A/N: This one's for all the people with driving anxiety!!!!!
"It's not that bad, promise!" Mammon attempted to coax you from the passenger seat, leaning over the center console to point to all the necessary pedals and buttons of his expensive sports car. The two of you had barely been able to pull out of his garage and were now sitting in an empty lot on the outskirts of the city, the chilly night air unable to reach the two of you from the warmth of the car. You try to listen to his instructions, feeling your head get fuzzy from the combined effort of trying not to burst into tears and taking mental notes on his words.
You had mentioned wanting to get your license once you got back up to the human realm, deciding that it was time for a little more independence (and that it would be much more convenient than waiting for a bus or asking a friend for a ride). Mammon had suggested that he be the one to teach you, as he was the first of his brothers to learn (and, much to the others' dismay, he had taught them to drive as well).
It sounded like a good idea at dinner, despite the painful twist in your stomach now that you were finally sitting in the drivers' seat and gripping the wheel with a force that you were sure would leave your hands sore in the morning. Mammon's constant reassurance helped you pull out of his garage, but you couldn't handle driving through the city to the outlook.
"Mams, I can't do this," You practically wheeze, struggling to swallow anything as your mouth had dried completely from the panic as sweat beaded your forehead and soaked through your first layer of clothing. "I really can't. This is too much."
"Don't worry about it-" He reaches over and moves your hand onto the- you can't remember the word, you think with another strike of panic- gear stick in the center. "Ya can't crash, yeah? There's nothing to crash into, and you can't hurt me if you brake too hard. It's fine!"
"But it's your car-" You choke out, jaw quivering as you find yourself unable to look him in the eyes, to search for that familiar comfort and reassurance that swam in his sapphire eyes. "Y-you spent a lot of money on it-"
"I'll buy a new one," He cuts you off, placing his warm hand over your own. "Just take it slow, okay?"
You take a breath and nod despite the tug in your chest and the way the steering wheel in front of you seems to double as your vision blurs- from unshed tears or a lack of oxygen, you're unsure. Slowly you push on the gas, driving along the glowing lines that hover in the air above the cement (products of Mammon's magic, you guess). You seem to be doing well, turning clumsily and barely able to make it without bumping into the lines.
Just below the constant thrumming of the blood in your ears, you could hear Mammon's quiet cheers and praise as you slowly navigate through the course. Your panic ebbed until it was nothing but a whisper in the back of your mind as a smile crept onto your face, sitting up a little straighter and loosening your grip on the wheel by just a bit.
"You're doing it!"
"I'm-!" You gasp when a shadow emerges from the bushes along the edge of the lot, running in front of the car. You slam your foot on the brakes and you feel your body jolt forward just a bit and the feeling of Mammon's arm reaching out protectively to hold your body back. The pressure from your seatbelt bites uncomfortably through your sweatshirt and digs into your shoulder painfully, only adding to the fear that courses through your veins. You gasp and pant, watching as the stray cat vanishes back into the shadows.
"T-that's alright. You're okay, right?" You gulp and find yourself unable to stop the broken sob that crawls up your throat and the hot tears that run down your face. "Hey, you're alright-"
Resting your head against the cold leather of the steering wheel you finally let the dam break and, in the rush of the adrenaline and fresh fear that had wormed its way into your brain, sob weakly. The demon beside you sputters for a moment before you hear his seatbelt unclick and some shuffling as he tries to maneuver over to the driver's seat. He rubs a gentle hand on your back, the ridges of his rings comforting as they trace patterns onto your back until the tears stop flowing.
