Welcome to the Numb
For Dean, it started slowly. Non-consecutive nights with a stiff back, put down to getting tossed on his ass far too many times. He certainly didn't lose any sleep over it and the stiffness was easily manageable. Although it took a little stretching after a long drive or more than two hours rest, it had minimal impact on daily activities and it didn't bother him
enough to warrant any concern. Hell, his knees gave him more problems and that was solved simply enough with a pop of pain relief. The first spark of real, white-hot pain jolted him from a decent dream at around four in the morning. He straightened himself out, took deep breaths through the momentary attack on his spine and again, put it down to cramp and his hectic lifestyle.
See, Dean wouldn't have minded living with the stiffness. It served as an irritation, a bodily dysfunction requiring daily maintenance. He would need loosening up every morning to function, but he could have lived with it. Stiffness was easy to hide. The fucking tears proved a lot more difficult to keep to himself.
The pain really started during a damp, windy and downright awful night. The wind alone probably would have prevented him from slipping into a deep sleep, but the pain. God, the pain. To label it as 'painful' seemed like a travesty. It was pain, but it was not like anything he had ever felt. A bullet through the shoulder had felt like a hot poker forced through his flesh. Broken fingers throbbed to the beat of his heart, and sprained ankles were pain he just wanted to test, to check it was still a burden. This pain? This was a struggle. The daytime usually provided Dean with a much needed break. It was sore, of course it was, but at night it just about killed him. It was agony. The motel mattresses were always so damn unforgiving, and the pillows? The pillows might as well be non-existent.
The pain was a throb, a burn, an ache and a sharp stab both all at once and interchangeably. It kept him awake for hours on end, and it was becoming ridiculously difficult to hide it. Sammy always woke up to use the bathroom, and it took a serious
level of stoicism to close his eyes and breathe normally. It really, really hurt, but there was no way those words would be uttered. There was so much crap in their world that they both needed their focus. If Sam knew, he'd worry. Dean didn't want that. It just worked better with Sam displaying his trademark blissful ignorance. Dean wasn't ready for the mothering, the sympathy. He wouldn't let himself need it.
Of course, Mr Stoic himself had no idea what the cause of his pain was. He'd spent hours online, researching various back conditions and injuries that could cause similar symptoms. The research gig had always been better suited to his younger brother, and it was a struggle to trudge through the wealth of information that resided online. In true Winchester style, a trip to the hospital was not a viable option. So Dean self-diagnosed. Ankylosing Spondylitis. He struggled to even pronounce the condition. In fact, he couldn't even pinpoint a time where it had left his lips. In simple terms, he had spinal arthritis. In Dean-terms? He was screwed.
As the weeks went on, the pain did not subside. It felt worse every night, but Dean couldn't follow through any of the online recommendations for relief other than pain killers. He knew he was becoming steadily reliant on the tiny blister packs, but it was the only way to take the edge away. He knew lying on the thin hotel mattresses only served as a catalyst for the agony, but what was his choice? He could hardly carry a memory foam topper around with him.
Although Dean managed to keep it to himself during the nights, it was gradually affecting him more and more during socially acceptable waking hours. Sleep was becoming further and far between, and sleep-deprived Dean did not make for good company. He tried to reign it in. He really, really tried.
But you can only keep a serious medical condition to yourself for so long. Especially when the pain starts to make you vocalise your discomfort. Dean kept the groans at bay for over a month, but it was becoming too much for him. He certainly wasn't going to openly tell Sam about this weakness, but if he guessed it would be welcomed with open arms.
"Dean?" Sam called into the motel room, seemingly empty aside from the sound of the shower running. "I got you some pie."
Oh yeah, the pain was also pretty awful in the morning. After a night of torture, the stiffness then chased him into daylight, leaving him seized up at the waist. He had to bend in every possible position to be able to actually move. Sitting up from any bed was a task in itself, so he always waited for his brother to be out or showering. Naturally, he also opted out of the breakfast run. Dean was struggling to quell the insatiable hunger of it all. At night the agony was slowly devouring him and leaving him to face the day as a shadow of his former self. Even his passion for hunting was slowly dissipating, the enthusiasm and excitement of a hunt being replaced with genuine fear and anxiety over something as simple as lying in bed. He wanted to try sleeping sitting up, and knew that this position was probably better for him in the long-term, but he refused to arouse suspicion. Also, the thought of pie? That almost made his stomach turn.
"Dean?" Sam called again, rapping his knuckles on the bathroom door, "Are you nearly done? Coffee'll be cold."
Hot water helped. Actually, hot water was the only thing that really helped. He felt it sinking into his skin, soothing the stiffness and easing the pain that usually lanced through his left hip and buttock.
Dean was obviously off his game that morning, because as soon as he stepped into Sam's gaze, something must have been obvious. He always felt like an eighty year old, so perhaps today he also looked that way.
"Did you hurt yourself?" The taller guy asked, raising from his position on the bed and immediately crossing the room to be closer. "Your swagger's gone."
"My swagger, Sammy?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "I'm good."
Although he was willing for the confrontation to be had, that moment just didn't feel right.
"Seriously, Dean. Sit down."
"I'm good." He repeated, "I'm fine."
Yeah, right. Totally fine. Sitting down was not part of his morning routine and a simple action such as that would screw him up for the rest of the day.
"Dean..."
Sam trailed off as Dean turned his back, dropping his towel and using the act of dressing to stretch away some of the aches.
"We've gotta go to the library today, right?"
Ever the master at changing subjects, Dean promptly steered the conversation away from the inevitable and led his brother into another day of research and stalking the supernatural.
Rather conveniently as if to spur on the lack of disclosure, Sam was exhausted by the time they got home at midnight that evening, and very little talking was done before the giant man flopped down onto the pitiful motel bed. Dean left the bathroom to sounds of his brother's hitched breathing, and eyeing up the wooden chair in the corner of the room, he knew it had to be at least attempted. Positioned in front of the laptop he could easily convince Sam that he fell asleep doing research. It had to be tried. Dean had to know whether tackling the sleep issue from a different position would ease some of the agony.
It was freezing cold and made his butt numb after a while, but so far so good. The pain was present in its ever-strong attack, but it would have increased tenfold lying down. It took an hour, perhaps more, but Dean's eyelids eventually locked. Asleep before three in the morning for what seemed to be the first time in weeks. Success.
He was so close to reaching a good night of sleep. Almost. However, his still little-known, unexplored and inexperienced spinal condition was not accepting the new position. Muscles tensed between his lumbar vertebrae and exploded with the need for release.
Dean jolted awake, further jarring the muscles and sending them into a frantic cramp.
"Jesus!" He yelped, attempting to twist in the chair to reach his hands to the lower region of his spine.
Sam was pulled from his own slumber at the sound of Dean's voice, instantly on his feet and trying to locate his brother in the dark.
"What happened?" He spoke, his voice still groggy from sleep. "Dean?"
As Sam flicked the light switch, his gaze locked on his brother. Slouched on the ridiculously uncomfortable wooden chair, eyes squeezed tightly and beads of perspiration evident across his forehead.
"Dean?" The urgency in Sam's voice leapt up a notch. "What's wrong?"
"God, Sammy..." Dean groaned through gritted teeth, "My back..."
Sam felt absolutely useless. He had no idea what to do. He didn't know what was wrong with his brother and he really didn't know how to approach the situation.
"Is it cramp?" Sam asked, moving over to his brother and crouching down. "Dean?"
God, it was so much worse than just cramp. It was cramp but with ten times more pressure and too much pain. Dean could barely concentrate, but what little cognition he did have told him that realistically, he had no idea what to do.
"Shower, Sammy..." He muttered, barely opening his eyes. "Hot shower. Please."
There was a desperation in Dean's voice that really concerned Sam.
"I'm not putting you in the shower, Dean!" Sam replied indignantly, "You can't even move."
"Ffff..." Dean groaned, sinking down, his buttocks slipping from the wooden seat.
"Woah, careful." Sam was at his side, guiding his brother to the floor as the apparent cramp continued to hold Dean in a vice-like grip. His eyes scanned the room for something, anything to help. It was empty. What the hell was he supposed to do?
"I'll be right back, Dean." He spoke, pulling back up to his feet and jogging to the bathroom.
If he wasn't prepared to carry his brother to the shower, the shower would have to come to his brother. In the vaguest possible sense. Without hesitation he hit the shower up to the hottest tolerable temperature and soaked the two bath towels until they were ringing wet. Not caring about the water soaking the motel room floor, he moved back to his brother and dropped to his knees.
Dean's hands were clutching at his back, but the agony was so relenting. It wasn't letting up.
"Dean..." Sam spoke softly, pushing the other guy onto his stomach, "I'm sorry."
Tears were now trickling down Dean's cheeks, the movement barely recognised as the pain continued.
Sam hitched up his brother's shirt and moved the clutching hands away. "Sorry..." He murmured, yanking down the jeans just to allow access.
The two hot towels were spread across the lower portion of Dean's back, where his spine met his boxer shorts. Sam had no idea if it would help. No fucking idea. But Dean had wanted a hot shower, so hopefully...
The heat caused Dean to jerk at the contact, but his conscious state was rapidly resigning. His eyes were still closed, the pain was still lancing up to his shoulders and down to his feet, but it did seem to be fading slightly.
Sam shifted from the crouched position and pulled back so that his back was propped up by the bed. The cramp must have subsided, because his brother was silent and the tears were drying. Resisting the urge to brush away a tear with the side of his thumb, Sam instead opted to brush Dean's hair back from his sweat-laden forehead.
"What the hell was that, Dean?" He whispered, shaking his head.
When the towels got cold, Sam pulled them away and tossed them into a heap. Dean couldn't be dealing with hypothermia after the makeshift attempt at a heat pad. Still in a state of concern, he wasn't prepared to move his brother an inch. As Sam moved to stand up, he pulled the blanket from one bed and spread it over him. It wasn't clear whether Dean was asleep or unconscious, but Sam assumed it was better than being awake and suffering through the cramps again.
What Sam didn't know was that for Dean, the cramps really were a new experience. It just hadn't happened before, whether it was the upright position or just progression of the condition that he now had to live with. At least now it was out in the open. Well, it would be in the morning.
Sam didn't sleep again. He was still worried, and equally concerned that he had not recognised anything to be wrong until the previous morning. If this had been a longstanding problem he was definitely going to feel awful.
"Sammy?"
It was almost eleven when Dean's voice pulled Sam from a fixation with the window. He moved over slowly, unsure as to whether Dean would try and pull a fast one or admit that last night had happened.
"I should have told you." Dean answered his question without needing to be prompted. "Give me a hand up, yeah?"
His back literally felt like that of an eighty year old. He couldn't fully straighten, and when he attempted to push it into position, it was stuck. There was only one solution, fifteen minutes of stretching and a hot shower, but Sam deserved an explanation.
"Google diagnosed me." Dean smiled slightly, trying to make light of the situation. "I think I have spinal arthritis."
"You're only young." Sam shook his head, "You've pulled a muscle or something."
"It's been weeks, Sammy. I should have said something."
Sam tilted his head to look at his brother. "Then why didn't you?"
It was a good question. One that Dean could barely answer himself.
"I'm sorry."
I didn't want to worry you.
Sam was unsure of a response. Dean had his reasons, obviously.
"Have you seen a doctor?" He asked, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Google can't be relied on."
"I will do." Dean nodded. "I'll have to."
"This is so serious." Sam shook his head. "You should have told me. I didn't know what the hell to do last night!"
Dean winced, recoiling slightly from his brother's raised voice. "I wouldn't have known what to do either, Sam."
"You wanted a hot shower."
Dean couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah. That could have got messy."
"Messier than that?" Sam replied, motioning with his thumb to the pile of towels.
"It worked." Dean shrugged. "Thanks, Sam."
"Just keep me in the loop, yeah?"
"I was doing a Mick Mars."
Sam looked over with a completely blank expression, "A who?"
"You really need to be educated, Sammy."
"Who even is that?" Sam was genuinely intrigued by the trivia this time.
"The Crue's lead guitarist. Suffered in silence for years."
Sam just rolled his eyes and pointed to the bathroom. "Go get your hot shower and then you can tell me your diagnosis."
Dean nodded his head and made his way towards the other room. His back was sore and stiff, but at least a huge weight was off his shoulders. Now the only problem was trying to maintain a normal life with Sammy hovering.