One of you may be getting your wish-shadowdancer33996, this is for you. Thanks to Guest, shadowdancer33996, and delphinus2 for their reviews/prompts. Love you all.

"Dublin."

"Ireland?" Sam repeated back in disbelief, "Why Ireland?"

"There's a taffy pulling contest starting in an hour!"

"Taffy?"

Sam had been expecting a movie, lunch maybe, but not Ireland. But he was learning not to expect anything while Gabriel was around, as the once-Trickster was as dramatic as the black-haired character he'd seen on BBC once, known as Sherlock. If Sherlock was a short, annoying, clingy Archangel, that was.

"Are you hard of hearing? Yes, Ireland, yes, taffy. Honestly, Moose."

"Not a moose."

"Whatever, Sammy. Let's go!"

Next thing Sam knew, he was standing in the middle of the Irish countryside, lush green grass and rolling hills aplenty in the small village.

Feeling cobbled stones under his feet, Sam turned to a smirking Gabriel, who looked pleased at Sam's ecstatic expression. "This is great!"

"So are you."

Sam pretended that he didn't hear Gabriel's reply. "Where's the contest?"

"This way," Gabriel said, leading the way north, past the bustling streets of people, waiting for Sam to realize...

"Gabriel," Sam's voice turned wary, there it was, "What year is it?"

"1665," he replied breezily.

The tall man stopped rather abruptly. "We can't mess with time, Gabriel!"

The Archangel pouted, stopping as well. "Sammm," he whined.

Sam crossed his arms, refusing to take another step forward. "No."

Gabriel walked toward the younger Winchester, wrapping his arms around the others' middle and hooking his legs around Sam's, like an overgrown, petulant toddler, "Plleaasee?"

"No. We're already messing up the timeline, Gabriel. They're all looking at us weirdly."

With a snap of his fingers, they were in the dress of old Ireland.

"Gabriel!"

"Please?" the Archangel kept begging, "Just for a little while?"

Maybe because there was something pitiful and pathetic in Gabriel's begging, Sam relented, working the short man away from him, "Fine, fine, just let go!"

"Yay!" Gabriel shot up and was already running away, "The contest's starting, let's go!"

Sam kept up easily, the crowd moving out of his rather imposing presence. Gabriel was having a rougher time of it, but they both eventually reached the site of the competition.

Two large barrels of sticky, sweet, pink taffy were sitting on either side of the competition lines, and adults, men, women and children alike, were waiting patiently to try for having the longest strand of the confection.

Sam and Gabriel were looked at a trifle weirdly, but they were obviously not the only ones from out of town, so the villagers let it slide.

The curator of the competition handed each pair a blob of the candy, wishing them 'good luck' and having them line up, one on the starting line, the other in front of them to pull away.

Gabriel had Sam stand at the starting line, proclaiming himself a 'master taffy-puller' and puffing up with pride.

Despite Sam's misgivings on having the gooey, oozing candy in his hands, when the competition started, it was all he could do not to fall down laughing.

A few of the other pairs had simply dropped their taffy, the candy coating the green grass in a thick layer of pink as the competitors blustered and wished for a second chance.

More got to about a foot-long, their strands breaking, and the pairs eating the remains.

Before long, they were down to about five pairs, mostly burly village men and delicate waifs of young, lithe girls, pulling with care, reaching five, six feet.

Gabriel, however, made a spectacle of himself, weaving in and out of the girls' paths, gently coaxing the confection to obey his whims, with numerous 'steady there,'s, 'hold onn,'s and 'damnit, taffy!'s. Yet, he'd made it to, easily, ten feet.

Then disaster struck. Gabriel froze, his eyes going wide as one of the men runs into him, and they both go down, taffy lines mixing and draping across the two.

Sam immediately drops his side of the lines, and runs toward Gabriel, pink-stained hands checking the other for injury. "Are you alright?"

"My wings," Gabriel murmurs, so low that Sam, who almost has his ear to the Archangel's mouth, can barely hear it.

Ignoring the burly man's blustering, Gabriel quickly snaps them back to the motel room, looking heartbroken when they arrive.

"What's wrong with your wings?" Sam calls from the small bathroom, where he's getting out soap and towels for the Archangel. "Are they hurt?"

"They're bent and full of taffy, what do you think?"

"Can't you just fix them?"

Gabriel sighs heavily in frustration, "They aren't broken, so there's nothing I can do. I can't exactly reach to groom them though."

Sam sticks his head out the door, "Do you need help?"

"Please, Moose," Gabriel says.

Sam sighs, "Alright. Get over here."

And that's all folks! I'll try to have the last chapter posted by Valentine's Day, because I'm a sap. Drop me a review or a favorite on your way out? Please?

Brenda