Book Four

Of Art Supplies and Ungodly Obsessions

Chapter One

Summary: Sam has made some changes so his time spent at Stanford will help him when he gets back to hunting with Dean. But that means more than just changing his major. Now he has all new classes to deal with, including an art class he thought would be simple to pass. The Apocalypse was easy compared to a semester with a professor known across campus as The Dragon.

"This is… highly unusual, Mister Winchester." The woman peered at him over the top of the file he had given her. Her thin, wire-frame glasses made her appear imperious and unapproachable, though Sam remembered her as being an incredibly helpful woman during his first run through Stanford. She always made time for those who majored in Law and were assigned to her. Sam had visited her frequently and while her position had prohibited them from being friends, he had always enjoyed their meetings. He would be sad not to work with her again.

"I know," he said and tried not to shift in his seat. "I'm aware that there may be some hesitation since the scholarship I received was to study Law, but I've included a portfolio of my work to show that I am just as qualified to study in a new field. The scholarship won't be wasted."

"No, I'm sure it won't." She lowered the file to her desk and leaned back in her chair, looking at him. "Your choices are ambitious, as well, and the samples you have included display a high level of knowledge in the subject already. That isn't a concern. What strikes me is how… different the two majors are. Law is on a different level entirely from Parapsychology."

"Is it a problem?" Sam asked, slightly nervous. He'd gotten it into his head to change his major to something that would be more useful down the road. He was going to be hunting with Dean again in a few years and he had no plans to fall out of practice here at Stanford, either. A Law Degree would be prestigious but not very helpful, especially considering he could probably pass his LSATs in his sleep if he tried.

She glanced down at the file briefly but shook her head. "Honestly, the biggest problem is that I'm sad to lose you. You have a lot of potential in Law, but I think I could say that of any field of study you put your mind to. You're not the first freshman to change their major, although you're quite a bit more prepared than I would have expected. I'm not going to turn my nose up at that." She shuffled the papers into order and closed the file. "I'll have your major adjusted and the minors you've chosen added to the system. You should be able to access your records online by tomorrow afternoon. They'll show who your new advisor is and the class adjustments for removing you from the Law program." She stood up and offered her hand. "I'm sad to see you go, Sam, but I look forward to seeing what you do with your future. Good luck."

When Sam stepped into his Painting I class, it was dark.

Not "the professor forgot to turn on the lights" dark, but "the windows have been boarded up and there is no escape" dark.

Sam felt his body tense up, every muscle going on full alert in preparation for an attack. His heartbeat sped up in his chest and he bent his knees, eyes scanning the area, looking for danger. He didn't smell sulfur but that didn't mean there wasn't a demon around.

His instincts were telling him to go, to leave, but there was a class scheduled and students around and it was possible that some of them had been trapped. His mind went to Brady, due to become a skin-suit for a demon, and he couldn't make himself leave if there was a chance someone needed his help.

He moved cautiously forward, into the room, despite the sound of Dean's voice in his head telling him to turn tail and get the fuck out of there. His fingers brushed the wall, searching for a light switch. He shut his eyes to protect them from the sudden change and flicked the switch. He saw the light burst into being even through his eyelids and someone screamed. His eyes snapped open and he dropped into a defensive stance, ready for a fight.

And met the gaze of four very confused freshmen giving him deer-in-headlights looks. They didn't appear… demonically inclined. In fact, the one looked as though she had just woken up.

"Good afternoon."

Sam turned his head, still wary, toward the voice. A woman stepped around one of the many easels that decorated the room. She was an older woman, mid-fifties if he had to guess, with the strangest shade of blue-green hair that Sam had ever seen. It was pulled up in a messy bun like she didn't have time to deal with it, and there were smears of paint in it like she'd wrapped it up right in the middle of teaching a class on finger painting. She wore a large pair of glasses, the thick rims a violent fuschia, and the too-large apron that she wore was splattered with all colors of paint. She was half his size but when she walked up to him, her gaze was sharp, making her seem much larger than she was.

"Did you read your syllabus, young man?" she snapped at him, putting her hands on her hips and staring him down from two feet below his eye-level. "I distinctly recall typing up a note that said our first class would be done in the dark and not to disturb my painters with unnecessary light. Are you perhaps illiterate? Will I be giving you directions via interpretive dance?"

Sam stared at her for a moment, then looked at the other students. They were still staring at him, but some of them had wide-eyed gazes that spoke of concern for his well-being. Perhaps his professor had a history of a temper?

"I'm… uh, sorry?" he asked weakly and cleared his throat. "I was just assigned to this class last week so I actually didn't get the syllabus. I don't think they have my email hooked up."

She stared at him for a long moment, then let out a loud sigh that seemed to cause her whole body to deflate. Sam felt like he had diffused a bomb. "You're the Winchester boy, I take it?"

"Yes?" The Winchester boy? Why did it feel like he had the displeasure of a reputation already?

"Well, either you are or you aren't, so which is it?"

"I… yes, I'm Sam Winchester."

She nodded, as though this had proven a point. "Are you afraid of the dark, Winchester?"

"... no," Sam said slowly. "Although I'm not fond of surprises," he added, thinking of the clusterfuck that could have resulted if one of the students had grabbed him while he was looking for the light switch. He was not certain he wouldn't have pinned them to the wall with a blade to their throat. That would have been… bad.

"Fair enough." She turned and walked away from him, but continued to speak. "I've been told I'm an unconventional professor who's difficult to deal with and a bitch on multiple levels. If you can't handle that, step out the door you stepped in. If you're willing to suffer through a professor that won't take your excuses and doesn't want to listen to you whine-" She glanced back at him. "I am not your mother." Sam nodded and she nodded in return. "Then feel free to stay, but you will work for your grade. This is an art class, not a study hall, and you're not in high school anymore." She executed a military-tight turn and faced him, hands clasped behind her back. "There are three classes that you will spend in almost absolute darkness. This class, the day of your midterm, and the day of your final. The rest of the classes will vary, but for those three days, you will do one thing. YOU WILL PAINT!"

One of the girls on the other side of the room squeaked in surprise at the woman's shout. She was quite loud and the room was small, adding to her volume.

"Today, we will equip you with the weapons you will need to win against every blank canvas that you must face. You will be given brushes and paints, the tools with which to do battle against white space, and your battle armor to protect you. And then we will turn off the lights and you will face the beasts of your nightmares."

She met his gaze and hers was bright with passion. "Tell me, Winchester. Are you ready to face your demons?"

Sam thought of the demons he had faced, true demons, and wondered if the dark would bring them out. He wondered if he should worry what his mind might want to put on canvas, but he nodded anyway. "Yes."

She grinned a feral smile. "We'll see."