They rushed me into the bustling place in such a hurry, but I could see none of it, but I suppose that was to be expected. Everything was a haze at the time, but I knew that I had been in some sort of accident. What it was or the extent of the damage was not really anything I knew at the time.
My eyes were closed, refusing to meet the bright hospital lights as the paramedics rushed me through the emergency hallway and towards what I could only assume to be a critical care room. I heard various things being called out, but I could not quite make out what each was, nor did I really care at the time. I did not really have the equipment to care at the time. I was dazed, far too out of it to even know what was going on around me.
They must have gotten me into a room because I felt a prick in my arm, and I slightly bristled at the touch. It was sudden and quite unexpected.
"It's an IV, Mr. Novak." A soft feminine voice told me.
"Give him an anaesthetic." Another voice, this one distinctly male with a rugged undertone, ordered from my other side.
That was all I remembered of that procedure. Whatever happened, I may never know. I felt the world spin around me as I slipped from consciousness, but little did I know what that actually meant for me.
I opened my eyes, but I was not greeted by the usual morning sunlight. It was pitch black when I awoke. I blinked a few times, trying to determine if I could see a thing in the sheer dark, but the room was too dark to see in, so I assumed it to be an ungodly hour of the night. I assumed that meant I should go back to bed because there was no point in staying awake during the night, so I did exactly that.
I settled back down into my pillow, eyes restfully closed, but I was disturbed by what sounded like the creaking of a door.
I slowly opened my eyes, hoping that the light from the outside of the room that crept through the opening of the door would help to illuminate my room in just the slightest, but I was granted no such privilege.
"Ah, Mr. Novak. I see you are awake." I heard a smooth female voice say, but I could not see anyone. More importantly, I could not see anything, and it scared me more than much of anything else I had ever experienced.
"Where are you?" I warily asked, afraid that she might say something that proved my fear correct.
There was a pause, and I could hear my visitor shift closer to me. "Right by your bedside." She sounded confused when she spoke to me, but I could not say I blame her. I was too, but my confusion was overridden by fear.
"Could you turn the light on?" It took everything in me not to choke on my words. I felt my body begin to tremble as I lay in that hospital bed. Some part of me just knew what she was going to say, but I could not accept it. The fighter in me refused to accept that possibility.
"It's ten in the morning, but if that's what you want…" The woman sounded quite uncertain, doubt ringing from her tone as I heard her rustle to move.
I felt my body suddenly tense. My trembling came to a sudden stop. That was it. That proved it. There was no more denying the facts. "Am I… blind?" I choked the words out.
There was a long pause, and for a moment I thought she may have left me there. "My job is to check on you every so often and tend to you. I don't have to memorize your case, but it doesn't take a doctor to tell you that." The woman responded, her tone rounded with sympathy despite her sarcasm.
I said nothing in response. I had no words. I had never thought something like that would happen to me. I was on my way to med school. I was going to graduate college in a month. I was so close. I was going to make a name for myself. I was going to matter, but in that moment all of those prospects left me alone and helpless. I was a blind hospital patient. I couldn't even see. What was I supposed to do? How could I change the world? I couldn't even see it anymore, yet alone do anything for it.
In that moment I did not just lose my vision: I lost all of my self worth.
"I have to check on another patient. Call me if you need anything." The woman reluctantly spoke. I think she could see that I was having a hard time. She worked in a hospital after all. Surely she knew that shock was a natural reaction. I heard her scoot towards the door before it creaked open again, and I assumed I was left alone.
I was left alone with what I thought I had no use for: myself.
Waking up was a strange experience. I felt next to no difference when I next awoke, only the slight shift in awareness. The world only seemed to be darker around me, but I could make out noises I had never really stopped to hear before. I heard the steady hum of hospital machinery. I heard the scuffling of shoes across the hallway. I heard a bird chirping in the distance. I could hear some children playing far off, but most importantly I could hear someone enter my room.
I straightened myself up and perked my ears, listening intently. I could not even begin to explain how frustrating it was not to be able to see the face of the newcomer. My whole life had consisted of the pleasure of reading people based on their appearance: their expressions, their attire, the way their face changes as they speak, the look in their eyes, their particular mannerisms… there was so much to see when someone talked. I could read people before, and I was good at it, but then I became blind, and I could not even read my own thoughts properly anymore. I knew nothing about my visitor other than the fact that he distinctly smelled like apple pie and leather, and his shoes slightly squeaked on the floor. Apart from that, I could sense nothing else. As a matter of fact, I had only assumed him to be male. It was not until he spoke that I was more certain of that fact.
"Hey, Castiel. My name's Dean Winchester, and I'm here to help you out." The man spoke in a smooth voice that rang through the room like a breeze. He sounded relatively young, but that was just a guess. I could, however, come to the conclusion that he often smooth talked and flirted his way out of situations. I could tell because of that sly tone to his voice that was present even as he introduced himself to me.
"Help me how?" I countered warily. I did not know the man. He could want to abduct me. Perhaps he was not even hospital staff. How could I possibly know? I could not see him, so I could not see if he was wearing hospital attire. He did smell of leather, and that led me to be slightly afraid of the man, but, truth be told, I would not have cared if he had killed me. I was as good as dead in my mind already.
The man, Dean as he had said, let out a soft sound close to a chuckle. It was a genuine sound that sounded slightly amused, which allowed me to release a bit of my tension. "I'm a specialist." He replied, and I could almost hear a bit of amusement in his voice. "I work with the blind."
The way his tongue clicked the tip of his mouth as he said the word 'blind' was audible from my spot on my bed, which was not something I had ever imagined myself hearing, but I had also never imagined myself being blind, so I dismissed it.
I could not keep the contempt from entering my voice. I held the man himself in no sense of spite, but only myself. I was the failure, not him. "Don't treat me like I'm helpless. I can manage on my own." It was a completely false statement. I felt helpless and lost, but I wanted to prove myself otherwise. I wanted to find worth in myself.
"I'm sure you can." The man's voice was dripping with sarcasm, and I could almost envision him sitting in a chair wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and a smirk. "But my job is to watch over you, so I'll just make sure you adjust okay."
"Oh." Was my only response. It was at that moment that I realized I had been very rude. The man was trying to help me, but my stubbornness insisted that I was a lost cause. "I can live with that." Were the strange words that flowed out of my mouth.
"Good because otherwise we might have a problem." The man's smooth voice filled the air again.
"I have enough of those." I replied without any thought.
"We all do, but I'm here to help you out with a few." The man casually responded, giving me the impression that he had done this quite a few times before.
"I…" I felt my fist clench in frustration with myself. I could not be like this. I was supposed to change the world. I was never supposed to be helpless and relying on someone else. "Thank you." I whispered in defeat.
I felt him lean in, the crunch of my bedsheet as he rested his arm on top of the mattress and his hand on top of mine. "Thank me when you're up and running again." He whispered back, and in that moment, I had a kindling hope. It was vague, and it was small, but at least it was there.