Perfect Landing

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the amazing Eric Kripke and and to the very fine people of Warner Brothers/The CW. I claim no right to it and am merely playing in their beautiful sandbox. No copyright infringement intended.

Excerpt taken from Season 11, Episode 4 "Baby"

Sam woke up in the back seat of the Impala, surprised to see that they had pulled off the road and were parked in some kind of parking lot. Dean was leaning up against the passenger door in the front seat, his long legs stretched out before him. He had the computer opened up on his lap and Sam wondered what he was looking at.

Pulling himself up a little, he rested his back against the door and looked closely at his brother. He knew that Dean could tell that he was concerned about something, but luckily Dean waited for Sam to talk. Eventually, Sam was able to tell Dean about the dream he'd had. Or maybe it was a vision of some sort.

The talk went about as good as could be expected. Especially when Dean found out that Sam had been infected by the virus brought on by the Darkness and had neglected to tell him about it. And when he found out that Sam had been praying. Sam knew that his big brother wasn't happy with either of those facts, but Dean did what he usually did. He listened.

Even if Dean didn't agree with what his brother was saying, he at least listened. And Sam appreciated that. And Sam listened, too. His brother wasn't one to usually share any kind of personal insight that would mark him as vulnerable, but when he did, Sam was there to listen. And he usually learned something important about his brother. Something that no one else knew.

Like how Dean dreamed about their father. More specifically, how he dreamed about the type of father John would have been if they weren't hunters. If they had lived a normal life.

He listened as Dean told him about the dream he had every few months. Sam sat in the back seat and let his brother's deep voice wash over him with words that tore into his heart like a sharp knife.

"As far as Dad goes, I dream about Dad all the time."

"You do?"

"Of course, I do. It's usually the same one, too. We're all in the car. I'm sitting in the driver's seat, Dad's sitting shotgun. But there aren't any shotguns. There's no monsters. There's no hunting. There's none of that. It's just…..He's teaching me how to drive. And, uh… and I'm not little like I was when he actually taught me how to drive. I'm sixteen and he's helping me get my learner's permit. Of course, you're in the backseat, just begging to take a turn. We pull up to the house- the family house- and I park in the driveway, and he looks over and he says "perfect landing, son." I have that dream every couple of months. It's kind of comforting, actually."

Sam found himself wondering how a dream that was so vastly different from reality could be comforting in any way. In his mind, those dreams were painful and only served to remind him of what could have been and what would never be.

Maybe he should be thankful that his brother felt differently.

Dean wasn't lying when he told his brother that he had that dream every couple of months. And he'd been having it for years. Even before his dad died. In fact, the first time he remembered having the dream was just a few days after his sixteenth birthday.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that the reason he dreamt that in the first place was because of the nightmare that his sixteenth birthday turned out to be. Not that any of the birthdays he could remember were special in any way, really. John Winchester just didn't have time for birthdays.

Dean thought that maybe his sixteenth one would be different, though. Any maybe it would have if Sam hadn't been sick. Or if Dean hadn't thought it a good idea to leave his brother alone while he went out on a date the night before. Not that Dean Winchester actually went on dates. It was more like just meeting up with a girl. And not just any girl, but the prettiest girl in the whole pathetic, stupid high school he was currently attending.

Charlotte wasn't the typical kind of girl Dean usually found himself attracted to. She was smart and funny and didn't act like a brainless bimbo just to get his attention. And she was beautiful. In a classy way, not in a perfect hair and excessive make-up kind of way. She didn't wear short skirts and her belly wasn't showing from the cropped hem of her shirt. Nope, definitely not his usual type.

Dean had been lucky enough to be paired up with Charlotte for a research project in his World History class and they had spent several hours together researching the Nuremberg Trials. Well, to be honest, she was researching the Trials. He was spending his time researching her.

Eventually, he got up the nerve to ask her to hang out with him and was surprised when she said yes. Unfortunately, his dad decided to leave early for a hunt that day and Sam was home sick with the flu. Dean was prepared to cancel his "date," knowing that John wouldn't be okay with him leaving his brother alone, but Sam eventually convinced him to keep it.

"Go on, Dean. All I'm gonna do is sleep and you have to go get some food and medicine anyway, so there's no reason you can't go out for a couple of hours. Just make sure you bring me back something to eat, okay?"

Dean tried to argue with his brother, but Sam was adamant that he'd rest better without Dean breathing down his neck.

So, Dean left.

And John returned home early.

To say that the man was angry to find his twelve year old son alone in the motel room, burning up with fever, was the understatement of the century. Sam tried to cover for his brother, but knew that his dad saw right through the flimsy excuses he was throwing out. He also knew that his brother was in big trouble.

John had been home for almost two hours when Dean finally walked through the door, his arms full of snacks, drinks, and medicine for his brother. The night had been a great night and he was happier than he'd been in a long time, thanks to the time he spent with Charlotte. She was fun to be around and he decided that she had the softest lips of any girl he'd ever kissed. He was so caught up in remembering everything that had happened that night that he didn't even realize that the Impala was parked a few spots away from their motel room. He was completely blindsided by the fuming man that met him at the door.

"Dad! You're home!" he said stupidly.

"Yes. And you weren't. Where the hell have you been, Dean?" John asked angrily.

Dean looked over at Sam who was partially hiding under the pile of blankets Dean had covered him with before leaving earlier. Sam looked down at the bags in his brother's arms and pointed one finger at them. He was hoping that Dean was picking up on what he was trying to say.

I, uh…. I went out to get some stuff for Sammy," he finally said as he placed the bags on the small table and started to unload them.

"I know you're not stupid enough to lie to me, boy," John growled.

"What? No! I'm not lying," Dean answered quickly. "See?" He held up several different kinds of medication, hoping that would be enough to convince his dad. Of course, he wasn't ever that lucky.

"You've been gone for over two hours, Dean. Try again. Where were you?"

Dean looked back over at his brother, who had burrowed under the covers even more, before answering. "I went to get the stuff for Sam and decided to get something to eat while I was out. I ran into a friend while I was at the diner. But, Sam was sleeping, Dad. And I made sure the salt lines were down and the doors and windows were locked."

"So, you thought it was okay to just hang out with your friends while your twelve year old brother was sick and all alone?"

"He was sleeping…."

"Why the hell does that matter?" John yelled.

Dean suddenly felt guilty for leaving Sam alone. It was his job to take care of his brother, yet he had decided it was more important to go out with Charlotte. No matter how much he liked her, he should have put Sammy first.

"I-I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have stayed out so long."

"No, you shouldn't have. It's your job to look out for your brother."

"I know, sir."

"Were you out with a girl?" John asked, eyeing his son closely. When Dean didn't answer right away, John exploded. "Damn it, Dean! You need to learn to control those hormones! And quit being so selfish. Your brother needed you."

Dean thought his dad was being horribly unfair, but he didn't say anything. It wasn't like he was going out with a different girl every night, right? He rarely had time to do anything outside of going to school, training, and watching out for his little brother. And he did all those things without complaining. He rarely did anything just for himself, so how could his dad say he was being selfish.

John's words stung more than any punishment that might be coming his way ever could.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean grabbed the medicine and a bottle of juice off the table and took it over to Sam. "Here you go, Sammy," he said as he pulled the blankets back. "Sit up and take some more medicine, okay? It'll make you feel better."

Sam sat up and weakly took the medicine and juice from Dean. Dean winced at the heat rolling off of Sam's body and couldn't help but notice the fine sheen of sweat that covered his body. He knew that Sam's throat was sore and that his whole body was achy.

"Hey, do you want me to run you a bath, Sammy? I bet you won't ache as much if you soak in the tub for a while. And then I can change your sheets for you, too. What do you say?" Dean's eyes flicked over to their dad and then back to Sam, trying to signal to his brother that he should leave before all hell broke loose. Dean knew that Sam hated to be around when he was in trouble with their father and he was trying to offer him a way out.

"Okay," Sam said hoarsely.

Dean led him into the bathroom and started filling the tub up with warm water. He made sure the water wasn't too hot before turning back to his brother, who was sitting on the closed toilet seat. "Stay in here until I come back, okay, Sammy?"

"Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't know what to tell Dad."

"It's okay. There wasn't anything you could do. It's just my rotten luck that he came back. I wonder what happened with the hunt…"

"He said that Caleb called and told him that another hunter beat them to the hunt. He wasn't happy about that."

"I bet," Dean laughed. He knew how much his dad enjoyed hunting, so he wasn't surprised that the man was upset about the hunt being cancelled. And wasn't that just his luck? All he needed was for his dad to already be in a foul mood when he found himself in trouble.

Looking down at his brother, he wasn't surprised to see the worried look on his face. "Don't worry, Sam. It'll be okay."

Sam didn't look convinced, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he just watched as Dean opened the bathroom door and left to face their father.

Dean stepped back out of the bathroom to find his dad pacing in the small room. He was trying to judge just how mad the man was…. 'Yelling, lecturing, and grounding' mad? Or 'bend your son over and blister his backside' mad? Dean was hoping for the first option, of course, but it was too early to tell.

Not knowing what else to do, he stepped over to the bed he and his brother were sharing and sat down on the edge of it. His hands immediately started pulling at the many loose threads on the motel blanket as he waited for his dad to either start lecturing or explode.

It wasn't long before the man stopped pacing and leaned up against the wall. His eyes locked onto his son and Dean could feel himself breaking into a cold sweat.

"What were you thinking, Dean?" John finally asked.

"I don't know," Dean answered.

"Excuse me?" John bellowed.

Dean knew that "I don't know" wasn't ever an acceptable answer and he mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. Straightening up, he tried to answer his dad differently. "I shouldn't have stayed out for so long. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't have stayed out at all, Dean. You should have gone to the store and then came right back here."

"Yes, sir."

"But instead, you chose to ignore the fact that Sam was sick and alone, and you chose to what…. Make out with some girl?"

Dean could feel himself blush at the man's words.

"Is that what you were doing? Making out with some girl?"

"No, sir," Dean answered. "We weren't, Dad. We were just talking, I swear."

"So, that must be your lipstick I see on your t-shirt, then. I wouldn't think that's your color, Dean."

Dean quickly looked down at his t-shirt and saw a smudge of bright pink lipstick.

"So, I guess we're going to add lying to your list of offenses now," John said.

"I'm not lying, Dad. We kissed a little when we said goodbye, but we weren't making out."

John's eyes stayed planted firmly on his son and Dean tried his best not to squirm under the attention. He breathed a sigh of relief when John finally looked away.

"What are we going to do about this, Dean?" John asked after a long pause.

Dean knew that was basically a rhetorical question. John really didn't care about his sons' opinions. He would make up his own mind about an appropriate punishment and nothing they could say would change it.

"I have half a mind to tan your hide, Dean," John finally said.

Dean could feel his stomach rolling. He had already consigned himself to the fact that that would most likely be his fate, but he always held out hope for a reprieve. He found himself holding his breath in anticipation, waiting to find out his sentence.

"But, I'm not going to. Mark my word, though…. If I ever find out you put another girl before your brother's well-being, you won't sit comfortably for a week. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said as he let out the breath he was holding.

"You're grounded, Dean. For a month. That means no dates, no extracurricular activities. You go to school, you come home. You have extra training every morning- including a five mile run- and you'll go to bed an hour early every night. Capiche?

"Yes, sir." Dean couldn't hide the relief that filled him at his father's words.

"And no car, Dean. You and Sam will either take the bus to school or you'll hoof it."

Dean groaned at the thought of not being able to drive the Impala. He loved driving that car and the thought of not driving it for a month was awful.

"Hey, we can go back to my original plan if you want to," John growled.

There was a part of him that was tempted to take the man up on that. It would be better in the long run if he just let his dad take his punishment out on his hide instead of having to endure a whole month of restrictions and extra training. But, the thought of facing off with John Winchester and his belt definitely squished the part of him that even remotely thought it was a good idea.

"Sorry, sir," he said quietly.

John ran a hand over his face and then stepped over to the bed and sat down next to Dean. Dean stiffened slightly at first, but then made himself relax.

"Son, I know it isn't fair that you can't hang out with your friends like other boys your age. I know I heap a lot of responsibility onto you, but that's the way it has to be. It is what it is, right?"

Dean hated that saying, but he knew that it was one of his dad's most used euphemisms. "Yes, sir."

John continued. "Nothing is more important than making sure your brother is safe while I'm gone."

"I know, Dad."

"Well, your actions tonight spoke otherwise."

"It won't happen again, Dad. I swear."

John nudged Dean in the shoulder with his own shoulder before standing back up. "Okay, I'm holding you to that, son. Now, why don't you go get your brother out of the tub. You boys need to go to sleep."

Dean stood up and grabbed Sam's duffel. Seconds later, he had some clean clothes for his brother and he walked back over to the bathroom. He knocked two times, giving Sam enough time to cover up, before he opened the door and stepped in. "Here you go, Sammy. Your favorite jammies…."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's words. "They're not jammies, jerk," he laughed.

Dean grabbed the towel off of the rack and held it out in front of him. "Feel any better?"

"A little," Sam admitted. "My bones don't ache as much."

"Good."

Sam climbed out of the tub once he was sure that Dean couldn't see around the large towel. Once he was out, he grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his waist. Dean grabbed another towel and threw it over his brother's head. "Your luscious locks are dripping water everywhere, Sammy."

"My locks aren't luscious…. I mean…. I don't have locks, Dean!"

Dean couldn't help but laugh at the sight of his flustered brother. "Keep telling yourself that, little brother," he said. He barely made it out of the bathroom before a bar of soap hit the door jamb. His brother had pretty good aim, but Dean was always too fast for him.

Sam stayed a little longer in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and brushing through his "luscious locks" while Dean quickly changed the sheets on the bed. Once they were both settled in the bed, John stepped out of the motel room to make some phone calls. Dean figured the man would be leaving soon for another hunt and the thought made him sad.

"So what happened?" Sam asked. "I didn't hear any sounds of a John Winchester beat-down."

"Nah. He just grounded me. The usual…. Restricted to quarters, extra training, five mile run every day, and no driving. That means we either ride the bus to school or we walk."

"But the school is almost two miles away, Dean!"

"So? We've walked that before, Sam."

"But it's winter! It's freezing outside."

"Fine, then we'll take the bus."

"I hate taking the bus," Sam whined.

"C'mon, Sam. It's not like we have a lot of choices here. We walk or we take the bus."

"For how long?"

"A month."

"A month?! You're grounded for a whole month? That sucks!"

"Tell me about it," Dean said. "I was looking forward to spending some more time with Charlotte."

Sam grabbed his pillow and smacked Dean in the face with it. Dean was just about to retaliate, but Sam suddenly started coughing harshly. Once he was done, Dean reached over and pulled the blanket up around his neck. "Go to sleep, Sammy. Okay?"

"Okay. Goodnight, Dean."

"Night."

Dean rolled over onto his side and waited for Sam's breathing to fall into the pattern that indicated he was asleep. It didn't take long. And while he waited, Dean thought about the fact that he would be turning sixteen in just a few hours. He knew that his father wasn't really much one for celebrating birthdays, but sixteen was a special one, wasn't it? And if his dad was going to actually be home on his birthday….. well, maybe they could actually do something to celebrate it.

Dean fell asleep thinking about all the ways they could spend his birthday.

Dean woke up the next morning to his dad shaking his shoulder. It took him a few seconds to realize what was going on, but once he did, he sat up in the bed, awake and alert.

"Took you a little too long to realize what was going on, Dean. If I were a monster or something, you'd most likely be dead right now."

Dean didn't know what to say, so he just kept his mouth shut.

"Caleb called a few hours ago and he's got another hunt for us. I'll be leaving in a few minutes."

"But, Dad….."

"What?" John asked as he checked the time on his watch.

"Do you have to leave today? Can't you stay?"

"I told you, Dean. There's a hunt."

"Maybe someone else can take care of it. Or maybe you can leave tomorrow," Dean tried.

"Dean, what is this all about? You're fifteen years old which is old enough to understand that these hunts are important. People are getting hurt or dying, son. And it's up to us to help them."

"But, you just got home a few days ago, Dad. And today…"

"Today, what?" John asked.

Dean almost blurted out that he wanted to be able to spend his sixteenth birthday with all of his family, but the words wouldn't come out. "Never mind," he finally said when he realized that the man had no idea it was his birthday. He felt like someone had punched him in the stomach and he was surprised to feel his eyes burning with tears.

John looked at him quizzically, before walking over to the window and looking out through the curtains. "Okay, Dean…. Caleb's waiting for me, so let's go over everything."

Dean nearly rolled his eyes, but stopped himself just in time. "Salt and lock the windows and doors. Keep my gun on me at all times. Don't answer the phone unless it's the secret coded ring. Don't open the door for anyone. Make sure Sam does his homework. Go to bed on time. Clean up after ourselves. No fighting. Call Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim if something happens."

"And?"

Dean sifted through everything he'd just said, trying to figure out what he forgot. He couldn't think of anything, so after a long pause, John continued for him.

"You're grounded. No Impala. You have extra training every day. Your bedtime is an hour earlier. And watch out for Sammy."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't know when I'll be back, so I left you some extra money for necessities. The room is paid up for two weeks, so you don't have to worry about that. And keep your nose clean at school. The last thing we need is for someone to want to talk to me about something that you did."

Dean barely had time to acknowledge his dad before the man turned and grabbed his bags. "I'll check in occasionally, just like normal."

"Yes, sir." He watched as his dad opened the door and stepped out into the early morning sunlight. His eyes filled with tears again at the thought of the man forgetting his birthday. His sixteenth birthday.

John was just about to close the door when he stepped back into the room. "Oh, Dean…. I almost forgot."

Dean's heart soared at the thought of the man finally remembering, but his heart quickly plummeted just seconds later when his dad continued.

"Caleb and I are going to be in a place where communication is limited for a few days. So, don't be surprised if you don't hear from me as often as usual, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Without another word, John closed the door, leaving Dean to stare at it as he thought about how much his life sucked out loud.

Yeah, Dean could definitely write this birthday down as the most disappointing birthday in the history of birthdays. He did get a Happy Birthday phone call from Pastor Jim, but the man was suddenly called away, cutting their conversation short.

Sam also remembered that it was his brother's birthday, but he was still so sick that he couldn't do much more than croak out a sad little version of the Happy Birthday song before coughing so hard he threw up what little breakfast Dean had gotten him to eat.

All in all, it was a sad, pathetic, disappointing, miserable day. He didn't even get any pie.

Luckily, it was a Saturday, so at least he didn't have to deal with school. Unluckily, Sam's flu was still going strong and he didn't even have the energy to watch a scary movie marathon with the birthday boy.

As Sam slept, Dean stared at the television, barely able to focus on what was going on. Instead, his mind kept wandering to thoughts about how other boys celebrated their sixteenth birthday. Other normal boys.

He figured that some of them had parties with cake or pie and lots of friends. He figured some boys got all kinds of awesome presents. Some might even get a new car. He knew that some boys his age had been spending countless hours practicing their driving with patient fathers sitting next to them, teaching them how to parallel park and how to back up into a parking spot. He knew that some of them spent their day at the DMV, getting their driver's licenses. He could imagine the look of pride on their fathers' faces as they held up their new cards. He could imagine them laughing at the typically horrible picture on the front of the card and he could imagine the dads clapping their sons on the back before handing the keys to the car over, anxious to let them make the drive home.

Thinking about how this could easily be a normal experience for a boy his age, his thoughts eventually moved to his own experience. It was, of course, anything but normal. He had been eleven years old the first time he'd been behind the wheel. He could remember being both terrified and extremely excited at the prospect of learning how to drive and he especially couldn't wait to drive the Impala. Of course, his dad didn't let him drive the Impala right away. The car he learned to drive in was a beat up old car from Bobby's salvage yard- a beat up old Datsun that had definitely seen better days. The floor boards were nearly rusted through and the handles to roll the windows up and down were all mysteriously missing.

But Dean didn't care. He was too excited and too nervous to give any of that a second thought. He was also too intimidated to think about anything other than following the directions his dad was bellowing out. They were in the far corner of the salvage yard which happened to be the emptiest part of it, but Dean was still a little nervous to be driving around the stacks of wrecked cars. And his dad's yelling every few seconds was doing absolutely nothing to keep him calm.

"Dean! How many times do I have to tell you to keep both hands on the wheel?!"

Dean immediately placed his left hand back up on the steering wheel. He wanted to tell his dad that the only reason he didn't have both hands on the wheel was because he was using one hand to push himself up a little so he could see over the hood of the car. He was definitely too short on his own.

Dean was usually pretty good at making adjustments to whatever he was doing, but his dad's constant yelling and correcting was flustering him. His dad would yell something at him and he'd try to adjust whatever he was doing, but before he could finish, his dad would be yelling something else. He felt like he was in a constant state of confusion and discombobulation.

It also didn't help that Sam was sitting in the backseat of the car, laughing and squealing in both joy and terror. Dean hated looking vulnerable and he hated not being good at something, especially in front of his brother. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

He had just tried to back up into a tight spot again- without success- when John was yelling again. "Okay, we're through here if you're not going to take this seriously."

"I am taking it seriously, Dad. Honest! It's just…."

"It's just what?" John asked exasperatedly.

"Dad, I can't reach the pedals and see over the hood of the car at the same time. And I can't see where I'm supposed to be backing up, either."

John ran his hand through his hair and sighed loudly. "Okay, let's head back to Bobby's, okay? We'll try this again later." He switched places with Dean and drove them back to the house. Dean couldn't keep the look of disappointment and embarrassment off his face long enough to fool anyone.

Almost six months later, they tried again. John was convinced that Dean had grown at least an inch and Dean was surprised to find that he could actually reach the pedals and see over the hood of the car now. So, the lessons commenced. There was still a lot of yelling on John's end, but Dean was much more capable of correcting and adjusting whatever needed to be corrected and adjusted.

Eventually, John was satisfied by Dean's progress and on the evening of his thirteenth birthday, John let him drive the Impala for the first time. Dean was in heaven from the very first second he turned the engine over and felt the rumble underneath his feet. He and the Impala were just meant to be. No one really realized it, but that day was the first time Dean ever called the Impala 'Baby.'

From that point on, Dean took to driving like a fish takes to water. Or a bird takes to the sky. John couldn't help but be impressed by the way his son handled the car and it wasn't long before the boy was put to the test.

The first time was when John had taken Dean with him on a hunt for a crocotta. John found himself grievously injured during the hunt and Dean was forced to drive him down a long, winding mountain road in the pouring rain, all the while worried that his dad was going to bleed out right there in the car. It had been a stressful ride for both of them, but John was impressed with how his son had handled himself. Not that he actually told the boy that.

So, yes…. Dean's experience with learning how to drive was vastly different from the experiences of almost every other red-blooded American boy of sixteen. He knew that most boys would have loved to learn how to drive at an earlier age, but Dean would have loved to learn under more normal circumstances.

He would have loved to have had his dad sitting shotgun, patiently instructing him on the finer points of backing up and parallel parking. He would have loved to have been able to look into the back seat to see Sam sitting there with a big smile on his face, the seat next to him empty of the duffel bag full of weapons that was usually there.

And he would have loved to have pulled into the driveway of the house- the family house- and hear his father say "perfect landing, son."

He would have loved it, but he knew it would only ever just be a dream.

Excerpt taken from Season 11, episode 4 "Baby"

Author's note: In case you couldn't tell, I rewatched the "Baby" episode last night and was intrigued by Dean's story of the dream he had. This, of course, led me to thinking about what his experience of learning to drive really consisted of. I was pretty sure the real story was a little angsty and as you all know, I adore angst. So, here you go….. Just my take on how that could have played out. I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Oh, and I hope you're all doing okay after that crazy, intense Season Finale. Holy smokin' peanuts!