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Dean rapped twice on the door with his knuckles, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. He still wasn’t sure why Cas had chosen a room all the way down here away from everything else in the bunker.
“Cas?” he called out. No response.
He tried the knob. It turned and the door swished open. Dean took one step inside and called out again, “Cas?” Still nothing. He flicked the switch and a buttery yellow light filled the room. His eyebrows shot up.
Pennies.
There were old jelly and spaghetti sauce jars full of shining copper. Ceramic bowls overflowed onto the dresser and bookshelves creating dingy waterfalls. Ziploc bags full of the small round discs lined the wall by the door. Milk crates stacked up to create a shelving unit were full of more bags.
Where the hell had Cas gotten so many pennies?
Dean ran his fingers along a row of mason jars, each one with a label in Cas’ tight scrawl: 1970’s, 1980’s, 1990’s, damaged. He picked up the 1980’s jar and spun it. When did he have the time to do this?
The room smelled the way pennies smell, like grime and metal and too many hands.
The bedside table was stacked with books. Dean looked them over, leafing through the one on top. They were about coin collecting, rare coins, and how money was made. There were also a few biographies of Abraham Lincoln mixed in the stacks. The bed was clean, made up with military corners – the way Dean had taught Cas to do it, the way John had taught him. He wondered how many other things he had taught Cas and how many had stuck.
“Dean?”
The familiar voice still made him jump. He turned towards the door, feeling guilty, his hand unconsciously going behind his back to hide the mason jar he was still holding.
“Hey Cas, I was .. uh.. looking for you?” he said.
Cas was in a robe, his hair damp and curling at the edges. His face was flushed.
“I’m right here, Dean. What did you need?”
Dean just stared for a minute, his eyes trailing down Cas’ body. He could see a sliver of his chest where the robe hung open at his throat, could appreciate the way his waist tapered inward – accentuated by the belt holding the robe together. His gaze lingered over Cas’ well-toned calves and then he smiled softly when he noticed his feet snug in fuzzy yellow and black striped socks.
“I don’t even remember, man.” He said. He chuckled.
Cas just shrugged and moved past him, into the room. Dean looked around again, noticing the collection once more.
“Dude, where did you get all of these pennies?” he said suddenly.
“Here and there.” Cas said, undisturbed by Dean’s outburst. He removed the robe revealing a pair of plain white boxer shorts and picked up a t-shirt off of the floor (yet another habit he had probably learned from Dean). Dean watched the muscles in his back jump as he stretched his arms up over his head, leaning first to the right and then to the left before finally shrugging into the shirt. It was black and a little too loose on him. Dean smiled again when he realized it was probably one of his.
“So what, you collect coins now?” he said, he cleared his suddenly dry throat.
“Not coins. Pennies.” Cas said, he faced Dean again. “They are everywhere, people use them all the time but no one really takes much notice of them. They get left behind on counters, lost in couches, even thrown in the trash. People who complain about money or not being able to pay their bills still throw away pennies. If the stories I’ve heard are true, most people have a jar of them somewhere in their house collecting dust.”
Dean nodded. He felt his heart thump a little faster in his chest as he watched Cas’ eyes light up, full of so much earnest passion for something so small.
“Did you know pennies were the first coins ever made in the U.S.? Or that today, over two thirds of all coins made by the U.S. Mint are pennies?”
Dean shook his head. He stared down at the jar in his hands; spinning it again and watching the brighter coins shine in the light. They made a tiny clinking sound as they shifted against the glass.
“Abraham Lincoln wasn’t on the penny until 1909, one hundred years after he was born. His portrait is the only one that faces right but it wasn’t on purpose, it was just the choice of the designer. ”
“That’s really cool, Cas.” He said softly. When he looked up, Cas was smiling. It was one of those gummy smiles that made his nose crinkle and Dean’s heart race even faster.
“I usually sort them at night, “he said, “you could come help me sometime. If you want to.”
Dean laughed. “Yeah Cas, sure. I’ll bring the laptop, we can watch a movie and sort pennies.” They both smiled then. After a few moments Dean carefully put the mason jar back down.
“Ok well, I better go see what Sammy is doing. If I remember what I came down here for, I’ll .. uh… come back.” He said. He backed out of the room, shaking his head. Idly he wondered what movie would be the best background noise for sorting pennies.
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When he went to get dinner that night, he picked up three pennies off the sidewalk, one left on the edge of the restaurant counter, and two he found in the floorboard of the impala. He smiled to himself as they jingled in his pocket.