Three weeks later, he found an article on Dean Winchester, 26.

He had gone to the library after his last class on Thursday, getting there around five in the afternoon. He was only going to spend an hour there before he went home for dinner, but once he started going through the search results, he had a hard time resisting the temptation just one more. There was always one more.

He skimmed an announcement about a Dean Winchester graduating with honors from Cornell University, but he had been 22 in 1998. Another Dean Winchester married a Brittany Hanby in Youngstown, OH, but his parents' names were Thomas and Jane. Then there was Dean Winchester, a 73-year-old fireman. Definitely not his brother.

Sam had gotten so used to clicking on link after link, he hadn't even read the headline as he clicked on the 35th search result. So when the article popped up in full view, the bold, black letters slammed intoSam without warning. It drove the air from the lungs, and at the same time he gasped, his breath caught in his throat, leaving him choking.

Murder Suspect Slain in Victim's Home.

As Sam read those words, the world rushed away from him with sickening speed.

Dean Winchester, 26, had been fatally shot in the home of a woman he had kidnapped and almost killed. The police found evidence implicating him in the death of another woman, Emily Norton, a discovery that released her boyfriend, a suspect who had been wrongly charged with her murder.

Sam knew that even though the age fit, that didn't necessarily prove that the Dean Winchester in the article was his brother. The name of his victims, however, removed all doubt.

Sam's brother had killed Zach's girlfriend. He almost killed Rebecca.

Now he knew who his brother was.

Sam raced to the restroom and threw up.

ooOOoo

He didn't know how he made it home. He certainly didn't remember getting there. He was aware of being at the library one moment, and then he was sitting on his bed back at the apartment.

Everything made sense now, in a revolting, nauseating way. He now knew why his family never contacted him, he now knew why he never talked about his family, he now knew why the Warrens discouraged his search.

His thoughts were racing, and Sam had to take a moment to sort it out, to figure out what it all meant.

Sam's brother had been a sick, twisted, horrible man.

Sam's brother had been a sick, twisted, horrible man who, within weeks of Jessica's death, had tortured and killed the girlfriend of Sam's best friend, a murder for which Zach had been blamed. Then he had gone after Rebecca, another of Sam's close friends, tied her to a chair, and would have tortured and killed her as well if the police hadn't arrived in time.

Sam hadn't even known Rebecca had been—well, involved was an understatement. It disturbed him that he could only remember Zach's half of the horrible situation, which was tragic enough for any family. Yet Rebecca had gone through something nearly as traumatic, and definitely more terrifying, and Sam couldn't even remember that.

As if that weren't enough, he also had to accept that his brother was dead – and that that was a good thing. All those things he had wondered about his brother – what he looked like, what kind of man he was, his talents and flaws, his likes and dislikes – none of that mattered now. Sam couldn't care about that anymore.

Sam's world was whirling, and he almost wished he hadn't tried to search through the fog. His mother died in a fire when he was a baby. Jessica, the only girl he had ever loved, was killed in a fire. And now he knew his brother, a murderer, was dead. After all that, Sam didn't think he could handle discovering his father's fate.

He was truly alone.

The only two people he had left in the world...Oh, God. Did he even have them, his surrogate family, anymore? How could they accept him after that?

He tried to take some comfort that the Warrens didn't seem to blame him.

No, instead they offered him shelter and care when Sam – out of the three of them, Sam – suffered a nervous breakdown.

Sam would have thrown up again, but there wasn't anything left in his stomach.

How could they even face him, after what his brother did to them?

Sam had known Rebecca and Zach were keeping something from him, and now he realized they were shielding him. The sympathetic looks they shot him whenever someone brought up family, their discouragement of his search - it made sense now.

He couldn't believe how much they had done for him.

And Zach was right. His mind had erased all memory of his family for a reason. Sam now wished he had never learned what that reason was.

ooOOoo

Sam mentioned that maybe it was time for him to move out, find his own place. "Haven't I overstayed my welcome?" he asked with a friendly smirk, hoping to hide behind forced levity.

But Rebecca and Zach refused to let him leave. He was their roommate now, they insisted. There was no reason for him to go, and every reason for him to stay. When he could afford to live on his own, then he could leave if he truly wanted to, but for as long as he needed to share an apartment, he was going to share with them. He was family.

Sam was relieved to hear that because he really wasn't ready for a change, wasn't ready to leave them, and couldn't afford much more than the low rent he paid them. But was he really family, though? That didn't seem to be the right word.

Sam was too much of a coward to tell them he knew about his brother. He didn't want their relationship, as unusual as it was, to change. The bond between them wasn't so strong that Sam thought they could survive the discomfort – and wasn't that an extremely inadequate word? – that would come from telling.

But even so, Sam couldn't stop himself from picking at the issue. He didn't want to know anything about his brother, yet he was compelled to find out more.

"The guy who, uh, caught your girlfriend's killer," Sam began one day, when he found himself in the living room with Zach. "What happened? Who was he?"

Zach looked at him sharply, and Sam couldn't blame him for his surprise. The question had popped out of his mouth with no warning. Sam waited patiently while he tried to come up with an answer, knowing he was figuring a way to keep key details – namely, Sam's brother - out.

"He, um...Well, I wasn't there. I just heard about it." Zach cleared his throat. "I guess he was some kind of bounty hunter, and he tracked him down. But when he caught him, the-the guy was trying to strangle someone, and so the bounty hunter was forced to shoot him.

"He got there, just in time, Sam." Zach gave him a half smile."Pretty much a hero, you know?"

Sam nodded and fell silent.

Zach had just praised the man who killed his brother. Sam would too, but it still made him uncomfortable. He also noticed how Zach was careful not to mention the bounty hunter's name. That upset him - it wasn't like Sam would try to track the guy down in some sort of twisted revenge.

His mouth started moving again before Sam could stop it. "The guy...tried to kill someone else?" he found himself asking. "Who?" He didn't mean to ask the first question, but he instantly regretted asking that second. Now that he had, he wondered if Zach would actually tell him that it was his sister.

But Zach's answer surprised him. "A close friend of mine," he replied after a long moment. "A friend who was looking for my sister, to protect her from him. He found the killer instead - but instead of running, he tried to fight him, and he held him off until help arrived."

"Oh." Sam frowned, thrown off-guard by the story. So there were at least three people Dean attacked. Questions ran through his mind, and he tried to focus on one – and if he wanted to keep up pretenses, he knew which one he needed to ask. "The killer went after your sister?"

"Yeah," Zach replied, his voice suddenly uneven. "Dammit, yeah. He even had her, tied up and everything, just like..." He stopped himself for a moment and then continued. "The cops found her in time, thank God, but the guy escaped." He drew in a shaky breath and looked away. "I was stuck in jail, so I...I couldn't protect her. This guy was out there running around, and I couldn't do anything."

Sam didn't know how to respond to that. "But he was stopped," he said.

"Yeah. He was. If...God, those two guys saved us in more ways than one."

Sam shook his head, trying to comprehend it all. "How did you even get through that?"

"You pretty much have to."

Sam nodded in understanding. He knew that feeling.

For a brief moment, Sam wondered if he was that close friend who went looking for Rebecca. In his gut, he kinda wished he had been – even if it meant his own brother had tried to kill him. He didn't remember ever being in St. Louis, but he couldn't remember being anywhere, so it wasn't out of the question.

But he knew he wasn't the fighting type. He wouldn't even know how to.

"Why...why do you ask?" Zach asked after a minute. "About all this?"

Sam thought furiously to explain. "I remembered that you said a man had saved your life. I was just curious how he did that."

But Zach wasn't satisfied with his answer. "Why were you curious?" he pressed.

Sam shrugged and looked away. "I don't know. Something about saving lives—it just sounds...noble."

Zach was silent for a moment. "Like something you'd like to do?" he then asked him.

Startled, Sam turned to him with a frown. It was an odd question. He opened his mouth to respond, but he didn't know what to say. After a moment, Zach let out an almost-soundless sigh and turned back to the TV.

ooOOoo

As the school year spiraled towards the end, Sam went on autopilot. Like always, he studied long and hard, and he tackled his final papers with even more—well, not enthusiasm, but maybe devotion—than he had with his previous assignments.

This time, though, he only went to the library when he absolutely needed to. Now he did all of his studying and writing at home, restricting the library to research only, and even then, only when the internet from his laptop wasn't enough.

Sam couldn't remember studying or reading or writing. He would sit down at his desk around four in the afternoon, and the next thing he knew, it'd be ten o'clock, and he would have ten new pages of handwritten notes or three typed pages of his paper finished, on top of a mind full with memorized details.

Sam still hadn't accepted the full ride to law school.

At night, he had vague dreams of yielding shotguns as he stalked through dark, twisting halls, or of swinging swords against horrible, flesh-eating monsters. He would wake up to a few seconds of confused panic because he was alone and unarmed. Then would come faint tinges of unexplainable disappointment.

His supervisor at the grocery story, after praising his work ethic and efficiency, asked him why he still worked there. Sam didn't have an answer. To himself, he admitted he couldn't think of another job, or even career, he'd rather have.

But a lawyer – that was a good profession. A profession he could be proud of. A goal he would have earned. As a lawyer, he could reach his full potential, earn lots of money, be successful.

That's what he told himself, at least. That's what had driven him through those first three years of college and those thoughts still made logical sense.

"You're not happy, are you, Sam?" Rebecca asked him suddenly, a week before graduation.

"No. No, I'm not," Sam replied after a moment.

Rebecca nodded. "I'm sorry."

Sam's eyes widened, and guilt flooded his stomach. "No, Becky, you've done so much for me," he told her earnestly. "More than I'm sure I know."

She sighed and gave him a small smile. "Yeah," she said under her breath.

I'm not going to beg for reviews. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.

Thank you all for reading! Don't worry, things are about to pick up (in a way...)