On the Flip Side

Chapter one: So it begins

By: Ambrlupin

Summary: John Winchester knew something was needed for his boys, even after his death. So he enlisted a little help after the fact. Now Dean has to deal with what he fears most, Sam's psychic powers, because well... They're not Sam's anymore.

Disclaimer: -sigh- Nope. I wish I owned them. But I do not. They'd take them away if I did.

A/N: This is my very first Supernatural fanfic... Cut me a little slack, kay?

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

If there was something Dean understood, it was killing things. Didn't matter what it was, if he could touch it, he could kill it. He had a lot of rules, come to think of it. A lot of rules to live his life by. To keep the supernatural at bay, on the edges of his family.

Never again. The freaky stuff could haunt someone elses ass, and then he'd look into it. So, it was a little nerve wracking with Sammy and his new powers. He was, quite frankly, a little scared of them.

The psychics they had hunted, the ones bordering on insanity. What was going to happen to Sam? Would he end up like that? No. Dean wouldn't let him. He'd fight for him, die for him. But as Dean lay in the bed, staring up at the ceiling while Saturday night traffic rushed around outside the motel, he wasn't too sure this was a battle he could fight.

"Dean?" Poking his head into the room, Sam was a little shocked to see big brother laying in his bed, arms behind his head. Doing nothing. On a Saturday. "Dean...You okay?"

"Hm? Yeah... Why wouldn't I be?" Dean pushed up on his arms, a slight smirk on his face. "Wait, don't answer that. Got the food?" He sat up, careful of the bandages wrapped around his stomach.

Rolling his eyes, and biting back the urge to tell him to be careful, Sam tossed him the take out bag, perching himself in a nearby chair, sipping on a soda. "So. I looked around into our little legend."

Busy pulling fries out of the bag, Dean hardly glanced up. "And?"

"Bust. There isn't anything alive or dead haunting this place." His fingers tapped on the table absently as he watched Dean unwrap his burger. "Dean, why are we here? Why did you bring us out to the middle of nowhere?"

Taking a bite from his burger, Dean ignored him, setting the wrapping on the counter, fries tossed on top with a squirt of ketchup to the side. "Man, why can't they ever manage to keep the food in one piece?" He demanded, pushing the meat back onto the bun.

"Dean."

There it was, right on time. The patented 'Sammy-Look.' He knew it was there without even looking up. So he didn't look up. "Yes, Sammy?"

"You're hurt-"

"It's a scratch."

"- and you decide, all of a sudden we need to leave-"

"The old lady and the dog next door were annoying me."

"- and you drive us out to no-where Utah-"

"Have you seen some of the girls here?"

"Dean!"

Agitated now, Dean set his food down on the bed and looked over at Sam, mouth set in a thin line. "Drop it, Sam." Truth be told, he wasn't sure why they were there. It had been a passing feeling, like they needed to be there for something. But apparently, there was nothing here as his brother so happily pointed out.

"No, I'm not going to drop it, Dean. Tell me what the hell has been going on with you lately. You're distracted, you hardly eat, barely sleep. You don't go out anymore, and look." Sam gestured at the bandages. "You got hurt. You never get hurt, Dean. You get them before they get you."

Without saying a word, Dean got to his feet, sweeping out the front door, picking up his boots and a shirt along the way. Sam, a little surprised, got to his feet and was about to follow him when Dean opened the car door.

"What are you doing?"

"Going out." Slamming the door, Dean backed out of the motel driveway, and didn't look back. Yes. He did get them before they got him. That was the problem.

Because he couldn't exactly hunt his own brother, now could he.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Are you sure this is a good idea, John?" Missouri leaned back in her seat, shaking her head at the empty room. In her hands she held a piece of paper, a letter that had been sent to her along with news of John Winchester's death.

"I mean, I trust you. I just wish I knew what you were thinking. This may be beyond even me to accomplish. Of course, you never thought about that, did you? You always said anything was possible." Running her hand through her hair, she sighed and nodded. "Well, you got it. I hope you're right about this, John... I hope you're right."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Sam sighed, shutting the door angrily as he slumped back in his seat. Dean was gone, and he was only left with more answers. That was usual, but he felt like Dean was keeping something from him, and it was important.

Even though his brother wasn't one to open up to people, you would think he could at least be straight with Sam. A little, or something. Fingers playing idly with the zipper on his jacket, he picked up his drink again, sipping at it while he ran some sites on the laptop.

Time seemed to slow, then, to an agonizing crawl. He could almost see the clock slow, the ticking loud in his ears as a pressure began to build up behind his eyes. Wincing, his eyes clenched shut and a slight whimper forced itself past his lips.

In mere seconds his head was pounding, and agony ran up and down his spine, making his shiver and convulse. The soda fell from his hand, popping open and splashing the carpet as he fell to his knees from the chair, hands clasped on either side of his head.

Fire leapt through his body, and Sam felt something inside of him give, a barrier dissolve, an almost audible pop. The pain receded, as if it had never been, leaving him blissfully empty. Swaying on his knees, he blinked, opened his mouth to say something, and passed out cold on the floor.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

He didn't want to go to a bar. He didn't want to go to a club. He didn't want to drive around wasting his gas. Dean had a problem. Groaning in frustration, he hit the palm of his hand against the steering wheel and stared around.

He would give Sam some credit. He had brought them to no-where Utah. Because there was absolutely nothing around. The road he was on now, the road that led out to their motel, led only to their motel. There was nothing here.

Up about a mile or two was the town, if you could call it that, but he didn't feel like going there either. However, going home wasn't an option. He didn't feel like facing Sam and all his 'you need to open up and talk to me' crap.

It wasn't like he didn't want to talk to his little brother, sure he did. But Sam wanted to tread onto ground Dean didn't want to discuss, and keep on pushing at it. He just wouldn't take 'I don't want to talk' as an answer or let it go.

It was frustrating as hell, really.

Smirking a bit, and thankful it was Saturday night and everyone was in town, Dean backed up almost to the motel, and gunned the engine. A little of the good ol' street racing and night air might do him some good.

Punching the gas and pushing it as close to the floor as he dared, Dean threw back his head to laugh, lowering the window as he steered through the night. It was exhilarating, and exactly what he had needed.

What did Sam know anyway? Honestly, he probably figured his brother was stupid. Dean might have stayed up lately, but he still got more sleep than Sam did. But was he bothering him for answers every ten seconds?

Nope.

Suddenly swerving, Dean gasped as he felt a chill race down his spine. Not able to really let go on the gas, he winced as pain exploded in his brain, fingers gripping the wheel so tightly his finger tips were white.

What was this? What... Jerking the wheel, Dean punched the brake, even as another burst of pain left him wanting to scream. Biting hard on his lip to resist the urge, he narrowed his pain filled eyes. He wasn't too good with the 'can't see the problem' problems.

That was more... more Sam's -

Hitting the edge of the road, the Impala slid down the ditch, spinning and nearly flipping from the speed. Thrown around like a rag doll, head snapping forwards and backwards so quick, he was sure his neck had snapped, the hunter gasped and finally let the scream go as fire tore him apart.

With the front wheel still spinning, Dean Winchester passed out cold, his head bowed over the steering wheel.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

so, what did you think? Leave me a review and tell me what I'm doing wrong, what you liked, etc. Thanks!