this is a friendly little post to say: if you find that doing stretches for wrist/shoulders/back/whatever either 1) don't help or 2) seem to make your pain worse, then please stop doing the stretches. the answer here is not to keep doing them becuase if you push through the pain eventually it'll get better, right?
listen to me. listen. stretches never did anything for me and at age 25 i learned i had hEDS, which meant 1) most stretches would never help me 2) depending on the stretch, could hurt me, so please. if they aren't helping. please do not keep doing them hoping that they will "eventually" help.
look into whether or not you have a hypermobility disorder or EDS or smth, great resource here: www.ehlers-danlos.com
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Dean had walked a little too much last night.
He could tell because now, hours later, after a longer research session for a local case, during which his knee joints had the time to stiffen up and set in place, it hurt to move them. Dean was sure that if he put his hand on that spot right above the knee, he'd be able to feel some swelling there.
He yawned, then stretched with a low groan at how his spine popped, the muscles in his lower back aching after being forced to keep him upright and then hunched over old books for hours.
Sam, who was sitting next to Dean, hands grasping some giant tome that seemed like the most boring reading ever, but which Sammy seemed completely invested in, looked up from the yellowed pages. He raised his eyebrow at his older brother.
"You good?"
If glares could kill, Sam would have long been a goner. Since that wasn't the case, all Dean could do was give it all he had, hoping he'd manage to cook up something looking suitably nasty.
The effort put into his glare seemed to have no reducing effect on Sam's smirk.
"I'm good," Dean scoffed at his brother, but his left hand traveled down to massage his aching knee, and fuck, yeah, it was swollen. Brow furrowing, Dean closed his eyes against the feeling of his fingers working away at the tender tissue, not really taking away the pain, but spreading it around a bigger area. It didn't help much, but it was something.
When Dean opened his eyes again, he was welcomed by Sammy's concerned look.
"Your knees giving you shit again?"
Dean chuckled bitterly.
It wasn't pretty.
His legs have been getting worse, letting him know loud and clear he wasn't young anymore. It wasn't entirely unexpected. Three decades of fighting, stress and, he was willing to admit this - poor dietary choices, had to catch up with him at some point. Still. It's a little different just thinking about it versus when it's actually happening to you.
The pain also served to make him miss Cas more. The angel was rarely around, and when he was, Dean struggled to ask for help. He didn't want to make Cas think he only cared about the angel's healing mojo (and the words to the contrary... wouldn't make their way past Dean's lips somehow) so often times Cas appeared and disappeared to Dean in pain, completely oblivious to it.
There was that small part of Dean, too, that still believed he may have deserved it.
"Yeah..." he nodded in response to Sammy's question. No reason to hide it, someone standing fifty feet away could see how swollen and sore Dean's knee looked now. There was bitterness to his voice when he said: "I'm getting old, Sammy."
Somehow, that didn't earn him the grimace he was expecting, or the bitchface he could see in his mind's eye. Instead, Sam looked thoughtful for a minute, then simply smiled fondly.
"Yeah," he agreed, going back to his book. "Yeah, you are."
---
I'm pretty sure I'll never finish 90% of what I started writing, so I'm gonna subject you to the unfinished bits.
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