Recovering from the Body Eccentric

[severus-snape1.livejournal.com]

~Snape returns to consciousness slowly. Unlike before, when he fell from the edge of Level 3, he's not sure whether he'd died. Everything is a bit fuzzy, and the pains he feels are mostly dull and throbbing, almost separate from him. But the most noticeable thing isn't what's happening, it's what isn't. He's lying completely still--no thrashing, no strangling, no unexpected, unplanned movements. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest as he lies on his back, breathing in shallow breaths. The cycle must have reached its end, and Snape reasons that he must have control again. Either that, or his neck is now truly broken and he's paralyzed to the point where not even his rebellious muscles can move him.

He takes a deep breath and instantly regrets the attempt; his throat is still too damaged to allow for much more than the shallow breaths he's been taking, and certainly not well enough to call out loudly for Wesley. So, he'll just have to find Wesley first, which turns out to be easier said than done, even for Snape.

It takes him a long time to coordinate and command enough muscles to roll him to his side, but even this small achievement feel wonderful, since he can confirm that he is indeed his body's master again. He sees Wesley now, further down the tunnel and lying as still as Snape had been. Slowly and carefully, Snape starts to try to get to his hands and knees, but finds that concentrating on moving legs and arms together is too much, especially when his legs in particular seem less willing to submit to his control again. In the end he drags himself laboriously, inch by inch, resting frequently when his struggles increase his breathing rate enough to bother his throat, to Wesley's side, where he promptly collapses. While resting his upper body, however, he practices exerting dominance over the lower, flexing ankles and knees until he feels them begin to respond as they should.

His neck is still relatively unresponsive; it lists to the left so that he feels like the RCA dog pictured on some of his muggle father's phonograph records. However, he feels compelled to check on Wesley, so he heaves himself up on one arm, head tipped to the side, and clumsily puts the other on Wesley's shoulder.~

Pryce? ~he queries, the name coming out hoarse and painful.~