Rory Chronicles- First smoke (outdated-noncanon)

-Disclaimer-

I do not condone nor support the use of non-prescription drugs for minors. This is a part of Rory's development, but it does not mean I think it is okay or right

     A warm glow of flicking flames enlightened the laughter surrounding it, vaguely familiar faces with large smiles. The gangly man beside Rory was holding his gut as he always did when belting a deep laughter while the blonde woman to Rory’s left clapped her hands in a fit of joy. Rory tilted his head to the side, appearing as a curious puppy. Though most nights he managed fine with the group, able to cackle with them and show off displays of foolishness that seemed to be perfect entertainment for their foggy minds, he wasn't connecting the dots.

     “Rocky?” He said aloud, never having learned to whisper. “Hey- what are we laughing for?”

     Rory's father neglected to look at his son, blunt stuck between his lips. The harsh smell of musky skunk was familiar to the young boy, almost comforting. Rocky reached up with a grimy hand, clasping it down on Rory's head of tangled hair to give a good friendly scruff.

     “You’ll get it when you're older little buddy.” He reassured in his raspy tone.

     Rory didn't like that answer. He rarely got it from his parents, so when he did it shifted his mood. He reached up to scratch his lice-filled scalp, looking back to the fire in the midst of the circle. While the adults continued their cackling like a pack of hyenas, Rory occupied himself by picking the dirt from under his nails with his teeth, then swirling it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

     He glanced back up, his pale eyes peeking through the fluff of his bangs that hung over his face, the tips brushing his nose which tickled on occasion. He sniffed, his nose a tad runny as he scanned those seated on blankets around him.

     Everyone had a blunt except for him. Rocky, Amber, Tug, Harley, David, the twins, and even Presley who never smoked. She said it wasn't her mojo, but there she was smoking.

     He looked up to his mother, his head following her hand as the white paper passed in front of him, allowing Rocky to pluck the white cig from her fingertips to get a drag.

     He looked up to his mother, using his hand to lift his bangs to see her better.

     “Amber?” He asked, reaching a small hand up to tug on her sleeve. “Amber- hey.” He started again.

     She allowed herself another laugh before looking down to Rory, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

     “What's up little man?” She asked, poking Rory's stomach. He rewarded her with a gleeful giggle.

     “Can I try?” He asked with a bright smile.

     “Try smoking?” She questioned back, her brows raising just slightly. She glanced up to Rocky as though unsure.

     What? That was new. She was supposed to say ‘sure!’ and hand it over. Why was she looking at Rocky like that?
     Rory turned his head up to Rocky, who’s glossed over eyes were still on the group, his peripheral not as aware tonight. A soft nudge to his shoulder made his head turn, his brow glistening from sweat and the gap between his teeth visible through his smile. His spackled freckles were less noticeable in the dark shadows from the fire.

     “Hey, Rory wants some.” She said.

     “Some what? Some sleep?” he retorted, looking down at Rory only to receive a giggly:

     “No!” From the young boy.

     “He wants to smoke.” Amber continued.

     “oh…”

     Rocky looked forward again, reaching a hand behind his neck to scratch at his damp skin, his jagged longer nails offering a rather harsh invasion.

     What was wrong with asking to smoke? They were supposed to hand it over and that was that, what was so different? Rory looked from Rocky to Amber, then back as an unfamiliar feeling of frustration grew.

     “Can I?” He chimed in again.

     “Uhm… I don't know about that one little man,” Rocky chuckled, reaching out to scruff Rory’s hair, “How about when you get your first chest hair?”

     Rory ducked his hand, shaking it off of his head in disapproval.

     “Why not?” He insisted. “I’m the only one who doesn't, that's not fair.”

      “Yea, I don't think so either.” Rocky muttered, eyeing Amber. Rory followed him, looking up to the blonde woman beside him.

     “I just don't think it’ll be good for him before he’s at least… I don't know, a teenager.” She explained to Rocky rather than Rory.

     “Having it earlier won't make no difference. He’ll be gettin a head start.”

     “Haha! to what?”

     “Groove town.”

     Amber only rolled her eyes with a slight smile, something Rocky always loved to see from her. Usually, it meant he won her over.

     “How about we take a vote sweetpea?” Rocky cooed, leaning in a bit.

     “Rocky-”

     “Demonstrate a little democracy for the boy?” He continued, faking an older, more aristocratic tone. “How about that?” He looked down to Rory again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     The night had become far quieter, the now distant cackling and chatter of the group getting overshadowed by the gentle croak of a restless frog. Rory was seated on cold- yet smooth- pebbles just beside the calm waters of a pond, the lazy tree branches about him drooping downwards towards the water. He sat silently, breathing slowly, drawing in the water with a stick he had found. Tears teased the waterline of his eyes.

     He felt a weight that he wasn't familiar with and a swirling of fog in his head. The bitter taste of stomach bile was still reminiscent on his tongue, and he swallowed yet again in hopes to get it down.

     Why did he feel… bad. Bad, that's the word for it. He felt bad. His brows furrowed as the word came to him, the feeling foreign and unwelcomed. He wasn't supposed to feel bad, no one ever felt bad- especially not after smoking. No one ever threw up like that either though, so maybe something was wrong with him, or maybe it only worked on certain people.

     Was he wrong for not liking it? It tasted awful and made his stomach churn immensely. Even now, his body swayed gently to balance, feeling as though some other entity was rocking him.

     “You doin alright little man?” His mothers sweet voice asked, her bare feet soon making the rocks clack against one another as she approached.

     Rory nodded as she sat behind him, wrapped in her fleece blanket. She bundled herself a bit tighter.

     “It's a bit cold over here, do you wanna come back over? Rocky’s gonna make some soup.”

     Rory only shook his head no again.

     “Okay… Did you want me to bring you some when it's done?”

     Rory shook his head no.

     The two sat with one another yet alone, mother and son. The frog insistently croaked, and the group just a walk away broke out into another round of laughter.

     “... It'll get easier hun.” She finally sighed, wrapping an arm around him. “It’ll feel better next time.