Mary Jane Miasma
By Amy Jonas
Summary: The Boys encounter a spirit with unusual results.
Disclaimers: Not mine.
Feedback: Feed me seymore!
A/N: A BlackWinged Bird challenged me to write this. lol
"Sam! Down!"
Sam didn't hesitate at Dean;'s warning. He dropped to the floor, suppressing a rough cough as thick dust puffed out around him. The ensuing sound that echoed off the walls of the ancient structure wasn't the expected boom of the shotgun but…
At Dean's muttered curse, Sam looked up, wrinkling his nose and sneezing. "What was that?" He asked.
"It farted." Dean's tone was laced with disbelief. "The frigging thing farted then disappeared." His gaze dropped to the gun; cocked and ready in his hand as if he was unsure how it got there before lowering it to his side. Sam clambered to his feet, brushing the dirt from his jeans. "Ghosts don't fart," he stated in a
matter of fact voice.
"Maybe you should inform Casper because I don't think it's been clued in." Dean swiped at his nose with his arm. "Jeez it smells."
Sam ignored his brother, a curious expression on his face. He sniffed the air cautiously. "Yeah, that's good, Sam." Laughter bubbled within Dean's chest. "Smell up the ghost fart."
"It's not ozone," Sam announced. He enunciated each syllable with deliberate care. "Ghosts emit an ozone odor." He took another, fuller breath, shaking his head; perplexed. "This is something else."
Dean stared at him trying to follow what Sam was saying but his head felt like a helium filled balloon that was becoming undone from its tether.
And then Sam bust out laughing. "Sam?" As good as it was to see Sam happy; his kid brother didn't break out laughing for no apparent reason. Dean took a cautious sniff. The air had a decided familiar sweet and pungent odor. "Pop!" Sam managed to squeak out between fits of laughter.
Dean licked his lips, repeating the word. "Pop?"
"The answer just popped into my head," Sam explained, grinning like a demented Cheshire cat.
"Pop! Pop! Pop!" They looked at each other for one brief moment before they both broke out into gales of laughter.
Sam wiped the tears from his eyes. "We've got to get out of here. I think…" He giggled again, then forced himself to take a deep breath. He realized the mistake when he became lightheaded and dizzy and everything started listing. Dean grabbed his biceps, steadying him. "Hey. Easy there, Sammy.""Marijuana," Sam managed to get out. His head was beginning to pound and he realized the odor hadn't begun to dissipate.
"Yeah." Dean's protectiveness had forced its way through the haze in his brain. He shoved his shotgun in the duffle then slung it over his shoulder. "And Sam? Next time we encounter a pot
farting ghost. Don't inhale."For some reason Sam found that hilarious. He clutched at his brother, his body shaking with his
laughter.
"Come on," Dean said, tugging him toward the door. "We're out of here."
Sam let himself be led out. "What about Casper?""We'll bust up the party later when our heads are clear.""Hey Dean?""Yeah?"
"It was a fart and run."
Dean winced. "That's bad, Sam."
Sam giggled. "You know what would be good? Chips. And pretzels. And cookies." He paused in
contemplation. " Chocolate chip cookies with macadamia nuts."
Sam's talk of food was giving Dean a bad case of the munchies. He tossed the duffle in the back
seat, made sure Sam got in before sliding behind the wheel. "We'll stop at a store on the way back to the motel."
"And donuts – the cream filled ones. With frosting and sprinkles. Like when we were kids." Dean grinned at the memory that surfaced. "Sure. That'd be good." Sam turned his head and did a slow slide toward him; his lips spread in a lopsided; dimpled smile; eyes glassy and bright. "I love ya, man."
Dean blamed Casper breaking a chemical laced wind for his next words. "Love you too, kiddo."