A/N: Ever since I wrote chapter 7 of What I'm Trying to Say, I've been trying to be more aware of what might be behind the misbehavior of my more difficult students, reminding myself, "This could be a young Dean Winchester who's dealing with stuff at home that I can't even imagine." Not surprisingly, I suddenly started seeing Dean everywhere, and the Lessons Learned challenge in the Monthly Challenges for All (MC4A) forum turned out to be exactly the push I needed to start writing down those stories. While each of these oneshots will be inspired by a real life incident with one of my students, please know that most of the stories will bear little real resemblance to what actually happened, and that I almost certainly handled the incident much more effectively than Dean's teacher in the story. ;) Even so, I hope this fic will help me and anyone else who may be reading to show a little more compassion for the children in our lives who may try our patience.

Warning: As you can see from the chapter title, this story does contain a few bleeped out cuss words. I apologize for the departure from my usual style, but given that cussing is something I deal with fairly often as a teacher, I felt like it was appropriate to address the topic with Dean. The student who inspired this story did not, in fact, call me a b****; he called me a euphemism for something much worse during the playground incident, but during the classroom incident (which looked nothing like what happens in this story), he merely called me a jerk. I know, maybe I should have cast him as Sam instead. :P

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. No copyright infringement is intended. The title of this collection is taken from "Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)" by Pink Floyd.

Fill Number: Shadows of Consequence, Fill #1; Solemn Husbandry of Exultation, Fill #1; Lessons Learned, Fill #2; Not Commonwealth, Fill #1; By Any Other Name, Fill #2
Representation(s): Dean Winchester; Winchester Family; Elementary School; Bad Language; Winchester™ Stubbornness and Pride
Bonus Challenge(s): Second Verse (Hot Apple, Non-Traditional, Mouth of Babes, Fire and Fold, Misshapen Pods)
Word Count: 2061

Setting: October 1988

Dean is repeating third grade; Sam is in kindergarten.

B is for B****

It's never a good thing to come back from lunch to find a sub sitting in the teacher's chair. Not just because it means something bad probably happened to your teacher, like maybe she threw up at lunch or her son got in a car crash, although that isn't great either. The real problem, though, is that with having to find a sub last minute, the office grabs whoever they can get, which is usually the absolute worst person available.

Where things start to get dicey, though, is when the absolutely worst person available happens to know you. In a less than strictly positive way.

Dean can feel the sub's eyes on him as he walks to his seat. Any hope that Miss Jabon might have forgotten that little incident on the playground quickly dissipates; she's already expecting him to be a problem. He knows he should try to prove her wrong, channel his stubbornness into being good just to spite her. He can do that; he's done it before. But he's got a feeling about this one, like she's the type who would take the credit for his good behavior because supposedly she's got great "classroom management skills." She might even think she somehow won his respect last time just because another teacher made him apologize to her. And he can't let that slide.

Yeah, of course the recess incident a couple weeks ago was his fault. The four-square ball went outside the court on his bounce, so yes, he was out. He knew that, and the other kids knew he knew it, even as he protested that it was Brody who was out, not him. But kindergarten had just come out from lunch to start their recess, and Brody didn't have a little brother who'd come over specifically to watch him play and probably wouldn't have a chance to see him get in again because third grade recess didn't overlap with kindergarten's for long.

Teachers don't see that kind of stuff when they step in to decide what's "fair." All they want to know is who knocked the ball out of the court, and then they call you out; they never consider that the complex politics of recess actually dictate that you should try to stay in if you can get away with it when somebody important is watching you. You could bet your bottom dollar that if Lexi Jonas had been over there, Brody would have done the exact same thing to him.

So really, he was justified in calling Miss Jabon what he'd called her. Anyway, he hadn't actually said the real word; he'd just gotten as close as he possibly could. Obviously, she overreacted.

"Class, class?" she says when they're all at their seats. Dean doesn't join in the corresponding "Yes, yes!" It's unfortunately not the stupidest classroom call-and-response he's ever heard; he drew the line at his second grade teacher's "Tootsie roll, lollipop… We've been talking, now let's stop!" He hasn't participated in them since. The regular third grade teacher never bothers him about it as long as he gets quiet after everybody else says it.

Several people are still whispering, including Ezekiel at the desk next to him, so Miss Jabon says the prompt again. She starts doing that thing teachers do where they sort of meander in your direction without looking at you, trying to make you think it's random. Ezekiel shuts up when she gets to the edge of their row, and the look she sweeps over them is both self-satisfied and warning. Of course she includes Dean in the look, even though he wasn't talking at all. Might as well have kept talking, Zeke buddy, he thinks. Once you get in this one's black books, you're already there for good.

With everyone quiet, Miss Jabon starts giving instructions for the open book quiz they're supposed to take. When she mentions they'll need their literature books, Dean gets up and starts heading toward the bookshelf, along with a bunch of other students.

The response from Miss Jabon is instantaneous. "Excuse me? Where do you think you're going?"

Dean fixes her with an obstinate look. "To get our literature books," he answers for the group.

"Um, no. I'll let you know when you can get up to get your literature books. Have a seat, please."

There's a tense moment where they face off. Other students move past him on the way back to their seats, some looking frustrated, others embarrassed. None of them look prepared to challenge her. Grudgingly, Dean breaks eye contact and trudges back to his seat. This isn't the hill he's going to die on, though he has a hunch they're just working up to it.

She proceeds to finish giving instructions and then, obviously just to spite the students who rushed to get their books, sends them up to the bookshelf in groups of two or three, which takes so long that Dean starts to wonder if they'll have time to even finish the quiz. How much of a control freak do you have to be to waste this much class time trying to prove your authority?

Bored, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the iron nail he picked up the time Dad had a job at a living history farm in central Indiana. He'd taken Sammy around the village while Dad checked out the haunted old farmhouse, and they'd stayed in the blacksmith shop for upwards of an hour. Dean had wished the old geezer was making weapons or something interesting, but Sammy was content just to watch him hammer out nail after nail from the thin rod of metal. The blacksmith had enjoyed their company so much that he'd given a finished one to each of them when Dad picked them up. The real present for Dean, though, was what Dad had said to him privately as they left: "With all that pure iron around, you could hardly have picked a safer place to wait with Sammy. Well done, Dean." He fiddles around with the nail, grinning at the memory.

A hand appears over his desk, open, expectant, demanding. "Dean, you know better than to be playing with toys in class."

Instantly, he clenches the nail into his fist. "It isn't a toy."

"No, it isn't," Miss Jabon agrees. "In fact, it looks pretty sharp; I'm sure you're not supposed to have something like that at school. Give it to me."

"No."

She blinks hard, as though taken aback by his defiance. "Excuse me?"

"No, I'm not going to give it to you. It's mine."

"Dean, give me that nail right now, or I'm calling the office."

He glares at her. "Go right ahead."

With a sudden motion, she reaches out and seizes his closed fist, one hand grasping his wrist while the other pries the nail from his fingers. Dean tries to fight her off, but she's too strong for him. He feels the nail slip out of his grasp, and then Miss Jabon lets go and begins to walk away, as calm as though nothing had ever happened.

"Give it back to me, you b****!" he screams.

The room instantly goes silent. The motion of turning around seems to take her an eternity, and when her face finally comes into view, it's terrifying. "Excuse me?"

Dean waits in the office, his feet swinging just above the floor in the too-tall chair. Dad should be on his way up to the school by now. He was pretty quiet when the principal called and told him what Dean had done, but Dean's sure he'll have some choice words for him when he gets here, a few of them probably worse than the one he used.

He hadn't meant to say it. He just got so angry, and the word had come out before he'd had a chance to think about taming it down. Dad says it all the time at home, and he doesn't seem to mind when Dean says it, either. Of course, Dean knows better than to cuss at school, and he certainly knows better than to get in trouble, though that seems to be about the only thing in school he's good at. It's just that… that stupid little nail means something to him, and Miss Jabon had no right to take it away. He wasn't hurting anybody with it, and if anyone was wasting class time, it had been her. It's not fair that he should be the one getting in trouble.

He hears the familiar rumble of the Impala outside, and his stomach drops. Here it comes. He tries to gauge Dad's expression as he comes in, talks to the secretary, gets directed back to Mrs. Lange's office. It's hard to tell. He's wearing that closed-off look, the one that could mean he's totally calm or could mean he's about to boil over. He barely looks at Dean as he passes by, and Dean falls into step beside him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester," Mrs. Lange says with a sugary smile.

Dad nods and clears his throat. "What's this about Dean cussing out a teacher?"

"I didn't—" Dean protests, but Mrs. Lange cuts him off.

"My understanding is that he called the substitute in his class today a very… inappropriate name."

Dad looks at him. "Dean?"

"Yeah," he admits sullenly. "She stole my nail, and I got mad."

Dad's brow furrows. "She stole your what?"

Once again, Mrs. Lange cuts in. "According to Miss Jabon, Dean was playing with a very dangerous looking black nail. She was concerned he might hurt himself or someone else, so she took it away."

"She was concerned that she wasn't in control of me like the rest of the class," Dean grumbles, getting a sharp look from Mrs. Lange.

Dad ignores the comment. "Dean, what were you doing with a nail in class?"

"It was my iron nail from the blacksmith's," he explains. "Remember, the living history farm? When you were busy, so you had me look after Sammy, and you said I took him to a really safe place?"

Dad shakes his head, clearly not remembering. Dean tries to hide his hurt by adopting a closed-off expression he hopes is as effective as his father's. As important as that event was to him, Dad has completely forgotten it.

Apparently, all Dad cares about right now is wrapping this whole thing up. "Well, Mrs. Lange, I apologize for what happened today," he says. "I assure you there will be no more playing with dangerous objects, and no more cussing at teachers. You have my word on that."

Mrs. Lange smiles. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester. I'm sure we'll be seeing much better things from Dean from here on out."

Dean looks back and forth between them, talking about him like he's not there and making promises for him he isn't even sure he can keep. He wants to say something—to protest the unfairness of it, to remind them that it's not only his fault, to demand his nail back—but Dad's motioning that it's time to go, and as usual, there's nothing he can do but fall in line.

As they head out of the office, Dad leans down and mutters in his ear, "I'm getting real tired of dealing with your s***, son. Every time I have to come up here and bail out your pathetic a**, that's less time I get to spend scoping out hunting jobs. You keep wasting my time like this, I'll really give you something to cuss about."

"Yes, sir," Dean answers miserably.

He trails behind as they head out to the parking lot to wait for the bell to release Sammy's class. He reaches reflexively into his pocket, only to remember with a pang that the familiar cool roughness of his nail is gone. For a moment, he thinks about trying to get it back, but then he shakes his head. No, he doesn't want it. It only mattered because it represented a time when Dad was proud of him, and Dad apparently doesn't even remember that anymore. All it could ever be now is a reminder of shame, of the fact that Dad is tired of him wasting his time. And that… that's not worth remembering.

A Note to Reviewers: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! Because I am writing this story specifically for the MC4A challenges, I will not be writing or posting the stories in their final order and will have to rearrange the chapters frequently. Due to FFN's system of tagging reviews to the chapter numbers rather than the chapters themselves, the system may tell you that you have already reviewed a chapter when you haven't. If this is the case, and you would still like to leave a review (I hope you will!), please consider either posting the review on the current last chapter (as even if you've reviewed that chapter before, you won't have reviewed that position) or logging out and posting the review as a guest (with your username filled in so I know who to thank!). I'm so sorry for the inconvenience; I wish the system worked differently. Thank you again for your constructive feedback; it means the world to me!