Author's note: Thank you all for your reviews. I really appreciate them. Here's another chapter for your entertainment.

Disclaimer: Neither Doctor Who or Supernatural is mine.

Chapter 3: I Didn't Want to be the Bad Guy

DEAN'S POV

I didn't even bother going to my classes the next day. I was too tired. All I'd get out of school was being sent to the office for sleeping - again - and then I'd have after school detention - again - and I wouldn't be able to talk to Mr. Bartholomew about whatever the hell it was that was going on last night. Instead, I just hung around in bed by myself - heaven knows where my dad got off to - until it was almost time for school to let out, then headed over.

I waited for Mr. Bartholomew in the hallway outside his room. I didn't exactly want to be alone with him again, and I needed somewhere loud enough that we wouldn't be overheard, and people wouldn't really question it if they saw us together.

When Mr. Bartholomew came out and saw me, he smiled a little wryly and walked over. "Dean."

I decided to just jump right into it. Screw beating around the bush. "You're not a real teacher, are you?"

"And you're not an ordinary teenage boy."

Well, there was no arguing with either of those things. "What was that thing last night?"

"It's called a Weeping Angel." he said. "They touch you and send you back in time. But they can't move when you're looking at them."

"Is that where all the students have been going?

He nodded. "Yes. But I wouldn't worry about this, Dean. I've got it under control. You're father is probably going to want to leave tonight, and you just go with him. Tell him exactly what I said last night, if you haven't already. This just isn't your kind of problem."

"I-"

"Dean."

I hesitated a second longer. "Okay."

Mr. Bartholomew patted my shoulder. "It'll make sense eventually, Dean. I promise."

XxXxX

I was sitting on the floor of our room helping Sammy with his homework when my dad walked in. He threw his bag in the corner, grabbed some whiskey out of the small fridge, and sat down on his bed.

"Hey, Dad." Sammy said.

"Hi, Sammy." Not exactly friendly in tone, but a response. That was good.

"How's it goin', Dad?" I asked.

"Have you wrapped things up at the school?" No 'good, how are you?'. Just making sure I got my work done.

I looked back down at Sammy's math homework, not really seeing it. I couldn't look my dad in the eye if I lied to him. "Turns out it's not our kind of problem. The cops'll handle it. We can go whenever."

Man, why was I doing this? I barely knew Mr. Bartholomew. But it wasn't like I could take it back now.

"Well, at least that's one less thing to worry about. Now, what are you boys doing?"

"Sammy's homework."

"Don't bother. We're leaving in the morning."

Sammy opened his mouth, outraged. "But-"

"That's enough, Samuel. Go get ready for bed."

Sammy looked at me for support, but I shook my head. Glaring, he stomped off to the bathroom.

I stood up. "Sammy-"

"It's Sam." he snapped, slamming the door shut.

I didn't want to be the bad guy, but Dad said. And what Dad says goes.

XxXxX

Six months went by a lot faster than I thought it would.

What'd happened since wasn't all that interesting. Just more of the same. Hunt, flunk school, move on to the next town.

Sammy argued with my dad every single time we had to go, but while that would've been weird before, it was honestly just par for the course at this point.

We didn't go over to Uncle Bobby's that summer. Him and Dad had some kind of fight, and apparently that meant we never got to go over there again. I knew better than to take that seriously, though. I'd lost track of the number of times Dad had said that over the years. But Sammy believed him, so he was even more sullen and moody than usual for a good three months. It was kinda hard to deal with, especially when he started snapping at me too.

I honestly didn't understand why he'd suddenly taken issue with me. I wasn't doing anything different. But for some reason, he'd decided that doing what my dad said translated into having no independent thought and that therefore made me some kind of extension of my dad. Not the older brother who'd helped him every step of the way. I'm not gonna deny that stung. A lot.

Other than that, it's really been fairly uneventful. A bunch of the same. Just another day in the fabulous life of Dean Winchester.

Until it wasn't.

XxXxX

"What's for dinner?" Sammy - excuse me, Sam - asked as he wandered out of the bathroom.

"Macaroni."

"Again?"

"Yes, again." I said, my voice a little clipped. I didn't want to be mad at him, but if that little shit whined about what I made him for dinner one more time, I was gonna crack some skulls.

"You couldn't make something else?"

"You want something else?" I reached up and tore the cupboards open, exposing the bare shelves. "See what you can make out of that, genius."

"There's nothing?" Sam asked, walking over.

"Not right now. I'm gonna make a grocery run after school tomorrow. Sorry, no breakfast, but there's always lunch and dinner."

"So... macaroni it is?"

"Macaroni it is." I went back to stirring the pot.

"What about TV? Is there anything good on?" Sam sat down on one of the beds and turned on the television.

"No, I already checked."

"What're you talking about? Family Matters is on."

I turned to face him, eyebrows raised. "Fa - what, excuse me?"

"Family Matters."

"Sam, that's not good TV. That's halfway-alright TV."

Sam shrugged. "Good enough for me."

Shaking my head, I returned my attention to the macaroni.

XxXxX

I was taking the trash out to the dumpster when I saw it. An angel statue.

I froze, standing in the middle of the parking lot, and just stared. I didn't see how it could be here. That whole... whatever that was had been back in Alabama, six months and a dozen states away. Why was it here now? And what did it want?

I blinked and it was a good ten feet closer.

"Shit!" I yelped, stumbling backwards a couple steps, keeping my eyes focused on that thing. "What the everloving hell?"

I blinked again and it was even closer, its outstretched hand centimeters away from my chest.

"Not good." I muttered. "So not good." Remembering what Mr. Bartholomew had said about not blinking, I kept my eyes open and backed up until I ran into the motel room door, twisted the knob behind me, and pretty much fell into the room. I slammed the door shut and locked it.

"Dean?" Sam looked up at me from his bed (our bed, whenever Dad bothered to show up). "What's the matter?"

"In a minute, Sammy." I grabbed the table and shoved in in front of the door, then stacked the chairs on top of it. I knew it looked ridiculous, but it still made a decent barricade, and that was the point.

"Dean, what the hell?"

Instead of answering Sam, I looked out the window to see if the statue was still out there in the night.

Its face was pressed right up against the glass.

"Son of a bitch!" I yanked the curtains shut, debating how to go about blocking the window.

Sam got off the bed, stalked over to me, and grabbed my arm, demanding my attention. "Dean! Tell me what's going on!"

I barely managed to hold back from screaming at him that I didn't know, and I didn't know how to fix it. I was so out of my depth here that it was absolutely ridiculous, and I just wanted Dad to come home and figure out what to do, but I couldn't tell Sam that. I was the older brother. I was supposed to have all the answers. "Something's trying to get in. Grab a weapon. Something, anything."

That was something Sam could understand. He immediately went over to the nightstand and pulled out the glock Dad had given him for his birthday and checked to make sure it was fully loaded. I grabbed a sledgehammer I'd started hiding under my bed ever since my first encounter with the statue. I was going to turn this thing to rubble if it tried to get at us.

"What's trying to get in?" Sam asked, doing his best to keep his voice steady, but I could tell he was really scared.

"Nothing we can't handle." I said with a confident smirk, resting the sledgehammer against my shoulder. I hope, I added silently.

The door was rammed so hard it shook on its hinges, and I pulled Sammy behind me. He went without complaint. If I hadn't been so worried about both of us being violently murdered or sent back in time by a statue, I would've really appreciated him not insisting on being treated like an adult for once. Just listening to me, like he used to.

The doorframe splintered and the door swung inwards, sweeping the table and chairs before it, propelled by incredible strength. The angel statue stood framed in the doorway, frozen under my gaze.

Ready to fight, I raised the sledgehammer.

Author's afterthought: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks again for the reviews, and please continue to send them, I really appreciate it.