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body div#devskin0 hr { }

Wyatt awoke to a searing pain throughout his body, unable to move. It felt as if he was boiling from the inside and his heavy limbs were no help. He knew pain extremely well but this, he had never known that he could be in this much of it. In his moments of pain and finally waking, he hadn't noticed that he was staring into absolutely nothing. When he came upon the realization that he couldn't see anything, he paused.
He was breathing, so he wasn't dead. He tried to open his eyes, or whatever was left of them. Bringing his hands to his face, he could feel the texture of wet bandages and that one hand wasn't there. Immediately, he panicked. What had happened to his eyes? What happened to his hand?
Trying to stand, he'd rolled off the cot set up for him onto the floor. The thud had stirred the proxy resting on the stool near him. All he could hear was the stool's legs scratching against the floor and footsteps that grew distant. Wyatt tried to crawl, he didn't know where he was trying to go or what direction he was attempting to crawl in, but he knew he needed to get out of wherever he was and find out what happened to him. His mind was clouded, all memories blocked out by pain.
"He's awake," He began breathing heavier the more he tried to get out. Using one hand without a clue of where the other was, he clawed against the floor. Panicked, scared, confused, you name it and he felt it. The footsteps returned and he braced himself.
"Oh, this is quite the predicament." Wyatt looked up in the direction of the voice. Moments passed before he felt himself being grabbed and then lifted. He was placed on the cot.
"So, how are you feeling?" The same voice who announced the obvious moments before spoke up again.
"C-can't see." Wyatt muttered, having trouble with moving his lips. It felt as if he were tearing skin off of them with every word he muttered. "Can't see. I can't see."
"Ah, yes, I know." He was answered quickly. "Your eyes were carved out, after all."
"What?"
"Whatever trouble you were in before I found you," He cleared his throat. "It took your eyes. Frostbite claimed your hand and some of your fingers though. We took care of most of your wounds, James helped me tend them."
Wyatt was at a loss for words.
"No thank you?" There was a chuckle. "Get used to us, Wyatt. You'll be here for a bit."

The following weeks were filled with Reid attempting to help Wyatt cope with his lost sense. Overtime, Wyatt was able to jog some of his memories, ignoring the aching pain that haunted him every waking moment. His panic slowly faded, as did his dependency on sight. Once the time came, Reid had sent Wyatt on his way but first made sure he had a place to go.
I think so. He had answered.

It was a calm evening, disrupted by a series of weak knocks. Wyatt was lucky he'd memorized the path when he'd walked there every few days, and was even luckier that he had remembered the path. When the door opened, he hoped to hear the familiar voice and not a strange voice belonging to the other home owners.
"Hello?" Luck seemed to be with the American as he let out a breath of relief.
"D-Davey," Wyatt had a harder time getting the words out than he thought it'd be. But he had no choice. He couldn't remember any other place he was even remotely welcomed. "I need your help."

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Wyatt awoke to a searing pain throughout his body, unable to move. It felt as if he was boiling from the inside and his heavy limbs were no help. He knew pain extremely well but this, he had never known that he could be in this much of it. In his moments of pain and finally waking, he hadn't noticed that he was staring into absolutely nothing. When he came upon the realization that he couldn't see anything, he paused.
He was breathing, so he wasn't dead. He tried to open his eyes, or whatever was left of them. Bringing his hands to his face, he could feel the texture of wet bandages and that one hand wasn't there. Immediately, he panicked. What had happened to his eyes? What happened to his hand?
Trying to stand, he'd rolled off the cot set up for him onto the floor. The thud had stirred the proxy resting on the stool near him. All he could hear was the stool's legs scratching against the floor and footsteps that grew distant. Wyatt tried to crawl, he didn't know where he was trying to go or what direction he was attempting to crawl in, but he knew he needed to get out of wherever he was and find out what happened to him. His mind was clouded, all memories blocked out by pain.
"He's awake," He began breathing heavier the more he tried to get out. Using one hand without a clue of where the other was, he clawed against the floor. Panicked, scared, confused, you name it and he felt it. The footsteps returned and he braced himself.
"Oh, this is quite the predicament." Wyatt looked up in the direction of the voice. Moments passed before he felt himself being grabbed and then lifted. He was placed on the cot.
"So, how are you feeling?" The same voice who announced the obvious moments before spoke up again.
"C-can't see." Wyatt muttered, having trouble with moving his lips. It felt as if he were tearing skin off of them with every word he muttered. "Can't see. I can't see."
"Ah, yes, I know." He was answered quickly. "Your eyes were carved out, after all."
"What?"
"Whatever trouble you were in before I found you," He cleared his throat. "It took your eyes. Frostbite claimed your hand and some of your fingers though. We took care of most of your wounds, James helped me tend them."
Wyatt was at a loss for words.
"No thank you?" There was a chuckle. "Get used to us, Wyatt. You'll be here for a bit."

The following weeks were filled with Reid attempting to help Wyatt cope with his lost sense. Overtime, Wyatt was able to jog some of his memories, ignoring the aching pain that haunted him every waking moment. His panic slowly faded, as did his dependency on sight. Once the time came, Reid had sent Wyatt on his way but first made sure he had a place to go.
I think so. He had answered.

It was a calm evening, disrupted by a series of weak knocks. Wyatt was lucky he'd memorized the path when he'd walked there every few days, and was even luckier that he had remembered the path. When the door opened, he hoped to hear the familiar voice and not a strange voice belonging to the other home owners.
"Hello?" Luck seemed to be with the American as he let out a breath of relief.
"D-Davey," Wyatt had a harder time getting the words out than he thought it'd be. But he had no choice. He couldn't remember any other place he was even remotely welcomed. "I need your help."