28. Oliver Pryce

"Look, it's Sam's idea, not mine," I say to Cas through the phone. "Just be there."

"Is Sam having you babysit?"

"No, I'll be coming with. We'll think up an issue for Dean to buy. Unfortunately, I think he'll buy just about anything at this point."

"Hmm. Well, I'll talk to you later."

"Talk to you later, Cassie." I end the call and look to my younger brother, who's on his laptop like always. "I hate doing this behind his back like this."

"We're out of options, Jo. We got to try and find something to end this."

I flex my hands. Lately, with the cases we've done, I've been getting close to being out of hand. We encountered Cole on another case, and I had nearly killed him. The times when I've gone out, by myself, I've almost killed. I've roughed up a few people, got them shaken enough to drive them and keep them away from me. I've even been ballsy enough to make people think they're tripping on acid by showing them my eyes.

And the best part? I fucking loved it. I loved scaring people shitless. Nobody would believe them, because there aren't a lot of people who believe in the supernatural besides the creatures and the few hunters around the world. Well, I guess I can't forget the hardcore believers that aren't hunters, either.

"Hey," I greet Dean, who shuffles in with some coffee in hand. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a drunk baby. What do we got?"

"Uh, nothing," Sam reports.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, uh, no weird deaths, no demon signs. There's a Kitsune working some truck stops outside of Boise, but Rudy's on it, so..."

"All right. So, uh, snow day. I say we get drunk and shoot crap."

"Yeah, except we do that every day. Actually, I was thinking about seeing a movie."

"Yeah, that'd be cool."

"It's a French movie," I point out.

"You mean like nudie French?"

"Even better. It's about a mime that's secretly a cockroach."

"I-I don't get it."

"Dude," says Sam. "The New York Times said—"

"Who cares?"

"All right, well...It's playing in Wichita, so we might not be back 'til morning."

"Well, I trust you. Make good choices."

"Right," I say slowly. "You know, I mean...we don't have to go with it being just us two..."

"It's fine. Besides, I could use a little 'me' time."

"All right. Stay out of my room," says Sam.

"Totally."

"You know he's most likely gonna mess shit up, right?" I ask Sam as we head up the stairs, out of the bunker. "You practically gave him the invitation to go through your room."

"You're not worried he's gonna mess with yours?"

"What is there to screw up in my room? Hide my weapons? It's not like I've got a lot of keepsakes, Sam." I push the last door open, exposing us to the daylight and air of Lebanon, Kansas. I twirl my truck keys around my finger.

I drive us to our destination: our meetup point with Cas. I shake my head, seeing his yellow car. I kind of miss driving him around.

"Thanks for coming, Cas," I say sincerely.

"Of course. Where's Dean?"

"This is about Dean." I brush hair behind my ear.

"Is he...?"

"He's getting worse."

"Cas," says Sam, "we've gone through every other option possible. We got to talk about—"

"Don't say it," says Cas.

"Do you think we want this? We're not a fan of it, either. But if we want to get rid of the Mark...I'm just saying, Charlie's gone radio silent; everything else we've tried has been a dead end. So..."

"So I'll drive."

"Wrong," I pipe. "You give me directions, and I'll drive."

Cas's directions bring my truck and the three of us to a playground, where supposedly the doorway to Heaven is located. Where is it specifically? A sandbox, naturally, where all the ways to Heaven are.

The three of us step out and approach the sandbox, and the angel that's guarding it.

"That's far enough, Castiel," the guard says, eyeing me rather intensely.

"I'm a good girl, relax," I say.

"Excuse me?" Cas asks the guard.

"I have orders," the guard says. "You aren't allowed upstairs."

"Says who?"

"Hold, please." The guard leaves just long enough for the door to open a fraction and let another angel into the same vessel. "Hello, Castiel."

"Hannah."

"I swore I'd never occupy another vessel, but...we need to have this conversation face-to-face."

I tilt my head. I had completely forgotten about Hannah. Cas never mentioned what had happened with his journey with her. Was it even worth asking? All I remember is that she decided to leave her first vessel.

"What conversation?" Cas asks.

"What do you want in Heaven?"

"Metatron." I wince at the name.

"Why? Is this about your Grace? Are you fading?"

"I'm fine for now."

"This is about our brother," I say. Hannah looks at me, wide-eyed. "Cas was right all along, Hannah. I'm me."

"Because you think Metatron might have information about the Mark of Cain?" Hannah asks.

"No," says Cas. "We know he does."

"So he says. But Metatron lies."

"Hannah, we just want to talk with him," Sam pleads.

"No, you want his help. But we both know the only way Metatron helps you is if he's free. And I can't let the Scribe out of his cell. Not again. He's too dangerous."

"We won't..." Cas tries.

"Yes, you will. Because you're desperate."

"After all I've done for Heaven...after all I've done for you."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be!"

"Cas, let's go," Sam says.

"What? We're leaving?"

"Yeah, we can't fight off four angels," I agree with Sam. More have decided to aid Hannah, ready for a fight. We leave Heaven's entrance. "Even with me and you being the stronger team players."

"So...so what? You just want to give up on Metatron?"

"No, we need him," Sam says. "Time for plan 'B'. We break him out."

"Which is the dumbest idea on this planet, but we're desperate enough to do it," I sigh. "Okay, so, how are we gonna do this, Sam, since this was your genius idea?"

"I'll explain once we get in the truck." The second we get in, Sam pulls up his GPS. "Okay, so, if we can't get in the nice way, we gotta do it the hard way. That requires someone on the other end to help us get into Heaven."

"You mean like an inside man?" I ask. "Who could we possibly have in Heaven that would help us do something as crazy as this?"

"Bobby."

My mouth parts, and I rub my eyes. Right. Sam had mentioned Bobby Singer has been dead for a few years now. In a heartbeat, I know that old man would want to help us Winchesters. He'd treated us like his own blood whenever we were around. In fact, he gave us more childhood memories than our actual father did. Bobby made us feel like kids more than John Winchester ever could. And that was saying something.

"Bobby?" I repeat. "Okay, so, how are we gonna make that happen?"

"Take us here." Sam shows me the GPS destination. "And I'll explain it on the way."

Our drive takes us into night. I park the truck across the street from the house we're seeking out. We start to cross the street.

"So, back in the fifties, Oliver Pryce was a kid psychic," Sam explains. "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."

"Brutally slaughtered?" I say bluntly.

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

"Or not." I notice the "No Trespassing" signs on Pryce's fence.

"Mr. Pryce?" Sam knocks on the door. "Oliver Pryce!"

"I'll break it down," Cas offers.

"Dude, dude, dude. Chill."

"If anything, I'll break it down," I scoff.

"What?" Cas looks at us both innocently. "I'm helping."

"Just follow my lead," says Sam. The door opens, revealing a small, glasses-bearing Oliver Pryce. "Mr. Pryce? This is Sam—"

"Winchester," Pryce finishes. "You're Sam Winchester, Man of Letters. And you're Josette Winchester."

"Y-yeah," I say, eyeing him warily. "H-how did you, uh..."

"Mind reader, remember? And you're...What are you?" Pryce looks at Cas.

"I'm an angel," says Cas.

"That...No, you can't be."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm an atheist."

"Not anymore," I mumble. Pryce lets our party inside, and we get escorted to something that's both a living room and a dining room, all in one. I notice a picture nearby. "That's you?"

"Was me," Pryce says. "I don't do the psychic stuff anymore. Being around people, it's kind of...Hell. All those brains yapping all the time drives a guy bananas."

"Because you can hear everyone's thoughts," Cas muses.

"Well, not yours. All I'm getting from you is...colors. But the hippie over here? I'm seeing some creep-ass Hobbit-lookin' fella, a prison cell?"

"Wow, spot on," I murmur, impressed with Oliver Pryce. This guy is the real deal. But how can he see colors with Cas and not me? If I'm a demon, wouldn't he be seeing darkness or the colors of Hell that I saw? "That's Heaven's jail."

"Heaven's got a freakin' jail?"

"Yeah. Yeah it does. And we're looking to break someone out of it."

"We have an inside man," Cas explains, "but we need your help to talk to him."

"And if I say no?"

"You're the mind reader," I say neutrally.

"I'll get my crap."