First off, I'm really sorry this is so late.

To DolphinSong15: I'm so glad you're enjoying it! And thank you for not unfollowing me during this long delay.

And finally, to anyone unfamiliar with the Weeping Angels, their defining trait is their ability to move incredibly fast as long as they are outside the sight of any living creature.

Okay, on with the show!

We're watchin' and waitin'

On the edge of our seats anticipatin'.

It's lookin' awful permanent, but we know it could go away.

We're keepin' our eyes peeled, keepin' 'em glued to the spot.

Cause one moment it's there, but then the next maybe not.

Don't know if it's magic or some weird cosmic plot,

So, we're watchin' and waitin'.

Phineas and Ferb; Watchin' and Waitin'; Don't Even Blink

December, over a year ago.

The Caye family sat in their living room, finishing a round a Christmas Carols. Those who held wind instruments alternated between playing and singing. The father sat at the piano, the youngest member (a fifteen-year-old redhead) held a guitar in her lap, the youngest boy held a saxophone, and the next-youngest boy held a trombone. The oldest boy sat empty-handed next to the mother but his trumpet was in easy reach. On the floor in front of the TV, curled up in a state of blissful slumber, lay a slim white rat and a black-and-tan ferret. As the final carol ended, the ferret stirred and began to claw at the carpet.

"Oy!" Snapped the saxophone boy. "Cool it, Weasel!"

The ferret (whose name was Weasel) stirred from his dream with a miffed snort then settled back down again. Everyone moved to put their instruments away - that is, everyone except for the red-haired girl. She sat with her guitar and looked thoughtful.

"What if there really is a Jack Frost?"

"Huh?" Several voices questioned at once.

The girl tugged awkwardly at the Star of David around her neck. "Y'know, "Jack Frost nipping at your nose?"" She quoted the most recent carol. "What if there's a real, legit Jack Frost?"

"Oh, M, it's . . . just a song." Said the mother. But the saxophone boy shook his brown and sun-bleached curls.

"Don't forget – we weren't sure if aliens existed, but last May they were literally all over New York." The other boys nodded in agreement. "After that mashugana, I don't think there's much else that could truly surprise me."

Jack hadn't been kidding when he said the flight would be too cold for Sting. If she was a normal human, she would have already developed frostbite all over her face and hands. The iciness of the air felt like it was threatening to strip off any exposed skin which, by now, had developed a definite purplish tinge. Her eyes were a dull shade of pained blue. Baba was once again nestled inside her hood, trying to stay warm but unwilling to miss anything exciting that might happen. Nonetheless, Sting didn't regret insisting that Jack bring her along. After all, it was partially her fault that the Weeping Angels were roaming around Burgess. At least the citizens wouldn't be in any immediate danger; the Angels were clever and would be sure to prowl around to get the lay of the land before they started claiming victims. She briefly wondered if Pitch had allied himself with them, but dismissed the idea for the time being. For starters, it was unlikely the Angels would ever ally themselves with anyone outside their own species. Also, how could they communicate? The Angels had no voices, as far as she could tell. Even her friend the Doctor had said so, and he knew practically everything there was to know about anything.

For the first part of the trip, she and Jack had traded information: What the name of the town was (Burgess); what those spectral horses were (Nightmares, apparently); what the Weeping Angels were (generally); and what Pitch's abilities were. It was during the discussion of this final topic that Sting realized that it was her initial fear of Angels while they were still in the pictures that had attracted Pitch and invited him to investigate the source of that fear. For the last part of the trip, they had soared in complete silence except for the whistling of the wind in their ears. Sting found it interesting to compare their relative styles of flight – while she flew in a straight line with only her arms out for balance, Jack flipped and spun like an enormous snowflake. Even so, he still managed to haul himself at a phenomenal pace.

At long last, a building became visible in the distance. It was a truly magnificent structure with narrow windows, peaked gables, towers with onion shaped roofs, and a domed top. At first glance, it seemed to rise no more than one story from the ice of the cliff-top on which it was built. But, a further glance revealed at least three more stories built into the cliff below the initial level. Sting's initial impression of the edifice was rather austere for every one of the numerous windows was dark and lifeless. Jack flew to some type of enormous front door and hammered on it with his staff. No one answered. Sting hovered behind him at looked uneasily at the darkened windows.

"I've got a bad f-f-feeling about this-s-s." She shivered as Jack hammered on the doors a second time and hollered for North (and someone named Phil).

"Yea, why d-don't you g-go ahead and al-l-lert any crooks inside t-t-to our arrival." She turned and flew up to the roof to look for another way in. Jack trailed her and eyed her discolored skin with concern.

"You okay?"

"I'm f-f-fine." Fine, for Sting, was code for not-fine-at-all-but-we've-got more-important-things-to-do. "I'll b-be better off once we g-get inside."

A massive skylight in the domed roof provided an entrance. Sting and Jack hesitated at the edge and looked in. It was dark inside, but from the light behind them they could make out a stone floor, the edge of an immense rug, the thick wooden railing of a balcony, and part of an enormous globe in the center of the room.

"What are the odds the Angels are already inside?" Jack whispered soberly.

Sting though for a moment. "N-Not that good, but s-s-still possible."

Jack recalled the conversation they'd had before they'd met Pitch. "Did that old guy you mentioned say anything else that might help us?"

"Yea, he s-s-s-s-said a lot of stuff, but we were in a dangerous situation so I don't r-remember most of it. It was good stuff though. I t-t-told him he should write a book."

They dropped through the skylight and automatically landed back to back, poised and at the ready. A large fire was burning in a fireplace several yards away, but it did almost nothing to abate the gloom. Not much could be seen that wasn't immediately in the light, but faint rustling noises could be heard – as though there were several somethings moving swiftly and silently in the darkness. Yet they were so faint that it was ridiculously easy for the brain to convince itself there was nothing there at all. Even sharp-eared Baba was having trouble hearing anything significant. They watched and strained their ears for several seconds.

"I'm not hearing much." Jack hissed. "You?"

"No, but they can move really quietly." The outer part of her irises turned a deep purple as adrenaline coursed through her system.

"Now you tell me. Is there anything else I need to know?"

She thought for a moment. "If they really are here, don't look in their eyes. I'm not sure why, but I think it's bad."

"O-K."

"Let's split up. You go that way, I'll go this way."

Jack nodded in agreement. "Okay, uh, scream if anything bad happens."

"Trust me, that is so not going to be a problem." They moved away from each other.

"Good luck."

Sting's hand briefly strayed up to touch a necklace hidden inside her dress.

"God bless." She said in response. Then, because her inner geek could not be suppressed, she added "May the odds be ever in your favor." She turned invisible as they parted ways.

Jack pivoted towards the railing of the balcony and craned his neck upwards as a soft thump came from another balcony that wrapped around the other side of the room. Gripping his staff tightly in both hands, he perched on the beam for approximately two and a half seconds before gliding up towards where the noise had come from. But when he landed, he stopped short.

Everything was in chaos. The thick wooden tables and shelves that were used to build and display toys were overturned, and the shattered playthings littered the floor. As his eyes adjusted rapidly to the darkness he cautiously stepped forward, then jumped in surprise.

For he saw one of them.

The Angel was standing innocently a few yards away. An upturned table nearly concealed it completely from view, and its hands entirely covered its face as though it were mourning the rampant destruction. Even if Sting hadn't shared any information about it and the rest of its kind, its presence was suspicious in and of itself: There were no statues at the North Pole of either wood, stone or any other material, as the workshop's proprietor had no major interest in such items.

Jack was backing away from it and thinking about freezing it to the floor, when several loud noises rang out from the other side of the room. A feminine shriek, followed immediately by a heavy thud, a small explosion, and a short outburst in a foreign language (Yiddish, or possibly Hebrew) that ended in a pained gasp. Sting was in trouble. Jack promptly turned to go to her aid and caught a glimpse of another Angel in the process; only this one's hands were down by its sides and its face was the flawless picture of tranquility. Right as he was diving over the rail of the balcony, he was seized roughly. He twisted his head around and found himself in the grasp of the first Angel. Sting had said they were "insanely fast" but this was almost beyond insane – it had crossed over approximately ten feet in less than a second.

The Angel was gripping him by the shoulder of his hoodie and his opposite upper arm. Its face (now that he could see it) was as serene as the other one but also displeased. Jack was understandably startled, but a twist of his staff resulted in a layer of ice coating the statues forearms. Sensing movement in the corner of his eye, he turned his head and saw the second Angel was now uncomfortably close. A cracking sound revealed that the first Angel was attempting to reposition its hands, but was being hindered by the ice. This was what Jack had been waiting for and he jerked free – only to be met with a hard blow to the solar plexus when he stumbled past the second Angel. At the same moment, his staff was brutally twisted away. He whirled around with the intent of getting it back, but was met with a horrible shock.

While Sting had wisely revealed The Angels astounding speed, what she'd failed to mention was their faces. The one that was now inches from Jack own was no longer serene and peaceful, but demonic. Its gaping mouth was filled with vampiric fangs and its expression was one of unadulterated cruelty and aggression. It was so shockingly horrible that Jack let out a terrified scream of his own. He couldn't help it. He staggered back a few paces and noticed (too late) that the first Angel had disappeared, and with it his staff. A squeak caught his attention and when he turned his head, he saw Baba perched on the balcony rail staring hard at the Angel and giving Jack the opportunity to run. Jack turned to do so, but was met with his own staff swinging from behind a table at a skull-cracking pace. He bent backwards to avoid it, and instead of connecting with his cranium the staff collided with an overturned shelf. It hit with such fury that it broke into two pieces. Jack cried out in pain, lost his balance and collapsed in a heap.

After a moment, he coughed and sat up. Baba, who'd lost sight of his Angel when he heard Jack's cry, skittered over to him, crawled up to his shoulder, and squeaked urgently for him to get up and flee. Jack picked up the top half of his broken staff (the Angel that had swung it at him still had the other half) and did exactly that. He hadn't gotten far when he collided with something that was too small to be a table or shelf and too soft to be another Angel. For a moment, a pair of disembodied purple and grey eyes stared out the darkness before Sting's face and body materialized around them. Baba promptly jumped over to her shoulder.

"Well, did anything interesting happen?" Her voice was mostly sarcastic, but a touch of true concern showed through. Something "interesting" had certainly happened to her, for one eyelid was a darker color than the other and seemed to be swollen. At that moment, she noticed his busted staff.

"Oh no they didn't!"

"Did you find anyone?" Jack enquired. His eyes darted back and forth, watching for anything hostile over her shoulders. Sting's eyes were doing the same with him.

"Besides creepy statues that we were conveniently discussing beforehand that also seem to be out for my blood?" She revealed a bloody gash on her forearm and smirked ruefully at her own pun. "Nope. Let's bail and come up with a new plan."

"No, I can't leave without North."

"Myyy earz are burning . . ." A hoarse voice spoke from behind them. They turned and saw a large hand poking up from between two overturned shelves. Sting gently dropped Baba on the ground.

"Keep watch." She wasn't sure of the Angels current position, but they were undoubtedly close by. She and Jack went to work and began to shove the shelves aside, revealing a huge man with a long white beard wearing loose brown pants, black boots, and a crimson shirt.

"Ay!" The man put his hand to his head when the shelves had struck him and knocked him out. "Ah! Jack!" He boomed. His warm voice was laced with a Russian accent. "Good to see you! Who iz your friend?" Then, he noticed the surrounding chaos. "Shostacovich! Vhat happened?!"

"We'll explain later." Sting grabbed his arm, and pulled him forwards – only to reveal an Angel directly behind him. Her eyes turned completely grey, but other than that she gave no outward sign of fear. A flick of her wrist was all that was needed to blast the statue into a pile of rubble.

"Now can we bail?" She bobbed her head at the older man. "I think we're good here."

"Yeah, let's go."

Sting scooped up Baba and dove over the rail, pulling the man with her. Jack brought up the rear. A Nightmare tried to take advantage of his seeming vulnerability and charged him out of the darkness, but he clubbed it with his staff before pitching himself after Sting. It took her a moment to realize that he couldn't fly while his staff was in multiple pieces, but when she did she formed her energy into a large flat panel to catch him. Jack looked up and saw she was supporting North in the same way. She dropped them off in the rectangle of light on the lower balcony then turned to shoot back up to the scene of crime, but froze as a vaguely familiar voice resonated though the room.

"They remember you."

"Come again?" Several somethings were swishing in the darkness, louder than they had been earlier. It sounded like heavy sacks were being dragged across the floor.

"They really wanted you to know that they remember you. Uh, I guess you've met them before? They also want you to know that they haven't forgiven you."

"Do I know you?" Sting knew in the back of her mind that this new Voice was stalling for time, and considered blowing a hole in the wall to let additional light in. Then Baba squeaked the Voice's name into her ear, and she forgot everything else.

It was Kyle's voice. The louse who had cussed out a bunch of kids for accidentally hitting him with a stray snowball; the unfortunate soul who she and Jack had found lying murdered in his backyard. But, then this couldn't possibly be his voice . . . could it?

"Call me crazy," This was rather ironic for Sting was known to wear labels like crazy and dangerous like badges of honor, "but I thought you'd been killed."

"I was."

"What?!"

"They snapped my neck so they could use my voice. They don't have voices of their own, y'see? And they really needed to communicate."

"With who?"

Pitch's voice echoed though the chamber. "With me."

Yeah, this was a wee bit on the morbid side. Sorry about that.

And sorry if North's voice seems strange, I'm still getting the hang of writing in a Russian accent.

BTW, the "Old Guy" who told Sting important info like don't-look-in-the-eyes and that-which-holds-the-image-of-an-Angel is the "Madman" that River Song references in the episode "The Time of Angels." Apparently, he took Sting's advice and compiled everything he knew about the Angels into the book that River eventually gives to the 11th Doctor. ?Timey-Wimey, right?

Originally, this chapter was going to be longer, but I decided to break it up into more manageable chunks. Next chapter may be shorter, so I may be able to post it earlier.

Finally, for those unfamiliar with the term "Mashugana," it basically means "Craziness" in Yiddish.