There are times when the bunker is too empty, too quiet, and those are the nights Jack hates the most. The only sounds he could hear were the humming of the wards as they worked and somewhere he could hear pipes working as well.
On those nights he can't really sleep, not that he needs to but he's been trying at least.
Sometimes he goes into the garage and stares at the impala, he hadn't been able to bring himself to clean the bloodstains off of the metal and they had rusted into it. He had ensured that the paint wasn't peeling and the metal wasn't affected but left the blood.
When he could ignore the way his stomach was churning he would go to the car and sit in it, in the backseat always in the backseat. Sometimes he did lean forward to turn the music on, carefully placing one of the tapes into it, the plastic cracking and the tape fraying.
Then he would just lay down on the backseats and stare up at the ceiling of the impala, letting the rock music wash over him.
When that becomes too much he carefully takes the music out and goes back into the bunker, just walking aimlessly through the halls, fingers trailing across the wall.
When he had to he did go into town, sometimes by car and sometimes he just walked, relishing in how it made his muscles ache and burn by the time he made it back to the bunker.
He would stock up on food that he didn't need, alcohol that couldn't get him drunk, and pie. He always got the pie. Sometimes he ate some of it, too much made him feel sick. More often he just let it sit there until he had to throw it out.
Sam had talked to him about this, had talked about what was eventually going to happen. They just didn't realize how soon it was going to be and Jack hadn't been ready.
It doesn't matter how long it took, he would never have been ready.
He didn't dare go to heaven to see if they were there, he had no desire to face the remaining angels and their pleadings for him to stay there. He didn't dare go to hell because he didn't need the demons asking him to take the throne as Lucifers son.
Purgatory was still closed to him and he didn't even think about the Empty. Death had nothing to do with him, although he knew eventually she would just like with everyone else.
He didn't hunt anymore, he didn't feel the same urge to do so as he did before. He tried for a while, tried to keep doing those things that would make Sam and Dean proud of him. Tried to remember what his mom used to say about him about bringing peace to the world.
But he was tired. He was really, really tired. He didn't want to do anything. He just wanted to live in the same simplicity that he lived in now. He didn't want to face the prospect of losing anyone anymore and he just...
He really just wanted to go to sleep.
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