A/N: I just realised how many chapters I posted yesterday. I think 3 was too many… Anyway, I wanted to explore a bit more into Jess' past because on the show she's only shown as Sam's girl and that's it. I also have a new fic called Wee Chesters which you can read if you want. Thank you for all your support. Please read and review. All mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: No matter how much I write they still won't be mine.

I was putting Sam's clothes back in his wardrobe after they'd been washed (and no I don't do all the laundry, we take it in turns so go and shrove your assumptions up your ass) when his old duffle bag fell off the shelf. Seriously? "Crap" I muttered. As I bent down to pick it up, I realised it was open and some of the contents had escaped its clutches. Great, this day kept getting better and better. Oh well. It was mainly old clothes and very rare, very worn toys and books. I began to stuff it all back in as neatly as it was possible to stuff things in when the cool gleam of metal caught my eye. I frowned. What the hell could be in here? With a slight tinge of guilt, I reached in and pulled the object of my attention. It was a gun. A real gun. Not a fake, toy gun. A gun. I froze. It suddenly seemed as if the world had stopped other than my quick breathing. I felt detached from my body. No way would Sam have a gun. Especially without telling me. He knew how I felt about guns. I mean come on, Sam was a gentle giant. Unintentionally, I remember the night when some drunk guys were groping a crying girl. Sam hadn't seemed gentle then. It became all too clear I still knew next to nothing about Sam's past. With shaking hands, I shoved the gun back into the bag while refusing to look at it. What else could he have hidden in the apartment? What if he was some kind of serial killer? Stop it. You know Sam, Jess.

I grabbed my cell with trembling hands intending to ring Sam and confront him when I hesitated. Surely it was better to find out more before yelling at the guy who had God knows how many weapons hidden in our apartment. I nodded to myself in conformation, and selected the name Winnie.

"Is Sammy ok?" Was the immediate question.

"He has a gun, Dean. A god damn gun." I began crying and hating myself for my weakness. So much for girls not being over emotional.

"Oh. You didn't know that?" He asked sounding confused about what the big deal as.

"If I had known, he would no longer have a gun." I stated.

"Well, sweetheart, Sammy has a gun." He was almost amused.

"Why, why would he need such a, such, a monstrosity?" I gasped out between sobs. Get a grip, Jess.

"When we were younger we lived in some pretty hellish areas and it gave us security. Hey, sweetheart, Are you ok?" Now he sounded genuinely concerned for my wellbeing.

"When I was younger I had some pretty bad experiences with a gun. I hate them." I admitted while calming down slightly.

"It's cool. You wanna, uh, talk about it?" He asked sounding completely awkward and at a loss with the situation.

"I was held hostage at gunpoint for hours." I told him in a shaky voice, rivers streaming down my face. I tried to block out the memories. Too late. More details tumbled out. "They shot my dad in the leg. He's had a limp ever since." This was before the divorce of course. I'm still not sure which was more traumatic

"I'm sorry, Jess." I think that was the first time he's called me by my name. "Don't cry, sweetheart. It's ok. You're safe. You know Sam has the hots for you, right?"

"Yeah," I smiled in spite of the tears. Despite everything, I couldn't doubt that. I didn't even wonder how Dean could possibly know that.

"He would never do anything to hurt you. He just needs the security." He assured me.

"But I hate them." I stars plaintively as I slided down the wall to sit on the cream carpet. Urg, I sounded so needy and pathetic. More female stereotypes filled.

"I know, sweetheart. If you asked, Sammy would get rid of the gun but it would make him unhappy. He's had some bad experiences too." He spoke in a low calming tone that soothed me despite the topic of conversation. "Some guys broke into our car and tried to rob it with us in it. They would've done it too if it hadn't of been for Dad's gun in his bag."

I sighed. That was a pretty good damn argument to want a gun.

Dean continued. "It would be much better if you could just ignore the gun. Can you do that? For Sam?" he pleaded which surprised me. Dean didn't seem like the kinda of guy who pleads.

I closed my eyes. Could I possibly forget there was an instrument of death not 6 foot away from where I slept? To my astonishment I discovered I could. For Sam. He needed it as much as, if not more than, I needed it gone. "Yes." I whispered.

"Good girl. You gonna be ok, sweetheart?" I smiled at his concern.

"I think so. Thanks, Dean." I was glad I had called Dean. I knew I'd called Sam he would have got rid of the gun with no complaint and I'd never have known about the comfort it brought him. I was so deep in contemplation of what other events could cause Sam's need for one that I barely registered Dean had hung up on me. Again

TBC…