A/N: Thanks for the reviews and stuff, you guys. Also, in the last chapter, I meant to write "macarons" instead of "macaroons." They are entirely two different things. (Except macarons and French macaroons I guess could be the same, but I digress...) Sorry about dumb mistakes I make. I typically write fanfiction at like 4 in the morning. But, yeah. Let's continue with this random crossover.

"Oh, Garry! Ib! I was beginning to wonder where you two had gone," Ib's mother proclaimed as the pair ascended the front steps to the family mansion.

"My apologies, ma'am. I took Ib out to study in the park, and it seems as if the time slipped away from us," Garry replied. Ib's mother smiled at him.

"Well, I suppose that getting so deep in art that you don't notice the clock is a good thing. I assume dedication is something that really can improve an artist. Oh, listen to me!" she said, covering her chest with one hand. "I'm talking as if I'm a regular Picasso when I'm really just an artistic wannabe!"

"Oh no, you're correct, ma'am," Garry assured her. He stole a look at little, stone-faced Ib, who was stoic as usual.

"Well, hearing that from a graduated art student certainly is relieving," she laughed lightly. After quickly glancing at her watch, her expression turned from light-hearted joviality to a slight panic. "Oh, drat! And speaking of time flying! I'm going to be late to my meeting if I don't leave now!" After kissing her daughter on the forehead, she wagged her index finger in Ib's face sternly. "Now make sure you behave. I know how children can be sometimes." Garry placed his arm around Ib's shoulders when he witnessed her fists clench, though her expression was static. Just as her mother passed Garry on her way out, she spoke softly to him, "Oh, Garry, one more thing." She looked at her daughter and ordered, "Go inside, dear, and do... whatever it is you children do. Adults are talking." Though she was reluctant to leave Garry's side, Ib obeyed her mother, leaving the two alone to speak. "Garry," she began, "Thank you for... helping her through this mental patch of hers."

"Oh, it's no problem, ma'am. I'd do anything for Ib. She's more than a student to me-" Garry was cut short by her astonished, accusing glare. He waved his arms innocently, "She's like family, I mean," and awkwardly chuckled.

"Anyways," her mother continued, "it's amazing that you would even admit to what she claims happened to her, just to make her feel more comfortable in her own psychosis. Truly remarkable." Garry shifted awkwardly due to the inaccurate way her mother perceived their situation, though she took this specific spout of awkwardness as a result of the miscommunication moments before.

"It's really nothing, ma'am," he replied, wishing she would just leave.

"Oh, Garry, please, call me by my first name-" she looked at her watch, "My heavens!" she exclaimed. "I really must run now!" She sped past Garry and down the front steps. "Thanks again!" she called as her figure disappeared down the winding driveway.

Sighing a breath of relief, Garry leaned on one of the pillars that adorned the elaborate stoop. Ib stood at the door, surveying his actions.

"Garry," she said, causing him to jump, as he had not noticed her.

"Ib," he clutched his heart while laughing, "you startled me."

"Sorry."

"Oh, it's alright. Come, let's work on our surrealism some more," he said as he put his arm around Ib and led her towards Ib's private classroom.

"A regular Salvador Dali," Dean said to his younger brother, both peering at a laptop screen that was full of various works of the late Guertena.

"Well, sort of," replied Sam. The Winchester brothers were once again in their motel room, much to Dean's annoyance, attempting to sort out the mystery behind the gallery. "You see, Guertena had a lot of phases as an artist. He painted realism, surrealism, and created sculptures."

"So, he's a well-rounded artist. What does that mean?"

"What's confusing to me is the bulk of what I'm finding points to that he mostly painted real people..." Sam trailed off.

"Didn't Seaweed Head tell us that the painting of Mary wasn't based on a real person, though?"

Sam turned in his seat and raised an eyebrow to his brother. "Seaweed Head?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean replied, "Yeah. I was hoping it would catch on."

Deciding to ignore him, Sam continued, "Right. And look what I found here..." Click tap tap clack click, pulling up a photo of one of Guertena's works "This is the only one I can find that has any semblance to being fictional."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, it is argued that the woman in this painting was an ex-lover of Geurtena's and that she attempted to rob him of his inheritance or something like that, but many experts also argue that the story is false."

"Do you think it's this Mary person they 'killed?'"

"Well, I don't know. The title of the painting doesn't provide a name."

"Alright, print it, Sammy. We'll go have a talk with Seaweed Head and see if we have our woman."

"Oh, sorry, Ib! Someone appears to be at your front door." Garry and Ib were currently in the middle of an art lesson. "Continue with what you're doing, but don't go a step ahead or anything. I'll be right back!" Tearing off his smock, Garry briskly strode through the right wing in which Ib's classroom resided, down the foyer staircase, and up to the large front door. Opening the door without checking to see who the visitors were, Garry was slightly surprised when Sam and Dean smiled at him.

"Hi," Dean said, "I have a few more questions for you."