(A/N: I have no business starting a new fan fiction, but this plot has been nagging at me for weeks now. Warning, I do use a pretty offensive word, in a non-offensive way, purely because that's what it's called in the stoner community. You'll know it when you see it.)

It was safe to say that Matt was Tim's favorite student. Tim had loved him since he started his Art IV class, and once he started Tim's Political Arts class after the first semester, he was sure that the Dutchman didn't have anyone he liked more than Matthew Williams.

Considering that, Matt was very confused when Tim had given him detention one Friday afternoon. He didn't even give Matt a reason, he just caught Matt at the end of his 6th period Art IV class and told him he was going to have to stay after school with him. Matt didn't protest; he was always a quiet one, and arguing with his teacher was a big no-no. Even if it was Tim. He just went on to his last period English class, wondering what it was he had done to earn a detention.

After English, Matt told his twin brother Alfred to wait on him and quickly walked to the Art Wing, and made his way into Tim's room. "Matt." Tim said. "Mr. Van Der Heide." Matt nodded. He usually would have called his teacher Tim, but he didn't really want to risk getting in trouble for being informal. "What the hell? Just 'cause I asked you to stay back doesn't mean you gotta treat me so proper." Tim questioned Matt, and he nodded meekly back. "Sorry, Tim."

Tim smiled. "Okay, Matt. Do you know why I asked you to stay back with me today?" Matt shook his head. "It's because of some of the stuff you've been drawing in Political Arts."

Shit. He was talking about the weed.

Tim had recently assigned his Political Arts class to draw a picture depicting a local current event that affected them personally, and Matt had drawn about the DEA cracking down on the importation of marijuana from Canada, specifically from British Columbia, into his home state of Oregon. He let out a little sigh of relief. At least now he knew he wasn't in that much trouble. Now that he knew that, he felt he could be a bit more open with Tim.

"I understand why you'd be upset about my drawing, but Leon Wang drew lesbian sex to symbolize gay marriage, so I think I could have done a lot worse." Matt said matter-of-factly, and Tim laughed. "Leon's fucking hilarious. But I'm not getting you in trouble. I just wanted to have a talk with you." Matt nodded and sat on a table. Tim closed the door and walked back to Matt.

"So, you're personally affected by the recent scarcity of pot coming from British Columbia?" Tim asked, giving him a knowing look. Matt gave a nervous laugh and looked away. "Well, about that…" He started. "Come on, Matt. You can't hide being a pothead from me. I'm Dutch, remember?" Tim said. Matt sighed and nodded. "And while I can't support my students doing any sort of illegal activity…" Tim lowered his voice and leaned closer to Matt. "But I do know of a person who's selling some home grown BC Bud if you're interested."

Matt's eyes lit up. "Who is it?" Matt asked, not registering that he was discussing where to buy pot with his art teacher. "I can't give that away just yet. Too many ears around here. But I can give you an address." Tim said, and wrote down an address. 321 Maple Drive. Matt quickly committed the address to memory and looked up at Tim. "If you are going to buy off of him, not that I'm encouraging you to do such immoral things, he is open for business starting at 6 PM at that address. Should I tell him to be expecting a customer?" Tim asked. Matt nodded. "I'll… I'll be there, Tim." He said breathily. Tim grinned. "Great. I can promise you that this is excellent quality stuff. You didn't hear about him from me, though. Understand, Matt?" He told Matt sternly and Matt nodded with vigor.

"Also, I'd appreciate it if you made your art a little more subtle. Leon's gonna get a talk about this too. If someone saw that my students were painting legalize posters and lesbians, I'd be in a lot of trouble. You know how fucking conservative these principles are, I'm surprised I even got this class okayed." Tim laughed. "Yeah, yeah. I'll tone it down." Matt smiled. "See, this is why you're my favorite, Matt. Now you can go." Tim said and Matt nodded. Matt turned to leave, and asked for a final time, "6 PM?" before he got to the door. Tim, who was back to grading at his desk, nodded. Matt grinned and went to meet Alfred at his car.

"Dude, I've had the car running! What took you so damn long?" Al asked. "I told you in English, Alfred. I had to stay back with Tim. He wanted to talk to me." Matt answered, kind of pissed that Al forgot. "Oh, yeah. What did he want?" Al asked, putting his car into gear and making his way out of the parking lot. "He said I shouldn't draw so openly about pot in case a principal sees." Matt said. "Oh, I gotcha. Isn't Tim the dude like, every girl is creaming their pants over?" Al questioned. "I guess? I mean I wouldn't know." Matt replied awkwardly. His brother wasn't the best to talk about these kinds of things with.

"He looks like a faggot to me." Al replied idly. Matt cringed, not wanting to start this right now. "You don't know that for sure, Al. He could have had some bangin' chick back in Holland." Matt tried to divert his brother, but he had failed. "Nah. He doesn't even look like a manly gay. He looks like the one that would take it up the ass." Al laughed, and Matt sighed.

Matt really did love his brother, but it was difficult sometimes, what with his homophobic tendencies. The fact that Matt was in the closet made things a lot more complicated. He lived in a very conservative town, meaning no one knew that about Matt. Half the people in the town were just as bad as Al, and the other half were even worse. Matt and Al's dad, Arthur, was a little better than the rest of the town, but Matt doubted if he ever told his father he liked guys, he'd be disowned.

Alfred must have gotten upset about Matt's lack of laughter at his 'oh so funny joke,' and smacked Matt on the arm. "Come on, don't tell me you support that faggot." He groaned. "He's my art teacher, Alfred. Jeez. He's a good dude." Matt replied, getting a little pissed off. He was happy they were almost home. He wanted to take a shower and do a little work on his Art IV project before he left at 6 to go meet the dude Tim was talking about. Al sat in silence for the rest of the ride home, and Matt was thankful for it.

Al pulled into the driveway, and the twins weren't shocked to see that their dad was gone. He had been home for the past 3 days or so, but they hadn't expected him to stay home much longer than that. Matt was pretty sure the last time he had been home for over a week was the week Matt and Al were born. He always claimed he was on a business trip or got caught up in work, but as they got older, they understood where he was. The next town over was an Indian reservation, and it was famous for illicit businesses such as brothels and casinos.

It wasn't uncommon for Arthur to book a hotel for a few weeks, and go on a bender, blowing thousands of dollars in the span of a fortnight. Luckily, Arthur made a lot of money (he legitimately did work a lot,) and their mother, who lived in France, paid a lot of child support. Matt and Al had always lived comfortably, even with their father's problem. It was something they learned to accept.

Truth be told, the twins liked having the house to themselves for weeks at a time. Matt could get away with smoking in the house whenever he wanted to, and Al had brought every girl in their grade home at least once. Even when Arthur was home, and he found a discarded roach, or condom wrapper, or, in one case, Matt's entire stash box, he tended not to care. He would make a fuss about it for a few hours, and then fall asleep on the couch with a beer. Matt loved him, but he was a terrible father.

Before Matt knew it, 6 PM had rolled around. He grabbed his red hoodie, and went to tell Alfred that he was going. "Where?" Al asked him. "Just out." Matt replied, hoping he wouldn't have to go into detail with him. Al knew Matt was a stoner, but Matt really didn't like discussing his smoking habits with his family. "You can smoke in the house, Matt. I really don't care. You don't have to go out in the cold to get high." Al said, flipping on the TV. "I'm going to a friend's house to do it, if you must know." Matt said. He never said the 's' word around Al.

Matt jumped slightly as Al started laughing loudly. "Oh, that's a good one Matt. You and I both know the only friend you have is that albino German kid you met online and Skype with all the time." Al laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes, and Matt flipped him off. "Yeah, shut the fuck up. And don't talk shit about Gil!" Matt exclaimed, and left before Al could say anything else. He may have been speaking the truth, but it hurt either way.

He was halfway to Maple Drive when he started questioning why he was walking across town in February for pot. Sure, Matt was a seasoned smoker, and he really appreciated having his favorite strain, but he didn't realize how long he'd have to walk to get it. It was then that he wished he would gotten his license with his brother, or at least asked Al for a ride. Or he even could have called up Mathias (the college dropout from Denmark who had been living illegally in the United States with his Norwegian, on-again off-again boyfriend for nearly 2 years) to sell him some of the reggie he had been smoking. At least Mathias would drive to his house.

He let out a cheer when he saw a street sign telling him that he had finally reached Maple Drive. He started searching for 231, and quickly found it; an old, white, 2-story house with its porch light on. Matt grinned and approached it, checking the note in his pocket to make sure he had picked the right house. For a moment he hesitated, thinking Tim could have set him up to get arrested or something. He quickly dismissed that thought. He didn't think Tim would do that to his favorite student, but came up with a valid reason for knocking on random doors in case it was. (He would play it off as he was asking for donations.)

He could have gone into cardiac arrest when he knocked on the door, and Tim answered it. Matt just kind of stared at his teacher, mouth open and eyes wide, for a few seconds before Tim laughed. "Come inside, Matt." He gestured for Matt to come in, and he did. Tim set Matt up at his kitchen table, and came in with a large box. "I've got pretty much anything you could want to buy, honestly. A lot of strains from the Netherlands, of course, but I do have a selection of stuff from BC. I'll let you sample any strain you want."

Matt seemed to have shaken out of his trance, and looked around Tim's kitchen. "Tim, you're a drug dealer?" He asked incredulously. "Mhmm," Tim hummed, his back turned to Matt as he placed his box on the kitchen counter and sorted through it. A vase of fresh tulips caught Matt's eye, and he thought back to what Al was saying earlier. Maybe Tim was a little bit gay.

"Okay, these are the best that I have. There is Dutch Treat, my personal favorite. This is a hybrid called Chernobyl, and here's my best BC Bud. I have a few strains of reggie if you want that, but this is all my kush." Tim said, looking at the pot he had laid out on the table like it was his child. Matt eyed the BC Bud. It looked a hell of a lot better than the kind Mathias sold him. "Do you want a sample? It can be stressful buying a new strain." Tim asked, and Matt nodded. "Let me try that Dutch Treat."

Tim smirked. "I must warn you, once you smoke this, there's no going back. It'll be all you can smoke from here on out." Matt shrugged. "Well, looks like I have a regular then," Tim laughed and handed Matt a small joint and a lighter. Matt lit it quickly, wanting to get kush smoke in his lungs for the first time in what felt like forever. He sucked in a mouthful of smoke, and savored the sweet taste and breathed in. He held the smoke in and felt the rush of the high hit him almost immediately.

He exhaled, his eyes wide. Tim looked at him slyly and watched as he finished the whole joint and Matt asked how much a gram would cost him. "30. I don't know your tolerance, but I've been smoking since I was 18 and I can tell you that a gram of this stuff will get you higher than you've ever been. It's potent." Tim replied, and Matt wordlessly laid down a 50. Tim laughed. "If you smoke a gram and a half of my stuff, I promise you, you'll be over the moon."

"I don't even care. I just need more of it." Matt said, his eyes starting to turn red. Tim took the 50 and carefully measured out a gram and 2/3 for Matt, putting it in a baggy for him. Matt was starting to revel in his high. "Tim… Tim I don't think I can walk home like this." He said softly, causing Tim to laugh. "Well stay here and burn one with me." He said. He was joking, but Matt took him up on the offer. "Please tell me you've got a bong," Matt asked, and Tim pulled one out of his box. "This is my box of wonders, Matt. I've got anything you need in here."

Matt took the bong and packed it tightly from the baggy Tim had given him. Tim pulled a blunt out of his box and lit it, sucking in a large amount of smoke. Matt took a big hit from the bong, and coughed a bit. "Oh, I am so glad I bought this instead of that BC Bud." He sighed, and Tim, who was settling into his own high, gave a noise of approval. "The Bud is good, but I brought these seeds over from Amsterdam. Our weed will always be better than anything North America can throw at you." He said, taking another large hit.

Matt had finished off two bowlfuls, and was starting on his third when his high really hit. He had a million thoughts jumbling together in his head, thousands of profound ideas, and he had opened his mouth to tell Tim that he had figured out how they were going to cure world hunger, but all he could say was, "I'm hungry." Tim giggled a bit (and then Matt giggled too, because Tim, his stoic art teacher, was giggling) and pointed at the fridge. Matt opened it up and found a lot of unappealing, probably-Dutch stuff, and made a face. "This shit sucks." He said and slammed the door, causing something decorative at the top to fall over. He couldn't really tell what it was, he was too chink-eyed at this point to see that far away.

So he rooted around in Tim's cabinets until he found what he knew had to be in there. No self-respecting stoner could go without it. He found what he was looking for in the left-hand cabinet above the sink. He stared at the red bag, in all of its artificially cheesy, delicious glory. The mother of all stoner foods: Doritos. He climbed on the counter to grab them, nearly falling to his death a few times, but Matt didn't care. He finally had his prize. He went back to his spot at Tim's table and got a nice rhythm going. He'd eat a chip, then take a hit. Chip, hit. It was like an assembly line. (Except for the few times he tried to take a hit off a Dorito or took a bite of the bong. He won some, and lost some.)

By the time he had smoked the extra 2/3 he had in the bag, Matt was gone. That wasn't any sort of exaggeration; Tim had gone to clean the bong with some rubbing alcohol and when he came back, Matt was literally gone. It didn't take long to find him, though. He was plopped on Tim's couch, laughing at paid programming. "Jesus fucking Christ, Tim. This is so fucking stupid! A blanket with sleeves… Why not just wear a hoodie? Or a robe? They look like they're in a cult. Tim, let's get some." Matt yelled to the Dutchman.

"I totally have one upstairs!" Tim yelled back from the kitchen, and ran upstairs, still puffing on his blunt. He came back down a few minutes later in a Dutch flag themed Snuggie. "My mom got me this shit before I came to America," he laughed, and Matt laughed too. He tried to eat another Dorito, and ended up choking slightly on it. "Don't eat and laugh, you dumbass." Tim reprimanded, and Matt's laughter started to die down. It promptly came back to life, because, holy shit. Matt just got stoned with his art teacher, and now he was yelling at him for getting choked while eating and laughing, and all of this was happening while Tim was wearing a fucking Snuggie with a Dutch flag printed on it.

He finally managed to get his laughter down to a few giggles, and Tim sat beside him on the couch (still wearing his Snuggie.) They watched infomercials for a while, while they passed the blunt back and forth between each other. Matt had wanted to come down, but he definitely wasn't going to say no to more of Tim's weed. The blunt was tightly packed, and thick, and it lasted a long time. By the time the two had finished it off, they were both higher than kites.

"Tim… Tim, I don't think I've ever even dreamed about being this high." Matt said, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. The molding made really neat shapes. "Damn, I've been way higher than this before. You've never been on a bender in Amsterdam before." Tim replied, leaning his head back to do the same. "Tim, I'm so fucking hungry. But I can't get up. Tim. If I get up I'll… The floor is lava, Tim." Matt said, suddenly jumping back and pulling his feet to his chest. Tim laughed and flipped off the TV. "Well luckily my bedroom is lava-proof."