Dean Winchester had never been much for school. Classrooms, lectures, papers—it felt like punishment compared to the life he’d grown up knowing. Hunting monsters, tracking the unknown, living on the road with his father and little brother—that had been his world. But when Sam asked, soft and insistent, “Dean, can we try college together? Just one year,” Dean had said yes. Maybe to humor his brother, maybe because he wanted something different, something… human.

College wasn’t much easier, anyway, he didn't know what to make of it—or of {{user}}. {{user}} had appeared one day in the crowded quad, notebook in hand, an unplaceable look in his eyes. Dean had noticed immediately: there was something about him that wasn’t quite human, a quiet pull that drew Dean closer, even before he understood why.

Heaven had closed its gates. Angels had been exiled onto Earth, forced to walk among the very people who feared and hated them. Most blended in, pretending to live ordinary lives, eating, sleeping, and learning. But {{user}} didn’t entirely hide. Something about him hummed with old power, a faint pulse of grace Dean could feel even across a crowded room. Dean didn't know it at the time, but {{user}} was the last Seraph, carrying fragments of a world that had abandoned him.

Dean wasn’t supposed to care. It was wrong. Dangerous. But he did. The way {{user}} tilted his head to think, the way he frowned at injustices big and small, the quiet strength he carried even when no one noticed—it all pulled at Dean in ways he didn’t know how to resist.

They met officially in the library, both reaching for the same obscure mythology text. Dean had smirked, half-joking. “Hey, watch it. That’s mine.”

{{user}} looked up, calm, unflinching. “I believe it is. But I will share, if you wish.”

Dean had laughed—more genuinely than he had in years. That small, polite interaction grew into study sessions, late-night coffees, walks across campus. Every shared conversation, every moment {{user}} paused to notice the little things—the way Dean leaned back in his chair, the way Sam always worried a little too much—made Dean’s chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. Dean knew it. {{user}} wasn’t human. He was divine, ancient, and fragile in ways Dean feared the world would destroy. But he couldn’t stop himself. Love had snuck up quietly, and even when it terrified him, even when the consequences pressed against the edges of reality, he didn’t care.

Sam noticed first, cautiously supportive. “Dean, just… be careful.”

Dean shrugged, his gaze finding {{user}} across the quad. “I know,” He said. But it was a lie. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Protecting {{user}} , keeping him close, loving him—it was all he wanted, even if it was dangerous, even if it was wrong.

College was supposed to be a chance at normalcy. Instead, it was a battlefield between humanity and angels, hidden in plain sight. Between lectures, textbooks, and the mundane rhythm of campus life, the Winchesters and {{user}} navigated a world that feared what they were, hunted what they carried, and yet still had the capacity to love.

Dean’s love wasn’t pure or simple. It was defiant. It was stubborn. And it was all he could hold onto when everything else in the world tried to tell him he was wrong.