A/N: Don't ask where the inspiration for this story came from.
"But I didn't mean for him to eat the whole worm!"
"Do I look convinced, Dean?"
The teacher's hand firmly around his wrist, dragging him down the crayola-decorated hallways of Broadview Elementary, answered that rhetorical question.
"Come on, you know David Waterson would eat his own gramma if someone gave him the idea," Dean continued to plead his case. "You wanna know who's been wrecking the plants in the classroom, right? It's David! He eats 'em! I seen him chewing on the leaves when your back is turned!"
"No dice, Winchester," his teacher said firmly. "You're going to see Mrs. Runningham."
"Aw, no, give a guy a break!"
"Dean?"
"Sam?"
Dean stopped. They were passing the second-grade classrooms, where the coat racks outside the rooms were heaped with wet, brightly colored coats and mittens and gloves. Sam stood in a pile of them, a big golden bell hanging from a red string around his next.
"Sam? What are you doing? What are you wearing that bell for?"
Sam beamed. "I'm the coat monitor! And I get to wear the bell and if no one's coat gets lost, then Miss Diana'll give me a sucker at the end of the day!"
"Aw geez, Sam, at the end of the day you're gonna be a sucker," Dean muttered, and the teacher shook his wrist warningly.
"Come on Dean, Mrs. Runningham is waiting."
"You're going to see the principal?" Sam said, wide-eyed.
"Yeah."
"Can I come?"
"No," interjected Dean's teacher. "He's in a lot of trouble, young man. You can't come with him. Is this your little brother?" she asked Dean, who nodded.
"You're in trouble?" Sam repeated, his face falling. "Wh-what for?"
"Hey, Sam, you can't tell Dad about this," Dean warned. "OK? I don't wanna get in more trouble."
"No!" Sam grabbed Dean's remaining free wrist, the bell around his neck jingling as he moved. "I'll come with you! Mrs. Runningham likes me, I'll tell her you didn't mean it!"
"Let go, Sam!" Dean protested, but secretly he was a little pleased.
"Let go of your brother's hand, Sam Winchester," Dean's teacher ordered.
Sam shook his head rapidly, and Dean grinned apologetically up at his teacher. "Sorry, ma'am, he gets like this sometimes."
The teacher rolled her eyes heavenwards. "Why not? He can come too. Two Winchesters for one. I'm sure Mrs. Runningham will be thrilled."
Sam and Dean waited outside the principal's office while the teacher talked with Mrs. Runningham. Dean practiced his most penitent expressions while Sam stood on his chair to read the Employees Rights poster above his head.
"Hey Sam, why'd you see Mrs. Runningham before? You said she liked you?"
Sam nodded. "She came to my classroom and asked us questions and I got mine right and she smiled at me and said I was smart."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Geez, Sam. When are you gonna learn?"
"What?"
"Being friends with teachers is not cool, OK?"
"But I get candy."
"Not always. Mrs. Runningham didn't give you any when you answered the question, right?"
"No…"
"There are better rewards than food, Sam, that's all I'm sayin'." Dean leaned back against the chair and folded his arms as his teacher emerged from the principal's office.
"Mrs. Runningham's ready to see you now."
"Kay. See yah," he said to the teacher as she passed, and he went into the office.
"Hello, Dean," the principal said. She was a tall woman with broad shoulders and a cap of white hair, and she looked very far away behind the big wood desk. "Sit down."
Dean sat.
Mrs. Runningham frowned. "And who is that?" Dean swiveled around to see Sam's small, solemn face peering around the corner as the principal's voice turned incredulous. "Is that Sam Winchester? Come in, now," she commanded.
Sam slunk in, clearly crestfallen at the principal's stern tone.
"Why is your brother here?" Mrs. Runningham demanded of Dean.
"Uh, s' a long story," he mumbled. "Sorry. He wouldn't let go of me."
She studied them a moment, then, to Dean's surprise, laughed.
"Inseparable?"
"I guess," Dean said sheepishly.
"My sister and I were inseparable when I was little, too," Mrs. Runningham said. "In some ways, you remind me of us, a long time ago. Have a doughnut."
She gestured to a plate of doughnut holes on her desk.
Beside him, Sam brightened visibly. He stage-whispered to Dean, "See? She gives candy too! I told you!" He hopped off his hair and retrieved three doughnut holes from the plate.
Dean gave an apologizing look to Mrs. Runningham and waved off Sam's offer of a doughnut. Mrs. Runningham laughed, though. "Don't be embarrassed, Dean. Take a doughnut."
"No thanks, I'm not hungry. So … are you gonna punish me?"
"What? Oh yes – the worm incident. Now Dean, you know better than to be telling other kids to do eat worms. You and I both know there are people out there who will do whatever they're told."
Dean listened, surprised. Beside him, Sam polished off the third doughnut and picked at the crumbs from his sweater.
"Kids like David Waterson, they have weak wills. You have a strong will. That's a gift. You have to use that gift wisely. Eating worms is a silly way to use it. There's much bigger things out there."
"Like how?" Dean said, leaning forward. "What do you mean?"
Mrs. Runningham glanced out the window, then back at him. "If you know the right way, sometimes you have to help others see it. You'll learn as you get older. You could do big things someday, Dean." The principal stood up. "We have to stop here, I'm afraid. The hour is late. Now, eat a doughnut."
"No thanks," Dean said. "Are you gonna tell me my punishment?"
"I'd like you to eat a doughnut," she repeated.
"I told you I … " He stopped and glanced at Sam.
Sam was heavy-lidded. He looked up at Dean. "I'm really tired, Dean," he said.
Dean grabbed his little brother's wrist as Sam started to list. "What…." He looked up at the principal, who had moved around the side of the desk to stand next to them. "What did you do!"
Mrs. Runningham stared down at both of them with flat eyes. "I told you to eat a doughnut, Dean," she said quietly.
"No! You did something to them!" Sam was folding in his chair now, and Dean tried to gather all sixty-five pounds of limp six-and-a-half-year-old in his arms.
"I guess that will of yours is better than I thought," Mrs. Runningham said.
Dean saw her hand coming a second before it smashed into the side of his head, but shock and hesitation froze him in place and when she hit him he crumpled to the carpet beside his brother.