A/N: Written for week 15 of SPN Hiatus Creations on tumblr. Prompt: Apocalypse World or the Bad Place.

Though Jack had assigned a few of his soldiers to keep watch he found himself still making the rounds through the camp. They weren't expecting any imminent attacks from Michael, but he could never be sure. Bobby had told him that sometimes there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the attacks. The only goal was to kill, to eradicate humanity.

But that wasn't why he was up. It wasn't worry for the attacks in the future. It was the ones he'd already faced, the battles he'd gone through.

The explosions of the angels falling to Earth were loud in his head in the near-silent night, the blasts bright in the dark. He didn't require nearly as much sleep as humans did, but he was tired. But how could sleep find him when every time he closed his eyes and started to drift off he heard the ringing of Enochian in his head and saw glowing eyes?

Sometimes Jack dreamed about Michael's angels, the ones who wanted to hurt him. And other times he dreamed of Castiel. He dreamed of his family. He missed them dearly even though he had found a home with Mary. Sometimes Bobby seemed part of that home too, as did his soldiers. They looked up to him, and part of Jack liked the power. But he knew it gave him a responsibility to them.

Already some had died because of his decisions.

And it was on him.

When he didn't dream of angels he dreamed of the humans he'd failed, bloody, crying out to him for help, and he would run, the distance between them never closing. They died.

Even the ones he hadn't watched die he saw die in his head.

So many.

Jack was haunted by it, and sometimes he talked to Mary about it. However, he didn't want to put that on her. She was struggling just as he was. Everyone was struggling.

Suffering.

The cruelties of Apocalypse World seemed to know no bounds.

Jack was making his second round through the camp when he heard a voice, a quiet cry. He froze, peering at the various tents and sleeping bodies through the darkness. They were making their way to Dayton, where more of their number were, but for now they had to sleep in what tents they had, or what they could make with fabric, or under the stars. It was cold and unforgiving, but they didn't have a choice.

Now he saw who was making the sound. An older man with graying hair was tossing and turning, still asleep.

Nightmares. They all had nightmares.

Jack quietly went to him, and he grasped his shoulder gently to wake him. He was met with a gun in his face. It didn't startle him since he'd been expecting such a reaction; he just held his hands up in a peaceful gesture, taking a step back.

"It's only me," Jack murmured gently.

The man - Felix, if he remembered correctly - held the gun still, hands shaking. A few seconds and he let out a long breath, lowering it.

"Sorry."

"It's alright," Jack told him, sitting down on the ground beside him. "Nightmare?"

Felix nodded, wiping a hand over his face. The gun stayed in his lap, and Jack didn't blame him. It felt better to be grasping a weapon when living like this.

"I get them too," he admitted. He knew Bobby would probably scold him if he found out he'd told a soldier that, that he'd shown weakness, but he thought relating to this man would help. Compassion over being stone cold. Surely that's what Sam would do. Maybe even Dean, the member of his family who tried the hardest to seem cold and uncaring. This was the right thing to do. It had to be. "Sometimes it's about the battles I've been in, sometimes the people I couldn't save."

"You ever lose a family member?" Felix asked.

Jack shook his head.

"I have," Felix went on. "Sometimes I see my wife, my daughter. They were part of my life before the Apocalypse. Angels touched down in New York, nearly wiped everyone out. I got out. They didn't. I remember… I remember trying to hold onto my wife's hand, trying to take her with me. But our daughter ran off, you see, and my wife went after her. And I don't know what happened. I just... froze. The angels got to them. Wasn't anything I could do."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Tons of people got stories just like mine. Ain't nothin' special. You know, I was Catholic before all this shit."

"Really?" Jack questioned. He only knew a little about religions, from what Castiel had told him, from what he'd picked up from Sam and Dean, though the Winchesters weren't religious.

"To think I used to pray to those bastards."

"Not all angels are bad," Jack reasoned, thinking of his father, of Castiel.

"Yeah? Well these ones are. Sometimes I think they're just playing with us. Letting us try and fight, laughing as we get killed off one by one."

"That's not true. We're making a difference."

"Sure."

Jack insisted, "We are. I know it."

Felix studied him for a bit, and the hardened pain in his lined face lessened. There was something else there, something Jack sometimes saw when his soldiers looked at him. Hope.

"Maybe you're right."

"We'll change things," Jack went on, gripping his shoulder. "You'll see. Now get some sleep. We leave at first light."

Felix nodded, and Jack stood before continuing to make his rounds again.

Apocalypse World was vastly different from his home, was full of sorrow and pain and anguish. But he could make a difference here. He was powerful, and Michael seemed to know it too.

Jack would face him and he'd change things for the better. For humanity, for all that was good. And maybe that would make his nightmares go away. He wasn't sure it would, didn't think anything could.

But he still had to hope.

As long as he was alive he'd fight for that.