Robin would have thrown a fit.

But then again, what doesn't Robin throw a fit over? That's the real question.

The five of us sat up on the top of the nameless building on the urban skyline, completely out of costume… though in Joey's case there literally was no difference between work and business clothes. One of the reason's why everyone always recognizes the semi-famous 'Jericho'.

The radio played on in the background, something about 'Heaven beside you' spurting out between the static white noise.

None of we off-hours superheroes really cared that the station was no longer coming in, we were all a little… preoccupied with our current situation.

"Hey, Injun! Puff puff pass! That's the rule!"

I breathe in deep from the pipe, and the smoke starts to make its angry self at home in my throat.

I hold it in as long as I can before its my-throat-raping antics cause me to cough, hard. Sure sign of a good hit.

I look over at Isaiah, or Hot Spot as he's known to the public, "Ch-" I haven't quite got my voice back as I swallow nothing involuntarily, "Chillax, Izzy. It'll get to ya."

I hand off the pipe to Malcolm, Herald, and he smiles wide, "Yeah Hot-shit, Roy's good for it, you know that."

From across the way, Joey smiles and nods his blonde head in a puppet-esque fashion. Like someone were moving strings attached to his neck.

I smile broad, way broad, and laugh at the thought.

No, not laugh, giggle. And as I giggle all the stress melts away and a wave of warm… perception flows over me and I find something that I thought I lost a long time ago.

Peace, tranquility… serenity.

In a moment that seems instantaneous Malcolm and Izzy have already passed the pipe to the mute Joey across from me who, like the pro he is, inhales long and deep. We all stare, greatly entertained by how long he's holding his hit.

After what seems like ages the smoke slowly rolls out of Joey's mouth. Maybe after having a knife rip your throat open at age five, the itchy burning of weed smoke in your scarred esophagus isn't much of a bother. Especially after you consider the pay-off.

Joey's bloodshot eyes roll slowly over to the fifth member of our party, but wait.

Shit dude… Joey's eyes… they're fucking swimming. They have to be, I've never seen anything move more fluid.

I wonder if Joey possesses somebody while high if that person gets the high.

Better question. If he leaves, are they then both high, or does one of them lose it?

As I sit there and stare off into space, deep in thought over these questions of Zen worthy status, Garth, the Atlantian prince known as Aqualad, takes the pipe.

He puts it to his lips, lights it and, like the true amateur he is, coughs after a few seconds and doesn't stop for about a half minute. Though to Malcolm and Joey who're watching him it seems like forever. How do I know this? How don't you? Stupid Cunt-scum! Get outta my soliloquy!

"Guys…" Garth says in that spaced-out, droning voice of someone stoned hard, "This is fuckin'… deep."

I hear his voice like a far off echo, and my body is numbly warm… and way beneath me. My mind is switched off and I'm flying farther than any arrow I've ever shot. I'm so high the clouds are nervous.

"Whoa!" Mal says in a voice full of childish wonder, "You're eyes are bloodshot, Gills!"

"Hehehe!" Garth shakes his head, "So what dude?! So are yours!"

My thoughts go back, back, back… and I drift on an air current as I think about ebony hair framing a cat mask… and the green eyes behind that mask. A bed with silk sheets, some kinky Asian tricks I can't even describe, and long metal claws… covered in blood. My blood.

God that woman could fuck.

Malcolm squeals high pitched and points at the Atlantian's black eyes, "Yeah, but they're purple veins instead of red!"

Suddenly I'm back on the roof, and as the faint traces of Malcolm's comment reach my ears, I turn and look. And yes, the edges of Garth's black eyes are littered with small, spider-webbing purple veins.

I can't even describe to you how long and hard we all laughed. I can't even describe to you how deep the laughter was. I can't even describe to you euphoric buzz.

We were so damn happy, we forgot all about the pipe. And trust me, that's epic level stoned.

And then we see it, the sun set.

We five, we brothers, sit there and watch the sight through the opened doors of perception.

And while people the city over see the sight and wonder at it, we are a part of it.

We take it in, we inhale the pinks and the oranges and the lavenders. We merge with the sun and it's warmth fuses with us and everything is…

One.

…

After the sun dips over the horizon and the moon and stars come out to play, someone thinks to switch the dial on the radio. After what was either a really short or a really long time, a ska beat comes into tune, and we all groove on it as we lie on our backs and stare up into the night sky.

We leave our bodies behind, and chill out up on the ambling clouds, made a funky blue tint by the starlight.