Hi! So this is my first fanfiction, so please don't hurt me. (And if you're going to just click out the second you see those words, you're rude and I hope you go step on a tack.)

OC is Ainsley, 16 in beginning, and 26 later on. There will be some Crowley x OC, But that will be later on. Rated T for now, but will soon be rated M for extreme language and sex. (Kinky stuff. It's Crowley, what do you expect? Pfft.) Anyways, I don't own Supernatural, blah blah blah, first few chapters (while Ainsley is still a teen) is before Crowley is King of Hell. Reviews are always appreciated!

Trigger warning for attempted suicide and death mention.

Ainsley sat on the bed in her motel room, looking at the pistol she held in her hand.

"How has it come to this?"

She whispered to herself, her mind moving at a mile a minute.

She was 16, and alone in a hotel room she had payed for with money she had pick pocketed from various people, and a shoddy fake I.D. she had bought off some guy in an alleyway. She was alone, and had no one to turn to, so she chose the only thing she knew. Death.

Taking a deep breath, she placed the barrel of the gun against her temple.

And there a knock at the door. Startled, she pulled the gun away from her head, and hid it behind herself; before realizing they weren't just going to walk in. She took a deep breath, and walked to the door. Standing on her tiptoes, she attempted to look out of the peep hole, but it was sadly maybe a couple of centimeters too high. Still holding the gun in her hand, she opened the door slowly, the barrel pressed against her side of the wood, hidden out of sight.

"You gotta help me man." Said the man in front of her. He was the one who sold her the I.D. "Cops are on my trail and if you don't, your name is the first I'll give them!" He seemed to be scared, and his eyes were moving almost crazily. She repressed a sigh, thinking to herself "Well what the hell? It's not like it would matter anyways." But let him in, opening the door, and silently clicking the safety on the pistol, shoving it in the back of her pants, and letting her baggy shirt cover the lump.

After he came in, she closed the door, and then turned around, lifting her head; but when she finally placed her eyes on his face, she let out a choked off gasp of terror and surprise. The man was no longer just some creepy homie with a bad smell, but a creepy homie with a bad smell, and teeth as long as her finger, and as sharp as who knows what. She pressed herself against the door, one hand scrambling for the doorknob, but the other one hidden behind her back, wrapping around the grip of the pistol still hidden underneath her shirt.

The man stalked towards her, and she clicked the safety. His eyes were hungry and predatory, and her hand lifted. His eyes went to the pistol, and his face seemed to register mild surprise. Not fear. Not shock. Just surprise. Before she could give herself more time to think, she shot. Not at his chest, or head, or foot even. She aimed right for his groin. She heard him gasp, and didn't wait to see if he fell; she was out of there, and she didn't have time to play doctor. She threw open the door, and sprinted away, her feet taking her as fast as they could. She was in the street, and running across, when she felt a hand grasp her shoulder. The hand forced her to turn, and she was now facing the man she had shot, who seemed to not have any lasting wounds.

She let out a scream, and she heard the screeching of tires. Turning her head, all she could see were headlights, and suddenly the mans hand was torn away from her, as the car rammed into him. Jumping back, she fell flat on her rear, watching as two men jumped out of the sleek black car, and grabbed him. They seemed to inject him with something, then tied him up, putting a bag over his head, and dragging him to the trunk of the car. Popping it open, the one with shorter hair tossed him in, while the taller, longer haired one walked over to her.

Squeaking, she crawled over to the pistol she had dropped, and pointed it at him, still sitting on the ground. "D-Don't come any closer! I'll shoot, I swear!" She stammered, the gun in her hand shaking as she watched him lift his hands and stop.

"Okay. I've stopped. I just want to talk." His voice was soft, and he seemed to only be in his mid twenties.

"Talk?! You just bloody ran that "guy" over, and now he's in the trunk of your car! If you want just want to talk, I'm the freaking Queen of England!" She said, standing up, and almost laughing at their height difference. She was about five feet even, and this man was easily over a foot taller than her. He could overpower her, even with the gun in her hand, and she knew he knew it too.

"Look, I can explain everything to you if you'd just put the gun down." He said, slowly walking towards her.

"I'll put the gun down when you tell me what the heck that guy is, and why he tried to attack me!" She stated, her head turning to look at the entire situation. The motel was about 100 meters away, and it was the only building for miles. She was royally screwed, and she knew it. She could always just dramatically turn the gun on herself, but she really didn't want to do that. The man attacking her, made her realise she wasn't ready to die. Not yet, at least.

"That guy was a vampire, and he probably wanted to suck you dry." He stated simply, looking at her. Meanwhile, his friend walked up beside him, and looked at the gun in her hands.

"Jesus Sammy, the girl's barely to your elbow. You can't just knock it out of her hands?" He said. His voice was a bit rougher than his friends, and she didn't like the way he talked about her. She aimed the gun down, and shot at his feet, purposefully missing by a few inches, and watching pavement fly. "I'm right here, numbnuts." She said, pulling the gun upwards, and watching as they both jumped back.

"Okay, okay. I see you. Please put the gun down. We just saved your ass, maybe let us talk? I swear upon my favorite beer we won't hurt you." He said, his hands now raised too. You thought about it for a moment, before sighing and clicking the safety yet again, and putting the gun back into the back of your jeans. You walked towards them, then past them, sliding into the back seat of their car, and crossing your arms, waiting for their reaction. It took five minutes of them standing outside and bickering, before the shorter one slid in the drivers seat, and "Sammy" slid into the passengers.

"So. A vampire huh?" She said this softly, looking at her hands, which were clasped together tightly in her lap. Her mind seemed to draw a blank as what to say next.

"What's your name, kid?" The one in the drivers seat asked, his head turning to watch her from the corner of his eye.

"You first." She said, in a mildly aggressive tone, her eyes slitting as she looked at him.

"I'm Dean, and this is Sam." He said, but he stopped there, obviously waiting for her to respond.

"My name is Ainsley." She finally said, sighing as she decided not to lie. She didn't know why, but she felt as if she should trust these men. They haven't tried to hurt her, they took care of that..."vampire", and they're talking to her.

"Ainsley, how old are you?" Sam asked. She liked him better. He was nice from the start.

"..."

She stayed silent, her head down, and her thumbs fidgeting with each other. She heard Dean sigh, and start the car. She didn't ask where they were going, and didn't really care. She didn't know if they were going to kill her, or hurt her, or anything else, but really, she was just tired. She was tired emotionally, mentally, and physically. Her head dropped to lean against the window, and the rumbling of the car turning onto the freeway rocked her to sleep.