"You're the one who killed my brother."

A storm of emotions flew across his face and his eyes popped wide. "What? Where—How—" he stumbled and then stopped, working his jaw back and forth as he tried to put together a thought. But he quickly recovered, collecting himself enough to ask, "How do you figure?"

Sam saw through his obvious mask, and he was glad that, for once, he was able to take someone else by surprise. "I read about most of it in the newspaper archives," he explained. "Put two and two together and got you."

A confused frown creased his forehead, but then the man's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh," he said weakly. His eyebrows furrowed together and he ducked his head.

Sam felt he should say something, felt he needed to defend himself against the possible thoughts running through the stranger's head. "Look, I don't remember what happened," he said, keeping his voice serious. "But I want you to know, I'm not a violent freak like my brother."

He flinched violently, jerking as if struck, and Sam knew his words had hit a bull's-eye. "Yeah. I know. I know that," the man muttered.

Sam frowned. "So what do you want with me?"

"Oh, boy..." he said, forcing a noisy breath through his lips as he scrubbed his face with his hand. "Is Rebecca here?" he finally asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, not yet."

"Crap." He tossed his head in frustration and said no more.

Refusing to be deterred, Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Were you looking from something?" he asked impatiently. "Who else was here? How did you get in?"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, college boy," the man said, holding up a hand. "Hit my head, remember? Not working at full capacity here."

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. At least it didn't look like he would be attacked anytime soon. "Can you at least tell me your name?" he asked dryly.

"Yeah. It's John," the other man replied.

Sam didn't believe him, seeing no reason why "John" would tell him the truth. But he supposed he didn't need to know, at least not yet, so he accepted it. "All right, John, what the hell happened?"

"You know, it'd really help if Rebecca was here."

"Try anyway."

John drew in a long, deep breath. "Okay, fine. Rebecca called me, told me she needed my help. She's the one who left the door unlocked for me."

"Rebecca told you it was okay to mess up my room?" Sam asked skeptically.

"Well, no, that was just a side effect," he replied, and Sam snorted.

John paused for a moment, looking a little uncomfortable. "Um...Rebecca said you don't believe in ghosts anymore."

"I never did," Sam retorted.

"Fine, whatever," John said irritably, waving him off. "The thing is, they're real, and your room attracted a poltergeist. Rebecca called me to get rid of it."

Sam stared at him for a long moment. "Rebecca called you to get rid of a poltergeist in my bedroom," he repeated flatly.

He shrugged casually. "Yeah, that's kinda my gig."

"How old are you?"

John narrowed his eyes. "25. Why?"

"You're 25, and this is what you do with your life?" he scoffed. "You go around, like one of those ghost hunters?"

John shot a fierce glare at him. "Yeah. I'm a freakin' ghost hunter." And even though his tone was sarcastic, it was obvious he wasn't denying it.

So he was "the expert" Rebecca was referring to? Was this what Zach meant by bounty hunter? Sam thought furiously, trying to piece together the information he had. John's story fit, in a strange way, so maybe—maybe—he was telling the truth.

But that didn't mean he believed the nonsense John was saying. "And how much will this scam cost Rebecca?" he asked.

John's jaw dropped. "Hey, I offer my services for free," he said defensively, sounding hurt. Sam almost felt bad, but then he remembered what John was trying to convince him of. "I got rid of it, by the way."

"What? The poltergeist?"

"Yeah. It put up one helluva fight though." He gestured at the mess around him.

"You're cleaning that up, you know," Sam told him.

"Me? Hell, no, I'm not."

They stared at each other for a long moment, a short battle of wills. Finally, Sam shook his head and sighed. "I just...I don't believe this. I've been waiting for answers, and this is what I get."

"What do you mean-" John started in defensively.

Just then, they heard the apartment door open and the noises of Zach and Rebecca coming home. Both men jerked in surprise, and Sam wasn't sure if he should be relieved or not. An instant later, Rebecca's voice rang out. "Sam?" she called, sounding hesitant.

Then Sam felt a sudden stab of irritation and anger, realizing she had set him up.

She knew John would be here, and she sent Sam, hoping he would run into him. "We're in here," he called out, suddenly tired.

A few seconds later, he heard the footfalls of Rebecca as she came towards his room. She poked her head through the door. "Is everything okay?" she asked timidly. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the room. "Oh, gosh..."

"Yeah, it's fine," Sam replied lowly. "Looks like you sent me home just in time."

John reacted immediately, leaping to his feet at Sam's words. "You sent him?" he burst out, outraged. "What the hell!"

Rebecca opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. John continued to glare at her, which seemed to give her a sudden, hard resolve.

"I was sick of this," she finally said. "I was sick and tired of hiding all of this from Sam." Sam watched her silently, not saying anything, and John glanced away, glowering. She looked around the room and ran a frustrated hand through her blonde hair. "Although I guess this wasn't much of a reunion," she sighed, worrying her lip. She took a step backwards. "I'll leave you two alone-"

Sam jumped up, dumbfounded. "Reunion?" he shot out. "We've met before?"

Rebecca turned wide eyes on him. "You—You..." She swung towards John, a shocked look on her face.

"Yeah," John admitted gruffly to Sam. "You were there when I killed your brother." Sam sucked in a sudden breath.

Rebecca gasped. "Is that what you told him?" she demanded angrily.

The older man shook his head. "I didn't tell him anything. He already knew." He looked at Rebecca pointedly.

Sam glared at him for that, irritated that he seemed to blame her, as if it were her fault Sam spent the last year struggling to find answers.

"What! How?" she exclaimed, her white face turning to Sam. "Where did you hear that?"

Sam couldn't meet her eyes at first. "I looked it up at the library a few months ago," he admitted. He raised his head to look at her through the fringe of his bangs. She was staring at him, a look of horror on her face. "I'm so sorry, Rebecca. I-I knew you were hiding that from me, and I was too scared to tell you I knew about my brother."

He ducked his head again. "God, I'm so sorry. I don't know how I can ever make up for what my brother did to you and Zach."

Rebecca continued to stare at him, her face having yet to regain color. "Oh, no, Sam..." she whispered. She looked over at John and then back to him. "That's not—Sam, you of all people have nothing to apologize for."

Sam shifted uncomfortably and decided not to reply to that. "I still don't understand why you wanted me to meet John," he asked instead.

John jumped in, answering for her. "I saved your life," he told him bluntly.

"What?"

Sam listened, stunned, as John explained how he found Sam on the floor of Rebecca's house, Dean on top of him, strangling him to death. John had burst in just in time, had to stop Dean by shooting him, which killed him instantly. Saving Sam's life.

As he explained, Rebecca looked away and shuddered.

Sam whistled lowly at the news, unable to do anything else but run a shaky hand through his hair. So he had been there, he had been that close friend Zach told him about. And his own brother tried to kill him.

He looked at Rebecca, but she refused to meet his gaze. "So why have you been hanging around here?" he asked John.

John tilted his head, considering his answer. "Okay, I know you don't believe me about this whole poltergeist thing, but well...you're kind of a magnet for paranormal activity," he explained as Sam listened critically. "In between my jobs, I've been checking up on you, making sure everything was okay."

"You've been stalking me to make sure ghosts weren't haunting me." Sam closed his eyes and jerked his head with disbelief. "Wow. Okay. That's insane."

"You felt someone tug at your ankle, right?" John pointed out hotly."And pull your chair?"

But Sam wasn't ready to admit anything yet. "I don't know, I mean, it could have just-"

"Been your imagination?" John replied sarcastically. Sam just lifted an eyebrow, thinking, yes, my imagination.

John studied his face and then let out a half-snort, half-sigh. "Well, anyway, I guess it doesn't matter if you believe me or not."

Sam was taken aback by the sorrow in his voice. "You have to understand, this is the first time someone's told me ghosts are real," he explained, trying to ease tensions. "Even if it is true, it's going to take some getting used to."

"Yeah," John grunted, looking away. "Yeah, I know."

All right, as you can see, YES, I am dragging this baby out.

Just to warn you all, all of this is just setting up for the next stage of the story. (Oh, good Lord...)