Author's Note: To Skalala, who thought of the idea for the most part and to Bay, because she makes Poor Life Choices. SPN doesn't belong to me. Nor does Tangled. Foul language will be included eventually, but no plans for sexy fun times at all. Yet. (Maybe? No idea.) It takes place in a … psuedomodern AU fairy tale sort of world.

Blahdeblahblah, let's get this show on the road.

Ruffled

This is the story of how I died.

Oh, quit your crying, this is a good story. Honestly? It ain't even mine. This is a story about an angel named Castiel and it starts with a cow. A long ass time ago, there was a small village that was blessed by the angel of Thursdays. He was much loved by the people of this town.

They had a belief that, if God smiled upon the people, they would be given a cow. Now, this would be no ordinary cow. It had some sort of magic that made the best damn cheese you ever tasted. It healed the wounded, kept you young, and was just really damn good cheese. The blessing would be on all the cows of the town, so long as The Cow was nearby.

They got The Cow and – oh, see that grumpy farmer over there? Remember him. He's important – anyway, The Cow lived as long as cows do, and then it died. But it left its blessing on the angel of the people. As long as he was there, they would keep the magic cheese. When he disappeared occasionally, they understood. I mean, he's a flipping angel of God, how could they expect him to stay I that boring punkass town twenty four/seven?

Anyway, while he was gone, there was a war. Many were wounded, but luckily, few died thanks to the magical cheese. They would need more to heal everyone, so they went looking for a miracle. For their magical cheese angel.

The angel was, indeed – okay, who uses words like this? Really? Indeed? … Whatever. The angel was on his way home when he found a tower. Now, Cas is a curious little nerd, so he went to see what was up with the mysterious tower. The Farmer – remember him? – had circled the tower with holy oil. When Castiel entered, he set the oil ablaze, trapping him until the fire was squelshed. For extra measure, he made another one in the main room. Like a dick.

That (the second circle, not the farmer being a dick) along with a little memory magic left our angel stuck in the tower with nowhere to go and no idea that he was powerful enough to smite his jailer should he so choose. With the angel so nearby, the farmer's cows became the only ones capable of producing the milk that would make the best damn cheese ever and he kept all the cheese to himself. The bastard.

The people of the town, even after they were healed, still wanted their angel back. Not because of the blessing, but because of his 'goodness.' Every Thursday, they would send out a floating balloon that was big enough to carry a cheese wheel. It descended into the Heavens, a calling card to their cheese angel.

The years went by, the village became a massive city. Thousands lived there, all knowing and missing the cheese angel. They stopped releasing cheese once every Thursday. Guess they didn't want to waste cheese.

But once a year, they would release hundreds of thousands of cheese wheels into the sky, on the longest Thursday of the year. They would buy a lot of the cheese, ironically enough, from the Farmer, who sold what he had left over once and only once a year. The bastard.

But this story isn't about him. And it's not about me either. Not yet. I'm leaving this pop stand for a chapter.