Dear Readers,

This is my first fanfiction, so it may not be as good as you'd expect. I've been writing fanfiction for a while, but I've never published them. So, here's my first go! And please...

***REVIEWS ARE LOVE***

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters in it. I only own the characters that I create, such as Esme.

Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Crowley, Garth, MORE TO COME AS STORY PROGRESSES

Warnings:

*Blood

*Swearing

*Some Suggestive Themes

and the most important one of all...

SPOILERS!

Spoilers up to season 6 (I think lol), some events have been altered or completely removed to fit the story plot.

So without further adue, let's begin!

Summary:

When Bobby and Ellen discover a new supernatural phenomenon; one that may be more human than they thought, called Listers. After following a bloody and death-filled trail, they come across...a teenage girl, one with a strange past and knowledge worth killing for.

Esme Fallen was born with the Curse of the Lister, which is a pernement tourture that only has one way of surpressing; killing the contracts that the curse gives. When hunters find her, with in invitation to help, she reluctantly accepts their offer.

But what they don't know is that a war is brewing, one that not only endangers their lives, but the lives of the world's as well. Follow Sam, Dean, Castiel, and others through what may be the last fight of their lives.

Esme Fallen woke with a start, the nightmare ending abruptly.

She was used to her mornings being like that, just like she was used to never having a real home. She was also familiar with the small drip of the faucet everywhere she went, and they way her motel room sometimes went cold suddenly, no matter how hot it was outside.

Esme was used to it all, because she wasn't what you would call "normal".

First things first, she was alone. Ever since the age of 10, she had always dependent on her instincts and the signs that everyone missed. Whether it be a small trace of sulfur near the window, or a chill in the left corner of the room.

Esme was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she's been doing it for years after all.

Sure, she was still a minor, and relied on the tens of hundreds of fake IDs in her glovebox, and her magnificent hacking skills, and her abilities of hand-to-hand combat. She tried not to stay in the same place for more than a day, and certainly to not inflict any mark on the place what-so-ever. So as far as the rest of the world was aware, she didn't exist.

Her father was a good man, a man who had died a death the nobody would've even thought was possible. He had trained her, prepared her, for a job she knew would be her's. She wasn't ready yet, and her father didn't tell her when she would have to be.

She was chosen to be a Lister, and she knew her responsibilities.

Bobby Singer was sick of Rufus and his petty calls.

Most of the time, he was just calling to say "hello", or to ask for stupid advice when investigating a case he had perfectly under control. But, Rufus, sadly, was his friend, and he trusted him just like Rufus trusted Bobby.

He got quite a large amount of calls from tens of different hunters, each asking for help on their current case. He even was forced to make an individual "hot line" for fake FBI calls, due to hunters often having to make fake IDs for many different federal operations. Some had FBI badges, other had wildlife centers, and most had a mixture of almost every badge Bobby could think of.

But he also had to worry about John's boys.

The idjits were hunters, too, for John had trained them to be ones after their mother had died from Azazel. The sucker was put down ages ago, but Bobby somehow felt as if he had never left.

Maybe he was just too used to the dreading feeling that a psycho-demon-hellspawn-murder was on the loose. It was probably just a hunch, but Bobby just couldn't let it go.

He was practically falling asleep on his dining table when one of his "personal" phones rang, the ring! ring! ring! snapping Bobby out of his space adventures.

He made a strange noise, only to scramble upward to answer that damned phone. "Who the hell's calling me this late?"

"I'd think you'd be awake, Bobby."

Bobby knew that voice too well. "Well hello to you too, Ellen."

He heard her sigh. "I believe I've found one."

"One what?" Bobby asked stupidly, only to gather his wits before continuing. "You found a Lister?"

"Believe so." Ellen cleared her throat, and he heard the rustling of papers and files. "Mysterious murders or important democratic leaders. First, Gregory Corman, the owner and founder of the business called CormanCo."

"What the hell is CormanCo?"

Bobby could practically hear Ellen nodding. "It's a commercial complex placed in New York, or in other words, an elephant in a haystack. The place is virtually impossible to break into, restricted access to those who are allowed to enter it, and security that is off the charts. Ash can't even access the security footage."

Bobby was getting a bit impatient, mostly because of sleeping on a few bottles of beer. "But, what is it? Commercial wise, anyways."

"It's a business for home management; security, taxes, health care." Ellen answered.

Bobby thought about that for a moment. "But why would this sucker want to kill a man that isn't so bad? What could he have possibly done to be killed by a Lister? Let alone get on one's list?"

"Exactly what I said." There was the sound of more papers moving around. "So, Ash did some research."

"You're welcome!" Someone, who Bobby could only assume was Ash, shouted distantly from the phone.

Ellen seemed to ignore him, or possible flash him a glare. "He was suspected of murdering a few children a couple years back. He was released from the case uncertainly, but was then called back to court after the suspension of human trafficking."

"Damn." Bobby mumbled. "So, did he spend his time in jail?"

"Nope. Released of no charges."

"So," Bobby was silent for a moment. It all seemed to piece together. Listers only have serious people on their lists, and once you're on it, you're not getting off it. "this Lister is killing people high on the political food chain?"

"Yes and no. Only ones that haven't seemed to suffer the consequence that they deserved." Ellen said. She seemed to have all the answers to Bobby's questions. Then again he had asked her to do some research for him if she wanted to (apparently she wanted to, judging by the amount of proof and a stone-hard trail).

Bobby didn't respond, at first. He thought for a second before a plan formed into mind. "Looks like we're goin' hunting."

Esme had blood on her hands.

It was sticky, and wet, and metallic-smelling.

And it was red.

She washed her hands in the sink of the building, wishing she could wash away the smell of death from her hands as well. She wasn't sickened by the sight of blood anymore, which was probably good for someone like her. But she also couldn't erase those memories of the all the people she had killed.

One life for thousands, possibly millions, depending on who was on her list that week.

It always changed each week, and when she missed a week, she would gain a scar. Her arms were covered with them, from all those times as a child where she hadn't obeyed the orders.

To passerby, they probably looked like self harm, it actually did. But each cut was like a letter, one that she couldn't figure out which angle and/or which language the letter had come from.

She was in a commercial building, one that story after story of offices. It was only Bill Nicholas in the building at the time, and that was her target.

He was in his chair, slumped at an angle that looked almost like he was asleep. Except the fact that there was a slice just below his neckline, one that was still bleeding quite a lot.

She sighed, getting a tissue to wipe off the blood on her knife. She liked this knife, with it's strange symbols carved into the side. It was such a silver that it looked blue in the moonlight.

There was a sound like a switch. "Don't move, or I'll shoot."

Gun. she thought, slipping her bloody knife into her jeans pocket as she turned towards the voice.

She was greeted by three men, each with loaded guns pointing at her with such professional posture. She admired their stances, and the way they showed no emotion while holding the gun.

"You're just a kid." the tall one said. He had shaggy brownish hair that flicked just below his ears. His eyes, which were a greenish-blue color in the dark, were squinted in something like concentration.

"You don't know that, Sam." The slightly shorter one, who looked almost angry, snapped.

There other man, who hadn't said anything, was a bit older than the two. She guessed his age was around his late 50s, but he too held his gun with precious posture.

Esme didn't dare say anything, for every word she would say could jeopardize her task. All she wanted was to kill who needed to be killed, then walk away until she receive another. That was how things went, or she would suffer the pain of another series of scars.

The tall guy, who the "slightly shorter" guy had called Sam, spoke again. "Put the knife down."

She didn't listen. These guys were not her business, and she had no right to kill them. But she held her knife ready, and her stance was positioned to strike.

"Please." The guy, Sam, put his hands up as if calming a wild animal. He crept forward with caution, and Esme couldn't blame them. They probably thought she was the insane little girl who had run away after her father was murdered.

It was more than that, and she wasn't even close to being insane.

Esme stepped back, making Sam quickly freeze his steps. Sam put his hands out again, and started moving.

You've got quite some nerve there, Sam. She thought, but she stepped away from the guy again.

"Sam, I would stop." the guy, who was younger than the other, but a bit taller nonetheless, said.

"Dean…" Sam warned.

She knew the other guys name now, which was good. She needed to get these guys in her head, just to make sure that if she encountered them again, she could remember it.

Esme felt a strike of fear, the first one she had felt all night.

They were hunters.

And they had to be hunting her.

"Back." She said, holding her knife up to stop Sam from coming closer.

Dean made a sudden movement, as if getting ready to shoot. Esme actually wanted him to do that, just to end her pain and the lives she had to end. She wanted this to be over, to stop herself from killing anymore.

But she wasn't ready to die yet, the world wasn't ready for her.

Step by step, life after life, she would save those who are contaminating the world with slivers of Hell. There were people in this world who were so terrible that death wasn't worthy enough for them. Event the torture down in Hell was too good for them.

The older guy finally said his first words, and they weren't exactly a great first impression. "Balls..."

Esme felt the urge to laugh. Never in her life has she ever heard someone use the word "balls" as an alternate version of a swear. Yet again these people couldn't really be considered normal.

The older man fiddled with his hat that was placed a bit sloppily on his head, eyeing up Esme like she was going to explode (who knows, she may have a grenade in her bag).

Sam obeyed her sudden order, freezing his steps. "It's fine."

"No, it's not." Esme's voice came out blank, like her emotions were numbed. "You can't help me."

"What if we can?" Dean's words were weird, yet they were some of the only things Esme had heard him say. But his voice was soft, but it sounded a bit out of character.

Esme shook her head, but she felt resistance when she wanted to speak. Trust was a dangerous thing, and she had learned too well not to depend on someone for too long.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked, but Esme could tell that he already knew that answer.

Silence, one that she chose to occur. She needed to get away, for these people were just slowing her down, she didn't want another scar…

Sam pursed his lips. "Please, we're not gonna hurt you."

"You are hunters, so I presume that you will." Esme spoke with no emotion, for it didn't show her fear that pounding around in her skull. "I'm not going to fight, in fact, I will do anything but. Just please, make it quick, if you decide that it is your choice."

That seemed to have quite the impact of the three, for each stared at Esme with shock. They were obviously debating on what to do with her, and she could sense them leaning towards killing her. But she really didn't have a say in this, for she hated her job, and she couldn't quit until the day she died.

Sam extended a hand, which was quite a brave gesture for the one holding the knife. "I'm Sam."

She didn't shake it, but she answered. "I can't tell you my name."

Sam actually smiled. "Okay, well, that's my brother,Dean." he gestured to the younger man with a cautious frown on his face. "And that's Bobby." He pointed to the man wearing the hat.

"Should you really be telling her our names, son?" Bobby asked, eyeing Esme up as if expecting her to shift into a hellion. "She could be working for them."

"She's not, Ellen already knows who she is." Dean spoke this time, which surprised Esme a bit. She could see his dislike for her, but it was a bit forced, as if he just wanted to kill her and leave without remembering. "She's a Lister."

Silence, tense and thought-filled, silence. Each man was thinking hard, but she could tell they were all thinking about her. Each thought was unique, some even similar to some others she had felt earlier, but she decided to block them, for now at least.

Esme glared at each man. "So, you know how horrible I am."

"We don't, actually. But we do know that you junkies get high over killing." Dean said, flashing a look in Bobby's direction. "Killing you would save a lot of lives."

"But kill hundreds more." The words flew out of her mouth, her mind completely unaware that she had said them. Esme wanted to slap herself, but instead mentally kicked the part of her brain that processed everything that she thought and spoke.

Esme couldn't help but continue. "A Lister is given a list each week, which has the name of a person who must be killed. They costed lives; undercover murders. The only thing they're worthy of is the tortures down in Hell, some don't even deserve that. So kill me if you want to, for I would actually prefer that. So, choose, and I will go along with your choice."

"So, you are a Lister?" Dean asked, his voice a bit curious and confused.

Esme sighed. "Yes, and I hate it. There's no escaping, no changing, for punishment comes for us if we don't punish the punishable."

"Damn, that sounds, bad." Bobby was thinking aloud, and she could see one of his bad habits coming out.

Bobby turned to Sam, who was still rather close to Esme. "What do we do? I mean, she's not fighting."

"Should we, you know…" Sam looked at Esme with pity, and she could see him battling his choices in his mind.

"I'm not stopping you." Esme said, looking up at Sam, then Dean, then Bobby, each who stared at her with that familiar look that people give to their dying relatives.

"What about Cas? Can't he help?" Sam asked.

"The dumbass is off doing who-knows-what nowadays." Dean answered, then started to tap his foot impatiently. He was stressed, probably from the ordeal of Hell venturing onto Earth, or maybe because he brother was having a few problems that he couldn't help with. Either-or, he needed a nap and a few beers.

Bobby spoke to Esme directly, which was the first time he's ever done so. "Could take her to my place."

"Yeah, so she can kill you when you turn your back? I don't think so." Dean snapped.

"What your tone, boy. My house, my rules, my life, my decisions. So but out of it." Bobby glared a bit at Dean, who looked rather offended.

"I only kill who I have to, and I can assure you that you have no right to care about me. I'm a monster, which makes me a target for you hunters." Esme backed a bit away from the group, who was watching her every move intently. "So, I don't care what you do, but don't endanger ourselves more than you already have."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, his voice rising with each word.

Before Esme could even speak a syllable, a loud bang filled the air.

The hunters seemed to have an instinct to drop to the ground, Esme on the other hand, had a different one. If anything, she stood up higher. She listened to the aftereffects of the gunshot; a ringing or a sound of something breaking, but she caught nothing.

"Get down!" Bobby whispered to her, but she ignored him.

"I'm sorry." Esme said, walking towards the windows. She heard Sam say something, but she ignored that too.

She kicked the window, making it shatter into a million pieces. A few screams sounded from below, but she knew that they did no harm, maybe the bits of glass did a little.

She reached upwards, to the ledge that was placed above the window. The men were no longer crouched, but when they tried to get up, another shot rang out. Esme felt that familiar sensation, one that she always got when she felt another Lister around.

At least there were a few advantages of being a Lister. In order to be an assassin, you needed a few skills in order to stay concealed.

Reflexes, good ones. She had that down, after the few years of training and fighting with her father, she had become almost impossibly good at fighting.

Keen senses, which were a bit harder at achieving. She had been through so much trouble to get her senses to get this good! Esme had gone a full month without eating, which not only took it's toll on her physically, but mentally as well. But, she gained a few perks from doing so.

And, the one she hated most, was no hesitation. You kill, you leave, you endure, no matter how badly they pleaded for you to spare them. Esme was still working on that, and each exercise made things even worse.

She was about to climb onto the ledge when she heard Sam say the most peculiar words she had ever heard.

"We could help you."

It hit her with pure force, almost making her fall out of the window. She felt pure truth in his voice, one that was filled with understanding. She hasn't heard that in while, or at all. And she missed that, the emotions that Sam was displaying so purely.

"But we won't stop you, if you want to run. But I can assure you this, you're never really going to be truly safe, for you're very hard to miss." She couldn't see Sam's face, but even over the wind, she could feel his pity.

And then, Esme did the most strangest thing she has ever done.

She listened.

"LEAVE!" She shouted to the wind, knowing that whoever was threatening the hunters would hear her. "You have no right to be here!"

She could hear the group start to stand, and the shots suppresses. But she could feel something else leave the area too, something just as pure as Sam's understanding.

Anger.