A/N:Supernatural is the property of The CW
Disjointed
The sun beats down on a perfect cloudless day, the excited energy on the baseball field infectious, Dean even finds himself relaxing, his eyes locked on second base as Ben eyes third.
In an explosion of movement Ben takes off, a large grin splitting across Dean's face in pride, only to wash away in horror with a cloud of dust when Ben collides with the boy on third. The other boy sits up looking more confused than anything at finding himself on the ground, while Ben lays frozen in the dirt clearly in pain.
"Ben!" Lisa cries in concern beside him standing quickly as her son lays crippled on the ground. Dean finds himself up off the bleachers, pushing through the small gaps and stepping past other families, while Lisa moves towards the stairs, both moving with purpose.
Choosing a more direct path Dean jumps a chaining fence, bolting across the field where the other kids and the coach have gathered. "Move! Move!" Dean barks, pushing his way through the small crowd.
"Sir please-" the coach starts, hand up in an effort to keep him back.
"Get away from him!" Dean shouts in retaliation, every protective instinct flaring up as he shoves the mans hand out of his face. Ben's coach scrambles back in surprise, eyes wide with fear.
"Dean my shoulder," Ben cries, shifting closer when Dean settles next to him.
"Easy, Ben easy," Dean orders, gently shifting him around his eyes move to the offending shoulder.
"Ben, Dean?" Lisa calls anxiously forcing her way through the group of kids to settle near her son.
"He dislocated his shoulder," Dean tells her, moving around to Ben's other side. "Take his hand," Dean instructs pointing to Ben's un injured side.
"What do you think you're doing?" The coach interrupts, clearly panicked when Dean settles Ben between his legs.
"Popping the joint back in," Dean grounds out in irritation, the coach's protest dies quickly at glare Dean gives. "Now look at your mom Ben and squeeze her hand. On the count of three." Dean raises his hands, swallowing the dislocated joint and he freezes. He's struck by his small build, nothing like Sam's broad shoulder.
"Dean?"
He blinks, for a moment he sees Sam, mop of shaggy hair, seated on a bed in a dingy motel room watching in confusion, waiting for him to pop the joint back in. "Dean?" He calls, voice sounding oddly distorted, and far away. Dean cringes, trying hard to place the reason, then it dawns on him; it's not Sam's voice.
"Dean!" The voice calls, foreign out of Sam's lips and the dark motel room melts away, Sam right along with it, replaced with Ben on a baseball field, watching him anxiously.
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head, "Take a deep breath" He instructs, choosing to ignore the lapse. Ben watches him for a moment than does as he's told, with Lisa's reluctant nod, as she pulls her worried gaze from Dean; his body relaxing as the air leaves his lungs. "On-" Dean starts, stealing the momentary second before Ben starts to tense, shoving hard and forcing the joint back in.
Fighting to stay in the moment he mentions ice, helping guide Ben to his feet, he struggles to shake off the ghost of Sam and thoughts of his past; every motion automatic as they move off the field.