"Yeah," says Dean, "Fuck this," and takes Castiel's joint, using the end of it to light his own after all and takes a huge lungful. If they're doing this, he's going to be at least fifty percent checked out for it.

The drug is just as strong as he remembered, and Dean blinks for a few breaths, looking down at himself in suspicion, but thankfully his shirt has remained on. "No souls," he says again.