summary: the winchesters introduce cas to their old friend, mary jane.
rating: PG-13 (drug use)
words: ~1200
A/N: sometimes we get stoned and want to write fanfiction, and this is what happens. i'm considering expanding the story, tell me what you think.
…
Cas pulls a face. "I don't like it."
Dean chuckles. "You get used to it."
"That is if," comes Sam's interruption from the front seat, "You were ever smoking again."
Dean gives him a bored expression and folds the plastic bag open without looking at it. The angel beside him is eyeing it with a cross of curiosity and mild distaste, clearly unsure of the idea of smoking weed in the parking lot of an abandoned gas station.
"If it wasn't so damn cold," Dean continues, fingers fishing into the bag to begin breaking the plant apart once Cas says this out loud, "We'd go sit on a playground. Same as my first time."
Suddenly, Sam's snatching the bag out of his older brother's hands and pulling it into his lap, "You're getting old, Dean."
Dean doesn't ignore him, but pretends to.
Cas regards Sam curiously as he begins to pick up where he'd forced Dean to stop. "Do you do this often?"
The older Winchester has leaned forward by now, not ready to quit the conversation yet, and determined to steal the first hit back from Sam. He nudges Cas with his shoulder in a way that is surely only friendly. "Stop making it seem like we're doing something illegal, dude."
"Weed is still illegal in most states, Dean," Sam says, reaching across the front seat into the glove box under an angel's curious blue gaze. The glass bowl he produces was tucked under a map of Pennsylvania and a small bottle of holy water. It's black and gold and flecked with blue, and Dean wants to call Sam a fag, but he's somehow mesmerized by the colors.
He suddenly can't help but grin. "That's my boy. You did college right."
"I didn't smoke much in college-"
Dean cuts him off, that teenage nostalgia of getting stoned in the backseat making him happy in a way he hadn't been in a while. Of course, he'll never admit that it happens. "Cas, do you know how to use a lighter?"
Cas takes the black plastic lighter out of Dean's hand tentatively. "No, I don't."
"I'll show you," Sam says, suddenly finished packing their small bowl in the front seat and holding it ready. Cas surrenders the lighter to him, curious gaze lingering on the black glass.
Sam takes a long, slow drag, and Dean even bites his tongue on his stealing-the-bud comment because suddenly the air has picked up a familiar smell and the gold light on his brother's face looks calm and soft and young again.
Dean watches as Sam pulls the glass away from his mouth and offers it up to Cas. The angel looks worried; afraid to touch the smoking pipe like he might break it or it might break him.
Sam breathes out, face in a kind smile. "You don't have to smoke if you don't want to. It was just an idea-"
"I want to," Cas says, with a level of determination that has the others almost wary, before his face breaks into the most hesitant of smiles, "I'm anxious."
Dean finally grins, too, taking the pipe and the lighter from his brother's hands to take the hit himself. Castiel's eyes don't leave him once; gaze captured along the line where glass touches Dean's full bottom lip. The smoke leaves much more softly, in a gentle grey cloud instead of a hard black line. Cas stops himself from wondering how Dean's lip might taste right now just in time to take the two pieces from his hands and look down at them. He'll blame the thought on the smoke already hanging in the air.
"You like that, baby?" Dean's asking, and the others are forced to take a second to make sure he's talking to the car. The car doesn't respond, but Dean's sure the leather purred under his hand when he pet the seat.
Cas eyes the glass. A small curl of smoke is rising up, and he realizes that he's forgotten about the smell by now. It's different, he thinks, when it's smoke in the air.
"Go ahead, Cas," Sam says, still smiling. He's always smiled a lot more when he's high. It took the last two years of high school to get Dean to forget the nickname Happy.
Dean rolls his eyes when the angel still doesn't move, "You're such a kid, Cas."
And the next thing he knows, both Winchesters are telling him "breathe in!" and his mouth and his lungs are filled up with hot smoke and he coughs hard and fills the car with a spinning white cloud. He doesn't have a chance to apologize because he feels like he's choking and ready to cough again and Dean's already pressing the glass back up to his lip. Somehow, it feels hot and cold at the same time, and Cas begins to understand why people become so fascinated with that feeling. His throat still aches, though.
"Breathe slow," Dean says, ready to give him another chance on the pipe, and Cas doesn't want to mess it up this time.
The flame brings the same shining gold to his eyes that it does to the glass as Dean holds the lighter for him. Cas takes in a soft breath, feels his throat start to burn again, and fights the urge to cough. He can feel the smoke tear down into his lungs, fill him up slowly as he breathes in, Dean's hands holding the lighter steady.
Sam watches from the front seat, realizing that he doomed himself to the position of third wheel by telling Dean to sit in the back and help Cas. He laughs, and blows a wave into the light smoke filling the car.
"Give me that," he reaches back, taking the bowl out of Dean's hands and taking the next hit, still glowing red.
Dean turns to face Cas, whose face is bunched up holding the smoke in. "Let it out, man."
Cas breathes a long, heavy sigh, and punctuates it with a string of sharp coughs. When Dean chances a look up at his eyes, they looked watery, and for a second he was afraid he was seeing him cry, except Cas had started smiling.
"It's not entirely unpleasant," he says, "I think being an angel helps."
Dean nods, breaking a smile, and sits back in his seat, eyes closed, knee rocking already to a song. "Sammy, put some music on, let's drive."
Sam is busy hitting the bowl again on the driver's side, seat tilted back because Cas sat in the middle, knee brushing Dean's. No one in the car mentioned the fact. "Thanks for assuming I want to drive your ass around, man." He blows a stream of smoke at the mirror, blocking his view of the two in the back seat.
"You're not drunk, bitch," Dean leans forward quickly, taking the bowl out of Sam's hand, and handing it to Cas on his way back into his seat.
Sam's rolling his eyes as he pulls his seat up. Cas is staring absently at the bowl in his hands, but still grins as Dean nudges his knee.
"Jerk."
And they pull away.