Um... my jaw just hit the floor. Is this what happens when I mention that I'm not getting a lot of reviews? Gonna have to do that more often, huh?

I'm glad you guys are liking it so far. Also glad that you're hating Candy with a passion. Maybe she's like a Tulpa, and the more we think about hurting her, the more pain is inflicted upon her. But don't get your hopes up. Evil always seems to triumph in some small way, doesn't it?

3.

You're Never Gonna Fit In Much, Kid

They searched for a motel longer than they should have, the car silent, Sam deciding that it probably wasn't best to point out that they'd passed seven places with rooms for rent since leaving Candy's house. They finally found a place about five miles outside of the town and got settled in.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the TV, which wasn't even on, without really seeing it. He wasn't sure whether he should be worried or angry or hurt. He was starting to understand the subtle hints his brother had been sending him since hearing the location of their latest hunt.

He tried to think back to the last time they'd been in Stratlebie. He'd been happier there than he'd been anywhere else, mostly because he'd gotten to keep all of the friends he'd made. He'd never really paid attention to his brother's actions, never really noticed any changes, not like he had at Candy's house.

And that name she'd called him, the one he'd responded to. Goodwill. Like the store. Like the store where they bought all of their clothes. All of their used clothes. Not clothes like the ones that Candy had been wearing that day, like the ones that everyone in that town wore, like the ones that could be found in any superstore across the country.

And it all clicked together, just like that. Dean lying about where he was going when he left to get things, his reaction to the town and the woman they had to save, his submission. It all made sense, except for one big gap that could only be filled by the man who had spent the past hour in the bathroom without running any water or giving any explanation.

Sighing, Sam got to his feet and walked across the small room to the closed bathroom door. He contemplated knocking, but figured that it was overrated at a time like this, a time when answers were needed and Dean was the only one who could provide them. He opened the door.

Dean jumped and spun around to face his brother as the door creaked on old hinges, color rushing to his face, his eyes darting away as if he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, even though it seemed that he'd just been staring into the mirror.

"We need to talk," Sam stated simply. He was surprised when Dean didn't fight, didn't accuse him of being a chick, didn't even glare at him, just nodded. "Goodwill," Sam added softly to clarify as his brother walked past him, head down, into the main room.

He was up against the wall with Dean's forearm pushing into his throat before he could respond. Anger flashed dangerously in the older man's haunted eyes as he set his face a mere inch from Sam's.

"Don't you ever," Dean hissed through clenched teeth, "call me that again. You understand?"

Sam nodded weakly, his vision swimming, the room fading out around him. "Hurting… me," he managed to choke out.

Eyes widening, anger slowly fading to be replaced by fear and hurt, Dean backed away. Sam let himself slide to the floor, rubbing his neck as the world came back into focus around him. He looked up at his brother, waiting for an apology, but Dean didn't oblige.

"You gonna tell me what that was about?" Sammy asked as soon as he was sure his voice wouldn't give out on him.

Dean shrugged, slinking over to one of the beds and sitting down on the edge, staring at the blank TV, much as Sam had done earlier. "Nothing," he muttered, "it's in the past."

"Doesn't mean it's not important," Sam said, getting to his feet, stumbling a bit, and sitting down beside his brother.

"You're not gonna turn this into a thing," Dean said, glancing at him, his voice lacking conviction.

Sammy shook his head. "No. I just want to know."

The older man looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, as if he wanted to trust the man sitting beside him on the bed, but couldn't find the courage to do so. In that single moment, Sam saw years of abandonment and broken trust, lies and humiliation, promises unkept and hidden torture flashing across his brother's face. He'd never realized until then just how expressive Dean's eyes really were, how good he was at hiding the truth with every movement of his body, but how he could never control those eyes.

He was almost sure his brother was going to turn away and shrug it off, say it was nothing. Dean ducked his head, averting his eyes, hiding the pain. And then he started to talk.

"Middle school kids are mean," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, "I mean, really mean. Elementary kids don't judge you, and high school kids are mature, so it's the kids in-between you've gotta watch out for."

Sam just nodded, trying to comprehend, but not completely sure of what his brother was talking about.

"I went to junior high here," Dean said, "in that town. With those kids." He spat the last word out as if it were filthy, something he'd rather not think about, but was forced to, nonetheless. He looked back up at Sam, trying to make him understand with those few, simple words, begging him to figure it out on his own, just to avoid the memories a bit longer. When Sam still didn't get it, he went on. "They made fun of me."

That much, the younger hunter had guessed at. "Ok."

"Everyday. For two straight years." He smirked. "Like years could be gay." Sam just nodded, recognizing the attempt at humor, the defense mechanism. If anyone was going to laugh, it was going to be Dean, and not at his own expense.

"What did they do?" Sam prodded gently as his brother lapsed into silence.

"It only started with one," Dean said, averting his gaze again, focusing on his shoes and the carpet and anything but reliving the nightmare of his childhood in front of his brother, "just one kid. It was this pretty little girl. She saw me on the first day and just attacked. Took one look and knew I shouldn't have been there. She knew we lived in that dumpy apartment complex, knew we couldn't afford new supplies or clothes or anything. She called me Goodwill."

"That's just one kid," Sammy said softly, reaching out and placing a hand on his brother's shoulder, surprised that Dean didn't try to pull away.

"You know what popularity is?" Dean asked. "It's being in charge of everything and everyone. She was popular. It was like a game of follow the leader. If anyone tried to help, she condemned them. Made them outcasts. Didn't take long for everyone to side with her."

Sam opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't think of anything to do to help. He hated the feeling, hated being helpless, knowing that his brother needed him. He hated the way he felt about it afterward even more. Like he'd let his brother down.

"She called me Goodwill," Dean continued, "and she gave me money. Every week. A buck here, five there. Even gave me a twenty once. Always told me the same thing. 'Go buy yourself something nice.' I always took it. If I didn't… I don't know what she would have done."

Sammy nodded. That explained a lot. That explained almost everything. Everything except-

"It's her," Dean whispered, turning damp eyes to his brother, face projecting the internal battle taking place inside the older man, the one being waged for control, the one his pride was losing to the raw emotion that had been pent up inside since a young age, "it's Candy. She started it."

Sam still felt frozen, still felt unsure of what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped both arms tightly around his brother, waiting for the inevitable cry of protest, not as shocked as he should have been when it didn't come.