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Robby dies on a Tuesday, randomly enough.
There’s no fanfare, no big dramatic exit - hell, there isn’t even a loud enough to be heard over The Pitt’s din.
Just… one minute he was there, the next he was taking a break, then there was nothing.
He never came back from the break.
Whittaker was the one to find him. Poor kid. Hell of the first residency to find your boss dead. He’s probably not gonna forget that one.
Said through his tears that the look on his face was peaceful.
Jack almost wants to laugh. Robby? Peaceful? There’s never been a goddamn day in Robby or Jack’s life that has been peaceful since God knows when.
Unfortunately, he finds that Whittaker is right as no sooner than he’s been discharged to go home, he finds himself at the morgue staring at Robby’s body like it’ll suddenly breathe on its own and come back to life looks some fucked up zombie.
It doesn’t. Jack doesn’t expect it to. It almost looks like the asshole is sleeping. Only this time, he’s much happier than he usually was when he slept, which was rare. The man had his demons, Jack knew that.
He just hoped Robby wouldn’t give in this fast this time.
This time. That’s what nobody knew, that there even was a ‘this time’. They didn’t know that Jack had witnessed at least 12 different deaths of Doctor Michael Robinavitch.
This time just happened to be lucky number 13 - another suicide. That was the thing that Jack hated about Robby, that he couldn’t see that life was worth living.
Then again, Robby was just a human. He wasn’t a god in disguise. He wasn’t immortal. He was just a man.
Jack sighed again, feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. It probably was. He needed Robby alive; if not for the world, selfishly, for himself. He needed his friend, his confidant, someone who made existence just a little bit more bearable.
Sure, he probably could have found someone else by now, but immortal creatures like himself rarely stuck to those kinds of things. His kind, by default, had a penchant for staying around too long after their welcome.
Robby had prayed for someone to save him so long ago now, but Jack was here to fulfil that promise.
“Sorry, Mike.” was all he muttered before he pointed at the clock, the hands starting to spin backwards and the room starting to spin around him.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back on the ED floor, Robby - alive and across from him, having finished debriefing him on a case in Room 12.
He doesn’t let Robby out of his sight for the rest of the night, which he can tell bothers him (along with Jack insisting he take him home and that he can come get his motorbike tomorrow on his next shift), but he just gets called a one-legged stubborn bastard before Robby’s finally home and (mostly) safe.
Before he goes to sleep that night, Jack asks his father to look after him, staring up at the sky as if it will make anything better. He might have fallen and lost a leg for his sacrifices, but he knows they can still hear him.
His prayers go unanswered, he realises, as number 14 happens the very next day. Heart attack. Jack’s the one who gets to him this time, hands breaking Robby’s ribs and people flying around him.
There’s one beat, two beats and then he’s just…gone.
Jack rewinds the clock again and again and again and again.
He will save Robby. He will. He promised.
He just wishes Robby would learn to save himself.