Chapter Text
The December wind swept down the streets, carrying flakes of glistening snow in its wake. Windows which were still open during the day were now shuttered tight, as though even the houses themselves feared letting the cold creep inside. As the last licks of sunlight retreated behind the city's skyline, the world slowly faded into a somber darkness.
It was soon to be night.
In the midst of it all, Doctor Michael Robinavitch walked on, enjoying the rare quietness. He was returning from a house-call at Lady Raymond’s estate, and despite his fondness for the elderly noblewoman, the visit had still been draining. The rigid decorum demanded by the upper class was an exhausting performance, and it made his skin crawl, playing a part that never felt right. Soon, though, he would be home, settled into his armchair with a book and a warm cup of tea, the day neatly put to rest.
Then, in the morning, he would open his practice and do it all again.
At that thought, Robby sighed, his gloved hand coming up to pinch his brow. On most days, the thought of living in a repetitive cycle was comforting, a grounding assurance of a stable life and reliable income, and with it came the knowledge that he was helping people to the best of his ability. Today, however, was not one of those days. Today was a day where his right arm, carrying the physician’s kit, felt far more strained and sore than usual, and his heart was heavy with exhaustion.
Today was a day where he longed for something different. A new face, a different home, a life he had chosen to abandon when he left-
A pained yelp snapped him out of his thoughts.
His instincts kicked in, and Robby looked up instantly, his gaze sweeping the street as he searched for the source of the sound. Somewhere ahead, muffled voices carried through the cold air. He hurried forward, only slowing when he found himself at the opening of an alley. His breath came sharp as he carefully approached the darkness, the snow - now almost an inch thick - crunching under his every step.
Then came another cry, louder this time, ragged and sharp, teetering on the edge of a scream. The muffled voices were much more distinct now. Robby could make out laughter and curses, and beneath them, a lower voice sobbing in pain.
Fists tight, Robby stepped inside without hesitation.
Three watchmen stood clustered around a body slumped against the alley wall. One of them had a boot planted against the figure’s ribs, pinning him in place, while the other two carried their batons; twisted, predatory smiles on their faces. The figure wheezed, teeth clicking faintly with every breath drawn, his chest rising shakily with each sob. Robby couldn’t catch a good look at the man’s face - his hair was too long, draping down as if shielding him from the rest of the world. What Robby did see, however, was a familiar dark red soaking through the silver snow beneath the body, spreading at an alarming speed.
Shit.
“Hey!” Robby barked, his voice cutting clean through the alley. The men paused, their movements faltering as their attention snapped toward him. “What, might I ask, is the reason for such an action?”
One of the watchmen cackled at Robby’s words, delivering a hard kick to the figure’s shoulder before turning to face the physician. Robby heard the injured man cry out at the impact, his body jolting before going limp once more. At least he still reacted to pain. Robby grimaced as he looked away, focusing on the approaching watchman.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” tufts of white mist escaped the man's mouth as he snarled, “so why don’t you hurry down the street like nothing ever happened and get the fuck out of our faces.”
The physician did not move an inch, simply staring the watchman down. Robby had faced enough angry men in his life to remain unfazed by these pitiful attempts at intimidation.
“You three gentlemen are currently surrounding and beating down on someone who appears to be defenseless. I do not believe that is proper protocol for watchmen on night patrol.”
The watchman laughed incredulously, rolling his baton in his palm with a wide grin. Robby frowned as he took a better look at the man’s face. He wasn’t a dental specialist, but the yellowed, almost rotten state of the man’s teeth really ought to be seen by a professional.
“Did you hear what he just said, fellas? Looks like he’s looking for some trouble, eh?”
This was going to take a while. With a sigh, Robby placed down his physician's kit, causing a faint crunch as the snow collapsed beneath its weight. This confrontation wasn’t what he had hoped for today, but he wasn’t afraid. Not when a person’s life depended on it.
“It is my duty as a physician to save lives, and that man there?” Lifting his finger, Robby pointed at the beaten figure. He was no longer sobbing. His arms, once held around his head, had slid down at some point and now rested limp at his sides. “He is on death's door.”
Those words caused the foul-teethed man to advance even closer, his expression increasingly agitated. Another watchman approached as well, balling his fists together and cracking his knuckles. Robby almost scoffed at this boisterous display, knowing they were threatened by how little their intimidation worked. It was pathetic, really, how much some people had grown to rely on causing fear.
“Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but if you think you can fuck around and mess with our work, you’ve got something else coming for ya.”
The watchman in front of him raised his baton, and Robby’s body tensed, preparing to dodge out of the attack. His moves had become quite rusty in the past few years, though he hoped he could at least still pack a punch.
The dark oak was just about to strike down, when a crisp shout broke the tension.
“Hold it, Mick! That’s Dr. Robinavitch.” The one who had stayed back the entire time bit out suddenly, eyeing Robby with a glint of recognition. “Man’s got fucking connections everywhere, this isn’t worth it.”
The two watchmen turned around, glancing at their compatriot. “What the hell you saying, Jamie?”
“I’m saying he’ll have us in front of Stefano by morning, and I don’t fancy losing my job.” The last watchman, Jamie, shook his head, his eyes scanning their environment nervously.
It was now or never.
“Let’s make a deal, gentlemen, before I’m forced to remember your faces and testify in court for murder.” Robby paced forwards, lowering his voice. “You leave me to save that man, and I will make sure that no one hears of this. It’s a deal beneficial for us all.”
For a moment, no one moved. The wind swept through the alley, carrying loose snow between them.
The watchman lowered his baton first, and the tension snapped. Grumbling under his breath, he shouldered Robby to the side, leaving with urgent steps. Seeing this, the other two picked up their paces as well, cursing as they scrambled out of the alley, leaving Robby’s sight. The physician stayed still until their footsteps faded into the distance. Then, he bolted into action.
Robby picked up his physician’s kit, rushed toward the bleeding man, and fell to his knees to assess the injuries. The man was no longer leaning against the alley wall, now curled up in a ball in the snow instead. His breaths were ragged and shallow, approaching hyperventilation.
“Can you hear me?” Robby reached out to move the locks of dirty blond hair from the man’s face, a face which was half covered in blood, the other half in bruises. A pained whimper was all he could choke out as Robby’s hand brushed his cheek. Finally registering the man’s appearance, Robby’s chest tightened, something twisting painfully beneath his ribs.
He looked so damn young.
“Hey, kid. My name is Doctor Michael Robinavitch, I am a physician who works just down the street. The people hurting you are gone now, and I will help you get better. Can you tell me your name?”
“N- no.” The kid bit out through gritted teeth. His eyes - or at least his left eye, which was not yet swollen shut - glanced around with steel blue panic. “I don't h-have… money.”
“That's okay. We’ll figure something out later. For now, just let me focus on saving your life, yeah?” He yanked off his dark leather gloves, throwing them to the side before sweeping his hands over the young man’s body, feeling for any broken bones. The kid flinched violently at the contact, muscles spasming as he pawed weakly at Robby’s wrists, trying to pull him away. His skin was freezing. Robby’s jaw tightened, knowing if they remained in this alley much longer, the cold would finish off what the watchmen had started.
“It- it hurts, I can't-”
“I know,” Robby shushed, softening his voice. “I know.”
As gently as he could, he held the young man still and reached behind his back, fingers probing carefully beneath torn fabric. They came away slick. He pressed again, much more deliberate this time, and felt it. A deep, uneven gash right between the kid’s shoulderblades. Gushes of warm liquid stained Robby’s fingers, and for a moment, he felt himself panic.
There was too much blood.
Sensing the pain, the kid had begun moving again, breathless cries echoing through the dark street as he tried to push himself away.
“I'm sorry,” Robby said quietly, already pulling gauze and lint cloth from his kit. “But I can’t have you refusing treatment right now. I promise you are safe, but you have to cooperate for me to help you.”
There was a low sob in response, but the struggling ceased, so Robby shifted the young man to his side. The movement drew a strangled yelp from the boy’s throat, his fingers clawing weakly at the snow before going slack again.
The wound was worse than he’d hoped. It was too dark to judge its full depth, but the steady warmth soaking through the cloth as Robby pressed down told him enough. Once he got the kid inside, sutures would most definitely be necessary. For now, though, Robby simply applied firm pressure, ignoring the way the blood soaked through the first layer of lint faster than he liked.
“Stay with me,” he muttered, leaning closer so the boy could hear him over the wind. “Don’t you close your eyes, kid.”
“M tryin’…” The young man mumbled, the words slurring together, fraying at the edges. He was going to lose consciousness soon. Robby pressed another layer of cloth to the wound, then another, tying the bandage tighter than he normally would. It wasn’t his best work, but hopefully it could last until they got inside.
Upper body dealt with, Robby shifted down to inspect the kid's legs. Only then did he realize how the snow beneath them had long turned into pink slush.
Whoever was in charge of morning patrol would have quite the scare. A humourless chuckle escaped Robby as he gently squeezed the kid’s thighs, only now noticing how terribly thin the kid’s clothes were. No wonder he was freezing up this quickly.
The legs seemed intact. Definitely bruised, patches of swelling already rising beneath the skin, but no large gashes or fractures.
Robby let out a slow breath, rolling his stiff neck once.
Now came the hardest part.
“I’ve patched up the worst of your wounds, but to properly treat you I need to bring you to my practice. I'll have to carry you for that.”
The young man stirred faintly, lips parting. A sound slipped out, caught somewhere between “no way” and “alright”. For his own sanity, Robby chose to hear the latter.
“I’m going to hold you by your upper back and behind your knees,” he warned quietly. “On three, yeah?”
Robby did not give the boy much time to think. He screamed as the physician lifted him up, his voice hoarse and broken, something completely raw. The sound scraped down Robby’s spine and lodged there. He knew it was going to haunt him for the next few days.
The wound on the kid’s back was still oozing, blood soaking clean through all three layers of bandaging. Robby felt his own shirt growing damp as the warmth spread against his chest. “Shh, it’s okay. I got you. It will all be over soon, I promise.”
The boy’s fingers twisted weakly into the front of Robby’s coat.
“I’m scared,” he whispered, voice splintering apart. “I don’t… wanna die.”
For a split second, Robby’s vision blurred. He was no longer in a snowy alley, but somewhere completely different. The kid’s face overlaid with another. Another body in his arms. Another voice saying the exact same words. Over and over.
His throat tightened.
“You’re not dying, kid. Not on my watch.”
Robby rose, snow crunching beneath his boots.
He wasn’t going to fail.
Not this time.