People are actually following this flight of oddball fantasy? Well, I must say - thanks! It's just my imagination run amok!!

Chapter 3

Dean stretched, feeling fully rested for the first time in how long? His eyes roved the typical crappy motel room. Funny, he didn't notice the iridescent wallpaper last night. Was that a freaking mirrored disco ball hanging in the middle of the room? No way was he bringing a chick back here. If she actually liked it, he was pretty sure he did not want anything to do with her anyway.

He stood, carefully stretching and popping his back. Man, he felt better than he had in years! Maybe this whole faced-down-an-archangel thing wouldn't be so bad. Right. He ran a hand over his face. What would he do the next time the cops picked him up? Tell the truth, of course. Wind up in the freaking loony bin, that's what. Fine, that just meant they couldn't get caught. Sure, sounded simple enough. Ought to be easy, right?

Only at breakfast that morning, Dean whipped out a bogus credit card to pay and could not give it to the waitress. Sam glared at him while Dean watched his own hand betray him, helpless to control it. When Sam offered a different bogus card, Dean nearly told the waitress it was a bad card. The only thing that saved them was Sam's foot connecting sharply with Dean's shin. This new weirdness would be a lot of things, but not easy.

Sam went in alone the rest of the day to pay for their gas, supplies, and secure a motel room for the night. Dean might screw it up. After all those years of hustling, being the one who provided, now Dean had to be dependent on baby brother. Oh, that was wrong in just so many ways! He decided there had to be a way to make this work for him, not just against him.

"Dean," Sam glanced nervously through the windshield, "I really don't think this is a good idea."

"You never do, Sammy," Dean snapped. "But I have to try."

Sam followed him inside the smoky bar, shaking his head the whole way. Dean knew Sam's head was shaking, he did not even have to turn around to check. That, more than anything else, really creeped him out. He pushed it to the back of his mind as he headed for the pool tables in the back. 'Truth or Silence.' Dean chose silence. Not exactly his strong suit, but he thought he could make it work.

He watched some of the men playing for a while, standing next to Sam and sipping a beer. As he watched, he noticed that one guy was way too confident despite losing two games. When the stakes were upped on the next game, Dean had that guy pegged as a hustler. He saw a few of the regulars eyeing the hustler, growing agitated. When the hustler took the next game easily, showing far more skill than he had before, Dean stepped forward.

"How about a real game?" he asked casually, knowing the three men in the corner had plans to take this man outside and beat him senseless. Dean did not question how he knew it, but it was pretty obvious. Sharing a look with Sam, he knew his brother had picked up on that little fact too. Dean flashed his best smile. "And let's make it really interesting." He pulled out the cash left in his wallet and laid it all on the corner.

Sam cleared his throat, moving behind the hustler and nodding to the three men in the corner. One man cracked his knuckles when the hustler looked over. "This a threat?" the hustler asked, having the decency to at least look nervous.

Dean looked the hustler over. He was around Dean's age but not nearly as proficient at hustling. The man did not know when to lose in order to save his own ass. Dean maintained his smile. "Oh, we're not with them," he nodded at the men. "I just like a challenge. Let's see what you got."

The hustler ran the table, not bothering to build up this time. His cover was blown. However, the men in the corner waiting to beat him into a pulp seemed to affect his concentration. With only two balls left on the table, he missed his next shot.

"Pretty good," Dean appraised his performance. Then he nodded to a stool. "You can sit down now." As the hustler sat, Dean lined up his first shot. It dropped in easily. The next few balls practically floated into their pockets. This was easier than he remembered. His trick shots, the ones designed to look like pure luck, did not come off that way. Even playing pool he couldn't lie, each shot showed the obvious skill behind it. As the last ball dropped out of sight, Dean snagged the cash off the corner. "I believe this is mine."

The hustler stared at him for a long moment before nodding. "You on the circuit or something?" he finally asked.

Dean grinned. "I just like the game." He sidled alongside the hustler. "You better leave now," he whispered.

Sam stood aside, covering the hustler's exit. For a moment Dean wondered why they were being so protective of this perfect stranger. Then he realized that he just didn't like the odds. Three to one was never good odds, especially when the three held pool cues like they planned to use them for batting practice, with the hustler as the ball.

"Hey!" One of the three men in the corner stepped forward. "That's my money."

Dean looked it over, inspecting the bills. "Funny. I don't see your name on it." He slipped the cash into his jacket pocket.

"Listen, pal," the man stepped right into Dean's personal space, "we don't appreciate hustlers in our place. So you can just leave that money and get the hell out."

Dean chuckled. "I didn't hustle anyone. Which is new for me, right, Sammy?" He felt Sam's eyes grow wide and his brother inspecting the other men for hostile movement. "But, you know, if you want to play for it?" Dean motioned to the table.

The man shook his head. "No way, man. No way. You just give me my money back and me and my boys will let you and the jolly giant there leave in one piece."

Dean's eyes narrowed as he studied this man. Clearly this was a case of a big fish in a small pond who could not recognize a shark when it swam in and looked him in the eye. And Dean was seriously considering biting. "Dude, you lost a bet. I won a bet. So unless you want to play for it, my brother and I will be leaving. Now."

With his back turned, he saw the hand reaching for his shoulder before he felt it. In that split second, Dean considered the possibilities of this match. He was certain even without archangel-like abilities he could clean the floor with this moron, but with them? One wrong move and he might send the poor schmuck sailing into next week, or next month. He did not really want to hurt the guy. Well, not much, anyway. Dean and Sam had what they came for, enough money for their room for the night and breakfast tomorrow. The most amazing part was that he did it honestly. Well, as honest as playing pool for money ever got anyway.

"Dean." Oh, that bastard would pick this minute to show up, wouldn't he? "Dean, you can't fight him."

Dean glanced over. Everyone in the room was frozen. "What the hell?"

Michael flinched. "Please, don't say that."

"What is this?" Dean demanded, waving a hand in front of Sam's unblinking eyes.

"We're in the time between moments."

Dean glared at those placid blue eyes, anger welling up within him. "You want to try that in English?"

Michael sighed. "I am trying, Dean. You see, time as you see it is a series of moments. This is the time between those moments. We exist and can move about freely in the time between moments."

Dean's brow furrowed as the tried to make sense of this garbage. "Are you trying to say you have the room on pause?"

Michael frowned, running a hand over his head. "Well, there is a little more to it than that. But, yes, essentially, I have paused this conflict."

"What conflict? There is no conflict." Dean protested, arms crossing over his chest.

"Not yet." Michael held up a finger. A thin smile trickled across his face. "You are learning how to deal with telling the truth all the time, aren't you? Well, I don't know why I'm surprised."

Dean rolled his eyes; he had a pretty good idea of why Michael might be surprised by anything he did well.

"Oh, come on, Dean. I don't think you're an idiot!" Michael stepped between him and the dude reaching for his shoulder.

"You act like it," Dean snapped. When the hell did he get so touchy? Why did he care what ol' Mike thought of him anyway? He shook off the unnecessary emotions like a dog shook off excess water.

"Watch it!" Michael warned.

"Now what?" Dean had a hard enough time reigning in his emotions around Mike as it was, this needling was pushing it.

"You can't just shake off emotions like that!" Michael snapped, clearly upset.

Dean reached up to massage that ridge forming between his eyes. "And why is that?"

Michael gestured around the room. "Because it can affect everyone!"

Dean looked at the others surrounding them like store mannequins. Tiny glitters of green dust sparkled on them. Dean cocked an eyebrow at Michael. "You're kidding. Right?"

"I don't kid, Dean." Michael said reproachfully.

Dean sighed. "I've noticed. So now what?" He reached out to brush the specks off Sam. They disappeared at his touch and he noticed that he felt slightly irritated. "Like that?" Mike nodded and Dean proceeded to sweep up emotions he would rather not have had in the first place. As he cleaned the specks of his extreme irritation off the bully reaching for his shoulder, an idea occurred to him.

"Hey, Mike, do Sam and I still have to be here when you unpause them?" Dean looked over hopefully.

"We don't do disappearing acts anymore, Dean." Michael gave him a stern look.

"Well, what if I'm just a couple of steps farther away?" he asked.

"Fine." Michael sighed. "Just…don't kill anybody. Can you do that?" Mike looked like he needed reassuring.

Dean shot him a glare. As Michael faded from the room, sound and activity picked back up slowly, like film running back up to speed. It was a pretty cool trick, one that could come in useful sometime, assuming he could figure out how it was done.

The expression on the dude's face was just priceless. He thought he was grabbing Dean from behind, but suddenly he and Dean were face-to-face, and a few steps farther apart. Dean stepped up so he could lean right into the guy's face.

"Dude," Dean shook his head at him, "you just don't know when to quit, do you? Oh, and you know, you have my brother all wrong. He's really not jolly."

At the moment Sam looked downright pissed off, but Dean had a hard time telling at who. Didn't matter, though, because it seemed to work. The guy did not move, just looked really confused as they backed out of the room. In the parking lot they both made for the car like a posse was after them, because if they hung around too long it would be.

Dean fired up his beloved car and they hightailed it out of there. Safe on the road, Dean beamed at his brother. "We did it!"

"Did what, exactly, Dean?" Sam demanded, turning in the seat to look at him. "Almost started a huge fight? Almost hurt those guys?"

Dean snarled. "They were just bullies, Sammy. Probably had it coming anyway. Besides, we didn't get into a fight and we didn't hurt anyone. Relax."

"Relax?" Oh, Sam sounded anything but relaxed. As a matter of fact, little brother sounded like he was just getting wound up now. "Relax, Dean? Between the two of us we could probably have leveled that entire bar! Killed everyone!"

Dean pulled off the road so he could face his brother. "Sammy. First of all, no one was hurt. No one would have been hurt. I had no intention of fighting anyone, regardless of what you and Mike may think."

Dean reached for the gear shift when Sam asked, "Mike? What does Mike have to do with what just happened back there?"

"He sort of…popped in." Dean said with a shrug.

"I never saw him," Sam protested, trying to catch his eye.

"Mike can pause things." Dean glanced over to see if Sam was done. "You know, time."

Sam stared out the front windshield. Dean put the car back in gear, pulled out on the road. "Dean? You said first of all. Was there a second thing you wanted to say?"

Dean grimaced. "I don't think I would have needed your help in taking out one bar."

Crap.

"You said it," Dean muttered.