𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛[𝙳.𝚆]

047

I jump over the fence into the asylum and feel my ankle twist at a weird angle as soon as I drop down onto the ground.

"Ow!" I hiss, quickly leaning myself against the fence. Sam and Dean both turn to look at me to see what happened and take in the sight of my pain stricken face.

"What did you do now?" Dean complains. I glare at him.

"I think I twisted my ankle." He rolls his eyes, walking over to me.

"What happened to being graceful?" Sam jokes. I mock a laugh and send a middle finger his way. He chuckles, walking towards the entrance of the asylum.

"Come on." Dean sighs, crouching down in front of me. I look at him in surprise, with a hint of amusement.

"What?" I let out a confused chuckle. He looks over his shoulder at me.

"I'm not gonna be waiting for your ass while you limp around the whole asylum. Now hurry up." He depanns. I laugh and climb onto his back like a child, resting my chin on top of his head and wrapping my arms around his neck. I feel him rest his hand under my lower thighs and I hitch a breath at the feeling. I hear him grunt as he stands up again, being careful to not let me fall.

"I think you're the one that's gotta start laying off the burgers, Jenny." I gasp at the insult and smack him in the side of the head. "I'm kidding, beautiful! I'm kidding." He chuckles.

I laugh when I start bouncing up and down as Dean climbs the steps to the asylum's entrance, and I can almost hear Dean smiling. We catch up to Sam, who's already inside taking a look around the main lobby of the rundown building, in no time.

I take a look around myself and cringe at the peeling walls, mold peeking out in certain spots. It was dark even for it being late morning, and it smelled strongly of mildew. The place was trashed, there was graffiti everywhere, and the place just reeked of paranormal activity.

"So, apparently, the cops chased the kids here..." Sam sighs, pointing over at a door. "...Into the south wing."

"South wing, huh? Wait a second." Dean removes his arms from under me so I take that as my cue to slide down to the ground again, careful to not put too much pressure on my foot. Sam and I watch Dean take out his dad's journal and flip through the pages. "South wing, south wing." He repeats to himself before stopping on a page. "1972–three kids broke into the south wing. Only one survived. The way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place." Dean sums up, skimming over the article.

"Huh, seems like the South wing is the center of it all." I say, crossing my arms as I continue inspecting the place.

"Yeah." Sam agrees.

"Yeah, but if kids are spellbunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?" Dean questions out loud, flipping the page in search of finding his answer. My eyes catch a pair of broken chains dangling from the doors that lead into the south wing.

"Maybe because of that?" I point over at the chains and both the boys look at it. "Doors have probably been chained shut for decades." I add. Sam walks over to it.

"Yeah, to keep people out. Or to keep something in." Dean says, shutting the journal. Sam pushes the door open slowly and glances at us before walking through.

"Can you walk?" Dean asks me. I test my foot out by walking a few steps forward and when I don't cave in on myself I look back at him and nod.

"I'm good." Then I continue forward, following Sam.

We walk down a corridor, multiple doors—that most likely lead to patients' rooms—on one side of the hallway. The walls were still moldy and peeling in the south wing, but there was much less graffiti. Actually, there was none at all.