Hi again! Really sorry this one took so long, I'm currently trying to balance this with school and making four paintings in a week. Plus the draft was deleted twice, and the dialogue was presenting issues. But without further excuses, here's the chapter. Enjoy!

Sam remained dead to the world for the entirety of the following day, and during that time Dean didn't leave the motel room once. He passed the time alternating between three things: pacing around the room, trying to keep his mind off Sam; lying on the couch, eyes scrunched tightly closed, trying – and failing – to sleep; and standing silently by Sam's bedside, trying to think of things to say. He needed to apologize – truly apologize – to Sammy. Sobbing and whispering "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," to his unconscious body just wasn't enough. But every time he stood there, he couldn't find words that really meant anything. And so, frustrated, Dean would turn around and go back to pacing the room again.

Castiel also made no reappearances. Was he angry at Dean because of his harshness last night, or just busy with angel duties? Either way, Dean found himself beginning to miss Cas as the day wore on. He would've enjoyed some company, even if it was just the silence that so often accompanied Cas's presence.

As the light trickling into the room from outside slowly began to fade, it hit Dean just how exhausted he really was. The stress of the day's waiting had worn him out, and he now found it unusually difficult to keep his eyes open. So Dean made his way to the couch once more, ignoring the other, unoccupied bed. Lying down felt good, Dean decided as his eyes closed. And almost as soon as the thought had crossed out of his mind, Dean sank into deep, welcoming sleep.

When Dean woke hours later, it was dead night. A glance at the lit-up screen of his watch told him that it was two-thirteen in the morning. Though he was still tired, and the lingering effects of sleep still hung about him, Dean doubted that he'd be able to drift off again. So standing, he walked around for a minute, stretching out his limbs in the dark. Then heading back over to the couch, Dean sat heavily, massaging his temples. He was still for a while with his eyes closed, his mind blissfully blank. He had been dreaming, but about what he couldn't quite recall – honestly, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to remember. In the midst of Dean's relative peace, a sound made its way to his ear. Eyes snapping open, Dean sat bolt upright and strained to hear through the silence. A few moments passed without so much as a whisper from the wind outside. Then he heard it. A soft moan, barely audible, coming from across the room behind the couch.

Sammy.

Immediately Dean was on his feet, literally jumping over the couch instead of going around it in his hurry to get across the room quickly enough. Quickly enough for what, exactly? He thought to himself only after he had reached the bed. He straightened. Was he really this desperately worried about Sam, that the slightest sign of his regaining consciousness sent him racing to his side?

Yes. He was.

Dean knelt by the bed, his gaze sweeping over Sam's still, dark silhouette. "Sammy?" he whispered, "You there?" His hand, shaking slightly, reached out to grasp Sam's. His hand was cold, but Dean gripped it tightly, holding onto his brother like it was the only thing keeping him alive. "Please, Sammy."

Sam, seeming to finally hear Dean, turned his head towards the source of his voice. His eyes slowly fluttered open. Dean exhaled a sigh he realized he'd been holding in since the previous night, when the long wait had begun. Now he could've laughed, his relief was so sudden and overwhelming. "D'n?" Sam slurred. The corners of Dean's mouth tugged upwards slightly. "Yeah, Sammy, it's me. You have no idea how long I waited for you to come back around."

Sam squinted past Dean, into the dark interior of the room. "Where… Where's Cas? It's three in the morning, I've only been out for an hour…" he trailed off as Dean began laughing. "What?" Sam asked weakly, his brow furrowing. "What's so funny?" Dean, regaining his composure but still grinning widely, replied "Sammy… you've been unconscious for a day."

The horror in Sam's expression was almost comical. "An entire – you're not serious. Cas would've worked his mojo or something –"Dean shook his head, his smile fading. "He couldn't. He didn't even recognize the demon that did the damage. Had never seen anything with claws like that, or the eyes that he had… But he was most worried about the fact that he couldn't heal you. Sammy, don't ever do that again – the anxiety almost killed me."

Dean paused, then continued. "Sammy, after the demon was gone, I thought for a second you weren't gonna make it – you were white as a sheet, barely breathing –" Dean's voice cracked and he stopped speaking, lowering his head. His muffled voice muttered, "And then when we were going across the parking lot… Just when I thought we were heading out of the storm, you collapsed and we had no idea what happened to you." Sam shook his head slightly. "I… I don't remember that. Not clearly, at least. The only thing I remember clearly from last night is walking into the room and getting beat up by a demon… then there was a lot of black. After that everything is blurry and indistinct. What the hell happened last night?"

Dean swallowed. "Do you want to know?" Sam hesitantly nodded.

"Okay, then. So I heard a loud boom from upstairs…"

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I may wrap this into a short fic and end it next chapter, or keep delving into the character of Varak, the mysterious demon, and include more Cas, more emotional Dean, and more angst! Reviews are good, and if you've enjoyed the story up to this point and want more, be sure to tell me that. Until then however, DFTBA!