Each time a new song rings out from Leslie’s phone wired into the homemade aux she’d rigged into the 1981 BMW, June adds it to her liked songs. Tons of new bands she's either never heard of or only in passing— arctic monkeys, the strokes, Radiohead, the neighborhood, Nickelback, the killers, weezer, green day, and tons more play. Leslie notices as June adds every song to her music library.
“You should just follow me on Spotify. I've got a public profile.”
“Sure. What's your handle?”
Leslie answers, and June searches the profile name, clicking the follow button and admiring the profile picture of Leslie’s old green car. “Done!”
As they sit there for a while, Leslie takes a tiny rolled paper tube out of her bra. “You want some?” She offers June. It’s a joint.
June shakes her head. “Nah, I'm not into that. But thanks.”
Leslie nods, "Good for you. You mind if I…?”
June shakes her head, “Go for it.”
Leslie lights the joint and takes a drag. The sour smell fills the van, and June cringes. “Does it taste as bad as it smells?” She can't stop herself from asking.
Leslie shakes her head, “No, not after the first few times. But it's pretty bad when you first start.”
June's curiosity gets the better of her. “When'd you start?” She asks, adjusting in her seat.
Leslie takes another drag before she answers, considerately blowing the smoke away from the other girl. June still smells it.
“First hit, I was fourteen. I didn't actually start using it, like, actively till I was fifteen.”
“Why'd you start?” June ignores that this could be a rude question; Leslie always answers her questions.
“Just wrong place, wrong time. Or right time. Whatever your perspective.” Leslie shrugs, gesturing vaguely with her free hand.
June nods. “My dad almost started a couple years ago.”
“Really? Which one? They're both such goody-goodies.”
June laughs, “They're really not. But it was Dean. He wasn't actually considering it, but he got diagnosed with CPTSD and the doctor suggests medical marijuana for it. He refused.”
“Woah. CPTSD is heavy. What happened? If you don't mind me askin’.”
June shrugged, “He doesn't talk about it. Him and my uncle went through some crazy shit in their lives. Some war or something, I dunno.”
“Does your uncle have CPTSD, too?”
June shakes her head, fondly thinking of Sam, “I don't think so. But he's got anxiety issues. He manages them pretty well. Helped me with mine.”
Leslie blinks slowly, tilting her shoulders towards June. “You have anxiety?”
June nodded, “Yeah, I used to get panic attacks a lot. But my uncle helped me, like I said, and now they don't happen as much.”
Leslie nods, “That's nice. My dad doesn't believe in mental health stuff, so he's never cared to get me help or anything.”
June feels a sad relation to her statement, remembering the conversation she had overheard between her dads when Cas had suggested getting her a psychiatrist. “Do you think you have something?”
Leslie shrugged. “I dunno. I get lots of nightmares and shit, and I get panic attacks, too. Plus, sometimes I think I could have OCD. I get all freaked out at the tiniest stuff. Like, I hate when people touch my stuff.”
June is quiet, listening thoughtfully.
“But when I'm high, it stops. Sometimes it's the only thing that helps. Is that bad? Jeez, I sound like an addict.” She scoffs, but takes another long drag anyway. She rolls the windows down.
“No, I don't think you sound like an addict,” June replies, light. The night elicits a blanket of goosebumps over her skin. “I think you're just tryna cope with your own stuff and you found a way that works. That's normal.”
“Yeah, but weed? Wish I could've picked something better,” she chuckles, a little bitter.
June shifts in her seat again, and Leslie watches. “You can scoot the seat back if you want," she tells her. She jabs her thumb towards the seat loosely. "There's a button on the side. Sit however you want.”
June lays the head of the seat all the way back, scoots the chair all the way forward, and leans against the glovebox. She grins at Leslie when she's finished. Leslie just smirks, looking ready to mock her. “What? It's comfortable!” She defends.
Leslie laughs again, “I'm sure.”
June watches her, sucking and blowing smoke out the window, her fingers drumming on the window to the beat of the song playing.
She turns the dial up a bit. June checks the song title— “Animals” by Neon Trees. She adds it to her liked songs.
The song plays, time passes, and the joint slowly burns down.
“Does it hurt?” June asks.
Leslie hardly hears over the music. Her eyes are getting droopier. She turns the dial before she answers; the song fades to an end anyway. “What do you mean?”
“Like, how alcohol burns your throat when you drink it," June explains. "Does the weed hurt? Or does it give you a hangover or anything?”
Leslie shakes her head, “Used to. Like I said, first times suck.”
June frowns, “So what made you try it again? If you didn't like it the first time?”
A smirk takes over Leslie's face. “This girl I liked. Vanessa." Her voice turns raspier, lower, with a kind of reminiscing admiration. "I wanted to impress her. She smoked. She convinced me to try again, and it hurt the second time, too.” She pauses, pushing her hair behind her ears. June admires the studs leading up the edges of each shell. Leslie goes on; “But I was so hooked on her, I'd have dealt with it for however long she wanted. Soon enough, it didn't hurt anymore. It made me feel calmer. Not so on edge, and not so upset when things weren't how I always thought they needed to be. She dumped me pretty quick, but not after she taught me a few things.” Leslie winks at June, and June giggles as she gets the message.
June watches as Leslie inhales the weed deeply, holding it in her mouth for a moment and swallowing before blowing out only a thin stream of smoke. She considers asking for a drag, but decides it's not worth it. She feels calm enough, and she'll wait till it's legal to see if she actually wants to try it. She wants to try it now, but, who knows? Maybe Leslie's having the same effect on June as Vanessa had on her. She doesn't want to get hooked on weed for some girl who doesn't even like her back.
So instead, she settles for more questions. “What's it like? Like, what's it do to you?”
Leslie gives a half shrug, “Mostly just makes me feel lighter. Like I'm swimming or something. Calms me a ton. Makes it harder to filter what I say, though.”
Leslie nods, chuckling. Her eyes are getting red and she does seem a little ditzy now. “Yeah. I say a lotta stuff I prolly shouldn't when I'm high.”
“You tryna trick me into something, Winchester?”
June laughs, “Maybe a little bit.”
Leslie eyes her, blowing one long drag out the side of her crooked smirk.
June’s face feels hot. “What?! Can you blame me? You're pretty mysterious, y'know.”
Leslie chuckles, “What? No I'm not!”
June nods insistently, “Are too!” She shoots back. “I dunno, like, anything about you.”
June blushes, surprised by the compliment, but tries to act unaffected. “Uh.. well, like, what do you wanna do when you grow up? Like, really wanna do? If money didn't matter and you could really pick whatever job you wanted.”
Leslie doesn't even have to think, “An astronaut.”
Leslie nods, staring out at the stars. “Yeah.”
Leslie tilts her head to better see the night sky through the moon roof. She tucks the joint securely between her lips before reaching up to pry the pane open. A cold draft fills the car, starlight filtering into the small space. Leslie leans back in her seat and stares out at the sky. “It looks so safe out there. So free.”
June watches the sky from the front windshield, lying her head back on the dashboard. Her curls feel knotted, but they pillow her head against the plastic.
Her voice is raspier now as she asks June the question. “Do you wanna stay here? I mean, when you grow up?”
June doesn’t answer, watching the stars. She’s wondered this a lot.
June frowns, glancing up at Leslie. The joint is nearing its end. “There’s so much out there.” Her eyes, dazed and unguarded, are still set on the sparkling dots across the blanket of night. “You should see it. You should feel it. You should get out of here.”
Quiet settles. There is no light from anywhere but the atmosphere; the earth is sleeping. Or, at least, their part of it is. The stars catch in Leslie’s eyes, made of every color June’s ever known and even some she hasn't.
The joint dies after one last long, drawn-out drag. The colors of her eyes are hidden by her eyelids as the drug pours into her lungs. She holds it there for a long time. She smothers the barley-lit stub between her fingers and flicks it out the window. “No. I shouldn’t.” She says it without breathing. She swallows the smoke down, rough and thick.
June stares. Leslie’s eyes bloom open, darkened by the dilation of her pupils. They are still the brightest things June has ever seen.
“I can see the stars from here. My dad loves me. I can live with that.”
“You can have more,” June promises.
Leslie breathes out, and no smoke flows with the breath. “There’s more here. The stars change every month. I’ve counted them.”
“There’s more out there, too.”
Every color lights June’s face when Leslie’s eyes float to her. “Because you’ve got more to give them. You’re the more that belongs out there.”
October night has never felt warmer.
“I belong here. I belong…” her eyes fall back to the sparkles of the night. “I belong here, where I can see the stars. I can live with that.”
The words tumble out before June realizes they should’ve been filtered. “But maybe you can live with more than that, too.”
Golden lights flicker between them, but June has no idea where the glitter comes from. Leslie’s eyes settle on her again, reflecting the light of the stars onto June and setting aflame something in her chest. There are freckles across Leslie’s flushed face, ones June has memorized from many hours of admiration. There is still a scar on her chin, still an unhealed piercing hole on her lower lip. She is still as beautiful as she has been for the past 13 years June has known her.
But her eyes are bloodshot, bleeding tears neither of the girls fully register.
“June!” The booming voice of her father cuts through the night, and she jumps. She glances at the time displayed on the small screen above the music player. She was supposed to be home over an hour ago.
“Cadence June!” He sounds angrier than makes sense, and then the door is yanked open. The scent of the night freely rushing in reminds June how strong the scent of weed really is, and she understands why her father sounds angry all of the sudden. “What’re you doing?!” June’s gaze hesitates on Leslie, who seems to not have registered the situation yet.
Her father's hand wraps around her upper arm, pulling her up and almost out of the car.
And there is her other father, rushing up the hill; great. Not so great, really.
He appears behind Dean, pulling his arm back from June. His eyes flick to her, panic and concern etched into his brow.
“June, what’s going on? Why didn't you come home?”
“Got distracted,” She responds, eyes still lingering on Leslie, whose own gaze is fixed on the stars.
“Got high?” Dean mutters, fury burning straight through the frigid air. He stares at Leslie as well, but with much less admiration than his daughter.
June’s attention strikes back onto Dean with shock and offense. “No! Just distracted. I don't do that, dad, c'mon."
Castiel elbows Dean, “Yeah, dad, c'mon. Trust her, would you, please?” He glares, in that way that always means Dean will be grumpy for a good bit that night.
Dean’s eyes thin as he sneers at the stoned young woman staring out of the moonroof of the car.
June notices. The fire alights in her chest again, and she matches his sneer. “Dad!”
“Time to go home,” is his only response. He is very clearly doing everything in his power not to scold the teen who is not his own.
Leslie must feel the tension as she turns to look at Dean. “I can drop her at home,” she offers.
Dean glowers at her, mouth open as he prepares some sort of scold or lecture. But, Castiel beats him to it. “No, that’s alright. She can ride with us.” June frowns at this, more than comfortable in Leslie’s frontseat, even with its rotten scent. “But,” Cas adds, kindly, “we’d like to be sure you get home safely.”
Leslie nods, “Yessir. Y’can follow me on y’re way back.” The thick Montana drawl Leslie so usually masks slips out. June’s heart flutters, and she aches as the ghost of her crush pulls on her heartstrings, trying to direct her like a puppet. She doesn’t follow its urgent tugging.
Castiel shakes his head. “No, I’d prefer you didn't drive this late in your condition. My husband can drive your car home, if you’d like.”
Dean jerks his head at Cas, annoyed at the unconsensual offering of his services. Cas ignores the sharp gaze, waiting for Leslie's answer.
She shrugs, “A’ight.” She manages to force herself out of the driver’s seat, tossing the keys to Dean as she stumbles around to the other side. Dean catches them, still clearly frustrated. He rolls his eyes with a breathy groan, but climbs into the driver’s seat and adjusts.
Cas wraps his arm around June’s shoulder, and his other around Leslie’s. They make their way down the hill towards the gold sedan parked at the bottom.
Cas has to help Leslie into the backseat, trying to keep her from hitting her head. He lets June take the reins as she guides Leslie in, hands wrapped in each other.
The music is soft as the engine rumbles down the path towards Leslie’s house. June watches her as she stares out the window, her bright eyes catching the moonlight and holding it there.
She turns, and her eyes seem to hand the moonlight right to June. Stark and bright and unexpected. “Are you okay?”
Leslie nods, but the airiness in her movements makes June wonder how clearly she’s thinking at the moment. “M’fine. Wasn’t strong stuff. Light buzz.” She huffs a breath, forcing her eyes wide. “M’fine. I’m fine. I’m good.” She recites the words like lines in a play, not caring if they’re true or not. Their hands stay interlinked. June studies Leslie’s scarred knuckles, the way the pale skin contrasts with old and new marks from boxing or whatever else Leslie spends her time working on. June’s rings grow warm against Leslie’s hand, and she pulses a squeeze before releasing.
A thick heat, cottony and hard to see through, flashes through June’s skin. It blankets her with goosebumps, and a tremble shakes through her. But she somehow wishes she’ll never forget the feeling. That the moment will never be gone.
The car skids to a stop in front of Leslie’s dark house. The garage door is open, no doubt waiting for Crater to return the next morning. Or for Leslie to keep working late that night. June follows when Leslie climbs out of the car.
Dean has parked the green camaro in the driveway. He tosses the keys to Leslie as he passes, and signals for June to follow. Despite herself, she ignores him. She especially ignores his even more frustrated glare when she pretends not to notice his insistence to leave.
Regardless, June follows Leslie up the driveway silently, folding her arms over her chest for some semblance of warmth. It doesn’t come close to the comforting warmth she had gained from Leslie’s earlier touch.
“Your dads are prolly pissed, huh?” Leslie muses, voice a little more coherent now. “They never did like me.”
June frowns, "It's not personal. Dean doesn’t hardly like anyone I hang out with.”
“What about the other one?” Leslie asks with a half-smirk, tracing her tongue over her teeth.
June splutters an unfortunate breath. “He… yeah, he doesn't like you.”
Leslie barks a laugh, breath faintly appearing in the night. “I knew that already, babe.”
June giggles. “He just doesn’t want me to do anything I’d regret.”
“He thinks I’m a bad influence,” Leslie translates, eying June carefully.
June shrugs, “Yeah, he thinks so.”
“Well, apparently you’re not too easily influenced, cuz you’re still pretty damn good, huh?” Her eyes flicker with a green of mischief, and June has to giggle again.
Silence pools between them. Comfortable, but silent nonetheless. Leslie’s eyes are beginning to droop again. June watches closely, the way her lashes flicker and her hair waves in the wind where it isn't caught behind her ears.
June hears herself ask, “What did you mean earlier? About the sky, looking safer?”
Leslie shrugs, “Eh, I was just talking. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, cmon, tell me. What?”
Leslie hesitates, hands still tucked in her pockets. She looks up at the moon. “It looks so whole. Complete, yet it never ends. Maybe that’s the only way things ever really finish— by never starting or ending anywhere down the line.”
June’s head falls back as she stares at all the stars, brighter than they had seemed the night before.
“I think it’d be nice to float up there, in the cold. Just to be wrapped up in the... lack of. To just… float.”
June looks back at Leslie. Her shoulders have sunk. Her eyes are drooped, though not from any kind of drug.
June can hear what Leslie has not quite said. “To not have to hold yourself up anymore. To just be held.”
Leslie breathes the frozen air into her decaying lungs. “Yeah.”
The night is still cold around them as June wraps herself around Leslie. Something golden seeps from June's skin, dripping like sunlight onto Leslie. Still, the latter doesn’t reciprocate. She never does.
The night goes cold, wholly dark again. “Good night, June.”
Her bones are trying to scrape past her flesh, her blood is rushing and rutting to try to get out. Her soul is spinning, seeking closeness to Leslie’s. The latter’s doesn't reciprocate.
Leslie turns, hands tucked in the pocket of her father’s jacket.
She is every color June has ever known, and even many she hasn’t. But the night is dark, and the only reflections are of a monotonous grayscale. The golden lights of the garage flick off. The door rumbles shut. Leslie has gone inside, to lie in her bed and watch the stars until they fade into the golden light of day again.
June’s never mourned something so hard.
“Junebug?” Her father is calling her. This call is not as loud as the ones she could hear from something in Leslie that night.
The car ride home is quiet, wind creating white noise to match the white light from the moon. The windows stay rolled down, and October freezes June’s fingertips and lips and this memory stills in her mind. This feeling. Something tilting her chest forward to pour her heart out of her ribcage, only to find that the cage is serving its purpose perfectly. To reach for something that has stepped too far. To find that your hands can only stretch so far, and the breeze has already blown the season away. This harvest is finished, and next year will be different, and so will everything else.
The haste of the night is so unjust; hours pass faster tonight. Midnight is at the start and morning will come before it’s called. June wants to stay in the memory; how can it be ready for her to move on yet? There is more to be said. Leslie hasn’t said it yet.
But as they pull up to the house she’s known all her life, though it is different now, she realizes the memory is already that. It is no longer a moment. It is a memory. It is not. It was. It was a goodbye, is what it was. It was not a good night, for morning is already dawning.
The memory of the moment stained with goodbye rots her teeth like tobacco. And she stares at the stars as her skin freezes over her bones, declaring them stuck there, in her sack of a body. Something in her floats away before she can even consider catching it. Before she realizes she doesn’t want it back.
Maybe it is following the part of Leslie that left a long time ago, along with her mother. Along with her childhood, along with her hope, along with her. A long, long time ago.
A sound rings out from each star to the other, like keys of an old piano, declaring its last symphony. The night never returns quite the same.
Maybe all those stars had changed, like they do every so often. Maybe Leslie has noticed, too. Maybe it would make their part of the world a little more whole for her.
