Supernatural Drabble

Only Half

Prompt:  After getting your soul back, it only gets worst.

Pairing: Supernatural x Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 3230

You were awake. You could hear the heated argument between Sam and Dean, you could feel the eyes of a worried Bobby and the nervous pacing of the blue-eyed angel, Castiel, was almost as loud as the argument. Though, you had no idea where you were. What you were on was a bed, you knew that for sure, but you can't really remember anything...

And then it hit you. It hit you so hard that your eyes popped open and you gasped for a breath of air, bolting upright into a sitting position. Bobby was immediately on his feet, Castiel stopped pacing, and the argument between the brothers halted. All eyes were on you.

You were sweating, you could feel the beads of sweat sliding down the side of your face, and to say you were okay was a complete understatement. You were not okay, you could feel the years of Hell inside you, but something was missing. Something you can't name, but seemed very important was missing.

"Y/N?" Bobby's voice came out gentle, and when he reached forward to touch you, he pulled away, afraid that you were going to hurt him, or he was going to hurt you. Which one, you didn't really know.

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at the angel. You opened your mouth to say something, but when no words came out of your mouth, you looked down at your hands. Half your body was covered in a blanket, since you were sitting up, and you noticed you still had the same shirt on. How long were you out?

"I killed..." your voice wavered as the memories of your soulless body... You shivered at the thoughts. You then cleared your throat and tried again. "I murdered all of those people... for what?"

"Y/N-"  Sam tried to speak up, but you only interrupted him.

"For what?"

"10,000 dollars," Dean said softly.

You released an unamused laugh and looked up, but only a little. You refused to look into the eyes of your friends... your family. "I'm..." You shook your head. "All those people are... dead... and I...I remember the look on their faces as I ended their lives. Some were betrayed." You sighed, remembering how close you'd get to your target before literally stabbing them in the back. "Some were mentally pleading." You remembered Paul, the bartender with the amazing family.

"It's not you, Y/N," Sam assured you, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of your bed. "It wasn't you."

"Say it all you want, Sam, but I..." You squeezed your eyes shut. "The blood's on my hands and I...I wish I could take it all back but I can't, Sam, I just can't." You couldn't hold it back anymore, the tears were making their way even though you eyes were closed. "And people are burying their loved ones six feet under because of me. How many people did I kill?"

"Y/N-"

"How many?" you interrupted Dean.

"23," Sam answered, making you look at him.

"Twen-" You looked away and brought your face into your hands, bawling, crying, whatever. You were shaking and, before you knew it, you were being brought into Sam's arms.

---

"I told you this was a bad idea," Sam snapped once he closed the door to the bedroom you occupied. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep, which was surprising seeing as you were out for a good seven hours. "She remembers everything, Dean, and there is no way we're going to be able to help her sanity."