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They’ve been walking for almost two hours now. East, Sam’s pretty sure, but without a sun they’d settled on whichever direction seemed lightest at the time.
“Look, Dean, chances are that’s not gonna work,” Sam tries.
Dean doesn’t pull his eyes away from his phone, held aloft as he searches out a signal. “Yeah well, I’m not seeing a better option, you?” The screen is glowing, but there’s no bars. His battery’s just dropped below 30%.
Sam ducks around a low-hanging branch. “Look, this isn’t the apocalypse world, but going by the. . .” He grimaces and gestures vaguely at the ground, where even in the dim light, ivory-white bone stands out sharply against the peat and moss. “We’re uh, not in South Dakota anymore.”
“Well come on then, Scarecrow,” Dean says, finally pocketing the phone. “Let’s see if we can find the wizard.”
“What wizard, Dean? Jack’s not here, Mom’s not here. Kaia –”
Dean comes to a halt, throwing an arm across Sam’s chest. “Look, we had everybody we know on red alert. Jack’s, well –” Dean pauses. “He’s a work in progress, but he’s getting a handle on the ruby slippers. He’ll find us. And wherever we are, all we gotta do is lay low, keep an eye out for flying monkeys.”
“You just gonna keep going with this metaphor, or –”
“And I called Cas, told him we found Jack. He’ll come looking.”
Sam frowns. “You talked to Cas?”
Something shifts in Dean’s stomach, but he ignores it. “Well, no, he didn’t pick up. I left a message. And hey, by the way, why’s he only been calling you lately, anyway?”
“I dunno.” Sam looks away uncomfortably, his expression almost guilty.
Dean almost presses it, but then he shakes his head and nods towards the failing light. “C’mon. Yellow Brick Road’s this way.”
//
A massive tree, gnarled and half-rotted out, is what counts for a home base now. Sam shifts to try and get more comfortable, but the claw-marks from last week’s dino run-in haven’t come close to healing yet. Blood’s soaking through the back of his t-shirt again.
“See, what we need, is a chopper lift outta here,” Dean says, gingerly propping his swollen ankle on a twisting tree root. “You, me, we’ll let Jeff Goldblum tag along.”
“Sounds great,” Sam says tiredly.
Dean shakes his head. “Get some sleep, Sammy. We’ll go velociraptor hunting in the morning.”
“Wasn’ a velociraptor,” he mumbles, eyes closed. “Their claws are diff’rent.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dean looks up through the treetop canopy, searching fruitlessly for stars. As always. “You sound like Cas. We tried to watch it one time, years ago, and the guy wouldn’t shut up the whole time. Kept talking about anachronisms and atmospheric conditions and crap. What a dork. No Laura Dern appreciation at all. Good thing we never got around to the new one.” Pain, brief but sour, seizes in his chest.
“Uh-huh,” Sam says, sounding at once exhausted and intensely bored.
Dean lets him drift off and pulls out his phone. The battery’s long since died, and the screen’s got cracks spidering down from the corner. For all intents and purposes, it’s useless now, but he can’t bring himself to throw it away.
//
Sam’s off getting water, ferrying it back to camp in the hollowed-out chunks of log they’ve gathered over the last few weeks. Dean should be keeping a closer eye, but instead he’s propped against a boulder, his eyes closed.
“Hey, buddy. Don’t know if you can hear me, don’t know if prayers can reach this far. I don’t even really know why I’m praying again. Maybe it’s cause this place. . .” He opens his eyes and glances around the clearing, laughing bitterly. “It just reminds me a lot of Purgatory, Cas. I mean, different brand of nasties; we’ve got Dinotopia now, instead of the regular-brand monster mash. But still. . .”
There’s a low whistling from the thicket to his left – it’s Sam, signalling his return.
Dean clears his throat and lowers his voice. “Anyway, I don’t know if you can find us, but if you can hear me. . .” He swallows. “We’re alive. We’re okay – ish. We miss you, Cas. I – I miss you.”