Derek actually feels bad about giving Noah shit about his little apple bong. Either Derek is getting too soft, or Noah's sad little ghost face is just that sad. So, here sits Derek Hale, almost twenty-six and about to smoke weed for the first time out of a piece of fruit.

"No one likes a tease, Winchester," Derek says, patting Dean's knee through the mound of blankets. He looks at Noah and gestures towards the apple with his chin. "Light it up, then."