Hi everyone! Loki is giving me a hell of a time and, with the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special done and over with, I thought it time to write a plot bunny that has been gnawing on my brain for ages. So, we have this. The chapter's short, because I felt like making it short, and the fic overall is short. I just wanted more time to edit the rest of it before putting it out there in the world.

So, the usual. I don't own Doctor Who or Supernatural. This is just something weird that my brain popped up with. Warnings are for usual Who scary imagery and the like.


"Did you watch it? Did you see it?" the giddy voice on the other end of the phone asked. It was a female voice, one that was nearly unintelligible for the excitement in it. "Anything that bears the image of an angel becomes an angel! Oh, that's awesome, isn't it? It adds a whole new layer of nightmare fuel to the series!"

Miranda Thyme sighed and rubbed her forehead. "You know I don't watch Doctor Who." She glanced out the window at the statue across the street, then returned her attention to her cell phone. "I'm putting you on speaker, okay? Don't say anything you wouldn't say to your mother."

There was silence on the other end of the line as Miranda set the phone down and picked up her brush. "You can put your tongue back in your mouth now," she said pointedly.

"How do you always know?" her friend pouted. "Anyway, I recorded it. You can watch it when we hang out tomorrow. It'll be awesome, I promise! You like horror movies, right? This is just a PG-rated thriller!"

Miranda snorted. Hair sorted, she picked up the phone again and walked to the window. Instead of lowering the blinds again, she frowned. "The statue outside my window. You remember it, right?"

"Oh come on, you're not even trying that, are you?" her friend asked in disbelief. "I know it's just a show."

The statue was of an angel, that much was obvious. The granite wings were wrapped around a lithe, female form. The woman in the middle was fully carved. The opening at the bottom of the statue, under the wings, had been large enough for the sculptor. The way the statue was posed, the only bit of the inside that was normally seen was the hem of the woman's white robe and a teensy bit of face.

"I'm being serious," Miranda said. "Its wings have unfurled a bit."

"You're not being funny at all," her friend said.

Miranda looked at the statue harder. "It's been vandalized. Someone drew a whole bunch of symbols on the base of it. Poor thing."

She blinked, and in the space of that blink, the statue vanished. She leaned as far as she could with the window closed to try and see better. "I'm not being funny or trying to tease you," she insisted to her friend. "The statue's vanished. Wait a second."

"I don't believe you," her friend sighed. "This has gone way beyond funny."

Miranda switched to her camera and snapped a few pictures. "I'm sending you something. Look at them, please." She glanced away from the window to navigate to her text messages. When the messages were sent, she glanced at the window and shrieked. "Oh my god!"

"I'm going to bed. Have fun pretending on your own," her friend said.

"No, please, don't," Miranda begged. "The angels, tell me about them. You said that they don't move if you're staring at them?" She opened her eyes as wide as she could and stared at the hideous, fanged face that was hovering at her window.

"Just don't stare in their eyes," her friend sighed. "It could get nasty."

Miranda jerked her gaze away from the eyes and focused on the fangs. "That's not much better. Did you look at the pictures?"

"Yeah, it's a bad photoshop. You're not really going to convince me that the statue outside of your house has just come alive."

"I'm not going to convince you, then," Miranda said numbly. "What do they do?" She edged to her desk and set her phone down. Her eyes were watering from keeping them open, so she lifted a trembling hand to one and held the lid. She blinked her other eye furiously to moisten it again. She repeated the process with her other eye, but now she could barely see.

"They don't usually kill. They just send you back in time and let you live to death. They feed on the hole you left in the present, all the days you didn't live." Her friend's bored voice turned teasing. "You're plotting a prank on me, aren't you? I won't fall for it, you know."

Miranda's eyes burned, but whether it was from the not blinking or the tears streaming down her face, she couldn't be sure. "Mary, I'm not making this up," she whispered. "If you see that statue, just run, okay? I have to blink, I can't keep from it."

She closed her eyes. Glass shattered. The world went cold.

"Miranda?" Mary's voice called out. "Miranda, this isn't funny, pick up the phone. Come on, now. Miranda?"

All that was left in the room was a phone and a carpet full of broken glass.


It was a quiet night in the Men of Letters bunker, Sam sighed. He flipped listlessly through his book without really taking in the words. Too quiet. He glanced around at the walls, lined with books and trinkets. Normally his idea of a fun night was what he was doing. No case, no lore to read up on, just him and a book of his choosing.

Tonight, though, he felt restless. Dean was in his room doing things Sam really didn't want to think about too closely. He knew this because there was a sock hanging from his brother's door. He really wasn't going to pay too much attention to that. All he was going to do was look back down at his book and try to get drawn back into it.

Two minutes later, he sighed and closed the book. A walk sounded nice. He'd go for a walk, get some air, and get away from those things he wasn't paying attention to. With that in mind he avoided looking at Dean's door as he went to fetch his jacket.

He had his hand on the outside door, enchanted key in his pocket, when his phone rang. He picked it up to find a text message with only a handful of words.

Canton, OH. Missing people. Urgent.

There was no sender. He frowned at the screen, then turned around and went to his computer. It took only a few keystrokes to load up a search engine. "Canton, Ohio," he murmured. "Ten people disappeared in the last week. Half of them have turned up, dead of… old age?"

He frowned at the screen and surfed a few other news sites. There was nothing connecting the victims, but in each case, they vanished. Some of their last locations showed signs of struggles. Others were as bare as if the person had just disappeared into thin air.

It was some of them turning up dead that puzzled him. There was nothing to indicate that their ages were magically induced. It was a case. He tried not to grin about it. People dying was never a good thing, but, he reasoned, at least they weren't violent deaths. The victims seemed to just live until their natural lives were over, somehow in a matter of hours.

Sam considered telling Dean about it immediately, then he remembered the sock on the door. It could wait until morning, he decided. With a goal in mind, he went back to his room and crawled into bed. They'd be leaving early.

The next morning, Sam showed Dean the text. "It just showed up," he explained to his brother. "I looked it up, though, and it's a legitimate case."

Dean looked over the news reports. "Any idea what we're dealing with?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "I haven't seen anything like it. There's been no word of shady poker players in town, and I don't know of any monster that does something like this. We need more details. Maybe a few of the other victims have shown up."

"Well, time's a-wasting," Dean said glibly. "Let's get driving.

"We have no explanation for what's going on, Agents," the tall, skinny police officer that greeted them at the precinct said. His name tag said Anderson. "The first disappearance was a week ago. Miranda Hebert, 23 years old. She was on the phone with her friend Mary Sanders when she disappeared. When we arrived on the scene, her window had been shattered from the outside. Her bedroom was on the second floor, and there wasn't any way to climb up to it."

"Is the crime scene still intact?" Sam asked. He jotted the names down on his notepad as he asked the question. Dean was looking around at all of the officers standing around. They were talking in hushed whispers. Every single one of them looked worried.

"Yeah, it is, but Miranda's phone is in evidence. Right before she disappeared, she took some pictures, but those pictures don't make sense." Anderson waved them forward. "I'll show you."

Sam frowned at the photo a few minutes later. "Someone stole a statue?" he asked. They were in the quiet of the evidence room now, no eyes staring at them.

"That's the thing. The markings are still there, a few volunteers are cleaning them off. We got pictures before they started, though. The statue itself is still there. No signs that it's been moved."

Dean grabbed those photos while Sam studied the one in his hands. "Lots of symbols," he muttered. "Why does that seem familiar?"

He kept his voice too low for Anderson to hear. Dean shrugged. "The statue is back in place in these," he said. Then he tensed. "Sam," he whispered. His voice held an edge of urgency to it. Sam looked at the picture slid his way and saw the same thing.

"We're taking these pictures," Dean said without preamble. He gathered them up into a folder and tucked them into his jacket. "Sam, we're done here."

"A Tulpa," Sam said in disbelief as they climbed into the car. "Someone painted that damn symbol again and now something is kidnapping people. Why?"

"What is it, first off?" Dean asked. He pulled the pictures out and stilled. "Sam, the picture's different."

Sam looked at the statue. It seemed innocent enough, but between the embrace of its wings he caught a glimpse of an eye. Before, the figure had been completely obscured. "This is freaky. You think it's like that painting?"

"Well, one way to find out. We only need the symbol." Dean grabbed the picture back and tore it in half. Once he had the symbol, he took out a pocket tube of salt and a lighter.

As they drove away, the picture smoldered on the pavement.

"We need to figure out what this thing is," Sam said once that was taken care of. The rest of the photos focused on the symbols on the base of the statue, rather than the statue itself. "Is it possessing the statue? We've seen that happen before."

"Those were mannequins," Dean corrected. "This is like someone made the statue come alive."

"A golem?" Sam guessed.

"Let's stop by Miranda's house and look for clay," Dean said. "Or anything else that it could be. We can get a good look at that statue too."

When they arrived, they found Miranda's friend Mary there. Dean went on ahead to search the bedroom while Sam talked to Mary.

"I thought she was joking," Mary sobbed. "I was telling her about this episode, right, and she started talking like the monster in it had come to life. It's a common thing among the fandom, you know? You post pictures of the monsters to scare other fans, quote the lines that give you chills." She looked at Sam mournfully and quoted, " 'Are you my mummy?'"

Her British accent was acceptable. Sam mentally set that aside. "So what monster was she telling you of?"

"The Weeping Angels," Mary said. "They're monsters that only exist when you look at them. They move as fast as you can blink. When they're across the room, they can be right in front of you after just one blink. Just one glance away and you're done for."

"What show is this?" Sam asked. If this was a tulpa, then it was a creature brought to life by the belief of the fans of the show.

"Doctor Who," she answered. "It really is a good show. You should watch it some time."

Sam smiled wanly. "I have a feeling I'll be watching it very soon."

Mary beamed. "I can write down all of the Weeping Angel episodes for you. I'm not current on the show, but I know all the episodes." She scribbled titles on a piece of paper and handed it to him. Then she sobered. "I think that Miranda was taken by an Angel. The last thing she did was tell me to watch out for that statue outside her window."

"Angels don't exist," Sam automatically assured her. "Don't worry, we'll figure out what happened to her."

"It's the only explanation," Mary insisted. "She vanishes while talking about a statue, and then she turns up dead a few days later and a couple decades older? Watch the show," she insisted. "The Weeping Angels didn't exist, but something's brought them to life. I'm going to stay as far away from statues as I can."

Sam handed her a business card. "Call me if you think of anything else," he said.

She walked off and disappeared around the corner. Sam readjusted his pocket and winced. "I think I gave her the wrong card," he sighed.

"Sam?" Dean called from upstairs. Sam ran up the stairs, hand on his gun. When he arrived in the room, he saw Dean staring out the window, phone in his hand. The room was small, a single-size bed in the corner and a computer with desk facing the window. The window had no glass in it, and the floor was covered in shards.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Something really freaky just happened," he said. He handed the phone off but didn't take his eyes off the window.

It was Dean's voice mail. "Sam?" a vaguely familiar voice asked. "Sam, this is Mary. Don't bother trying to call me back. It's the angel's MO – send me back far enough so that I can catch up to the present just in time to die. I'm feeling so weak already. I don't know if I'll make it through this call."

Sam felt the lump in his throat but kept listening.

"It is an Angel. They are real. I just finished talking to you a minute ago, and the statue across the street grabbed me. It sent me back in time sixty years. At least I got to see the original Doctor Who," she said wistfully. "Anyway, I just wanted to warn you. I held onto your business card all this time. I also have another message for you."

Sam raised an eyebrow but kept listening.

"When a creature is brought to life from nothing, it must follow the rules of this reality. I was told to tell you, every monster has a weakness, and the Angel is just another monster." There was a sigh from the other end of the line. "Anything with a weakness can be killed. You just have to find what it is."

"Do you know what she's talking about?" Dean asked. "I got that message before you finished talking to Mary."

Sam listened to the last little bit. "Anyway, I can feel my time drawing near. Goodbye, Sam. Tell your brother goodbye for me too."

The line clicked dead. Sam handed the phone back. "It was a voice mail," he said bitterly. "She got the timing wrong. You got that message before she even left the house. If you'd have picked up your phone, we could have saved her."

"Hey, don't you dare blame me for it," Dean said darkly. "I hate time travel, have I mentioned that? If it has happened, then it will happen. What did she tell you before she left?"

Sam sighed. "We need to watch some TV."