Prompt (fictionalfemme): Sam & Dean, high school, McKinley High. Sue Sylvester is new gym teacher.
Title: Untitled - Prompt by fictionalfemme: Sam and Dean, high school years, McKinley High. Sue Sylvester is the new gym teacher.
Author: ZanneS
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Characters: Dean, Sam, Sue Sylvester
Summary: Prompt by fictionalfemme: Sam and Dean, high school years, McKinley High. Sue Sylvester is the new gym teacher.
Author's Note: Unbeta'ed since this is a writing exercise to wake up my brain. All errors are mine. Supernatural belongs to Kripke and Glee characters belong to Murphy.
Sam sat awkwardly with the rest of his PE class, pulling his T-shirt over his nose and shielding himself behind the S. Winchester scrawled across the white band on the fabric as he did his best to blend in with the bleachers. Dean was sitting only a few yards away, a girl already making herself comfortable under his arm even though they’d only been in town for a few days. Sam huffed into his shirt, feeling the warmth of his breath collect around his mouth and nose, glad for the brief respite from having to act normal. PE was generally a free-for-all on the best of days, the first thing on most of the students’ minds finding their friends and catching up on the latest gossip - the latest gossip happening to be how Mr. deGuvian, their PE teacher, had been caught with his hands in the home ec. Teacher’s metaphorical cookie jar during their prep period yesterday.
Sam’s eyes fell on Dean once more, who was too busy tracing the backs of his fingers up and down his new girlfriend’s arm to pay any attention to his little brother. It was weird having a class with Dean and Sam wasn’t sure how it would go - either ignored as uncool little brother or Dean as personal bodyguard should some upper classman get too rough. It was rare, but PE was the one class where their paths occasionally crossed at school, aside from that one awkward semester in Idaho where Dean had to retake beginning Spanish and was in Sam’s class.
Sam was hoping for a break; there was the good chance they’d get lucky. The first three periods of PE had been cancelled today.
Sam’s attention was drawn from his brother to a lanky blonde woman stalking across the gym, clad in a red tracksuit and a disgusted expression as she took in the chattering students. She stopped in center court, watching the students continue to talk as the minutes ticked by. Finally, she held up the megaphone that was in her hand and hit the button that emitted a loud honking sound, startling most of the class into silence.
Once every head had turned her way, she let up on the noise, raising the megaphone to her mouth.
“I see now why Puerto Rico ranks higher than Ohio when it comes to state test scores, and Puerto Rico isn’t even a state, much less a real country.” She cast her disapproving expression at the unfortunates seated in the front row and continued, “My name is Sue Sylvester and I’ll be your new gym teacher for the foreseeable future. Your previous educator, and I use that term loosely, was fired for basting Mrs. Fluery’s turkey on company time. She, however, is getting paid leave because the liberal Jell-O molds who run this district are too afraid of her vagina and its connection to Gloria Allred to take a stand. If I had my way, they both would have been covered in pitch and dragged across the football field while the students threw the unused sexual education textbooks McKinley High has locked up in storage at them. Might as well get some use out of those taxpayer dollars.”
She paced slowly back and forth in front of the students, who watched her with wide and wary eyes. “You may call me Coach Sylvester. I’m only filling in here until they hire a replacement for Mr. What’s-His-Name.”
A brave student three rows up hesitantly raised his hand and her gaze narrowed in on him instantly. “Yes, you - Brillo pad. You have a question?”
The student blinked in surprise. “Are you a sub?”
She raised the megaphone to her lips and said, “I was hired yesterday evening, but my goal isn’t to watch you flat-footed slapjacks play dodgeball all year. They can leave that to lesser men. My plan is to take this school to greatness utilizing your youthful looks and my basic training from Guantanamo Bay.”
Coach Sylvester eyed the crowd speculatively. “Now all of you who don’t think you look utterly repulsive, stand up.”
About half of the kids reluctantly stood, eyeing each other across the bleachers.
“Now, about two-thirds of you standing need to sit down; even teenagers aren’t that delusional.”
Nearly everyone dropped back into their seats.
“You, too, Ginger,” Coach Sylvester snapped, gesturing at a girl toward the back. “If I wanted creepy red-heads on my team, I’d hire Ronald McDonald. At least he’s got some name recognition and a built-in fanbase.”
She pursed her lips, studying the group assessingly. “I see I’m going to have to do this the hard way. Girls first - if I point at you, come down to the floor with me.” She paused and started picking through the assembled students. “You, you, you - no, not you, Snuffalupagus, your friend next to you - you…you…you-” She paused, snapping her fingers in front of her. “You…yes, you D. Winchester, get down here.”
“But I’m not a girl!” Dean protested.
“With those lips? I assumed you were a lesbian with that haircut.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at the floor nearby. “Come on, let’s go; you’re prettier than half the herd I’ve gathered already so get your Bonnie Bell pucker down here, ducklips.”
Sam saw how Dean hesitated, but recalled their father’s most recent diatribe just that morning on not getting in trouble at school for at least the first two weeks. Dean must have remembered, too, because he clomped down the bleachers and settled amongst the girls with a mutinous pout already in place.
Wow, Coach Sylvester was right. Dean really did have ducklips.
"Now, if any of these teenage malcontents have the rhythm of a drunken monkey, I can mold them into McKinley’s first championship team in its pathetic and unmemorable history.”
That one student braved raising his hand once more. “Championship team in what?”
It was a well-known fact of life that McKinley High was the bottom of the heap when it came to sports’ or academic ability of any kind. The closest they’d gotten to fame was that glee club that had almost reached Regionals a year or two ago.
A satisfied smirk settled on Coach Sylvester’s face and she raised the megaphone to announce, “Cheerleading.”
An amused rumble moved through the still seated students, even as the chosen kids on the court started to protest. Coach Sylvester narrowed her eyes and snapped, “Quiet! This is not Teen Beat; your opinions are not wanted or required. Now, those on the floor - we’re testing for stamina. Start cartwheeling until the end of the period!”
“But I don’t know how to do a cartwheel,” complained a brunette girl standing on the court.
Coach Sylvester turned toward her, raising the megaphone to announce into her face, “Class, the first one that falls, you have my permission to shave their heads. Begin!”