New story! So, I don't know why there isn't more Supernatural/Baccano crossovers. There's just so much material to work with from both shows. So, I decided to take matters into my own hands and write some. Now, I have this one and another still in the planning stages. I hope you like this story, it's one of the more interesting ideas I've had lately. But first, I just wanna clear some things up. Okay.

All of the Baccano in this story is based off the anime. I've also taken a few liberties and altered a bit of canon to fit my story, for example, giving Claire/Vino/Felix immortality. I'll update on this as it comes up, but it shouldn't be anything too major.

For Supernatural, chronologically, this takes place pre-season four. Before angels and the apocalypse or even Dean going to hell. So, there's really not going to be any spoilers in this one. Also, no Castiel, so sorry about that.

This chapter may or may not make sense to you, but all will be explained in due time. There's a lot of loose ends and confusing bits, but I promise, they are there for a reason.

Finally, disclaimer. I don't own Baccano or Supernatural and never will. Enjoy!


He dug his fingernails into the carpet in front of him, dragging himself forward a few painstaking inches. His legs screamed out in pain, both snapped in to and barely still attached to the rest of his body. As he slowly moved forward, he left a streak of bright red across the forest green carpet. Blood ran down from the wound on his forehead, into his eyes and blinding him. He quickly wiped the red away from his vision before continuing his slow but desperate trek to what he hoped was safety.

Suddenly, the train lurched to the side, hitting a turn going much too fast and almost shooting off the rails. This sent the man's body flying against the wall, his body twisting into horribly impossible shapes. The wheels screeched against the metal rails, masking the man's pained screams. Thrown back flat again, he let out a pained groan, feeling the ribs on his right side were broken. He cursed to himself, then reached out again, continuing to drag himself.

Unbeknownst to the man, a shadowy figure had appeared behind him. With glowing red eyes, it watched as the man slowly crawled toward freedom, hoping desperately that the creature wouldn't find him again. His fingers pulled at the carpeted floors, muscles straining with the effort. His breaths were becoming ragged, pain spreading through him.

Footsteps echoed behind him, the dark creature slowly making its way towards the man. As it went, blood dripped from it, staining the carpet. In fact, the creature seemed to be almost made of blood as covered as it was. Its eyes glinted with a murderous light as it watched the man struggle on. There was mischief in the red orbs, the monster enjoying every moment that his prey struggled. It could sense the fear that emanated from him. It relished in the emotion, loving the very scent that fear put into the air when there was a good kill.

Feeling the eyes boring into his back, the man slowly turned his head to look at the devilish figure. He felt a scream rip from his throat as he turned forward again, clawing desperately at the green threads of the carpet. His nails ripped into it, leaving marks through it. A chuckle was heard behind him as the bloody creature caught up to him, reaching out to grab the back of his shirt. It pulled him back, then threw him against the wall.

"Please don't do this," the man begged, unashamedly breaking into tears. "Haven't you hurt enough people? Everyone on this train is dead, goddammit! Why do you have to kill me, too?" He struggled as the monster held him up by his shirt. His legs dangled limply, blood from the several wounds on his body dripping down the wall behind him.

It didn't give a response, instead reaching out, grabbing its victim around the throat. With near superhuman strength, it crushed the man's larynx. Squeezing a little tighter, the man's eyes bulged from his sockets as he let out his last pained gasp. Blood burst from his eyes as they burst, spraying the monster and the wall behind it with blood. A dark chuckle erupted from its chest as it dropped the man to the ground then quickly walked away from the body.

A few steps away, it seemed to dematerialize out the window of the train, leaving the body and countless more aboard. The conductors, passengers, and crew were all dead, killed in gruesome displays of violence, skin ripped away, bones broken. The inside of the train was painted in varying degrees of red and the murderer, the monster, was nowhere to be found.


The diner bustled with a lively chatter, a cast of interesting characters filling the fairly small room. Three bikers sat at the bar, sipping on milkshakes and laughing rambunctiously at their own inside jokes, a young woman sat talking on the phone, and a busy waitress buzzed about. In the back corner, two men sat, widely different in appearance and actions. One was viciously devouring a hamburger, obviously savoring every bite. The other was scrolling through articles on his laptop, a half-eaten salad beside him.

"This is…pretty awful, Dean," he said, looking over the top of the screen at his companion. "There's at least forty people dead, all killed in horrifying ways. And it wasn't in the accident, either. It happened before the train derailed."

"Wait, go back for a second," Dean said, putting down his burger and wiping his hands. "The train just randomly derailed a couple of miles outside of New York?"

"Well… Not randomly. According to the experts, it probably was because the conductors were all killed so they could control the speed of the train. It hit a sharp turn and wasn't able to stay on the tracks."

"Huh," he said, frowning. "So, what do they think did all that killing, then?"

"Well, that's the thing. No one knows. I mean, the way these people were torn apart was apparently so gruesome that it couldn't have been human. A human wouldn't have been strong enough to do it. But it couldn't be an animal either, and there was nothing else on the train when they found the wreckage. So, it's a complete mystery. They're sending the bodies into New York City to be examined there. This could be something big, Dean. I think we need to go in and check it out."

"Alright, then let's do it." Dean said, picking up his burger again. "After I finish eating." He took a bit out of the decently sized burger, then grinned at his brother. "What's the matter, Sammy, you're giving me that look again."

"I just don't understand you're eating habits is all…" Sam looked down, shutting his lap top and picking up his fork to finish his salad. "You know, even with everywhere we have gone, I don't think we've ever gone to a big city like New York."

"Well, I'd say that's because most of the things we've hunted stick to smaller towns, out of the way places, secluded areas. It's harder to spot them that way. But we have gone to Chicago, if you remember that."

"Yeah…feels like a long ass time ago though." Sam dropped his fork again, suddenly losing his appetite. "Something about this is bugging me, though. I'm really worried about what we're going to find. I mean, this is sure to be pretty high profile, you know, bring in a bunch of media. Maybe in some real Feds. We don't generally take on anything like this, but I really feel like something horrible happened on that train and unless we stop it…"

"It's probably going to happen again," Dean finished his sentence, dropping his burger. "Alright, so it's about a four hour drive up to New York. If we start now we can be up by tonight, check into some motel and start researching. There might be something like this that happened before. Something this ugly doesn't just randomly show up, it's got to have some history or lore about it, somewhere. Then, tomorrow we can get into that morgue and see what the hell those bodies look like. Maybe we'll be able to tell what tore into them."

Sam nodded, picking up his laptop and shoving it into his computer bag. He dropped a couple of bills onto the table and the two stood to leave. The upbeat diner atmosphere rolled off both men like a sheet as they stepped into the parking lot. Dean walked over to his sleek, black car, a 1967 Chevy Impala. He ran his hand along the top before opening the door and slipping into the driver's seat. Sam sat in the seat beside him, setting the laptop down at his feet.

The car backed up, then quickly drove from the parking lot. Dean chose to take the back highways instead of the Interstate. As they drove down the road, trees lining both sides of the highway, he couldn't help but think on what Sam had said about the case. If it was true that something this gnarly was preying on a city like New York, or even anywhere in the area, there could be massive death tolls. They had to find and gank the son of a bitch before it could hurt more people.


A pair of golden eyes bore into the man who sat in front of a desk. He refused to look into those eyes, which were almost hypnotic. He broke out into a nervous sweat, beads of moisture forming on his forehead. His breath hitched in his throat when footsteps echoed behind him. He flinched when a tall, imposing man came to occupy the seat next to him.

"What do you think?" he asked, deep voice making the already squirrely man shake. "He our guy, Luck?"

"I don't know, Berga," the golden eyed man replied. "He seems too…antsy to be the one. The man we're looking for had to have a nice set of balls on him to think he could steal from the Gandor family. Or very stupid…" Luck stood, slamming a file down in front of the man. "According to our new accountant, you've been siphoning money away from our accounts and putting it in an offshore account located in Guam of all places. Now, is it true?"

The man stared at the file for a money, gulping deeply. "I… Yes…" He nodded, looking up at the intimidating man. "It was just a few thousand a month, not enough that you would have even noticed. I just wanted some security in case things went south. Feds have been poking around a lot lately and, I wanted a safety net."

"You thinking of turning on the Family?"

"No, of course not," the man said, eyes widening. "I would never. I just wanted to ensure my own safety in a worst case scenario. It was stupid of me. I'm sorry Mr. Gandor."

"Apologies mean nothing to me," Luck said, voice taking on a menacing edge. His eyes had become hard, unfeeling. He walked around his desk and towards the door. "Berga. Make an example of him."

"With pleasure," the large man said, standing and hitting his palm with his fist.

Luck exited the room just as the sound of a fist hitting flesh resounded from within, and a man's horrible screaming filled the space. He shut the door, stifling some of the noise, and walked into the large room that served as the new Caraggioso. The building had belonged to the Gandor Family for many decades. In that time it had been a speakeasy, an office building, a restaurant, and now a nightclub for the super-rich. However, the club was empty except for one other figure, seeing that it was the middle of the day.

Luck walked over to the bar and sat beside the other person, a red head in a black trench coat that was swirling a glass of scotch in his hand. "Since when do you drink?" he asked, waving the bartender over.

"I don't. I don't need to," the red head said, setting the glass down. "But I thought, why not? I don't honestly get the appeal."

"Something I can get for you, Mr. Gandor?" the young bartender asked. He was a young man, an immigrant from Italy that the Gandors had taken under their wing.

"Uh, yes. Just a scotch, Leo." Luck turned to the other man again, watching him with cool, golden eyes. "I heard about the train situation, on the news. It seems the whole thing is stirring up quite a ruckus."

"Oh really? I figured they'd cover it up like they did last time. And the time before that."

"Claire…" Luck waited until the other looked at him, brown eyes almost shimmering with his amusement. "Claire, this is serious. And you know it, too. People are starting to poke around and I don't want the FBI on my doorstep tomorrow asking why my brother was the only survivor of a wicked train crash that left forty something people dead."

"Luck, if you had been there, you would have reacted the same way," Claire said. "I did what I had to do. Now get off my back, alright? Besides, I'll take care of any Feds that annoy you, I promise."

"I'm not worried about being annoyed. I'm worried about exposure. Now, are you sure you didn't leave a trace of you being there?"

"Of course not. I'm not an idiot and it's not the first time I've done this." Claire looked down at his drink for a minute before picking it up and chugging it. "You're getting real paranoid lately, Luck." He stood, walking to the door. "I'm going home, I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"Yeah, see you." Luck sighed, picking up the drink the bartender had left for him and chugged it quickly. "Hey Leo, get me another of here, would you?" The man looked down at the wooden bar, worrying plaguing his features. There were many things about his family that should never be exposed and to him it seemed like every day they were getting closer to being found out. A sense of dread settled upon him as he grabbed his second drink, downed it, and immediately ordered another.


Review, maybe?