"I'm not tired," Jack reiterated, shaking his head. "I don't want to, I--" he sighed and just looked off. He didn't want to sleep, or to dream or to think. He wanted to pretend, but he couldn't even do that, not really.

"Do you remember it?" he asked quietly. "Dying."

Jack died often, of course, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't being too late to regenerate, it wasn't being alone at the end of it all.