(So before I begin, let me say this is a cross over. Supernatural will be the main focus however, with Hey Arnold only supplying supporting characters.)

Chapter One

Calloused hands pulled off the thick cut of beef from the weight and dropped the cut of meat onto a long section of wax paper. The butcher, a tall, wide man about thirty, chuckled warmly as he folded down the paper and sealed it off with a green slip of tape boasting Green's Meat. "Well Mr. Simmons. I certainly am surprised." Despite the butcher's almost scary appearance his voice was pitched pleasantly and his face was kind. "I don't think I've seen you out quite this late before."

"Despite what you kids think I am not actually an old man." The older man opposite the butcher from the counter, let out a soft laugh after the endearment. "I promised Peter I'd make dinner and actually I am running a little late." Mr. Simmons glanced nervously out the window at the darkening sky.

"Well, one thing I can guarantee. It's going to be delicious with this cut of beef."

"Of course, Harold. This is the only place we come to get our meat." Mr. Simmons dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a weathered wallet held together with a rubber band. "How much do I owe you?"

Harold smirked and handed down the packaged meat. "On the house Mr. Simmons. Just promise that whatever you do, you make a good dinner for Pete."

"Why Harold, I couldn't-"

"Of course you can." Harold smirked and jerked his thumb towards the door. "Now hurry before your boyfriend panics and calls for the police. I'm quite certain you don't want the captain sending out Sid to find you."

Mr. Simmons clutched the meat and smiled back at his old student. When Harold had been a kid, he'd been a little aggressive and maybe a little dull, though each and every one of the fourth graders his first year teaching had been unique individuals with their own problems, now Harold had rounded out and become a pretty confident and kind man. "Why thank you Harold. I most certainly will be informing Peter. Expect a pie."

Harold sighed warmly and sank down on the counter. "Man, Pete makes the best pies."

"Oh, he knows. You've certainly told him enough times." Mr. Simmons headed towards the door and offered a polite goodbye before exiting the building with a ding.

Harold watched the man exit the store and enter a battered green Toyota Corolla and drive off. He stayed leaned up against the counter fighting off the ache of his work day. It had been incredibly long. Harold straightened and smacked his counter for good measure. Well he certainly wasn't getting home and off his feet just standing there.

Thirty exhausting minutes later he had his cut meat in the cooler, the counters cleaned and the mats outside to drip dry until morning. He stepped out his own door with a ding and locked upGreen's Meats for the night. He slipped his keys then his hands in his pockets and headed out in the dark night down the two blocks to his building.

Buildings with familiar and old signs from his childhood still sat up in the same places that they'd been for years, and Harold wrinkled his nose at a few of the new installments. Like the Ben and Jerry's that had taken up Vitello Flowers spot. Mrs. Vitello had died a few years back and the community mourned not only her but the shop that had been there all through the years. Harold still couldn't help but miss not only him but the old neighborhood and faces and how it had seemed much more magical when he had been a child.

Harold was so deep in thought he missed the start of the wrought iron fence barricading off the community's cemetery. It wasn't until he passed the sign reading Hillwood Garden's Cemetary, now drooping slightly, that he noticed he was in front of it. The wind seemed to get a little colder, and Harold picked up his pace. He'd always been a little unsettled by the place, but to be honest who really felt comfortable passing, or entering a cemetery.

He'd nearly passed when he heard a haunting voice hum. He stopped and placed the tune as the Wedding March.

"Come on!" Harold raised and dropped his arms with a huff. "You have got to be kidding me. Look kid if you're trying to prank me, I'll pound ya!" Harold smirked and raised a thick fist resorting back to his old phrase hoping that if it was one of his friends pranking him, they'd show themselves. He knew the legend, his buddy Gerald had been only too kind to reaccount the story whenever they passed up the cemetery as kids. Then there was the petrifying night that they had been massively pranked while inside. "Look I get it, Ghost Bride." Harold continued walking keen on getting home. "But I am exhausted and ready to get off of my feet."

Either he wasn't worth it, or the kids had had their fun for the night, because the eerie humming of the Wedding March was slowly retreating back further into the cemetery. Harold muttered something about stupid kids under his breath, but let out the breath he'd held when he passed the iron gates of the cemetery. He passed by a closed pizza joint and made the sharp turn only to pause again. There was Mr. Simmon's car, engine and lights still going with the driver's door open.

"Mr. Simmons?!" Harold rushed his pace and poked his head inside the car. His package of meat remained in the passenger seat along with a few extra groceries probably intended to make a complete dinner. No Mr. Simmons. Harold straightened and looked around, fear piercing through him. "Mr. Simmons?!"

There was no one around, and only the familiar sounds of distance car alarms and rouge cats echoed in the night. Why had Mr. Simmons gotten out of the car? Where did he go off to in such a rush? Had he left willingly? Harold frowned. Crime was getting a little worse in the area. Had something happened to Mr. Simmons?

Harold dug into his pocket and fished out his phone. He didn't bother to dial 9-1-1, all he did was go through his contacts and select Sid. While his phone rang Harold continued to look around for any sign of his fourth grade teacher.

"This better be good, Harold. Or I'm going to tell my son to run another baseball through your window. On purpose this time." Sid's sleepy voice came through the line irritation very clear in his tone.

"Listen Sid, this is an emergency. I found Mr. Simmons car, only the engine is still running and he's not in it. I don't see him anywhere." Harold noticed a hint of red near the start of an alley and started walking towards it.

He could hear the sound of rustled sheets and Sid telling his wife to go back to bed. "Mr. Simmons?! What is he doing out so late?"

"Sid!" Harold was next to panicking the closer he got the spot. As a butcher he was all too familiar with the smell and look of the red substance. He'd seen it a number of different shades from the animals he cut, and he was pretty confident that it was in fact blood. "Enough playing, there is blood."

"Blood?" That really got his friend awake. "Is it-?"

"I don't know, Sid!" Harold started jogging, and called out again for the older man. He slowed down when he neared the entrance to the alley and almost reluctantly made the slow turn to face inside. "Crap! Sid, you have got to get here! Mr. Simmons he's-"

Harold choked off the last part as he bent over and released his lunch and his dinner from that day where he stood. Cutting into animals was one thing, but the blood and the body parts strewn in the alley was an entirely different horrifying scene.

xxxOOOxxx

"Chopped up?" Dean glanced over at his sister as she flicked the paper again to make sure it was ridged.

"To bits." Sam continued to read through the story flinching at a few of the details. "Coroner says it was an axe."

"What makes it ours?" Dean asked causally dialing down the radio. "I mean besides our usual playmates there are human psychos, and I wouldn't put this passed a person."

Sam jerked up an eyebrow. Since when did her brother question her feeling about a case? "The man who found him, claims that he heard humming from the cemetery."

"And-?"

Sam's lips twisted down. "Okay, then listen to this. This isn't the first death." She read the part dramatically, pausing to raise her head over the paper and catch her gaze with Dean. "There have been five deaths, male and female, black, white, even orange, spread out through the years all on the same day, August 5th. Everyone found was discovered chopped up."

"Okay, but it isn't August 5th…" Dean pointed out. "It's November."

"Which only means that whatever is doing this, is riled up and breaking tradition." Sam frowned. "Either way whatever it is will kill again Dean."

"Okay, I agree. We have a case." Dean glanced nervously at his sister. "You just got back on that leg of yours though, so don't overdo it."

Ah, so there it was. They had left Bobby's just two days ago, after resting up from dealing with a set of Tikbalangs, Demonic horse-men. The Trickster, apparently not dead, had given them a thin sliver of information to go on about the case and of course they had suffered for it. After realizing that there had been in fact two, and the mane (sharp spines and not hair) wasn't just for show, but also for shooting. They'd ended up with Bobby bearing a massive headache for a few days, and Sam off her leg while she recovered from being speared. Dean had wanted to stay at Bobby's longer so his sister could rest, but Sam had gained a massive case of Cabin Fever and refused to stay a day longer.

"I planned on running a marathon though." Sam rolled her eyes and folded up the newspaper. She reached in the glove box digging around the array of maps that they had accumulated. She found the correct state, New York, and unfolded it spreading it across the dash. "From where we are now." Sam hummed in thought as her finger trailed the veins of highways searching for their current location versus where they needed to be. "It'll be about a six hour drive."

Dean glanced outside at the darkening sky and flinched a little. He'd been driving for a most of the day, and he didn't think he could do another six hours without sleep. Some of his concern must have read on his face because Sam quickly studied her brother and buried herself back into the map.

"I am exhausted though, and we'll be passing a town soon. If you don't mind I can sleep a little, and maybe hit up the library and get some information before we continue." She turned her head to follow a wooden billboard sitting low to the ground as it passed. "Oh, and that sign totally boasts that this diner has the best pie in the state. Also just in the town up."

Dean smirked and drummed on the steering wheel in excitement. "Who can say no to pie?"

It took another thirty minutes for them to enter the town and rent a room. Sam slipped out while Dean showered and got something to-go from the Roadside Diner. Although not needed Dean felt compelled to remind Sam not to forget the pie. His little sister simply rolled her eyes and ignored the statement. As if she could forget the pie.

When Dean came out of the shower he slipped on a sweats and one of his worn band shirts. He set to dismantling the weapons and cleaning them. He lost all track of time as he focused all of his attention on cleaning he didn't focus on the time passing until he heard his stomach rumble. Dean glanced up at the cat themed clock and frowned at the time. It was nine. Sam had been gone two hours. It certainly didn't take that long to get dinner, even if she had opted on hoofing it the entire way there and back.

Weapons forgotten Dean pushed out of the hard backed chair and scooped up his phone. He sped dialed his sister and pressed the phone to his ear verbally urging Sam to pick up. After three rings, it went to her voicemail. Dean pressed 2 on his phone again and started the call as he scooped up his boots. Rather than sit down to pull them on and lace them up he hopped on each individual foot while he applied and tied the shoe. All the while he listened to her phone ring repeatedly until it went once again to her voicemail. He jerked on his jacket and pocketed his phone and the keys to the motel room before running out and locking the door behind him.

His big brother senses were tingling, and they were rarely wrong. When he neared the corner on the street he'd seen the diner, not even a block away from the motel, Dean first noticed the swirling of red and blue lights first. Shit! He picked up the pace and his jog turned into a run. Turning the corner he saw two police cruisers, and an ambulance parked in front of the Roadside Diner. He only slowed his pace to a stumbling walk when he was a few feet from the police cars.

One of the guys in blue tried to push Dean back when he surged forward through the crowd collecting around the small diner and into the building. Dean stabbed a finger into the man's chest and growled. "Look, I think my sister may be in there." The guy regarded him, but didn't say anything. Figuring that he had his attention Dean continued. "Sam, Samantha Jones." The officer didn't say anything and Dean felt a growl rumble in his throat again. "Well?!"

The officer still didn't move.

"Look, all I want to know is if she's okay or not." Dean felt his heart clench at the man's silence. Was she on her way to the hospital right now? Was she- no she's fine. Dean couldn't go down that route of thought. He just couldn't.

"Inside." The officer's face still didn't move but he shifted to the side letting Dean push through.

Dean only heard the officer call to his friend when the second cop keeping a hold of the crowd shouted at him but didn't stop to thank him. He surged up the single step and had the little door ding open. "Sammy!"

"Dean?!"

His head turned to the left and he found Sam sitting on one of the stools at the counter while one of the EMT's fussed over a split cheek that seemed to have stopped bleeding. The red and blue of the lights filtered through the thin slits of the closed shades as Dean closed the distance between him and Sam. Out of his peripheral vision Dean noticed a woman sit up from the booth. He had been so intent on his sister he'd not noticed the three cops hovering over the staff taking their statements.

The officer caught his arm and turned him to face her. "Who are you, and how did you get in?"

"Look lady." Dean jerked his arm out. "I'm her-" he poked his finger at his little sister, "-big brother, and one of your officers let me in. Now do you really want to stand between us or do I have to fight you off?"

"Dean! Stop it!" Sam pushed the EMT's probing fingers away and slid off the stool, ignoring the man's angry order to stop moving.

The woman kept her gaze firmly on Dean. Dean wasn't intimidated though he matched her gaze. Slowly she lifted a walkie and spoke into it. "Hey Marcus."

"Yeah?"

"You let a guy through?"

There was a pregnant pause. "Yeah, says he's Jones's brother."

"Ok, thanks." She pocket the walkie and frowned. "Id?"

Dean fumbled with his wallet and pulled out his ID, sporting a cocky smile and the name Dean Jones. He waited impatiently while the detective studied it and passed it back to him in approval. "Fine," The woman moved out of the way, but kept her eyes firmly on him.

Dean surged forward taking his sister's face in his hands and turned her head in all directions grimacing at the bruises and the cut that sat on her left cheek. He ignored her protests as he probed her cheek then slid his thumb to the inflated left side of her lip. "You were just supposed to get dinner Sam! What the hell happened?"

"Place got held up." Sam pushed away her brother's hands. "I got smacked around a little but I'm okay."

The EMT impatiently pushed off of the chair and motioned Sam back over. "She was out for a few minutes, according to the waitress she tried stopping the armed robber." The man's tone held irritation at the brash action.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean mirrored the EMT's anger as he steered his sister back to the chair and pushed her down. His mind scrambled as he tried to absorb the situation and take calming breaths. There were a thousand things that he wanted to tell her. He was grateful she was okay. "I called you, you never answered." Close enough.

"I was busy giving a statement and trying to avoid a ride to the hospital." Sam sighed and prepared to battle her brother in his big-brother-mode as well.

"She should go to the hospital." The EMT sounded insistent and frowned when Sam rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine. It's just a bruise." Sam brought a hand up to the cut. "You've cleaned it, and I appreciate that. It may look ugly for a little while, but it doesn't require a hospital."

"You should get checked out thought." The man brought the fight to her big brother locking eyes with him. "Like I said, when I showed up she was on the ground unconscious. I just want her to get looked at seeing as she did receive a head wound."

Dean took her face in his hands again, this time pulling at her eye lids and gauging her pupil's reactions. She wasn't acting too sluggish either. Dean knew his sister well enough to know that she wasn't concussed. "I won't force her to go now, she seems fine. However-" He raised his voice to overtake the EMT's. "However I will be watching her tonight, if I feel she needs it, we'll get her checked out at the hospital."

The man's lips pursed but he saw he could go no further with the fight.

"Trust me. When she was fourteen she took a hard kick to the head during a soccer game." Dean lied smoothly. It wasn't so much a soccer game, it was a hunt, but that wasn't something they offered so lightly. "We took her to the hospital and over the next few days my Dad and I watched over her. We've dealt with head injuries before."

The EMT nodded and packed up his medical supplies. He still seemed discontent with their answer but a little more relaxed now that she'd have someone to watch over her.

Meanwhile Dean met Sam's eyes and frowned. "You didn't get injured anywhere else?"

"I'm really fine, Dean." Sam sighed. For the last hour and half all she'd wanted to do was curl up on the crappy motel bed and sleep. Any thought of food had exited with the excitement. "I think I'll live to dance the tango again."

"Then what the hell were you thinking?" Dean bunched his hand into a fist and pounded her shoulder. "You know better than to take on someone with a gun." Given that he was sitting in a diner with a shit load of cops he didn't feel compelled to include especially when you're not packing yourself.

Sam scowled at her brother. He'd calm down, but until then she'd have to deal with his protective side. "He was waving it around at everyone. There was a kid, Dean. He was about to take the boy away from his mother, I couldn't let them go through that."

Dean's sharp gaze softened. "Look, just be more careful. I know crazy follows you, but- but you have to also have to be okay at the end of the day. Without you I won't have anyone to gripe about my music as I drive."

"I'm sure someone would volunteer." Sam smirked. She slipped off the stool sure that the EMT and the cops were through with her. "Look, I'm tired. I just want to go back to the room and sleep."

"Hey!" Dean got the attention of everyone in the diner, but more importantly he caught the attention of the evident lead in the investigation, the woman who'd stopped him when he entered. "Is she all done, or you need anything else, lady?"

"No, we got her statement. Unless she'd like a ride to the hospital-" The serious cop finally broke a smile when both Sam and Dean spoke no in unison. "Then she's free to go. I'd like to meet her for a follow up though."

"Can do." Dean nodded although both knew they'd be gone after getting some sleep.

"Wait." The cook, a portly man still wearing his grease stained apron slid out from the booth. "You came to get some food, the least we could do seeing as you helped us out is make you a few burgers."

Sam rose a hand to protest, but Dean's stomach spoke for them with a loud rumble. "Food would be good."

"And a pie." The waitress scooted out and went for the display rack behind the counter, still intact with cooled pies.

"A pie wouldn't hurt." Dean smiled broadly.

(So before any Hey Arnold fans start sharpening pitchforks and lighting torches, I am sorry I killed Mr. Simmons. As I was writing it out it was forming itself and he was the one who ended up dead. Love you though.)