Disclaimer: Not mine. Idea is, but characters aren't.
A/N: Just a silly little fic that popped into my mind yesterday. Do enjoy.
Title comes from the band Everclear.
Many thanks to Amarintha for being my beta.

Dean was doing his best. Honestly, he was. But the obstacle course was hard. He had never been through one that was this challenging as he found himself falling down, a lot. Dean would glance over at his father and saw the disapproval in the brown eyes. Biting his lip and he stood up at the end of it all and brushed all the dirt off his worn outfit. He couldn't face his dad. He had messed up, and it was not to be tolerated.

Dean approached up to his father, his throat very dry. He was probably going to have to go through the course until he had it down pat and didn't mess up. Walking up to his dad, Dean got a really good look at his tattered sneakers. The sole was coming off the left sneaker and the right one was missing part of a shoe lace. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Dean glanced up at his father.

John shook his head sadly, "Dean, I think we've got a problem." Dean nodded mutely, "You seem very clutzy." He nodded again, "So, here's what you're gonna do," John paused, "you're gonna take dance lessons."

Dean started laughing, "That's funny." He then noted the serious look on John's face. As his smile fell, his eyes grew, "You're not kidding?"

"No Dean, I am not kidding."

--

Sam turned over in his sleep, not wanting to wake up. It was still dark out and Dean was still asleep. Or was he?

"No. Dad, please. No." Sam heard Dean beg. Well, that got Sam's attention. Sitting up, Sam glanced at Dean who seemed to be in a nightmare. "I don't want to. Please, Dad. I'll do better. I promise." Sam's brow furrowed. What was going on?

Finding himself on the edge of his bed, Sam leaned forward, listening to his brother's pleas.

--

"I don't want to. Please, Dad. I'll do better. I promise." Dean said, backing away slowly from his father.

"You'll go to the dance lessons and you'll learn it." John ordered.

Dean's shoulders slumped, he knew an order when he heard it. He would have to go to the dance class. Swallowing thickly, he asked, "What kind of dance?"

"Ballroom."

--

Sam scratched the back of his head, listening to his brother's protests. What was their father doing in Dean's nightmare? It had to be something really horrible to get Dean worked up like this.

Rooting through his memories, Sam tried to remember a time when Dean would have acted like this. Nothing coming to mind, he began to question what happened while he was away at college. Did their Dad do anything that hurt Dean? Forced Dean to do something against his will?

No. 'Course not. Dean wouldn't do anything against his will. Sam suddenly felt himself panic, if Dad had ordered Dean to do something, then he would do it. No matter what it was. He felt himself swallow, what was going on in Dean's head?

"Slow. Slow. Together. Quick, Quick."

Sam's eyes widened and he forced himself not to laugh, letting a snort slip by his closed lips.

--

"Now repeat with me, Dean. Slow. Slow. Together. Quick, Quick," The teacher instructed.

Hanging his head low, Dean did as he was told, "Slow. Slow. Together. Quick, Quick."

The teacher nodded, "And that is what you say to yourself to help you on the foxtrot. Now, let's see you try it."

Feeling himself turn red, he glanced at his Dad who only raised an eyebrow in response. Sighing, he moved his feet. Slow. Slow. Together. Quick, Quick.

"You're doing very good Dean. Most newcomers watch their feet which is a big no no," She smiled at him

Dean rolled his eyes, he may have never taken dance lessons before, but he wasn't an idiot.

And of course John saw the eye roll, "Dean, be respectful," he scolded his son.

"Yes sir." Dean murmured.

The next day Dean bit it lip as he ran through the course again. He knew he bit through the skin as he fell to onto the dirt, tasting the metallic of his blood. Standing up, he ran his tongue over the small cut on his lip and made his way over the John.

They had made a deal, each day that Dean messed up on the course, he went to a dance lesson. If he could get though the course without messing up, no dance lesson. Glancing up at his father, he pleaded, "Do I have to go today?"

"Yes, Dean," John said, "Sammy's gonna have to come with us today."

Dean paled, "No. Dad, please no. I don't want Sam to know. I don't want 'im to know how much of a screw up I am. He doesn't need t' see me dance," his throat tightened when he said the last word.

--

Sam got himself a glass of cold water, then moved back towards his bed. Shaking his head, he thought that Dean's dream was just too funny.

"No. Dad, please no."

Sam laid back in his bed, getting ready to leave Dean in his dancing dream.

"I don't want Sam to know."

He sat up and glanced at his brother, this didn't sound like dancing, "Dean?"

"I don't want 'em to know how much of a screw up I am."

"Dean." Sam moved next to his elder brother, "Hey, Dean. Wake up." He shook Dean's shoulder, then quickly moved out of the way. No one ever wants to be beside a Winchester when they are rudely awakened. Especially if you know that Winchester has a knife under his pillow.

And like all well-trained Winchesters, Dean woke up with knife in his hand, sitting up ready to fight of whatever woke him. He blinked a few times, realizing that there was no threat. Lowering the knife he raised an eyebrow, "Dude, why'd you wake me up?"

Sam felt a smirk tug at his lips, "You were having a nightmare."

"What're you talkin' about? I don't have nightmares. That's all you."

"Oh yeah?" The younger asked, skeptic as always.

"Yeah. I'm too manly to have nightmares," He laid back down, "Now to got sleep, Bitch."

Turning off the light, he replied, "Jerk." Now Sam waited until Dean was almost asleep again before quickly saying, "Slow. Slow. Together. Quick, Quick."

The light was back on in a flash, "You son of a bitch!"

Sam sing-songed, "What? You're the one who talks in his sleep."