Author's Note: I decided to rewrite this a little while ago. Enjoy!

Autumn, 2:45. The Galaxy Hills's school district students clambered down the front steps, gossiping amongst themselves as they took off to after-school activities. Inside, the 5th graders were almost tripping over one another, scrambling to get home and play.

Mr. Mufflin, the middle-aged, cockeyed teacher of the bunch, sat with his forehead glued to his desk, as aching to kick his students out as much as they yearned to leave.

Finally, the bell rang, and the students (except two) all took off like bullets, leaving the classroom eerily quiet. Mr. Mufflin forced himself to eye his troubled students: Fanboy and Chum Chum, the dynamic nuisances, with their silly neon costumes and harbingers of chaos.

Mr. Mufflin was sure that it was their mission to stress him to death, and although they hadn't succeeded, he wasn't sure his heart could take much more of their antics. They were well-meaning kids at heart but didn't see their teacher as an authority figure that ought to be respected, and Mr. Mufflin was sick of it.

"Purple Kid," he growled. The two boys in the back of the class cowered and hugged each other nervously at the grim tone of their teacher's voice. "Come up to the front. Talking-Racoon," he addressed the younger boy, "go home."

"Go on, I got this," Fanboy assured Chum Chum, who nodded warily and plodded out the door.

"I'll wait outside for you, Fanboy," the sidekick promised. The super-fan watched his best friend go with a rueful grin and braced himself for the long tirade that was sure to spout from his teacher's mouth.

Keeping his temper in check, Mr. Mufflin beckoned with a "come hither" motion for Fanboy to sit in the smaller seat next to his desk.

For once, Fanboy obediently shuffled over, gloved hands clasped behind his back in a mock timid stance. He sat and crossed his legs out of habit and flashed a nervous smile. In return, Mr. Mufflin shot the boy a look so terrible that he flinched, the smile lessening.

"I gave you three chances," Mr. Mufflin snarled at his student while holding up three fingers for emphasis. He paused to let that sink in.

Fanboy rubbed the back of his neck and gave an uneasy laugh. "Aha... I-I was just…" He held his tongue when Mr. Mufflin leaned forward, the tension palpable, and Fanboy knew he was in for it.

"There are no more excuses you can give me," the man growled, gripping each side of the small desk, "that will ever validate your behavior. Every day, you and your chum make my life miserable, in my classroom, no less!" He leaned in another inch, his grips tightening on the desk. He jerked his head to the wastebasket, which was overflowing with discarded papers. "Passing notes? Again? Haven't you kids realized how juvenile that is?"

"Well, they were private affairs," Fanboy supplied as if that could reason away the act. "I mean, it's not like I could say my crush's name to Chum Chum aloud, so a note seemed like the next best thing to inform the young ward!" He paused. "Then again, written evidence could be darning."

Mr. Mufflin's gaze narrowed, his lip curling. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

Fanboy's half-smile fell as he realized that humor wasn't going to ease the man's temper. He resolved to sit quietly for now until he could figure out how much in trouble he was.

Mr. Mufflin went on, "I was planning to punish both of you, but now I see the real problem isn't him. It's you."

Fanboy's throat went dry, the guilt of dragging his best friend into this coupling with immense shame. The last thing he wanted was to anger his teacher and was often worried that Mr. Mufflin didn't like him, but as of now, it didn't seem like his reputation with Mr. Mufflin was improving.

"You manipulate. You plan. You instigate. You disrupt!" Fanboy sank low into his seat. "You have the easiest job: sit down, be quiet, and pay attention! A monkey could do that. Why can't you ?"

Fanboy had never seen his teacher this angry. This lecture was more than about passing notes, and instead was the culmination of every single stressful moment Mr. Mufflin endured mounted into one significant faction. The most he could do was try to calm the man down. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything useful to say.

"I-I don't know. It's just that—all my friends are there, sitting together, and I like talking to them—"

"Exactly! You think it's alright to disrupt class!" He jabbed a finger in the boy's face, which flinched in fear. "I've taught hundreds of kids over the years, and not one of them was as disrespectful as yourself, you lousy-!" He paused to slam an open palm to the small desk's surface, causing the boy to jump.

There was a short silence in which the two became acutely aware of the buzzing of gnats in the lights and the hum of AC billowing cold air.

Fanboy was struck dumb. He stared at the reddening hand lying on the desk, a fleeting worry about that hand hitting him, causing real fear to seep into his mind. He was confident that Mr. Mufflin wouldn't hurt him, not in a million years, and yet he dared not move, lest he angered the teacher more and tempt that impossibility. "I-I'm sorry," he whispered to break the uneasy silence.

Mr. Mufflin's lips twitched as he leaned down close to Fanboy's ear. "No, you're not."

The pit in Fanboy's stomach grew. He opened his mouth to stand by his word, but no words came out.

"And even if you are, you'll turn right back around and wreak havoc if I let you off with another warning."

Fanboy blinked cluelessly but chose not to voice his confusion.

"It's time for your punishment."

Fanboy slumped. Darn it. He hated after-school work, but the bit of normality amid Mr. Mufflin's strange tirade gave him the courage to tilt his head up and ask, "Am I going to write one-hundred sentences on the blackboard?"

"No."

"O-Oh. Are ya gonna make me scrape gum off the desks?"

"Cheech finished that yesterday."

"Oh, yeah! Then what do I-?" Fanboy stopped short and yelped. Mr. Mufflin was digging his fingernails into his thin shoulder. "O-Ow!"

"In the years I've put up with your antics, not once have you changed your behavior for the better," Mr. Mufflin gnarred in his ear. "To the day, you've just been getting worse. It's time for you to get your comeuppance."

Fanboy was shocked. He was used to being chewed out, scolded, or even yelled at by adults, but this was different. His teacher's hand gripping his shoulder and low tone of voice felt sinister, causing the tendrils of danger slowly gripped at the corners of his mind. It wasn't the same fear Boog, the town bully, gave him.

Mr. Mufflin was his teacher! A supposedly monotonous husk with no real plans outside of his future retirement, now inhabited by a very corrupt persona. Fanboy gradually inched his focus to the wooden classroom door and wondered if he could run for it. Before he could even try, Mr. Mufflin got up and locked it. Fanboy felt the pit in his stomach churn with dread at the click of the lock. Without an ounce of compassion, the teacher scowled at the boy and advanced.

"I said I was sorry!" Fanboy whimpered desperately, bringing his knees up to his face to hide his tears. He was past frightened now. Mr. Mufflin stepped over to the boy, gripped the shell of his large ear, and started yanking him to the back of the classroom—to the Shunning Cave.

All the while, Fanboy rambled. "No! Wait! Mr. Mufflin! I apologized! Why are you—? No! NO! STOP! LET GO OF ME! HELP!" His cries echoed about the cave the longer they traveled and grew louder when Mr. Mufflin slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Fanboy shrieked and tried to throw himself off, but to no avail. While he struggled, disturbing memories of his time in the cave came crashing back: the isolation, the tears, the shunning, and the temporary loss of sanity. Nothing good came from banishment to the Shunning Cave, and he was terrified as to what his teacher had in store.

"Shut up," Mr. Mufflin snapped, shoving the boy down to a rocky clearing. Fanboy sat shocked and shivered in the cold cave air while a single tear trailed down his face. He knew now for sure that he was in danger.

Mr. Mufflin began to search for a duffel bag, which he had stashed behind a nearby stalagmite. With a great heave, he pulled it from its hiding place and lugged it to rest in front of his student. "One more word out of you," he warned, "and I'll clean your clock." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

Fanboy nodded and clamped both hands over his mouth. Whatever was going to happen, he couldn't make it worse by talking, thereby fueling his teacher's temper.

From the bag, Mr. Mufflin pulled out thin ropes. Fanboy swallowed hard at the sight of them and flinched when Mufflin grabbed the top of his head. Before he could protest, his teacher spun him like a top, allowing the rope to catch a groove and tangle itself until he immobilized Fanboy in a cocoon.

Satisfied that the binding was tight, Mr. Mufflin let the Fanboy fall on his side and continue to weep. Instead of feeling guilt or compassion, he was suspicious of those sobs. Was Fanboy using a tactic to encourage him to be more mindful? To let him go? To be kind? Not a chance.

Taking precautions, the man applied two layers of Heavy-Duty duct tape over Fanboy's mouth. Cocooned and mute, the boy shook with terror, his pupils darting wildly, and a trickle of snot running down his face.

Mr. Mufflin leaned down and stared deep into the quivering emerald eyes, the good one's pupil contracting. "If you scream, that's it," he solemnly affirmed. "There's no such thing as a fourth strike. Understand?"

Fanboy nodded as best as he could, stifling a sob.

The first thing that Mr. Mufflin did was to remove Fanboy's mask and gloves and shoes. That alone crushed the poor kid's soul like a grape. His secret identity was everything to him, and to have that taken away like nothing was awful. To save face (no pun intended), he tried to lower his head, but that caused the rope around his neck to pull.

"I glued glass shards to the floor just in case you try to run off," Mr. Mufflin went on despite the humiliation he'd just caused his poor student. "It's all around us." He gestured to the small band of clear rocky ground that they were sitting in. Fanboy's heart thudded deep behind his ribcage. Mr. Mufflin had been planning this for days it seemed, if not longer! "It won't hurt me," he added. "I have plates at the bottom of my shoes."

With that, he tossed the shoes, gloves, and mask into the darkness. Fanboy's exposed face went deep red, and his trembling hands, which hadn't touched anything but the fabric inside his gloves for years, were soft, fragile, and pale.

Keen to get started, Mr. Mufflin drew a thick, metal yardstick from his bag. He tossed it from and to hand and waved it hypnotically in front of Fanboy, who watched nervously.

"I remember the old days," the man sighed in remembrance. "When I was a boy, if I ever broke the rules, I was whipped with one of these ." He gently waved it in front of the boy's face, his blood-shot emerald eyes following it. "My professor was onto something because I never misbehaved after that."

Then, without warning, Mufflin whipped Fanboy's face with it. The strike was so hard that it propelled the boy back onto the floor of broken glass, echoing the crunching sound throughout the darkness. He'd just managed to arch his body to protect the back of his head. Fanboy trembled in pain. "MMPH!"

Mr. Mufflin dragged him back to the circle by his ankle and whipped him again, much harder this time. …And again. …And again. …And again. The yardstick dug into Fanboy's flesh. The glass clung to his skin and left tiny cuts.

The strikes to the forehead were the most damaging because it was thinly-veiled bone against metal. The amount of force each attack produced caused Fanboy's brain to rattle. Forthwith, the yardstick grew wet with blood. Mr. Mufflin sniffed, unaffected.

Fanboy moaned brokenly.

Mr. Mufflin gripped his chin, wetting his hand with blood in the process and jerking his head to face him. "Are you going to talk?" The child shook his head, confused. "Mmph?"

"ARE YOU GOING TO TALK?!" Mr. Mufflin shouted.

The young male recoiled and shook his head, his tears mixing with his blood. "Good." The man didn't smile, just noncommittally nodded.

He yanked the duct tape away from Fanboy's mouth, causing the boy to flinch. The teacher observed. Fanboy sniffed, wanting nothing more than to escape this awful man, but he kept his mouth shut as instructed. "Have you learned your lesson about talking out of turn?"

Fanboy shakily bobbed his injured head.

"Good. You should never talk in class unless I call on you. Understand?" Mr. Mufflin asked. Fanboy nodded once more and timidly raised his ungloved hand, at least, as far as it could go tied up. Mr. Mufflin nodded his permission.

Fanboy took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt so scared and helpless, but he had to be brave for Chum Chum. "M-Mr. Mufflin?" He whispered.

"Yes?"

Fanboy shut his eyes once more as his head throbbed in pain. He let out a small sob. "I-I'm s-scared."

A pause. The super-fan prayed that whatever compassion left in the teacher's heart would come to his rescue. Unfortunately, his sad, broken face did nothing to move the man. His face remained as stone-cold impassive as his monotoned gravel of a voice.

"As expected. You aren't supposed to enjoy punishment. You're supposed to face it head-on and take it like a grown-up."

Fanboy's heart dropped, and he burst into tears. "Please! I-I wanna go home."

At that, Mr. Mufflin felt a spurt of ascendency. He'd felt so worthless when Fanboy won control of his classroom day after day, but now Fanboy ought to be as pathetic—not strong at all, just a weak, defenseless child—in Mr. Mufflin's classroom as he was here.

"Stand," the teacher ordered. Fanboy's eyes nearly doubled in size.

"NO!" he cried, wriggling his body to move away. "Please! Let me go!"

"Hush," Mr. Mufflin ordered, carelessly unraveling the cocoon until Fanboy was weak but loose. "Stand," he repeated. The child buried his beaten face in his knees. "Do you want another thrashing?"

Fanboy's shoulders shook. "Nuh-uh" was his vulnerable reply.

"Then, do what I tell you."

It took a while, but Hank managed to get Fanboy to his feet.

"Be still," he ordered. Shivering in the cave air, Fanboy cried and pleaded with his teacher, but fell silent after a warning growl. He had never been so scared in his life. He covered his exposed face with his ungloved hands. "Hands at your sides."

Fanboy blinked back tears as he obeyed, clenching his fists at his sides. Mr. Mufflin circled him with that same yardstick in his hand, eyeing up the boy like a training dummy, looking for the softest part to hit.

Then it began. Hank struck Fanboy's body, causing him to double over in pain.

"…GAHH!" Fanboy gasped at the pain of the first lash. "S-Stop!" he pleaded.

Mr. Mufflin didn't heed the cry for mercy, cruelly whipping Fanboy's shoulder blades, stomach, collar bone, the back of his thighs, and even his face, leaving long, bloody dents trailing over his body beneath his clothes.

Shocked, Fanboy collapsed face-down on the Shunning Cave's rocky surface, and Mr. Mufflin continued to beat him.

"S-Stop," he moaned, almost inaudibly.

Deep, angry slashes now covered Fanboy from head to toe, but Hank was careful about hitting places where the child's costume wouldn't cover up the evidence: his forearms and the lower half of his face. Everywhere else, bit the brute force of his hatred.

Fanboy had never felt this helpless. He curled up into a little ball even though moving sent waves of agony through his system.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Mufflin finally stopped. He leaned down to the boy's shivering form. "Now you know what it feels like to lose control," he spat, "to be humiliated, insulted, and treated like dirt."

Fanboy continued to moan in pain.

None of this made any sense! His teacher was an "annoying old, fuddy-duddy," as Kyle would elegantly put it. Mr. Mufflin was a gloomy and sensible man who never laid a hand on anyone. This monster hurting him was not the same man. It just couldn't be.

Mr. Mufflin yanked the boy to a sitting position and situated the ropes around his ankles.

He fished around in the duffel bag and pulled out a folder. Inside were multiple pieces of paper, some new and neat, others wrinkled with age. Assignments? He tossed them all to Fanboy.

"Read them," he ordered. Fanboy was confused, but he obeyed.

A glance revealed that- Oh. These were not assignments. These were hateful, mean letters written by each of the students, and they were all addressed to him. During the year, Fanboy was flattered to be on the receiving end of notes, but Mr. Mufflin always intercepted before Fanboy could read them. Here they all were, gathered in this folder like sick memorabilia. There were a couple of long, vulgar, and rife with Francine's hatred. From Kyle: an elegant scroll with perfect calligraphy detailing everything he hated about Fanboy. The rest of the notes were scrappy messes from the rest of the boys and cute little sticky notes from the rest of the girls.

Fanboy's stomach churned. It was too much. With a small defeated sigh, he gently set the folder down and pushed it towards Mr. Mufflin with his dirty foot.

"You'd better read them all," Mr. Mufflin warned, picking up the offending item. Fanboy stared at him, pleading with his eyes for a bit of compassion, but Mr. Mufflin's eyes were as dull as rocks. "All of them," he repeated, placing the folder back into the boy's arms.

Fanboy blinked back tears and slowly opened it. He decided to pretend to read them. Mr. Mufflin couldn't have any way of knowing unless he was a psychic.

"Psycho," Fanboy silently amended.

"I'm going to test you on this, so you'd better study up," Mr. Mufflin added. Fanboy flinched, cursing his misfortune. "If you answer one wrong, you're gonna do the walk of shame."

With a rare simper, he motioned to the floor covered with broken glass. Somewhere, on the mess were Fanboy's mask, gloves, and shoes. "You can't leave without your things, right?"

The implication that this would end gave Fanboy enough resolve to obey. Holding back his stinging tears, he began the arduous task. Mr. Mufflin watched the boy's reactions, amused when he physically crumbled, and whimpered at every insult.

Finally, Fanboy slammed the folder closed. "D-Done," he whimpered, holding it out to his emotionless teacher, who took the envelope and placed it back in his bag.

"Question time!" he announced, clapping his hands together. Fanboy jumped at attention. "Suck-Up's a man of fancy words," the man remarked.

Fanboy winced. "Y-You mean Kyle?" he asked, voice trembling.

"Yes. What did Kyle say to you that felt the most...offensive?"

"I-I…" He stared at the ground. "H-He told me to…"

Mr. Mufflin waited.

Fanboy let out a small moan of mental anguish. "…to k-kill myself…." he finished, staring hard into the darkness. He didn't want to know these things, let alone recite them like a school speech.

"What about Michael?"

Fanboy wished he could curl up and die. "T-Told me; I was annoying and gross."

"What about Duke?"

"Said I'm an...an annoying l-loser."

"Good," Mr. Mufflin approved. "Now, what did Nancy say?"

"…Ele-…Electric-…ch-ch…" Oh, he couldn't do this. His heart clenched, and more tears spilled from his eyes. He couldn't do it. He was going to break. "O-Okay, I get it," Fanboy croaked. "Y-You've made your point. They hate me. YOU hate me. You win. I give up."

"Win? Give up?" Mr. Mufflin repeated, genuinely surprised. "You think this is a game?" There was a moment of silence. "Listen. Following instructions is the most important rule that a student has to abide by. Studying, reading, asking questions, solving problems, completing tasks, all when I say so. If you follow the rules, no harm will come to you." He sighed. "Just now, you refused to answer, and now you're in trouble."

Fanboy shook with fear as the man removed the ropes from around his ankles and pulled him to his feet. "Take your punishment." Mr. Mufflin grunted. Fanboy yelped as he lost his balance, flailing his arms to support himself as he fell. The first things he felt were broken shards of glass stabbing into his body. He sprawled there in silent agony for a moment or two before letting out an ear-splitting screech.

Mr. Mufflin rolled his eyes in annoyance at the sound. He stepped over to the withering boy, the glass crunching under his metallic shoes, and slapped on three layers over Fanboy's open mouth. It did its job well, muffling the child's almost inaudible whimpers and moans of pain. He didn't move from the ground, too afraid of what pain might befall him.

Mr. Mufflin had no patience. He gripped the boy's arm and yanked him up. Fanboy screamed behind the tape as the shards stuck to him like leeches. After Hank gave his student a gentle push into the darkness, Fanboy began to wander through the gloom, his every step agonizing. He stopped for a moment, crouched, and tried to brush the shards away, but they wouldn't budge. They broke under his weight and sliced into his feet. He began to feel lightheaded, and he was uncertain if the cause was either blood loss or shock.

After a few minutes of unbearable pain, Fanboy finally felt a glimmer of hope. His mask! His gloves! His shoes!

"I can escape now!" he thought excitedly. He quickly put them on. It hurt more than anything he'd ever felt, but he didn't care. Walking fast, a little sliver of light grew in the distance: the exit.

"Purple Kid…" Mufflin whispered from behind, his callused hand gripping his shoulder. Fanboy froze in fear as he felt a sharp jab. Was it the yardstick? A shard of glass? A knife? "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Mmph…"

Mr. Mufflin yanked the duct tape from Fanboy's mouth and gripped his chin, turning it to face him. "Y-Ye-Yes!" Fanboy croaked faintly. "I-I have!"

Mr. Mufflin stared at him, suspicious. "You're not saying that just to save yourself?" He leaned closer until the boy could feel his teacher's breath on his face. In the darkness, he could just make out the hazy outline.

Fanboy gasped. "No! I'll be good! I'll be good! I promise!" The thought of the man torturing him further was too much to bear.

"Will you speak in my class?" he repeated when the child did not answer immediately.

"N-No! No! I won't!" Fanboy cried, snot trickling down his face.

"Unless?"

"U-Unless, you call on me!"

"Good!" Mr. Mufflin nodded. "Will you humiliate me in front of your classmates?" He tightened his grip on the boy's arms and moved so close to Fanboy's face that their noses were touching.

Fanboy felt lightheaded. "N-No," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry…" He began to breathe slowly, his aching chest heaving as the pain worsened, trauma staining his mind.

"Good," Mr. Mufflin repeated, and then he asked, "Will you follow my rules?"

Fanboy was beginning to hyperventilate. "…Y-YES!"

"Every last one?"

"YES! YES! YES!" The boy choked on his saliva. "P-Please, I'll do… e-e-everything y-you say!" he gasped. "J-J-Just…"

Mr. Mufflin grimaced.

Fanboy was starting to lose consciousness. "P-Please… let…let me go... H-H..." He trailed, eyes fluttering, and jaw going slack. It wasn't long before he slipped away and fainted in Mr. Mufflin's arms.

There in the dark, the teacher decided, finally, that that was enough. Fanboy had convinced him that he'd finally learned his lesson and would be as good as gold from now on.

With a slight heave, he gathered the young male up in his arms and carried him out of the Shunning Cave, squinting at the classroom's fluorescent lights. He picked up his duffel bag on the way out and began to tend to Fanboy's wounds as best as he could once he reached his desk. He laid Fanboy on the surface of the said desk and rolled up the child's sleeves, which caused him to rouse.

The super-fan let out small whimpers and abrupt shrieks as the man poured rubbing alcohol over the bloody, multiple, thin scratches the yardstick and the broken shards of glass had sliced into his flesh. He wrapped light gauze around the deepest cuts, on his shoulder blades, thighs, and collarbone-all this he applied under Fanboy's costume before tugging it back into place.

After Mr. Mufflin wiped all the blood away, he leaned over the boy with a menacing stare on his hard-set face. Fanboy shivered. "I'm going to let you go now."

A wave of relief. Fanboy wasn't going to die, and that's all that mattered.

"This is just between us, understand? It was all to modify your behavior to make you a good student. I'm proud of you for finishing."

Fanboy swallowed thickly. Proud? His mind was too addled to process that.

"I think it goes without saying that if you tell anybody about this, I will punish you AND Talking-Raccoon. You don't want that, don't you?"

Fanboy shook his head rapidly.

"All you need to do is listen, keep quiet, and follow my rules. Do those things, and we will consider this a win."

"O-Okay," Fanboy answered softly, averting his eyes from the authoritative man. "I-I'll be good."

Mr. Mufflin finally allowed himself a small smile, content with Purple Kid's answer.

Thanks for reading, everyone! If you made it this far, you are a real trooper. This chapter was NOT for the faint of heart