“Fascinating race, the Weeping Angels. The only psychopaths in the universe to kill you nicely. No mess, no fuss, they just zap you into the past and let you live to death.”
He takes the job at Downton Abbey (thanking whoever’s listening for his interest in vintage cars back in the 21st century), and he thinks he’ll stay a year or two at most. Get some money and try and figure out where the hell he can even begin to look for answers.
Sometimes when he starts to think he might be mad, he takes out his long dead cell phone and the photo he had in his pocket when it happened. He looks at the small window to the future, to his old life, until he remembers he’s sane and it’s the world that turned out to be far stranger than he ever knew.
When the War starts, Tom Branson still has 76 years left until he’s going to be born.
He knows he can’t be the only one to have encountered the Angels. The only one thrown into the past. He wants to find the others, and find a way home.
The problem with the plan arises when he meets Lady Sybil Crawley.
When he hands her the pamphlets (he knows votes for women are inevitable with more certainty than she’ll ever realise).
When his heart jumps into his throat and he can’t sleep for fear she might be hurt worse than early 20th century medicine can handle.
When Gwen shrieks with joy and he feels their hands come together.
And for the first time since he arrived, he realises living in the past might actually be when he wants to be.