TW: more swearing-
I apologize in advance for the lack of creativity in the Monsters' last names. I have no clue when it comes to em' :/

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In all fucking honesty, Nightmare was having a terrible day.

It was one of those days where your alarm clock decides to slip off the edge of the world, thus missing out on your wake-up call, and you have to scramble to get your coffee brewed and get the hell out of the apartment half-ready.

You manage to reach the car door and slam it shut behind you, try to start the engine and realize: you've forgotten the car keys on the kitchen counter.

Then, there's a huge hassle sprinting back in, somehow not tripping on the stairs, grabbing your forgotten carafe of coffee as well as those godforsaken keys.

Making it onto the highway, Nightmare heaved out a frustrated sigh. Time was running short, and he had driven right into rush hour. At least kids were forgiving. Sort of.

He hummed non committedly to whatever crappy tune playing on the radio, the melody close to unrecognizable thanks to a layer of rough static. Something lurked at the very corner of his mind. It was something he forgot, and the familiar feeling of walking into a room without knowing why you went in the first place tingled his SOUL. The answer was there; it stuck on the back of his non-existent throat, inching towards the tip of his tongue and he had to use all of his mental force to push that answer out, and he remembered:

His bag was still on the dining table.

There was no time to turn back, so Nightmare just gritted his teeth and pushed through the traffic, trying to gather what he remembered of his lesson plan to make an exercise without any papers on hand. He had first period, after all, and there was no way he would be able to print twenty five worksheets and climb up three flights of stairs in three minutes.

He ran a hand over his eyes, the other tap dancing on the brim of the steering wheel. What a goddamn mess.

First period: a bunch of eighth graders: delinquents, drop-outs, regular students and just people who had a bad school year, jammed into one summer school history class. It was a great combination, bound to stir up some kind of teenage drama that could last until the actual school year, and he was not ready in the slightest to deal with that bullshit again.

This was the second week of learning for them, but it was Nightmare's first.

He could reboot their memories about the Renaissance period or about the Beginning of Monsters— it depended on how diverse or accepting his class would be.

He pieced together what information he remembered from previous years of teaching and honked the horn at a shoddy driver cutting in front of him without activating the turn signals.

----

The AC broke somewhere along the line, rendering the usually fresh classroom an insufferable pit of sweat, rust and carbon dioxide. Ruffled teens lined the two back rows, only the truly brave or the nerds dotting the frontlines- and they were all humans. Civics it is.

"Good morning," Nightmare said, trying to sound alert, "I am Nightmare Joku, call me by whichever name you want. Just add a 'mister' in front of it, it's common courtesy."

Someone yawned loudly in the back.

Nightmare tried not to glare at the offender.

He didn't have the sheet to do roll call, so it was time to start churning out his improvised class.

He picked up a sheet of printer paper from the stack in the teacher's desk as well as a black pen from his pants' pockets, and cleared his throat: "Alright, I'll start with the row on the far left. Yes, you there. Tell me your name, age and something about yourself."

"Seriously, Joku? We aren't in kindergarten." Nightmare scowled. "Fine. Zachary Jonith, my age is the average age of an eighth grader and I hate the feeling of bones."

The teacher stifled a sigh. This was to be expected. Uppity, snob brats with weak insults like this kid would always exist, no matter where he went.

He scribbled Zachary's name on the paper. "Good. Unless you feel like failing summer school, straighten your act, because I will not tolerate this behavior. Next." The kid had the audacity to scoff, but was cut off short by a freezing look directed his way, courtesy of the teacher.

"I'm Maria Tremblay. I hate history in general and I'm fourteen years old," she said.

Okay, a less extreme student. He tuned out most of the blabber not related to names after the first two, because honestly, who really wanted to sit through hesitant sentences blurted out by hormonal and possibly devitalized teens?

"My name is Jeremiah Smith, and I..."

The silence in between voices was broken only by the scratching of a half dead pen. Nightmare, after tracing the last letter, looked up expectantly and raised a bone brow at the absence of sound. Did they really need his permission to speak? These students knew the order. Repeating 'next' each time would be a waste of his time and brain power.

"That's very nice, mister Smith. Next, I suppose."

"E-Ellie Nyugen."

Nightmare hummed at intervals during her little presentation. Humming was a vital element for anything. At the right moments, it could keep someone entertained or make the other feel at ease with flapping their lips.

"Next, please."

"I am Oslo Regide, I like playing the piano and..."

"...Felicity Summers and I can..."

Breathe in and out through the stuffy air, introductions were almost done. No use getting upset over the disdain in each statement. He hated these white plaster walls, the accusing, drilling stares of the kids at receiving him, a Monster for a social studies teacher.

"My name is Sam MacGovern, I will be fourteen years old as of this July. How are ya, Mr. Nightmare?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Hello Mr. Joku, I'm Felix Brown and fourteen years old. I play competitive soccer."

Nightmare recognized a few of the human students, though: Oslo and Sam. Decent people with decent folk, but they had atrocious grades in history and social studies in general, especially when it came to Monster culture and American history respectively.

He subtly focused on those two faces. They were probably some of the only ones worth remembering. Oslo had a head of natural black spikes, brown eyes staring back at his own. He was eager to learn and had a habit of tapping whatever he held in his hand against the desk. Sam was a fairly androgynous person; he didn't want to inquire about their gender either. Their hair rested in a fluffy hazel bird's nest on their crown. Their face was currently planted on the desk.

"MacGovern, head up!" he snapped. To his slight satisfaction, their back shot up ramrod straight.

Nightmare barely caught on the tails of names from the next couple of introductions, now sitting in the plastic chair, head propped up by one hand. It was way too hot for his regular attire and the late night hadn't helped in the slightest. Stupid adaption and evolution. Why couldn't skeletons stay heat and cold resistant if they still didn't need to breathe?

The last kid passed. Finally, he could start the class after ten wasted minutes.

"We're reviewing The Renaissance period today. Please take out a pen or pencil and your notebook to write down key words. This period, not an era, mind you, took place from 1420 to 1600.

Now, does anyone want to tell me what was so special about the Renaissance?"

No one raised their hand.

"Fine. I won't call on you, since teenagers tend to be such a pain when it comes to that. Now, the literal translation of the word 'Renaissance' is rebirth. Why? Because contrary to the Middle Ages, humanity found themselves on the same level as God. Humans thought to themselves: hey, God gave us all of this intelligence and beauty around us, so we should use these talents and traits to glorify Him to the best of our ability! Instead of cowering in fear. It was a change of perspective, a new vision, hence rebirth.

"The first thing that came out of thinking is humanism, a movement that places humans in the center of the grand scheme of things. Humans can pave their own path in the world, create their own destiny thanks to their superior intelligence. This fifteenth century movement started in Florence, Italy, before spreading to the rest of the world, including Monsterkind somehow, who already practiced a form of this philosophy. Many influential philosophers from that time, such as Machivel, who's the founder of the famous saying, the end justifies the means, are remembered to this day.

"We'll go in depth next time. Today is just a small recap. We now have the artists, such as Leonardo Da Vinci, Donatello, Raphaelle, Michelangelo, Botticelli, all of those famous ones. The art during the Renaissance period is a lot more realistic and proportional that of the works of the Middle Ages. It's also less centered around religion and while it does still rely heavily on that topic, nature and landscapes are introduced as well as new techniques and better math. As for their sponsors..."

Here is where Nightmare's crystal clear memory goes hazy. The longer he went without a lesson plan, the harder it was to remember what he said. The rest of the word vomit spewing from his mouth was just a piece-by-piece recollection of previous years of teaching. He ran his mouth dry, citing important dates, reasonings and historical figures, scribbling down memories of start-of-the-year key words, occasionally turning around to inquire about any uncertain points, because this was a mess, and he was a bored wreck.

The sharp screeching of the bell almost made him drop the stick of chalk. Time flew by fast and wow, half of the blackboard was filled with sentences and words.

"Thank you for coming. Class dismissed," he said simply and waited for every last student to file out of the overheated room to their next class, chattering and laughing, a few 'goodbye's' and 'see you tomorrow's' flung his way.

Nightmare stayed seated for a bit. That went smoother than expected. Nothing resembled a train wreck throughout the forty-five minute period and there were no other snide, sideways remarks past the first bit.

He stood up, gathered the one or two papers and gently pushed the chair back to its original position. His next class only started after lunch, so he should have enough time to drive home and back without serious repercussions.

Strutting out of the school, he weighed the benefits of going to Muffet's and dropping by Grillby's. After all, skeletons needed some kind of nourishment.

-----

Nightmare parked his car behind the school carrying a purple paper bag of spider doughnuts and a coffee cup of spider cider and his black messenger bag. In the end, Muffet's may be more expensive, but he couldn't stomach any of the heavier meals at Grillby's and plus, the spider Monster's café was only three blocks away from the middle school.

He pulled up at the back of the school in a nice, shady spot. He climbed out of his car, careful not to scratch the car door against the faded brick wall. The doughnuts were still warm, though not hot enough to melt the lavender glaze. Nightmare leaned against the baking bricks, silently sipping the cool cider. The sweet, fruity taste rolled over his tongue once before dissipating into energy. Oh, that felt as amazing as finishing a stack of projects in a day.

He grabbed a pastry and lifted it to his mouth. He could taste the aroma, the soft, fluffy texture of the doughnut that was about to be annihilated...

And the bite was interrupted by rowdy laughter coming from a few feet away, just out of his line of sight.

Inhale, exhale. Don't break your knuckles by punching a wall. Go solve this peacefully.

Placing the items on the dashboard, he stepped out of the shade, shielding his pupils from the piercing sun.

"Hey!" He barked. "What are you kids doing back here?"

"Go away, teach," one drawled. Whispers broke out between them, slowly rising in volume before suddenly cutting off.

His vision finally settled into a comfortable lighting, albeit dotted by random green-black spots.

"Loitering is not tolerated in the parking lot, especially after lunch," he said, fishing a few crumpled detention slips from his trouser pocket.

"Jonith and Macgovern, was it? And who are you?"

"And why would I have to tell you?" said the third wheel.

"Unless you want to be in even more trouble because you're identified through security cameras, go ahead, omit your name."

The student hesitated for a bit, considering the best course of option here.

"Casey. Casey Tishman."

Nightmare produced a black ballpoint pen from his breast pocket and wrote up three slips.

"Here," he said, handing one each with corresponding names, "Report to the class C-03 after school."

Nightmare left swiftly with his messenger bag and lunch after that, not bothering to look back. Perhaps it was best to eat inside.

-----

The feeling of freedom as Nightmare exited the school's parking lot was a welcome one. Last period was more hectic than the first, due to the lovely summer weather, but bearable.

This time, he followed the lesson plan on the 'discovery' of America, complete with a powerpoint, worksheets and everything.

He exhaled. Ten more weeks of this, he thought to himself, and then you'll be free to go to your new job.

It was a peaceful ride home.

Nightmare set an extra alarm on his phone when he paused at a red light.

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And let the school arc commence.

Wow it's been over a year since I published this (・∀・)

Feels like forever-

Thank you all so much for the support on this fic!! We're almost halfway there; depends if I skip some weeks or not. Because if I don't, that might be 30-40 more chapters XD

Stay safe!!!

Happy Valentine's Day and Happy Chinese New Year!

(February 13, 2021)