Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Doctor Who, nor do I own their characters. 'Tis just fanfic, bro, no need to sue.

Characters: In this chapter the only characters are Sam and Dean, with mentions of the Doctor and Bobby.

Summary: Sam finds traces of the Doctor online, but Dean is skeptical.

A/N: So like, I'm sick of trying to find a decent SuperWhoLock fic that's updated often, so I've decided to make one of my own. Nothing much happens in this chapter, I admit, but I'm just getting back into the groove of writing fanfiction (don't read anything else of mine on this site for the love of god they're all from years ago). Anyway if all goes as planned this will be a 20+ chapter fic. Also I'm making it up as I go, but if it'll make you feel better if I have a plan then yeah, I have a plan. Okay yeah story time kthxbye xoxo

Chapter One

-Chaos Theory-

By Bonnie (that's me)

Most of the time, when the Winchesters were searching for jobs, deciphering whether or not a case was of supernatural origin was black and white. It was really quite simple; anything that couldn't be explained by the standard model of reality was a cause for alarm. And if there ever came a time when they were genuinely uncertain, they would check it out anyway.

However, this time Sam was sure he had found something that, in his opinion, wasn't as easy to deal with.

"So… What? This guy just appears throughout history?" Dean asked through a mouthful of greasy diner burger. He swallowed before continuing; "have you considered maybe you came across a bunch of people that just happen to look similar?"

Sam sighed, sending his brother an annoyed look from across the table. "Yeah, and they just happen to be wearing the same exact clothes too? Just take a look- he's not the only one either."

He turned his laptop around so Dean could see the screen, which was cluttered with photos of different settings from around the world. One of the better quality images was of a jam session between the Beatles; and in the bottom right-hand corner lounged a floppy haired man with long limbs. The same man that was present within many of the other pictures as well.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, pushing his plate to the side so he could pull the laptop closer. His brow furrowed with curiosity as he scrolled through the images, stopping on one every so often and leaning in to get a closer look.

"And there's more than one guy?" he asked. His finger was an inch away from the screen as he pointed out another picture, one that had clearly been taken sometime in the Edwardian era. He indicated a man in the background who donned clothing that quite evidently did not coincide with the time period (a leather jacket and a purple V-neck?)

Sam nodded eagerly, looking around the small restaurant as he bent forward, "there's a lot more. I've found evidence on seven so far, and we're not the first ones to notice them. It's like one of those internet conspiracy theories; there's forums about them, entire websites…"

Dean's demeanour suddenly changed to one of indifference at the mention of conspiracy theories, and he sat back in the cushioned diner booth. "C'mon, Sammy. If we checked out every crazy story on the web we'd never catch a break. Most of them are fake anyway," he scoffed, dipping a French fry in ketchup.

There was a moment of silence as Sam pursed his lips, clearly piqued. Why was his brother being so dismissive?

Dean just glanced up at him with his eyebrows raised.

"Look, dude," the younger Winchester began. He gestured to his laptop, "there's no way these are all fake-"

"Photoshop. Theorists are pretty techy these days."

"Yeah but there are personal accounts, real stories-"

"How do you know?"

"Legitimate news articles-"

"You mean like how we have legitimate FBI badges?"

The two brothers ceased their banter for a moment, looking around to see if anyone had heard Dean's last comment, before turning back to glare at each other.

"Why are you so hung up on this, Sammy? Is this what you spent all last night reading about? Of all the, the conspiracy theories and creepypasta stories on the web, this is the one you're zeroing in on?" Dean questioned disdainfully. He popped a French fry into his mouth.

Sam, annoyed by Dean's sudden domineering attitude, scowled. "Why are you so against checking this out? There's like, a million different –most likely fake- tales about demons, and ghosts, and, and wendigos, vampires and werewolves," he listed off, frustration plaguing his expression.

Dean rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but whatever words he was about to say died on his lips when he spotted their waitress sauntering up to the table. His nose twitched in annoyance.

"How are you two? Is everything going well?" the blonde asked sweetly, curling a strand of hair around her finger. Her lips, which obviously sported a brand new coating of lipstick, pulled into a coy smile as her eyes flitted to Dean- who had shamelessly flirted with her when the boys first arrived. Unfortunately Dean had forgotten the connection he had previously made her believe they had, and brushed her off with a simple "we're dandy, thanks," and a bitter smile. The waitress, crestfallen, left them with the bill and walked off without another word.

"I just don't think it'd be a bad idea if we looked more into this," Sam managed to get in before Dean could say anything; "It's worth a shot."

Dean looked at Sam like he was insane. "Where would we even begin!? As far as we know this is just a bunch of weirdos who've been running around, photobombing everyone for years. What links them, dude? What do they all have in common? A messed up hobby and a bad sense of style?"

Another bout of silence descended upon the pair, and Sam grimaced. Dean peered at him expectantly; "well?"

"There's one thing…" Sam mumbled, not meeting Dean's eyes. When the shorter Winchester didn't reply he exhaled sharply, continuing; "a police public callbox from 1930s London. It's been spotted in a lot of pictures in time periods where they weren't in use anymore. I wasn't sure it had anything to do with these men, but I saw it mentioned on a lot of the forums. There's also a photo of it in some hieroglyphics found in Egypt-"

Sam was interrupted by a snort of laughter erupting from Dean, who shook his head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me, Sammy. A police box? A British police box? What the hell kind of fairy tale is this?" he asked.

Irked, Sam was somehow able to keep a calm composure. "There's just something… I don't know, something familiar about the whole thing, yunno? Just hear me out, man. Sure, it might just be another conspiracy theory, but it also might be more than that."

A small sense of triumph began budding inside him once he saw Dean was starting to reconsider the whole thing. In a last ditch effort he added, "why don't we get Bobby's opinion on all this?"

Dean groaned, running a hand through his hair. He looked at Sam's hopeful facial expression before rolling his eyes, "fine, whatever man. We'll see if we can get Bobby to knock some sense into you."