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As the credits rolled on the television screen, Dean turned to Castiel and said, “Good, wasn’t it?”
“Mmmhmm,” Castiel said in agreement. “This is indeed quite an enjoyable film. One of Tom’s better works. He was very good in this.”
“Tom?” Dean gave Castiel a puzzled look. “Who’s Tom?”
“Tom Hiddleston,” Castiel said matter-of-factly.
Dean stared at him blankly.
“The British actor?”
When Dean still stared blankly, Castiel said, “Loki?”
“Oh, the guy with the weird helmet and daddy issues? The baddie?”
“Yes,” said Castiel, “Tom’s very good, even as a villain. He’s a very nice person in real life, you know.” After a beat, he added musingly, “I always thought his accent made him sound very dapper.”
“Dapper?” Dean said, raising his eyebrow. Then, a moment passed and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. His tone was somewhat accusing as he said, “You sound as though you like this guy a lot. Like, a lot.”
“Oh yes,” Castiel said, oblivious to the impending shit storm that was brewing judging by the disgruntled expression on Dean’s face. “Tom is a very likeable person. He’s the epitome of a perfect gentleman.” Smiling brightly, he added, “I think you would like him very much too.”
Dean looked as though he was two seconds away from hacking up a kidney. “Oh yeah?” He gave Castiel an inscrutable look. “So how do you and Tom know each other anyway? Up till Metatron’s little pop culture update, you didn’t even know what Star Wars is!"
“Ah, there’s a long story there,” Castiel said, “It all happened years ago. I was given a very important mission, a mission I was told was vital for the good of the human race and which God had specifically chosen me for. A mission that I could not fail. A very, very important mission indeed-”
“I thought you rescuing me from Hell was that mission,” Dean muttered not very quietly.
Castiel gave no sign of having heard him. “It all started when Anna approached me with what she said was an extremely important task…”
---
“Castiel,” said Anna, “I have a very important mission for you. You are to create the perfect human being.”
Castiel gave Anna a blank stare. “The… perfect human being?”
“Yes. You are to go to the mortal known as Tom Hiddleston and carry out this mission. With the power of Heaven, you are to make him the perfect man.”
There was about a minute of pin-drop silence as Castiel stared at Anna uncomprehendingly and Anna stared back. Surely… but no, she appeared to be utterly and deadly serious.
Castiel smiled hesitantly and asked, “Are you certain I am the one best suited for this task, Anna?” A little desperately, he said, “Surely one of the cupids…?”
“No, Castiel,” Anna said severely, “I have received Revelation, and this is what our Father has dictated. You have been specially chosen for this task, Castiel. This is a great honour- will you accept it?”
Almost subconsciously, she muttered to herself under her breath, “Of course, I would have done it gladly, had I been the one chosen…”
Castiel looked at her helplessly. “But Anna, what am I even supposed to do?”
“As I said Castiel, you are to find this man and make him perfect.”
“But... why?”
“Are you questioning our Father’s will, Castiel?”
Anna gave him a stern, no-nonsense stare that brooked no disobedience. Castiel felt like he was being skewered on that gaze.
Castiel wilted under that dreadful stare.
“Of course not, but...is this truly necessary?”
“It is, Castiel. It definitely is. It is paramount for the future of mankind. Millions of lives will be changed for the better by this one deed. This is very, very important - a priceless service to all of womankind. So, Castiel, will you carry out this sacred mission?”
Castiel looked as though he would rather be tortured with hot pokers than carry out said sacred mission, but eventually, with great reluctance, he finally said, like a man being forced to walk to his own execution, “If this is our Father’s will, I must of course…” he grimaced, “... obey.”
“Good,” said Anna, satisfied. “Do you understand what you must do?”
Castiel nodded morosely.
“You are to make him perfect, do you understand?”
“Yes, Anna.”
“With perfect cheekbones.”
“Yes, Anna.”
“And perfect hair."
“Of course, Anna.”
“Perfect nose, perfect eyes, in short he must be perfect, is that clear?”
“Like crystal, Anna.”
“This will be an easy task, Castiel. You’ll be working on an already near-perfect template.”
“Indeed.”
“An extremely perfect template. Those marvelous… wonderfully expressive eyes with their fathomless depths… And those lips… yes… that voice… the voice of a perfect gentleman...”
Castiel began to look rather annoyed
“Like chocolate… or melted butter…with that accent...”
“Is that all, Anna?”
Anna jerked, startled. She shook her head and seemed to come out of some kind of dream-like reverie.
“Should I go now?” Castiel said insistently. “Very important mission and all, right?”
“Ah, uh, yes, of course.” Anna appeared to have a tinge of pink staining her cheeks. “You should probably go now.”
Castiel gave her one last sharp nod before turning stiffly on his heels and disappearing in a flutter of wings.
He pretended not to hear Anna sigh and say, “And he also sings so handsomely…”
---
Tom liked to think he had developed something of an immunity against strange occurrences over the last few months. After all, just last week a lovely girl had presented him with a drawing (done by herself, from the looks of it) of himself in full Loki regalia. It was a very good likeness, except he was almost certain Loki never actually pole-danced. She had then handed him a piece of tissue and, with much squealing, contrived to request he wipe his face with it. Once he had somewhat awkwardly acceded, she half-snatched it back and shoved it down the front of her shirt. "So it's always close to my heart." she had said, beaming.
That wasn't even his weirdest fan experience so far. It might have cracked the top five, that's all.
He smiled to himself as he curled his fingers around his freshly-brewed nightly cup of Earl Grey and settled himself into the windowseat. As - unconventional - as some of his fans might be in showing their affection for him, he still loved them for it. They really were lovely people, he thought, camping, he heard, for hours outside events just to meet him. It still bewildered him, slightly, how much appreciation he had received for playing Loki. Although, as he had been reflecting on earlier, very little could bewilder or faze him these days. Very little indeed.
Until a man materialized before his very eyes.
In his flat, in the middle of his living room.
Wearing a trench coat.
And - if that wasn't enough to assure him he was going insane - he could have sworn he'd seen large black shadows cast on the wall behind in the unmistakable silhouette of - wings?
It took exactly seven seconds for the slight buzzing in his head to stop and another three to form a vaguely coherent strain of thought. He doubted he would ever find it within himself to gather the strength to close his jaw, however.
The man in the trench coat had been studying his face very intently during this whole time, and if he hadn't been so gobsmacked that a man had appeared out of nowhere into his living room (and with WINGS) he would have been slightly unnerved.
He was just recovering his powers of speech enough to enquire exactly who - and how - and why -
"And Anna said this would be easy." he heard the man mutter distinctly. "A perfect face, she said - how exactly am I supposed to improve on something that’s already practically perfect?"
"I beg your pardon?" He might be having sleep deprivation-induced hallucinations, or he might be having an extremely extremely strange dream, or he could be experiencing what was shaping up to be hands-down the most peculiar fan encounter he had ever had, but those were hardly any reasons for him to forget his manners. Hallucinations or no, let it never be said that Tom Hiddleston was not the proper British gentleman he had been brought up to be.
The man turned to look directly at Tom and Tom fought the urge to fidget under the focus of that laser-like stare. In a deep, gravelly voice, the strange man intoned, "Thomas William Hiddleston. My name is Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord. I have come on a heavenly mission to-” A slightly pained look crossed his face. “-make you the perfect man.”
“The what? Perfect? I am hardly-” Tom fought down his natural instinct to demurely protest the title of ‘perfect’ – honestly, the lovely people who interviewed him never tired of using it – and tried to focus on the more pressing issue of who this man was claiming to be. “I’m sorry, you did say angel?” A fan encounter, this had to be a fan encounter. Because of course angels did not exist. He tried not to think of the wings, but it was extremely hard not to.
“Yes,” said the gravelly-voiced strange angel/man, “Now hold still, Tom, I must do my job.”
Tom suddenly found his face being unceremoniously grabbed by the strange being that called itself ‘Castiel’. “But- wait- what?” he tried to say. However, it came out slightly muffled from his cheeks being squished by Castiel’s hands on both sides of his face, so it was more like, “Bwuah?”
“Shhhh,” said Castiel, “I’m trying to concentrate here, Tom.”
Gingerly Tom wrapped his fingers around the man’s wrists and attempted to pull the fingers away. The man’s grip was surprisingly strong, almost… supernaturally... so, but Tom managed to budge those steel-like fingers by a few centimetres, and in so doing managed to partially regain the use of his mouth.
“If I may, uh, Sir-” Tom attempted to say. “May I ask what exactly it is you are trying to do?” And who are you? was the other question he wanted to ask, but the man - angel - thing - did already introduce himself and he didn’t want to be obtuse. Besides, the blatant violation of his personal space was probably the more pressing issue at this point of time. Goodness, it was almost as if this ‘Castiel’ was trying to rearrange his entire face.
“Keep still, Tom,” Castiel said scoldingly. He sounded like an annoyed schoolmaster. “I am trying to make your face perfect. If you must keep interrupting, please do so after I finish.”
That steely tone of voice, coupled with years of strict British boarding school training, made Tom actually obey out of pure instinct for a few seconds (during which Castiel continued with the relentless squishing of his face). Tom could have sworn he felt a fleeting sensation of warmth directly over his zygomas.
“Wha- what are you doing?” he said, alarmed.
“Shhhh,” said Castiel, as if he was trying to soothe a frightened animal. He patted Tom’s cheeks somewhat patronizingly.
By this point Tom was too overwhelmingly bewildered to even rationalize the ridiculousness of what was happening. It was like that bizarre dream he’d had once with the gyrating cheesesticks after he had eaten a little too much cheddar one night before bed.
He decided to just go with it.
“Can you actually do that? Make my face-” No, he really did not want to use the word ‘perfect’ or even hear it again. “Change my face, I mean?”
Castiel seemed to be done with his cheekbones by that time and had taken half a step back to scrutinize his work like an artist surveying his finished product. “Perfect.” he proclaimed, not seeming to notice the grimace that crossed said perfect face, or indeed giving any hint that he had heard Tom at all.
Tom was starting to get slightly worried that he might be annoying Castiel with all his questions. After all, an artist did not like to be disturbed when he was working, Tom could certainly understand that.
Castiel began to massage Tom’s nose next. “Your nose bridge has a very fine arch,” he said musingly as he worked. “It is extremely aesthetically pleasing.”
“Um, thank you, you’re too kind.” Tom paused for a beat. “Your nose is very… fine… as well.” he said politely.
A few minutes passed in awkward (at least on Tom’s part) silence, as Castiel proceeded to work, in turn, on his forehead, his hair, the area around his eyes, and his jawline. He seemed perfectly content with the silence, but Tom was growing increasingly uneasy. It seemed so rude to simply stand and stare at each other. He cleared his throat.
“Would you...like a cup of tea?” he enquired. After all, man or angel, real or apparition, Castiel was a guest in his home.
“No thank you, Tom. I require no sustenance, but it’s very kind of you to offer. I can see why Anna finds you so charming. You really are a perfect gentleman.”
Tom found himself blushing, oddly enough. There was something about being complimented by the incredibly stoic and serious Castiel that made the compliment extra flattering.
Castiel finished up with one last pass of his fingers over Tom’s brows and nodded to himself. “My job here is done,” he declared, but before Tom could say a word, two of Castiel’s fingers were pressing onto his forehead and Tom fell forward in a heavy swoon.
Castiel carefully caught the unconscious human before Tom could faceplant into the floor and ruin all of his hard work. With great care, he shifted Tom up into his arms and carried him bridal-style to the bed. He lowered Tom gently down onto the mattress. Standing awkwardly by the side, he stared at Tom for a long while. Then, something seemed to occur to him.
“Ah yes,” he said brightly. With the air of someone who was proudly doing a job well done, he pulled the covers over Tom, arranging everything nicely so that Tom was sleeping sweetly, neatly tucked into his bed in a manner that would have sent fangirls everywhere into cooing paroxysms of joy.
Nodding to himself in quiet satisfaction, Castiel gave his masterpiece one last admiring glance before disappearing in a flutter of wings.
---
“So Tom, in conclusion we should be able to comfortably get you home by around midnight. Just enough time for you to get your beauty sleep before going to the studio tomorrow at eight.” Luke finished cheerfully, setting down his Blackberry which he had been using to scroll through Tom’s entire list of appointments.
Tom set down his hobnob by his teacup and looked at his manager, one eyebrow politely raised. “Midnight? I think you might be mistaken there, Luke, no offence,” he added hastily, knowing that it would be unforgivably rude to seem ungrateful to his poor manager who had been working on three hours of sleep a night ever since The Avengers premiered. “But I do remember Alan telling me the show was over at nine.”
Thankfully, Luke did not seem the least bit offended. In fact, he let out a hearty laugh, which Tom was in truth very happy to see. The harried man had had very little to laugh about the past weeks.
“Are you forgetting something, Tom?” Luke asked, amused.
Tom’s eyes widened. Dear God, is there another show/meet-and-greet/press conference to go to? was what he wanted to say. “Did I have another appearance scheduled?” he asked politely instead.
“No.” said an exasperated Luke. “You can feel free to leave Alan’s studio at nine, Tom, but I’d like to see how you can get past the hordes of fangirls waiting outside in under three hours.”
“Three hours? Surely not, Luke, it’s a weeknight and it’s late, people have to go to work in the morning - they’d have better things to do than wait for hours for an actor-”
“Honestly, Tom, how can you be so blind to your appeal? You’re the hottest thing now since Harry Potter! Have you ever tried Googling yourself? Or gone on Tumblr?”
"As a matter of fact I have not. And what exactly is this Tumblr?”
Luke discreetly closed the lid of his laptop behind him. If Tom did not know, there was no need to traumatize the man for life.
“Never mind that. Just take it from me - you’re the most loved person on the planet right now. Females around the world literally go berserk at the sound of your name. They’ve sold so many Loki posters that I can confidently say your face is plastered over the walls of every household in the world. People are even saying you’re-” Luke paused to laugh again. “-making ovaries explode wherever you go!”
“Ovaries?” Tom was starting to feel really rather alarmed right now. He hoped fervently that Luke did not mean this literally. It sounded impossible, to be sure, but you never know.
“I don’t know how you do it, my friend.” Luke chuckled. He looked at Tom appraisingly, and Tom felt a sudden sense of deja vu as he remembered a certain man in a trench coat with shadows of wings, looking at him the exact same way.
“Look at you - you’re handsomer than ever! It’s like your handsomeness tripled since the days when Thor first premiered. And you were already a mighty fine looking specimen before that. What did you do - make a deal with the devil for eternal good looks?” he joked.
Tom felt vaguely ill at the mention of the supernatural. He didn’t want to remember the peculiar dream/possible divine visitation he had had, with that strange gravelly-voice ‘angel’ who had refused his nice cup of tea.
“Hahaha,” Tom laughed politely (albeit somewhat nervously), “No, Luke, I assure you no demonic deals were involved.” Under his breath, he added, “Far from it, in fact.”
As he headed to his room to change into the suit Luke had selected for the show later, he paused when he passed the mirror in his living room. He was never the sort to admire his own reflection (and privately, he thought there really wasn’t that much to admire), but this time he stopped for a second look. As insane as it seemed, he really did think there was a difference. Nothing too blatant, but it was there. That dream - that angel -
Tom blinked twice, shook his head, then disappeared into his room.
---
“Wait, so you carried him bridal-style?” was the first thing that came out of Dean’s mouth the moment Castiel finished his story.
“... yes?” said Castiel. Tilting his head, he frowned at Dean in bewilderment. “Of all the things, that’s what you pick up on? Why does it even matter?”
“It doesn’t,” muttered Dean, a sullen look on his face. After a slight pause, he bit out, “I don’t care. Why should I care who you carry bridal-style? Of course I don’t care.”
Castiel gave him a nonplussed look.
“If you say so, Dean.”
Crossing his arms, Dean gave a loud snort. His frown deepened. “So, this Tom Hiddleston guy. He’s really just that perfect, huh?” In a grumpy mutter, he added, “Face literally sculpted by the angels.”
Castiel raised an eyebrow as Dean continued muttering, “Perfect face, perfect accent, perfect personality, perfect all around. Guess that’s why you like him so much. You and half the planet it seems. Even the friggin’ angels are fangirls."
Castiel frowned at Dean for a while before suddenly giving Dean a knowing smile. “Tom may be perfect in every way, but sometimes… one doesn’t need so much perfection. Let the fangirls have Tom.” Looking straight at Dean, he said, still smiling that small, knowing smile, “Me? I prefer something a little more… imperfect.”
A grin slowly forming on his face, Dean met Castiel’s gaze.
The kiss they proceeded to share was almost- almost- as perfect as Tom Hiddleston’s divinely sculpted face.
---
Approximately five hours later, Dean lay on his bed, a small, content smile on his face. Castiel was curled up by his side, the most perfect little spoon anyone could ever ask for.
“God bless you, Tom, you perfect human being,” Dean said as he gave the air a lazy two-fingered salute. “You’re the world’s greatest wingman. I owe you one, buddy.”
Somewhere in Britain, Tom Hiddleston let out a little sneeze. It was utterly and perfectly adorable.