trans_9 | Reporting back [R for Cussing]

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Reporting back [R for Cussing]

Having shaken off Chaucer after the huge meeting of all the crewmates, Dean is finally getting the chance to head back to the Med Bay to fill Sam in. Of course, still being off balance and out of sorts, Sam had had to stay behind, and as much as Dean didn't like leaving him places by himself for extended periods of time (because the last time that had happened, Dean had ended up in Hell), he'd figured he should go anyway. Meet some people, get a grip on the situation, and protect the underdogs. Same old, same old.

But he's glad to be back, and when he pushes through the door and heads to Sam's bed, he's grinning.

"Heeey, Sammy. You missed a helluva meeting," says Dean, pulling at the plant suit at his forearms. He's still not used to having it on, and he really misses his old clothes. Of course, he's got his amulet, so he's grateful for that, at least.

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"From what my scan is showing me, whoever operated on you managed to put you back together, but left some of the wiring undone, so to speak." Bones said. "The organic tissue is there for your brain to function, but it's not operating the way it should...from what I'm seeing, you should be having real difficulty in transitioning short term memory into long term memory, causing you to forget chunks of your recent past. It's also possible that some of your long term memories might feel...off."

"Whoever operated on you saved your life, but I'm betting either didn't have the technology to finish the job or the common sense to finish the job. If it was the green guy...between you and me, I'd bet the latter."

An audible growl comes from Dean's side of the room, and he's flicking through the pages agitatedly. He doesn't like hearing about his brother's brain damage; it causes his guilt to intensify and it makes him extremely uncomfortable.

He should've been there. He should've been watching out for him.

Dean can't concentrate on the magazine, so he throws it back on Sawyer's bed, consequences be damned. Forgetting about his anger with Sam, he strides over to the other two, mumbling about 'kicking cabbage butt's ass'.

Looking pointedly at McCoy, he grinds out, "So you can fix him, right? Make Sammy alright?"

"Giving guarantees in the medical field is never a good idea...the human body is more intricate than any machine they can create." McCoy said. "That said, whoever did this wasn't incompetent...he saved your life, after all...and it's possible that you'd heal just fine on your own in time. I do think, however, that I can speed up the process."

He picks up the Ipod-sized thing. "This device is designed to repair brain issues...blood clots, pressure, etc. I think it can at least get you on the road to recovery a bit faster than what you're on now. All we can do at this point is try...and it's all I can do until I learn about what this ship has in the way of medicine."

He picks up the hypospray. "I do need to sedate you in order for the process to work at its best. You ready?"

Sam sucked in a breath, steeling himself for whatever treatment Dr. McCoy was about to give him. He looked at Dean one last time as if seeking his approval before finally answering.

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam said, laying back in the bed. "Let's just get it over with."

Dean glances at Sam just about the same time as Sam looks at him. His expression's suspicious, because Dean doesn't trust anything, really, but this doctor guy is saying he can help Sam.

For a minute, Dean's silent, and then he settles himself against the wall, watching McCoy with a steady stare. If the guy does anything that looks remotely wrong, Dean will be on it in an instant.

"If Sam's alright with it, go ahead." Dean says, putting in his input even though Sam's already agreed.

"Ok, lay down, the sedative hits fast." McCoy said. Once the patient was horizontal, he pressed the hypospray to the base of Sam's neck, and one second later, a burst of air is audible. One second later, Sam's eyes closed.

He then picked up the unidentified device, placed it on Sam's forehead, and pressed one or two buttons. It came to life with a couple quiet beeps and lights. "This will take a couple minutes." he says to Dean, stepping back from Sam.

Dean watches closely, making sure, as usual, that nothing bad is happening. Of course, nothing bad is happening and probably won't, but Dean can never keep too close of an eye on Sam.

When McCoy speaks to him, Dean grunts in reply, watching the machine do its work.

Roughly two minutes later, the machine stops. McCoy removes it, and then goes back to his tricorder. After about thirty seconds, he smiles. "Old man still has it."

He takes the hypospray and does something to it before administering it again into Sam. He'll feel the effects to wake up within a few seconds.

"Don't sit up real fast, now." Bones said. "Probably going to be a little dizzy, considering your brain just did about 3 months worth of natural progressive healing in roughly 90 seconds."

Sam nodded at Dr. McCoy's advice before slowly and carefully rising to a seated position. Already, he felt a little better. Whatever the doc had done seemed to have worked.

"So when can I get up and get going?" Sam asked. "'Cause I'm gonna start getting bed sores if I've gotta stay here much longer."

"Well, the physical parts done...you should be able to convert short term memory into long term memory a bit better, but that doesn't mean all the files are still up there." Bones says, pointing to his head. "I heard rumor of some people on this ship with telepathy or something..."

"Yeah, I know two of 'em," Dean speaks up at this point, moving closer to get a better look at Sam. He's not giving his little brother much choice, leaning in and checking the back of Sam's neck where the hypospray was administered. Deal with it, Sam, or you'll have an even bitchier brother.

"We'll talk to them." Dean continues, satisfied with his check, and then glances at Bones. "Thanks, Doc."

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Reporting back [R for Cussing]

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