"Invisible Kid" by Metallica
"Invisible kid
Never see what he did
Got stuck where he hid
Fallen through the grid
Invisible kid
Got a place of his own
Where he'll never be known
Inward he's grown
Invisible kid
Locked away in his brain
From the shame and the pain
World down the drain
Invisible kid"
. . . . . . .
Just before the sky dimmed for the night, the tiny old woman walks out to the sidewalk in front of the cabin rental office just outside Mason City, Iowa; she's carrying a snow shovel and squinting over at the older of the two boys staying in unit eight on the end. He is nine, she knows because she asked. "I'm almost ten, Ma'am" he'd added jutting out his chin when she came looking for his father.
The tall dark-haired man had checked in with his two boys at the beginning of the November and paid for two weeks. Well, rent had come due two days ago, but there's still no sign of that big black car. She doesn't want any trouble – hasn't had any from the boys – but she's starting to worry. Starting to think she should call the cops or protective services, but most people in this part of Iowa tend to mind their own business, not act like a busybody, but she really can't remember last time she saw the dad.
"Want me to do that for you, Ma'am?" She startles. While she was thinking the boy had stopped messing with his shoe, looks like duct-taping a blowout by the toes, and has come up next to her. He gently disengages the shovel from her hand and starts scraping the thin layer of snow and ice from the walkway. "It's easier for me. I'll salt it for you too, if you'd like."
"You can't keep staying here for free." Her grumbling comes out harsher than she intended. The boy looks up, eyes sparkling green with unshed tears and fear. He ducks his head back and shovels faster, better, more carefully while he thinks.
"I'm a good worker, ma'am. I could work for you. My dad'll…" He has to pause to swallow because he's holding back tears. "Dad will be back soon. I'll work. I just can't leave with Sammy. He's just five."
"What's your name, boy?" She asks, and with a little earnest conversation she strikes a deal with Dean. One of the renters left late today, after her cleaning girl had left. Once he finishes shoveling, he's to come see her in the office. If he and his brother want to keep occupying a room, the boy is going to earn his way. "I'm not a charity," she grumbles.
Half an hour later, the old lady walks the young boy to unit five and unlocks the door. "You strip the bed while I go get towels and sheets. And you gather the trash. I'll be back with cleaners for the bathroom, too." She looks him over; he's a little small for his age, but she's seen his work ethic, taking care of his brother, gathering cans and bottles for the recycling refunds, school every day. It's a lot more than she'd expect of someone as young as him.
When she gets back with the cart, he's done everything she asked. She notices the last people left a few food items and that the boy, Dean, has piled them separately from the trash. He takes the clean towels and cleanser and disappears into the bathroom. She sorts out clean sheets, but before she can make the bed on her own, he's back standing on the other side helping. She perches in the chair and watches him finish, even running the vacuum.
When he finishes, the old lady is pleasantly surprised. It's as good as it gets around here. The boy even gathers the trash, and he sees her notice he's kept the old food separate. He ducks his head, and then with his face a bit red he raises it up to look her in the eye. "Is it okay if I keep the food, Ma'am?"
"I don't care what you do with it. Would just go into the trash if I took it."
Dean hefts the trash in one hand and his small stash of edibles in the other before slipping out the door with a quiet goodbye. His smile melts her heart a little, but makes her worry more. She might not turn him in to protective services yet, but now she's worried that the kids might be going hungry. And he's out there with holes in his shoes, a hoodie for warmth, and no gloves while shoveling snow. She decides she needs to talk to someone, starting with Mable at the Get'n Go on the corner.
. . . . . . .
Dean comes back into the little cabin where Sam is curled up in a blanket on the couch with his picture book, television on to some sitcom as background noise. "Hey, Sammy. You doing okay?" He moves to his brother and tousles his little brother's too long hair. His hand lingers in his brother's hair, and Sammy leans into like a cat for a moment before pulling away complaining that Dean's fingers are cold.
"You were gone a long time. Dean. I was scared." Sam sniffles a little. Dean mumbles an apology into the floppy hair and Sam smiles and snuggles closer. "I'm still hungry, Dean. Is there any more soup?"
Dean brightens; he loves that he has a surprise for his little brother. "No more soup, but I got you something." Dean goes over where he'd put the stuff he scavenged from the vacated cabin down. He pulls out the heel from the partial loaf of bread and spreads one small apple jelly packet over it. "Bread and jelly, Sammy. Eat up." Dean watches proudly as Sam eats and licks his fingers after. "Now let me go run ya a bath before bed. We've got school tomorrow."
Dean moves toward the bathroom, and Sam follows. The older brother has to pull down socks and underwear he had left drying after rinsing out in the tub yesterday. Laundry needs are becoming a problem. So is the lack of money for food and rent; even with Dean and Sam collecting bottles and cans on the way home from school every day. So far though, Dean has been managing to keep them fed. The lady at the corner store had pointed out the dented can section and let him buy those cans at two for the price of one.
Dad will be back soon. He promised, and he made Dean promise to take care of his little brother. Dean doesn't want to let Dad down; he'd been so upset and drinking so much right after they got here. Dad had been muttering about five years and Mary before he took off. He may even have been crying, but Dean doubts it. Dad tells him crying's for babies.
Once Dean has Sam bathed and dressed, he reads him a story and tucks him into bed. The nine year old then checks and touches up his salt lines, cleans up the dishes, packs a lunch of jelly sandwich for Sam, rinses out the socks and underwear the boys wore that day and pours himself a glass of water from the faucet to quiet his rumbling stomach. Only then does Dean sit down to do his own homework, using his pocket knife to sharpen the stub of pencil he has left. Tomorrow he'll make a point of finding a new pencil, and one for Sammy. Some kid'll drop one, or he'll just steal it. Sam said he needed one earlier and Dean doesn't want his brother to go without.
. . . . . . .
It's an unofficial committee of old busy-body biddies who watch the older boy guide his bundled up little brother to school the next morning. Amanda Marvin, the old lady from the cabin rentals, Mable Emery, whose son manages the Git'n Go, and their friend, Irene Potts, who takes in laundry and manages the little Washerteria, have convened to discuss what to do about the seemingly forgotten boys. They've tutted over Amanda's description of what happened last evening, and how the dad seems to have run off. Mable tells them how she's been cashing in their recycled cans and bottles and directing them to dented cans. Irene says the older boy rooted through her trash quietly collecting some laundry soap.
"Just don't seem right," Amanda Marvin gripes. "Thanksgiving is just a couple days away." She sucks on her false teeth a little. "He seems like a pretty good kid, but I don't think it's right, him not even having gloves or a jacket in this weather. And I think they're hungry." She trails off lost in thoughts of her own childhood hunger. Her dad had been a drinker who tended to go on benders. She suspects that's what is happening to these boys too, but they don't even have a mother to soften the blow.
Her friends are used to her grumbling, but they also know she has a kind heart. The three makes plans about maybe having another room ready for him to clean if the dad doesn't get back today. Mable says she could donate some food, including a box of cereal and a carton of milk the boy could find and keep when he cleans the room. Irene says she knows she can find a pair of gloves and warm socks that they can put in the room like the previous tenants had left them behind. She's going to look through lost and found and see if maybe she can find a jacket too. The three are engrossed in their planning and don't notice the minister from the local bible church standing next to them listening.
"Well, I'm not sure that's the right thing to do." The older ladies startle when Reverend Wright chimes in. "If these kids have been abandoned, we need to call the proper authorities." But the older women convince him to wait and at least meet the boys first.
. . . . . . .
It's been getting harder to find bottles and cans on the way back from school since it snowed. Dean doesn't know if that's because they're hidden under the white layer or because fewer people are drinking cold stuff now that the weather is so nippy, but he keeps looking. Sammy has been chattering away about the pilgrim pageant his kindergarten class had, and how people had brought treats to share. The little boy is excited about the holiday in two days – Dean's forehead creases as he starts worrying about letting Sammy down. Right now he has four cans for refund; that's not even enough for a can of soup.
Maybe Dad will be there, Dean tells himself. Maybe he's already there waiting for us, and he tugs at his little brother's mittened hand to try to make him move a little faster. But as they get closer to the cabins, Dean sees there's no big black car, and that old lady Marvin is standing outside waiting. He gulps down his fear. He doesn't know what he'll do if she kicks them out before Dad gets back.
. . . . . . .
John Winchester settles his broken leg trussed in old sticks and tied with strips from his t-shirt carefully in front of him. By the scratches he has been making in the dust in the floor of the cave in the Ozark Mountains, he knows he's been gone from his boys too long, that Dean doesn't have enough money to keep them in the cabin and probably not enough for food either. He takes out the picture he carried in his wallet and brushes his thumb across the faces of his sons.
"Oh, Mary, I really screwed up this time."