Jason?

The hockey-masked killer slowly turned his head to the other, this one's mask being white and with an emotionless expression. For a while Jason simply stared at the man clad in his usual blue jumpsuit, ignoring his questioning gaze. Michael had been asleep again. The taller of the killers no longer needed sleep, but he remembered enough from his childhood to know that ten days was not normal by human standards.

But Michael is not human, Jason reminded himself. Though he was more human than his undead counterpart, Michael could endure things no human could, though they did tend to take a toll on him.

It was seventeen nights ago that Michael had left. Jason had thought nothing of it, Michael often disappeared to go catch his next meals and tend to his... 'personal matters'. Yes, that was what he had called it when one day Jason had inquired to where he was going. 'Personal matters', being the response. The undead killer had wondered what the other was referring to. Michael wasn't mad. To some, he most certainly was, but Jason knew better. He was much like himself; he killed on a set reason and a set destination. For himself, it was to protect his lake, to kill any counselor or any other teenager who set foot on his land. Which was why he usually stayed there.

But clearly it was something different for Michael. Jason knew better than to think that he went out to kill any unfortunate passerby that he encountered. No, no. Michael was too... competent for that. And something else. Something about the way he often stared at the walls for long hours not moving an inch. Like he was planning for something. Plotting. Oh, how patient he was, too. Jason knew this first-hand.

One time a group of teenagers had come with their tiny brains to the camp that literally had death written all over it (Michael had found a paintbrush among the more recently deads' things that Jason tended to hoard away. Well, he had taken it, as well as a recent kill for a good steady source of red paint, and had become ever so creative with decorating the walls with repeated phrases, 'death' and 'void' being two of the most prominent words, until entire rooms were filled with his strange scripture.)

Anyways, Jason, as always, had gone off to take care of them. Only this time Michael had joined him. Perhaps it was their steadily increasing trust and companionship or just sheer boredom, but Michael had decided to join him that time.

Now Jason did tend to watch his victims before he slew them. Even he wasn't too sure why. Perhaps he hoped that there was at least one out of the groups that happened to have a brain, or perhaps it was boredom. But perhaps the most logical reason was that he always waited to strike 'till night. So it was around midnight, when the two killers headed their own ways to bring death to their unknowing victims.

By now, the adolescents were either alone, or, as teenagers, in pairs. Jason slew them without mercy, watching them try to escape him, or simply choking on their own blood for the ones that had been too stupid, or too... occupied... to see him. Throughout this time, Jason had yet to see one body that had already been slain by Michael. His thoughts were on that very masked man as Jason made his way to the cabin of the last occupant, if his head-count had been correct.

He sound of running, however, made Jason stop in his tracks, and instinctively blend in with the foliage. A girl, probably sixteen or so, ran frantically past Jason's hiding spot. He was about to give chase, when the girl shot a quick glance behind her, as if being chased by something. She had just turned around to continue running, when she was met with a ghostly white face with black eyes. With a scream of purest terror, she turned to run only to be stopped by one hand grasping her arm and the other covering her mouth. She was pulled close to him, making her attempt at escape ever more futile. Using the hand that covered her mouth to not only silence her, but hold her close to him and force her to raise her head, Michael released his grip on her arm to pull out his knife. Then slowly, and with careful precision, Michael ran the knife across her throat, leaving a deep gash and a trail of crimson behind. He held her until she died of losing so much blood, then dropped her hard on the ground.

He looked up to meet the eyes behind the hockey mask. Jason, who had watched every single detail, stood gazing at him curiously. Michael's methods, to say the least, intrigued him. How he had carefully stalked that single girl, how he had seemingly savioured that moment of the kill. Looking at him, he noticed there was not a single drop of blood on him, while his own clothes were soaked in the thick liquid. When Michael stepped over the body to walk towards him, Jason could not help but admire his cat-like grace and his slow careful steps.

Michael had stopped to give him a gaze of his own, the slight tilt of his head ever present. After several minutes of this, the other had walked off into the distance.

That had been but a month before, and seventeen days ago when Michael vanished as he often did, Jason could not help but have his thoughts linger on the man. And he could not help but panic when ten days ago, the shorter of the mutes had stumbled into the other's little shack on the lake with several bullet wounds in his chest.

Jason had stepped forward to help him only to have him collapse into his arms. He had easily supported his weight, and had gently laid him on his old bed that really only served as memories now. Jason remembered staring at him, his thoughts racing. Could Michael Myers die? No, no he isn't dead, he observed the slow rythmic rising and falling of his chest. Then he's asleep, and needs to wake up. And it had been ten days before he did.

Jason?

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Michael, who was now sitting up on his bed. Through the darkness that shadowed the holes in his mask, Jason could see the concern in his eyes. And he doubted his own mask would cover the concern in his own eyes.

You need rest. He told the smaller of them, observing his chest which was once covered with bullent wounds, but was now healed. He also noted their seemingly telepathic bond. It had been this way for a while, but it seemed neither of them knew why. It had simply happened. Despite this, Michael still didn't like to communicate, which is why Jason was surprised when he got a response.

Jason, I've been shot before. Six times in the same instance. I'm fine.

But the Crystal Lake killer would hear none of it. He stood, and walking over to his bedside gently pressed on Michael's shoulders, leaning him back into a lying position.

You need rest. He thought firmly.

I have rested. Which was true. How long has it been?

Ten days. Michael, I was worried about you. I thought... I thought you would never wake up...

Why would you think that?

Jason was silent for a long while, before he finally thought in a whisper-like voice, Mum never did.

Michael knew what had happened all those years ago. Jason was open with him, and patient when he could not return that. He just wasn't ready to confide in someone. He didn't know how to be. So it stung him as well as the man who said those words. For a while Michael simply stared at Jason, who had turned his back to him to hide his tears. Silentlly as always, Michael stood and rested a hand on the other's shoulder.

Jason, your mother was human. I am not. I cannot die as she could...

Michael quickly removed his hand as Jason spun around to face him. He took a step back, fearing he might have angered him by speaking of his mother. Instead, he found the other's hands clamped firmly on his shoulders. Looking at the other, he found Jason was no longer trying to hide his tears, simply allowing them to flow and some to drip off his mask.

I just - I just don't want them to take you away too. I was alone, Michael. All I had was her. Then they took me from her and then her from me. I was left alone again, Michael. But I'm not alone anymore, I have someone. I have you. I don't want to lose you. Not again. I don't want to be alone again.

All the while Jason tightened his grip on the other's shoulders, as if he would vanish if he didn't. Michael felt uncomfortable with the other's closeness, but didn't fight it. He knew Jason just didn't want to be alone anymore.

They won't take me, Jason. They can't. For fifteen years I've baffled them. They like to pretend they know me but they don't. They're just as clueless about me as my victims are. And what could they ever do to me if they did take me? Lock me away? So I can escape?

Michael could see the smirk in Jason's eyes, so he continued.

They can't do anything to me. To us. Together we're just as much stronger. They can't touch us.

Jason relaxed his grip on the other slightly. That's when they heard the car door slam shut and teenage laughter erupt somewhere outside.

There was a playful smirk in Michael's eyes that Jason had never seen before. From somewhere in his jumpsuit he produced his knife and picked up the other killer's machete and handed it to him. And then he told him something that made his still heart soar.

Let's kill someone.