The Prophet

Chapter 50: Megabitch The Creep Ass Hobbit Fraggle

I was lying upside-down in my seat when Sam and Cas returned. "Where's Megabitch?" I asked.

"The other angels refuse to let us in heaven," Cas explained "Last time Dean was . . . overly violent with Metatron."

"I see. Look guys I have the tablet at the bunker and God-translate in my head. Maybe we don't need him."

"Maria you said you were having trouble reading the demon tablet," Sam said "and Dean's getting worse. We can't wait on this anymore. We're going to break him out."

"I know but this just seems like a really bad idea."

"At this point it's our only option." Cas said.

"Fine," I sat right-side up. "So I'm assuming you have a way to get into high-security heaven without permission?"

"Bobby."

:::Time skip brought to you by R2D2:::

"So back in the '50s, Oliver Pryce was a kid psychic. He performed everywhere . . . carnivals, Atlantic City . . . you name it. He was the real deal. Now, the Men of Letters were teaching him how to control his powers when they got . . . you know." Sam said.

"Brutally slaughtered?" Cas suggested helpfully.

"Thanks for lightening the mood," I mumbled. The angel gave me one of those confused looks.

"The point is," Sam continued "he's one of the good guys. He might be happy to see us."

"Or not." Castiel said, looking at the many many signs with various words that meant "Go Away!"

Sam knocked on the door. "Mr. Pryce?" There was no response so he knocked again. "Oliver Pryce!"

"I'll break it down." Cas stepped forward to break down the door.

"Dude, dude, dude." Sam stopped him. "Chill."

"What?" Cas asked "I'm helping."

"Just follow my lead," Sam said "Mr. Pryce? This is Sam-"

"Winchester." A man opened the door. "You're Sam Winchester, Man of Letters."

"Yeah. H-how did you," Sam stuttered "uh . . ."

"Mind reader, remember? And you're . . . What are you?" He looked at me and Cas.

"I'm an Angel."

"I'm a prophet."

"That . . . No, you can't be." said the psychic.

"Why not?" asked Castiel.

"Because I'm an atheist." said Pryce.

"Not anymore." Sam said. We followed Pryce into his living room/ dining room.

There was an old poster of a kid on the wall. It read 'OLIVER PRYCE Ten Year Old PSYCHIC' There was a glowing magic wand crossed over the picture of the kid.

"That's you?" Cas asked.

"Was me. I don't do the psychic stuff no more," he said "Being around people, it's kind of . . . Hell. All those brains yapping all the time drives a guy bananas. Because you can hear every ones thoughts. Well not yours or hers."

"Wait not mine?" I asked.

"A prophets thoughts are unreadable," explained Cas. "If someone managed to read a prophets thoughts they could know what is written on the tablets. It could prove disastrous."

"Awesome sauce!"

"All I get from you two is . . . colors. But the hippie over here?" Sam glanced up to make a bitch-face at being called a 'hippie' "I'm seeing some creep-ass hobbit-lookin' fella? A prison cell?"