private, mutuals only Michael 'Dr Robby' Robinavitch from HBO's The Pitt. Under construction. written by tiger, 25+, it/its.
This blog runs on a queue; currently posting 5 times a day. Approx. wait for replies: 3 days.
blog is wip, please stand by whilst I sort out icons, carrd, etc.
I do not do exclusives. I want to enjoy everyone on the dash. I don't see the joy in locking myself out of interacting with people just because I already write with the same character elsewhere.
mobile rules ;; disclaimer ;; tag guide.
This is a mutuals only blog, which means I will only interact with individuals who I follow and follow me back. If you break mutuals with me, please block me. I respect your decision, but I am not psychic.
Treat me the way you wish to be treated. Open, clear communication.
I am over 18, as is Robby.
I love original characters, although I may need some time to get to know them. Interaction from first meeting preferred. I have no issue with duplicates! I love other Robbys.
This blog will feature; suicidal themes, including suicide ideation, dissociative issues, panic attacks, abusive or aggressive behaviour, self harm in a variety of forms, etc.
Be aware that the muse and the writer are not the same person. I have personally endured a lifetime of suicidality and self harm. I am not someone who works in healthcare but I have reached the point of making plans, like Robby have. I have said goodbye. I have gotten to a point that I don't want anyone else to get to. But that means my exploration of Robby will come from a very real place. I don't want to hide that. But that also means I am fully aware that being depressed makes you an asshole, and that behaviour isn't okay, but it's also very understandable.
I write Robby as autistic but unaware of it. He has stims, he has sensory overloads, but he is a functional adult man and his autism is as managed as someone can manage whilst still being entirely unaware of it.
If you think Robby is an unfixable asshole or deserves to follow through with his plans, don't fucking bother talking to me.
I do not use discord. This is a personal preference; it may change in future, but for my mental health I'm trying to have a stricter line between interaction here and elsewhere. I know tumblr IMs are clunky, I'm sorry, but this is something I am firm on. I am an adult and I need to have a dividing line for my own mental health.
I am staunchly anti generative AI. I would rather you write badly than use AI.
tag guide
team meeting || psa / announcements/blog info/etc
thanks for the advice || reference /images of robby/references/etc
buzz buzz || text thread / text only threads. these can be rapidfire so you might want to block this tag if that's annoying.
you paged? || answered / ask tag
something to say to me? || ooc / out of character posts
consult called || meme / memes.
please report to the ED || open / open rps.
what room is open? || starter call / starter calls.
doordash on the roof || crack / silly/crack/dash commentary
unprofessional behaviour || usfw / my nsfw tag. block this to avoid smut/horny thoughts/etc.
verse tags
forgive me || dr robby / default universe, canon compliant
old flask new wine || tricare / ship tag with @tri-care's Langdon!
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"Too many good people. School teachers that cared so much and kind retail employees just trying to make ends meet. I have my elderly neighbor's cat. She died in the pandemic. Her son showed up just long enough to take all her nice jewelry, didn't care about the cat or the lifetime she'd built. This all just... made people so cruel and selfish." Aoife tells him. She smiles at the bartender as he refills her drink. She's angry at the world that doesn't mean she has to be angry at the people in it. She's been trying to get better at it but it is a process.
"And it took little pieces of the soul- sorry cheesy way to put it. Former Catholic so that shit is just ingrained in the mind. It does feel like a good analogy though. It felt like it took away these little pieces of myself that I'll never get back." She picks her drink back up having another sip.
She felt so hollow sometimes. Like a piece of her was missing after everything. She had spent the last year or two trying to fill the gap but nothing stuck enough to fill the hole. "I was engaged but you know living seperate so I didn't get him sick. He stayed home and found himself decided I was the worst thing to happen to him while I was venting someone's grandma." She smiles before having another drink.
He didn't drink that much, really, nowadays. As a resident he could take down a bar and crawl into work at six the next morning, but nowadays, he limited himself a little more, usually. Only his brain was fried and he didn't want to face going home, right now, so here he was. It seemed fate that Aoife was there to distract him. Yet here they were, dragging the corpse of the past out again. To make themselves sad. Humans. Always breaking their own damn hearts.
"Most people are cruel." he paused. "I don't know why I'm saying that. I don't believe that." he murmured, "I think most people… have cruelty in them. But a lot of them choose to be kind. Especially when cruelty is easy, that is… admirable. It's just the ones that are cruel that tend to win." he huffed and shook his head.
"Holes torn in my soul every time I see a human being die. Especially when it's a kid. Especially when their mom was begging me and I couldn't…" he broke off. Couldn't let them in. Couldn't let her hold her hand. Had to die alone. A kid. A fucking kid. His hand tightened around the glass and he inhaled sharply, almost laughing, just faintly, as he shook his head to rid himself of the start of tears.
"God, fuck him." he commented, simply. "Fuck that man. I hate… being called a hero, because it was just work. All the clapping and then they would just… scream and swear at us and refuse to wear a fucking mask. How many of them told you it was fake as they choked on their own…" he trailed off again.
"Still." he cleared his throat. Drained his glass. Felt it burn. He didn't have the tolerance he used to have, knew he'd wobble when he stood, found it hard to care. The whiskey was hitting hard and fast, sweet and earthy on his tongue.
The gesture is worth seeing a smile on the chief attending’s face. It prompts her to mirror him with one of her own, “I only wish I could do more for y’all. Your staff was so attentive, even with all the usual chaos. Adding a broken A/C to that just seems unfair.”
Life isn’t exactly fair, or so Jenna has come to learn from much anecdotal experience.
Further proving her praise is well earned, he asks about Lulu. A myriad of his own problems and he still thinks to do so.
“She’s doing just fine. She’s with a friend of mine at my diner, uh, Lulu’s Pies. We’re just down the street from here.”
Oh. She likely hadn’t mentioned that in previous conversation.
“You know, I was really only thinking of what would be of immediate help today, but maybe I could bring in some catering sometime. On the house, of course, as a thank you.”
"Hey, that's what we're here for, don't worry about it," he said, immediately. It was nice to be appreciated; but this was what they did. To save lives, to help people, to do good, it was all part and parcel even with the sweat dripping down his face. He swigged from the bottle again, aware he was probably going to take the whole thing out. "Higher ups have said they're working on scrambling some portable AC units for us," he said, "But they have to prioritise ICU and trauma bays first, so I imagine when we finally get one it's going to go straight into the misting room."
"Oh, that's yours?" he hadn't been in there, but he'd gone past it plenty, always intending to check it out but always busy. And then he smiled again, easy and warm. "Don't do it because you feel obligated," he said, raising the hand not holding the nearly empty bottle, "But I imagine the staff would greatly appreciate it. Getting a meal in can be a challenge." he admitted, with a chuckle.
"Dr Robby!" a voice called, and he whipped his head around, seeing one of the residents kneeling next to… another resident, sprawled out on the floor and mumbling.
"Shit." he muttered, putting the bottle on the side, "Uh, thank you," he exclaimed at Jenna, and then he was moving over, crouching, feeling their neck. "Christ, I knew this was going to happen, it's heatstroke, get him up, we have to get him into the misting room,"
Teeth worried at her lower lip and she watched the careful way Robby was stitching up her arm. She couldn’t help playing the moment over and over in her head -- the way the woman hunched in what Samira had assumed was pain and terror, the way instinct had made her react so quickly, only to have the woman swing the knife at her. Combative was not something she had picked up on, but maybe it was just exhaustion seeping through her body, slowing her down.
A small frown pulled at her lips when he insisted on this being reported -- but she couldn’t argue. The woman’s altered mental status wasn’t an excuse, and the cops had already been informed, Samira knew she wouldn’t have a choice. Just wait until Jack finds out, too, she thought absently, and it was enough to make her sigh.
Robby voicing his concern was to be expected, but at least Samira didn’t feel like he was belittling her, or finding a way to make this her fault somehow. She lifted her gaze to his face when he explained that she should take the night off. “But I can still… I’m fine.” Samira said, but it was probably the weakest protest she could have mustered. She was tired, and she’d fucked up because she was overworking herself. Running ragged to prove that she could do this -- though she’d lost track of exactly who she was trying to prove it to -- him? Her mother? Herself? “I really didn’t mean for this to happen.” She muttered quietly, taking a deep breath and shaking her head once with her eyes closed. “But I’ll put the report in and go home if that’s what you think is best.”
All of the fight had left her body as she let the exhaustion sink into her bones -- she’d already disappointed people enough tonight, herself included. “Sorry I keep letting you down.” She muttered quietly before biting the inside of her cheek.
"I know you feel okay, now, but trauma doesn't hit immediately," he commented, voice gentle, "I would feel better knowing that you'd been treated and were getting some rest, Samira. Although I am going to need you to talk to the cops and fill in a few forms, so you won't be able to escape just yet." he gave her a wry little smile, eyes gentle as he spoke. "You did well in there, though." he added.
"I know this isn't what you wanted. Nobody wants to be attacked at work. It's normally the nurses who get the brunt of it but, uh, well, we certainly get our fair share, too." he added, gently. "It's not your fault that you didn't know it would happen. If we spent our whole life afraid of patients, we would never save a single life, Dr Mohan." he tilted his head.
"Do you really think this is letting me down? No. You were being a good doctor. You focused on care. You weren't moving slowly; if you were, she might not have gotten a stab at you." he added, with a chuckle. "This isn't letting me down, Samira." he said, more firmly, now. "Never ever blame yourself for a patient attacking you. The top dogs will try to make you believe that, because they hate the paperwork when a doctor sues a patient, but it is never, ever your fault. Even if you piss them off by refusing a treatment or they think you're rude or they have an issue, you do not deserve to be attacked. Am I clear?"
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there's no possible way that dana could have worked the rest of her shift normally. she'd find herself constantly gravitating back to this room, to robby, fussing over him, checking over him. she knows this is where she's supposed to be today, that she has no intention of leaving anytime soon either.
"yeah, i've got you," she echoes, moving to switch from the seat beside his bed to careful half sit and half lean against the side of the mattress. her smile is sad as he continues to speak, squeezing his hand a little tighter as she reaches her free hand out to brush back some stray hairs from his forehead gently.
she knows better than to think that robby is fully comprehending their conversation, but she can be here for him nevertheless. reassuring him and ensuring that he stays calm after his body has taken such a beating. "you're gonna be here for awhile. few fractured ribs, sternum... got yourself a damn fine concussion and bruises." they can go through the details later, which ribs he's fractured and the course of treatment, but dana knows anything she tells him now will go in one ear and right out the other.
"we're waiting for a bed to open up in icu and then we'll get you settled up there, alright? but for now you're stuck with me." she squeezes his hand once more, concerned eyes looking over him, watching his reactions and the way his eyes shift and focus. "just gotta promise me you won't do something like this again. think you just took about ten years off my life seeing what he did to you."
"But who's gonna take care of my dog?" he mumbled, distantly. He could feel her soft hand brushing back his head, blinking big dark eyes in her direction, made all the more intense by the bruising. Despite the pain, despite everything, he half smiled in her general direction. It was so hard to stay awake, but he wanted to talk to Dana. A million things he needed to know, although the thoughts kept sliding away. It was like his brain was made of cream of wheat…
"Coup contrecoup," he mumbled, blinking again, eyelids flickering. "ICU? No, that's… don't waste a bed on me." he was still having a little trouble breathing, admittedly, but there wasn't too much they could do right now. When he was a little more conscious they would get him on the incentive spirometer to get him breathing deeper again.
"Try to.. avoid a fight." he mumbled, distantly. Another blink, losing about a minute before he came to again. "Am I gonna have to… do some paperwork? Guy needs to… go to jail." he mumbled. "Surgery to… plate or a brace?" he asked, as if he'd suddenly come to full awareness. "Surgery will get me… healed quicker. S'better. Back on the floor… Dana… need to… call in cover."
Jack's hand never leaves the back of Robby's neck. He listens without interrupting, letting the words come out however they need to. By the time Robby finishes, some of the tension has eased from his own shoulders too.
"Because your brain didn't hear a car backfire," he says quietly. "It heard a gunshot." He gives a small shake of his head. "You didn't choose that. You didn't stop and think, I'm going to panic now. It happened before you ever had a chance to catch up to it." His thumb brushes once against the back of Robby's neck. "That's how this works. Your brain recognized something it thought was dangerous and hit the alarm before it bothered checking whether it was actually true."
He studies him for another moment, relieved to see the color returning to his face. "You don't have anything to prove by walking this off in thirty seconds." A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "We'll head back when you're ready. And if another car decides to sound like it's declaring war on downtown Pittsburgh, we'll deal with that one too. One thing at a time."
"Feel fuckin' ridiculous." he admitted, clearing his throat again. Jack is there. Jack is warm and solid and oh so grounding, and it's unbelievable to him that Jack, who has been in wars, who has been shot at, who has endured a million different moments of suffering is the one calming down Robby. Who has never been in that situation. Has never been there for the gunshot, only for the clean up.
"I just don't understand." he whispered. Had he caught it off Jack? The nightmares that haunted him about the man catching a stray shot? How a bullet was so quick, how little that could be done? Jack with his grey hair red and his grey matter on the pavement and suddenly Robby felt like he was going to throw up, exhaling sharply, clenching his jaw tight.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered. "Maybe I really do need therapy." and he gave a shaky little laugh, dark eyes distant.
"Don't worry, I'm a big texter," she grinned. Robby was a bad texter. She'd texted him before and called on one or two occasions, but she'd gotten short texts back. Igraine studied his face, truly studied him, and her once-smiling lips turned into a hard line. Something was bugging her about Robby.
There's a pain reflecting back to her, and her face softens. "I want a drink and a really nice night with my favorite boss...because we all know HR and Gloria aren't my favorites," she said slowly.
Her hand finds his arm, a firm squeeze on his bicep. "I'm..." She doesn't know what she's trying to say. The tone of his voice is so familiar, one she'd heard before from one of the hounds. There's an edge to it when he doesn't seem all too sure about the drink. "I'm really glad I know you," she finally decided on. "Professional and personal."
"And if you're that put off with having drinks with one of your favorite pains-in-the-ass residents, then I'll make us dinner?"
"Well, good. I need to know what you're up to." he murmured, well aware that he was terrible at responding in anything like a timely manner. If you needed his attention, you called him. If you actually needed his attention, you called Dana, and she would make sure Robby called you back. But maybe for Igraine, he could try, right? He could try. For as long as he had service.
"I… a drink sounds… good." he said, finally, clearing his throat, dismissing dinner out of hand. That was too personal. Too little chance of escape. A drink at a bar sounded better, as little as he liked being in bars generally, because it was a neutral space. No obligation. "Don't let me put you out cooking for me, I'm a picky bastard." he joked.
Something in Jack's expression softens as Robby gets the words out. He doesn't rush to fill the silence afterward. Instead, he lets them sit there between them, giving them the weight they deserve before the corner of his mouth finally lifts into a small, genuine smile.
"I can work with trying," he says quietly. "We'll take it one step at a time." His thumb brushes once across the back of Robby's hand before he gives it a gentle squeeze. "If you need your own space some days, you've got it. If you need me to shut up, I'll shut up. If you need me to learn how to cook something besides Italian…" A faint grin appears. "I'll learn."
He holds Robby's gaze for another moment before adding, softer, "I'm not asking you to become somebody else. So I'm not expecting you to move at anybody else's speed, either." His smile lingers, warm but understated. "I just want to build a life that works for both of us. However long that takes."
"Yeah… yeah, thank you. And the same to you. Uh. I'll have to… we'll have to figure out how it's going to go with the… with getting your stuff into my place." he cleared his throat. "We could maybe turn the spare room into an office, if you'd… like. Or, uh," his place wasn't exactly sparse, but it wasn't busy, either. Most of his grandparents stuff, which he hadn't donated, was packed away in boxes in the attic. He looked at the space he was in now, thinking about decoration. His hadn't been changed much, really, over the years. It still looked like a bachelor pad. It was, he guessed, the fashion of the nineties. Exposed brick. Framed posters. A bookshelf of medical journals. Okay, that was maybe a touch different. He thought of the empty picture frames that lined the walk up the stairs. An ex had ripped all of them out. He hadn't looked at them since.
"I mean, anything you can cook is always going to be better than TV dinners," he commented, with a faint chuckle, shaking his head, "And I… I mean. I've not really lived with anyone since…" Heather had never really moved in. She's spent a lot of time there, but it hadn't been… well. He cleared his throat, and then nodded, slowly.
"And that's… that includes… uh. Romance. Right?" he said, uncertainly. "I just… I guess I've always assumed that I'm… straight. Attracted to women, uh." but he couldn't deny that the pull he felt in his chest towards Jack was stronger than any pull he'd ever felt towards any woman. He'd always assumed it was all platonic, although sometimes he'd thought about the other's arms or chest whilst his hand was--
Regardless.
"However long that takes," he parrots, "Not sure how long either of us has left, Jack. Might need a little bit of speed."
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she refuses to leave. the charge nurse's phone is pressed into jesse's hand the moment that he materialises at her side after her call for help. dana doesn't need to say anything, there's a fierceness in her eyes that tells anyone around that there's no telling her what to do. whether jesse keeps the phone or passes it along to another senior rn on the floor, the detail barely matters to her as instinct kicks in and she's working with the team that's surrounded her without a second thought. if she thinks too long, if she focuses on the face of the person drifting in and out of consciousness, then she'll break. she can't break.
accompanying him as they settle robby onto the gurney, she's walking alongside him as they head for the ct and x-ray, her gaze flickering from the corridor ahead to the monitor measuring his pulse and blood pressure every few seconds. when they're settled back into a room in the emergency department, dana sends the others back to take care of the other patients as she settles in for the long haul. she potters around, taking his vitals, tucking the blanket in around him, anything to keep her hands busy.
when robby stirs again, dana's reaching for his hand, her small digits wrapping around his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. it's not the first time she's done this today, but each time she hopes that it will be the last and he'll stay with her this time. "hey, it's alright. i've got you." when she speaks her voice is soft, still unsure if he's truly back with her yet.
Everyone knew that there was no getting Dana away from Robby now. They were managing, but everyone was definitely off kilter with the fact that their chief attending had been bodied. Someone had called in Shen, making maybe the smart decision not to involve Abbot, who could handle night shift without a second attending. But everyone was taking the chance to glance in on Dr Robinavitch, and maybe more than one person who wasn't on his case took a look over a shoulder at the files pulled up on a tablet to see his results.
Several ribs, fractured from and back. A severe concussion, which was being closely monitored, but no sign of a brain bleed yet, thank God. That would have to be watched… contemplating if it was best to induce a coma to let his brain rest, whether it was worth the risk to reward. His sternum, thankfully not quite floating but also damaged, hairline fractures all around it. Broken nose, which they had already reset.
They've dosed him up on painkillers, but aren't risking supplemental oxygen; his injuries, the chance of a rib sliding away and causing a pneumo, are very much worries. Considering whether they should be going to surgery to set his ribs and sternum, but that risk with his concussion… he was just going to be in pain for a while.
They were waiting for an ICU bed. For now, he was parked. Blinking through bruised eyes towards Dana; the nose, now taped, had created a horrific shape across his t zone, making his eyes puffy and so blotchy and making him look older, weaker, a tired man with a bad injury…
"Y'got me?" he mumbled, and then smiled, even if it was barely connected. "I know. Know you do. You're here." he mumbled. There was still some blood shining on the silver hairs on his beard. "So s'okay." he sighed, faintly, dozing for a moment, then his eyes flickered again. "Mm. What's… what's the diagnosis, doc..?"
"Not at all. I'm fine, really." Except, her hands seem nearly pink with how she's near scrubbed them raw. The crimson is gone, but it still feels like it's staining there. Was it the recently passed patients, or was it a soldiers, or -
He reached out; cautious. Gentle. Sat opposite her, he rested his hands to take hers, palm to palm, so that he could look at them. Not injured, just tender. Then those dark eyes flickered up again.
"Take a breath for me." he encouraged, "Nice and calm, nice and slow."
Of course he was. Not as if that face made this moment and all future moments less awkward. Attending or not, it was a black mirror staring back at him as if some kismet promise of what his future would be. Would he look that tired, that sad?
Given the work they did it wasn't a far reach to say yes to all of the above...
"Right..." He tried to keep the disappointed undertone from his statement but he was sure the other was feeling that same tension he just wanted to escape from. The resident on the other hand wanted to escape the eyes that lingered on them as they spoke. "Nice to meet you Doctor Robby really." He corrected himself quickly, offering the other a quick smile as he offered a hand out in greeting.
"Student Doctor Mikhael Raenovich. Everyone calls me Mike."
"Mike?" he murmured, fascinated but also somewhat... horrified. Because it was entirely uncanny, and his brain was doing math, trying to figure out this guy's age, trying to line it up with his own residency when he'd definitely been a bit more of a jack the lad. "That is... alright, yes. Mike. Sure." something he had been called plenty of times in his life, in his real life, and that name was shockingly close to his. It was... jarring.
But the age difference. And his parents were long out of the picture, and he supposed his mum could've had another kid but... no, surely not, no. She would've remarried, to change his surname, but giving his name to... no, no. Not a chance. And he was turning it over in his head if he'd ever met a Raenovich in his travels but... well, he hadn't been much focused on getting names when he'd been younger...
Student doctor.
He shook his hand.
"How old are you, Mike?"
robby stockpiles.
This can be anything. OTC painkillers. Canned goods. Water bottles. He unfortunately does tend to pocket things from the hospital now and again; he takes things like suture kits, scalpels, small useful items. He stores them in his emergency bags. He coudn't even tell you why he does it, other than his constant desire to be able to take care of people in emergencies...
“What the hell happened to you?” (jack @pittresilience)
injury/injured starters
"Just, uh, misjudged it," Robby mumbled, dropping the scrubs; he'd rolled his shirt up, and the undershirt below it, to look at his side in the mirror, thinking he had a moment. The kaleidoscope of bruising there looked tender, and new, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Don't worry about it, brother, I'm good. Did you need me for something?"
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Her hands raise into the air and she expels a loud breath. "You're super fucking welcome. Or not. Jeez. Try and save a guys' life and this is what you get, huh?" Which was just great. That isn't exactly what she was expecting but then again, some depressed people could be kind of violent at times. Maybe he was one of those.
"Yeah? Well maybe I didn't want you to save my life," and the words are out of his mouth before he can think about it and his heart is sinking because why the fuck did he just say that? And it's lucky he doesn't know her, a stranger on the street, because now he was taking a step back at colour draining from his face as he realised what he'd admitted to.
"I mean, I don't, uh," he cllosed his eyes, dipped his head, drew a slow breath, "I'm tired. Long day. Just... maybe I got a bit startled by someone I don't know grabbing me. That's all." he cleared his throat, "I am... sorry for snapping at you. I was caught a little offguard, that's all." he shifted his shoulders. "I am... Dr Michael Robinavitch, I work at the hospital."
The force of Robby's words lands harder than the accident itself. Jack's hand falls back onto the blanket where Robby's had been only seconds before, fingers curling weakly into the fabric. The steady rhythm of the ICU monitor begins to quicken, each beep a little faster than the last. He hears it immediately, but barely seems to register it.
"Robby—" His voice catches before he can get anything else out. Instinct takes over before common sense has a chance to intervene. He plants a hand against the mattress and tries to push himself upright, meaning to swing his legs over the side of the bed and go after him. The movement lasts all of a second before a sharp, involuntary breath escapes him. Pain tears across his abdomen, forcing him to stop halfway upright, one arm wrapping protectively across his ribs as he squeezes his eyes shut. The monitor responds instantly, its rapid beeping filling the room.
"I..." He swallows hard, breathing shallowly until the pain eases enough to look back at Robby. Every trace of stubbornness has vanished from his face, replaced by guilt and exhaustion. "I'm sorry," he says again, barely above a whisper. "I wasn't trying to disappear." His gaze drops to the blanket, then slowly lifts back to him. "I just... thought I was protecting you." A tired shake of his head follows. "I should've known better."
"Sit your stupid ass back in that fuckin' bed!" Robby snapped out, moving back, without hesitation, shoving at the bigger man's shoulders even as he was already slumping back into it, shaking his head furiously. His jaw was tight, now, staring at Jack. He knew this wasn't the way to go about it, he didn't respond well to this kind of haranguing, and yet Robby couldn't find a reason to stop. Because his eyes were burning with unshed tears and his chest was tight and he just kept thinking about how his instinct had been right.
"How am I meant to go anywhere when you can't even fuckin' keep in touch when you get hurt, Jack?" his own voice cracked again, looking at the monitor, hoping to see it coming down. "You should have known better? Of course you should have. Jesus fucking Christ, Jack! Do you know why you're my emergency fuckin' contact? You're the only goddamned person in this world I trust, without a moment of fuckin' doubt. You and… and Dana." Dana had been his emergency contact before Jack, admittedly.
"Everything I fucking do, ever dark thought I have," and the words were spilling out of him now and he could barely even think about it, couldn't get it under control, it was happening and he couldn't stop it. The things he'd never said, never wanted to admit to, "I always end up thinking, if I went through with this, they would call Jack. They would call Jack and he would have to see you like this. After everything he's been through, this is what you'd give him and I just," he tilted his head away, the tears falling as he shuddered through an out breath.
"What's the point of that if you can't… give me the same respect in return, brother?"
