vanillafluffy | SPN 4.1 fic -- None So Blind

Title: None So Blind
Authored by:

vanillafluffy
Spoilers for 4.1: Features Castiel, Pamela, OFC
Rating/Work-safeness: PG on general principles
Approximate word count: 2000
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Kripke, et al. Apologies to the Biblical book of Job, chapters 3 & 4, as well as John Milton's Paradise Lost.
Betaed by:

pwcorgigirl
Summary: A young woman who has been blinded in a freak accident has a vistor.

None So Blind

Edna hates the hospital. They won't let her smoke, and she's about to start climbing the walls---well, she would if she wasn't stuck in this wheelchair. Heather from church visited yesterday and brought some crochet to keep her occupied, and the afghan she's working on helps a little at keeping the craving for a pack of Pall Malls at bay. Edna's staked out a space near the window where the light is good and hopes the staff won't badger her too much about exercising her shiny new knee.

There's another woman in her room today---transferred from the ICU a few hours ago. She's half Edna's age, and what you can see of her face is as delicate as porcelain. The staff has been talking about her---she had some kind of freak accident that burned her eyes right out of her head. Nobody seems to know what happened---she isn't burned anywhere else---and Edna, who likes a good mystery, tries to think of what could've happened.

Faulty pilot light on her stove, or she went to light a burner and it flared up? Something like that, there's bound to be a lawsuit in it. She could get a good settlement, being young and pretty and tragic. It wouldn't make up for being blind for the rest of her life, but at least she'd be comfortable financially. Maybe she was monkeying around with illegal fireworks and something blew up in her face? Except it's way past the 4th of July, and why would a grown woman do a fool thing like that? Some chemicals cause burns, Edna knows, from chain-smoking her way through thousands of detective shows on TV. Maybe it's really acid burns---some romantic rival trying to do her in....

A hint of movement causes Edna to look toward the doorway, tensing up. They're probably going to make her do laps around the nurse's station again, when what she really wants is to light up a coffin nail and have a cup of coffee---not that they let anyone have real coffee around here.

No, indeed. The fellow standing in the doorway, looking at her roommate isn't anybody who works here. Nope, he's got on a good suit, charcoal grey---Edna worked in dry cleaning for thirty-five years, she knows quality tailoring when she sees it---and you could see your face in his polished black wingtips. He's young---to Edna, anyone on the sunny side of 35 is a baby---and from the neat, conservative way he's dressed, her first thought is that he's the gal's lawyer and someone's going to catch Hell. Or maybe her insurance agent, and she'll get a big payout. Although, he isn't carrying a briefcase....

The deft rhythm of hook plying yarn pauses as the newcomer walks into the room. He notices her scrutiny and smiles in her direction. She's seventy-four years old, and she finds she can still blush. My, he's a handsome one. Such pretty blue eyes!

The blind gal has turned her head at the sound of footsteps. As he glides past, Edna notices the blue pinstripes in his suit, complimenting his vivid eyes. He approaches the woman's bedside without haste and says, "Hello, Pamela. How are you?"

"I have no eyes," she says flatly. No social pleasantries here. Just the facts, as Jack Webb used to say.

"I'm sorry," he replies, and Edna can hear the regret behind the words.

Pamela makes a little palms-up gesture. "It's not your fault."

"Do you blame God?"

"Wonderful," she says, bitterness in her tone for the first time. "You're one of those. A Bible-thumper. Come to tell me it's my own sinful fault for what's happened?"

He's not carrying a Bible, either, and he's not the hospital chaplain, who has visited the floor several time since Edna was admitted. She studies the interlocking design of blue yarn on her lap and her hands work with ease of decades' practice as she listens to the fascinating conversation happening not ten feet away. Maybe now she'll find out what really happened in that so-called freak accident.

"Not at all." What a soothing voice he has. "Do you believe it was sinful?"

"No. I. Do. Not." Pamela bites off each word. "I used my God-given gift to try to help someone, and you can take that crap about pride going before a fall and stick it where the sun doesn't shine. I've fallen, okay? Nobody knows it more than I do."

"Would you do it again, if you knew what you know now?"

It? What 'it'? For goodness sake, curiosity killed the cat, and right now Edna June Blankenship is consumed with the need to know.

Pamela crosses her arms in front of her. "That's the most ridiculous question I've ever heard. Because if I knew then what I know now, then I wouldn't have to do it again, because I'd already know!"

Her visitor laughs, not mocking her, but genuinely amused. "Touché’! A very astute point."

"My gift is gone, and that's worse than being blind."

What's she talking about? What could possibly be worse than what's happened to her? The eavesdropper has almost forgotten to breathe, this is so juicy. She watches as the blue-eyed man takes Pamela's hands in his.

"May I pray with you?"

There's an indelicate snort from the seated figure. "Go ahead," she says indifferently. "It couldn't hurt."

He draws a deep breath, and when he begins to speak, his voice fills the room, "Let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark; let it look for light, but have none; neither let it see the dawning of the day; Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it from above, either let the light shine upon it. Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul. For that which I greatly feared is come upon me."

Edna is reminded of some of the more fervent preachers she's heard over the years. He has a voice that could mesmerize a crowd, sure enough. But what kind of spiritual message is this for a young woman who's been blinded so cruelly?

"Fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up. It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof; and image was before mine eyes. There was silence and I heard a voice saying, 'Shall mortal man be more just than God? Shall a man be more pure than his maker?' Behold, he put no trust in his servants, and his angels he charged with folly...."

"You!" she interrupts him, her tone accusing. She's jerked her hands from his and sounds wrathful. "Castiel! How dare you---?!

He rests his right hand on her shoulder. "The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven." Castiel bends and presses his lips to her forehead, just above the bandages. "Be well, Pamela."

The young woman's chest rises and falls, but she's silent and motionless as Castiel straightens up. He catches Edna's gaze, and this time Edna's so flustered her hands shake. She's no wiser about who he is than she was when he walked into the room, and as he nods courteously to her as he exits, she feels an odd combination of shyness and an excitement she hasn't experienced in years.

She pivots her wheelchair to view his departure. He strides down the hall, pushes the button for the elevator and the doors open at once. He gives a little wave of his hand, as if he knows she's been watching---although it might be for the benefit of someone at the nurses' station---and the doors slide shut, the closing act of a play.

The sunlit room is very still. Edna wants to say something, wants to ask Pamela who that beautiful, mysterious man was, but she can't seem to put two words together. Too bad Heather wouldn't bring her a pack of smokes because right now she'd hike up to the roof if she could just have a couple of puffs. She sits there, crochet project on her lap, waiting for some clue from the blind woman.

After five minutes or so, Pamela starts upright, as if she'd dozed off. "Castiel?"

"He's gone," Edna volunteers, and she’s suddenly glad for the chance to exhale. "He left a few minutes ago."

It's on the tip of her tongue to ask, "Who was that?", but something about the other woman's expression stops her.

"What a piece of work!" Pamela says with fury. She makes an impatient growl and rubs at the white gauze on her face.

"Maybe you shouldn't do that," Edna cautions as Pamela starts peeling back the surgical adhesive tape securing the dressing.

"It itches, damn it!"

Edna has a morbid desire to see what's under there. Usually itching means a wound is getting better, although better won't ever mean as good as new for eyeless Pamela. Oh, dear. She feels a little light-headed when the bandages come off---she's never seen anything like those dark hollows in an otherwise lovely face---and Edna prays she won't betray her revulsion and hurt the poor girl's feelings.

"That's much better!" The younger woman grins. That's a matter of opinion, Edna thinks.

Pamela swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands, stretching with a little shimmy, graceful as a belly dancer. She takes three steps to her right, pressing her palms against the window pane, the light illuminating her dark beauty as she poses in sunbeams. There's a serene smile on her disfigured face, and for a moment, Edna's afraid the girl's going to throw herself right through the glass and finish whatever 'it' started.

"It's okay," Pamela says, turning to her. She still has the wad of gauze clutched in her left hand, and to Edna's dumbfounded amazement, she tosses it into the little trash can beside Edna's chair. Right in, two points, and how she managed that from six feet away with no eyes is nothing short of incredible. "What are you making?"

"An afghan," Edna says, spreading it so the pattern is visible---and isn't that silly of her? It isn't as if Pamela can see it. "The women's group at my church makes lap rugs and throws for the crisis center."

"What a pretty design! It's like snowflakes. My granny used to crochet, but it was all stuff like doilies and dresser scarves."

A cold chill runs up Edna's back, because how could Pamela possibly know---? The ball of yarn she's working with spins off her lap and rolls to hide behind the far curtain. Pamela retrieves it and hands it back with a smile. "That's a gorgeous shade of blue."

"Blue is my favorite color," Edna tells her, blinking. It isn't like she could've heard it hit the floor, and she didn't find the yarn and follow it to the ball, no, she moved the curtain aside and picked it up as if it was in plain sight.

"Mine, too. And really, Edna, this is a good time for you to quit smoking." She crosses the room without bumping into anything. "You should ask Heather to toss that carton you've got stashed in your freezer, and the two packs in your nightstand so they won't be there to tempt you when you get home."

Edna stares at her, mouth open.

Pamela laughs. "Life is full of second chances," she comments. She rummages in the room's small closet, comes out with jeans and a blouse and puts them on, moving as confidently as if she had eyes. She even pauses in front of the mirror over the sink, fluffing her dark hair to her satisfaction.

"Where are you going?" Edna asks as Pamela saunters toward the door.

"I need to get ahold of Grumpy and Bashful," are her parting words, another crazy detail in the whole strange interlude. "I've got work to do."

***

Feedback is shiny.

EDIT: For a porntastic look at what happens when Pam catches up with Grumpy and Bashful, I highly recommend "Double Blind" (http://thenyxie.livejournal.com/511879.html?thread=7334535#t7334535) by

thenyxie!

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From:

jdsgirlbev.livejournal.com

Nice! Good balance between spooky and prosaic.

From:

Not my circus, not my monkeys....

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