Fic: The Many Uses of Foam
Posted to ohsam comment-fic meme in answer to the following prompt:
Sam is a tall motherfucker, and you know what happens to super-tall motherfuckers? Their joints hurt a LOT. (I think. Right?) So as he gets "older" -- older being like, over 30 -- his knees start to give out, and he doesn't hobble, Dean, thank you, but he does have a bit of trouble getting going in the mornings. Elastic knee braces help some, but you know what helps even MORE? .... me neither? What helps even MORE? Can it be surprising? SURPRISE ME WITH WHAT HELPS POOR SAMMY'S ENORMOUS KNEES
"Sam?" Dean was staring at the...object beside his brother's bed as if he expected it to jump out and begin gnawing on his feet like a puppy. "What the fuck is this for?" He poked at it with a bare toe. It was a blue tube, made some sort of foam padding, a little softer than styrofoam, and about as thick as his leg.
Sam finally emerged from the bathroom. "What's what for?"
"This foam thing. Might be able to cut it into a decent gun silencer, but it'll make a lousy club."
"Oh. That. It's..."
"It's WHAT?"
"It's a foam roller."
"What the hell do you have a foam roller for?"
Sam chewed on his lip, then drew in a rapid breath and spit it out. "Iuseitonmylegs."
Dean raised an eyebrow.
"My knees. It helps with my knees."
"Do I even want to know how a foam camshaft helps your knees?"
"It gets the knots out of the muscles around the knee. So far, I think it's working."
Hunters lived a life as demanding as that of any professional athlete, without the world-class orthopedic care to go along with it. After almost two decades in the field, Sam's joints had begun to seriously show the effects, and aspirin wasn't cutting it anymore. The knees were the worst off, especially the left, which had taken the brunt of more falls than either of them could remember.
At first, Sam simply ignored it. He'd learned to stitch gashes without anesthetic, a sore joint was nothing. Then, eight months ago, they'd chased a shapeshifter for a mile and a half over grass in the dark. While they were running, he felt fine, but the morning after, Sam's knees were so swollen, he couldn't bend them far enough to sit. It took three hours, two sets of ice packs and eight Advil before he could fold himself behind the dashboard.
A creaking, stiff-jointed hunter is a dead hunter, sooner rather than later. Sam bought a set of knee braces, and began icing the joints morning, night, and after every demanding hunt. It helped some, but he still had quite a bit of pain, especially when the weather changed. So, once they'd cooked up a decent insurance card, Sam went to a doctor.
Who was apparently crazy. Foam tubes?
"Doctor said it was this, and some exercises, or else surgery. And surgery would be months of downtime, might not help, or might make things worse, and I doubt we can get away with fake insurance long enough to get the surgery anyway."
"I'm still fuzzy on the 'how,' Sam."
"Um. Like this."
Sam pushed the tube out into the middle of the room and lay down on his side, with the tube under his thigh. Then, he proceeded to literally roll back and forth on it, his body moving up toward the window, then back down toward the bathroom. His lips pressed together and tiny grunts of pain escaped them.
"This. Releases-ilio-tibial-band." Sam gasped out. The tube, aided by his body weight, did seem to be inflicting a rough sort of massage on his outer thigh.
"Whatever that means." Dean shook his head. "Look. I'm glad it helps. Just one thing."
Sam stopped rolling and raised his head. "What?"
"When you finish with the heavy petting and actually have sex with that thing, make sure I'm not in the room, okay?"
The foam roller hit him squarely in the middle of his forehead.
a/n: Yes. It really can relieve pain. And Dean isn't just being immature, it actually does look a little obscene while you're doing it.
Sam is a tall motherfucker, and you know what happens to super-tall motherfuckers? Their joints hurt a LOT. (I think. Right?) So as he gets "older" -- older being like, over 30 -- his knees start to give out, and he doesn't hobble, Dean, thank you, but he does have a bit of trouble getting going in the mornings. Elastic knee braces help some, but you know what helps even MORE? .... me neither? What helps even MORE? Can it be surprising? SURPRISE ME WITH WHAT HELPS POOR SAMMY'S ENORMOUS KNEES
"Sam?" Dean was staring at the...object beside his brother's bed as if he expected it to jump out and begin gnawing on his feet like a puppy. "What the fuck is this for?" He poked at it with a bare toe. It was a blue tube, made some sort of foam padding, a little softer than styrofoam, and about as thick as his leg.
Sam finally emerged from the bathroom. "What's what for?"
"This foam thing. Might be able to cut it into a decent gun silencer, but it'll make a lousy club."
"Oh. That. It's..."
"It's WHAT?"
"It's a foam roller."
"What the hell do you have a foam roller for?"
Sam chewed on his lip, then drew in a rapid breath and spit it out. "Iuseitonmylegs."
Dean raised an eyebrow.
"My knees. It helps with my knees."
"Do I even want to know how a foam camshaft helps your knees?"
"It gets the knots out of the muscles around the knee. So far, I think it's working."
Hunters lived a life as demanding as that of any professional athlete, without the world-class orthopedic care to go along with it. After almost two decades in the field, Sam's joints had begun to seriously show the effects, and aspirin wasn't cutting it anymore. The knees were the worst off, especially the left, which had taken the brunt of more falls than either of them could remember.
At first, Sam simply ignored it. He'd learned to stitch gashes without anesthetic, a sore joint was nothing. Then, eight months ago, they'd chased a shapeshifter for a mile and a half over grass in the dark. While they were running, he felt fine, but the morning after, Sam's knees were so swollen, he couldn't bend them far enough to sit. It took three hours, two sets of ice packs and eight Advil before he could fold himself behind the dashboard.
A creaking, stiff-jointed hunter is a dead hunter, sooner rather than later. Sam bought a set of knee braces, and began icing the joints morning, night, and after every demanding hunt. It helped some, but he still had quite a bit of pain, especially when the weather changed. So, once they'd cooked up a decent insurance card, Sam went to a doctor.
Who was apparently crazy. Foam tubes?
"Doctor said it was this, and some exercises, or else surgery. And surgery would be months of downtime, might not help, or might make things worse, and I doubt we can get away with fake insurance long enough to get the surgery anyway."
"I'm still fuzzy on the 'how,' Sam."
"Um. Like this."
Sam pushed the tube out into the middle of the room and lay down on his side, with the tube under his thigh. Then, he proceeded to literally roll back and forth on it, his body moving up toward the window, then back down toward the bathroom. His lips pressed together and tiny grunts of pain escaped them.
"This. Releases-ilio-tibial-band." Sam gasped out. The tube, aided by his body weight, did seem to be inflicting a rough sort of massage on his outer thigh.
"Whatever that means." Dean shook his head. "Look. I'm glad it helps. Just one thing."
Sam stopped rolling and raised his head. "What?"
"When you finish with the heavy petting and actually have sex with that thing, make sure I'm not in the room, okay?"
The foam roller hit him squarely in the middle of his forehead.
a/n: Yes. It really can relieve pain. And Dean isn't just being immature, it actually does look a little obscene while you're doing it.