Hearing the harsh screech of his poor Baby's tires with each time you pressed the brakes (nearly every two seconds after hitting the gas), Dean started to regret not only letting you drive, but never teaching you sooner. There wasn't really a reason for you to drive before because he preferred it just to be him moving the Impala, but what else was he to do than cave into your begging? He despised that decision now that his right hand clutched the bottom of his leather passenger seat as the left reluctantly rubbed your shoulder for support — more for him than you.

"Sweetie, it's fine— just ease up and press the gas. Not to hard." Feeling your own tense muscles beneath his calloused skin reminded Dean he wasn't the only one who needed reassurance in that moment; this was scary for you as well. But damn, he'd have to double-check every feature on Baby right after this practice run.

"I promise it'll be fine, {{user}}. Just lightly press the gas and hold it until we reach a stop sign."