Chapter Text
First days of new semesters were always harsh on students. There were schedules to memorize, mazes of hallways to navigate in search of lecture halls never before noticed, last minute books and supplies to buy, and, worst of all, new professors to meet. Dean had once hated the first day of the semester, particularly when it meant bleary-eyed Monday mornings muddling through new syllabi without benefit of a proper cup of coffee. But now, new semester starts meant something else entirely: fresh meat.
Dean leaned against the front of the desk, observing the crowd before him. A few students slipped in as quietly as they could from the back door while some fiddled with their bookbags and notebooks, and a few flipped through the three sparse pages of their syllabus; most just looked ahead with half-closed eyes, probably cursing their choice of a nine a.m. class to start the Spring semester. It wasn’t really all that early, but for a first day back after the luxury of winter break, anything before noon was cutting it a little too close to dawn for the matriculating masses.
“I think we’re all here, so let’s get started,” Dean called out with a grin. A few students in the front row shared the simultaneous thought that it was eerily reminiscent of a certain shark in Jaws – or Finding Nemo, for the younger students. “Welcome to Survey in American Fiction of the 20th Century.”
A few eyebrows shot up as he spoke. The sparkle in his green eyes and the wicked tease to his full-lipped smile made Dean Winchester seem younger than his years upon first encounter, a fact he enjoyed drawing out when approaching his new students. The small but elite university in northern Illinois had a reputation for formal manners and decorum, but Dean had greeted his class that morning in well-worn dark jeans and faded Metallica t-shirt – Escape from the Studio tour in ’95, not the best but still decent, picked up used and abused on eBay – a far cry from the expected suit and tie combo sported by many professors.
“I’m Professor Winchester. Feel free to call me professor, doctor, whatever you like,” he went on, hoping the tired students understood the casual atmosphere he sought to create. He paused and winked at a pretty redhead in the second row that had caught his eye, and his smile grew when she flushed as red as her flaming hair. “Even Dean, if you’re feeling brave,” he added.
He stood and walked to his lectern and slid his hands across the polished wooden surface, glancing down at the syllabus he had placed there five minutes before students started streaming into the class.
“Just a few quick notes before we begin,” he went on. “First off, remember: you’re in college. This is an upper level course. So if you’re going to sleep here, at least have the intelligence to do it in the back of the class.” He punctuated his sentence with a sharp fist slammed on the lectern, startling a long-haired long-legged guy that vaguely reminded Dean of his overgrown brother out of his dreams and into an embarrassed and drool-soaked reality. A few snickers rose from the rest of the group while the sasquatch joined the redhead in the Dr. Winchester Made Me Blush Like a Schoolgirl club.
“Other than that, we do things simple here,” Dean went on, beginning to pace the front of the classroom, a habit he picked up early in his career. “I’ll warn you though, last semester some dick lodged a complaint about my ‘language’ during lectures, so the department chair wants me to let you know, in case I should offend your delicate sensibilities.”
He offered the group another smirk and earned a soft round of laughter.
“Okay, so we’re set. Everyone check out your syllabus for the reading list,” Dean began, pausing for the inevitable shuffling of paper before continuing. “We’re going to hit all the high notes of the 20th century in American fiction, so as you can see we’ll be reading some Hemingway, some Shirley Jackson, some Steinbeck, and a lot of Vonnegut, cos this is my class and I fucking love Vonnegut. Any questions?”
In the lecture hall next door, things were progressing on a somewhat different note.
“Now that we’re all here, I think we can begin,” the dark haired man at the front of the class spoke in an even tone. His voice has startled the students new to his classes, none having expected the deep and gravelly sounds to come from the lean and somewhat dapper professor. Seemingly in direct contrast to his neighbor, he was dressed in dark slacks and a navy blue waistcoat with a subtle charcoal pinstripe pattern, layered over a dress shirt in a lighter but dusky blue shade, the top collar button left open.
He flashed a kind smile to his class, the crinkling lines at the corners of his lively blue eyes drawing an audible sigh from a young woman in the front row who didn’t even seem to realize she had made a noise. He chose to ignore it and save her any embarrassment, though it was clear by the eye roll of the boy sitting next to her that it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the students.
“Welcome to Biblical Backgrounds of British and American Literature. For those of you who have not taken any of my courses before, my name is Dr. Castiel James. I’ve been wanting to teach this course for some time and was glad to see it become part of the Spring catalog, so I thank you for joining me in this inaugural semester.”
He paused and turned towards his desk, taking a long sip from a cardboard coffee cup that had been cooling there and picking up a thick packet of paper. His students already had their syllabus, as he had left a copy of it, fresh and warm from the Xerox machine, sitting on each desk before they had arrived.
“If you open to the front page of your syllabus, you’ll find my office hours and contact information, as well as a course description and a list of your necessary materials,” Castiel went on in his even tone. “As this is a literature course, we will be studying the Christian Bible alongside many classic pieces of literature and tracing its influence on the British and American canons. For this purpose, we’ll be treating the Bible as a work of literature and lore, and discussing it as such. I hope this won’t offend anyone?”
Castiel scanned the sea of faces before him, searching for some righteous fury or even mild irritation, but found none. It drew another smile from the professor, faltering suddenly as a burst of raucous laughter sounded from the lecture hall next door. His dark brows drew into a frown.
“Unfortunately, it seems our meeting space is neighboring that of a professor known for his somewhat… boisterous… discussions. But I think we can manage. Shall we begin?”