He was by my side more often that not. I learned to sense him after a while. He sat in silence for the most part, but his scent of apple pie and leather was a constant in my hospital room. Sometimes he would speak to me, but it was never anything major. It was only small talk, but I had to admit it was appreciated. I had no one else in the world other than the occasional nurse that would come in to check on me, speaking in a hushed voice about my chance of regaining my vision. The nurses would speak to Dean as if I couldn't hear them, but I could. My handicap had taken away my vision, but it in turn heightened my other senses. A part of me hated it. I didn't want to hear the nurse tell Dean that I would probably be blind for life, her tone brisk but pitying. I did not want to hear it because I did not want to believe it. Just a few days ago, I was out in the woods taking in everything nature had to offer. I could see the lush green leaves that surrounded me. I was engulfed by an endless blue sky with infinite entertainment via heaven's pillows. I was granted the privilege of seeing birds fly gracefully about or watching the sun as it creeps over the horizon to begin the day.
I sat in my bed and thought about those images, but the thing was, I couldn't even picture them anymore. Slowly, the images slipped from my memory and I was left blind once again. I subconsciously breathed out a frustrated sigh.
"Having a tough time with something?" The man by my side asked in his cool, suave voice.
"Everything." I grumbled, folding my arms like a petty child.
He laughed at my behavior. The sound that escaped his lips was a marvel to my ears, like a sweet whisper that was soft and almost seductive. "Well then let's talk about it. Tell me what's on that pretty little mind of yours." The man casually cooed. I could hear his body rub up against the chair he was in as he sat back.
I was silent for a moment. I knew that it was wrong and spiteful of me, but part of me did not seem to register that at the time. Part of me subconsciously refused to admit that I may never see daylight again, and that part of me made me remain silent. "It's nothing." I verbally pushed him away. I realize now that he had every right to hate me, or at least dislike me, but he did not. I was a royal brat to him, and yet he was still calm and unmoved when he talked to me.
"It's my job." The man continued, and the click of his mouth could only mean that he was half smiling. I had been around him long enough to learn of his mannerisms, and that was most certainly one of the more common. "I would like to know." He gently pried as if he were not even asking for information that I felt was devastating. He spoke the same way that one might speak a "hello" to an attractive stranger.
"I…" His tone took me by surprise. I felt it nearly impossible to say no to him, but then again, that's probably why he spoke in that alluring voice. "I am just… having a hard time remembering what things look like. I'm…" I felt my fists clench up as I spoke, my mind screaming at me to stop talking. "I'm worried that I'll never be able to remember what things look like. What if I am stuck in darkness my whole life?" My unseeing eyes went wide. I could not see through them, but I could still feel me disbelief being expressed through them.
"I'm glad you told me." Dean praised me. I cannot even begin to explain how much I longed to see the look on his face. I just knew based on the content way he spoke that there must be some sort of happiness displayed on his facial features, and yet, I could not see it. I had hated myself for the accident. I hated myself for being useless, but I could detect a note of joy in the man's voice, and that was something I needed desperately at the time. Perhaps if I had seen his face, I could have shared in his joy. "But, you know, I'm here to either help you get better so you can get surgery or help you live with the darkness. Either way, I know you'll make it through it." The man told me in his usual cool voice that sounded distant in some way, which rang through my ear and made me stop my train thought right in its tracks.
He was right. I could not change what happened to me; all I could do was live with it, no matter what that meant. That did not, however, take away the pain of knowing that I may never look out into the world again, and I may never go as far as I wanted in the world to make it a better place. "Thank you. I mean that." I responded sincerely, the sound of my own voice ringing in my ear as stunned and soft.
"No problem." I could hear the tips of his mouth click upwards in a grin that I knew perfectly well I may never see. "It's kind of my job."
I shook my head. He did not understand what it was I was trying to say. "I mean," I began to clarify in a firmer tone. "Thank you for putting up with me. I haven't been exactly pleasant for the past few days."
"Oh, you're fine." The man sounded surprised and almost shocked by my words. "Believe me. I've had much worse." He sounded certain of that, his voice vibrating with conviction.
"Really?" My interest had been peaked as I leaned forward in my seat. "How long have you been doing this job anyway?" I curiously asked. I knew next to nothing of my caretaker, and I found it almost to be rude.
I heard him bite his lip and give it a quick nip in thought, his weight simultaneously shifting in his chair. "About three years." He decided after a moment's thought.
"How old are you?" I asked, wondering if my strange caretaker was much older than I was.
"Well I'm not fifty if that's what you're thinking." He joked, his tone soft and playful. "I'm twenty five."
25. He was two years older than I was. Only two years… and yet he acted so much older, so much more mature. "Do you… live alone?" It was a logical question. It was just polite conversation. There was nothing to it. I kept telling myself these things, little did I know what it had potential to become.
He huffed a soft laugh that sounded like a verbal version of fresh silk, and I took a moment just to soak it in. "Yeah. I live alone. What about you? You got anyone?"
"No." I immediately responded. I knew I was alone. I had no friends, no family, and certainly no significant other. "Do you have any family?" I asked him as I recalled that most people did have a family. Family. I had had one at some point. What had happened to those days?
"Yeah. I've got a little brother who lives nearby, and my dad lives out of state, but he comes up for holidays." Dean made no comment on my quick denial of family. He seemed to not even notice it. Perhaps he was used to it.
"That sounds nice." I felt a miniscule smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I thought about how happy Dean must have been to have a family. "You must like having a brother." It was not my intention for it to come out sounding troubled, but it must have based on the way Dean responded.
"I do, and I'm really lucky to have him." He whispered as if he knew. He spoke like he knew about what had happened to my family, but he could not have. Unless he read up on me, but even then, he could never have known the full story. I was the only one who could.
I nodded my head very slowly as I thought over the words that brought back a few surging memories that I had previously struggled to bury. "Yes. You are. What is he like?" I asked very sheepishly. I'm not entirely sure what it was that I was afraid of. Perhaps I was afraid of realizing what I was missing and discovering a brand new gap in my soul.
"Sam." The man said, and I'm certain that if a smile could be turned into audio, that is what it would sound like. It would sound like the pure affection that rang through Dean's voice at that moment. "Sam's his name, and he's a good kid. Well, he's not really a kid. He's 21, but we grew up together, and he was always the nicer of the two of us, the smarter one too. The kid's gentle and kind-hearted. I just know he'll make a good lawyer someday." Dean sounded so proud that I could have guessed that he had raised the boy himself.
"He sounds great." Much like you, Dean. My mind added, but I was afraid to admit that. My admiration for my caretaker was not of importance at the time.
"He is. He's a real blessing." Dean responded, his voice light and genuine.
"And blessings are rare, not everyone gets one." I muttered, feeling my memories and darker side begin to seep into my mind and overtake my thought process.
"See, I don't think that's true." Dean responded with certainty that I still do not know where he found. "Blessings are everywhere. Sometimes, you're too busy counting your burdens to notice them."
I could hear it, and I swear I could feel the smugness just ebbing from his voice. I knew perfectly well what that implicated, and I can tell you that it did not sit well with me in the slightest, but perhaps that was just because of how true it was.
I was silent for a moment, and in that moment I wondered how much he knew. The thing was, I refused to acknowledge it at the time. I am a burden. I'm a burden to Dean, the world, and myself. That's why I have no one. I did not wish to speak of my self loathing feelings aloud or give him the satisfaction of proving him right. "I'm going to sleep." I muttered, and he did not seem to mind. I felt no immediate change in the air, only a slight shift to a more quiet and patient background.
"Goodnight, Castiel." Dean whispered as he leaned back in his chair. I could hear his breathing begin to slow and steady itself into a rhythmic pace that suggested that he too wanted to sleep, and I allowed him to. He had been by my side for most of the hospital time I could recall, and he would be there for me as long as I needed him.
