SPN Fic: Shotgun
Title: Shotgun
Author: namegoeshere
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating: R. Some language, drug use.
Genre: Gen.
Wordcount: 1700ish
Summary: "Is that a joint?"
"Yes."
"Jesus, Dean, that stuff is bad for you." Of course, Sam would be the one who actually listened to the drug talks at his school. He probably thought abstinence was better than condoms, too.
A/N: This isn't crack!fic. It's pot!fic. ;) For too_rational, who asked for something happy, and clex_monkie89, who asked for shotgunning. Also, thanks to clex for doing a quick beta for me. ;) Also, this piece has been continued in Makes me feel alright.
†
Dean didn't want to be too far, had his pager jammed in his pocket just in case something came up. Still, his dad was passed out from the previous night's hunt and probably would be for a couple more hours at least, and Sam was doing homework, which made this a perfect opportunity. He'd never been much of a rebel, not like his little brother, who bitched and moaned about everything their father said. Still, that aside, sometimes Dean just needed a break, and when stick-in-the-mud Sam mentioned there was a dealer in the senior class, well... Dean couldn't help but look him up.
He tried pot for the first time when he was still in high school, got high with a couple of kids in the parking lot behind the school. Moving around as much as they did, though, it was hard to get his hands on it most of the time, especially considering he didn't usually have much, if any, of his own money.
It was a nice way to relax when he could get some, taking an hour on his own to smoke and a few hours after that to get some greasy fast food and let the smell fade. The grassy lot behind their apartment building was a perfect place to sneak off to. He leaned against the brick wall and pulled his lighter and the little plastic baggy out the pocket of his jeans.
It was hard to roll the joint without a flat surface, just using his leg, and he dropped a little bit of the leaf into the grass, but whatever. He still had most of the bag left and he was already feeling pretty relaxed with just the thought of smoking. Eventually, he got it, and he made himself comfortable in the short and stubby grass, putting the joint between his lips and lighting up.
He inhaled deeply, keeping the smoke inside. He'd heard people bitch about the stink, but to Dean, it smelled pretty damn good. He breathed out slowly, and it took a minute for him to realise it was starting to kick in. He let himself relax, took another draw off the joint.
He liked the feeling when he was high, the way everything was a little different, a little easier. He was twenty years old and already tired and bruised from this life, loved it but hated it sometimes too. He relaxed behind their apartment with a joint in his hand, feeling the grass beneath his fingerprints and the grit of the brick wall against his back. He felt good. Really, seriously, amazingly good. Goddamn, he was already stoned.
He closed his eyes, joint held loosely in his fingers, totally at ease on a warm and sunny Saturday morning. He felt warm and content, better than he'd felt in a while. The ache of the previous night's work eased out of his weary bones, and he could concentrate on the sweet smell of the smoke, the slight roughness of the paper between his fingers, and the heat of the sun of his face.
"Dean? What are you doing?"
All the happy, relaxed feelings didn't exactly fade, but opening his eyes to find Sam standing over him definitely put a damper on things.
"Dude, go away," Dean said, wondering if he should hide the joint or not, but since Sam had already seen it, he went for rebellious instead, putting the joint back between his lips and breathing in deep.
"Is that a joint?"
"Yes."
"Jesus, Dean, that stuff is bad for you." Of course, Sam would be the one who actually listened to the drug talks at his school. He probably thought abstinence was better than condoms, too.
"Nah," Dean told him. "Don't believe everything you hear, Sammy."
"If you don't put that out right now, I'm telling Dad." Dean shook his head, took another draw from the joint just to get the point across that he wasn't going to put it out, and even if he did, he still had a little ziplock bag filled with the sweet, green leaf, and that wasn't about to go in the trash. Sam got it, and immediately turned and walked away, heading for their apartment, no doubt.
It was a sad state of affairs, really, that he was twenty years old and his little brother could still be a tattletale. "Sammy. Sam," Dean called after him. "Dude, get your ass back here." Sam hesitated, looking back at his brother sitting in the grass, holding the joint out like a peace offering.
"Come on, sit down," Dean said, and Sam stood there, obviously torn. "Dude, come on. I'm not gonna bite." He was trying to think what would make Sam stay, what would make him not tell. "Man, we haven't just chilled out in ages, you all busy with school and then the job... just sit." It was the right thing to say, because Sam came and sat next to him and Dean pushed the joint into his little brother's hand.
"Dean," Sam said, all disapproving sixteen-year-old goody-two-shoes.
"It won't bite you either," he said. "Just try it. Helps me unwind a bit after a hunt." Again with the hesitation, and he added, "Look, I'm your older brother. You think I'd give it to you if it was going to hurt you?"
"No."
"Just try it."
Sam frowned a little, but put the joint to his lips, breathed in quick and let it out just as fast. He coughed and wheezed from just that short puff, one hand going automatically to his chest, gasping in air.
"Not like that, moron," Dean said, taking the joint back from him. "Watch." He put it between his lips, drawing a deep breath, keeping it inside his chest as he offered it back to Sam, finally opened his mouth to let the smoke drift out, sighing in relief. "Try again. Just keep the smoke in your mouth though, don't inhale. I don't need you to hack a lung out on me."
The joint was starting to run out, but Dean watched as Sam imitated him, holding the smoke in his mouth before breathing out slowly and passing the stub back to his brother. "I can't believe I just did that," Sam said softly, his voice still a little wheezy and hoarse as the smoke drifted from his mouth, and Dean smiled.
"It's good for you. Builds character. Maybe it'll make you less of a geek."
"It's not doing anything."
"Give it a minute. Here, have some more."
He was pretty sure Dad would be really fucking pissed if he knew he was giving Sam pot. Hell, he'd be pretty pissed if he knew Dean was smoking it. Dean listened to most of John's rules, but the three that he had been known to ignore on occasion (well, on more than a few) were "no alcohol" (unless Dad was around), "no sex," and "no illegal drugs." Dean was a lot of things, but a saint wasn't one of them. He knew that his father knew, in the vague sense if not the concrete one, that Dean had broken the first two rules, but if he found out about the third... well, he'd be in a shit-load of trouble.
"How come you can inhale it like that without choking?" Sam wanted to know when he passed the joint back to Dean.
"Because I'm not a geek who's never smoked anything ever in his life before."
"Oh." Sam wheezed again, coughing to try and clear his throat, but Dean could see the way his shoulders started to relax. "I feel..." Sam said, and he paused, searching for the word. "Weird. You know? Fuzzy."
Dean grinned. "High." There was something almost sweet about the way his sixteen-year-old brother's eyes were faintly glazed, sleepy and peaceful. They both slouched against the brick wall, shoulders brushing. "Yeah, I know. Tell Jason I said thanks."
"You -- you got this from Jason?"
"Yeah." Dean looked down at the last tip left of the joint in his hand, then up at Sam. "Last hit. You wanna share?"
His little brother nodded and Dean's lips curved up in a smirk. "Alright, dude. Lean over this way." He paused, his smirk widening into a grin, and he fisted his hand in the front of his brother's shirt to pull him over. "And... just don't freak out or anything. Just go with it, okay?"
"Go with what?" Sam asked, but Dean didn't answer. He'd put the tip of the joint back between his lips, breathing in deeply until the smoke filled his lungs and pulled Sam closer. He leaned over his brother until their mouths touched, the joint still between Dean's lips as he breathed out slowly. Dean kept his hand tangled in his brother's t-shirt, Sam careful not to swallow the sweet smoke that was blown into his mouth.
When they pulled apart, he looked at Dean with wide eyes while his brother discarded the last, useless bit of paper and weed. "Holy shit," Sam breathed, and it was one of the few times Dean heard him swear. "What was hell was that?" He licked his lower lip, and Dean just smiled lazily, settling back against the wall and looking up at the clouds.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Shot-gunning." He yawned, sticking the rest of the bag back in his pocket along with his lighter. "And last time I did that, it was with a really, really hot chick, so you seriously owe me."
They sat in silence for a while, side by side. Finally, Sam said, "We should go. We've been out here forever."
Dean shrugged, glanced at his watch. "Dude, it hasn't even been fifteen minutes."
"Oh. I'm hungry."
†
Dean bought them both big, greasy burgers and a heaping plate of onion rings to share. They both reeked from the drugs, and the waitress eyed them curiously. "Jesus," Sam murmured, jamming an onion-ring into the ketchup on the edge of his plate. "I still feel really... you know..."
"High as a kite?" Dean murmured with a grin, taking a large bite out of his bacon cheeseburger, grease dripping down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Feels good, huh?"
"Yeah," his brother said quietly. "Hey, uh, Dean?"
"Uh huh?"
"Can we... you know, do that again sometime?"
Dean grinned broadly. "I got a whole little baggy in my pocket, and Dad said we'd be staying for a while, so... sure. But you're paying for half from now on."
"Okay," Sam agreed. "Yeah, sure."
Author: namegoeshere
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating: R. Some language, drug use.
Genre: Gen.
Wordcount: 1700ish
Summary: "Is that a joint?"
"Yes."
"Jesus, Dean, that stuff is bad for you." Of course, Sam would be the one who actually listened to the drug talks at his school. He probably thought abstinence was better than condoms, too.
A/N: This isn't crack!fic. It's pot!fic. ;) For too_rational, who asked for something happy, and clex_monkie89, who asked for shotgunning. Also, thanks to clex for doing a quick beta for me. ;) Also, this piece has been continued in Makes me feel alright.
†
Dean didn't want to be too far, had his pager jammed in his pocket just in case something came up. Still, his dad was passed out from the previous night's hunt and probably would be for a couple more hours at least, and Sam was doing homework, which made this a perfect opportunity. He'd never been much of a rebel, not like his little brother, who bitched and moaned about everything their father said. Still, that aside, sometimes Dean just needed a break, and when stick-in-the-mud Sam mentioned there was a dealer in the senior class, well... Dean couldn't help but look him up.
He tried pot for the first time when he was still in high school, got high with a couple of kids in the parking lot behind the school. Moving around as much as they did, though, it was hard to get his hands on it most of the time, especially considering he didn't usually have much, if any, of his own money.
It was a nice way to relax when he could get some, taking an hour on his own to smoke and a few hours after that to get some greasy fast food and let the smell fade. The grassy lot behind their apartment building was a perfect place to sneak off to. He leaned against the brick wall and pulled his lighter and the little plastic baggy out the pocket of his jeans.
It was hard to roll the joint without a flat surface, just using his leg, and he dropped a little bit of the leaf into the grass, but whatever. He still had most of the bag left and he was already feeling pretty relaxed with just the thought of smoking. Eventually, he got it, and he made himself comfortable in the short and stubby grass, putting the joint between his lips and lighting up.
He inhaled deeply, keeping the smoke inside. He'd heard people bitch about the stink, but to Dean, it smelled pretty damn good. He breathed out slowly, and it took a minute for him to realise it was starting to kick in. He let himself relax, took another draw off the joint.
He liked the feeling when he was high, the way everything was a little different, a little easier. He was twenty years old and already tired and bruised from this life, loved it but hated it sometimes too. He relaxed behind their apartment with a joint in his hand, feeling the grass beneath his fingerprints and the grit of the brick wall against his back. He felt good. Really, seriously, amazingly good. Goddamn, he was already stoned.
He closed his eyes, joint held loosely in his fingers, totally at ease on a warm and sunny Saturday morning. He felt warm and content, better than he'd felt in a while. The ache of the previous night's work eased out of his weary bones, and he could concentrate on the sweet smell of the smoke, the slight roughness of the paper between his fingers, and the heat of the sun of his face.
"Dean? What are you doing?"
All the happy, relaxed feelings didn't exactly fade, but opening his eyes to find Sam standing over him definitely put a damper on things.
"Dude, go away," Dean said, wondering if he should hide the joint or not, but since Sam had already seen it, he went for rebellious instead, putting the joint back between his lips and breathing in deep.
"Is that a joint?"
"Yes."
"Jesus, Dean, that stuff is bad for you." Of course, Sam would be the one who actually listened to the drug talks at his school. He probably thought abstinence was better than condoms, too.
"Nah," Dean told him. "Don't believe everything you hear, Sammy."
"If you don't put that out right now, I'm telling Dad." Dean shook his head, took another draw from the joint just to get the point across that he wasn't going to put it out, and even if he did, he still had a little ziplock bag filled with the sweet, green leaf, and that wasn't about to go in the trash. Sam got it, and immediately turned and walked away, heading for their apartment, no doubt.
It was a sad state of affairs, really, that he was twenty years old and his little brother could still be a tattletale. "Sammy. Sam," Dean called after him. "Dude, get your ass back here." Sam hesitated, looking back at his brother sitting in the grass, holding the joint out like a peace offering.
"Come on, sit down," Dean said, and Sam stood there, obviously torn. "Dude, come on. I'm not gonna bite." He was trying to think what would make Sam stay, what would make him not tell. "Man, we haven't just chilled out in ages, you all busy with school and then the job... just sit." It was the right thing to say, because Sam came and sat next to him and Dean pushed the joint into his little brother's hand.
"Dean," Sam said, all disapproving sixteen-year-old goody-two-shoes.
"It won't bite you either," he said. "Just try it. Helps me unwind a bit after a hunt." Again with the hesitation, and he added, "Look, I'm your older brother. You think I'd give it to you if it was going to hurt you?"
"No."
"Just try it."
Sam frowned a little, but put the joint to his lips, breathed in quick and let it out just as fast. He coughed and wheezed from just that short puff, one hand going automatically to his chest, gasping in air.
"Not like that, moron," Dean said, taking the joint back from him. "Watch." He put it between his lips, drawing a deep breath, keeping it inside his chest as he offered it back to Sam, finally opened his mouth to let the smoke drift out, sighing in relief. "Try again. Just keep the smoke in your mouth though, don't inhale. I don't need you to hack a lung out on me."
The joint was starting to run out, but Dean watched as Sam imitated him, holding the smoke in his mouth before breathing out slowly and passing the stub back to his brother. "I can't believe I just did that," Sam said softly, his voice still a little wheezy and hoarse as the smoke drifted from his mouth, and Dean smiled.
"It's good for you. Builds character. Maybe it'll make you less of a geek."
"It's not doing anything."
"Give it a minute. Here, have some more."
He was pretty sure Dad would be really fucking pissed if he knew he was giving Sam pot. Hell, he'd be pretty pissed if he knew Dean was smoking it. Dean listened to most of John's rules, but the three that he had been known to ignore on occasion (well, on more than a few) were "no alcohol" (unless Dad was around), "no sex," and "no illegal drugs." Dean was a lot of things, but a saint wasn't one of them. He knew that his father knew, in the vague sense if not the concrete one, that Dean had broken the first two rules, but if he found out about the third... well, he'd be in a shit-load of trouble.
"How come you can inhale it like that without choking?" Sam wanted to know when he passed the joint back to Dean.
"Because I'm not a geek who's never smoked anything ever in his life before."
"Oh." Sam wheezed again, coughing to try and clear his throat, but Dean could see the way his shoulders started to relax. "I feel..." Sam said, and he paused, searching for the word. "Weird. You know? Fuzzy."
Dean grinned. "High." There was something almost sweet about the way his sixteen-year-old brother's eyes were faintly glazed, sleepy and peaceful. They both slouched against the brick wall, shoulders brushing. "Yeah, I know. Tell Jason I said thanks."
"You -- you got this from Jason?"
"Yeah." Dean looked down at the last tip left of the joint in his hand, then up at Sam. "Last hit. You wanna share?"
His little brother nodded and Dean's lips curved up in a smirk. "Alright, dude. Lean over this way." He paused, his smirk widening into a grin, and he fisted his hand in the front of his brother's shirt to pull him over. "And... just don't freak out or anything. Just go with it, okay?"
"Go with what?" Sam asked, but Dean didn't answer. He'd put the tip of the joint back between his lips, breathing in deeply until the smoke filled his lungs and pulled Sam closer. He leaned over his brother until their mouths touched, the joint still between Dean's lips as he breathed out slowly. Dean kept his hand tangled in his brother's t-shirt, Sam careful not to swallow the sweet smoke that was blown into his mouth.
When they pulled apart, he looked at Dean with wide eyes while his brother discarded the last, useless bit of paper and weed. "Holy shit," Sam breathed, and it was one of the few times Dean heard him swear. "What was hell was that?" He licked his lower lip, and Dean just smiled lazily, settling back against the wall and looking up at the clouds.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Shot-gunning." He yawned, sticking the rest of the bag back in his pocket along with his lighter. "And last time I did that, it was with a really, really hot chick, so you seriously owe me."
They sat in silence for a while, side by side. Finally, Sam said, "We should go. We've been out here forever."
Dean shrugged, glanced at his watch. "Dude, it hasn't even been fifteen minutes."
"Oh. I'm hungry."
†
Dean bought them both big, greasy burgers and a heaping plate of onion rings to share. They both reeked from the drugs, and the waitress eyed them curiously. "Jesus," Sam murmured, jamming an onion-ring into the ketchup on the edge of his plate. "I still feel really... you know..."
"High as a kite?" Dean murmured with a grin, taking a large bite out of his bacon cheeseburger, grease dripping down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Feels good, huh?"
"Yeah," his brother said quietly. "Hey, uh, Dean?"
"Uh huh?"
"Can we... you know, do that again sometime?"
Dean grinned broadly. "I got a whole little baggy in my pocket, and Dad said we'd be staying for a while, so... sure. But you're paying for half from now on."
"Okay," Sam agreed. "Yeah, sure."