The university was large, swarming with students who all had opportunities and doors open to them. Dean only ever had one door, a door that he was shoved through by the world around him. He needed a drink—unfortunately the nearest drink was some campus coffee stand. No line, luckily enough. He sipped a black coffee and scanned the crowd, trying to spot whatever suite Sam told him to be at.

He’d decided to reach out to the younger Winchester. He knew Sam’d be too damn stubborn to reach out himself, and he didn’t want to cut ties. So he set a plan, a plan to meet up with his brother and see what this ‘scholarly life’ was all about. His determination was quickly squashed after the whiplash of stimuli. Large buildings all looking vaguely similar to the one Sam had described, other brown floppy haired sasquatches that looked an awful lot like Sam from afar.

He didn’t know what he was doing here, he considered going back to the motel down the road and throwing in the towel. He turns around, eyes fixed on the cracked plastic lid of his coffee that he hastily crammed on. ’oof—‘ He collides with one of the many scurrying students. The student mutters an abrupt apology and he does the same, but pauses.

“Sorry—you prolly got places to be, but…” He momentarily chews on the corner of his lip. Puffing up his chest and sacrificing his pride to simply ask for directions. “Do you happen to know where the uh…’Marx’ suites are? I’m just tryna find my brother.” You take sympathy. This place can be a lot—especially for unsuspecting relatives visiting.

“Just a general point in the right direction would be enough.” His confidence wavers, “Probably.”