Foot Off the Brake (School Year of 1999-2000)

By Sam Winchester

It's not my dad but my older brother, Dean, who takes me out for the first time.

He sits with clenched fists in the passenger seat of our car, with eyes squeezed shut almost as tight as he hands, praying silently to the gods that save teenage boys from wrecking cars. We're still parked in the church parking lot and I haven't done anything but put the key in the ignition but Dean looks ready to have a panic attack.

"Don't do anything but take your foot off the brake, Sammy," Dean warns with a note of terror in his voice. "I swear, if you do anything more than take your foot off the brake…" His voice trails off, letting my imagination take over all the horrific and gruesome ways that Dean could kill me if I do anything more than take my foot off the brake.

I take my foot of the brake and we glide forward slowly. "You can open your eyes, Dean," I remind him.

"You can shut up and turn around that island," Dean growls at me seriously.

I do, and after I coast around the parking lot for fifteen minutes, Dean takes away the death penalty for "doing anything but taking my foot off the brake."

As I drive, Dean becomes increasingly more panicked, even though there's not a single car except ours in the parking lot, and she's taken a lot more than hitting a curb and been okay, and that's just in every day use; Dean, it seems, has forgotten that he learned to drive six years ago, and even though no one will admit it, he's a terrible driver.

But the third curb I hit in the three hours we've been out until Dad and Pastor Jim come back, Dean loses his cool and lets out a frustrated string of very creative and explicit curses that translate roughly to, "Sam, stop the car this instant or else I'm going to have a heart attack."

"I've got it, Dean," I tell him. "You need to calm down." I keep driving while Dean tries to remember how to breathe.

"You need to watch where you're going!" Dean yells adamantly. "And listen to me when I tell you to brake!"

"You don't watch where you're going," I tell him. Dad has spoken to me about my need to engage in unnecessary fights when we're not fighting, and that's all fine and well, but my older brother is yelling at me like my father usually does, and so any advice about "engaging" or "baiting" is lost. "And," I continue hotly. "I think I'm doing okay, considering I've been driving for two-and-a-half hours!"

"Didn't you say this morning that I'm a bad driver?" Dean asks incredulously. "How I drive has nothing to do with how you drive!"

"Then why are you teaching me?" I ask.

"Stop the car, Sam," Dean says. "You're never going to be allowed to drive ever again if you don't stop the car right now."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Yes, Sam, I am!" he says.

Groaning dramatically, I slam on the brakes just as Dad and Pastor Jim pull into the lot. I'm not in the mood to fight with Dad about this too, but Dean is twenty years old and a tattletale, so he jumps out of the car before I have a chance to turn it off to tell Dad that I'm "never allowed to drive again."

"Told you three hours was too long," Pastor Jim mutters blandly behind Dad.

"What's wrong?" asks Dad tiredly. I cross my arms, preparing myself for a fight.

"He didn't listen to me," Dean whines. "You said Sam has to listen me! He didn't."

Dad sighs and looks at me leaning defiantly on the car door. He's going to take Dean's side and we're going to have a screaming match in the church parking lot in front of Pastor Jim, I can just feel it. "Sam," he calls. "Come here." I drag me feet and glare at Dean, who looks like he knows he's going to win this argument, smirking smugly like the jerk he is.

Dad fixes us both with a stern glare and takes a deep breath, dubbed years ago as his "lecture sigh," and begins harshly, "As Dean, an experience driver should know, driving is hard to do. There's a lot to learn all at once, and while Sam should listen to Dean's instructions, because a car is a metal death machine on wheels, to maintain optimal and safe driving conditions, Dean should try to have some patience with his brother while he's learning in a totally deserted parking lot and accept that he's going to make some mistakes." Dad pauses for dramatic effect. I stare at him, stupefied, and Dean's face falls. "Are we clear?"

"So who's in trouble?" asks Dean, confused.

"You, if you don't move your car out of the middle of my parking lot," Pastor Jim interjects, and Dean scampers off, pulling the car into a parking spot close to the church.

I'm still standing there, hands buried deep in my pockets, wondering what my punishment is going to be, when Dad gives me the worst news he could deliver.

"I'll take you out later, okay, Sammy?" he says, clapping me on the back. If I think Dean is bad, I know driving with Dad is going to be an absolute nightmare.

I'm anxious for the rest of the day and every time I look at Dad my insides clench up and sink to the pit of my stomach in a cold, hard ball. I can't eat at dinner, and when Dad tosses me the keys, I freeze.

"You'll do great," Dad promises. "You do great at everything." Dad is smiling at me supportively and my muscles unclench a little. Dad follows me to the car.

I stick the key in the ignition and start the car, but before I can go, Dad sighs and says, "Look, Sammy, this is going to take a lot of work from both of us, but I need you to promise that you'll listen to me, just this once."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Sam. If I tell you to brake or go faster or turn, I need you to do it," he continues. "And I promise that I'll try not to be such a hard ass." I snort, but Dad looks at me seriously. "Promise me, Sammy," he orders.

"I promise."

"Me too."

I start to drive in and around the whole parking lot, slowly of course, with Dad fighting every instinct he's got to yell bloody murder at me, but as we drive, he relaxes, we both relax, so in the end, we've bonded over the car, and I had a better time driving with my father than my brother, and the biggest irony of all is that I think if I could just listen to him, we would get along just fine.