told him otherwise. He saw how motionless Bradley became after hitting his spine against that tree. He heard Andy's whimpers as the man with the pale mask tilted his head back and forth. Evaluating her like an art piece. Trying to find meaning in her anguish.

Bernie's arms locked with despair. The thought of death became too much. He hunched over as the tears spilled out of his eyes. He was desperate for this to all be over, but somehow he knew, then and there, what was coming next. A pair of hands brought a comforting warmth as they pressed on Bernie's head, and then he heard the bones of his neck snap.

A muffled thud caught Jason's ears. He turned his head to the corpse of the boy who attacked him from behind. His light brown skin still warmed with blood, but Jason knew that his soul was gone. He felt his body turn; suddenly, his eye was on the source of his last drop of energy. Michael's eyes softened to Jason's stinging glare. Jason couldn't help but shake. His rage was no longer simmered, but his body was too tired to move. That was the only reason Michael still lived.

Michael moved away from Jason and grabbed the gun next to Andy. He held onto the barrel and positioned the stock just short of Andy's face. He examined her for a little longer. Her face glistened with tears as she cried for her friends—her eyes remained shut as she prayed for her friends would help her. As she did, Michael prepped his swing. He looked at a tree in front of him that sported a hole right in the middle of it. Once he felt confident, he replanted his feet and charged his swing. Stopping once he noticed Andy's cries stopped.

She met Michael with a gaze that pierced the dark eye holes of his mask. A glare like Jason's. She cursed under her breath. Hoped that Michael died a thousand deaths, that he's fucking nothing, that she'd find joy in killing him. She needed to get in line. There was already a person here that wanted to kill Michael as much as she did. Michael's hold on the barrel tensed as he heard that person begin to stand. Michael swung the gun, and Andy's head soared. Her head cracked open as it hit the edges of the tree. He idled at his failure, unexpectant to miss his shot.

"A—Andy…" Bradley whimpered.

That was the last thing that Jason heard before his hearing gave out. His consciousness dimmed the rest of the ambiance. It was time to sleep, his body couldn't resist any longer. One more thing, he thought. There was one last thing he had to make sure of. The blob that laid next to his boots was still. Jason felt nothing but its stare on him. He wasted no time. Crushing the blob's head with the last of his strength. Jason felt the warmth of the blood creep up his leg. Followed by numbing.

Jason turned, expecting Michael in his vision. But there was nothing. No Michael, no victims, no forest. No other blobs of color that his brain would need to fill in the finer details of. It was just the darkness, the endless darkness of his subconscious. Not even his mother's voice was present. It was just him, alone. Jason took note of how light he felt. The exhaustion that loomed over him for so long was gone. His mind no longer rushed to interpret the shape of his hands as he gazed over them.

Jason laid down. He figured that there was no reason to move anymore. There was nothing to worry about now that the intruders were dead. Michael still being alive? Jason didn't exhaust any brainpower on the thought. It was probably Michael's ghost, he thought. He knew that Michael Myers was nothing but a person. Like Jason, he was a murderer, but Michael retained a humanity that divorced Jason long ago. Jason knew Michael still needed a heart to live, a brain to perceive thought, and an undamaged body to perform at his peak. But Jason didn't need that. His heart nary beats. His brain thinking in a calmer state of mind was a recent development. None of the organs in Jason's body were functional, and he didn't need that functionality to stay alive. But Michael did. Jason made sure to run his hand through Michael's chest and crush his heart.

Michael Myers was nothing more than a person. And now, he's dead.

Jason's heart ached at the revelation. The thought of any hope for a friendship rotted like a rose on a vine. Jason tensed his hands into a fist. He hated that the thought saddened him. He blamed himself. He knew that nothing good could come from this. It didn't work in Texas, and it wasn't gonna work at home. Jason wrestled with himself. Subduing his heart's lament. He threatened harm at the smallest showing of grief. He wanted the void to seep into his bones. To let the silence consume him as it did when he was with Michael. He kneeled and slammed his hands into the floor. The thumping echoed throughout the void as his hands twinged with pain. He pauses for a moment, deciding to slam his head into the floor. The black abyss shook with Jason's vision as he slammed his face over and over. He failed as the stone in his chest grew heavier. He stopped, realizing that his mind couldn't ignore it anymore. The weight was overbearing. He clutched his chest as the pain burned. He ripped into it, and threw his heart away from him. The hole in his chest ached as the void filled in the vacant spot. Jason huffed. He felt the edges of his flesh writhe. New tissue formed and attached itself to their brethren. Evicting the void from the space, and taking hold of it again. A new stone took place as Jason's heart. It's fresh weight, being heavier than the last.

Jason ceased action as another sound made a home in the void. It was nothing more than a quiet whimper, but to Jason, it was his saving grace. A chance to run from his plight and hide in another's. The whimper led Jason toward a child. The child quickly vanished as they entered Jason's vision. Leaving behind a piece of paper torn on one side. Jason looked at the page— nameless, it remained. It showed nothing but a canvas with a sun staring down at a flower, with a rainbow in the middle. On the left of the page was the green-eyed kid signing different colors to Jason. Jason dimmed at the page's ripped side. Where is the rest of you, he wondered.

A feeling pushed Jason's chin upward. He watched as more papers fluttered in the air. They circled him like a kettle of vultures, ready to descend upon their next meal when it draws its last breath. It was a losing battle. Jason continued to breathe as the pages graced the floor with a slight hiss to rest their wings. Jason looked back to the page in his hand, now devoid of color. Except for one part. A tiny circle with the green-eyed kid as he signed.

Red. The color of blood.

Blood seeped from the page. Jason backed away as it splattered to the floor. As he blinked, Michael was in his view again. Michael's eyes widened as Jason's arm rested in his abdomen. Jason tensed his hand, the page was no longer there. The new object in his hand was squishy, he rubbed his thumb across its smooth surface. Then lightning cracked the clouds as rain descended upon the familiar forest scenery. Michael coughed; seemingly brought to life by the lightning strike.

Jason began to move, but not of his own accord. As if he was a mere guest in his own body. All he could do was watch and process the sensation he felt as the object in his hand exploded. Blood splattered on his hand and onto the grass. His arm slid out of Michael's body and Michael fell to the floor. Jason remembered this part, this was when Michael died. His head turned without his will and rushed toward the pages sprinkled along the grass. The rain dampened the pages. They thinned as they absorbed the water. But Jason didn't give up on them. He nested the vestiges of his happiness into his arms.

Jason stopped as he heard Michael shift. Jason turned his head to Michael, who leaned upon a tree. Michael clung to life as he rested himself upon the trunk. Jason, still unaware of who was in control, slashed the air with his arms.

"Go away!"

But Michael remained still. Unmoving as he pressed down on the hole in his abdomen with his right hand. Jason had enough of Michael's silence, even if he was too injured to respond. Jason broke out of his body and rushed toward Michael. With a swing of his arm, Michael was gone.

Jason sprinted through the forest. That was Michael. The real Michael. He bled and groveled at his injured side; but he stood, he breathed, he still lived. How could Jason be so careless? He was sure—so sure—to have impaled Michael. Was he too tired to aim for his heart? Jason continued to run. His boots pounded on the ground as they approached the same clearing over and over. Witnessing the same patches of grass that Michael's blood stained red. But Jason kept going, kept moving. Michael had to be somewhere in here. He couldn't ignore the grave mistake he's made. If Michael's alive, what's stopping him from treading the camp? What's stopping him from harming Jason? What's stopping him from finding his mother's shack? The guilt whisked itself in Jason's head as the veins in his eye strained. The forest too, lent a helpful hand in driving Jason mad. The lightning reminded him of his failure as it boomed and the trees shook. Fearing Jason's punishment. The wind howled and pushed him along through the cowardly bark into the same quiet clearing.

Never did Jason stop. How could he? He couldn't rest knowing that his home was unprotected. That his presence in Crystal Lake was unaccounted for. He kept running. He had to wake up. Somewhere, some part of him had to warn himself. The path through the trees lengthened. The clearing grew wider than any field Jason has traipsed through. But Jason kept going, persistent he was in his cause. The weight in his heart returned. The piercing pain hindered him. He stumbled, but pushed on. Ignoring anything that weakened him. His temples pounded on his head with each thump of his boot. The trees in his vision multiplied with translucent clones. The spinning worsened until there was nothing but a blur. But Jason kept going, kept moving. He had to wake, he just had to. The pressure pinched his brow. Shape dwindled as blobs formed. Keep moving, the thought rang a piercing note. The note grew louder, the road grew longer. The clearing, same as it was before, was now a vast wasteland. Keep moving. Jason's footsteps echoed. His breath thinned. He wheezed with each step. Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep—

Everything went dark again.

The ringing, the pressure, the aching. It all stopped, but so did everything else. Jason's hands no longer tensed into a fist. He no longer knew if his toes curled inward in his boot. He could no longer feel the base of his spine forcing his body upright. He couldn't feel anything at all. Not even his eyelids peeled open for his pupils to soak in the void's darkness. There was nothing of him; eventually, he stopped thinking.

Jason was unaware of how long he was out. It was definitely long enough. He didn't expect to see his mother once he gained feeling in his eyelid and forced it open. Jason winced. He'd be lying if he didn't say his mother was the light of his life. How that light shined over his eye too bright. He turned over, begging for five more minutes. Five more minutes and he'll come down for breakfast, Jason promised with a hand wave. Pamela laughed at him.

"It's about time you've gotten some rest, sleepy head," she started. She settled next to Jason and caressed his shoulder. "You've done quite a number on yourself. And now here you are, as slow as a sloth. Certainly makes my job easier."

Jason had the slightest idea of what she was talking about. How could Jason sleeping be useful to her? Was this a figment of his mind? A way to allow himself to get some rest after starving himself of sleep for two months? Or was his mother really here? Relieved that her son wasn't fighting with himself anymore. There was no use in fighting it, he figured. Whether she was born from his mind or not, he didn't like upsetting his mother. And yet, Jason couldn't shake his uncertainty. Was it the gravelly tone that trailed off of her final words? Or was it the cold touch of steel that ran down his arm in place of her hands?

"My sweet child…I could rip you open and feed you to the family dog."

That wasn't right.

Jason sat up to the sound of air shooting out of pipes. A thick blanket of heat enveloped Jason. Webs of metal pipes adorned the area. Jason stumbled into a stance, he had no intention of staying. His body was light, and most importantly, his mind was clear. Clear enough to realize that something was here. Something different than the self-doubt that plagued his mind. A familiar smell of smoke went into Jason's dead lungs. Jason couldn't imagine this place being good for a human to be in. It's too stuffy. if he were alive, Jason would be suffocating. The heat got more intense as if it belonged to something Jason got closer to. A cackle alerted Jason, he looked to an area past a wall of pipes. He went around, hoping to meet the trickster that shared this place with him. But there was nothing, the heat began to cool as well. Jason chased it into a clearing.

"Get some sleep, Jason."

Jason turned his head to his mother. She seemed different. She wore a white sweater, that turned pink thanks to the red light shining from under the vents. Her eyes were blackened and wide as a grin spread from one cheek to the other. As if she needed to keep an eye on Jason's movements. The base of Jason's spine rattled with unease. The Pamela in front of him walked closer to him.

"You poor baby, you worry too much. Go on off to bed, honey."

"What about Michael?" Jason signed.

Pamela's grin died down as she tilted her head in confusion. "Michael? Why—whatever could you be talking about, dear?"

Pamela tried to grace Jason's face with her hand, but Jason stopped her. He grabbed her by her throat and slammed her into the pipes. This wasn't his mother. All she was concerned about was Michael being on the campgrounds, and Jason doing nothing about it. And now she was okay with it? Worse yet, she doesn't remember who Michael is. The fake Pamela before him slashed his mask.

"You shouldn't have done that, boy!" The fake Pamela yelled.

Her face corrupted. Skin melted into a thin net. Exposing the muscles of her face underneath. Her rounded cheeks chiseled into straighter shapes. Her chin stretched, more pointed than normal. Her ears pointed, and her teeth sharpened. Her hair no longer held onto her scalp. Deciding the floor was a better home. Even the sweater was false. Becoming a tighter fit, sporting red and green colors instead. The monster in front of Jason pushed him deeper into the boiling room's maze. He slammed into a wall. As he lay dazed, the monster closed in on him. Marking the wall with the razor-sharp claws on its gloved right hand.

"Well, look at you," The monster started. "Momma's boy got a little smarter. He can actually tell the difference between the old hag and a fake." The demon noticed Jason started to walk toward him. He halted Jason. "Unh-uh-uhhh. You have something that's mine."

The demon gestured to the hat that was in Jason's hand. Jason wouldn't even know where to begin to ask how it ended up in his hand. And the hat left his hand for the demon's. The demon placed it on his head. He posed in front of Jason. Showing off his outfit to be judged. He crossed his arms once he realized Jason had no interest in his antics.

"Hey, Momma's Boy! Didn't the hag ever teach you how to treat an old friend!" The demon started. "Or are you still not awake enough for Freddy Krueger?"

Freddy motioned his hands near his eyes. As if he were to start crying at Jason's lack of replies. His false wails quickly turned into an annoyed huff.

"What's the matter? You were so ready to talk with your hands when I was in that old lady drag!"

Freddy was inches close to Jason's face now. His stinging glare had no chance against Jason's aloofness. Pamela always said to try to ignore bullies. All they wanted was attention, he could remember her saying to him. In this case, it was definitely proving effective. Jason twitched as a razored finger shot up and Freddy's face widened with a realization.

"Don't tell me you have a thing for old women now?"

Freddy's expression sterned. Jason couldn't help shrinking down to his glare, despite being bigger than Freddy. More thoughts of his mother surfaced. If Jason did something bad she'd stand the same way: fists resting on her hips, hip thrust outward, and her head swinging side-to-side. You've been bad Jason, he can imagine the words stabbing his chest. The crushing weight of guilt squeezed his posture, and forced him to look to the ground in shame. Only now, Jason had no guilt from Freddy's accusation. But that glare still carried the thick air of shame. Freddy placed a blade into Jason's temple and pushed into the vein.

"You've been bad haven't you, Jason?"

Jason could feel the pinching from the blade, warning of stabbing pain. But it never came. As they approached a minute, the pinching worsened, but never a stab. Why couldn't Freddy pierce Jason's body?

"What's the matter, Jason, huh? Don't got any balls?"

It wasn't Jason who was afraid.

Freddy continued to chastise Jason, but Jason only focused on the pinching in his temple. Waiting for the stabbing, waiting to deal with it like any other injury he's sustained. He shifted his focus to Freddy. Realizing that the blade isn't strong enough—Freddy isn't strong enough. Jason grabbed Freddy's throat. Shame wasn't enough to keep Jason at bay.

"You're weak," Jason fingerspelled.

Jason threw Freddy to the floor. He slammed down with a machete he manifested. Freddy rolled out of the way. Once he was up, he lunged at Jason with his glove. Jason grabbed Freddy's wrist with his right hand, followed with his left, and threw Freddy again. Separating his arm from his body.

Freddy's anguish echoed across the boiler room as he slammed into a generator. Cursing the world as blood leaked from his shoulder. Freddy jumped up, but it was too late to dodge as Jason slammed him into the generator.

Jason revved up, before launching a punch. Freddy faded into the air. Retreating out of sight as Jason punched the generator. The electricity crackled up Jason's arm and cooked the rest of his body. Freddy laughed at Jason's expense, unknowing to him, that this was nothing but ecstasy for Jason.

Jason pulled off the door to the generator's wires and threw it at Freddy. As Freddy jumped to avoid it Jason was already on top of him. Latching onto his neck once more. He decided, not to throw Freddy, but to squeeze his throat until his head popped off.

"W—wait," Freddy said. But it was too late. Jason's grip grew tighter until Freddy exploded into a puff of smoke. The boiler room faded away. Taking Jason back to the void of his mind. But Freddy was nowhere to be seen; instead, his voice boomed throughout the void.

"Fine! If you wanna play it that way," he started. There was a pause, but Jason waited with his head high. Nothing Freddy could say was gonna bother him; especially since Jason knew he couldn't back them up. Freddy started back up again.

"You can't hide from me forever, Jason. You're not the only one whose dreams I enjoy feeding on."

Jason sat back down, he felt his body outside begin to twitch. A swear tensed itself into his left hand. Up for two months straight with no rest, and when he finally gets some, he's disturbed. Worst of all, he could feel it, Michael's stare imprinting itself on his being as his consciousness surfaces. Jason's breathing quickened as his body shook; eventually, the ceiling of a cabin came into view. His joints cracked as life began to move dormant muscles again. Aching pains pounded on Jason's bones as he tried to sit up. He felt the springs of the worn-out bed push against his naked vertebrae. The full extent of pain is always clear once Jason wakes up again. Whether in the lake, or, currently, in a bed that can't even fit him, the pain is so acute it was nauseating. Jason's anger grew with the ringing in his ears. He wiggled in the bed, a volatile whirlwind of confusion, hoping to break the bed's tiny frame.

After a few minutes, the futility calmed him. Jason remembered his high tolerance to age and hindrance. It'll take a lot more to kill him than any person, and even then, he'll rise again. His wounds will heal, the weight on his body will lighten, he just has to wait. In the meantime, Jason tried to figure out the tight sensation around his body. The slight squeeze picked at his brain. The scratchy texture coiled around his chest, right wrist, and left thigh like a snake. The headache simmered into a bout of drowsiness—it unhinged its jaw and consumed Jason's body. Jason looked down toward his torso and noticed the coat and shirts he wore were no longer covering his bare skin. He forced his head upward. Ignoring the pulled muscles that begged for him to rest his neck. The scratchy texture belonged to strings of gauze that came from a first aid kit on the end table next to Jason's bed.

Jason couldn't help but notice the drips of blood that have already dried and left to be scratched off of his dead skin. He couldn't help but tighten his fists at this amateur dressing on his wounds. His teeth clenched at the thought that he needed to be tended to. That he needed to be helped. That he needed any actions of care and love directed toward him at all. He also noticed pieces of paper in his left hand. They were more brittle than usual. As if dried after getting wet. His blood boiled hotter.

He jerked as the rattling of his ribs quickened. A shadow that sat near a window reacted. As if Jason's awakening startled it. The shadow turned its head toward Jason. Foreign emotions became known to him. Holding Jason still as the shadow closed in on him. The veil of moonlight that trickled in from the window revealed Michael's mask as the shadows retreated backward. Jason's muscles tightened as Michael got closer. He could feel the blood in his veins ache as it begged to move.

Once he felt the warmth from Michael's hand grace his mask, Jason jumped. Michael gasped as Jason pushed him. He stumbled into his chair near the window and collapsed. Michael groaned louder than usual at the fall. Jason froze, surprised at Michael's weakness. There Michael sat, one hand shaking on the floor as he clutched his abdomen with the other. Jason could see Michael's milky eye widen through his mask. A pressure formed in Jason's chest as Michael stared at him. But Jason didn't shrink, Michael's gaze didn't feel like one of an overseer. Jason could feel a hint of fear in Michael's eyes. Or was it acceptance? Acceptance as he edged the gates of death. Michael's breathing slowed. Jason felt like how he did when he first met Michael. He felt in control again. Michael's emotions weren't guarded, but they were still difficult to figure out. When haven't they been, the thought crossed Jason's mind. He didn't know what to do at first. But the situation felt so familiar that Jason stumbled back into a role he felt safe in. Jason closed in on Michael. He kept a watchful eye as he noticed Michael's body tensing. Shrinking as Jason got closer. Ready to explode with cat-like reflexes, but Jason knew what he was dealing with. He had two months to figure out what he was dealing with.

"Can I see it?" Jason signed.

He motioned to unzip Michael's coveralls. Michael remained unresponsive, before nodding. Jason was a little surprised to see him respond. Jason unzipped it and saw a wrapping of bandages around Michael's abdomen. The right part of the bandages was soaked with blood. Jason huffed. He missed the heart by a lot. The organ he crushed in his memory was most likely a kidney. More blood was spreading throughout the bandages.

"Don't move," Jason signed.

Michael nodded again. Jason moved his right arm under Michael's leg, supported Michael's back with his left, and carried him to the main room. Michael lifted his head past the doorway, so as not to injure himself, then slumped back down. Jason sat him on the sofa bed and grabbed the med kit in the other room. Once he returned to Michael's side he removed the bandages and inspected the stitching on Michael's front and back. The stitches on the back were fine, but the front was messy. Jason could guess why: Michael can get antsy, and being in a position where he can reach you can be dicey. The wound reopened, but the hole was smaller than how Jason left it before. It'll be an easy fix.

"We'll need to restitch," he started. "Try to hold still."

Michael grumbled at that. He didn't have to like it, but it needed to be done. Jason cleaned the wound before preparing to stitch it. Of course, Michael did anything but sit still. He flinched at every prick he felt as if it was the worse pain on earth. Jason drove his knuckles into Michael's forehead, he slapped his hand any time Michael tried to grab at him. He even pushed Michael back which pained Michael more.

"Stop moving!" Jason signed.

Michael threatened to crawl away, but Jason pinned him to the bed. All this dead weight Jason's been carrying around in his body came in handy, as Michael was no match for it. Still, it would've been much easier to stitch with two hands. Since Jason needed to dedicate a hand to pinning Michael's hands over his head..

Once Jason finished, he wrapped new bandages around Michael's abdomen and moved back to the other room. Jason grabbed the withered pages he left on the worn-out bed. He eyed them—solace dared not to show itself around Jason. The pages were so frail, if he clutched them any harder they'd be destroyed in his grip. But he couldn't help it, the kids in this book have been a nice distraction from everything. Jason wished he could join them in their ruined pages. Instead, his vengeful soul stayed with his undead body. Protecting the camp for as long as it could. The only hope of peace is if no one was here. That was the only way Jason could save himself from the pain that made him the way he was now.

The door whined as Michael peeked through the crack. He stumbled toward Jason and sat on the neighboring bed. Jason moved his attention from the pages toward Michael. The rock in his chest lulled in place. All the feelings and sensations were still ripe to Jason, but even now he found it hard to stay mad at Michael. There was nothing left he could do, he already tried to kill him and failed. All he could do was protect the pages from further harm. He could start by making sure he had all of them. Once Jason noticed a page was missing, Michael finally moved. Pulling the final page out of one of his chest pockets and unfolding it. Jason snatched it from Michael and categorized it with the others numerically. Jason settled down and returned a glare at Michael. Setting the pages down in a nice pile.

"Why did you do it?" Jason signed.

No response. No surprise.

Jason could feel himself tense up again. He had no interest in playing the long game with Michael. Unlike Michael, Jason was refreshed. And even if he can't kill him, Jason is happy with throwing him out into the storm. Jason jerked as Michael stood. Jason kept his eye on Michael as Michael walked toward the chair he sat in before. He flapped open a book to a page and studied it. Walking back to Jason when he was done. He placed a bookmark between the pages and handed it to Jason. Jason snatched it again, no longer trusting any book in Michael's hands.

Jason's eye widened as it met with the fine print. Sign Language: My First 100 Words, it said on the front. Unlike Jason's copy, this book was pristine. There was no evidence of age or damage. It was neatly plucked from a nursery of newborn books. Jason looked through the pages. Nary was touched by the elements like its predecessor. Instead, it was pure—it shone in its pride of cleanliness. The kids, no longer torn down by the elements, were content in their glee. Like how Jason left them before Michael ruined them.

"Why?" Jason signed.

Why get a new book? Why ruin the old one? Why come back after Jason tried so hard to kill him? So many questions tied to that one word. And Michael still left them unanswered. He gestured at the bookmark he left in the book. Jason turned to the page; the kids mingled with each other. Signing various conversational phrases. The dark skin girl in the green shirt led the lesson. Michael pointed to the circle at the bottom of the page to his right.

"Sorry." He copied the young girl.

Jason eyed Michael, then looked back down to the book. A faint warmness in Jason's body grew, he didn't like it. It became too much. He walked back into the main room, and sat in front of the unlit fireplace. He placed the fresh book at his side. Jason couldn't even look at it, he could barely look at the shadows in the fireplace that stared back at him. He placed his arms over his knees and retreated into them. His body shook as the warmness became unbearable. He felt like he could light the fireplace with just a touch of his hand on the brittle sticks. Jason cursed Michael for doing this to him. Sending this sickly warmth into his body. Just like he did a month ago when he bandaged Jason's arm. It scared Jason to feel this way. No matter how hot his anger blazed at Michael in his head, the lone thought, ostracized by the others, exposed him of his lies.

This warm feeling wasn't from Michael.

Jason turned away as he felt Michael's hand. Feeling warmness from two different parts of his body would've driven Jason crazy. Why is Michael still here, he cursed in his head. He turned back around to give Michael a piece of his mind.

"Go away!" Jason signed.

Michael shook his head. "I'll stay."

Jason froze. Now Michael wants to respond with signs? Jason has witnessed enough of his changed behavior. Michael signed, willingly. Jason didn't even want to remind himself of the apology. Rethinking that moment would cause him to fall apart.

"You're an asshole," Jason signed.

Pamela could no longer contain her amusement. A quiet laugh echoed in Jason's skull. Not a minute later, it was overshadowed by a wheeze that escaped from Michael's mouth. He couldn't stop shuffling his shoulders for the few seconds he laughed. Jason tensed at the sudden warmness that erupted in his face. His blood, usually dormant, brewed new life. Jason moved from the fireplace to the window. Hoping to lose himself in the snowstorm outside. He noticed how lightning seared the sky, before the trees wore the shadows over their usual bright canopies again. The snow shined despite this. The sky abandoned its usual bluish hues and bathed in orange instead. It was odd how soon it snowed, most of the trees still clutched their leaves to their branches. Unable to depart with their beloveds. Very few made that sacrifice, reveling in their twisted branches. The chill of winter was coming. Will Crystal Lake sleep as well? With Michael around, who knows?

Michael broke the air of silence by knocking on the wooden floor. It started with one knock, a pause, and then another one. Jason thought about how his mom used to help him sound out words. Emphasizing the syllables by clapping. It seemed Michael did the same, Jason figured he was calling his name. Michael repeated the knock.

"Ja—son," Michael knocked into the floor again.

Jason turned. No longer looking at the ghostly chill of winter outside. Michael clutched his arms, an exhale left his lungs as he shuddered. He patted the bed, and Jason shook his head.

"I'm still mad at you," Jason signed.

It's not like Jason could just forget what happened, and Michael's gift won't help him forget either. The last time he let Michael out of his sight, he destroyed something dear to Jason. How could Jason be so sure he won't do it again? Jason's skin whined as his hands balled into fists. He forced his brow to crease. Pulling his rage from any corner of his mind. But the air of catharsis encroached on his body. He wasn't doing himself any favors by trying to reignite his anger; especially after his body has just recovered.

"That's okay," Michael signed.

Michael laid on the bed and faced his back to Jason. Balling himself up in an attempt to retain heat. Jason remained idle for a few minutes before approaching Michael. Never moving, his eye remained on Michael. Waiting for it all to be a trick. Some sort of sick prank, where Michael wakes up and attacks Jason again. Maybe next he'll try and destroy his mask, revealing Jason's face for the world to see. Chastising him as many have done before, and then trying again to put Jason six feet under. But nothing happened. The world before Jason made no attempt to act on his fears. Sound had no interest in being a guest in the cabin; other than the creaking of the bed thanks to Michael's weight. It didn't take long before Michael's snoring joined Jason's company. The sound weakened Jason's posture. Requiring him to replant his feet. His first thought was to smother Michael; such a noise would draw anything within a 30-mile radius. The long drones of struggling breaths clashed with the spiteful winds that graced the windows with their vexing hiss. Then a shaky exhale interrupted the cacophonic sound, causing Jason to jump.

Jason moved toward the fireplace. His worries about stirring Michael from his sleep were gratuitous as he attempted to light a fire. Nothing was waking Michael with the snore he possessed. Smoke began to brew; shortly after, flame was born. Crackling in a cheerful dance as it warmed its way into Jason's body. He nurtured it with the last of the dry wood and settled in the corner next to the chest. He watched as the orange light grew with intensity. Dying Michael's socks in its color. Jason was completely enamored in the warm shade of orange. It was lively and bright. The orange light dedicated its life to spreading its warmth to others. People, objects, anything it could get its hands on.

Jason looked out the window. The sky, while muted, imitated the fire's light. The snow below looked toward the ghostly orange of space as the trees lined themselves across the landscape. Draped in shadow the trees' details were, as they prepared for a funeral. Jason tensed a hand. He knew it was this place that cloaked the trees in endless shadow—letting the dreary orange drown in its sorrow. The snow denied them commiseration. Preferring to blind itself with the shine of its white coat. It was ignorant to it all, even to its own temporary stay.

This cursed place: Camp Forest Green, Camp Crystal Lake, Camp Blood. There was nothing left to this place besides the horrors that refused to die. But Jason wanted to bury his head into the ground and chase shadows that promised him something he was never allowed. To the point that he ignored his duty to this place. Breaking his own simple rule that not a single person would ever walk this camp again. All for a shot at life—a normal life—once more.

Jason felt the warmth of the flames crawl into his fingernails. It extended further into the veins of his arms. The chill retreated to the base of his spine as he stood short of the bed. The chill from outside crept in. Urging Jason to resume his position as a shadow. What right does he have to try to live with the living? His soul has long graced the hellfires six feet under—the little warmth in the hearth couldn't compare. But it could. Because it carried something that the hellfires didn't. Comfort. Life.

Love.

Jason sunk into the bed. The fire enveloped Jason in its love. He decided to chase the shadows one last time. Jason remembered his time in Texas, and a time even earlier with Freddy. They both ended the same: him in a fight, and him back under the lake. This time with Michael was different. Not because of the fight, but the end result. He's not under the lake and Michael's not dead. And Freddy's back, to what end, Jason wasn't sure. So what happens now?

It'll work out. It has to work out, even if Jason had to force his way.

Jason's pupils dashed back and forth under his eyelids as his thoughts pushed him deeper into his mind. He falls back into the void of his mind with a roaring thump. Jason sat up and wondered if he was pushed off the bed. It suspiciously felt like that was the case. He knew Michael was a wild sleeper. Regardless he remained seated in the middle of his void. Thinking of what to do next about Michael. Jason was still upset, but Michael was okay with it, so does it still matter? Michael also helped Jason take care of intruders again, and apologized. Is that enough for forgiveness? No. Jason shook his head. Whatever Michael's reasons were, he went too far. Even if he procured a new copy of Jason's book, the old one meant a lot to Jason.

Jason laid back down. Staring at the void's sky, more thoughts flew into his mind. Jason was still upset about his book, but not enough to try killing Michael again. But he's still not ready for Michael's company. But maybe he should be, now that Freddy's back. A straining in Jason's temple formed. A nagging vein barked at the mere mention of Freddy Krueger in Jason's subconscious. He could feel his brain's fatty form shrivel as the name poisoned his thoughts. How could Jason prepare for Freddy this time? Does he even need to? Freddy's not strong now, but what if he's stronger later? Does Michael know about Freddy? Should Jason tell him? Jason slowed himself. He paid closer attention to his chest puffing up and setting down in rapid succession. He couldn't let the thoughts consume him again, the last time that happened, he didn't sleep for months.

Jason settled himself. He decided to worry about everything when he woke up. Which didn't take long, as his eyelids parted, and his vision met the floor. Jason sat himself up with his back against the bed frame. He huffed, before inspecting the bed. The covers were torn off. Half of it went with Jason on the floor. And the bedsheet was wrinkled—scarred by heavy amounts of movement. Jason noticed that the fire in the fireplace was gone. Sunlight beamed through the shades and carried chilling temperatures with it. Jason couldn't feel the blanket's warmth anymore. His body has adopted winter's frosty touch. He marched to the room past the kitchen. He found his shirts and his jacket on the bed furthest from the bathroom. The brown coat was mangled, but still wearable. The shirts were drenched in dried blood. Jason opened the lower drawer of the dresser and fished out a black shirt. Once he grabbed the coat, he moved back to the living room. Parting the shades so that more light could come in. He found Michael through the window as he put on his clothes. He watched as Michael stared down toward the snow. Tilting his head back and forth, as he did to the woman they encountered last night.

Jason notices Michael's lack of gloves despite him wearing a thick black coat. Jason dug through the chest for some. Once he found a pair of red ones, the cabin door announced his presence to Michael. Michael acknowledged Jason for a moment, before lowering his head back toward the snow. Jason marched through the snow and offered Michael the gloves. Which Michael hurriedly accepts. Jason saw how much of Michael's blood retreated to his hands for warmth. Jason thought it weird for Michael to walk out with no gloves. The presence of snow was also weirder; especially of such depth. Still, Jason couldn't help but wonder as Michael bent down. Hesitating to touch it; retreating his hand back at the icy touch, Michael hides his hands within the gloves' quilted embrace.

"Have you ever seen snow before?" He inquired.

"Seen. Never touched," Michael replied.

Jason tilted his head. Michael never touched snow? How odd. Jason didn't think it possible. Such an intrinsic part of life was unknown to Michael.

"Do you like it?" Jason asked.

Michael lifted a piece of snow and crushed it in his hand. Michael's eyes lit up as he glared at Jason before he picked up more snow and crushed it again.

Michael stood. Stomping on the undisturbed sheets of sleet. Like Godzilla strolling through a defenseless city. But the city of snow grew tired of Michael-Zilla's disturbance. Ridding his left foot of stability and causing him to slide on the ice. Michael crashes on his side, and Jason rushes to him. A tense prick of anxiety edged Jason's heart as he helped Michael to his feet. Jason rubbed his abdomen wondering if Michael felt his wound reopen. Michael copied him and shook his head. Jason huffed, relieved. Jason shooed Michael closer to the cabin. It seemed the snow closer to the lake wasn't as welcoming.

Michael grumbled at his discomfort. Wiping the snow off of his coat. He resumed his destruction at a quicker pace. He found softer patches of snow to take his anger out on. No longer just stomping, Michael's hands also joined in his cruel frenzy.

Jason stared off at the lake. He eyed the thin sheet of ice that rested upon the lake's surface. Groups of mist would traipse on the veil, calling Jason over to have a stride on the glacial top. Jason knew it was another one of the lake's deadly traps. The sheet of ice does look alluring, beautiful even. And it looks like it could hold a person walking along it, but it only looked that way. Jason shuddered and turned away from the lake. He felt an unwanted sense of discomfort rest upon his shoulder like a charming devil.

The icy devil disappeared once Jason felt snow crumble along his back. He turned, seeing Michael's eyes shine with mischief. He wheezed at Jason's confusion.

"Ever had a snowball fight?" Jason signed.

Michael shook his head.

Jason grabbed a handful of snow. The formless snow was given purpose as he shaped it. Jason pointed to the snowball, then to Michael. Michael copied Jason, his snowball was a little misshapen, but it was more than enough. Jason pointed to Michael again then feigned a throw and pointed to himself.

Michael understood and threw his snowball at Jason. It hit Jason in his chest. He almost jumped out of his skin at the impact, before falling down. It wasn't that hard of a hit, but he did hear Michael wheeze again. Pleased with the results.

Of course, Jason couldn't let him have all the fun. He jumped up and threw his snowball at Michael. Hitting him in his chest. They both scrambled for another snowball. Jason ducked under a snowball as he threw his. Hitting Michael square in the head.

He retreated downward for another snowball. Once Jason stood, Michael appeared in front of him and threw snow in his eye. Jason recoiled at the dirty trick. He vowed to throw Michael as soon as he had a grip on him. As Jason swung his arm around, Michael pelted him with his artillery. Jason retreated to the ground again.

Unbeknownst to Michael, Jason was preparing for something big. His secret weapon: a snowball that could've served as the body for a snowman. Once Jason finished, he shot a look toward Michael. Jason threw his secret weapon. An explosion of snow erupted as Michael fell to the ground. The snow consumed him as he lay shaken, but not defeated.

Jason closed in on him, falling victim to another one of Michael's tricks. Michael tackles him and they both fall into the snow. Jason flips Michael over and pins him to the ground.

The forest fell silent as the two of them remained still. Softening at each other's gaze. Jason felt light. Any second, he'd levitate off the ground. The airiness grew bigger in his chest before dropping to his stomach. His heavy exhales weren't enough to abate it. He could feel himself wandering in Michael's eyes with no destination in mind. Despite how emotionless he comes across, Michael's eyes told Jason of his elation. Jason couldn't help but take it within himself. It consumed him, becoming too much to bear.

Jason fell beside Michael. He felt his consciousness slip away as he and Michael let the sun shine down on them. Jason was so close to being at peace, to the point that he could sleep with the camp he protected. There was one thing, one small thing, that still nagged him and would continue to nag him until he knew for sure it would be okay. He looked toward Michael. Michael returned his gaze.

"Do you dream?" Jason asked.

Michael laid stumped. Jason could tell he wasn't expecting such a question. But Jason needed to know. He needed to know if Michael saw Freddy too, so he could prepare. He needs to protect everything. The camp, his mother, Michael too. Michael eventually nodded.

"What did you see last night?"

"It was dark," Michael started. He continued to weave his hands. "Nothing but darkness. But, I saw you."

"Me?" Jason asked.

Michael nodded. "You were sitting. Alone. Then you laid down."

Jason's eye widened. That's exactly what he was doing in his head. As his consciousness drifted between the line of sleep and death, he sat. Waiting for the moment when his body needed to move again. Michael nudged Jason to snap him out of his thoughts. Repeating the question that Jason asked him originally.

"Did you dream?"

Jason shook his head. "I don't remember."

"Liar," Michael quickly signed.

Jason averted his attention to the sky. He was kind of embarrassed that Michael caught his lie, but what else could he say? He didn't know how to feel knowing that he and Michael had the exact same dream. As if Michael somehow made his way into Jason's dreamscape. Was Freddy there? That's the only way that could've happened. But Jason would've known, he would've felt Freddy's presence. He knows the familiar smell of ash that appears when Freddy is around. The scent of hell is hard to suppress; especially with someone like Freddy who's down there often. Jason let the revelation go. He didn't understand enough to try and figure it out. It didn't matter, not yet anyway. He noticed Michael pull out a device and stare at the bright screen. Michael put it away after a moment and stood.

"I have to go,"

How cruel. Another goodbye. Jason swallowed his worries. He stood with Michael.

"Let me walk you," Jason signed.

Michael nodded and followed Jason into the woods. They trudged through the snow to the camp's entrance where the van that Jason inspected two months ago sat on the road. It was amazing how little snow there was on the road compared to the woods. It was night and day. With only the occasional sheets of ice adorning the road. The van hummed for Michael's return. Jason froze as Michael approached the vehicle. Michael turned, confused.

"I can't leave," Jason signed. "This place is home. I must protect it."

Michael stared at Jason for what felt like hours, despite it only being a few minutes. Jason tensed. His heart, broken by his own words. But he always knew this. It was as real to him as breathing. A cardinal truth. He couldn't leave the land he was bound to. But he still felt the pain that Michael's eyes fed him. The unwillingness to accept such a truth creased Michael's eyes.

Jason moved Michael's attention back to the van. Michael stalked around to the driver's side. He stared at Jason one last time. A little longer than the few minute-long stare from before; finally, he moved his hands.

"Get some rest."

Jason shuffled his shoulders and nodded.

"Don't be a stranger," Jason replied.

Michael entered the van. After some time the van drifted down the road. Toward whatever destination Michael had in mind. Jason remained still. He refused to move a muscle until the van was completely out of view. Once it was, he walked back to the cabin and retired to the bed in the living room. Jason thought over his final interaction with Michael. Unable to shake the feeling of something being wrong. The van was on when he and Michael found it. Unless Michael has some ability to control vehicles, Jason had to settle with the worse answer: someone else was there.

It wasn't Freddy, Jason would've known, but the uneasiness still left his mind scrambled. Still forced him to make massive leaps in judgement—to the point he had to waste energy to center himself, and not blow it out of proportion. Jason sat back up and hunched over. Cradling his head in his right hand. He had to trust everything would be fine. But after that, what then? It addled him too much for him to sleep now. But he promised Michael, he had to try to keep it. There had to be a way.

Jason went to the bedroom past the kitchen and grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil from the drawer. He went back to the table in the living room. In the times before Michael, when a calmness claimed a piece of Jason's mind, he would write. He wouldn't write about a lot of things. Only stuff about the animals he encountered during a search of the perimeter, or talking about any chore he dedicated himself to that day.

But there was other stuff he wrote. He wrote letters to a person. A person he knew long before Michael. He's even received letters back, from said person. Despite how withered the letters must be now, they're still locked away in Jason's personal cabin. Jason wondered how long it's been since he sent them a letter. Maybe now was the time to confide in their company again. Knowing about Freddy, Jason didn't know how long he had until he attacked again. Until then, Jason had to make the most of the peace he had now. He huffed, preparing a story of the last two months to a figure of the past.

"Dear —," Jason wrote.