Work Text:
Your flats flapped against the tile floor as you walked from your classroom to the gym to pick up your class. Your planning break, while the students were in their specials class, had gone much too quickly for your taste, but now it was time to get the kids back to work.
As you got closer to the gym, you began to hear your students’ laughter and playtime noises, bringing a smile to your face. As stressful as your job could be, you truly loved your kids. You approached the doorway and stepped inside, standing quietly as to not interrupt.
They were playing benchball, every single student involved in the game. Even the shyest and least athletic students were running around, smiles on their faces. Your smile grew as you watched them, the joy on their faces bringing joy to you.
Then you saw him.
The substitute gym teacher looked absolutely adorable (or was it sexy, you couldn’t quite decide) in his red shorts, white polo, and goofily high white gym socks. As you watched him, he noticed you in the doorway and jogged toward you, the whistle falling from his mouth. He grinned at you when he stopped, standing just a few inches away as he turned to face the game again.
“You Ms. Y/L/N?” he asked, glancing between you and the kids. You nodded.
“Y/N, nice to meet you,” you said, offering your hand. He took it in a shake, holding it a bit longer than necessary.
You weren’t going to complain.
“Dean, substitute gym teacher,” he answered. “You wanna play? Or do you need me to wrangle up these monkeys for ya?”
You looked around, not wanting to make the students stop playing just yet. Their smiles and excitement gave you energy you didn’t have before. “I’ll play if you play,” you said, making your voice as flirty as you would allow for being in school, talking to another teacher. (Substitute teacher, you argued to yourself.)
Dean wagged his eyebrows playfully before nudging you with his arm, obviously accepting your flirt. He lifted the whistle to his lips, blowing it in two, short bursts. The students froze, turning to where you and Dean stood.
“Ms. Y/L/N and I are going to join you for the last five minutes – which sides should we be on?” Dean’s question was immediately answered by twenty two voices, both teams arguing for both of you. You laughed, cocking your head at Dean as you went to one side and he left for the other.
“And…” Dean said, the whistle back at his mouth. One short blow. “Go!”
The game was chaotic, but in just a few seconds your students had wrapped you in, passing you the ball or shouting for you to run this way or that. You found yourself enjoying the physical activity (which surprised you) and the bonding time that it was giving you and your students.
A few minutes into playing, you turned to see one of the lonelier kids in your class, Brian, looking at you funny. He was standing still, eerily so, and you could have sworn that a strange black goo was dripping from his nose.
Someone passed him the ball as you watched, and before you knew it he hurled it at you, full strength.
For a fifth grader, he could really put some power into a throw.
The ball hit you before you could move to catch it, and immediately you knew that something was wrong. Your arm made a cracking sound and pain shot up your arm, making you cry out. Your cry stopped everyone in their tracks, a few kids running toward you.
Dean made it to you first, but your eyes weren’t on him. They were still on Brian, who had a strange smile on his face before his eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor in a hard faint.
Dean, who now had his arm around you in support, looked from you to Brian with a frown. “What happened?” he asked, touching your arm tenderly where you held it. You hissed in pain.
“Brian – I’m not sure,” you answered. “John, Henry, will you two take Brian to the nurse please?” you said to a couple of the other boys, who immediately moved toward Brian. He was beginning to wake up and seemed awfully disoriented. You and Dean watched the three of them head out of the gym before Dean looked back at you.
“It wasn’t him, it wasn’t his fault,” you said to Dean. He nodded, an understanding in his eyes that was deeper even than what you felt. He knew something, you were sure of it. You started to turn toward the rest of the class when you moved your arm, pain overwhelming you again.
“You need a doctor,” Dean said. “Class, please line up quietly and go to your room. I will send someone to check on you, but Ms. Y/L/N and I are going to fix her arm.”
Your students responded immediately and you were proud of them and how well behaved they were. Once they were all out of the gym and you and Dean were alone, you looked over at him.
“If I hadn’t asked you to play…” he started, beginning to blame himself. You held up your uninjured hand, stopping his words.
“This is not your fault,” you said firmly. You gave him your serious teacher face until he nodded, accepting your words. Then you smiled. “I actually was having a lot of fun. There’s just something funny going on in this school, has been for a few weeks now.”
Dean nodded again before starting to usher you out the door. “Well, how about I drive you to the doc, and then if you’re a good patient, I can take you out for an ice cream?”
You looked over to see a flirty grin on Dean’s face and the pain of your arm seemed to melt away.
“I think that sounds wonderful, Dean.”
Maybe getting hurt wasn’t so bad after all.