Fear of Flight
Title: Fear of Flight
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Summary: Pete is a winged boy, a subject at the will of others. Pat is a scientist working at what he thinks is a respectable government facility. After what some might call 'over attachment', Patrick is left with an ethical dilemma he isn't ready to face.
Disclaimer: This is fictional.
Author Note: Written for pxp_flashbang
Case study #10092
Subject no. 317
Subject is male, apprx. 25 years of age. Discovered April 14th, 2008. Direct interview has led to minimal background history; possible effects of amnesia. Subject proven volatile when provoked, will not cooperate with scientists. Sedative recommended.
Patrick glanced through the stack of manila folders he held like cherished goods in his arms. Numbers were printed neatly across each of the staggered tabs, a makeshift method of organization that wasn't working so well which had Patrick in a hectic frame of mind already. His shoes scuffed against linoleum as he came to a stop in front of a metal door, one of many along the seemingly never ending corridor. He leaned forward on the balls of his feet to peer into the small window that was cut through the metal a few inches above his head. There was a body curled up on the thin mattress of the regulation twin size bed. Satisfied that he had reached the right place, Patrick fumbled with his key card briefly before managing to swipe it through the slot which shortly after beeped to grant him access to the room. It was all very high-tech, something which Patrick was still getting used to. At his old job he had an ancient set of keys which could get him into any door in the building; a safety hazard for sure, had there been anything in the building worth stealing. He hadn't known what to expect when they looked over his resume --which was rather impressive, if Pat may say so himself, he prided himself on his education-- and accepted him for a job at a government facility. It had taken him over six months to gain enough recognition to get a card that would get him behind locked doors, and he wasn't going to screw it up on his first day.
"Who are you."
The voice startled the easily nervous Patrick who had just barely closed the heavy metal door when the voice interrupted, nearly causing him to drop all his papers. Mouth still half open, he looked up at the figure of a man who was now sitting up in his bed.
"Patrick," he answered, then made a face before hastily correcting himself, "Stump… Dr. Stump." He was still getting used to that too, not many people had bothered calling him by his professional name despite him having already been through the doctorate program.
"Like Bond. James Bond," the man said, and he laughed at Patrick which made Patrick squirm, feeling more than slightly uncomfortable. Patrick hadn't expected the subject to be awake; most of the others he'd given an exam to had been unconscious and the breaking of expectations threw him for a loop.
"And you are subject 317," Patrick said, a confirmation of his own knowledge spoken out loud rather than a continuation of the conversation. Patrick looked down at the folder marked 'SUBJECT #317' which was on the top of the pile. He set the others aside on a small table at the other side of the tiny room, and then opened the file. Page after page of notes were clipped together, far too much for Patrick to read in such a short time. He glanced through the first few pages, his sight immediately drawn to words like 'volatile' and 'uncooperative'. It would be his luck that the subject with known temper issues would be the one conscious enough to inflict them upon Patrick, and Patrick straightened up a bit at the thought of what could happen to him. However, he was determined to remain professional and so he flipped to the back pages where most of the recent progress was documented and hoped that no fear would show on his face as he looked back up.
"I know what you're here for, doc," the subject said, and he was working on pulling off his shirt before Patrick could get in another word.
Training had prepared Patrick for what that act would reveal. He had known what to expect, but still he caught himself staring somewhat blatantly. Feathers fluttered as muscles flexed and two large wings stretched out, adjusting to their release from cotton confinement. From the look of them Patrick estimated that they would span the length of the room if fully spread. The room was not huge, but the sight was still highly impressive. The natural curiosity within him made him fill with the urge to reach forward and touch, if only to see how they'd feel, but Patrick refrained.
"First time you've seen someone like me, eh doc?" the subject asked, laughing again.
Patrick's cheeks tinged a very light pink. He didn't like having his inadequacies pointed out to him, especially lack of knowledge or experience. "Sit up straight and put this in your mouth." He handed over a thermometer, watching the subject carefully as he put it in his mouth under his tongue.
"No fever," Patrick noted, taking the thermometer back after a few long moments. He took a pen out of his lab coat pocket and clicked it before scribbling the subject's current temperature on the last page in the folder. It was his job to visit all the subjects and write down their vitals as well as check for other unusual developments so that they could later chart progress as well as look for commonalities in side effects. It was important if not slightly mundane and repetitive work.
"You can touch them if you want," the subject said, but Patrick was saved from having to answer when an alarm started to wail in the not too far distance.
Flashing red lights bathed the hallways in an eerie shade, and the sound of a loud click reverberated against Patrick's ear drums as the security system locked all the doors. A shock of fear went straight up Patrick's spines as he thought with horror that they were going on lockdown, leaving him alone and vulnerable in a room with a potentially unstable subject.
Clearly the subject didn't share the same feeling of dread, or perhaps he found the look on Patrick's face amusing, as the next sound Patrick heard was laughter.
"Ryan must have escaped. Again," the subject said, and Patrick noted that the smile he had appeared forced, and thus the laughter might have been as well.
"Ryan?" Patrick queried further without thinking about what engaging in conversation could lead to. He did not want to rile the subject, but he'd been working at the facility for months and he'd never heard of a man named Ryan despite having introduced himself to most other employees.
"He only got here a few months ago. He's a good guy, but has a lot of crazy ideas," the subject continued.
The alarm stopped suddenly, and there was the sound of footsteps before the door to the room opened.
"Dr. Stump, we need you to come with us. There has been an incident and it is no longer safe for you to be here. Please follow the guards back to the main research area, we will debrief you later."
"I guess that means he didn't make it out," the subject murmured, but if the others heard it they showed no sign.
A hand circled Patrick's wrist and started to tug him out of the confusion.
"Pete," the subject called out, looking directly at Patrick. "That's my name. It's Pete."
Patrick gaped as he was yanked out of the room.
September 04, 2010
Subject tested using acidic substance. No outward markings observed. Cuts of one inch width made on legs, forearms, and abdomen. No formation of scar tissue. Recovery time noted to be within time frame of five to ten seconds. Subject hit 5 on pain scale. Further testing suggested.
"Doc, is that you?"
"Dr. Stump," Patrick corrected, but there was no stern tone behind it. Truth be told he didn't really mind that the subject had taken to calling him by an informal nickname, he didn't figure there was anything wrong with that. Patrick closed the door behind him and set the folders down on the table before opening up the one on top. "I'm going to need to take some blood today."
"However much you need, doc," the subject answered, already sitting up in bed. He stretched out his arm in front of him, his gaze unwavering on the wall parallel to the bed.
Patrick grabbed a chair and sat down in front of Pete before cutting a piece of gauze from his pocket off and tying it around Pete's arm.
"If you want to squeeze this, that would be appreciated," Patrick added, holding out a small stress reliever ball. "It would help to get your blood flowing." Secretly, Patrick was a little thrilled at the aspect of doing something more than simply checking temperatures. He'd learned a lot from reading the files of those contained in the facility, he knew of the regenerative properties of their winged subjects. It was very likely they'd be able to use their subjects' blood to create the cure for things --cures that previously would have only
Pete reached out to take the ball but missed Patrick's hand.
"Is there something wrong with your vision?" Patrick asked, straightening up and taking a tiny flashlight out of his pocket. He cupped Pete's jaw and waved the light in front of his eyes. The subject's pupils didn't respond.
"It'll go away after a while. Never lasts more than a day or so," the subject responded, his hand stretching out until he found Patrick's arm, following down the fabric of the lab coat until he was able to grasp Patrick's hand. He held onto Pat's hand for a second --a smile on his face even though he couldn't look the scientist in the eyes, didn't even know for sure where Patrick's face was-- then took the stress relief ball and slowly started squeezing it. "Call me Pete, okay?"
Patrick nodded before realizing the subject wouldn't be able to see that. He set up the bag for collecting the blood and ran the needle through, then cleared his throat. "I can do that," he said, adding a moment after, "Pete."
Pete winced when the needle went in. Patrick tried to ignore the guilt he felt.
October 11th, 2010
Subject's blood shown to have no healing capabilities within blood stream of non-avian individuals. Repeated tests yield no positive results despite multiple blood drawings. It is our belief that the regenerative attributes stem elsewhere. Further testing required.
Pete was lying down in bed when Patrick walked in. Patrick wouldn't have thought much of it if it had been anyone else, but he'd grown accustomed to Pete wide awake greeting him as soon as he opened the door. It was a nice break from the other subjects he visited, most of whom could only be described as listless.
"Pete?" Patrick said quietly, peering closer.
Pete's eyes slowly opened, and he gave Patrick a tired smile. "What's up, doc?" he croaked, more of a whisper than anything.
"Can you sit up for me?" Patrick prompted, and he stood back to give Pete some space. It felt weird being too close, he wasn't comfortable with it. He knew it wasn't wrong, but it sometimes still felt that way. The name 'Pete' was becoming less foreign to his tongue, an oddity considering when the other scientists dealt with the subjects they used only their identification number. Patrick wondered if Pete had asked the others to call him by his first name, or if he was special.
"Sure thing," Pete answered, but his voice was soft and even with the confirmation it took Pete a minute to get into sitting position. He leaned forward, his arms crossed protectively over his stomach, nearly curling up into himself.
Patrick paused. "I just need to take your temperature today," he said, pushing away the note marked in the report that meant he was supposed to take more blood. It wasn't right. It wasn't scientific either, he thought, giving himself excuses. If Pete was sick then his blood wouldn't do anyone any good, and therefore there was no reason to drain more of it.
The normally hearty 'ahh' as Pete opened his mouth wide was reduced down to nearly nothing, and so Patrick hurried up his impromptu physical exam, helping Pete to lay back down afterwards.
"Get some rest now," Patrick said as he grabbed the file and stepped towards the door.
He could've sworn he heard Pete say 'thank you' as he left, but it was so quiet he wasn't sure. When he looked back over his shoulder, Pete was already unconscious.
October 14th, 2010
Test options have been exhausted. Subject deemed no longer useful to the facility. Completion of program scheduled for the 20th of October, 2010. Autopsy needed for records.
"Get the fuck away from me."
Patrick looked between the subject and the closed door. He'd agreed to take a coworker's shift. He'd figured it would only be a few extra hours of work. It couldn't possibly be that difficult. Most of the subjects Pat was assigned to were docile or listless, even when conscious they rarely put up a fuss or said a word when Pat went about his daily check up.
"I just need to take down a few stats," Patrick explained, taking a brave step towards the subject whose eyes were also darting back and forth between Patrick and the door.
The subject took a sharp inhale, inwardly deciding to himself that an attempt to breech the door wasn't worth it, backing up into the farthest corner of his bed instead. "I said stay the fuck away from me."
"I'm not going to hurt you," Patrick insisted, feeling more than a tad nervous about it all. He'd never had to deal with such a lively subject. Pete was the only one who really talked to him, and he'd never thought that Pete would be one to pose a threat to him no matter what it had written down in his record.
"That's what they all say," the subject hissed back, voice jumping an octave before becoming hoarse.
"Look," Patrick started, glancing down at the file he had on the patient. A string of numbers were written along the edge of the tab, but no name. He didn't want to address the subject by numbers, it felt weird to even consider it with the way he always talked to Pete. "What's your name?"
The subject tensed, eyes meeting Patrick's and holding contact until Patrick started turning red from the intensity of it, his own gaze dropping down to the floor in instinctive submission. Apparently that had been what the subject was waiting for. "Ryan. My name is Ryan."
A figurative lightbulb lit up in Patrick's head as he placed the name. "You're Ryan," Patrick repeated, "Pete mentioned you." The alarms and lockdown suddenly made sense considering Ryan's attitude, Patrick could definitely imagine Ryan wreaking havoc if he was given even an inch for leeway. Patrick wasn't the typically domineering type, he just wasn't, but he couldn't afford to make a mistake and let Ryan do something stupid again. He liked his job too much for that.
Ryan's eyes narrowed. "You're Pete's doctor."
Confused, Patrick nodded. "I guess I am. He talks about me?" He couldn't help the tiny smile that quirked his lips after that. He hadn't figured that Pete would care enough to mention Patrick outside of his short little visits. Patrick had become a scientist because he wanted to make a difference. He wanted to make the world a better place. No one could doubt that Patrick had good intentions, but Pete was the one he seemed to make a difference to. Otherwise he tended to get lost in the mix, forgotten about in a building where scientists and doctors were entirely too common. The facility had a way of sterilizing everything, making it devoid of any emotions. Patrick felt a drain pulling at his heart whenever he walked in the front doors and donned yet another white lab coat. None of the coworkers talked. Even the lounge was a quiet place, matching the rest of the décor in its plain white and minimalism. The moments where he got to talk with Pete quickly became a highlight of his day. The only time where things didn't seem so damn desolate.
"You like him, don't you," Ryan remarked. "That smile."
"That's none of your concern," Patrick replied, feeling somewhat insulted at what the subject was clearly implying, "I'm here to do my job, if you're going to cooperate."
"You're right," Ryan said. "You have a job to do. It's obvious you're just like the rest of them."
That stung Patrick more than he wanted to admit, and he didn't know why. "I'm not."
"Oh, you're not?" Ryan's lips curved into a predatory smile. "So you're not going to take part in the autopsy?"
"What autopsy?" Patrick questioned, taken aback by Ryan's boldness.
"Pete's. Haven't you heard? He's outlived his usefulness alive. There's only one thing that happens after that." Ryan dragged a finger across his throat, the smirk never leaving his lips.
Patrick paled. "No, that can't be true," he said. "I would know if it was. It would be in the file. They'd tell me."
"Of course they would," Ryan answered snidely. "Keep letting yourself believe that. Your denial is cute. It's almost as if you don't understand what this place is and why we're here. It's not by our own will. You think we want to be treated like animals?"
"It's for a good cause," Patrick insisted, but even he was beginning to realize his tired argument was weak. "It's for the common good of all."
"I'm glad everyone else can benefit while I'm dead," Ryan snarled before lashing out at Patrick. His wings extended, feathers of a light grey, much more threatening than the ethereal feeling Patrick got from looking at Pete.
Patrick startled too easily, his heart loudly pounding in his chest. He yanked open the door, triggering the alarm, then stumbled out of the room as quickly as he could. It didn't take more than a few moments for people to swarm towards him, headed into the room, needles poised to make sure Ryan wasn't able to hurt anybody anymore. The pangs twisting Patrick's insides didn't go away.
October 20th, 2010
Subject is healthy and ready for further study. Dr. Neuhaus will be heading the autopsy with Dr. Maslowski observing.
Patrick hung towards the back of the employee lounge room, hunched over a mug half full of bland coffee with neither cream nor sugar. His head ached, his chest hurt, every atom of his being felt exhausted. Yet his ears still perked up when he heard co-workers talking at a nearby table.
"The autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow at noon," one said. "Will you be attending?"
"I don't think so. Not this time. Subject 317 is not one of my favorite specimens. Last time I worked with him he nearly snapped my arm in two. I'll be glad when he's gone."
317. Patrick knew that number. It had been a long time since he'd said it out loud, but he knew the file well enough to recognize where they came from. Pete's file. Patrick stilled, frozen to his spot, the color draining from his face. Ryan hadn't been lying. He'd hoped that it was nothing more than the rantings of a bitter boy, but he'd been wrong yet again. Through the comfort of his naivety he hadn't allowed himself to see this place for what it truly was, and now an innocent would pay for his actions.
Setting down his mug, Patrick hurried out of the room and down the corridor he'd walked so many times. He swiped his identification card through the keypad and entered when the door's lock clicked open.
"Pete," he breathed.
Pete looked startled, moving to a sitting position when he placed his name with the mouth it came from. "Doctor? What are you doing here? This isn't when you usually come."
"They're going to kill you," Patrick said. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He found it hard enough to just say the words, let alone imagine it happening.
Pete stared at Patrick for a moment, the room going quiet. The expression on his face became serious. "I know."
Patrick's eyebrows went way up, in shock of what Pete had said. Had Patrick been so oblivious that he was the only one left who hadn't a clue? "How," he stumbled over the million questions forming in his mind, "Why? Why didn't you tell me?"
"It didn't seem like you knew," Pete answered quietly, "I didn't want you to feel bad."
Patrick felt like he had been socked in the stomach, completely winded and unable to spit out any words. Pete's eyes never left his own, both locked into a staring contest that didn't seem like it was going to end any time soon.
"I'm sorry," Pete said, and just like that Patrick's ability to speak was back.
"Come with me."
"What?"
"Come with me," Patrick repeated himself, not even sure if he knew what he meant by that, but it felt right and so he was going to go with that gut reaction.
Pete hesitantly got up, allowing Patrick to grab him by the wrist and tug him out of the room. Patrick's heart had gone from barely beating to nearly beating out of his chest as they made their way through the maze of corridors that was the government facility they'd both belonged to for too long.
Patrick had only been up to the roof once or twice, but he knew exactly where he was going. Leading Pete up the winding cement staircase, Patrick prayed to any god people had ever believed in that this would work. He knew how heavily guarded the doors to the facility were. There was no way either of them would get out alive, no chance for escape. Besides a body bag there was only one way out, and that was through the skies. The facility could patrol the rooms and the ground, but they'd never be able to own the heavens above them. That was much too lofty a goal, even for a group as well-funded as the government. Everyone had their limits, and Patrick suddenly felt more than happy to show his employers where theirs was.
"What are we doing up here?" Pete questioned, the confusion still clear in his facial features. He looked around at the unobstructed 360 view, his eyes wide at his first glimpse of the outside in a long time.
"You need to get out of here." Patrick answered firmly.
"But how?"
Patrick's fingers found the edge of Pete's shirt, sliding it up, skin brushing against skin as Pete compliantly raised his arms to allow Patrick to pull his shirt off. White wings stretched out at the lack of constraint, feathers ruffling in the slight breeze.
"You need to fly."
"Doctor…" Pete started, but Patrick interrupted him.
"It's Patrick. That's my name. It's Patrick."
Pete's lips curled into a tiny smile. "I know," he admitted, "I've just been waiting for you to tell me yourself."
"You need to go," Patrick said after a slight pause. "Before they realize you're missing."
"I've always been scared of flying," Pete said solemnly.
Patrick stared for a moment, taking a quick breath to try and calm himself before leaning forward on the tip of his feet, pressing his lips against Pete's for a brief second. Pete's lips were chapped, but warm on contact. "You need to," Patrick urged quietly.
"But what about you?"
"Don't worry about me," Patrick said, more urgently. He knew they were running out of time. "I'll be fine." It was a lie. He'd used his identification card to get access to the stairs that lead to the roof, and to Pete's room. They'd know it was him that set Pete free. Patrick didn't know what the consequences would be, but he didn't give a damn anymore. "Now go. Please. For me."
Without any warning, Pete mashed his lips back against Patrick's, his hand cupping the back of Patrick's head to keep him from pulling away, not that Patrick had any intention of doing that. A warm body pressed against his, Patrick forgot completely how to breath, turning a nice shade of pink by the time Pete finally broke the kiss.
"I needed another," Pete explained, that genuine smile Patrick had grown fond of back. "For good luck."
Patrick watched silently as Pete stepped onto the edge of the roof, his wings finally stretching out to their full span. The wind was coming in stronger, pushing at Pete's back, urging him further. Pete hadn't flown in so long, but instinct was kicking in.
"I'll be back for you," Pete said, turning to look at Patrick. "I promise."
"Until next time then," Patrick added, nodding even though he wasn't when that would happen. He knew that what he was doing wouldn't come without cost, but he was ready to handle that, whatever it may be. Watching as Pete's wings flapped, catching the wind, soaring high above the building, Patrick knew it was worth it. They'd never be able to catch him now, not up in the skies where he belonged.
Patrick's heart soared as well, feeling lighter than he'd ever felt before. He stood there watching until Pete was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Taking a deep breath, as if preparing for battle, Patrick turned and headed back down the stairs. He wasn't done and over with yet.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Summary: Pete is a winged boy, a subject at the will of others. Pat is a scientist working at what he thinks is a respectable government facility. After what some might call 'over attachment', Patrick is left with an ethical dilemma he isn't ready to face.
Disclaimer: This is fictional.
Author Note: Written for pxp_flashbang
Case study #10092
Subject no. 317
Subject is male, apprx. 25 years of age. Discovered April 14th, 2008. Direct interview has led to minimal background history; possible effects of amnesia. Subject proven volatile when provoked, will not cooperate with scientists. Sedative recommended.
Patrick glanced through the stack of manila folders he held like cherished goods in his arms. Numbers were printed neatly across each of the staggered tabs, a makeshift method of organization that wasn't working so well which had Patrick in a hectic frame of mind already. His shoes scuffed against linoleum as he came to a stop in front of a metal door, one of many along the seemingly never ending corridor. He leaned forward on the balls of his feet to peer into the small window that was cut through the metal a few inches above his head. There was a body curled up on the thin mattress of the regulation twin size bed. Satisfied that he had reached the right place, Patrick fumbled with his key card briefly before managing to swipe it through the slot which shortly after beeped to grant him access to the room. It was all very high-tech, something which Patrick was still getting used to. At his old job he had an ancient set of keys which could get him into any door in the building; a safety hazard for sure, had there been anything in the building worth stealing. He hadn't known what to expect when they looked over his resume --which was rather impressive, if Pat may say so himself, he prided himself on his education-- and accepted him for a job at a government facility. It had taken him over six months to gain enough recognition to get a card that would get him behind locked doors, and he wasn't going to screw it up on his first day.
"Who are you."
The voice startled the easily nervous Patrick who had just barely closed the heavy metal door when the voice interrupted, nearly causing him to drop all his papers. Mouth still half open, he looked up at the figure of a man who was now sitting up in his bed.
"Patrick," he answered, then made a face before hastily correcting himself, "Stump… Dr. Stump." He was still getting used to that too, not many people had bothered calling him by his professional name despite him having already been through the doctorate program.
"Like Bond. James Bond," the man said, and he laughed at Patrick which made Patrick squirm, feeling more than slightly uncomfortable. Patrick hadn't expected the subject to be awake; most of the others he'd given an exam to had been unconscious and the breaking of expectations threw him for a loop.
"And you are subject 317," Patrick said, a confirmation of his own knowledge spoken out loud rather than a continuation of the conversation. Patrick looked down at the folder marked 'SUBJECT #317' which was on the top of the pile. He set the others aside on a small table at the other side of the tiny room, and then opened the file. Page after page of notes were clipped together, far too much for Patrick to read in such a short time. He glanced through the first few pages, his sight immediately drawn to words like 'volatile' and 'uncooperative'. It would be his luck that the subject with known temper issues would be the one conscious enough to inflict them upon Patrick, and Patrick straightened up a bit at the thought of what could happen to him. However, he was determined to remain professional and so he flipped to the back pages where most of the recent progress was documented and hoped that no fear would show on his face as he looked back up.
"I know what you're here for, doc," the subject said, and he was working on pulling off his shirt before Patrick could get in another word.
Training had prepared Patrick for what that act would reveal. He had known what to expect, but still he caught himself staring somewhat blatantly. Feathers fluttered as muscles flexed and two large wings stretched out, adjusting to their release from cotton confinement. From the look of them Patrick estimated that they would span the length of the room if fully spread. The room was not huge, but the sight was still highly impressive. The natural curiosity within him made him fill with the urge to reach forward and touch, if only to see how they'd feel, but Patrick refrained.
"First time you've seen someone like me, eh doc?" the subject asked, laughing again.
Patrick's cheeks tinged a very light pink. He didn't like having his inadequacies pointed out to him, especially lack of knowledge or experience. "Sit up straight and put this in your mouth." He handed over a thermometer, watching the subject carefully as he put it in his mouth under his tongue.
"No fever," Patrick noted, taking the thermometer back after a few long moments. He took a pen out of his lab coat pocket and clicked it before scribbling the subject's current temperature on the last page in the folder. It was his job to visit all the subjects and write down their vitals as well as check for other unusual developments so that they could later chart progress as well as look for commonalities in side effects. It was important if not slightly mundane and repetitive work.
"You can touch them if you want," the subject said, but Patrick was saved from having to answer when an alarm started to wail in the not too far distance.
Flashing red lights bathed the hallways in an eerie shade, and the sound of a loud click reverberated against Patrick's ear drums as the security system locked all the doors. A shock of fear went straight up Patrick's spines as he thought with horror that they were going on lockdown, leaving him alone and vulnerable in a room with a potentially unstable subject.
Clearly the subject didn't share the same feeling of dread, or perhaps he found the look on Patrick's face amusing, as the next sound Patrick heard was laughter.
"Ryan must have escaped. Again," the subject said, and Patrick noted that the smile he had appeared forced, and thus the laughter might have been as well.
"Ryan?" Patrick queried further without thinking about what engaging in conversation could lead to. He did not want to rile the subject, but he'd been working at the facility for months and he'd never heard of a man named Ryan despite having introduced himself to most other employees.
"He only got here a few months ago. He's a good guy, but has a lot of crazy ideas," the subject continued.
The alarm stopped suddenly, and there was the sound of footsteps before the door to the room opened.
"Dr. Stump, we need you to come with us. There has been an incident and it is no longer safe for you to be here. Please follow the guards back to the main research area, we will debrief you later."
"I guess that means he didn't make it out," the subject murmured, but if the others heard it they showed no sign.
A hand circled Patrick's wrist and started to tug him out of the confusion.
"Pete," the subject called out, looking directly at Patrick. "That's my name. It's Pete."
Patrick gaped as he was yanked out of the room.
September 04, 2010
Subject tested using acidic substance. No outward markings observed. Cuts of one inch width made on legs, forearms, and abdomen. No formation of scar tissue. Recovery time noted to be within time frame of five to ten seconds. Subject hit 5 on pain scale. Further testing suggested.
"Doc, is that you?"
"Dr. Stump," Patrick corrected, but there was no stern tone behind it. Truth be told he didn't really mind that the subject had taken to calling him by an informal nickname, he didn't figure there was anything wrong with that. Patrick closed the door behind him and set the folders down on the table before opening up the one on top. "I'm going to need to take some blood today."
"However much you need, doc," the subject answered, already sitting up in bed. He stretched out his arm in front of him, his gaze unwavering on the wall parallel to the bed.
Patrick grabbed a chair and sat down in front of Pete before cutting a piece of gauze from his pocket off and tying it around Pete's arm.
"If you want to squeeze this, that would be appreciated," Patrick added, holding out a small stress reliever ball. "It would help to get your blood flowing." Secretly, Patrick was a little thrilled at the aspect of doing something more than simply checking temperatures. He'd learned a lot from reading the files of those contained in the facility, he knew of the regenerative properties of their winged subjects. It was very likely they'd be able to use their subjects' blood to create the cure for things --cures that previously would have only
Pete reached out to take the ball but missed Patrick's hand.
"Is there something wrong with your vision?" Patrick asked, straightening up and taking a tiny flashlight out of his pocket. He cupped Pete's jaw and waved the light in front of his eyes. The subject's pupils didn't respond.
"It'll go away after a while. Never lasts more than a day or so," the subject responded, his hand stretching out until he found Patrick's arm, following down the fabric of the lab coat until he was able to grasp Patrick's hand. He held onto Pat's hand for a second --a smile on his face even though he couldn't look the scientist in the eyes, didn't even know for sure where Patrick's face was-- then took the stress relief ball and slowly started squeezing it. "Call me Pete, okay?"
Patrick nodded before realizing the subject wouldn't be able to see that. He set up the bag for collecting the blood and ran the needle through, then cleared his throat. "I can do that," he said, adding a moment after, "Pete."
Pete winced when the needle went in. Patrick tried to ignore the guilt he felt.
October 11th, 2010
Subject's blood shown to have no healing capabilities within blood stream of non-avian individuals. Repeated tests yield no positive results despite multiple blood drawings. It is our belief that the regenerative attributes stem elsewhere. Further testing required.
Pete was lying down in bed when Patrick walked in. Patrick wouldn't have thought much of it if it had been anyone else, but he'd grown accustomed to Pete wide awake greeting him as soon as he opened the door. It was a nice break from the other subjects he visited, most of whom could only be described as listless.
"Pete?" Patrick said quietly, peering closer.
Pete's eyes slowly opened, and he gave Patrick a tired smile. "What's up, doc?" he croaked, more of a whisper than anything.
"Can you sit up for me?" Patrick prompted, and he stood back to give Pete some space. It felt weird being too close, he wasn't comfortable with it. He knew it wasn't wrong, but it sometimes still felt that way. The name 'Pete' was becoming less foreign to his tongue, an oddity considering when the other scientists dealt with the subjects they used only their identification number. Patrick wondered if Pete had asked the others to call him by his first name, or if he was special.
"Sure thing," Pete answered, but his voice was soft and even with the confirmation it took Pete a minute to get into sitting position. He leaned forward, his arms crossed protectively over his stomach, nearly curling up into himself.
Patrick paused. "I just need to take your temperature today," he said, pushing away the note marked in the report that meant he was supposed to take more blood. It wasn't right. It wasn't scientific either, he thought, giving himself excuses. If Pete was sick then his blood wouldn't do anyone any good, and therefore there was no reason to drain more of it.
The normally hearty 'ahh' as Pete opened his mouth wide was reduced down to nearly nothing, and so Patrick hurried up his impromptu physical exam, helping Pete to lay back down afterwards.
"Get some rest now," Patrick said as he grabbed the file and stepped towards the door.
He could've sworn he heard Pete say 'thank you' as he left, but it was so quiet he wasn't sure. When he looked back over his shoulder, Pete was already unconscious.
October 14th, 2010
Test options have been exhausted. Subject deemed no longer useful to the facility. Completion of program scheduled for the 20th of October, 2010. Autopsy needed for records.
"Get the fuck away from me."
Patrick looked between the subject and the closed door. He'd agreed to take a coworker's shift. He'd figured it would only be a few extra hours of work. It couldn't possibly be that difficult. Most of the subjects Pat was assigned to were docile or listless, even when conscious they rarely put up a fuss or said a word when Pat went about his daily check up.
"I just need to take down a few stats," Patrick explained, taking a brave step towards the subject whose eyes were also darting back and forth between Patrick and the door.
The subject took a sharp inhale, inwardly deciding to himself that an attempt to breech the door wasn't worth it, backing up into the farthest corner of his bed instead. "I said stay the fuck away from me."
"I'm not going to hurt you," Patrick insisted, feeling more than a tad nervous about it all. He'd never had to deal with such a lively subject. Pete was the only one who really talked to him, and he'd never thought that Pete would be one to pose a threat to him no matter what it had written down in his record.
"That's what they all say," the subject hissed back, voice jumping an octave before becoming hoarse.
"Look," Patrick started, glancing down at the file he had on the patient. A string of numbers were written along the edge of the tab, but no name. He didn't want to address the subject by numbers, it felt weird to even consider it with the way he always talked to Pete. "What's your name?"
The subject tensed, eyes meeting Patrick's and holding contact until Patrick started turning red from the intensity of it, his own gaze dropping down to the floor in instinctive submission. Apparently that had been what the subject was waiting for. "Ryan. My name is Ryan."
A figurative lightbulb lit up in Patrick's head as he placed the name. "You're Ryan," Patrick repeated, "Pete mentioned you." The alarms and lockdown suddenly made sense considering Ryan's attitude, Patrick could definitely imagine Ryan wreaking havoc if he was given even an inch for leeway. Patrick wasn't the typically domineering type, he just wasn't, but he couldn't afford to make a mistake and let Ryan do something stupid again. He liked his job too much for that.
Ryan's eyes narrowed. "You're Pete's doctor."
Confused, Patrick nodded. "I guess I am. He talks about me?" He couldn't help the tiny smile that quirked his lips after that. He hadn't figured that Pete would care enough to mention Patrick outside of his short little visits. Patrick had become a scientist because he wanted to make a difference. He wanted to make the world a better place. No one could doubt that Patrick had good intentions, but Pete was the one he seemed to make a difference to. Otherwise he tended to get lost in the mix, forgotten about in a building where scientists and doctors were entirely too common. The facility had a way of sterilizing everything, making it devoid of any emotions. Patrick felt a drain pulling at his heart whenever he walked in the front doors and donned yet another white lab coat. None of the coworkers talked. Even the lounge was a quiet place, matching the rest of the décor in its plain white and minimalism. The moments where he got to talk with Pete quickly became a highlight of his day. The only time where things didn't seem so damn desolate.
"You like him, don't you," Ryan remarked. "That smile."
"That's none of your concern," Patrick replied, feeling somewhat insulted at what the subject was clearly implying, "I'm here to do my job, if you're going to cooperate."
"You're right," Ryan said. "You have a job to do. It's obvious you're just like the rest of them."
That stung Patrick more than he wanted to admit, and he didn't know why. "I'm not."
"Oh, you're not?" Ryan's lips curved into a predatory smile. "So you're not going to take part in the autopsy?"
"What autopsy?" Patrick questioned, taken aback by Ryan's boldness.
"Pete's. Haven't you heard? He's outlived his usefulness alive. There's only one thing that happens after that." Ryan dragged a finger across his throat, the smirk never leaving his lips.
Patrick paled. "No, that can't be true," he said. "I would know if it was. It would be in the file. They'd tell me."
"Of course they would," Ryan answered snidely. "Keep letting yourself believe that. Your denial is cute. It's almost as if you don't understand what this place is and why we're here. It's not by our own will. You think we want to be treated like animals?"
"It's for a good cause," Patrick insisted, but even he was beginning to realize his tired argument was weak. "It's for the common good of all."
"I'm glad everyone else can benefit while I'm dead," Ryan snarled before lashing out at Patrick. His wings extended, feathers of a light grey, much more threatening than the ethereal feeling Patrick got from looking at Pete.
Patrick startled too easily, his heart loudly pounding in his chest. He yanked open the door, triggering the alarm, then stumbled out of the room as quickly as he could. It didn't take more than a few moments for people to swarm towards him, headed into the room, needles poised to make sure Ryan wasn't able to hurt anybody anymore. The pangs twisting Patrick's insides didn't go away.
October 20th, 2010
Subject is healthy and ready for further study. Dr. Neuhaus will be heading the autopsy with Dr. Maslowski observing.
Patrick hung towards the back of the employee lounge room, hunched over a mug half full of bland coffee with neither cream nor sugar. His head ached, his chest hurt, every atom of his being felt exhausted. Yet his ears still perked up when he heard co-workers talking at a nearby table.
"The autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow at noon," one said. "Will you be attending?"
"I don't think so. Not this time. Subject 317 is not one of my favorite specimens. Last time I worked with him he nearly snapped my arm in two. I'll be glad when he's gone."
317. Patrick knew that number. It had been a long time since he'd said it out loud, but he knew the file well enough to recognize where they came from. Pete's file. Patrick stilled, frozen to his spot, the color draining from his face. Ryan hadn't been lying. He'd hoped that it was nothing more than the rantings of a bitter boy, but he'd been wrong yet again. Through the comfort of his naivety he hadn't allowed himself to see this place for what it truly was, and now an innocent would pay for his actions.
Setting down his mug, Patrick hurried out of the room and down the corridor he'd walked so many times. He swiped his identification card through the keypad and entered when the door's lock clicked open.
"Pete," he breathed.
Pete looked startled, moving to a sitting position when he placed his name with the mouth it came from. "Doctor? What are you doing here? This isn't when you usually come."
"They're going to kill you," Patrick said. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He found it hard enough to just say the words, let alone imagine it happening.
Pete stared at Patrick for a moment, the room going quiet. The expression on his face became serious. "I know."
Patrick's eyebrows went way up, in shock of what Pete had said. Had Patrick been so oblivious that he was the only one left who hadn't a clue? "How," he stumbled over the million questions forming in his mind, "Why? Why didn't you tell me?"
"It didn't seem like you knew," Pete answered quietly, "I didn't want you to feel bad."
Patrick felt like he had been socked in the stomach, completely winded and unable to spit out any words. Pete's eyes never left his own, both locked into a staring contest that didn't seem like it was going to end any time soon.
"I'm sorry," Pete said, and just like that Patrick's ability to speak was back.
"Come with me."
"What?"
"Come with me," Patrick repeated himself, not even sure if he knew what he meant by that, but it felt right and so he was going to go with that gut reaction.
Pete hesitantly got up, allowing Patrick to grab him by the wrist and tug him out of the room. Patrick's heart had gone from barely beating to nearly beating out of his chest as they made their way through the maze of corridors that was the government facility they'd both belonged to for too long.
Patrick had only been up to the roof once or twice, but he knew exactly where he was going. Leading Pete up the winding cement staircase, Patrick prayed to any god people had ever believed in that this would work. He knew how heavily guarded the doors to the facility were. There was no way either of them would get out alive, no chance for escape. Besides a body bag there was only one way out, and that was through the skies. The facility could patrol the rooms and the ground, but they'd never be able to own the heavens above them. That was much too lofty a goal, even for a group as well-funded as the government. Everyone had their limits, and Patrick suddenly felt more than happy to show his employers where theirs was.
"What are we doing up here?" Pete questioned, the confusion still clear in his facial features. He looked around at the unobstructed 360 view, his eyes wide at his first glimpse of the outside in a long time.
"You need to get out of here." Patrick answered firmly.
"But how?"
Patrick's fingers found the edge of Pete's shirt, sliding it up, skin brushing against skin as Pete compliantly raised his arms to allow Patrick to pull his shirt off. White wings stretched out at the lack of constraint, feathers ruffling in the slight breeze.
"You need to fly."
"Doctor…" Pete started, but Patrick interrupted him.
"It's Patrick. That's my name. It's Patrick."
Pete's lips curled into a tiny smile. "I know," he admitted, "I've just been waiting for you to tell me yourself."
"You need to go," Patrick said after a slight pause. "Before they realize you're missing."
"I've always been scared of flying," Pete said solemnly.
Patrick stared for a moment, taking a quick breath to try and calm himself before leaning forward on the tip of his feet, pressing his lips against Pete's for a brief second. Pete's lips were chapped, but warm on contact. "You need to," Patrick urged quietly.
"But what about you?"
"Don't worry about me," Patrick said, more urgently. He knew they were running out of time. "I'll be fine." It was a lie. He'd used his identification card to get access to the stairs that lead to the roof, and to Pete's room. They'd know it was him that set Pete free. Patrick didn't know what the consequences would be, but he didn't give a damn anymore. "Now go. Please. For me."
Without any warning, Pete mashed his lips back against Patrick's, his hand cupping the back of Patrick's head to keep him from pulling away, not that Patrick had any intention of doing that. A warm body pressed against his, Patrick forgot completely how to breath, turning a nice shade of pink by the time Pete finally broke the kiss.
"I needed another," Pete explained, that genuine smile Patrick had grown fond of back. "For good luck."
Patrick watched silently as Pete stepped onto the edge of the roof, his wings finally stretching out to their full span. The wind was coming in stronger, pushing at Pete's back, urging him further. Pete hadn't flown in so long, but instinct was kicking in.
"I'll be back for you," Pete said, turning to look at Patrick. "I promise."
"Until next time then," Patrick added, nodding even though he wasn't when that would happen. He knew that what he was doing wouldn't come without cost, but he was ready to handle that, whatever it may be. Watching as Pete's wings flapped, catching the wind, soaring high above the building, Patrick knew it was worth it. They'd never be able to catch him now, not up in the skies where he belonged.
Patrick's heart soared as well, feeling lighter than he'd ever felt before. He stood there watching until Pete was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Taking a deep breath, as if preparing for battle, Patrick turned and headed back down the stairs. He wasn't done and over with yet.