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trans_92009-04-10 12:20 am
thenameissam.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92009-04-10 12:20 am
Entry tags:
Road to Recovery [R for Cussing] [Open]
Sam sat on his bed in the medbay with a pad of paper resting on a tray and a pen gripped in his hand. He didn't know where she had found it, but Dr. Grey had given them to him--along with a set of cards with a series of shapes drawn on them--and told Sam to trace the shapes onto the paper. It was an effort to rebuild his hand-eye coordination, just one of the many of the things, along with his memory and balance, that had been damaged when the bullet entered his brain.
His brow was knitted together as he focused on the image of the black triangle on the card that was visible through the paper. He pressed the tip of the pen against the paper and carefully forced his hand to move a long the lines of the triangle. Almost instantly, his hand shook with slight tremors, pushing the pen off course, which forced him to correct. This, in turn, would often result in an over-correction which sent the pen drifting off in the opposite direction and thus creating a wavy line with 'mountains' and 'valleys' instead of one that was crisp, clean and straight.
He felt like a toddler, again, trying to color within the lines.
"God DAMN it!" he cursed when his hand jerked, sending the pen off in a perpendicular direction to the one he wanted it to go. "I can't do this!"
His brow was knitted together as he focused on the image of the black triangle on the card that was visible through the paper. He pressed the tip of the pen against the paper and carefully forced his hand to move a long the lines of the triangle. Almost instantly, his hand shook with slight tremors, pushing the pen off course, which forced him to correct. This, in turn, would often result in an over-correction which sent the pen drifting off in the opposite direction and thus creating a wavy line with 'mountains' and 'valleys' instead of one that was crisp, clean and straight.
He felt like a toddler, again, trying to color within the lines.
"God DAMN it!" he cursed when his hand jerked, sending the pen off in a perpendicular direction to the one he wanted it to go. "I can't do this!"
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Sorry, Dean. Now he's really looking at you like you're crazy.
"I don't know which side Stacy's on. Hell, to tell you the truth, I don't know which side I'm on, yet."
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"What are the sides? Has anybody figured out why we're on this thing?"
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"Nope."
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Pause, and he scowls at the thought of Castiel. "Man, this is all we need. Friggin' ship."
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