Well I'm back! I've decided to continue with this story ONLY and get it out of the way. My updates will be slow and I'm really rusty as far as writing goes, but I hope you like this. I'm gonna have to reread Twilight and brush up on my Supernatural, but this is what I've managed for you. I hope you like it, even though it's mostly dialogue.

As I said, this is gonna be a test. The bomb has been dropped. I hope you find this POV interesting, because I'm going to try and stick to it.

I love you guys. As a quick update to my condition (YOU CAN SKIP THE REST OF THIS): I'm doing better. I've been going to therapy and I can walk again, but not very well or for very long. My arms work fine and I'm able to type still, just slower. I can talk and have no hideous scars other than my back where I had some glass shards.

I find it funny that I've chosen this story above the others. Yet writing this, and thinking it through, made me glad that this did not happen to me (though it did happen to my mother) and has been strangely therapeutic. Hope you guys enjoy my short chapter.

Still on the meds. I'm gonna go to bed. Love you guys. xD 3

There was a brief flash of consciousness, in which I was sucked from my comfortable void into a world of blaring sirens and voices. I felt out of place because there was nothing but darkness, and the pain I felt had grown into a tangible thing around me, prodding every gash and bruise. I knew from experience that panicking would be nothing more than painful, and I listened past the horrible screeching of sirens and yell of voices, and focused on the one good thing at the moment.

Hands.

They were warm, radiating heat through my chilled flesh from their resting points on the nape of my neck and my exposed arm. They were rough, calloused from years of some sort of hard work. There was a panicked voice near me that accompanied them, frenzied in what seemed to be remorse. "Look little girl, ya gotta wake up, there's ambulances here and sh—"

"Please step away from the injured woman sir, we'll take it from here."

The warmth and comfort the hands brought was gone as they and their regretful owner was forced away from me by cold voices, unaffected by the scene before them. I wanted to plead for the man to come back—but soon I was forced back into the hole I had been in before.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this," there was a foreign, uneasy man to my right. I felt wobbly even though I knew I was stationary, and there was a newfound chill in my veins, as well as the beeping of a nearby heart-monitor that alerted me I was in a hospital.

"I don't know what it is Sam, I really don't…but I can't leave her here, not like this. I mean, I did this to her. And for what? We both had been drinking—bet that thing didn't even exist. If I'd been a little more sober before leaving Seattle—"

"Dean, you can't beat yourself up like this! That thing had to be real—why else would the coordinates point to here? We need to find Dad, and we can't waste time because of some girl!"

"Are you listening to yourself?" I recognized the voice as its pitch rose in anger and frustration. I felt the ghost of warm hands on my skin. "I want to find Dad just as much as you do—hell, I bet I want to find him more than you do—"

"Take that back!" A chair screeched and thumped to the ground. I jumped and my heart did so as well, but neither of the men realized. I gripped the crisp, cool sheets below me in an attempt to stay quiet. "I want to find Dad just as much as you do!"

"Well you're the one that left to go to college! Who was the one who cared enough to stay behind and hunt with Dad all these years, huh?"

"Well at least I do care enough to—"

"Don't you dare tell me about caring, Sam, I'll mess up your pretty little ass!" They were both angry and the room was tense and swirling. Pain throbbed deep inside my temples, but I was unable to stop listening.

"I do care! More than you, apparently! Look at you, getting distracted because of some—some girl!"

"Getting distracted?" Both voices sounded livid at this point, and I felt fear creep up my spine and spread through my limbs, freezing me into my spot. I attempted to open my eyes.

A burning, searing pain coursed through my eyeballs, radiating out my sockets and wrapping around my skull, spreading down my neck and spine. I did not attempt to open them again.

"I maimed a girl! You heard what the doctor said! She can't just adjust to this in a day!"

"She's the one who didn't have her headlights on!"

"She's not the one who was doing eighty on a twenty-five back-road!"

I relaxed my muscles as the lingering tendrils of pain vanished, and assigned names to each voice. It seemed Dean wanted something, but Sam completely disagreed. And they'd lost their father somehow.

Pain of a completely different nature chewed at my heart, clawed my insides. "Dean, Dad is in trouble," Sam had calmed as he spoke. "I know we both want to find him, but you're losing sight of that!"

"Dad does this to help others! We do this to help others! Sammy…look at her. She's layin' there like that because I made her like that. Dad wants us to help others before we help him and dammit that's what I'm gonna do! Especially when it's my fault the girl needs help in the first place."

"But there's gotta be…" Sam started. His voice had lowered, more defeated.

"Doc said there's no family left of hers. She's lost everybody. Now look what I went and did. He said he isn't comfortable with two strangers takin' care of her but he's willing to let us sign her into our care for the time-being. We can stay with her and help her with everything she needs, and look for Dad on the side."

My thoughts slowed to a sluggish churn, chasing each other as confusion jammed my ability to process his words. I continued to listen, hoping he would explain what he had just said better. My fingers and toes felt cold.

"Dean…why? Why are you suddenly like this? You've never showed this kind of consideration before…"

"I don't know," Dean snapped, his voice short. "I don't know what I'm feeling. I just know I can't leave the girl here like this."

"Fine. But we have to look for Dad too."

"Sam, give the Dad thing a rest, why don't ya?"

A door opened to my left, and I relaxed at the familiar voice of an aging man. It took me a moment to remember the old doctor—the last time I had seen him was the night everything had begun to fall apart. I shivered and my nose stung with the urge to cry. "Hello gentlemen. I've been making calls to the police station and the case you have is a very interesting one. They have decided, in light of recent circumstances, that should Bella here give consent you will be allowed to stay with her. And either way…well, she is an adult. Now, though, she will be dependent for a short amount of time."

The doctor's steps were soft and sluggish as he came closer to me. I jumped at his touch on my wrist, and the painful wriggle of an IV tube in my vein. "Ah, she's awake."

"She is…?" The familiar voice, Dean, was a timid whisper, unlike the loudness of earlier.

"Bella?" Dr. Gerandy asked.

"Yeah," I croaked. "I'm awake."

"How long have you been awake dear?" he questioned as he let go of my arm, setting it back on the bed and moving away from me. I paused for a moment as the small grate of pencil on paper filled the room, next to breathing.

"I just woke up," I lied. There were chilled imprints where his fingers had been, and I had the urge to scrub at them, but I held still. My lip began to tremble as worry inside me—dread—increased, forcing tears to my eyes.

My eyes. I briefly wondered why my eyes had been so pained when I had tried to open them. I wanted to try again, but feared the searing agony too much. "Doctor…" I began hesitantly.

"Yes dear?" he nearly hummed.

"Is there something wrong with my eyes?"

The scribbling vanished, and all breathing stopped. My heart thumped loudly in my ears at the less than favorable reaction.

"Isabella…yes dear. In the car crash…" there was a long pause and my heart lurched to a stop, and I stopped breathing, my ears straining for his answer.

"Both of your eyes were pierced with glass. We were able to remove all of it, but cataracts have formed. Very opaque, inoperable cataracts." He stopped, and I scoured my mind for knowledge of cataracts. The word was familiar, and I began to remember that it was a blockage in the eye. It caused obstruction or loss of sight.

I tensed, my muscles curling in on themselves, my veins doused with ice, my head lightening as I grew faint.

"What do you mean?" my voice had cleared, but was nearly too quiet to hear.

"Bella…you're blind."