Keep in mind what I keep in mind, when I see people being… different. Acting different, dressing different, or even doing different things. Judging someone doesn't say anything about them. You probably don't even know who you're judging. When you judge others, it's mimetic. Like putting a mirror up in front of you. You see how ugly you can be when you're ugly to others. Be careful what you think and what you say – negativity is never a good idea, and maybe those people really are hurt inside. Do you feel like a good person afterwards? You shouldn't. I never do. Besides, they may be the sweetest or cutest or smartest or wittiest person you ever met – when, or if, you meet them.

So stay positive. Give everyone a chance until they piss you off. They you can know, and you don't have to speculate. You'll make way more friends and hurt way less feelings that way.

The day had turned from an acceptable one into a shitty one. The sky had opened up and poured down rain, drenching Dean on his way to Bobby's office, and him without an umbrella of any kind. The ground was like quicksand between sidewalks. Everything was dripping and damp and cold. He pushed through the old, heavy wooden doors into the teachers' offices building and left all the shit weather outside. Shaking out his hair, he wiped water from his face and groaned as he tossed down his backpack. Great. Damn great. He was drenched – everything was drenched. Fuming, he peeled off his soaked jacket and wrung it out. Heavy droplets of water pattered to the wood floor. A drop of water even slid off his nose.

There was a little trouble with him getting up the steps to the second floor with his soaked jeans, but at least his shirt was dry. His long strides were stunted. Eventually he reached the top and hung his jacket and backpack on a hook rack before the hallway of big heavy doors. Bobby's office was at the far end of the hall. Dean took his sweet time, looking at the flyers hung on the corkboard along the walls of the hall, shuffling his feet, glancing through open doors to see empty conference rooms and even a kitchen. He did not want to have this meeting. A clock on the wall read 2:26. Right after his classes. Just like Bobby said.

Dean looked down the corridor at Bobby's door and bit his lip. Should he even do this? What would he think? He was his favorite professor, man. It couldn't be someone he could just blow off. What if this went south? He rubbed his damp hair vigorously with both hands. He had to get this over with. Maybe Bobby would be able to help him out. Brave. Be brave. You kill ghosts for a living. Sighing, Dean went to his door, standing before it with steel butterflies in his stomach. They tasted bitter and made him twice as nervous. He lifted a fist and knocked twice… lightly.

"Winchester?" Came the barked question.

"Yessir," Dean replied.

"Come on in." Pushing the door open, Dean stepped inside, glancing around nervously. The office was small, with a desk covered in papers, and three tall bookshelves packed with textbooks and novels of all sorts. An old, worn couch was pushed into the corner, and there were several chairs covered in jackets and extra shirts and duffel bags. There were plants in the big, ancient window and a very disgruntled looking Bobby in his desk chair, behind a thick laptop. Then again… he always looked disgruntled. "Shut the door and sit down, son," Bobby told him, motioning him in.

Shuffling along the warped, creaking wood floors, Dean did as he was told. The door shut with a heavy click and he planted his butt on the couch, which sucked him in.

"You're soaked," Bobby commented, finishing up something on his laptop.

"I need an umbrella," Dean admitted. "I'll pick one up sooner or later. Later is probably more realistic than sooner."

"Know that feelin'." Bobby looked up at him with perceptive blue eyes. "Tell me what happened to you yesterday." The abruptness of the question threw Dean for a loop. He managed to blink a few times, unable to break Bobby's stare. The older man leaned his arms on the desk and shut his laptop. "Come on now, out with it. The librarian spotted you running in after you left my class like a bat out of hell. Said you locked yourself in the bathroom for an hour." That hit its mark. Dean looked away, swallowing. "What's going on with you? Is it about the crash?" Bobby questioned sternly.

"No, I…" Dean worked his jaw but no words came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It's not about the crash."

"Then what? You seemed to be doing so damn well before then. Not a single hitch in your stocking." Bobby frowned at him with worry knitting his eyebrows together. "What's knocked you off your rocker?" Dean looked anywhere but at Bobby, trying to find something to grab onto in the chaos of his head. There was nothing there to hold onto, though. He finally just looked up at his professor and the shielded pain in his eyes was all he had. "Is it a grade?" Bobby pressed. "Did you fail something while you were away?" A head shake. "Did your girlfriend dump you?" He tried again.

"Close." Finally, words were coming to him. Dean leaned his elbows on his knees and held out his hands, sighing. "Bobby," he replied quietly, looking at the man with soft admiration. "It's the opposite of being dumped. But it's not a girl I've got to worry about." There. It was done. Dean braced himself.

Bobby stared at him. Then he blinked, and sat back, and looked at his desk. Then up at Dean again. "Balls," he blurted, with empathy Dean hadn't expected.

"Yeah," Dean barked a laugh, surprising himself. "Tell me about it."

"I mean… just… didn't peg you for the type." Bobby eyed him. "Jesus, boy. Make an old man think he's got you figured out, why don'tcha." He blew a sigh and rubbed his neck. "So, what? This kid driving you crazy or somethin'?" The switch right from shock into conversation again. Dean felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders and shake the building when it hit the floor. He stared at Bobby.

"You're not…?" He blurted.

Bobby gave him an eyebrow quirk. "What? Homophobic? Get over yourself, Winchester. You couldn't scare me if you tried." He waved his hand and gave Dean another look. "So, what's the problem? Trouble in paradise?"

Dean ran his hands through his hair, breathing a sigh of relief. The hardest part was over. His heart was beating like mad, pushing adrenaline through his veins. His hands shook. "No. No, it's not him." He looked up. "It's just the idea. The concept. It's a… a little much to stomach."

"Why's that?"

"Well, let's just say I was scoping out chicks in class three weeks ago."

"Jesus. And this guy just…?"

"Well… He's sort of the only reason why I stayed here at school. When my brother dropped me off, I had full intent on staying a day or so before stealing my car back, packing up my things and bolting." Dean confessed. "My dad was the only connection to everything that I had. Ever since I could remember, it was me and him and the road. But this guy… He became like my rock in an ocean of things changing and pushing me around in this strange place. I thought we were just close, but…" He trailed off a bit, remembering that Thursday night three weeks ago. "Anyway, I'm new at this myself. If the me from three months ago asked me to tell him what I was up to, he'd beat me shitless and hit me with our car. I mean, like, literally."

"So you're having trouble coping."

"Loads of trouble," Dean muttered. "I... yesterday, I had a mental breakdown. I've never, ever had anything that huge go down in my head before. I mean it was insane. Me, having a breakdown." He covered his head with his hands and bent it to touch his knees. "It was crappy, Bobby. I don't know what came over me."

Bobby frowned and crossed his arms. "I see." He paused. "So you're in love with this kid, but you're going nuts thinking about the 'why,' and the 'whose gonna be pissed,' and how your life is gonna be now?" Dean nodded weakly. Bobby nodded. "All right. I gotcha now." He took a deep breath. "So, you said your dad was your life line? To everything?" Dean looked up, nodding again. "You did everything he did?"

"Everything," Dean found himself saying. "I listen to his music and wear what he wears and drove the car he gave me. I walk like him, talk like him…" He rubbed his forehead. "I was thinking about this before. I didn't even think I could be my own person until I met Cas."

"Cas?" Bobby asked.

Dean winced. "Castiel." He corrected himself. "That's the guy."

"Oh. All right then." Bobby shifted in his chair as he thought. "Well, did you ever think that being your own man is what's stressing you out? I mean, you've had all your choices laid out for you before now. God forbid you diverge. Was your dad…?"

"No," Dean said quickly. "Not a chance."

"Exactly." Bobby snapped, making Dean jump. "You're so wrapped up in how daddy would feel about your life that you're too damn busy to be happy. You like this kid? He likes you?"

Dean looked at him in awe. "We're happy."

"Then be happy. Forget about what your dad would think. These kids here, they aren't your father. He's not here to judge you. And he hasn't got a right to – you're a grown man, Dean," Bobby pressed. "Be who you want to be. You made some friends? If they don't like who you are, tell them to shove it and get new friends. Nothing has changed. You're still you. Just that now, you're making a path for yourself, instead of letting daddy do it for you." Dean stared at him. He smiled sheepishly. "That's not a bad thing. It's just more work, son, that's all." He was right. About everything. Dean saw all the pieces in his head, he'd just been too scared of himself to put them together. He felt as if he'd been miserable in a dark room, unable to find his way out, and Bobby had just come along and flicked on the lights, revealing that the way out was right there all along.