"Anyway, are you sure this plan of yours will work?" Dean asked.

"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.

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"I can't believe I'm willingly going back here already, and I haven't even slept yet," Dean grumbled as they drove along. "Are you sure we shouldn't just find some place to take a nap or something?"

"NO!" Sam shouted eagerly, then relaxed when he saw the look of surprise on his brother's face. "I mean, we really should take care of these guys before we give up."

"I'm not talking about giving up, Sammy. I'm talking about getting some energy so we don't pass out in the middle of the hunt."

"I'm not going to pass out."

Dean lifted an eyebrow but let the statement pass. Sam looked pretty bad, and he assumed he wasn't doing any better in that department. The younger Winchester had blood staining the front of his shirt and the exhaustion emanating from him was almost tangible. Dean's cast was cracked open, causing serious pain on his ankle. He was also dead tired. And they were going to go attack two guys they hadn't been able to kill when fully rested and healthy. It just seemed like a bad idea. What was with Sam's determination to go right now?

Regardless of his brother's reasoning, Dean couldn't deny him anything when he was looking so pathetic. That was why, against all logic, he had agreed to the plan. He was supposed to distract Jason while Sam dug up the grave he was so sure the heart was in. How he was going to do this was totally beyond him, but he'd figure something out.

They pulled up next to the forest and got out of the car. Dean's ankle was a constant dull ache, impossible to ignore but not bad enough that he couldn't push it to the back of his mind until the job was done. Sam's hand was still protectively covering his bloody stomach; he was obviously pushing that to the back of his own mind. Something was bugging Dean, though, and he couldn't put his finger on it. But whatever it was, it was driving Sam and he was struggling to keep up.

"Stay close to me until we get there," Sam ordered as he pulled a shovel from the trunk of the car with his free hand. "We really don't want to be separated."

"Is there something you're not telling me, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Sam forced a smile and responded with, "It's Sam," without answering the question. "Now let's get in there."

The elder hunter shrugged and followed his brother for a while. But Sam's longer legs and lack of a broken ankle gave him quite a large advantage. He was soon falling behind.

"Where's the fire, Sam?" he called out, leaning against a nearby tree for support.

Said brother turned around, concern and guilt clouding his face. "Sorry," he said, coming back. "Are you okay? We can walk slower."

"I don't even know how you can be in turbo speed when you haven't slept in days. Aren't you tired? I mean, a while ago you were begging for rest."

"Uh, no – not tired. That vision I had gave me a little extra energy."

"The vision gave you extra energy?" Dean repeated dumbly, with a look of disbelief.

"Yeah. Cool, huh? Keep walking."

Okay, there was definitely something wrong here. Unfortunately, Sam didn't seem to want to stop to talk about it and Dean was being forced to use all of his concentration in staying on his feet so he couldn't afford to ponder it more. He'd get back to it later, when they had finished off these guys and caught up on their sleep.

"Are we there yet?" Dean grumbled after a few minutes.

"What are you, four?"

"Are we or not?"

"Yes, we are. In fact," Sam announced, coming to a halt so quickly his brother bumped into his back, "we're here."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. He's been coming out when I get to that over there," the younger hunter replied, pointing to where a crude grave had been made, complete with a cross made out of tree branches, tied together with a shoelace.

"Well, get over there, then," Dean urged. "I don't want to wait around all night."

Sam shook his head at his brother, walking forward with the shovel gripped tightly in his left hand. He was tempted to bring it up for a club-like weapon, but knew Dean would endlessly tease him for it. It was sad, since Dean hadn't really had any close-up encounters with Jason Voorhees, but Sam had already had a few and didn't care for any more. That was probably the reason he wanted Dean to be the distraction.

When the toe of his shoe touched the grave, Jason made his appearance. If Sam hadn't been prepared for it this time, he probably would have lost his head. There wasn't even the rumble of the chainsaw this time for warning. The shovel flew from Sam's hands and the hunter barely managed to twist out of the way of the saw blade. Then he got hit hard in the side of the face with the handle of the chainsaw, apparently while Jason was regrouping. He flew to the ground.

"Dean!" he called, scrambling for the shovel a few feet away.

"Hey!" Dean shouted immediately, hobbling toward Jason to get his attention.

Sure enough, the undead man locked his eyes on the elder hunter, heading that direction instantly. Dean turned to run, but tripped when his cracked cast caught on some roots below him, and went down in a heap. He scrambled to a sitting position, his hand closing over a rock next to him. He threw the rock with all of the rest of his strength, and gasped in relief when it hit the blade of the chainsaw, knocking it out of Jason's hands to the ground. Gratefully, he dropped to his knees, expecting the fight to be pretty much over. Really, what could Jason do without his chainsaw? The only other weapon he ever used was a machete . . .

The elder Winchester surged back to his feet when he realised what he'd been thinking. Jason's weapon of choice wasn't the chainsaw in the first place. And Dean got up just in time to dodge the swinging blade by dropping back to the dirt and moss below him, groaning when he landed in a position that twisted his ankle.

"Hurry up, Sam!" he growled. "I can't hold him off forever!"

"I'm digging as fast as I can!" Sam retorted, chucking a shovel full of dirt over his shoulder. It was taking a long time, but he really was doing his best.

Dean shouted something obscene in return and then there was a loud thud before silence. Sam tried to ignore that, brushing it away from his conscience so he could focus on his task. In retrospect, it would have been a better idea to let the guy with the broken ankle but healthy upper body do the shoveling and the guy with the torn stitches in the stomach and back but perfectly fine legs do the running around. But it was too late for that now. Instead, he continued to pile dirt on the sides of his growing hole.

Sam almost yelled in joy when his shovel finally hit something solid, and he quickly brushed the dirt away to reach the coffin. Prying it open, he found just what he'd expected – a decomposing heart. It was practically nonexistent and it smelled terrible. He poured a generous amount of salt on it and the coffin, then hauled himself onto the higher ground as he poured the gasoline all over it. Finally, with a twisted grin, he tossed in the match and watched as the hole filled with flames. He whirled just in time to watch Jason collapse to the ground, twitching as though in a seizure. Then he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

"Finally," Sam breathed, now turning around to find Dean. The elder hunter was on the ground a few feet away, not moving. "Dean!" he shouted, crawling over as quickly as possible.

Dean groaned as Sam's hands on his throat drew him from unconsciousness. Was Sam checking for his pulse? His eyes snapped open as he remembered what was going on. "Jason –"

"Gone," Sam interrupted, relieved that his brother was still alive and apparently not too much the worse for wear. "Dead. Burned. Smoked. Eradicated."

"Eradic–"

"Let's get you up," Sam said, interrupting again before Dean could make fun of his vocabulary. "Can you stand?"

"I guess so," Dean answered, trying to shrug off his brother as he was pulled to his feet. His broken leg throbbed unmercifully, but his other leg readily held his weight when he stepped down on it. "I'm good."

Sam let go, but stood nearby in case Dean collapsed. "Michael Myers is probably on his way back here by now. And for that, I have no idea what to do. How should we kill him?"

The elder hunter looked up at his little brother with a weak form of malice in his hazel eyes. "If I had any idea, Sammy, I promise I would have told you already."

"It was more of a brainstorming question than an accusation, Dean," Sam said, holding his hands out to his sides in a conciliatory gesture.

"Right. Sorry." He leaned back against a tree and studied his brother, who seemed to find something educational in the grave ahead. Either that, or he had zoned out to think. Dean guessed it was the latter.

A sudden crack of dried leaves and twigs brought them both out of their separate reveries. "Here he comes," Sam announced unnecessarily. They crouched down behind the tree Dean was leaning on and waited.

"We've tried everything," Dean snapped from their hiding place. "Nothing kills this guy!"

"Has anyone ever tried to decapitate him?"

Dean looked incredulously at his brother. "Cut his head off? I actually don't think so."

"Okay . . . why don't we chop him into little tiny pieces and salt and burn each one?"

The elder brother stared for a few seconds before replying, "That's disgusting, Sam. Truly disgusting." Then he smiled. "Let's do it . . . right after a good night's sleep."

"NO! No, no, no, no. We don't need to sleep. Let's just finish him off tonight."

"Look, Sam, I really need to know what's going on."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been acting kind of funny for a while now – ever since the vision, actually. I need to know why before you kill me from lack of sleep."

Sam took a deep breath. "It was my vision."

Dean waited a second for more, but nothing was forthcoming. "And what? It really did give you extra energy?"

"Hardly," the younger Winchester grumbled mirthlessly. "It made me think twice about sleeping."

"Yeah? Why's that? What happened in your vision?"

"Uh . . ."

"Spit it out, Sammy."

"Have you ever seen Nightmare on Elm Street?"

Dean pondered this question for just a second before its meaning started to sink in, and his eyes widened. "Freddy?"

"Yeah."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It wouldn't have helped us. It was just more bad news, and I'm sick of being the bearer of it."

The two sat uncomfortably as the minutes ticked by, not looking at each other. Finally, Dean licked his lips and broke the silence with a characteristic comment: "Well, at least we haven't met Frankenstein and the mummy yet. Things could always get worse."

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NOTE: Congrats to everyone who reviewed and guessed some of the "surprises" I whipped up here. I enjoyed reading the reviews because so many people had the same ideas I did! Thanks for your great support! And this won't go on until I've used every horrible 80's horror movie villain known to man, I promise!