[Heading from the West-Wing Sorth Hall 1-A door close to the wall, about to get jumped by Ami]
Shit, this fog was thick as soup. The flashlight was useless, only glaring off a solid bank of mist with about maybe a few feet of visibility tops. Dean snapped it off, shoving the flashlight into his jacket's outer pocket and tensing himself, his grip not too tight on the hilt that it'd lock if he tried to use it but not so loose that he'd go dropping it either. With the light off, visibility wasn't much better, but as he inched along on the wet grass, boots sliding a little on the lawn, he got an impression of a looming wall to his right without actually seeing it. That was probably what he needed to get over, but the section that'd been ear-marked on the map as climbable was further down. The hunter strained his senses, prepared for anything to come barreling at him from the wall of fog. There was definitely something out there: he could hear the sounds of something cracking, as well as a wet, slurping sound that he'd learned too many times was probably some poor bastard getting made into dinner by some big, bad ugly sonuvabitch that needed to get put down.
When he got closer, he'd have to make a run for it and haul ass climbing it, but right now taking off at full tilt like that was just gonna make unnecessary noise.
It wasn't for the first time that Dean wished Sammy was here with him. He'd probably be worrying to death over his brother, but then again, he'd also be watching his back. Dean could hunt solo but these days, he wasn't so sure he wanted to go back to that; he was too used to Sam being there, bitching in the passenger's seat, taking the wheel of the Impala when Dean needed to crash for a few hours, basically just being there no matter what.
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Shit, this fog was thick as soup. The flashlight was useless, only glaring off a solid bank of mist with about maybe a few feet of visibility tops. Dean snapped it off, shoving the flashlight into his jacket's outer pocket and tensing himself, his grip not too tight on the hilt that it'd lock if he tried to use it but not so loose that he'd go dropping it either. With the light off, visibility wasn't much better, but as he inched along on the wet grass, boots sliding a little on the lawn, he got an impression of a looming wall to his right without actually seeing it. That was probably what he needed to get over, but the section that'd been ear-marked on the map as climbable was further down. The hunter strained his senses, prepared for anything to come barreling at him from the wall of fog. There was definitely something out there: he could hear the sounds of something cracking, as well as a wet, slurping sound that he'd learned too many times was probably some poor bastard getting made into dinner by some big, bad ugly sonuvabitch that needed to get put down.
When he got closer, he'd have to make a run for it and haul ass climbing it, but right now taking off at full tilt like that was just gonna make unnecessary noise.
It wasn't for the first time that Dean wished Sammy was here with him. He'd probably be worrying to death over his brother, but then again, he'd also be watching his back. Dean could hunt solo but these days, he wasn't so sure he wanted to go back to that; he was too used to Sam being there, bitching in the passenger's seat, taking the wheel of the Impala when Dean needed to crash for a few hours, basically just being there no matter what.