The Real Reason

Epilogue

Sam opened the freezer door and was hit with a blast of cold air.

That wasn't the only thing he was hit with.

The air brought such intense feelings of sorrow Sam didn't understand it. Soul crushing, heart wrenching, lonely sorrow.

Sam dropped to his knees -the freezer door slamming shut- and shivered.

Sam realized he was crying. He wiped the tears from his face, feeling absolutely puzzled. 

What the hell had just happened? Why was he suddenly such and emotional wreck?!

Sam took a deep breath -he wasn't sad now, so maybe it would pass. Maybe it wasn't anything.

Maybe it was the drugs?

Sam nodded to himself, finally finding a rational answer. Yes. He had been in the hospital, and had no recollection of anything that had happened there -including his medication.

Medication could do weird stuff. This was probably a side effect.

Feeling calmer, but still wary, Sam opened the freezer door again.

The cold from the freezer was soothing now. Sam fished around and pulled out the bag of ice he needed.

Then he paused. The cold was oddly comforting. It calmed him. Made him feel like everything was ok. Like he was safe.  Weird.

Sam closed the freezer door. 

Weird.

Over the next few weeks Sam would have a strange aversion to the freezer. Dean wouldn't understand it, but he wouldn't question it either. Sam also found himself taking cold showers. For some reason it helped him concentrate, especially when he was stressed over a case. The cold calmed him, even comforted him, yet it also brought with a strange sense of longing that Sam couldn't place. A longing which almost made Sam turn the faucet back on hot.

Almost.

Gradually, the effects of cold temperature wore off, and Sam reacted to cold things like any other person would.

The dreams were the last to go. Sam often found himself dreaming of nothing at all -then he would wake up crying and not know why. Or wake up laughing. Or afraid. Sam dismissed each mood. They were from dreams. They didn't matter. Perhaps the oddest thing was when Sam would wake up with a word on his lips -a word he couldn't remember. This happened for several nights in a row, until one morning Sam finally managed to salvage the word.

"Lucifer."

Shit.

Sam bolted upright in bed. He charged into the bathroom and began to furiously brush his teeth for several minutes. When he finished, he splashed his face with cold water, panting.

The mood swings needed to stop, yes, but above all else, Sam Winchester refused wake up speaking the name of his tormentor. A tormentor he didn't even remember, thanks to Castiel. No. He was more than his suffering. Sam was more than his PTSD. He would conquer this. He wasn't in Hell anymore. And he was not a victim.

Sam dried his face with a towel and resolved to not try understanding the strange, empty dreams. Clearly, they were reminiscence of the Cage, of Hell. Something Sam did not need to recall.

Because Sam was more than what Lucifer had done to him.

He was not his PTSD.

Eventually, the dreams passed, and Sam's nightly visions returned to the usual, bizarre collage of current events and past things he had seen. Sometimes, Sam actually missed the empty dreams -they were preferable to his current nightmares. But at least things were back to normal. 

Or as normal as life as a Winchester could be.

AN: It's not much, just some drabbles of stuff I thought about. There's a little deja vu left in Sam's noggin' but it eventually goes away. Since Sam has stopped hallucinating, he returns to saving the world, his time in the ward forgotten, ect.

Sorry if you guys are getting and extra notification from Wattpad. I just noticed some grammatical errors on this chapter so I updated.