Hey, so I'm sorry this took so long to update. I started college! But I'll try and update more frequently from here on out. I don't own Supernatural or Baccano and never will. If you have questions, PM me!

Stretched out on the couch, his suit jacket rolled up to act as a makeshift pillow for him, Luck was enjoying a light doze. The room was silent except for his calm and even breathing. His tie laid on the floor beside the couch until another set of hands scooped it up. The other person walked away and dropped the tie onto the desk, a smirk coming to their red painted lips. Her heels clicked against the wooden floors as she approached the couch again. Sitting beside him, she reached out and ran a soft hand over his cheek until his eyes slowly opened to look at her.

Shooting up, he stared at her, bewildered. "Who are you?" he found himself asked, as he took in her appearance. Low cut top. Short, tight skirt. Heels that had to be at least six inches. Thick makeup and bright red lips. He pushed her hand away and repeated his question, adding, "How the hell did you even get in here. I have guards. What-"

"I let her in," another voice added. From the shadows in the corner of the room, Claire emerged. His eyes shone with amusement. "You've been so stressed out lately, I just thought you might need a way to relieve some of it. And, well, what better way then-"

"She's a hooker?" Luck asked with a bit of exasperation. "Claire you know I don't…"

"Oh come on, baby. It'll be alright," the woman purred, voice deep within her chest. "I'll even let your friend join if you want."

"Oh, I'm flattered," Claire said. "But I'm a married man. No, Luck here is the one who deserves all your attention."

The golden eyed man glared at his step brother with a surprising bit of malice. The woman leaned forward and his eyes were drawn down to her cleavage as she pushed against his chest to make him lie down again. His anger turned quickly to discomfort as she leaned in and begin kissing him. Luck pushed her away as gently as he possibly could in his disgust. His skin crawling like ants marching all over him, he stood up and walked over to the door. "I'm sorry," he said to the prostitute who was staring at him with surprise. "I don't mean to offend, but I cannot do this with you. Please talk to my brother and he will see you're paid a fair amount."

She shrugged, then stood and walked out of the room. "Whatever you say sugar. I was just glad you weren't ugly like most of my other clients." Her heels clicked out, and Luck quickly shut the door behind her, turning his glare back to his brother.

"What's wrong, Luck," he asked, brown eyes twinkling. "Not a fan of hookers? Now, that's a little closeminded, don't you think? You're old enough to be past that twentieth century sort of thinking."

"It's not that she's a prostitute!" Luck snapped walking back over to the couch and collapsing on it. He lowered his head into his hands, a deep sigh rising from his chest. "You know I have no interest in sex. Like none at all. Why do you keep doing these type of things?"

"You know I'm just messing with you. I don't expect you to go through with anything. If I wanted you to, I'd just make you do it. You know I can do that right? After all, you're just a product of my mind." The red head walked over and sat beside his brother with a huff. "You're such a stick-in-the-mud lately. You used to laugh at stuff like this."

"Yeah, that was before. Before everything that's happened in the past week. I'm stressed beyond belief and it's mostly your fault." He looked up at his brother, glaring slightly. "Speaking of, where the hell did you go today? Why don't you even fucking listen to me when I tell you not to do something? What if those Feds had spotted you, or trailed you back here?"

Claire chucked, shaking his head. "You don't need to worry anymore about them. Trust me on this, they are not FBI. When I followed them to the Alveare, they were researching the Rail Tracer." Luck stiffened at the mention of his brother's alias. "Now, why the hell would Feds be looking into that?" Claire reassured. "And they were too…unprofessional when I talked to them."

"You talked to them…?" Luck asked, looking forward at the wall in exasperation. He heaved a great sigh once again, then stood up, rubbing his hands over his face. "I need to…I need to go home. I need sleep. Don't do anything else really stupid tonight, okay? I'm going to have them killed. I'll send out some hitmen tonight. Talk to Berga, yeah. I'll get Berga to do it."

"Why send some pathetic guys when you could just send me?" Claire said, chuckling. "And really, there's no point. Like I said, they're not Feds!" He leaned back, putting his arms behind his head.

"I don't believe that for a second. I have sources saying they are. And I'm not taking any chances." He turned back toward his brother, face softening a bit. "Alright… You go. You've been tailing them all day anyway. Leave no trace that they were ever there, alright?"

"Easy." Claire said. "By midnight, they'll be out of your hair forever. And trust me, they'll be no investigation as to why they suddenly disappeared, because they're not connected to the feds in any way." Claire laughed for a moment, shaking his head. "They told me their real names for God's sakes. Sam and Dean. I mean, how ridiculous do they sound."

"They sound like normal names to me, Claire," Luck said, tiredly.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say," Claire reached over and picked up his brother's suit jacket and tossed it to him. "Go get some sleep. Tomorrow, this will all be over."

Dean stepped out of the bathroom, yawning as he stretched his arms above his head. Sam sat on the bed, computer opened in front of him, still trying to find any information on the Rail Tracer of the Flying Pussyfoot that could connect back to the case they were working. His exasperated expression showed just how unsuccessful his venture was.

"Any luck?" Dean asked, sitting down onto his own bed.

"No," Sam said, shutting the laptop and groaning with frustration. "There's nothing. The Rail Tracer is nothing but a myth, a legend. And the Flying Pussyfoot must have been almost completely covered up because outside of what we found at the Daily Days, the only thing I could find was an article about this senator being caught up in it somehow. There wasn't a lot of information. Just that his wife and daughter were on board."

"Well, are they still alive?"

"Don't know. The name was Beriam. There's a chance the daughter is at least. I'll look it up in the morning. We need to get some sleep." He set the laptop on the bedside table. "If she is still alive, we can go talk to her. Maybe get some information."

"Sounds like a good plan," Dean replied. He flipped off the lamp beside his bed, then laid down. Sam mirrored his movements. A few moments of silence passed as the men's breathing evened out. Tranquility painted the scene until the window slowly slid up, making absolutely no sound. A lithe body slipped in. He blended into the darkness, all expect for his eyes which almost glowed, murderously red.

He passed over to Dean's bed, the closest to the window, hands reaching out to close around his throat. At the softest touch, Dean's eyes sprang open. An iron grip clamped onto his throat as his airway was quickly cut off. He grabbed onto the wrists of his attacker beginning to thrash around like an animal stuck in a cage. His feet kicked at the unidentified figures body, but somehow he never managed to make contact. In his mind, the creature must be almost incorporeal, but in reality, he was just avoiding him like the acrobat he was.

However, Dean's fighting brought the other hunter from his sleep. He shot up and threw himself over the bed at the creature. Claws dug into Dean's neck as he was lifted up and used almost like a shield by the creature. Blood ran down his arms. A smile stretched across his face, teeth shining in the darkness as he threw Dean's body forward. It collided with Sam and the both fell to the ground.

Dean shot up almost immediately and grabbed a knife off the table. He turned and lunged at the creature who easily maneuvered around him. His wrist was grabbed and twisted, snapping it in two easily. He screamed out of the surprising pain, "Damn it! Sam!"

His brother stood, then stepped forward and threw a punch toward their attacker. He stopped it easily, pushing Sam back to the table. Dean tried to kick the creature's legs out from under him, but he jumped up and flipped. As his hand still had a vice tight grip on Dean's arm, the hunter came with him, flipping onto his back and landing hard. With the wind knocked out of him, he stared almost hopelessly as it stood over him. Then, he lowered himself on the man's chest, knees digging into his ribs. His hands went around the man's throat again, once again trying to strangle him.

Sam came up behind him and brought the knife pulled out of his pocket, just a little pocket knife, down into the creature's shoulder. He didn't even flinch, just kept his death grip on Dean. Distraught, Sam ran to the lamp and flipped it on. He thought that if he could just see this creature, maybe he'd know how to fight it. Stop it from killing his brother. Turning, he gaped at the man on top of his brother, glowing red eyes now just a normal brown. His claws were just normal fingers. He was a seemingly average man.

He looked over at Sam, smirking at him. A challenge with no words. That's when Sam realized that he was the man that they had met in the Italian restaurant earlier that day. Below him, Dean stopped breathing, so the creature stood up. Walking on him like he was a slab of carpet, not a person. He came toward Sam, stepping up onto the bed and crossing over so he was staring down at the man.

"I told you the only way to stop the rail tracer was to believe, Sam," he chuckled, jumping down and glaring up at the man who was frozen in shock. "You didn't believe did you? Well, I guess if you had, I wouldn't be here. Right?"

He grabbed Sam, hands on his throat. The taller man fought back uselessly. The man had inhuman strength. He must be something, Sam thought as the edges of his vision blackened. He might look normal, but he can't be. There's no way. His fighting became weaker and weaker until he finally just hung limp in the savage's arms.

"Oh, you're not giving up that easily are you? Well this wasn't very fun," he said, shaking Sam's body before shrugging. "Oh well…"

Suddenly, a hammer struck him on the side of the head and the man slumped to the ground, a fresh wound appearing on the side of his head. Sam dropped to his knees, gasping for air as he looked up at his brother. He had bruises and cuts along his neck, but he was alive.

"Come on," Dean said, hoisting his brother to his feet. "Help me tie this maniac up. I don't think that was the killing blow."

"Is he human, Dean?" Same asked as they picked up the creature's body and threw it into a chair. As Dean grabbed the rope out of the bag on the table, Sam questioned again, "Well, is he?"

"I don't know!" Dean snapped, throwing the rope to his brother. Together they tied him tightly, making escape seemingly impossible. "He looks like it, but so do a lot of things before they take on their true form. What I do know, though, is that we're going to get to the bottom of this. Tonight."

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