Noah Czerny

Dean tries not to look reassured, mostly because that would mean he needs reassuring, and takes the apple. "Maybe not this time," he tells Derek and lights the little puff of dried plant, cooling the smoke in his mouth as Derek had done before he draws it into his lungs. It helps, but not enough, because in the next moment Dean is doubled over and coughing hard into his fist, and every twitch of his lungs only draws the smoke deeper.

He's dizzy, but it's not the worst kind of dizzy, and eventually Dean lifts his head. "Sweet." Maybe beneath the taste of his coughed up lungs.