October 9th – October 14th, 2014

I followed behind Sam and Dean at a farmer's market while I talked to Nate on the phone. Dean scrolled through his phone while he blindly followed behind Sam, who had picked up an apple and took a huge bite out of it.

"Okay, I gotta go. We just pulled up to the place," Nate said.

I nodded. "Good luck. Just shoot me a text after."

He chuckled. "Yeah, will do."

"Bye, Maddi!" Garth yelled in the background.

"Bye, Garth." I smirked.

"I love you," Nate said.

"Um, I—" I cleared my throat and glanced up at Sam and Dean. "Same to you." I hung up.

Dean chuckled as he continued scrolling through his phone. "Wow. Guy goes to Purgatory for a year, all hell breaks loose." He nodded at his phone. "Check this out. A jogger in Minneapolis gets his heart ripped out."

"I'm guessing literally?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Only way that interests me. And then, there's another article from six months ago."

Sam put some tomatoes in the canvas bag he was carrying while barely listening to Dean.

"Same thing happens, also in Minneapolis. What does that tell us?" Dean asked.

"Sounds like a case," I said.

Sam shrugged. "Or stay out of Minneapolis."

"Two hearts ganked, same city, six months apart," Dean said.

Sam handed some cash to the little old woman sitting behind the tomato display.

"I mean, that's got to be a ritual, man. Or at least some sort of a heart-sucking, possessed, satanic, crack-whore bat," Dean said.

Sam furrowed his brow. "A what?"

"It's a case," Dean snapped, "Look, I say we hang out the shingle again and ride."

"We're on a case, Dean," Sam said, "Kevin and the demon tablet need to be found, so heart guy takes a number."

"Uh, we just spent a week chasing our asses trying to lock Kevin down, okay? And look at us. We're—" Dean looked around, confused. "Where the hell are we?"

"Farmers' market," Sam said slowly as he held up his apple. "Organic."

Dean and I shook our heads at each other and turned our attention back to Sam.

He shrugged. "What? I had a year off. I took the time to enjoy the good things."

I nodded. "Yup. While completely avoiding what we do."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Wow, does it make you guys feel that much better every time you say it?"

Dean sighed. "All right, man, look, I get it. You took a year off to do yoga and play the lute, whatever, but I'm back." He nodded. "Okay, we're back, which means that we walk and kill monsters at the same time. We'll find Kevin. But in the meantime, do we ignore stuff like this? Or are innocent people supposed to die so that you can shop for produce?"

Sam looked guilty for a moment and sighed.

After talking with the detective working on the jogger case at the police station, we waited for him to come back with the case files.

The detective returned a few minutes later and set the files down on the desk in front of us. "Here's what's odd about this thing… the guy wasn't chopped or cut into, no incision. But his heart was ripped out of him like a peach pit."

"Was he robbed?" Sam asked.

The detective shook his head. "Phone, watch, money all still on him."

"What about enemies?" Dean asked.

The detective shrugged. "He was in town for a conference. No local connections."

"You guys had a similar case six months ago?" I asked.

The detective nodded. "Yeah, and we hit a brick wall. We had nothing to go on, really. Thought maybe we got lucky here." He walked over to a TV and started playing us a video. "A park surveillance camera picked up something."

We watched the video as a heavyset man ran past the jogger with ease.

"Huh," Dean said. "That chubby guy, the last person to see the vic alive?"

The detective shrugged. "Other than the killer. Name's Paul Hayes. We, uh, pulled him in for questioning."

"So what makes you think he's clean?" Sam asked.

"Well, so far, no reason not to. I mean, he said he briefly saw the victim, he ran out ahead, that was it," the detective said.

"What?" Dean scoffed. "You mean he didn't fall to his knees and confess to gutting the guy?"

The detective gave Dean a dirty look and shook his head. "No. I mean, we did a thorough check on the guy, not so much as a parking ticket came up. I mean, look at him. I mean, sure, he can run a little bit, but Thor, he ain't. You think he's gonna grab Freddy fitness here and throw him down and rip out his heart? I don't think so. Forgive me if I didn't take him out back and shoot him." He stared Dean down.

I shrugged. "Well, Ted Bundy didn't have a prior criminal record before he was convicted of killing thirty women even though it's likely that he killed over a hundred. And Aileen Wuornos was only 5'4" and weighed 130-pounds when she was arrested for killing six full-grown men. So, I think it's safe to say you can't let someone go just because you don't think they're capable of doing something."

The detective glared at me.

"What?" I asked, "You're okay with the possible murder victims that oversight could create?"

The detective chuckled. "Well, now, I've been doing this job a lot longer than you've been alive."

I nodded. "Yeah, really well, I see. And how many cold cases do you have?"

The detective looked at me, taken aback.

Sam quickly cleared his throat. "Okay, uh, so… any idea where we can find this guy?" He pointed at the screen.

While Sam and I waited in Paul's kitchen for him to finish making his smoothie, Dean went off to use the bathroom and check out the house.

"Sorry," Paul said as he poured his smoothie into a glass. "I kind of try to stick to a nutrition and workout schedule. Do you want a hit?"

I shook my head, a little grossed out by the green-brown sludge.

"I'm good. Thanks," Sam said.

"Oh," Paul said, almost surprised, and then shrugged before taking a big swig.

Sam cleared his throat. "So, Paul, you passed a runner who was later killed. Did you speak with him at all?"

Paul nodded. "Yeah, I went over this with the cops. I— I— I didn't know him. I had never spoken to him. I ran past him. I never saw him again. The end."

The toilet flushed, and Dean walked into the room to join us.

"Mmm, oh." Paul cringed after he finished taking another sip. "It's disgusting. It tastes like crap, but it keeps you young." He gestured at Dean and then the smoothie.

"Thanks, uh— uh…" Dean rubbed his stomach. "Too much fiber."

Paul shook his head. "No such thing."

"Thank you." Sam glanced at Dean and me with an "I told you so" look. "See?" He turned his attention back to Paul. "Now, Paul, we couldn't help but notice that the jogger you outraced was a good deal younger than you."

"Yeah, and less, uh…" Dean shrugged, not really knowing how to put it.

"Uh, full-figured?" Paul asked with a chuckle and nodded. "You should've seen me before. Yeah, hugging a desk all day and watching TV all night, eating fried everything was killing me. I had a health scare about a year ago."

"Sorry to hear that," I said.

Paul shook his head. "No, it changed my life. I mean, I started taking care of myself."

"Now your body's a temple, huh?" Dean asked.

Paul nodded. "Where I worship every day." He took another sip of his smoothie with a smile.

Dean and I sat at a café table while he worked on his laptop. A few minutes later, Sam joined us.

"All right, so… what's the word?" Sam asked as he sat down. "What did you find poking around at Paul's?"

Dean shrugged. "Ah, just the usual… condoms, hair gel. No hex bags, nothing satanic, nothing spooky."

Sam flipped through the case files. "So, he didn't seem like a guy who would be voted most likely to disembowel?"

Dean shook his head. "No, they never do."

Sam sighed.

"Wait a minute," Dean said as he scrolled through. "Here's another one."

"What? Murder?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "And a do-it-yourself heart bypass. Two days after this one."

"What part of Minneapolis?" I asked.

"The Iowa part," Dean said, "Ames."

Sam shrugged. "Well, Paul was here being questioned. There's no way that could have been him."

"This guy was a cop," Dean said as he read over the article. "This is exactly what happened six months ago. Minneapolis, then Ames. Guess you missed that one." He looked at Sam.

Sam looked at him in slight surprise.

Dean shrugged and turned back to his laptop. "I'm just saying."

We made our way to the Ames police station to talk to Officer Levitt, who had worked on the case.

Officer Levitt nodded. "Arthur Swenson. Real top-shelf officer. Twenty years on the force. He'd ordered a pizza, which the vic delivered."

"And then?" Sam asked.

"The vic didn't make his next drop-off. His body was found on the walk-in front of Swenson's," the officer said.

"And he wasn't wearing a heart?" Dean asked.

The officer shook his head. "No. Heartless."

"And, uh, what about Swenson?" Sam asked.

Officer Levitt shrugged. "Crumpled on the front stoop. Covered in blood, crying like a baby. Ironically, he had been in court all week, testifying."

Ring! Ring! Ring!

"Hey, Levitt, line two," another officer said.

"Excuse me." Officer Levitt nodded at us and then answered the phone, "Go ahead."

"So that couldn't have been him in Minneapolis," I whispered.

Dean nodded. "I hate when this happens."

The officer hung up his phone.

"So, this Arthur guy, what does— what does he have to say?" Dean asked.

"Uh…" The officer shook his head. "It's not real helpful."

Officer Levitt walked us back to sit down in an interrogation room with Arthur.

He was sitting at the table clasping and unclasping his hands. "K'uhul ajaw, Cacao, shi-jiiy. K'uhul ajaw, Cacao, shi-jiiy."

"So, you getting his statement?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah, ki— kind of," Sam stuttered. "Probably not."

"It's too bad I dropped out of Lunatic 101," Dean said.

Sam shrugged. "Whatever it is, it sounds like he's repeating it."

"Look at his eyes," Dean said as he approached the table.

One of Arthur's pupils was as large as his iris.

"Hey, Arthur… did you do this alone?" Dean asked.

"Did something tell you to kill?" I asked.

Arthur slammed his fist on the table, and we all jumped. "K'uhul ajaw, Cacao, shi-jiiy! K'uhul ajaw, Cacao, shi-jiiy."

Dean nudged me. "Oh, now you've pissed him off." He turned his attention back to Arthur. "Hey, Art. Can I call you Art? Listen, I'm gonna sprinkle your arm with holy water…" He pulled out a flask. "And it's gonna steam and burn if you're possessed by a demon."

Arthur kept rocking back and forth.

Dean looked at us. "He's a mushroom." He sighed and poured the holy water on Arthur's arm, but nothing happened.

"Okay, not possessed," Sam said.

"Arthur, you want to tell us why you did this?" Dean asked.

"K'uhul ajaw, Cacao, shi-jiiy," Arthur repeated.

Dean nodded in annoyance. "Okay."

Back in the motel room, Sam played the recording he got of Arthur.

"K'uhul ajaw, Cacao, shi-jiiy."

"So, what do you think?" Sam asked.

"Personally, I prefer the Keith Richards version," Dean smirked.

"Can you actually understand any of the words?" Sam asked.

"If they even are words," I said.

Dean nodded. "Sounds like babble to me." He hesitated a moment and pulled out his phone. "Wait a second."

"What?" I asked.

"I bought a translation app," Dean said excitedly.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You bought an app?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah." He held out his phone to the recorder. "Here, play it."

Sam played the recording, and we waited a moment for the app to finish.

Dean sighed and shrugged when he looked at the phone. "And babble wins. 'Language unknown.'" He held the phone out with a smile, so Sam could read it.

I nodded. "You look pretty happy for it to give us absolutely no information."

Dean side-eyed me.

Ring! Ring!

Sam smirked and answered his phone. "Agent Sambora." (…) He furrowed his brow. "What?"

Apparently, Arthur had taken a piece of broken metal to his eye and was now in the hospital. So, Dean and I went to speak to his doctor while Sam stayed behind and worked on some research.

Dean and I looked through Arthur's room window. He was passed out with a bandage wrapped around his head.

Dean turned to the doctor. "So, Dr. Kashi, what are we looking at here, some kind of psychotic break?"

She nodded. "Oh, definitely. He was very thorough. Severed the optic nerve. He was determined to remove the eye."

Dean furrowed his brow. "And he used, uh, what to cut with?"

She peered into the window. "He doesn't look strong enough, but he broke off part of the bed frame and used it as a knife."

A nurse walked by and handed her a file.

She nodded at her. "Thank you."

"Wow. They should put warning labels on those beds," Dean said.

Dr. Kashi nodded. "Like I said… determined."

"I noticed that he had two different-colored eyes," Dean said.

"Yes," she said, "Apparently, he was in an accident where much of one eye was shattered. His vision was saved with a transplant."

"When was this?" I asked.

Dr. Kashi looked through the file and then nodded. "A year ago, almost to the date. And, interestingly, it's the transplanted eye he chose to cut out."

"Really?" Dean asked. He looked at Arthur and then back at the doctor. "Hey, let me ask you something, Doc. Is it possible to trace the donor of a transplanted organ?"

She nodded. "Difficult."

"But possible?"' Dean asked.

She smiled at him.

After picking up some takeout, we went back to the motel.

"Hey." Dean nodded at Sam, who was sitting on his bed working on his laptop as we walked in.

Sam looked up at us. "Hey. Arthur Swenson had an eye transplant a year ago, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Well, I remembered that Paul Hayes was talking about a health scare he had a year ago that changed his life, so I pulled up his medical records from Minneapolis," Sam said.

Dean and I gave Sam a look.

"You guys want me on board? I'm on board." Sam shrugged. "Anyways, you want to guess who else, other than Arthur Swenson, had a transplant in the last year?"

"Paul Hayes?" Dean and I asked in unison.

Sam nodded. "I gave it away, didn't I?"

"Okay, so we've got two suspects in two identical murders in two different cities that both had organ transplants a year ago," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Also—"

"I love when there's an 'also'," Dean said.

Sam sat up and swung his legs over the bed. "I got to thinking about all that stuff Arthur Swenson was talking about. Maybe your translation app called it 'language unknown' because it's a dead language, like ancient Greek or Manx."

Dean furrowed his brow. "Manx?"

Sam nodded. "So I e-mailed an audio file of Arthur's mumbling to an anthropology professor."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Well, let's get our asses on the road."

I shook my head. "To where?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, if we are in a repeat of a cycle from six months ago, then, after the murders in Minneapolis and in Ames, the next heart attack was in Boulder, Colorado."

Later that night, we were on the road to Boulder.

Dean nodded. "All right, case is coming together. Things are coming together, man. The three of us. It is all good." He looked over at Sam, who wasn't even acknowledging that he said anything. "Hey."

Sam looked at him. "What?"

"What are you thinking about? Organic tomatoes?" Dean asked.

"Uh, I'm not thinking about anything," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "I don't know about you, but this last year has given me a new perspective."

"I hear you. Believe me," Sam said.

"I know where I'm at my best, and that is right here, driving down crazy street with you two," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Makes sense."

Dean nodded happily. "Yes, it does."

Sam shrugged. "Or… maybe you guys don't need me."

I furrowed my brow. "What?"

Sam nodded. "I mean, maybe you're at your best hacking and slicing your way through all the world's crap, just the two of you."

Dean glanced over at Sam. "Yeah, that makes sense." He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Sam rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. "Look, I'm not saying I'm bailing on you. I'm just saying make room for the possibility that we want different things. I mean, I want my time to count for something."

"So, what we do doesn't count?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Dean searched for his phone as he gave Sam a look and then answered. "Yeah?" (…) "Hey, Dr. Kashi." (…) "Okay. Thank you." (…) "Uh, could you run one more name for me?" (…) "Yeah… Hayes, Paul." (…) "Uh-huh. And the donor?" (…) "Seriously? How many others?" (…) "Did anybody from Boulder, Colorado, receive any of those organs?" (…) "Okay, thank you." He hung up. "Well, this is gonna singe your axons. She says that both Paul Hayes's kidney and Arthur Swenson's new eye came from…" He paused and looked at Sam. "You ready for this?" He waited for a moment. "Brick Holmes."

Sam raised his eyebrows and smirked. "You don't mean the Brick Holmes."

Dean nodded. "I do."

"The all-pro quarterback?" I asked.

Dean nodded. "Indeed. Yeah, the guy played at the top of his game for like a million years, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he— he bought it in a car crash last year," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Nose-dived off a bridge or something," Sam said, "He must've signed a donor card. Did the doc say how many organs he donated?"

"Including our two suspects?" Dean asked. "Eight."

I raised my eyebrows. "Eight?"

Dean nodded. "Eight."

"Okay, um, and one of them's in Boulder, am I right?" Sam asked.

"You would be wrong," Dean said, "That's the bad news. Good news is, Brick lived just outside of Boulder."

Sam shrugged. "Well, Brick's dead."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but he's all we got, so we are going to Boulder."

The next day, we pulled up outside of Brick's big, beautiful house to talk to his mom.

She sat across from us in the living room.

"I just want to say how sorry we are for your loss, Mrs. Holmes," Dean said.

She nodded. "Thank you."

Sam smiled. "You know, Brick Holmes was my idol back in high school. Amazing career. Uh, eighteen pro seasons, seven division championships, four Super Bowls… never slowed down a day."

She nodded with a smile. "Brick lived for competition and athletic perfection. I don't think it occurred to his fans that he was human, like the rest of us."

"Do you know your son was an organ donor?" Sam asked.

"Does that make this a matter for the FBI?" Mrs. Holmes asked.

Dean nodded. "Like we explained earlier, we're mostly here, uh, to dot some I's on a different matter."

"There was a public-awareness thing a few years ago," she said, "A lot of star athletes signed on. I'm sure Brick didn't think twice about it since he never thought he was going to die."

"A lot of jocks are like that, I guess." Dean chuckled.

Mrs. Holmes nodded with a smile.

Dean shook his head. "You know, I— I can't help wonder what happened that night on that bridge. There was light traffic, no alcohol involved, no skid marks. Big-time athlete, reflexes like a cat, how is it that he just drives off the side of a bridge?"

"When things happen that aren't supposed to happen, they're called accidents, I believe," Mrs. Holmes said.

"So, everybody knows about Brick's football career, obviously, but no one knows much about his personal life. Was he ever married?" Sam asked.

She shook her head. "Just to the game. He gave it everything he had. It's a difficult life."

"Did you notice any changes in Brick before he died… you know, anyone, anything new in his life?" Dean asked.

Mrs. Holmes shook her head. "No, no. I don't think so."

"So, no new interests?" Dean asked, "Fly fishing, stamp collecting, the occult?"

Mrs. Holmes looked shocked. "The occult?"

Dean nodded. "As a 'for instance.'"

She shook her head. "No. Everything was just as it had been. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid my time is up." She stood up. "The university is naming a new athletic building after Brick. I can't be late."

"Of course. Just one more question," Sam said as the three of us stood up.

She nodded. "There is always one more question in life, isn't there? That's what I find." Then she walked past us toward the door.

We walked out to the Impala as Mrs. Holmes hurried off.

"Well, she's definitely hiding something," I said.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, she didn't want to say much, for sure."

"Son of a bitch," Dean snapped as he scrolled through his phone.

"What?" Sam and I asked in unison.

"There it is. It happened," he said.

"Come on, don't tell us someone had their heart ripped out here in Boulder," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "All right, then I won't tell you." He walked over to his door.

Back at the motel, Sam got a call from the anthropology professor while we were researching.

"All right, Professor, that does it." Sam nodded. "The FBI thanks you." (…) "Yes, I am totally looking into adding you as a technical advisor." (…) "Yeah, it— it comes with a medical plan. All right, goodbye." He hung up.

"He get anything good?" I asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, he did." He took a deep breath and sat down at the table with us. "All right, so, here's what crazy Arthur Swenson was babbling over and over." He looked at the paper he had been taking notes on. "Um, first, it is a dead language… ancient Mayan."

Dean nodded. "Doesn't get much deader than that."

"So, what Arthur was saying was, 'The divine God Cacao is born,'" Sam read.

"Cacao?" Dean asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, Cacao, the Mayan God of maize."

Sam nodded. "Exactly. Corn, the big crop."

Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded at us.

Sam nodded. "See, Cacao was the most powerful god because maize was the most important thing to the Mayans. Well, that and torturing and killing everyone in sight."

"So, this is what we're looking for, is a thousand-year-old culture's god of corn?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Uh, I guess."

Dean nodded. "Well, whatever it is, we better cap it quick, or somebody in Phoenix is next up to get their heart yanked."

"Someone in Phoenix got a piece of Brick?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I got a name. Just e-mailed the cops." He sighed. "Just heard back from them. They haven't seen the guy in days. Uh… oh, got another email here, too. This one is for you." He looked at Sam. "From a university. Answering questions about admissions."

I furrowed my brow. "You're trying to go back to college now?"

Sam shrugged. "Just something I'm looking into. An option."

"You're seriously talking about hanging it up?" Dean asked in annoyance.

Sam shook his head. "I'm not talking about anything. I'm just looking at options."

Dean stared at him.

Sam sighed. "So, what, should we just go to Phoenix and chase our tails until this guy shows his face?"

"No. Uh, Brick Holmes is the way into this." Dean stood up and walked across the room. "Eleanor Holmes was doing her damndest not to tell us a thing. Nice job on changing the subject, though."

Later that night, we snuck into Brick's house while no one was home.

"All right, naming ceremony's over at ten," Dean said as we walked up the stairs with our flashlights. "We got to get in and out."

Sam nodded and flashed his light into an open door. "Master bedroom."

"Yeah," Dean said as we walked in. "Closets," he said as the two of us walked through a door just inside the room and turned the lights on.

Sam walked into the other closet and flicked the lights on.

"Brick's closet. Looks like the stuff hasn't been touched in a year." Dean shook his head with a smile. "Man, what this stuff would go for on eBay." He chuckled and opened one of the drawers. He pulled a bottle of peroxide and smirked. "Hey, Sammy, would it totally crush you to know that your boy Brick wasn't a natural blond?" He tossed the bottle back into the drawer.

"Guys, this is really weird!" Sam shouted from the other closet.

"What do you got?" I asked as I turned away from the shirts I was shuffling through.

"I don't know. Is this Eleanor's closet?" Sam asked.

Dean and I furrowed our eyebrows at each other.

"Why would his mother's closet be in here? Are you sure?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam said, "Check this out."

We stepped out of the closet to see Sam holding up a blouse for us to see.

"This is what she was wearing today when we talked to her," he said.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe she moved into Brick's room after he died. Or…" He nodded to the king bed in the room with pillows for two.

I frowned. "Ew."

Sam sighed. "Yeah. Thanks, Dean. Now that image is permanently etched into my retinas."

Dean shrugged, and then we went back into our respective closets. I went back to the clothes I was combing through, and something caught my eye as I slid the shirts across the rack.

"Hey, Dean, come look at this," I said as I gestured to what appeared to be a hidden door.

Dean nodded with a smile. "That's what I'm talking about."

"Sam!" I called over my shoulder. "We got something."

When Sam walked in behind us, Dean slowly opened the door. It led into a small room filled with sports trophies and memorabilia.

Sam looked around in amazement. "Wow." He pushed past us into the room. "I knew he'd have something like this in his house."

Dean nodded. "This is a lot of hardware. Okay, the football trophies I get, but there's a lot of other stuff here…" He started gesturing to all the things in the room. "I mean, baseball, boxing, race-car driving."

Sam shrugged. "He was a fan. Any kind of athlete… he respected them. I mean, look at all the old stuff he's got… a cricket mallet, golf clubs, a Kendo sword, archery equipment."

Dean leaned down and pulled an old box out of one of the many cupboards. "Hey, look at this." He set it down and took the lid off, revealing it was full of old letters.

We all sat down and started skimming through the letters.

"They're all the same," Sam said and then started reading out loud, "'Dearest Betsy…' Blah blah blah."

"Who's Betsy?" I asked.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Girlfriend? Eleanor didn't mention a Betsy."

Sam sifted through a few more letters. "This one looks old," he said as he opened it and started reading, "Uh, 'Dearest Betsy, third day of training camp. Roadwork improving. Working on my left jab. They say this kid Sugar Ray is gonna be tough.'"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Sugar Ray? As in Robinson? Didn't he box in, like, the '40s? Is it signed the same?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. 'Love, me.'"

"Here," Dean said and started reading, "'Dearest Betsy, on the road again. So hard to be away from you, honey. Will give the Red Sox hell and get back to you.'"

After reading through some more letters, all to Betsy, from Me. Most of the letters a4had references to playing all different sports with well-known athletes back in the day.

"Wait, this one looks recent." I picked up a letter with fresher paper. "'Dearest Betsy… So tired of it all,'" I read, and then we all shared a look.

After packing up the box of letters and taking note of some of the other things in the room, we went back to the motel. Dean and I continued going through the letters while Sam worked on his laptop.

"Hey. I pulled up the names on those trophies," Sam said, "Check it out."

Dean and I moved our chairs over to see what Sam was working on.

"All right, Brick Holmes… football player," Sam said as he pulled up a picture of Brick. "Charlie Karnes… race-car driver." He pulled up a picture of Charlie. "Davey Samuelson… baseball player." He pulled up a picture of Davey. "Kelly Duran… boxer." He pulled up a picture of Kelly. "Four different guys, right?"

Dean and I nodded. "Okay."

"Check this out." Sam clicked a button and pulled up all four pictures at once. It looked like it was four pictures of the same guy, just with different hair and clothing. "Same dark eyes, same cheekbones, nose, mouth."

"Wait, are you saying that these four guys who all look to be in their mid-twenties and go back seventy years could be the same guy?" Dean asked.

I shrugged. "We've seen weirder."

Dean nodded. "Wow. For a ninety-five-year-old, Brick Holmes could take a hit."

We went back to researching for a few minutes.

"So, if all those athletes were the same guy, how'd he pull it off?" Sam asked, "Appear, then go away and come back with a new look?"

"Cacao, the, uh— the— the maize God… was Mayan, right?" Dean asked as he looked up from Dad's journal.

Sam and I nodded. "Yeah."

Dean nodded. "The Maya were all about war and torture and conquest… and sports." He looked back down at the journal. "It says, 'Their athletes were treated like kings.' The Mayan jocks made sacrifices to Cacao by—" He looked up at us. "Ready for this? 'Killing a victim, pulling out his heart, and eating it. They believed the rituals gave them super-charged power over their opponents.'"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, but they didn't stay young forever. So, what? Maybe Brick just made some kind of deal with this Cacao?"

Dean nodded. "Well, we've seen it before… people making deals with demons, gods. I mean, maybe he stayed young and strong so long as the sacrifices kept coming. Remember all that antique sports equipment he had? This guy could go back to the Mayan days."

Sam smirked and stood up. "Wow. So, one of the greatest QBs to ever play the game was over 900-years-old."

I shrugged. "Well, that explains Brick, but what about the people walking around with his organs?"

"Maybe the spell went along for the ride and infected the people who got his organs," Sam said, "Remember how Paul Hayes said he had a health scare that changed his life?" He sat back down in front of his laptop. "I mean, maybe the spell could compel him to keep carrying out the ritual."

Dean nodded. "Sort of like getting bit by a werewolf. I mean, once you're infected, you do what you got to do, especially if you like the results."

"Right, except old Arthur, the dedicated cop, couldn't handle it and went nuts." Sam sighed. "Brick Holmes, a heart eater. Who knew?"

"Yeah, sorry, buddy. The mighty… they fall hard, huh?" Dean asked.

Sam squinted at his laptop as he read something. "Well, at least he wasn't sleeping with his mother."

Dean nodded with a smirk. "Yeah, good, Sam. Find the silver lining."

Sam shook his head. "No, seriously. Look."

We turned our attention back to Sam's laptop that had a picture of a boxer standing next to a woman who looked like a younger Eleanor Holmes.

"'Fighter Kelly Duran is congratulated on a second-round knockout by wife Betsy,'" Dean read the caption and then looked at us. "Dearest Betsy."

The next morning we got up and headed straight over to Eleanor's house. Sam knocked, and she opened the door a few minutes later. She looked slightly confused since we were wearing our regular clothes.

"Hello, Eleanor," Sam said.

"Or would you rather us call you Betsy?" Dean asked.

Her face dropped, and then she nodded with a sigh. "You should come in."

We followed after her into the living room, where we sat, and she paced in front of us.

"Look, Eleanor, innocent people are dying," Sam said, "And they're gonna continue to die until we stop it."

Eleanor sat down on the couch opposite us.

"Did you know about the murders over the past year?" Dean asked.

She shook her head. "No. I didn't. I swear. I thought when— when Brick died, it would be over."

"Help us. Betsy, this is not what you want Brick's legacy to be," Dean said.

Eleanor looked away sadly and then back at us. "His Mayan name was Inyo. He was a proud young athlete nearly 1,000 years ago. He lived for sport and never wanted his days in the sun to end. So he arranged a bargain with the God Cacao through a high priest."

"Stay young forever," Dean said.

Eleanor nodded. "As long as the sacrifices continued, twice a year – once for the planting, once for harvest."

"When did you find out about this?" I asked.

"Not until I began to age and— and Brick— Kelly, as he was when I met him… did not," she explained. "But by that time, Brick himself had changed… inside." She smiled. "He wasn't just the warrior whose only reason for living was combat. He—" She paused for a moment, remembering fondly. "We were deeply, deeply in love. So in love, I'm ashamed to say that when I found out that— How my husband stayed young and strong, I chose to ignore it."

Sam nodded. "You and Brick had to go underground from time to time to hide your secret, right?"

"Every ten years or so, he would, uh, re-emerge with a new look, a new name. And me, I was the wife, and I was the woman in hiding, and then, when I got into my forties, I became Brick's mother. Eleanor." She shook her head. "I am so tired. You can't imagine the burden of it all. I think even Brick was through. He could see the end of my days were at hand, and… he had lived centuries all alone, but I don't think he could bear the thought of life without me. That's why he drove off that bridge." She looked at us tearfully. "You must think I'm a monster."

Dean shook his head. "No. No, just that you married one. Well, see, here's the deal. Now there are eight killers out there that we have to deal with, not just one."

Eleanor shook her head. "I don't think so."

Sam furrowed his brow. "What? Why not?"

"Brick used to say the heart was key. That was the focus of the sacrifice," she said.

"Are you saying that if we stop Brick's beating heart, then we could stop the whole thing?" Dean asked.

Eleanor nodded.

"Do you know where the person is who has the heart?" I asked.

She just stared at me for a moment.

"Do you know?" Sam repeated.

We pulled up in front of the Bunny Hole, and Dean parked across the street. Eleanor said the person who had the heart was named Randa, and this is where we could find her.

"Really? Our king daddy monster is a stripper?" Dean asked.

"We're pretty sure this is gonna work, right?" Sam asked.

Dean scoffed. "Well, as long as Eleanor knows what she's talking about." He reached back and grabbed his bag, pulling out a large knife, and handed it to Sam.

"You think Brick thought maybe he'd burn to nothing when he crashed that car?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but he didn't, which brings us here."

We got out of the Impala and walked around the side of the building to the back entrance. Dean picked the lock, and then we hurried in. We walked up a set of stairs into the girls' locker room.

Dean shined his flashlight around the room with a smile. "Smell that?"

"You're gross," I said, and then Sam and I continued out of the room.

Since it was still early in the day, the main area was darkly lit and empty. Until suddenly, the lights came on.

Heels clicked on the stage behind us, and when we turned, a woman with short brunette hair was walking out toward us.

"Eleanor sent you, right?" she asked. "I figured she'd probably break and give me up. This won't end well for her, of course. Not that it's gonna end well for you."

Sam took out the knife.

"Oh now, you don't think we're gonna let you do that, do you?" Randa asked.

"'We'?" Dean asked.

Randa raised her eyebrows, and then two men came up behind us and started attacking. I realized after a moment that one of the men was Paul.

Paul and then the other man threw Sam and me into a crowd of chairs and then turned their attention to Dean.

The other man knocked his gun out of his hand and then picked him up by the collar of his shirt.

"I'm the guy from Phoenix you were looking for," the man said.

Jimmy and Paul threw Dean on the stage at Randa's feet and pinned his arms down.

"Oh, you guys are stronger than you look," Dean said.

Paul chuckled. "Comes with the package. Plus, I work out a lot."

Sam and I got up and quietly hurried over to the bar.

"You can't imagine who I was before," Randa said, "This shy, awkward little thing from Georgia with a heart condition. Then I had the surgery." She put her high-heeled foot on Dean's chest. "I became friggin' Xena, Warrior Princess." She sat down, straddling Dean. "I couldn't dissect a frog in high school. But sacrificing to Cacao? Better than sex. So, if I go real slow and take my time and enjoy this, I can actually show you your own beating heart before you die." She placed her hand on Dean's chest and started forcing her fingers inside, causing him to yell out in pain.

At that moment, Sam and I ran up with bottles in our hands and smashed them over Jimmy and Paul's heads. They each let go of Dean and turned their attention to us, but just as they were going to attack, Dean stabbed Randa in the heart. Her eyes and her wound started to glow red and burn. Paul and Jimmy let go of Sam and me as they turned to watch Randa.

She stood up and moved away from Dean. The red flames started to grow, and then a red light emanated from her chest. As it did, the same thing happened to Jimmy and Paul, and then all three of them dropped dead.

Dean gasped in pain as he looked back at us and then rested his head on the stage. I walked up to him, put my hand on his shoulder, and healed his wounds. I felt pain in my chest for a moment, and then it was gone.

"Thanks." He groaned as he stood up. His eyes flash at the fresh blood on my chest. "I don't want you healing us if you're hurting yourself."

"Dean, I'm good," I said. I pulled my shirt down enough to show him that I was completely healed. "I feel a flash of pain, and it's over. It's a lot easier for me to go through the healing process than it is for you."

He nodded. "I get that, but Death said—"

"I know what Death said. You weren't dead or on the brink of death, were you?" I asked.

Dean shook his head. "No, but—"

"Okay, then it's all good," I said, "We should probably get outta here."

Before leaving town, we visited Eleanor.

She served us all coffee, and we let her know that everything was finally taken care of.

"Well, we better get going, uh…" Dean put down his coffee cup. "We just wanted you to know that it really is over now."

Eleanor nodded. "Well, it had to be, one way or the other. I half thought you might fail, and Randa would come after me. Either way, I'd finally be at peace."

"You take care of yourself, Eleanor," Dean said, and then we parted ways.

Dean smiled happily as we drove out of town. "Wow. Back in business. Got the win. Admit it… feels good, huh? You know, I was thinking about what Randa said about, uh, ya know, what it feels like to be a warrior. I get it, man, I do."

Sam nodded. "I know. I know you do. I don't. Not anymore. Hell, maybe I never did."

Dean shook his head. "Come on, Sam, don't ruin my buzz, would you?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, listen, when this is over… when we close up shop on Kevin and the tablet… I'm done. I mean that."

Dean shook his head. "No, you don't."

"I'm pretty sure he does, Dean," I said.

Sam nodded. "Dean, the year that I took off, I had something I've never had. A normal life. I mean, I got to see what that felt like. I want that. I had that."

Dean shook his head. "I think that's just how you feel right now."

Sam sighed and looked out the window.