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Dean plops himself onto the motel bed with a hard bounce, groaning as the springs give under his weight with a hearty squeak. "Not for nothing, Sammy, but maybe you're right."
"Yeah?" Sam sets Dean's duffel on the dining table a little more gently, shrugging his jacket off. Sam knows exactly what’s being discussed. He won't press that he's right, like his older brother would; he wants to hear Dean say it of his own volition.
Dean stares at the ceiling, arms splayed out below the pillows.
"Are you thinking about it?" Sam asks with a smirk, trying to keep the smugness out of his voice.
Dean grunts. "Maybe." Sam busies himself with changing his shirt, still splattered in blood from the vamp's nest they just obliterated a few miles outside of town. The job was quick, this time, an in and out sort of case, but the intense battle in the nest seems to have taken more of a toll on them than usual.
Dean makes no move to change his own clothes. "I could use an off day. Maybe I am getting old," Dean says with dismay. "My body hurts, man. My back is creaking worse than the bed frame in that motel in--"
"Whoa, whoa," Sam says, throwing up his hands. "Thanks. Tmi, dude."
"Well, you know." Sobering, Dean rolls over and fixes Sam with a hard expression. "I've only done this once. So I don't have a lot to draw from, here."
"You have? What, that time we found the bong in the back of Andy's polar bear van?"
Dean chuckles at the memory. "Oh, yeah. Twice, then." He misses a beat. They both know that Sam lit the bong, Dean took one hit, and he said he was good for now, thanks. "...I didn't really inhale, that time, I just sort of--"
Sam turns away and stifles a snigger. He knew it at the time, but he wasn’t about to embarrass his brother. "It's fine, Dean. You don't have to do this just because it's four twenty." Sam finishes buttoning his clean shirt and sits lightly on the bed across from Dean's, keeping his posture open, inviting him to talk. "When was the other time?"
Dean smirks. "Remember the boarding home I stayed at for like, two months?"
Sam stills. He knows his brother hardly ever talks about living there. "Huh. Who knew. Didn't peg you for the kid who would try drugs. How was that?"
Dean shrugs and doesn't answer immediately. He lets his expression fade and the silence hang. "Uh, fine. The other kids were into it... Not really my thing."
"You got paranoid,” Sam intuits.
Dean shrugs again, and Sam takes it at surface level, decides to quit pressing. "Well, if you do want to smoke with me, I've got an indica strain. It'll be a lot more… chill. We'll just hang out, relax. Maybe put on some pay per view, forget about monsters for a bit." Sam's no salesman, but he figures he can make this space as safe as he can. "Plus, I'm your brother. No big deal."
Dean exhales. "Chill," he repeats. "Yeah." With another sigh, he hefts himself up, meeting Sam's eyes and jabbing a finger at him. "If this goes south, if I start wigging out... we never talk about this again. Got it?"
Sam puts his hands up in surrender. "Scout's honor."
Dean scowls and heads for the fridge, missing the triumphant smile Sam can't wipe off his face. "Beer before the big event?"
"Sure. Thanks." Sam catches the beer that's tossed unceremoniously his way, pops the tab, and takes a sip before he grabs his keys. The Northern Lights strain he's stashed in the Impala's glove compartment has been lying in wait specifically for this occasion.
---
A few minutes later, they're sitting cross-legged on the floor at the end of Dean's bed, and Dean wonders if he's ever felt more like a teenager (and simultaneously more like an old man out of his depth) than he does now. Sam has a grinder and a little ziploc bag of weed set between them, along with a water bottle and a skinny black device that Dean grimaces at.
"Dude, you didn't tell me we were vaping ."
Sam doesn't look up as he carefully sets a couple nugs in the grinder and forces the lid on. "It's a dry herb vape. And I'm vaping. I have a pipe if you want to use that instead." He produces a light blue glass piece from his jacket pocket, setting it beside the vape, and gets to grinding. "I'm going easy on my lungs."
"Whatever. Douchebag." Dean grabs the pipe and examines it while Sam rolls his eyes.
"Bitch. Have you used a pipe before?"
Dean glares.
The picture of patience, Sam reaches for the pipe, and Dean sets it in his hand reluctantly. "It's okay, just-- here. Like this."
Sam holds the pipe near his mouth, and mimes lighting it with the other. "You want to hold the flame near a corner. Puff in a couple times, get it going, and then suck in. Hold it for a second, breathe out."
He packs it dutifully with his fingers and hands it back to Dean, then tends to his dry herb vape (which doesn't look as intimidating, but Dean will never admit that). The smell of weed between them is already somewhat overpowering, but fresher than Dean's expecting, almost a little spicy. Dean eyes his pipe dubiously, glancing back and forth as Sam loads the chamber on his vape with the same flower.
"Hold on. Isn't that just the same thing that I'm doing?"
"No. A dry herb vape uses convection heating," Sam explains easily as he puts the device back together. Dean gives him a blank look, and Sam sighs. "Like an oven. It heats it without burning it."
"Huh." Dean gets his lighter out."And that actually works?"
"Yeah." Sam presses a button on the bottom a few times, and a light flashes. "It's heating up. So." He gestures to Dean's hands. “Are you gonna let that smoke itself, or…"
"Smartass." Dean squares his shoulders, something he does when he's gearing up for a fight, and puts the pipe up to his mouth experimentally. If Sam notices his hesitation, he doesn't say anything.
"Well… uh… blaze it," Dean holds the pipe up-- cheers -- and flicks his lighter on.
It takes him a couple tries to actually get the bowl lit-- he keeps burning his thumb-- but eventually he tastes smoke when he puffs, an even stronger version of the spicy smell of the flower, and he eases off the lighter, inhaling.
It's hot; it burns the back of his throat, bitter and heavy, and he holds it in for as long as he can before he's sputtering, trying to cough away from the rest of the stash.
Sam knows better than to be cracking a joke right now, so he wordlessly holds the water bottle out to his brother instead. Dean takes it and downs a few gulps before he can talk again. "That's… good," he chokes out, eyes watering.
Sam reaches out to pat him on the back. "You're doing good. Keep it up," he says encouragingly.
"Shut up," Dean croaks. He clears his throat a few more times as Sam raises the vape to his own mouth, taking a long draught and exhaling-- nothing?
"Dude. The thing's not on," Dean points out.
"It is. There's just not much vapor." Sam doesn't even cough as he holds it out. "You wanna try this?"
Dean deliberates for a moment before he remembers that Sam promised never to talk about this. And besides, this looks a lot more inviting than the pipe, which is still curling little smoke tendrils from its base. "Okay..."
He takes the vape and looks it over, feeling the smoothness of the metal against his hand. It's warm.
He puts it up to his lips and sucks in something that tastes fragrant, sweet, much more welcoming than the pipe smoke. It tickles his lungs as it travels down, but it doesn't hurt. He closes his eyes and hums.
"Good?" Sam checks. Dean nods and hands the vape back, blowing out the tiniest bit of smoke that he only catches because of the angle.
"Yeah," he admits truthfully. "Good."
"That'll get easier as you go," Sam assures him, taking another pull from the vape and leaning onto the side of the bed. "You'll relax."
Speaking of relaxing, Dean didn't feel like anything had happened yet. He takes the pipe and lights it again, going in without burning his thumb this time. The smoke is harsh and unforgiving in the wake of the vape's softness, but, true to his brother's words, he takes a much bigger hit before he has to break away to cough. He thinks he's never been more grateful for water in his life.
"Feeling anything yet?"
Dean frowns. He doesn't think so. "Hard to tell."
He's quiet for a minute, thinking over today's case while Sam opens his vape and packs another bowl. "Hey." Sam glances up at him. "Do you think vamps smoke weed?"
And all of the sudden they're laughing. The thought is ridiculous, and Dean feels a force pulling at the corner of his eyes, a lightness in his chest that makes him want to smile, and he knows it's hitting him. But, thankfully, he finds that he’s not nervous. This is just Sam, after all.
"I'm sure one of them has. I wonder if it works," Sam says, a little more seriously. They both take another hit, and Dean notices that Sam is smiling goofily. So, he does it, too.
In another ten minutes or so (he’s not sure. Time seems to have slowed to a crawl), Dean has given in to the tingles weaving down his spine and through his limbs, and he spreads his arms out along the foot of the bed, letting his body melt into the edge of the mattress.
Sam studies Dean's face. "Dude. You have, like, the worst high eyes I've ever seen." He laughs.
Dean can't help himself laughing in response. It’s contagious.. "What, like you don't? You're all--" He waves at Sam’s face, forgetting what he's trying to say. "Squinty eyed," he completes after what feels like an eternity.
Sam sits up from where he's been slouching against the TV stand. "Yeah, well. Your eyes are so red."
"Are they?" Dean runs a hand over his eyes as though he can determine how red they are by feeling them. They're certainly dry, and so is his mouth. The water bottle is almost gone, but it doesn't seem to be helping.
"We should have bought snacks," Sam laments.
Dean instantly feels his cottonmouth go drier. He groans. "Dude, why did you have to say that?"
Sam snickers. "I know. Sorry. We can't go now."
"Did this place have a vending machine?" Dean asks hopefully, gazing up at the popcorn ceiling and trying to discern shapes. Hmm, he thinks he can see an angel in there.
"I don't think so. Wish we had, like, a DD. Somebody to go get snacks."
An image pops into Dean's head, someone who's with them through thick and thin, possibly the only other someone besides Sam that Dean would want to see when he's lit to the moon. The mental image is sharp, a technicolor painting of baby blues and a trench coat shimmering in his mind's eye.
"We could call Cas."
"Cas?" Sam sits all the way up. "You want to call Cas for a snack run ?"
Sam absolutely cackles at that, and when they finally settle down, Dean realizes he still wants food. "I wonder if angels smoke weed?" he muses.
Sam tries to hold it together. "Doubtful. But we could ask him."
"I'm gonna call him." Dean puts his pipe down, careful not to spill the bowl, and reaches for his phone. It takes him a long time to discern which name in his contacts belongs to Cas, and he scrolls past it and has to scroll back up twice before he finally hits the call button. Sam reaches over and turns on the speakerphone before Dean can even consider it.
Cas answers on the second ring. "Hello, Dean."
Dean has the sudden urge to mimic Cas' deep voice and say it back to him, but he resists, just barely.
Sam doesn't.
"Hello, Cas," he growls, and Dean loses it. He can almost hear the confusion on the other end of the line as they laugh.
"Dean? Sam? Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, Cas, yeah." Dean wipes his eyes, trying to remember what they called him for. "We were wondering if, uh-- uh--" the thought of asking Cas for snacks right now sends him into another fit of giggles. Sam reaches over to take the phone.
"Cas! We uh… we're at a motel, we just finished off a vampire nest. Are you busy?"
Cas sounds oddly serious as he asks Sam for the address, and Sam gives it to him after a minute of scrambling around for a motel flyer and Dean guffawing in the background.
"Alright," Cas agrees.
"Oh, Cas! One more thing." Sam waves for Dean to shut up, and Dean puts a hand over his own mouth to stop the giggles. "Could you um… could you get us some snacks?"
There's a long silence on the other end of the line. "I'll… I’ll be there soon." The phone beeps as he hangs up.
Dean cheers. "Shut up!" Sam laughs as he deposits Dean's phone on the bed, then flops down beside it to wait.
It's only a minute or two before Cas appears in the doorway with a rustle of wings, a bulging grocery bag in one hand.
"Cas!" Sam jumps up, but Dean stays on the floor, seemingly content there. "Oh no. You didn't actually have to--"
Dean finally gets up when he catches sight of Cas' snacks, what looks to be a whole pie visible in the bottom of the bag. "Sammy, shut up. Cas? You're a lifesaver." Dean wobbles on his feet for a moment, somehow both too heavy and too light to stand.
Cas sets the grocery bag on the table, squinting at the pair of Winchesters. "You seem to be in an... unusual mood. What's happened?" He pauses. “Have you been cursed?”
This isn't exactly how Dean thought this would go, and he holds back, waiting for Sam to explain instead.
"No, no! It's-- Cas, do you know what day it is?"
Dean knows Cas won't know, so he sighs and cuts in, getting straight to the point. "We did drugs, Cas."
Cas tilts his head in that familiar way he does, making something warm spread through Dean's chest. He gives up concentrating and sits down on the bed.
"Weed," Sam supplements.
Dean can see Cas' eyes roaming about the room, taking in the hazy air and skunk smell that's been permeating the motel room for the past half hour.
"You did drugs?" he says incredulously.
Dean can feel himself sinking back into the mattress again as he notices how quiet the night is without their laughter. When did he lay down? "Yup," he says, popping the P. He turns his head to watch the scene unfold.
"Listen, Cas," Sam tries. "It’s not a big deal. It was a tough night, we’re winding down, and we just called to see if you wanted to join us. You can, if you want."
Cas' stiff posture visibly relaxes as he regards them, and Dean feels relief swirl inside him like another hit from the pipe.
"Sure, Sam," the angel says eventually. He smiles, and Dean thinks maybe they were right to invite him here, that maybe it means something to him that they didn't call him for any favors this time, just for his presence. The warmth in his chest travels all the way to his toes, and he sighs in contentment.
Then Dean remembers the pie.
Unsteadily, he lifts his heavy body from the bed and crosses the room to where Cas and Sam stand. "Should we get this show on the road?" He doesn't wait for an answer, unearthing the pie from the bag and humming his appreciation before taking it back to the bed.
Sam rummages in the bag too, bringing out some kind of kettle chips that Dean doesn't care about, and makes his way to sit beside Dean. Both of them lean against the headboard, lax. Normally, Dean would tell him to fuck off to his own bed, if he were that close. But today-- today he’s savoring how he has his brother and his angel in the same room. And instead of hunting, they’re hanging out , of all things.
Dean pops the plastic cover off the pie with some effort and digs in with one of the forks Cas thoughtfully included in the snack bag. His eyes flutter when the apple zings sweetly on his tongue, somehow unparalleled by any pie experience he's ever had.
"Cas? This… this is so good, Cas." He takes another bite and smiles. " Mmph . Thank you," he mumbles around his full mouth.
Cas steps further into the motel room, sees the pipe and the baggy on the floor, and says, "So, how do you do it?"
Dean chokes on his pie.
Sam doesn't help him. "You… you want to smoke weed with us?"
"Sure," Cas says levelly, sitting down on the floor and frowning at their supplies in concentration. "Though, I will confess that I've never done this before."
"Yeah, no, Cas, that's-- that's fine," Sam stutters. "Uh, Dean hasn't really, either." He shoots Dean an apologetic look, but Dean is absorbed in his pie. "Do you think-- will it take a lot? Like with alcohol?"
"Hmm. It might." Cas picks up the mostly-full baggy, examining it. "Is this all you have?"
"Uh-- no, actually." Sam's eyes light up. "I have edibles. Hold on." He stands up, grabs the keys, and is gone in a flash, though Dean notes with pleasure that his steps seem to be wavering as well.
"This is your first time?" Cas asks Dean curiously in the quiet that follows.
"No-- well, I smoked once when I was a kid. Wasn't really a fan." He sighs dreamily, letting himself appreciate just how well formed Cas' facial features are. He wants to touch those cheekbones, feel them under his fingertips, but he settles for reaching up and touching his own instead, shivering at the contact.. He drops his hand. "This is a lot better. Trust me." He pats the bed, and Cas gives him a quizzical look before Sam comes back through the door, several chocolate bars in hand.
"Here, this is-- I really only take one square at a time, but uh--"
Dean oogles the stash Sam has in his hand. "Sammy, how much weed do you have?"
"I loaded up from a shop when we were in Washington a couple weeks ago. Here, Cas, take these."
It takes Cas a few minutes to unwrap and eat the three chocolate bars-- well, two and a half, since Sam's been going through one of them-- but once he does, he sits up a little straighter and meets Dean's eyes, then Sam’s.
"I don't think it's doing anything."
Dean laughs. "It's not supposed to, eager beaver. Edibles take a while."
"I see. How long is that?"
Sam shrugs. "Dunno. Could be an hour or two."
"But you're an angel, so--" Dean gestures in Cas’ general direction. "We'll see."
For the next half hour, they fill Cas in on the details of their vamp hunt, and Dean slowly mows through his pie, knowing he's stuffing himself a bit too full and wishing he had more stomach. He can feel himself coming back down, so he elbows Sam, who's sitting on the ground between him and Cas.
"Sammy, gimme the pipe again."
Sam grabs it off the floor, repacking the bowl before holding it up to the bed. Dean feels around for his lighter for a minute before Cas finds it at the foot of the bed and sends it back with Sam.
The angel watches with fascination as Dean lights up, and Dean tries his best to make it look cool for him, watching the smoke sliding up through the air for a good minute and taking two long hits before hacking up another lung.
"Want to?" he offers breathily to Cas when he's done.
Cas accepts the pipe and lighter that's passed back down the line to him, and Sam doesn't even have to explain. Apparently, watching Dean is all the angel needed. He takes a long inhale and doesn't even cough, doesn't even look phased. I should have known , Dean thinks, remembering when he watched Cas down a line of five shots without blinking an eye at Bobby's.
"Hmm. Interesting," Cas says, smoke blowing out his mouth as he talks. Dean can't suppress a giggle at how ridiculous it is, an Angel of the Lord smoking like a chimney in some cheap hotel room.
"Do you… feel anything?" Sam questions. He and Dean share a look as Cas' eyes go out of focus.
"Hmm. I think maybe, yes. Perhaps from the chocolate." Cas looks up and Dean can see his eyes starting to close, just a little. The angel breaks out into a smile. "This is fun."
Dean can't help but feel a deep fondness for the angel at that. He knows he's going up again because he can't concentrate and his eyelids are too heavy to hold all the way open, and he wonders if that's how Cas is experiencing, too.
"How's it feel?" he directs at Cas. He's pleased when Cas seems to have the perma-smile too. It’s plastered on his face and not coming off any time soon.
Somehow everything is ten thousand times better with Cas here. "I'm glad you're here," he murmurs quietly before Cas can answer.
He pats the bed again, and this time, Cas accepts the invitation. He sits in the middle of the bed and crosses his legs to fit, his knee brushing Dean's hip. Sam follows suit, situating himself on the end of the bed with his legs dangling off at a diagonal, his head resting on Dean's ankles.
They never sit like this. Never. Dean has hugged Sam plenty of times before, when they're having a heart to heart or they're glad to see each other alive, and he's hugged Cas even less. But he's never just hung out with them in a dog pile like this.
It’s… heavenly.
"Well?" Dean asks Cas when he's done basking in the euphoria of physical contact.
Cas meets Dean's eyes and Dean loses track of reality, staring. "Hmm. It feels like… something is wrong with my vessel." Instead of looking concerned, Cas giggles a little. "I don't think that should be funny."
Laughing, Dean sets a hand on Cas' knee, feeling his heart hammer in a weird way that he knows is amplified by the high. "Wow, Cas, you are getting high."
Pretty soon they're all losing it over nothing, breathless and laughing how Dean doesn't think he's ever heard them laugh before, big belly laughs like they haven't just killed a bunch of monsters and they don't still need to figure out how to save humanity or everyone dies. Like they don't have a care in the world.
And Dean really doesn't care. About his duties, about his pride, about anything. He just cares about this moment, suspended in time, that he can enjoy without shame.
He realizes they've all been quiet for a few minutes when Cas speaks up and shatters the stillness. "It's so strange that god arranged for honeybees to have a stinger. One of the most necessary insects on earth. And now they're in short supply simply because humans are afraid of them."
Sam and Dean are speechless as they try to digest Cas' words.
"He could have made them with no natural predators, and taken the stinger off. Or created more pollen-spreaders," Cas continues thoughtfully.
Dean can see Sam thinking a little too hard, probably relating this to the time when Cas offered Crowley a bag of raw honey, and he rolls his eyes. "It's too deep for us, Cas."
"Hmm," is Cas' only response.
Dean hesitates, something on his tongue that he's not sure he should say, for some reason. He finally decides he wants to. "I could get you some honeybees, if you want.” Cas blinks at him in surprise. “No bugs in heaven, right? But you could… you could have some honeybees here, if you want, and make all the honey you wanted. You could keep them at the bunker."
Sam gives him a sharp look. Dean knows he's rambling, but it's so important Cas knows this right now. It feels like the most important thing in the world.
"And you can come check on them and… visit us more often," he ends in a whisper.
Dean doesn't know when Cas moved to lie down on his legs, but he feels the angel's head shift there to look up at him and he hopes he never gets up. Dean doesn’t ever want to lose this warmth.
Cas' eyes are deep like the night sky and framed by crow's feet when he answers, "I love you too, Dean."
"I’m not-- Cas, I didn't--" Sam clears his throat as if to remind them that he’s here, and Dean decides in that moment that he doesn't care. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know."
Cas smiles and lays back on Dean's legs, and Dean feels his own eyes closing happily. It's not long before he drifts into the most peaceful sleep of his life, surrounded by the people he loves.