**Year Four: Jess**
They say you only really get to know a person once you live with them for an extended amount of time.
When Jess moved in with Sam at the start of their fourth year, she wasn't surprised by much. Sure, he was a little bit more of a neat freak than she guessed, and he had this really weird habit of stockpiling salt in the cupboard above the stove like there was going to be a worldwide shortage, but overall it was pretty much like she expected.
Dean, however, took her completely by surprise.
She knew what he was like from before, but he had all sorts of interesting quirks that never really stood out until then.
He didn't have any friends his own age, for one thing. He didn't even seem to want any. Jess had suggested he do all kind of activities: music lessons, computer classes, sports teams. She couldn't really blame him for saying no to the sports. At fourteen years old, Dean still looked around twelve; thirteen if he scowled. Being put on a team of guys who already had to shave every day seemed extraordinarily cruel.
Jess had tried to approach Sam about the subject of getting Dean some age-appropriate friends instead of a group of college students, but Sam hadn't backed her up.
"Dean's unique," Sam had told her. "Trust me, he doesn't want to hang out with kids his own age."
"Maybe he hasn't told you he wants to," Jess pushed. "But that doesn't mean that he doesn't feel that way. Don't you think he deserves to have some friends who are interested in the same things he is? I mean, c'mon, Sam. Don't you ever wish Dean had some kids to go to the arcade with rather than dragging you along every time?"
Sam jumped back as if he had been stung. "Never," he spoke with odd intensity. "I'll never get tired of being with Dean, do you understand, Jess? No matter what. Five, ten, freaking fifty years from now, I'll still do whatever the hell Dean wants and love it because he's my brother. Okay?"
It was the first time Jess had seen anything besides the gentle, meek side of Sam. It scared her, a little, to think of the potential brewing under the surface if Sam was pushed in a particular way. And she learned that day to never question a decision Sam made about Dean. And really, what the hell did she know, anyway? All you had to do was talk to the kid for five minutes to realize he was a unique case.
He talked like he was a decade older than his claimed age, he was ridiculously smart, and basically acted like an adult with some childish interests rather than a child with a big vocabulary.
The weirdest thing about Dean, though, was his relationship with Sam. Sam looked after Dean in many ways, sure. He was home for Dean, and always made time to hang out with him. But, as odd as it sounded, Dean actually acted like Sam's older brother rather than the other way around.
Dean asked Sam about his classes, listening and responding like the proud parent both boys were missing; he nagged Sam about taking a jacket with him before leaving the apartment; he took charge of the grocery shopping, the cooking, and most of the cleaning; and he teased Sam in a way that no older brother Jess had ever seen would ever allow. Dean expounded life advice to Sam on dealing with pressures from exams or the proper way to approach a difficult professor, and Sam always listened attentively and gratefully.
It was strange, and made Jess horribly curious, but she knew not to go prying into the nature of their relationship.
There was a lot, actually, that she learned not to pry into.
There were the strange looks Sam and Dean gave each other and the hushed conversations they had behind the closed door of Dean's bedroom. She learned not to pry into the subject of their father. It always resulted in a tense silence between the two of them that left the apartment chilly for days after. And when the end of October rolled around, Jess also learned not to pry into the hushed conversations Sam had on the phone and later dissected with his brother.
"Caleb hasn't heard from him either," Sam reported to Dean. His voice was muffled by the wall between the bedrooms, but if Jess lay by the heat register, she could make most of it out.
She was stretching, of course. Not spying.
"I told you," Dean replied. "Something's wrong."
"Dean, I'm sure he's fine. You know how he gets sometimes. Especially around this time of year."
"He hasn't answered any of my calls," Dean grumbled.
"How often have you been calling him?" Sam asked sharply.
"Sam, don't try to pick that fight now," Dean replied patiently. "Dad's in trouble; I know it."
Jess pretended to be surprised when Sam announced Dean's sudden desire to go on a weekend road trip. It was a brother's trip, apparently, and no, it would be best if Jess stayed home because she had that big exam coming up, didn't she?
She gritted her teeth, smiled, and nodded, vowing to squeeze the entire story out of Sam when they came back. She'd refuse to bake them anything from the custom Moore recipe book until they explained.
But she caved soon after that promise, missing Sam and missing Dean, too. She made a fresh batch of cookies and stayed up as late as she could Sunday night until her eyelids dragged down and she surrendered to the call of her bed.
The last thing she remembered was waiting for their stupid shower to heat up before she was yanked up, frozen in place.
Then came the ripping pain, the choking fire, and the paralyzing terror.