New chapter. Enjoy! I don't own Supernatural or Baccano and never will.
The boys were shown to a room in the back of the Daily Days offices. They sat on the fairly large couch and waited as the young blonde woman looked through her files. When she finally came back in, the boys straightened up and looked at her. She sat across from them, the file in her lap. Dean looked at here expectantly.
"Well, you gonna tell us what we want to know?" he asked, staring at her.
"You've got to tell me what I want to know first," she said, smirking slightly.
Sam sighed, then nodded. "Okay, we're hunters. Not like, game hunters. We hunt ghosts, demons, monsters, you name it. Anything that hurts people. And we think that whatever killed people aboard the Flying Pussyfoot might be some malevolent supernatural entity that's back again. We want to find it and kill it before it hurts anyone else."
She stared at them for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Alright, you've given me a laugh, now why don't you seriously tell me what's going on, huh?" She stared at them for a moment, neither recanting the man's statement. "Wait, you're being serious. So either, you're telling the truth, or you're both crazy."
"We're not crazy," Dean said. "We've seen shit that could drive a person to that, though. Look, we had a deal. We told you about us, so now you gotta tell us about that." He pointed to the file in her lap.
"Right…" She looked down as well then cleared her throat. "Well, you two don't really need to get involved. It wasn't a monster that killed people on board the Flying Pussyfoot. Actually, it was basically a war zone for two rival factions. We've come to discover that these factions were a group from the Russo Family and a terrorist group. It seems they killed more of each other than any of the innocent passengers. In fact, most of them lived. Not anything like what happened aboard this train. Of course, there is information I have about this train, but I'd need a bit more information about you two."
Sam looked at Dean, then shrugged. "Well, it's not like we have any leads right now…"
"Yeah, but what else could we tell the bitch?" Dean asked, crossing his arms.
"You could start with your names," she said. "Your real names. And then maybe tell me why you two became…hunters."
Dean frowned. "I'm Dean. This is my little brother Sam. We started hunting because our mom was killed by a demon. There? You happy?"
She gaped for a moment, then looked down. "Sorry about that. But, now I'll tell you about this train. No guarantees you'll believe me, though."
"Try us," Sam said.
"The people on this train weren't your ordinary passengers. They were all a member of an elite secret society. They called themselves the Seekers. And they sought only one thing: immortality. Of course, these guys weren't exactly good guys, you know what I mean? They tried some crazy shit to get immortality. Sacrificing virgins. Eating the liver of children. I've personally talked to some of the vets from the organization and they describe some of the most awful things they used to be party to."
"So how did a bunch of people searching for immortality end up getting slaughtered aboard a train? There was no way on and off the train unless you leaped to your death. So who the hell killed them all?"
"I have a guess, but his name is strictly under lockdown. But I will tell you this." She leaned forward, smirking slightly. "There was a monster aboard the Flying Pussyfoot. Not like the ones I'm sure you're used to dealing with but a monster he was. He took out the people who put his passengers at risk. Look up the Rail Tracer. See what you can figure out."
"Is that all you're going to give us?" Dean asked, getting a bit worked up. "We're trying to save lives here! Come on!"
She just rose to her feet, shrugging. "You two can show yourselves out, I guess." With a wave of her hand, she disappeared through the door, the boys watching her with bewilderment.
Sam stood, straightening his jacket with a sigh. "Okay, so this was a bit of a dead end. Sorry for wasting our time."
"No, you were right to want to look into it. And we did get something. Rail Tracer. Whatever that is." Dean stood and started walking from the room with Sam close behind him.
The two walked through the bustling newsroom back into the cold, gray afternoon. Churning clouds overhead promised rain, fairly soon. Walking down the crowded sidewalk, their conversation quickly died out. When they finally arrived at the Impala, which Dean had parked about a block away, they were both lost in their own thoughts.
"Dude," Dean said, breaking the silence as he started the car. "I just thought of something. We're in New York City. Let's go eat in Little Italy. Want to?"
"Don't we have more important things to worry about?" Sam asked dryly, realizing at the mention of food he'd already lost the battle.
"Yeah, but it's not like we don't need to eat. Come on, pull out that map you got and tell me how to get there."
"It'd be easier if we just took the subway…" Sam muttered, pulling the map out of the glovebox. "No traffic or worrying about parking…."
"I'm not leaving Baby sitting for a week, Sam!" Dean said, rubbing the car's dashboard lovingly. He backed the car up then thundered down the road, following Sam's directions. "Have you ever heard of this Rail Tracer, thing?" Dean asked, a few minutes later.
"No," Sam said, looking up from the map in his hands. "It's probably just some ridiculous urban legend. I'll look it up when we get back to the restaurant. I just don't think we're going to find our answers from them. The two train incidents probably aren't even related."
"Well, let's think about it," Dean said, stopping at a red light with a sigh. "With that incident, most of the passengers survived, right? But here, all of them died, including the conductors. I saw the body of one of them and it was pretty much torn to pieces. But, back in the thirties, those passengers were innocent, just trying to get somewhere. But these guys were pretty messed up. You know?"
"And the ones that died were putting the innocent passengers in danger"
"Was it the same train?"
"No, this train was fairly new," Sam said, looking down. "But it's not like it couldn't be a spirit attached to the railways. They were both transcontinental trains, going along the same tracks. It's possible this spirit follows some protective instinct to defend the trains against…unsavory people."
Dean continued driving, thinking over this suggestion. "I still don't think it's a spirit, Sam. But I don't think that woman was right either. This wasn't a person. There's just no way."
"I agree." Dean turned, parking the car on the side of the road against the sidewalk. "Well, where you wanna eat at?
Sam looked around at the line of restaurants that stretched past where he could see. "Uh, well… How about that place?" He acknowledged the small building right beside them.
"Alveare?" Dean said, voice contemplating. "Alright, works for me."
The two got out of the Impala and walked into the bustling place. Neither noticed the red headed man that slipped in behind them, sitting in a booth a few feet away.
Claire ordered a plate of pasta, leaning back in his seat. His ears picked up the conversation coming from the FBI agents behind him. So far, he hadn't heard them talking about anything particularly interesting. His brown eyes danced around, looking at each of the patrons, not very interested in any of them.
"Alright, I've looked up Rail Tracer and I haven't found anything except some old urban legends, just like I thought," one said. He was the taller one, with a computer opened in front of him. "It's a monster that follows trains around, apparently."
The red head smirked, wondering what an FBI agent cared about the Rail Tracer. He chuckled lowly, then turned in his seat to look at them. "Hey, did I hear one of you mention the Rail Tracer?" he asked, gaining both their attentions.
The shorter, older one fixed him with an annoyed look before nodding. "Yeah," he said. "You know anything about it?"
"I know everything about it," he answered. He quickly slid out of his booth and joined the other two, sliding in next to the taller one. "I'll tell you everything, if you want."
"Alright," the one he was sitting next to said. "Yeah, please. Anything to help with our investigation. Uh, we're FBI agents looking into the incident-"
"On the U.S. Continental that derailed the other day," Claire interrupted. "Yeah, I guessed. First off, what do I call you two? Or should be keep this formal, agents?"
"I'm Agent Perry and this is Agent Gladstone," the tall one replied. "Uh, but you can just call me Sam if you want."
The other, Agent Gladstone presumably, gave the other a look before letting out a sigh. "I'm Dean. And who are you?"
He watched the two for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth before deciding to be truthful with the two. "I'm Claire. So what would you like to know about Rail Tracer?"
"Well, what I've figured out is it's a spirit that follows trains around." Sam said, looking at him. "What else do you know?"
"The spirit called Rail Tracer does follow trains. To be more exact, he traces the rails that the trains travel on. He protects the trains, I guess." Claire smirked, looking between the two. "See, the Rail Tracer cares about nothing but his trains. When he comes upon a train, he kills everyone on it, then the train vanishes from the tracks. The only way to keep the Rail Tracer from appearing is to believe the story when someone tells it to you. But once he's there, you just have to run until morning and hope he doesn't kill you."
The two just stared at him, completely unaffected by his tale. Dean shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "No offense, uh Claire, but I don't think that's what we were expecting. But thanks for telling us that…story."
"Well, you didn't expect all your answers, huh?" He stood up, stretching his arms behind his back. "You're investigating a serious crime. It's not like you think some sort of ghost did it." He chuckled a bit darkly. "Have a nice day, agents…" He sauntered back to his seat, just as the waitress came and dropped his food off for him.
A few minutes later, a familiar young man slid into the seat across from him, removing his fedora and placing it on the table. Claire smirked at him around a mouthful of linguini.
"Don't say anything, Claire," he said holding up his hand. "Luck called me back and told me to be on the lookout for you. You know, he's really worried about your getting yourself caught or something. You don't want to end up in some lab, as someone else's experiment, do ya?"
"No, Firo, I don't," he said, setting down his fork. "But I would be more worried about yourself, if I were you. You know I can take care of myself."
"Please, just go back home, okay?"
"No, I'm having fun. I'm going to keep fucking around with these "FBI" agents," he said, chuckling and motioning with his head towards them.
Firo glanced over, gaping a bit. "Is that them?" he asked.
"Yeah, but don't worry. There's no way these two are actually Feds. You tell Luck not to worry his little head about it. I'm going to take care of them for him."
Sam and Dean stood walking from the restaurant. Claire stood as well, flipping his collar up, before following them. He chuckled again, brown eyes lighting up with amusement as Firo watched him leave in dumbfounded bewilderment.
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