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Mikhail was 12 when he died. For the first time, that is.
It wasn’t anything special, just a bad winter storm. The weather had blown in fast, temperatures dropping even quicker. In a time where technology was iron and rope and wood, and medicine was trial and error and prayer, it was over fast; not much to be done for the poor farm boy that froze out in the snow. Medicine wasn’t the only understudied subject though.
While the many variations of the human species were by no means a secret, their needs were largely ignored, save for a few traditions shared among families. Most either ignored their instincts or did the bare minimum to appear neutral. Species’ stuck mostly to their own out of mutual understanding. As the world continued to grow older, though, the people on it eventually began to catch up.
Deeper studies were done, instincts were embraced, people learned to cohabitate. Most of them. For all the achievements the human race had made, imperfection still clung to their being. Some species were hunted, others died off due to needs that just couldn’t be accepted by the modern-day society. Aeonians were one of both, in a way.
The concept of beings that even death didn’t want terrified most, fascinated others in a sick sort of fashion. While there were some species that could live for centuries and were invulnerable to mostly everything, none of them were truly immortal. Aeonians could not die. Age, illness, and injury failed to permanently kill any of them, which is why control over them is what most sought.
Aeonians were very few though, even after the number of centuries some of them have spent on Earth. Fertility rates were incredibly low, the possibility of their young carrying the Aeonian immortality gene even lower. On top of that, it was a deeply ingrained instinct to run.
In darker times it was necessary to avoid being hunted and captured, used however. Over the centuries it became a permanent need. Aeonians couldn’t stay in one place forever, the need to move grew like an itch that just needed to be scratched. It could take a couple decades, even a lifetime, but eventually they would need to go again, to run.
And right now, the urge to run was yanking at Robby’s soul like the moon called to the wolves. Impossible to ignore and inevitable. Not for lack of trying, anyway. The tug had started at least a year or two ago and like all his other hard to deal with feelings, Michael Robinavitch attempted to shove it in a box and bury it deep.
He’d lived this life for a good 52 years now, had hoped to get at least another twenty out of it before instinct came knocking. Robby didn’t want to start again, not yet. Faking his death and beginning a new one was near impossible in this day and age. The digital world just made information way too easy to steal. Tracking down old Aeonian contacts to help with his rebirth would be a challenge in itself, Robby doubted any of them were still in lives he had last known.
And the hardest part of all this? Leaving behind the people in this life. That part never, ever got easier, no matter how many times Robby – Mikhail – has had to do it. He learned maybe a hundred lives ago to either avoid relationships of any kind entirely, or to keep the ones that stick at a distance. It hurts them a little less when he has to leave them behind. It's better if they’re angry rather than sad.
All of this is what led Robby to deciding on this trip, this three-month sabbatical. It was a desperate attempt at delaying the inevitable, he knows, but he loves this life. He’s going to try to hold onto it, damn it. Robby will ride (run) off on his T140, feed the instinct for three months, and hope to hell it's enough for him to return to this life as good as new.
Return to these people, to-
“So, this is it, huh?”
Jack.
Robby presses his forehead to his locker, blowing out a breath and shoving his thoughts away with it. Back in the box. He throws a quick smile at the man beside him before punching in his locker combination. “This is it.” Robby had packed his bag last night, closed his apartment up when he left this morning, and fueled his bike on the way in. There was nothing left to do but go.
“And you’re sure that-”
“Yes, Jack.”
Said man bites at his lower lip, brows drawn together as he rocks back on his heels. The thing about werewolves is that they have this uncanny ability at sniffing out lies. Robby pretends not to notice the minute twitch of the wolf’s grey tail as he pulls his backpack out of his locker. With a last look within to make sure he hasn’t left anything, Robby shuts it. The slam felt uncomfortably final.
He’s no fool, Robby knows what most people think. Hell, even a few of his patients today could see it. A sad older man that spends the entirety of his time in the ED, his life was his work. Work that consistently involved pain and death, things that weighed on the mind and created darker feelings. Depression, worthlessness. Suicidal ideations.
It was after the sixteenth successful attempt that Robby finally accepted that there was no way out. No matter how many times his heart stopped beating, or his brain was ruled dead, Mikhail would be back by sunrise. Body healed just enough to keep him breathing.
Of course, no one else knew that. From what Robby knew, everyone here in the Pitt assumed their Chief Attending was pure human. A role he knows he pulls off plenty well, no one should ever doubt it. This is how it has to be.
Robby steels himself before turning fully towards Jack, another poor joke on his tongue, and then proceeds to immediately regret it. Another thing about werewolves, their ability to make you fold flat with just a single sad pathetic look. And they fucking know it. Robby bites his tongue to keep from spilling his guts.
Jack’s been his friend for decades, the strongest relationship he's had with anyone in at least a dozen lives. The closest he’s let anyone get since his Bubbe had passed, which is why Robby can’t cross anymore lines. It was easy with the others, simple. Heather, Caleb, Noelle, even Janey. Jake, Robby knew, was going to be a hard one to let go of but now at least it seemed he wouldn’t have to be the one to end their pseudo father-son relationship. Keeping them at a distance was what needed to be done to keep everyone safe.
Anything resembling distance with Jack Abbot had been obliterated a long time ago. Before he was sent on three tours, before Dawn got sick, even before Robby realized his two best friends had formed wolf bonds with his soul. He’d barely gotten a year into really being this new man with a vaguely recycled story when Robby first met the scrappy street wolf that was skinnier than a stick and covered in enough band-aids to be considered a walking hazard.
He’d been inside the dumpster behind the school building. He’d scared the shit out of Robby when his freckled scowling face popped up over the edge after having a bag thrown on top of him. Then, naturally, demanded an apology via Robby climbing in there with him and helping Jack find the five dollar bill he swore he could smell.
Robby was fucked after that.
He was already halfway in love with Jack when Dawn moved in. A spitfire art major with a paintbrush tangled in her dark hair and a ‘try me asshole’ glint in her even darker eyes. She was meant to be two rooms down but had despised the kitsune there. Something about a college party slut. Robby offered his spare room when he found her scribbling rather passive aggressively in a sketchbook on the floor outside her door one time. She never moved out.
Jack fell for her hard and fast, Dawn was a little more cautious but accepted his frankly pathetic courtship eventually. Robby was happy to live alongside their story. Sure, he might’ve been in love with one, if not both, of them, but past experiences held Robby right there. There was a line that could not be crossed.
Many years and many traumas later, Robby was still right there. Dawn was a precious memory and Jack was down a limb and Robby was still very much in love. The worst part of it all is that Jack loved him back. He wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t blind; Robby knew what an infatuated wolf acted like.
Robby also knew that if he crossed that line with Jack, if he cuffed the wolf on his neck and hauled him in for that kiss, Robby wouldn't be able to leave without destroying him. Robby could deal with wrecking his own being, he’s survived it before, he can suffer through it again. He can’t deal with wrecking Jack. Not after Dawn.
When the need came knocking and Robby had to start again for real, somewhere new and different, with a new name and a younger face and a fresh story, he would have to leave Jack behind. To protect both of them. It was a curse to be tied to an Aeonian and Robby couldn’t allow that to happen to the wolf that he loved. He also couldn’t watch another person he cared so deeply about grow older and die as Robby was forced to continue on.
So, he continues to play the fool.
“I’ll miss you,” Jack murmurs, dark eyes flashing an earnest gold. Fuck.
The longer Robby stays silent, the lower Jack’s tail droops. Hold it together Mikhail. You’re doing this for him. Robby smiles something small and takes a step closer, reaching out to rest a hand on the curve of Jack’s neck. Warm and reassuring but careful. Lower, away from the sensitive bonding nerve tucked behind his jaw, but high enough to brush a scent gland. Jack melts into the touch immediately, but his displeased frown remains.
“I’ll miss you too, Jack.” Robby waits until the wolf softens a little, the crease between his eyes disappearing, at the extended contact before leaning in just a little more. “I’ll be back in three months, I promise.”
Robby’s been around enough wolves through the centuries to recognize many behaviors. He’s been around Jack long enough to recognize when he wants to shift and snap. Shit. “Alpha-”
“Jack,” Michael interrupts, quiet but firm. The man exhales sharply through his nose, ducking his head. Robby keeps his hand solid on Jack’s neck as the wolf raises a hand to rub at his eyes, sighing low. The wolf term had started as a joke, stemming from Robby being the voice of reason when it came to the Abbot family antics, but somewhere somehow it quit being a joke. Not for the first time, Robby wishes he’d been born a wolf. It’d have been so much easier.
While sub-genders were a thing of fiction, wolves naturally fell into roles based on their personalities, experiences, and comforts. Some preferred to be more submissive, others liked to take the lead. An Alpha title was earned and everything beyond it was protected. Roles were fluid too, they could change over time, developing through life. While Jack was prominent and headstrong, he never liked leadership, wasn’t interested in having that responsibility.
Robby was very well aware that the wolves of the Pitt referred to him as Alpha, it was understandable. He was in a very clear position of authority and had no issue giving orders or advice. If someone happened to call him Alpha to his face though, he politely redirected the title to Dana. She was the most experienced, she ran the ED, and was an actual wolf, she deserved the title.
It was different with Jack though; the man didn’t use the term in a strictly professional or hierarchical way. The way he used it was softer, sweeter. More personal. While Jack doesn’t call him Alpha very often, Robby tries to avoid it. He knows Jack knows.
Jack’s hand drops when Robby pulls him in, forehead pressed into the taller man’s shoulder. The two just breathe for a couple moments, finding comfort in their embrace.
“Full moon was Tuesday,” Jack mumbles. “Damn hormones are still out of whack.”
“I know, you’re alright.” Robby soothes. Jack still refuses to take Dana up on her offer of going with the rest of the wolves up to the reserve, preferring to ride out the night at home. Robby hardly resists showing up unannounced just to make sure Jack is properly taking care of himself anymore. A cautious hand grips loosely at Robby’s hoodie.
“You’re sure you’re coming back?”
“I promised, pup.” Jack huffs at the nickname, slapping a hand against Robby’s side. He chuckles at the feeble protest, sweeping a hand up and down the wolf’s back. “I just need some time away, to see the world outside these walls for a change. I’ll come back, Jack. I’ll be alright.” The wrong thing to say evidently.
“Not on that damn motorcycle you won’t,” the wolf growls. Robby sighs, eyes rolling upwards. Again with his bike.
“Jack-”
“No. Take a bus,” Jack demands. Robby raises an eyebrow as the wolf steps back to glare up at him. Robby attempts to keep a hand on him to keep him calm but Jack pushes it away, defiant. If he was fully shifted right now his hackles would be stiff and raised, fur standing on end as he barks. Robby hasn’t seen Jack’s wolf in a long time, he realizes idly.
“I’m not taking a bus, Abbot.”
“Take a plane, rent a car,” he insists. Robby, a little desperate to keep Jack from starting this here and now (this was a rooftop type conversation), finally gets a hand back on him. Touch and scent is the fastest way to calm Jack down when he’s upset. Only Robby hadn’t anticipated Jack trying to dodge and his palm lands heavy on the back of his neck, thumb pressed directly below Jack’s ear. They both freeze, Robby’s eyes go wide and apologetic as Jack’s body jerks. His lip wobbles.
And then he just breaks.
“Take me!”
“Libe,” Robby hushes, pulling him back in hastily. Fuck. Centuries of medical experience and he presses on a distressed wolf’s bonding nerve, who also quite possibly has been pining for him. Way to fucking go Mikhail. The bonding nerve is a wolf's most sensitive spot that’s located in the most vulnerable place, constantly exposed on the curve of their neck. It connects bonds and mates on a more physical level, not just neurological. The body becomes more in tune with any bonds made, like an extension of their own being.
Most uninvited touch just results in an angry snap, but cases of assault with deeper damage aren’t rare. With bonds in most cases, explicit consent is still expected when getting anywhere near the nerve. Mates are the only ones that usually have free access, their teeth imprinted around the nerve in a clear claim. Do not touch.
Wolf bonds with species outside their own aren’t as rare today as they were just a decade ago, but they were still largely understudied. As far as most understood, the wolf carried the entirety of the bond. The other wasn’t able to feel the emotional or physical effects of it, the bond was essentially invisible to the point of it being one-sided; a danger to the wolf’s long-term wellbeing and a major reason why most wolves avoided interspecies bonding.
The wolf in his arms is shaking now, nose pressed deep into Robby’s collar, hands clinging tight to the scrub top underneath. Every breath sounds painful and thin, his shoulders hitching. Good lord, Robby hasn’t seen Jack like this since- since Dawn.
Oh. Fucking hell.
“Jack, hey,” Robby says urgently, moving his hands to hold the man’s shoulders in an attempt to get the wolf to look at him. A mistake, given the way Jack cries as soon as Robby’s thumb lifts off his bonding nerve and he gets drawn away from Robby’s scent. Rescue appears in the form of Dana Evans rounding the corner with an equally distressed look on her face.
“Robby, have you seen- God-”
“Sure haven't, mind lending a hand?” he asks, voice pitched. The charge nurse is momentarily frozen, staring at Jack's shaking back. And then her eyes sharpen and her almond grey tail lashes.
“You rejected his bond?” she spits, incredulous.
“I wasn’t fucking trying to! I knew we had a bond, I didn’t know it was a mate bond,” Robby hisses over Jack's head, hand tight over the man's neck. Werewolf Bonds 101, a rejected or broken mating bond is painful, the fastest way to soothe the white-hot burn is to keep raw pressure on the bonding nerve. Robby spent weeks with Jack like this after Dawn.
Of course, if the rejector isn’t a werewolf and wasn’t told the bond was a damn one-sided mate bond, a plea could reasonably be made. Jack had never said anything. Yes, Robby was aware the man might’ve had a crush on him, some sort of infatuation, but Robby never thought it could go this far. That he was actually something that someone-
“Are you fucking- he calls you Alpha.”
Great now he's got two wolves upset with him. “Yes, I know that,” Robby snaps, getting weary under the weight of the thick emotions settling in the air. And that damn tug is yanking at his intestines again. “I can’t feel what you feel, Dana. I can only speculate on bonds. How do you spend most of your life around someone and point out a bond change when nothing changes.”
Dana looks unamused, her tail still sweeping in agitation. Jack's is low between his legs. “Look, if he wanted to tell me he’d formed a mate bond he would’ve told me. He didn’t. You know Jack, he probably didn’t want it.”
Well now the she-wolf just looks sad. “What, what am I missing?”
“Robby, let me just take him h-”
“No damn it, tell me what I don’t know,” the man demands, the tone he uses when he's hard at work and barking orders in the ED slipping out. Jack whines at the loud words, head turning so his nose is buried in the hollow of Robby’s throat, forehead tucked under his chin. Robby brings his other hand to cup the back of the man’s head, long fingers tangling in his hair. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”
Dana looks like she's a couple seconds away from snatching Jack out of Robby’s hands before she caves. “It’s been years!” When the only response she gets is a bewildered stare, she continues. “God, Michael, he chose you years ago. He’s in love with you, has been for fucking-” her hands fly up before her whole body sags, suddenly looking very much her age and very very tired, “years. He’s yours.”
Mikhail’s heartbeat staggers, his head gets dizzy. His. Jack’s mate. No, that's not right. That can’t be right, wolves, they have recognizable patterns, habits, when they’ve been bonded to a mate longterm. The way their body reacts, their cycles, their sense of smell, all of it shifts around their mate. Nothing has changed with Jack since Robby met him. “I’m not a wolf,” Robby says faintly, for lack of anything intelligent to say.
“You know he doesn’t care.” The look she gives him is heartbreaking. Robby does know. He can’t look down at Jack without dislodging the clinging wolf, but he instinctively hugs him closer.
“Why didn’t he tell me?” Michael asks, voice breaking at the thought of his best friend not trusting him with something like this. Was he really just going to let Robby leave for three months without saying anything? Never mind the fact Robby was an Aeonian and was trying to wean the wolf off their bond so he didn’t completely destroy them both, that plan was fucked now.
A mating bond is it. There was no getting distance from those, there was only pain if the bond was abandoned, rejected, damaged. Robby would’ve killed his best friend regardless of if he ran now or later. The realization is gut-wrenching. Guilt falls over him like a dark cloud, helplessness slinking in on its heels.
“You’re a serial commitment-phobe, Robinavitch,” Dana scoffs. “You let someone love you and then run before they get too close. You just did it today with Hastings. You-”
“I have no choice!” Mikhail breaks, interrupting. “I can’t-” He sucks in a breath. Everything’s falling apart. This is why he doesn’t do this, why he doesn’t get close to people. Aeonians just leave a warpath of grief in their wake. “I’m not doing this here. I’m taking him home.”
“You only have one-”
“I’ll call an uber,” he snarls, glaring at the equally distressed she-wolf. Robby deflates under her worried look with a heavy sigh. Her packmate was hurting; she wasn’t angry, she was just concerned. “I’ll take care of him, I promise. I’ll sort this out.”
Dana nods after a moment. “Fine. I’ll drive.”
Robby doesn’t argue.
Someone's still screaming run.