The pounding in Sam's head slowly brought him awake. His eyelids felt like lead weights and he had to struggle to even attempt to open them. His tongue was comparable to swollen leather and seemed to be trying to fold in on itself and down his throat. His shoulders and back were screaming, his head hanging down limply past some hard edge. He could feel pressure pulling against his ankles and wrists, his legs bent as something bit into his thighs.

The first thing he saw was an upside down moon staring at him as if weeping. Words rose and fell in a never ending flow somewhere outside of where he half lay.

Slowly able to turn his head, he spotted a brazier at a forty-five degree angle from him, reddish coals throwing off a little light. A hiss and sputter made him turn toward the other side, in the direction of the river of words. A sandaled figure stood before another brazier, a dark knife glinting wetly in the half-light. More hissing from the coals as drops of blood fell from the cut hand to feed them. He could smell it burning.

Sam tried to say something, but what little sound his still numb mouth made was drowned out by the revving up of an air conditioner unit. He realized they must be on the roof of a building somewhere. Glancing around as best he could, he caught sight of what he thought was the Trammel Crow Center, a tall black structure he'd seen only that afternoon. They were at the DMA.

The hour felt late and aside from a few active security lights in the buildings around them, they looked deserted. Even if he screamed, no one would hear him – that was assuming his voice ever made is past the drone of the air conditioner units. At this time of night, no one would see them.

As soon as the unit wound down, Sam tried to speak again. "Ricky…"

The figure by the brazier turned toward him. Instead of the features he expected, what met his gaze was the face of a jade jaguar. The eyes he saw through the slits were glowing and in no way appeared human. The flow of words, unintelligible to him, but still ringing with presence, came to a halt.

The eyes stopped glowing. It didn't make Sam feel any better.

"You're awake. That's good." Ricky came closer. Sam could now see the gold and jade bracelets at his wrists, the bare chest with a thin film of perspiration, the feathered cloak draped over his shoulders as if he had transformed into a different shape than the one he was born with.

"You have power." Ricky's tone held no malice or anger. It was as if they were having a normal conversation on the street. "The others didn't. Surely your sacrifice will be pleasing to the gods. It will feed and appease them so they may will the power back into my people."

Sam lost sight of him as he moved around whatever he'd been strapped on.

"Ricky, you know this is wrong. Don't do this." He struggled to stretch his neck as far as he could, trying to catch a glimpse of him again.

"What's wrong is the annihilation of my people. And I'm not talking merely about death of the body, but the death of the spirit -- the Heart of the Maya. Those not of our kind have been determined to extinguish it for the last fifty years or more. It's not right." A hissing sound rose from the far end on the right. "Denying us our language, our traditions, our renewal. Who are they to dictate what is right or wrong, what gods are real or not? To his last breath my father fought for his adopted family, and what did he accomplish? Nothing, absolutely nothing, though he struggled until his last breath."

Another hiss, this time from the far left.

"I realized when he died I would get nowhere either, despite my plans to try to work it from the inside." Sam could hear the weight of the realization in his tone. "My people were damned. When I was a boy, despite the fact I'd been chosen to continue in the traditions of the Ajcuna, to treat with the spirits and gods as an intermediary for my people, I was taken away too soon. My training was never completed." Ricky came back into view again, this time standing next to Sam's midriff.

"But though I despaired, the gods sought me out. They hadn't deserted us after all. They called to me when they came to the museum. And from their Words I knew what needed to be done."

"Ricky, listen! Killing me is not going to save anyone. Don't do this!"

The jaguar mask pointed upwards as if bathing in the night. The flow of foreign words once more began to issue into the air, the cadence enticing, pleasing, but still somehow flawed.

Sam pulled against his bonds to no avail. "Ricky! You have to stop. Ricky!"

The mask looked down, light once more coming from the eyes. One jeweled hand pulled up the end of Sam's t-shirt while the other wielded the knife, which cut through the cloth as if it weren't even there. The two pieces of the split shirt fell to either side, exposing Sam's chest.

Fear shot through him, turning his skin cold. As the words continued to fill the air, the hair all over his body prickled as if coated in electricity. A hum beyond hearing built up around them and Sam knew he was doomed. He couldn't take his gaze from the knife as it rose up and hovered above him getting ready to strike.

Though it would prove totally useless, there was only one thing Sam could think of to do. "Dean!"

A black, roaring blur crashed into Ricky, rolling both bodies on the pebble seeded roof. Sam blinked, not believing his eyes, as what he thought was a jaguar ended up being his brother, who was heartily pummeling the man he just pinned to the ground. The sense of building electricity bled off as if it had never been. The knife skittered across the stones, the mask rolling the other way. The sound of flesh smashing flesh rose and fell over and over.

Sam saw his brother stumble to his feet and back away from Ricky's prone form heaving in great lungfuls of air.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean's face was flushed, his eyes filled with worry.

"Where the hell have you been, Dean? You cut that a little too close!" He knew he should be grateful -- that his brother just saved his life. But he'd been scared totally out of his mind. Anger was all he could latch onto at the moment to push the fear away.

"Dude, do you have any idea of the kind of security they have at this place? And it's not like I knew where in this blasted maze he had you. I got up here as fast as I could!" A knife came out of nowhere and cut through the closest set of ropes.

Sam gasped as his arm was released, his shoulder screaming doubly hard now that it was free to move.

In short order, Dean had cut all of his bonds and helped him down. Sam grimaced, the returning blood flow hurting like hell. His legs wouldn't hold him, so Dean did instead. He propped him up against the air conditioner unit and helped him sit on the ground.

From the new vantage point, Sam saw that Ricky's makeshift altar was a workbench of some sort. On the floor all around it were lit candles, bowls of what smelled like rum, cigars, and food.

Dean cut off his view as he knelt in front of him and cupped Sam's face in his hands, his concerned gaze raking over him. "Did he hurt you?"

Sam shook his head once then stopped as the movement made him dizzy. "Drugged me, but I think I'm okay."

They both turned to glance to the left as they heard the gravel shift. Ricky had somehow turned over and was even then struggling to crawl toward the mask.

Dean jumped to his feet and rushed toward him. "That's enough of that, looser!"

"Hold!"

Dean skidded to a stop. A shocked sound escaped Ricky's swelling, bleeding face as he stared toward the new voice. Sam turned to look as well. What he saw totally confused him.

A woman stood before them, but not a woman. She had black hair with a white stripe and tribal clothing like he'd seen the Maya people wearing in pictures on the Internet – a woven tube skirt, woven belt, loose shirt. She wore the four colors attributed to corn and also the four directions – the seeds from where life sprang and the boundaries of the world. Her youthful face faced Dean, another full of wrinkles and age was turned toward Sam, the face of a jaguar looked out behind her, and yet another on the far side which he could not see. A living snake graced her/their neck, while another with feathered wings hovered at her/their side.

"Ix Chel!" Ricky crawled forward and prostrated himself before her. "She of the Rainbows! Have you come to help me?"

Sam recognized the name. It was that of the Maya Moon Goddess, keeper of the waters, consort to the Sun.

All of what she was seemed to merge, forming into a middle aged woman who looked down upon the prostrate man with obvious pity. "No, my child, I have not."

Ricky looked up, aghast. "I don't understand! These, these outsiders have come to destroy my great work. All I have done has been to feed and please the gods. Why would you not help me?" Tears filled his eyes, his confusion plain in every line of his face.

"Because I sent them to stop you."

Sam glanced back toward his brother. Dean stood frozen, his eyes wide, staring with what might be awe, recognition, love? Sam realized instantly she was the one responsible for Dean's changes, for the odd things which had been happening since they arrived in this town.

"Why? Why would you do such a thing?"

The woman took a step closer to him then knelt down where he lay. "Because, my child, you forgot how to remember. Without remembrance, there is no growth. And you were used by one who also lost his way long, long ago."

"But I tried so hard."

"What you made was not beauty, only death. Death will not feed us – only words of making and loveliness – the honey of the fifth world, the Fruit of the Earth. Your shaping was marred. You have forgotten the true meaning of a Sacrifice of the Heart."

Ricky began to cry. Despite everything, Sam couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

The woman Ricky called Ix Chel rose to her feet. "Warrior, please hold him. He must not be allowed to interfere with what must be done next."

Dean nodded, looking a little confused yet sure all the same. He took pieces of the cut rope and approached Ricky from behind. The man didn't resist as Dean tied his hands and feet then lugged him off to put him down to the side as far away from Ix Chel and the makeshift altar as possible.

The woman nodded in thanks, then turned to face Sam.

"You too are a vessel, but unlike him, you are not cracked, your shaping true. You have been fired and tempered so that great power can reside and flow through you and your spirit remain intact. And so it must now be." Her tone was kind, her gaze welcoming. "But first you must remember, as all the people strive to remember. You must remember that which has been forgotten and let it help you change the soiled Words to Words of music, so those who have been wronged and ignored for so long can be fed and brought peace."

Sam recalled that to the Maya words were everything. Words are what formed life, the world, the entire universe. Every building, cup, major piece of work was always inscribed with a name, something to help it be. But as to him being a vessel? Holding power? Did it have anything to do with the demon's plans for him? The odd things he could do? Yet this woman implied he could be used for good instead. It was something he'd dreamed of with all his heart.

The woman came close and knelt before him, her gaze never leaving his. She placed her hand on his exposed chest.

A great pressure built there and then shot to all parts of his body. Veils parted in his mind as this world and the mirror world of the Maya revealed themselves to him, joining in his heart. The sound of rain fell softly to his ears as plants and mountains over imposed themselves over the buildings of glass and concrete of his waking reality.

Ix Chel's facets increased, creatures and faces in layers and layers radiating in and out. Sam glanced at his brother again. Dean now looked the warrior she named him, wearing bone earrings, a feathered headdress, woven breeches, even as he retained his usual look and clothes. The black jaguar face undulated in and out over his features.

All five worlds of creation were there, as well as the gods and all the Words – the Words that were form – stone and fire, plants, water and lightning, wind and animals, and finally shape, the fruit of all the Words of the worlds before.

And though all of it was strange, it was also wondrous and right. As if he were seeing the world complete for the very first time.

"You must take the items and place them on the altar. Then you must look at them and see the Words of their making. You must take those Words and weave them, create with them, make beauty from them, so those who are housed within can be who they were again. Those who can help will come," she said.

The pain in Sam's shoulders, back, wrists, and legs was gone. At her beckoning, he rose to his feet. He glanced down at himself and saw he too was layered. He appeared as Dean had described him from his dream. The pouch at his chest felt warm and alive. The hidden parts within making their names known to him in his mind, the parts they could play whispering themselves to him.

Power gathered from the air and rolled in his belly, undefined, unfocused and growing. It could not remain there forever.

Almost in a trance, he took the flint knife and the mask from where they had fallen and placed them on the makeshift altar. Tendrils of dark energy and the horrid smell Dean spoke of before, and which only now could he smell, emanated from them in waves. He pulled his hands away from them as if from sticky tar.

Faint whispers came from the items as he gazed upon them, Words which he did and did not understand. Lightning flashed in the night sky, causing after images in his eyes, but these were of other times, other places, rituals, like cascading memories only now recalled again.

Hesitantly at first and then with growing confidence, Sam began picking Words from those ringing in his mind, creating connections, cadence, music. The vocalizations were like none he was used to, having special ways to emphasize their parts and thus change their meaning. But it was familiar, his throat and tongue remembering what his mind did not, as the Words which made him who he was joined with those around them. Grabbing one of the bowls of rum, he took a large mouthful and then sprayed it in the thinnest of veils over the objects as hundreds, thousands had done in other rituals before him.

Animals who changed shape as they passed by danced and spoke before the altar as well, echoing his Words or adding harmonies. The power flowed from him to the objects, the stench and energy changing, until they glowed like honey. Bit by bit the honey disappeared, eaten, consumed, a sense of satisfaction and ease filling the air.

Then it was done.

A cry of joy came from across the roof, from where Dean stood vigil over Ricky. It soon turned to open weeping.

Tired, empty, yet triumphant, Sam sat down on the stones beneath his feet. The realities parted once again so he saw only the one he lived in, but still felt the other connected through him. He knew he would see it again in his dreams.

"Sammy, you all right?" His brother hovered just out of reach, as if unsure what liberties were allowed him.

Sam nodded, feeling the sweat cooling on his brow and body. His voice was raw. "Yeah."

"Warrior, to me."

Ix Chel came forward, extending a hand in Dean's direction.

Much to Sam's surprise, his brother hurried forward and took her hand, standing stiffly yet eagerly before her as he'd seen him do countless of times with their Dad.

"You have done well. You have my thanks." She smiled then kissed him on the cheek. Sam was doubly surprised as he watched his brother blush to his roots. Then the woman raised her hand and placed it over his chest.

Sam felt the static of power in the air.

Dean gave a gasp then his knees gave way, but she caught him before he could fall. A moment later, he was able to straighten up on his own.

"What did you do to him?" Sam struggled up to his feet, his gaze glued to his brother. Other than looking a little dazed he seemed fine, but Sam wanted to make sure.

"Nothing. I have only retrieved my son, who shared his Words with your brother for a while, revealing his hidden nature -- as in times long past."

"Dean?" He didn't mean to doubt her, but couldn't help himself.

"I'm okay. Wild ride, dude." His tired, mischievous grin was all Sam really needed.

Ix Chel's dark warm gaze met his. "You and your brother are warriors as of old. You bring justice to those who cannot claim it for themselves. You cause things to be as they should be again. It is a righteous thing you do. Yet you have your own troubles. Your road will be long and hard – I have seen this. But you are family, and there is so much strength in family. Cling to it. Do not forget it. Family shows you where you come from, where your origins lay. It might very well save you someday."

Sam could only stare. Who was this woman, really? Were there truly such things as gods? With all he'd seen, with all he'd been made to remember, what couldn't be real?

"And since you have helped me and mine, as well as stopped a great wrong, I have a gift for you." The woman came close and to his amazement embraced him. Her touch was affectionate, encompassing, caring. It was like coming home, but also so much more. It was like what he'd dreamed of when he was little, something he'd been missing and yearned for but never knew how to vocalize. This was what it was to be held by his Mother.

It was impossible. His mind knew that, but his heart said it was no such thing. A lump lodged itself in his throat, the sensation of love and comfort so total it was painful.

"My son…the things that pain you are not your fault. That you would do such a thing for her, yourself, one whom she loved, and not leave it to a stranger, is to be commended not cursed. The strength you imparted to her to allow her to reach peace gracefully, these were things of beauty, things of love, of respect."

Sam's heart lurched in his chest as he realized whom she meant. How, how did she know these things? Yet every word rang to his core with truth, with wisdom.

"She died with your breath on her lips and your tears on her face. You did the only thing that could be done. Now you must mourn for her, you must let the grief trapped inside you go. She would not wish you to be in such agony."

He tried to pull back, physically, mentally, but she wouldn't let him. Her hand rose to hold the back of his head, keeping him pressed against her, her comfort. He lowered his forehead until it rested against her shoulder.

"Let your tears stain the earth so they may be reused to bring life. Shed your pain on the ground so the earth may take it from you, for she is strong. Then remember your lover and cherish the memories. Let Madison live again and let your time together bring you comfort instead of pain."

He couldn't stop it. Didn't know if he wanted to stop it. Every moment, every sensation, every word with Madison flushed through him as if they just occurred. He cried out, the wounds reopened and fresh. The guilt and what if's pummeling him like falling rocks.

The enveloping warmth seeped deeper, buffered his soul. The walls and gates he'd so staunchly built up came tumbling down with the barest of caresses. A sob welled up his throat and though he fought against it, it found release. With one escaped, soon there followed another and another.

In arms that enveloped him fully, Sam wept. His pain and loss poured forth like a fount to spill and be absorbed by the rich soil. It sucked away the insecurities, the sting, leaving more room for the beauty of what they'd had, of the things he'd found in her to shine forth.

Then Ix Chel was gone and there was Dean, rushing toward him, gathering him in as his legs gave way and he tried to fall.

"I…"

"Shshsh, shshsh, it's okay, Sammy. It's okay."

Sam clung to his brother, shaking his head, knowing there were things he must say. Things he'd put off for too long. "I fell for her, Dean. I know it was fast, and sudden, but I…I loved her." He swallowed hard. Pain and warmth warred inside him. "I loved Madison, and she loved me. And now she's dead!"

Something warm landed on his cheek from above him. Sam clung to his brother that much harder.

"I know you did, Sammy. I know you did." Dean's voice whispered down to him, thick with emotion. "Madison knew it too."