He continued watching, stealing occasional glances at his brother, whom he assumed had fallen asleep. He actually jumped when the driver door opened on the van. He backed away from the window in terror when he realised it was definitely Michael Myers coming toward the room. So now they were trapped, Sam was asleep, Dean still couldn't walk well, and all they had managed to do so far was eliminate a few things that didn't work to kill him.

"Sam?" he called, now looking at the door as though it would attack him. "Sam? I need help here."

There was no response. And the knob on the door started turning.

----------------------

Dean rushed to Sam's side and started to vigorously shake him, incessantly calling his name in hopes that one of the two actions would wake him. Sam had been right about one thing: Dean wasn't in any condition to be hunting at the moment. And he definitely wasn't in any condition to be defending himself and his brother. A light groan from the bed increased his hopes slightly, but by then, the door was fully open and Michael Myers was standing in the doorway, looking rather menacing and deadly. Dean grabbed his gun from the nearby night stand and aimed it carefully, knowing even as he did so that it meant nothing. The bullets wouldn't even slow him down.

"Sam?" he said again, without taking his eyes off Myers.

Michael Myers suddenly turned his head to the bed, spying the younger Winchester. Then, almost as if he'd seen the prey he wanted, he took two steps forward. Dean guessed that Sam was wide awake now, because suddenly there was a lot of movement on the bed and a grumbled, "Uh oh," before the taller brother leapt completely off the bed and rolled over next to where Dean was standing.

"That's not generally what I'd like to wake up to," he said, panting more from surprise than exertion.

"All the same, thanks for joining me."

Sam looked over then, noticing the rigid stance his brother had. His eyes followed Dean's hands out to the weapon. "What are you doing with that?"

"What do I normally do with guns, Sam?" the elder hunter growled impatiently.

"Bullets won't hurt him."

"I know that. I was hoping to slow him down."

"Believe me when I tell you they don't do that, either."

Michael Myers took a few more steps forward.

Dean nodded slowly. "Well, I'd rather not just lay down and die, and I don't have any other weapons at the moment."

"We should run," Sam whispered, as the two backed up carefully from where they were.

Myers was getting far too close to them for comfort now, and raised his knife. "He is so over dramatic," Dean muttered.

Sam had turned around, and was now grabbing the pillow off Dean's bed and hastily heading for the closest window. "Come on," he said. "We have to get out of here."

"What, through the window?" came the response as Dean took a few measured glances at his brother.

"You got a better idea? Cause I'd rather not lay down and die, either."

Dean licked his lips. "Hurry up, then! He's getting close!"

Sam used the pillow as a shield as he threw his fist through the glass. "If it makes you feel any better," he said, punching out the remaining shards with the same pillow, "he's not actually after you. I think he's still angry over that silver knife. Now get over here and go."

Dean stepped backward just as the knife came down toward his head, and Sam grabbed the back of his jacket with one hand, pulling with all of his strength. The elder brother felt the whoosh of the air in front of his face and only then realised how close he had cut it. Sam practically tossed him through the window, jumping out right after. Dean landed hard on his cast and bit back a grunt of pain, rising to his feet and dragging his little brother up with him. Together, they made a break for the Impala, running as fast as their beaten, weary bodies would allow. And as they reached the car, it became apparent that they weren't going fast enough. Myers was right behind him when Sam jerked the door open. He saw a shadow of a reflection in the window and dropped to the ground, the knife going through the glass and shattering it.

Sam kicked Myers' legs out from under him with great effort, knowing he was going to need to get the undead man away from the car before he could get in himself. He jumped up and took off running, ignoring Dean's shouts and knowing Myers was following him. He didn't have any idea where he was going. He was just running. After a few minutes, he vaguely registered hearing the Impala's engine roar to life but blocked it out in his haste to get away. He only made one mistake: he turned back to see how close his pursuer was. In spite of walking slowly, Michael Myers was still right behind him, and the distraction nearly proved fatal. The knife came down in a swooping arc that had Sam barely able to keep his throat in tact. As it was, the blade slashed through his jacket and caught, sending the younger brother to the ground. Myers refused to let go of the knife, which dragged him down on top of Sam.

What Sam was experiencing at this point could only be classed as blind panic. He had tried every method known to hunters to kill this guy . . . who was a fictitious character, by the way, been beaten up and chased, and was now fairly helpless below him. Luckily, Dean chose that moment to show up, the car's rumbling causing Myers to look over at the thing speeding toward them. Sam shoved with all of his might and rolled out of the way. The Impala hit Michael Myers with full force, sending him flying over the hood and to the ground behind. Dean got out and half-ran, half-hobbled to Sam, who was attempting to get up but failing miserably. Together, they made it back to the car and spared a long glance at the ground, where Myers lay unmoving. Sam was panting again, but this time it was definitely from exertion.

"That was unexpected," Dean announced after a second. "I didn't think he'd go down that easy."

"You said they tried that in the movies."

"They did."

"So then he's not dead," Sam continued, backing away. "Let's still drive away."

Nodding his agreement, Dean went back and got in the driver's seat, pealing out in his haste to get away. "Where are we going?"

"How should I know?"

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken when Sam muttered, "Sorry about your stitches."

"Hmm?"

"I think I ripped all of your stitches open," he said, on hand covering the red stain that was slowly spreading across his shirt again.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, trying unsuccessfully to force the concern out of his voice.

"Perfect. I mean, I'm being hunted by two movie characters that I can't figure out how to kill, I just got forced out of the only bed I have to sleep on, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and . . . oh, crap."

The elder Winchester turned to his brother at that, noticing the fingers holding his temples as if to block out intense pain. He jerked his eyes to the road for a split second and then looked back at Sam. "Vision?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Agh," was the response he got, as Sam threw his head back and was suddenly in the full-grips of the images being forced into his mind.

After about five – actually, six and a half, but who's counting? – of the longest minutes of Dean's entire life, Sam seemed to snap out of it. But he didn't sit up or move in any way, just sat like a rag doll.

"You okay?" Dean ventured to ask.

"Yeah," Sam choked out, his voice sounding pathetic even to himself. It was laced with more exhaustion and pain than one person should ever have.

"What happened?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Tell you later."

"Sam . . ."

"Look, it doesn't improve our situation; it's bad news. And there's nothing we can do about it right now, anyway. So we can talk about it later."

Dean recognised the pure enervation in his brother's voice and let the matter drop for now. "We need help," he announced as though it was a major breakthrough.

"I know."

"Let's call Bobby."

"Are you insane? What are you going to tell him? That we're being hunted by movie characters?"

"Well, we are."

"Fine. Tell him what you want."

"I know you're tired, Sam . . ."

"I'm feeling a lot more awake, actually," Sam snapped. "I don't want to sleep anymore. Keep me awake."

"Sure, Sammy."

"Sam."

Dean permitted a grin. "Sammy."

The younger hunter's eyes had drifted shut, but he still managed to scowl as he was falling asleep, despite his earlier claims that it was the last thing he wanted to do. Dean glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure Michael Myers wasn't following them in the stolen van. The road behind was clear. Grateful, he took another look at his now-sleeping (or unconscious) brother. Blood was still seeping from Sam's wound and Dean expected that if he were to look, that shoulder wound from earlier had probably started bleeding again, too. He looked down at himself, noticing that his cast had broken and was barely being held on.

"Great, just great," he grumbled.

They needed somewhere safe to go. But the only place he could think of to go was Bobby's, and that was a few states away. So they would have to take refuge in another motel tonight, and just hope that Michael Myers couldn't find them before they left again. Running from a hunt was something that was unheard of in the life of Winchesters. And he wasn't about to start now.

"It's not running, it's a strategic retreat," he said aloud, as though trying to convince himself.

Sam snorted in amusement in the passenger seat.

"You'd better be asleep," Dean warned, realising he'd been caught.

"I definitely am," came the murmured response.

"Good, because if you weren't, I'd have to beat you into submission."

"Consider me beaten," Sam replied, opening his eyes and struggling to sit up. "Where are we?"

"I don't know. New Jersey?"

"Thanks for that," the younger brother grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Is he following us?"

"Not that I've noticed. But that doesn't mean he's not there. So far he's proven to be pretty determined."

"We should go back to the forest."

Dean almost swerved off the road in surprise. "What? I thought you were tired."

"You know, after that vision, I just really don't feel like sleeping any more. We need to end this. We should go back to the forest and kill Jason."

"Sam, you couldn't kill a mosquito right now if it bit you. What makes you think you're capable of killing Jason?"

Sam finally sat all the way up, looking around. "Adrenalin is an amazing thing, Dean. It could keep me going for quite a while. And you, too. Is your cast broken?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Great. Well, let's create a plan and go kill these jerks so I can have a good night's sleep."

"Oh, a plan. What a good idea. How come we didn't try that in the first place?"

"Shut up, Dean. I think we were just going about it the wrong way. We need to kill Jason first, and then we can kill Michael."

"And you propose we do this how? We don't have any idea how to kill him and we don't know where to find his heart even if that was the way to do it."

"I've put some thought into this since the last time we had this conversation, and I think I have it figured out now," Sam answered thoughtfully, using his I-got-a-full-ride-to-Stanford tone of voice that bugged Dean so much. "We've lost Michael for a while, and now we can drive back to the forest to hunt Jason. One of us can keep him busy while the other searches for the heart. It won't be in a lake, like I first thought."

"Yeah? How do you figure?"

"Even if he drowned there two years ago, his remains would have gone through a lot of decomposing. But he supposedly died decades ago. His heart wouldn't be there anymore, and nothing would be keeping him here. Since he's still here, we have to assume his heart is still around, as well. That means someone must have somehow kept it."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Yeah. In fact, I'm pretty sure I know where it is."

"How could you possibly know that?"

Sam smiled mischievously. "I also know that he can be killed. You said he dies, but comes back to life when he's shocked. All we really have to do is kill him so he's out of the way, salt and burn the heart, and then kill Michael Myers."

"Is that all?"

"Jason seems to only come out when we get to a certain part of the forest. I think something is binding him there . . . his heart. It has to be in that grave I found."

"What grave?"

"When we first separated, I stumbled over some sort of grave-shrine thing. I'm guessing that's where the heart is buried. So if you kill Jason, I can dig up the grave and burn it."

"Speaking of when we first separated," Dean interjected, his mind going back to that time, "I thought I heard a woman scream. What was that?"

Sam looked over sharply. "I have no idea. I didn't hear a woman scream. Then again, I was a bit distracted at the time."

"It was probably my imagination," Dean hurriedly said. "Anyway, are you sure this plan of yours will work?"

"Nope. But I don't think we have any choice right now."

"Fine," the elder hunter hissed. "Let's do it before my better judgment tells me how stupid it is."

Dean swung the car around with ease and headed back to the dreaded forest.