The Hybrid, the Hunter, and the Angel

by What Lies Beyond

The statue itself seemed unremarkable; but a select few knew just what dark secret surrounded it...Two very different individuals come across the stone angel in the clearing: An teenage outcast trying to survive and young man disillusioned with his way of life. Though they themselves didn't cross paths, the angel ties them together...Oneshot.

A quick note: This is a short story that practically wrote itself over the past week and a half. Set approximately three and a half years before the events of Shifters and Shadows, it touches upon Bane's wandering during that time. This is also my first attempt at a crossover fic; I have done the research necessary, and hope I've done a good job.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon or Doctor Who.

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The crisp autumn breeze rattled the brightly colored leaves as it whistled through the forest, and as it passed dozens of them followed in its wake, dancing gaily through the air they drifted to the ground. The scent of autumn still rode the wind, but it was fading now as a new, crisper scent began to take its place: the scent of winter's first frost. Bane sneezed, pulling his oversized black hoodie tighter about his thin body. He was not looking forward to the cold season's return.

Shivering, the fourteen-year-old glanced around cautiously; the furry orange Growlithe ears that poked out from his unkempt hair twitched as they tried to listen for any indication his sneeze had been heard. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, Bane relaxed, though he still had to resist the faint urge to touch one of his ears to see if it was really his. Even though it had been nearly two years since he'd become this strange Growlithe-human hybrid—nearly two years since he'd begun running—it still seemed at times so unreal.

Bane sighed, shifting his dingy orange backpack higher up on his shoulders. The backpack, like his hoodie, was a recent acquisition. Actually, everything he currently had with him, other than the sketchbook with its battered cover and pencil dangling from the spiral binding by a dirty string, had only been in his possession since the day before yesterday. He'd slept in a small town that night, tucked between the back wall of the local high school and a dumpster in a nest of old newspaper, waking to the sound of the students—teens who had chosen to not go on a Journey or who had returned home for a while—entering the building, and he'd spent the day hiding, sketching some of the alley's Pokémon as they passed by.

He'd been inadvertently discovered that evening by one of the school's lunch ladies, who was taking out the day's trash. Luckily, Bane had had the hood of his red jacket up over his head, and the sleeves were still just long enough to hide his clawed hands. The lunch lady had asked, of course, why he'd been hiding behind the dumpster, evidently mistaking him for either one of the younger students or a new Trainer. Still slightly panicked at having been discovered, Bane had stammered that he was being chased and he'd thought no one would find him here. He'd regretted saying that almost instantly, but the lunch lady seemed to interpret it as him seeking to hide from someone trying to steal his Pokémon—there were rumors now of a group that had come to Kalos from another region and was doing just that—and sympathetic to his apparent situation, she'd told him to wait, bringing him a tray of food a few minutes later, correctly surmising that he hadn't eaten all day. Bane had thanked her profusely, and when she'd returned to her kitchen, he'd pushed his sleeves back off his hands and had quickly and quietly eaten his meal, careful not to waste any of it. Though it was nothing special, he'd deemed it one of the best meals he'd ever had, and as a show of his gratitude he'd left one of his sketches from that morning under the silverware. It was signed "C.B.", and though he knew she'd assume the letters were his first and last initials, they stood for both his names: the one he currently used, and the one that belonged to another time.

He'd lucked out again he was preparing to slip back to the woodlands. It seemed that the school had been doing some sort of clothes drive, because there was a large wooden donations box at the back entrance and it was nearly filled to the brim with a wide variety of garments—some secondhand, others still in their packaging. Seizing the opportunity, Bane had dug through the bin, eventually coming up with the dark jeans, faded blue shirt, and black hoodie that he was wearing now, all several sizes too big. He'd chosen them on purpose, knowing that while he was currently still small for his age he was no longer crippled by the sicknesses of his childhood, so he probably had at least one growth spurt ahead of him. Bane had continued to dig through the bin until he'd found a belt and a pair of sneakers, once again too large but better fitting his strangely-shaped feet because of it. He'd changed quickly in the gloom of the alley, burying his old clothes deep in the bin, where they wouldn't be easily found. The backpack had been shoved under the dumpster at some point and forgotten, so after pulling it out and emptying it off its previous contents, Bane had deemed it still usable and repacked it with his sketchbook, spare clothing to later add to one of his caches—including a rather nice pair of black false-leather gloves—and a few items that had been placed in the backpack by its previous owner: a can opener, a pocketknife, and, oddly enough, a mirror. Bane had debated taking the mirror, since he'd tried to avoid looking at his reflection, but if worst came to worst, he could always smash it for the sharp-edged shards…never mind the seven years of bad luck. He was pretty sure it had already started, though he didn't recall smashing any mirrors before his ill-fated journey was to begin. Or did that reflective vase he'd accidentally knocked over count…?

Bane shook his head, jarring himself back to the present as he scuffed through the carpet of leaves. He had more important things to worry about now. The faint nausea he felt reminded him that he hadn't eaten since the alleyway, and as the temperature dropped he burned more and more energy trying to stay warm. He would need to either find one of his caches, the nearest of which was a week's travel from here, or he'd need to hurry to the next small community and steal supplies, since he didn't have any money and edible plants were dying off now that winter was almost here.

Winter…He'd been taken in late fall, but his first winter in his new form had been spent in the much warmer southern part of the Sinnoh region. Last winter-his first after returning to Kalos-had been brutal, and Bane had been lucky to make it through with his life. This year would be just as bad, if not more so, for he'd seen how thick the wild Pokémon were building their nests, and heard them speak of the chill winds coming much too soon from the north. Bane tried to wrap the jacket more snugly around himself, but he'd already pulled it as tight as it could go; so tight he could feel his ribs through the fabric. He allowed himself a rueful grin. "I always wondered why Fire Pokémon ate so much. And now I know, because I'm part Fire Pokémon. It also explains why you never see 'em in cold places…"

He trailed off, then once he'd determined he was alone, Bane continued his one-sided conversation. "I never thought I'd end up like this. I mean, it's nice to not be really sick all the time any more, but…I wish it hadn't needed to be like this. The ears are weird enough. But claws? Four toes on each foot? Growlithe senses? Seriously? I thought this only happened in science fiction! I was fine with that, too! Cecile was the one who'd wondered…"

Bane's ears drooped as he thought of his childhood friend, and without really thinking about it, he pulled a locket from inside his shirt, running his finger along the thin silver chain and over the burnished copper and bronze surface. "Cecile….I hope you're all right. I never meant….I don't understand what happened that night. Was the blaze my fault? I can barely light a campfire with my flames….I know from the papers that they took you to the hospital, and you should have recovered by now….I hope you're okay. And I'm sorry I'm such a coward. I really am. Forgive me…"

He tried to yank himself back from the painful direction his thoughts were headed, and they turned instead to his parents, who he hadn't seen since he'd taken that first step on the path that he had thought would lead to a Pokémon and Pokédex, but had led to…well, this mess. He'd been too afraid to go back, which had been why he'd turned to his best friend. And look where that had got them both….

Still…were they worried, since he'd never called them in all this time? Or did they think he was simply enjoying his journey so much he forgot to call? They had known how much he'd yearned to travel, and how excited he'd been when he'd finally been told he was healthy enough to leave home. Maybe…maybe he'd return home someday, to explain. When he was stronger, so what happened to Cecile could never happen again…

Bane was so wrapped up in his thoughts that it was only his instincts that prevented him from walking straight into the clearing that opened up ahead of him. He froze mid-step, realizing that the woods had gone silent. The chatter of the wild Pokémon had ceased, and even the air itself had fallen still. The only sound left was that of his heartbeat, speeding up now as it hit him that something was very wrong. Ever so slowly, Bane crept forward, the fur on the back of his neck and his shoulders rising as he tried to catch a glimpse of the threat that had the whole area terrified. And then he saw it, nearly choking on his own breath as he tried to rationalize the thing in the middle of the clearing.

The statue could have stood there for years, the gray stone weathered slightly as if by rain and wind. It was finely carved, lifelike in its detail: the stone angel, its beautiful wings tucked behind it in sorrow as it wept, the only flaw the twisted left hand. Bane stared at it, noticing that though it seemed to fit into its surroundings—that is, as well as a statue meant for a cemetery could fit into a random clearing miles from civilization—there was no moss or lichen clinging to the surface of the angel, nor were there imprints in the grass to indicate recent placement. It was if...it had just appeared...and the way the sounds of life in the area had fallen still…

This has got to be someone's idea of a joke, Bane thought, panicking slightly. A joke, or maybe they're filming a new episode? This clearing could be a good place for a film shoot, couldn't it? Because that thing's just a creature from the series...it doesn't exist! It's just not possible….

But you exist, reminded the cynical part of his brain, and you didn't think that was possible either. And since you're the only living thing in the area that isn't a tree…

That thought pulled everything together—both what his eyes and ears continued to tell him, and the eerie lack of scent from the clearing, for even stone had its faint earthy smell, and though the wind blew towards him, Bane could not catch that scent. The signs pointed to only one conclusion, and Bane bit back a quiet whimper as he realized what it meant. Oh, Arceus….

He was standing within the line of sight of a Weeping Angel.

Don't blink don't blink don't blink don't blink don't blink don't blink don't blink… The warning became a mantra in the back of Bane's mind, and he struggled to obey, even as he tried to figure out how to get out of the situation. If he could see the Weeping Angel, then it knew he was here—never mind whether it could see him or not. If he blinked, he was dead. If he ran, he was dead. Actually, he was already dead, and had been since he'd decided to boneheadedly look for the source of the quiet, instead of running like he should have. He should've been more alert…Well, too late now….

Bane's mind was still scrambling, trying to piece together everything he knew about the Weeping Angels from the TV series. According to the Doctor, the Angels were ridiculously fast in their natural form…but couldn't move when seen, naturally freezing into stone. Check. They fed off of temporal potential energy, and became weak if they didn't feed...Not testing that. What else? They covered their eyes to avoid looking at each other, not that there was a second one nearby…he hoped. Arceus forbid that there was...

Bane didn't realize that he was edging back from the clearing, his Growlithe instincts reacting to the threat by trying to run, not recognizing the specific danger that his human mind knew the Weeping Angel posed. His attention focused on the Angel, he didn't see the root that looped up from the earth behind him; one that he'd avoided as he approached the clearing. His heel caught against the root and he fell backwards over it, and though Bane managed to catch himself and avoid hitting his head as he fell to the ground, doing so broke his concentration.

Still facing the Weeping Angel, Bane blinked.

Instantly the Angel was before him, the curled left hand reaching out to bestow its deadly touch. Bane scrambled backwards, his ears folding back in terror, the soft whine he'd held back before escaping his throat. Eyes still on the Angel only couple yards away, Bane felt his backpack catch in the brush, halting his retreat. His backpack… Was there something in there that could help him out of this?

He shrugged out of it as fast as he dared, feeling for the zippers. Finding them, he yanked on them until he had an opening large enough to access his few possessions, breaking one off in the process. Even as his fingers rummaged inside his backpack, Bane made sure to keep his gaze on the Angel, though he was careful to not look at its face. It was another thing he remembered from the series: Anything that captured the image of a Weeping Angel became one. And that criteria was met when one locked eyes with an Angel, too.

Bane's claws tapped against the surface of the mirror, and he maneuvered it by its handle to the top of the pile of objects before hesitating. He'd noticed the angle the Angel's twisted hand was held at: if the mirror was placed just right; he could trick it into looking at its reflection, at which point it would have to remain frozen and he could run. But he knew that he also had just one shot-if the mirror was jostled or not placed right…He tried not to think about that. He reached into his backpack with his other hand and found the gloves he'd taken, laying them across the reflective side of the mirror. His eyes were beginning to sting; It's now or never….

The mirror covered by his stolen gloves, Bane forced himself to approach the Weeping Angel, adjusting his grip so he held it by the upper edge. His hand shook slightly as he reached out to place the mirror's handle in the curled fingers, slowly leaning it back while avoiding contact with the stone statue the Angel was disguised as. He sucked in a breath when the mirror settled much faster than expected, nearly forcing his fingers into contact with the Angel, but he recovered quickly and yanked his hand back, the mirror leaving his grip. Then Bane realized that when the mirror had settled, the gloves had remained in his hand, leaving the reflective surface exposed. A single, overpowering impulse suddenly gripped him: run like hell!

Bane obeyed without question, tripping over his feet in his haste to escape. He scrambled along on all fours for a couple seconds before regaining his balance, snatching blindly at his backpack as he passed it. His fingers brushed the fabric but missed, though Bane was too busy running to notice. With all his being focused on escape, he didn't even see the tree whose thick, low-hanging branch caught him at chest level, flipping him onto his back and driving the breath from his body.

The world suddenly snapped back into focus, and Bane found himself staring upwards at the rustling leaves above him, panting slightly as he tried to catch his breath. A leaf drifted down and landed on his face, sliding off when he rolled over on his side with a groan, one hand rubbing at a tender new bruise where his locket had been rammed into his skin. The other reached towards his ankles, an instinctive attempt to ease the ache caused by the warping that had happened during his transformation.

After a moment of doing little more than lying with his face half-buried in the leaf litter, it dawned on Bane that the Weeping Angel was nowhere in sight. Did the mirror trick work…?

He sat up, ignoring the plant matter clinging to his tangled hair. His ears flicked rapidly back and forth, and though the area was still silent, it wasn't the same silence it had been. There was a certain...tension…missing from the air now. He debated for a moment going back to the clearing to grab his backpack, before getting to his feet and beginning a cautious trek back in that direction. He would badly need the contents of that backpack come winter. If there was a chance he could recover them, he'd take it.

Bane's backpack still sat where he'd left it, though tipped over on its side now, a package of socks peeking out from inside, and his gloves lay nearby where he must have dropped them in his flight. He hurriedly pulled the backpack to him, shoving the socks and his gloves back inside, then glanced towards where the Angel had last stood.

It was still there, the mirror held in its twisted hand, the other pulled back as if to strike the reflective glass. Its wings arched angrily over its shoulders, each feather standing rigid, giving the wings a sinister, jagged look. The Angel's face was distorted grotesquely into a snarl as it stared at its reflection, and Bane shuddered at the inhuman fury there. He had no doubt that if the Angel ever was freed from the trap he'd set, it would hunt him the rest of his days…

That brought up another point. What if someone else stumbled across the Weeping Angel? He'd been extremely lucky just now, since not only had he had the prior knowledge needed to be suspicious of the apparent statue, but it seemed that the Angel was weaker than normal. If it hadn't been for that second fact, he wouldn't have been able to place the mirror in the Angel's hand and freeze it in place. As long as the mirror remained in the Angel's hand, it couldn't feed, and eventually would be trapped in statue form forever. But if someone didn't have that prior knowledge and removed the mirror, they'd both free the Angel and become its victim. And then there was that issue with the mirror having reflected the Angel…Then there would be two of them to wreak havoc…

Bane shuddered at the thought of what could happen if that happened. He pulled his sketchbook and its attached pencil from his backpack, quickly flipping to a blank page and tearing it out. Hurriedly scrawling a note on it, he folded the paper and crept up to the Weeping Angel, dropping the note across its outstretched left arm before backing away slowly, keeping a wary eye on it even though it was frozen. Bane rapidly packed his sketchbook away and slung his backpack over his shoulders, and it was at that point that his nerves finally failed as the unreality of what he had just done caught up to him. Abandoning the clearing, he darted back into the trees, heading in the general direction of his cache. Suddenly catching a trio of unfamiliar scents on the wind, he swerved to the left, deviating from his path until he was far upwind of whoever-it-was.

Bane would keep running well into the next day, when fatigue would finally bring him to his knees. Having covered several miles, he would spend the next couple of days resting at the side of a clear stream, a nearby apple tree and clumps of berry bushes still bearing fruit providing sustenance until he was ready to move on. In the meantime, he would record the encounter in his sketchbook's pages, using the code he and Cecile had invented so long ago. Even though he knew he'd never forget the close call, it was a reminder: a reminder to trust his Pokémon side, for there was always the chance that reality could suddenly become a lot more unreal.

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Apprentice Hunter Zachariah—Zack for short—strolled casually through the leafy carpet, his footsteps silent despite the dryness of the leaves he stepped on. As usual, his two Meowstic accompanied him outside their Pokéballs—Lola, the female, had draped herself across his shoulders, while the male, Jonathan, rode atop the bag full of equipment he carried. Both remained silent, as was their way, but he knew that the two of them were enjoying the outing as much as he was.

Truth be told, though, he wasn't supposed to be trekking through the woods like this. He'd snuck away earlier, hoping for a bit of solitude before his teacher and the other two Hunters decided to resume their search. The target they'd been hired to track was supposedly some kid who'd been blended with a Growlithe, and Zack thought it was most likely some sort of joke. I mean, that's not even possible, is it? That's something straight out of science fiction...

Supposedly the kid was an arsonist, having burned down not only the Sinnoh facility where his transformation had taken place, as well as a house in a small community near Calanthe Town, badly injuring a young Trainer who had been at home alone at the time. The girl had recovered, though she would be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of her life, and she was insisting the Hybrid—whom she said she'd personally known growing up—hadn't meant to start the blaze.

Admittedly, there could be some truth to that, Zack reflected. The kid wasn't too much younger than he was, and if he'd only been recently transformed at the time, he may not have had full control over his powers. And he'd heard that one of the professional teams had been dispatched to bring the kid back. With all that had just happened to him, wouldn't it be reasonable that the kid would freak and lose control?

Lola stirred, and Zack felt one of her tails brush his cheek. Are you still thinking about this assignment?

"Yeah, Lola, I am," He replied, reaching back. Despite the fact that her species normally disliked others touching their ears, Lola seemed to enjoy it. He ran a finger gently along the edge of one ear, letting it trail down the side of her face and into the ruff around her neck. "I'm having second thoughts about all this."

You have second thoughts about everything, Jonathan grumbled. Even becoming a Hunter. You knew what we'd be getting into.

"I know." Zack sighed. "And I'm starting to get sick of it. I don't think I'm cut out for this anymore."

So just leave.

He can't yet, Lola cut in. The contract doesn't expire until his apprenticeship ends, and should he violate it, he loses us. You've heard the rumors. He doesn't want…that…happening to us.

We're strong enough to fight our way free! He's got nothing to worry about!

Except for Loric. Soon as the paperwork's complete and they make a group that meets his standards, he's going to get the strongest of the lot. Of the Fallen Kin- remember the announcement? And even without one of the Fallen, we've got no chance against him. His Kin are too strong for the two of us.

So we just sit around and wait?! Let the things we've done continue to build up and haunt us?!

We have no choice.

Zack felt Jonathan shift positions; felt Lola's plush fur ruffle slightly. He knew what they were discussing between them, even if they chose not to share the conversation telepathically: the contract, which would bind him for another two years at least. It had been a devil's bargain and he had known it when he signed, putting his two Meowstic and his conscience on the line, but at the time he'd needed the work, and he'd had no other choice. He hadn't had any major part to play yet, but what little he'd done still weighed heavily on his mind. And now this assignment…

Someone's coming. Two-footed steps, not four-footed.

Jonathan's hearing was superior to Lola's; Zack felt paws ruffle his hair as the male Meowstic leaned over his head to better track the footsteps he had heard. They're veering to one side.

The wind is blowing from behind us, Lola added. If they don't have Kin with them…

Go, Zack told his Pokémon. See who—or what—is coming. Then come back.

The two Meowstic leapt from Zack's shoulders and disappeared into the underbrush. In no hurry, Zack lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged as he waited for them to return.

It wasn't long before they came back, Lola positioning herself on Zack's left side, while Jonathan took his customary spot to the young Hunter's right. "What did you see?"

In response, the two Pokémon began to focus, and an image wavered into being in front of them. It was photographic in quality, though no camera had taken the image. At the moment, it showed a section of leaf-covered forest floor, but then the leaves on the tree branches bordering the image began to sway, and seconds later a swiftly-moving dark shape passed through the frame. The brief memory-recording ended shortly after that.

"Can you replay that? Pause it when they reach the middle of the frame."

Jonathan made a sound somewhere between a huff and a snort, but the video wavered and then began playing again, though a little slower than before. When the figure reached the center of the frame, Lola paused it, revealing the kid that Zack's mentor was supposedly tracking.

Zack instantly felt pity for the young teen. Roughing it like he had been was obviously taking its toll, for even under the loose, oversized clothing Zack could tell the kid was much too thin. His unkempt hair was tangled to the point of beginning to mat in places, so while it appeared to be about mid-neck in length, there was a good chance that it could easily brush his shoulders if properly combed out. Bits of decaying leaves clung to the tangles, and even the fur of his Growlithe ears was stained with dirt. There were bramble scratches along the kid's cheek, and he was bent slightly under the weight of the dingy backpack he carried. A locket hung around the young teen's neck, swinging outwards with his steps, the squarish oval gleaming in the afternoon light. Sneakers concealed the teen's malformed feet and loosely curled hands hid his claws, but Zack knew from the reports that they were there; another mark setting him apart from the rest of humanity. The backpack is probably full of the few things the kid owns, Zach thought. Most likely supplies for the upcoming winter. He watched as his Pokémon relaxed and the image faded away.

Well, that was the half-Kin, Lola said, her voice quieter than usual. What do we do now?

Zack thought for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. "We let him go."

Huh? Johnathan asked. We're not telling anyone?

Zack shook his head. "The poor kid's got enough on his plate at the moment. He's struggling just to survive-setting the other Hunters on his tail is going to make it worse. Speaking of which, he's not going to accidentally come across base camp, is he?"

No, Lola replied. He's going to bypass it completely. He was running from something, though. I wonder what…

Zach frowned. "He was? How could you tell?"

Body language, breathing and heart rate, slight amount of fear-scent. Something up ahead spooked him. Should we go check it out?

We should probably check in first, Jonathan cautioned. You remember what happened last time we forgot to.

"No." Zack cut in, surprising even himself. "If we go back, they'll ask about the target, and frankly, I'm through with it. If there was anything else I could do to help the kid I would. But the only thing we can do is not speak of this. However, if we go and see what it was that startled him, we can report that and say we spent the time scouting ahead. They might be more likely to ask if we found anything we need to be aware of than if we found traces of the kid." He stood abruptly and marched off in the direction the young teen had come from. Exchanging an uneasy glance, Lola and Johnathan followed.

The two Meowstic caught up to their Trainer near the border of a small clearing. He was staring bemusedly at a statue just inside the open space. It appeared to be an angel carved of gray stone, thought it was like no angel statue any of them had ever seen: the wings were jaggedly arched, the face pulled back in a snarl of rage, the hand raised to strike a small mirror in its grasp, as if angered by the reflection it saw there. Oddly enough, there was a piece of paper folded over the outstretched arm.

"Why would that kid be running from this?" Zack murmured, approaching the angel. He deftly plucked the note from its arm, bringing it back to where his two Pokémon stood. He casually swung his equipment bag from around his shoulders and sat on it, using it as a chair—it wasn't like he had anything particularly fragile in it, anyway—while Lola and Jonathan crept closer.

I don't know, Lola replied, standing on tiptoe as she tried to look at the folded paper. But I don't like it here. Something's not right.

It's a statue, albeit an ugly one, Jonathan scoffed, though it seems to Zack that he was a tad bit more tense than usual. There's nothing to be scared of.

I still don't like it…

"Is it possible to be too psychic?" Zack joked. He raised his hands in mock surrender when he received identical glares from both Meowstic. "Joking. Jeez, you guys are touchy."

Just read the note already, Johnathan shot back, rolling his eyes.

"Give me a moment…"

The paper crinkled softly as Zack unfolded it. He scanned the note intently, then cocked his head thoughtfully to one side. "That's weird…"

What's weird? Lola asked.

"This note..." He tilted it so she could see. Only six words were scribbled there, the handwriting a barely legible scrawl, as if written in great haste: Don't take the mirror. Don't blink.

Don't take the mirror? Lola asked, her tails giving a single, anxious twitch.

Don't blink? Johnathan said skeptically. Why the heck are we being told not to blink?

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think it was a Doctor Who reference." Zack replied, flipping the paper over in case there was something on the back he had missed. There wasn't. "Remember that Weeping Angel marathon they had on TV a few years back?"

Yeah, I remember, Jonathan said, crossing his arms. Lola ended up under the bed for a week.

It's not my fault…Those episodes freaked me out…

"Anyways, you two remember the main rule when dealing with Weeping Angels, right?"

Of course, Jonathan boasted. It's to not… What exactly are you getting at?

Lola's fur began to puff up nervously. You're not suggesting that this statue is a Weeping Angel, are you?

Zack ran a comforting hand down the female Meowstic's back as she suddenly pressed herself against his leg. "At the moment, no. It's probably a joke, and maybe that kid found it and thought it was real. He might've seen the same marathon we did, and if you looked closely at him in the image, you could tell he hasn't been sleeping well recently. The mind can play strange tricks on you when you're exhausted."

So you're saying he stumbled across the statue, panicked, and left the note as a warning because he thought it was real? Lola asked dubiously. Then what about the mirror?

"Well… Yeah. And what about the mirror?"

The wind shifted while we chased after you. The half-Kin's scent is on the mirror…

So you think he placed it there? Jonathan asked.

Uh-huh. And if it was a joke, why would he be afraid?

Zack pondered this for a moment. "You have a point, Lola. We might want to take a closer look at that mirror. Now hang on a second, Johnathan," he said, putting his hand in front of the male Meowstic, who was preparing to retrieve the mirror using Psychic, "Let's think this through. Say that statue really is a Weeping Angel. If we take the mirror away, it can come after us. Plus, it's been looking into the mirror, so we all know what will happen with that. On the other hand…"

On the other hand what? Jonathan asked suspiciously. Zack, you've got this look on your face. Snap out of it.

"On the other hand…What if we let it take us?"

In a rare display of emotion, both Johnathan and Lola's mouths hung open as they stared at their Trainer. Just as surprising was the fact that bit was Lola who broke the flabbergasted silence first.

Are…are you out of your MIND?! She shrieked. Her tails were lashing so hard behind her it was a wonder she didn't fall over. You want US to…Do I even need to list the reasons why that's a bad idea?! She began frantically rattling them off anyway, too distressed to do much else. Jonathan finally snapped out of his stunned silence.

You've lost it, he said flatly. You truly have. For all you know, that thing could dump us a thousand years into the past! What the hell kind of logic do you have for this proposed fiasco?

Zack was cradling a hysterical Lola; He glanced at Jonathan over her head, which she was trying desperately to force into the space between his neck and his collarbone. "Think about it. If we jump into the past, I won't be an Apprentice Hunter anymore, because the contract I had to sign won't exist yet. Therefore, you two won't be in danger of being taken away, and I get out of here before I become conditioned to this kind of thing. We'll probably even miss the beginning of the Shadow Crisis, so you'll never have to worry about that again. And maybe we'll find a way to help that kid somehow. Frankly, we have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

And what about your family?

Zack sighed. "I never told Mom or Dad what it was that I was doing when I signed up for this. Besides, once the other Hunters discover we're nowhere to be found, they'll find a way to make it look like I had an unfortunate accident. And if they found out how much I truly loathed this job, they might arrange that 'accident' anyway. Have you ever heard of a reformed Hunter?"

You…have a point…

"Either way, it'll be hard on my parents, and I regret that, but at least this way we'll have a chance. Besides, there's no guarantee that that statue even is a Weeping Angel. For all we know, a film crew left it there. But if it is, wouldn't you want to take the risk if the reward is a better life?"

I thought actors played the Angels…Lola muttered, her voice muffled. Johnathan thought over Zack's logic.

You have a good point. But it should be a unanimous decision. If that statue turns out to be a Weeping Angel…will we let it take us?

"I would. As I've said, I've got nothing to lose, and everything to gain."

And I'll go with you. My life will probably be forfeit if I don't, and we've been together for too long to separate now. Besides, without me, you wouldn't know what to do.

Zack laughed. "Of course. Well, Lola, that just leaves you." He held her up at arms-length, letting her see the sincerity on his face. "If you don't want to do this, we won't. I'll find another way to free us from this mess."

No…It's….It's fine. To be honest, if you two want to go, then I'll go, too. Just a blink, and we can start all over again…I think I'd like that.

"You're sure? We can't come back if we do this, not unless we try to get Celebi's help, and even then I don't know if Celebi could bring us back."

I'm sure. Let's hurry.

"All right then. Jonathan, Watch the angel until we're ready to go, so it doesn't surprise us. And don't—"

Don't blink; I know. The Meowstic grinned at his Trainer. I spent years perfecting my stare for this moment.

"Really?"

No. But I did get to freak people out a lot, and that was fun.

"And I thought Lola was bad as an Espurr… Anyway, Lola, you can pull the mirror from the angel's hand now."

Right.

With Jonathan gazing unblinkingly at the angel, Lola gently freed the mirror from its grasp and began floating it back to Zack. However, halfway between the angel and the Zack's outstretched palm, the surface of the mirror darkened and began to warp, the mirror itself beginning to bend as a hand-like protrusion began to grow from it. Lola screamed, instinctively unfolding her ears to expose the psychic organs within, and a blast of energy zeroed in on the mirror, instantly disintegrating the hand and mirror into millions of tiny shards. The glittering dust retained its shape for a second, then blew away on the wind.

Shaken, Zack watched the mirror fragments vanish in the breeze. "Well, it looks like we're dealing with a real Weeping Angel. The kid was right to leave a warning. Either away, we've passed the point of no return."

He adjusted his grip on Lola, freeing one arm. Kneeling down beside Johnathan, he wrapped his free arm around the male Meowstic. "All right, guys, on the count of three. One…"

Two…

"Three!"

All three blinked at the same time, and saw briefly the Weeping Angel looming above them in its terrible glory. Then, unconsciously synchronized, they blinked again, and felt the Angel's icy touch upon their foreheads.

They opened their eyes to the warmth of a new spring morning, completely alone in the clearing, which was just a little larger than the version they had left behind. Zach stood and glanced around, then let out a whoop, hugging his two Meowstic tight. "We did it, guys! We're all here, and there's no more contract! We're free!"

When are we, though? Lola asked. Zack let her climb to his shoulder, a grin on his face. "No clue. But we have our fresh start now, whenever we are. Johnathan, I left my pack behind, so you're going to have to ride opposite Lola."

I suppose I can tolerate it for once.

Zack waited a moment until both Meowstic were settled, then set off in the direction he knew in his own time led to a small town, whistling as he went. Perhaps the town didn't yet exist; perhaps it did. Their first priority was to find a newspaper stand. And after that…their new lives awaited.

Shortly after his arrival in the past, Zack enrolled into a local university under a new name, rising swiftly through the ranks and graduating with top honors. Having discovered a talent in the field of law, it was not long before the name Zachariah Green sent shivers down the spine of every Hunter to ever step foot in a courtroom—for he never lost a case when it came to the crime of Pokémon poaching. There was no better lawyer in that field of justice, for his brief apprenticeship had given him insight into the minds of the very criminals he fought against. Zack had truly found his calling.

His new life was blessed in other ways. While in college he had briefly dated a fellow student by the name of Annalise, and eventually the two once again crossed paths, eventually leading to their marriage. Soon their house rang with the laughter and patter of running feet that could only belong to children playing—twin daughters, Rose and Lilly, the joy of their parents' lives. And, in time, Zachariah would once again gently cradle a new life in his now-aging hands: that of his grandson, Caleb.

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At the clearing, the Weeping Angel relished the return of its power. It did not know how it had come to be in this world, nor did it care—its only concern was to replenish its powers and recover from its injuries. Though it would always bear the mark of its wounds in the form of its twisted hand, the Angel had returned to its full strength—and then some, having gleaned what power it could from the demise of the distorting mirror. The Weeping Angel abruptly vanished from the clearing, having found a tear in reality to escape through and return to its own dimension. It left behind it a pack of Hunter's gear and a handwritten note, relics of the two lives it had touched…and ultimately intertwined.