She just hands one to him. He didn’t even ask, but she passes them to him like they’re some sort of old friends. It feels good. A dirty habit he's more than was willing to fall back into. Never even intended to stop in the first place. He looks pissed though, isn’t going to show how pleased he is when he takes his first inhale, but his exhale says it all. They stand, they smoke, and they don’t talk.
He doesn’t like her. He tolerates her. He smokes with her outside when everything becomes too much inside. Sam. Cas. Naomi. Crowley. Smoking with Meg is a paradise in comparison. He looks at her, only to find that she’d been looking at him before. She gets up, and he follows shortly after. By now he has started buying his own packs. She complained too much about him taking hers.
“Me, sharing? That was a one time only deal. Buy your own if you’re going to be out here with me.”
The conversations are short. Crude. Nothing particular, a few jokes here and there. She’s coughed once or twice from laughing at his face after she says something, but they’re there for the silence. Sometimes he thinks about burning her with the cigarette. He never does. Fucking demons. He resides to looking as displeased as possible at her presence, denies the fact that there is almost a comfort in this mutual dislike.
Sam is giving him that look. He knows he knows. So Dean pulls out his pack of cigarettes, sits down, puts his feet on the table, and lights one. The look on his face is priceless, and Dean just wants to laugh. He complains about the impala smelling like cigarettes, Dean complains about the scent of dogs.
“C’mon Dean, you haven’t done that since you were a kid. Who are you trying to piss off now?”
She’s blowing smoke into his face, and he looks indifferent to it. Maybe his celestial lungs don’t register smoke like others. Their conversation with Castiel is brief, and in reality doesn’t tell them anymore than what they knew already. He keeps staring at their hands, then their mouths. Eyeing up their motions. Meg smiles at everything he says even though what he’s saying doesn’t deserve it.
He honestly doesn’t know how she managed to coax him into it. Yet there he is when Dean pulls up. Meg is closer than she needs to be to light his cigarette, and Cas is leaning into her. She almost topples over laughing when he spits it out seconds later. She takes the one from her hand and shows him real slow, she’s talking but Dean can’t hear in the car, then puts in Castiel’s mouth.
Weeks later he sees Castiel leaning against the impala smoking by himself.
They’re running low. Only one left, and no stores near. Meg lights, passes it to Dean, and Dean passes it to Cas. They go back and forth between each other. The taste of demon and angel is distinctive, and he’s not sure if it’s the nicotine, but it sure as hell feels good.