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FIC: The Sake of Momentum (Part 2A)
He blinks himself awake and finds himself staring up at a ceiling painted a pale yellow. It reminds him of Mother Tapping, and he has the briefest moment when he forgets where he is and thinks that he’s still back at the only home he’s ever known.
It takes him a moment more to feel the flutter of chilled air over his skin, and he realizes he is no longer wearing a shirt. He moves to sit up, but there is a leather strap pulled snug against his torso, inhibiting his range of movement.
“Help!” he calls out, straining his neck to see if anyone is in the room with him. No one is and he tries calling one more time.
“Oh, good, you’re awake.” A woman with dark hair and bright white teeth comes rushing into the room. Her hands are covered with plastic gloves, and she’s carrying a pan of some kind of liquid.
“Help me, please,” he tries again, thinking that there must be some mistake. He’s a good boy, has never struggled. There’s no reason to punish him now.
The woman places the pan down on a little table next to the bed he’s strapped down to and then turns to him. Her eyes are kind, and he finds himself relaxing just a bit. There is no number on her shirt. Unless the rules of this place are much different than any other, she is likely not a duplicate.
“I know it must be a little scary,” she says, her mouth curling up into a small smile. She touches his face with her hands, and he cringes back when the plastic touches his skin.
“Is this the Nursery?” he asks, hoping that she will be able to tell him something of his current situation.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” she replies, tsking a bit. She dips her gloved hands into the pan and takes out what looks like a sponge.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Just going to clean you up a bit. Get you all sparkling and new before the doctors come in.”
She grabs a hold of his arm and brings the sponge down, water running in rivulets into the crook of his elbow. She’s firm but not harsh—long strokes wiping with a clinician’s purpose over his torso. She brushes over his nipples, and he can’t help the long moan that comes out of him.
“I’m sorry,” he stutters out, mortified. He’s never felt a sensation like that before. Combined with the low-grade fever under his skin, he’s terrified at what is happening to him.
“It’s okay, kid. Don’t be ashamed. It’s just the urges kicking in. We’ll get your medication adjusted and knock those right out of you,” she replies, smiling again like it was the most natural thing in the world for his nipples to ache at the slightest touch.
He tries to stay as still as he can as she finishes her washing, trying in vain to stop the trembling in his shoulders.
“There we go,” she announces, plopping the sponge back in the pan with flourish and leaning over to grab a soft towel to pat down his skin. She looks pleased with herself, so he attempts another question.
“You said doctors before…am I sick?”
She snaps off her gloves and pats his damp arm. “Nothing like that. The docs have to check you out to make sure you are ready to start the process.”
“What process?”
She pats him again and brushes a strand of hair off his forehead. “Better to leave that to the big shots, okay? You be a good boy. Do everything they tell you, and you’ll make everyone happy.”
He swallows hard and looks at her with pleading eyes. “Will I be happy?”
She takes a few steps back and frowns for just a moment before plastering the smile back on her face. “Of course you will. Making the State happy will bring us all fulfillment and joy.”
It’s not what he wants to hear, but exactly what he expected in reply.
Her hand is on the doorknob before he calls out one more time. “Will I see you again?”
She turns slowly and her smile this time is more genuine. “You can count on it.”
“What should I call you?”
“I’m Nurse Sampson.” She pauses, seeming to decide something before speaking again. “But you can call me Cindy.”
He lies there for long minutes, the time ticking by slowly. His body is still trembling slightly, even though Nurse Cindy left the towel covering his bare flesh. He stares at the ceiling, imagining the yellow is the sunshine and he is lying in a field of flowers like the pictures in one of Genevieve’s books. He can feel the warmth on his face, and he convinces himself it is the light and not the strange and mysterious fire throughout his body.
The daydreaming stops working after a while, and the fear creeps back in. In the home they had medical examinations twice a year, and they were never a big deal. The duplicates rarely get ill, which is why the fever striking them is such an odd and unknown occurrence. If anything happened—like when Murray-4 broke his arm acting like a fool on top of the lunch table one day—the McNiven duplicates would fix them up, and things would progress as normal.
He scrunches his eyes closed and thinks hard about what Mother Tapping had said to him before he left the home. He remembers being on the bed, remembers her hand on his cheek, and the horror in his mind when he realized that she might not care for him as much as he thought she did.
Then he remembers another needle and more darkness, until he woke up here in this chilled room with nothing but silence to keep him company.
Mother Tapping had spoken of a baby. He knows that most duplicates suspected that the place where they went after they turned sixteen would determine their place in the world. Some thought perhaps that they would end up at a vocational school. They called the place he is currently in the Nursery, so perhaps he would be trained to care for children of the Originals.
Mother Tapping called him lucky, and said he would be trusted. Listening to the rumbles of the staff duplicates while he sat hidden in the shadows, he knew that children in this world were a rare commodity. He wasn’t quite sure how the State was dealing with that. But Commander Richings is wise, and surely they have systems in place to help the human race survive.
Yes, that’s all. The doctors just need to make sure that he is healthy and fit so that he can learn to care for the children of the future. His heart is kind and pure. He can be trusted.
He doesn’t realize he’s mumbling the words aloud until the door opens and a man’s deep cough interrupts his utterings.
“Hello.” The man stands at in the open doorframe, face neutral. His hair is dark blond and gelled into a wave, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses sit primly on his nose. He’s wearing a white coat and holding a metal clipboard to his chest.
“Hello,” Ackles-1 responds, voice tight with instant fear when he sees the bulky man with the neatly trimmed beard standing behind the man with the glasses.
“I’m Dr. Pellegrino,” says that man, coming into the room. The bearded man follows him in—shutting the door firmly behind him—before heading towards the bed.
“Please, don’t hurt me,” Ackles-1 pleads, trying to make himself smaller but hindered by the leather strap around his torso.
“Don’t be silly. Ty won’t hurt you. He’s just going to take that off so you can sit up,” Dr. Pellegrino informs him. His voice is calm and flat, but it doesn’t sound like he’s lying.
The bearded man—Ty, it seems his name is—heads over to the bed, pulling off the towel Nurse Cindy had draped on him and quickly unbuckling the leather. Ackles-1 instinctively brings his arms up to cross across his chest, shielding himself as best as he can.
“Be a good boy now, and sit up for me,” Dr. Pellegrino instructs, nodding at Ty as if to direct him to help. Ackles-1 is weakened from the medication and lack of movement, and only hesitates for a moment before allowing Ty to lift him into a sitting position.
The doctor just looks at him with bemusement for a moment before glancing at his clipboard and then setting it down on the nearby counter top. He heads over to Ackles-1 and stops just short of the bed, looking down at him with a slight smile.
“I just wanted to come welcome you personally to our facility and do a few quick tests,” Dr. Pellegrino says. Ackles-1 pauses for just a moment before nodding his consent. The doctor pulls out a small device with a glowing light at the end and holds it up to Ackles-1’s face.
“Open up,” Dr. Pellegrino instructs. Ackles-1 drops his mouth open tentatively and Dr. Pellegrino peers inside. The doctor hums a bit before doing the same to his ears, nostrils, and eyes. He then puts the device back into his pocket.
“That’s good. Let’s feel your abdomen. Lie down for me one more time and breathe normally.”
He hesitantly complies, and stutters a little gasp as cold, bare hands touch the skin of his belly. Dr. Pellegrino methodically palpates his stomach, pressing in at certain spots and lightly grazing over others. After a minute, he seems pleased and pulls back. Ackles-1 wraps his arms around himself again, trying to regain his composure and fight the chill.
“We’re going to keep you in isolation for the first week. Nurse Sampson will attend to you in your room, and you’ll have everything you need to settle in,” Dr. Pellegrino says, turning around to write something onto the clipboard.
Ackles-1 feels his heart beating hard in his chest. “Am I sick? Is that why you are keeping me separate from the others?”
Dr. Pellegrino turns back—glasses slid to the tip of his nose—and gives him a half smile. “No, you’re just fine. Perfect really.”
“Then why?”
Dr. Pellegrino makes a displeased noise. Ackles-1 almost feels ashamed for asking this man—who is clearly a person of authority and must be busy—so many questions.
“We need to get your medication regulated. All those strange feelings inside of you need to get fixed up so that you can prepare to do your duty.”
Goosebumps break out on his skin, and he wishes he had a shirt or a blanket to cover himself. “I don’t understand, Doctor. What’s my duty? Mother Tapping didn’t tell me.”
Dr. Pellegrino’s face hardens just enough for Ackles-1 to suck in a sharp breath. “Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?”
Ty snickers from the corner, and Ackles-1 looks down, shamed and frustrated.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Pellegrino.”
“It’s all right. Once you get settled in, you’ll be just fine. The glory of your service will keep you content.”
“Doctor?”
Dr. Pellegrino nods to Ty again, and his final words are without a doubt final. “Ty here will take you to your room. Rest a little. You must be weary from your journey.”
Ackles-1 wants to say something to the effect that he’s already slept for who knows how long, and not by his own choice. But the doctor is already walking out of the room. Ty tilts his head at him in a stiff gesture, and beckons for him to follow.
Ty walks briskly down the long hallway, similar enough to those of the home, but somehow colder and more intimidating. Ackles-1 has to rush to keep up with him, his legs still weak from rest and his joints stiff from being strapped down. He’s still half bare, and he hopes that no one sees him before he can recover his modesty and clothe himself.
Luckily for him, the hallways are dead quiet. After what feels like an endless pathway without seeing one living soul, they end up in a door tucked away second to last at the end of a corridor. Ty swipes his palm over the electronic pad outside the door and the mechanism of the lock clicks open. The sound is loud after the silence of the last several minutes, and Ackles-1 shudders.
“Here you go,” Ty says, gesturing at the single bed in the middle of the room. The furniture is spare and stark, but he is used to that from the home. It’s almost a comfort to see such monotony.
“Thank you,” Ackles-1 says softly, and Ty nods in acknowledgement.
“Nurse Sampson will be by in an hour to check on you. Don’t give her any trouble, and you won’t get any trouble from me. You hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right then. Be good,” Ty says finally, heading back out and closing the door securely behind him. The sound of the lock is heard again, and it sounds even louder this time. More final.
He lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and rushes over to the small dresser against the wall. Inside are several shirts, all the same—white cotton with his duplicate designation stitched across it in red. He sighs with relief as he pulls one on. He’s thankful to be dressed again, even if he is all alone in the room. There’s a security about it, and he doesn’t feel quite as vulnerable as he did when he was strapped down to that table.
His hands start shaking as he sees the small duffel bag he was allowed to bring from the home when he left. It’s sitting on the floor next to the dresser, and he lowers himself down to the floor to open it. He hopes with everything he has that the secret compartment stitched into the bottom of the bag hasn’t been found.
His fingers touch the worn cover of the book that Genevieve had shoved into his hands as her final wish, and an overwhelming sense of relief fills him. He leans his head down until his forehead is touching the bag, finally allowing himself to cry.
It’s later on the next day, after Nurse Cindy delivered his lunch, when he hears it.
Three knocks, in quick succession. Followed by silence for two beats, and then three more knocks.
“Hello?” he says to the air, not sure if the knocking is intentional or if he’s finally gone crazy once and for all.
The knocks get faster then—definitely showing a pattern—and Ackles-1 jumps up from his seat on the bed and starts looking around the room frantically.
“Hello?” he says again, trying to get any indication of where the noise is coming from.
The knocking stops, and his heart beats wildly in his chest. He’s terrified of who the person might be, yet even more terrified that the individual might go away and leave him all alone again.
“Don’t go!” he calls out, and he knows his voice is shaking but he doesn’t care anymore.
“I’m here.” The voice is faint, but solid, and the relief that washes over Ackles-1 is profound.
“Where are you coming from?” he says as loudly as his voice will carry, looking around in anticipation.
“From the vent. Look down!”
“From the…” he mumbles, rushing around the room until he sees the small air vent in one corner of the room hidden behind one side of the dresser. He drops to his knees and presses his face to the vent. He knows it’s stupid. He doesn’t know who the voice belongs to, and this place is so strange and unknown that he could be risking himself by putting himself so close. But it doesn’t matter, it’s a person, contact, someone calling to him, and he can’t possibly resist it.
“I’m here,” Ackles-1 says, face so close that his mouth almost touches the metal of the grating as he talks. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here!” the voice responds. It’s clearer now, obvious excitement coloring it. “I can’t believe someone is actually there.”
“I got here yesterday. Have you been here long?” Ackles-1 asks. He’s deeply thrilled that there is someone actually speaking to him, and possibly in the same situation as he is in.
“Three days. Longest three days of my life.”
Ackles-1 huffs a laugh. “I know how that feels.”
The voice pauses for a second, but then thankfully continues. “Are you a dupe, too?”
“A what?” Ackles-1 asks, confused by the lingo.
“A dupe,” the voice repeats. “A duplicate. What do you guys call us where you’re from?”
Ackles-1 flushes, inordinately pleased that the boy—for the voice is definitely masculine, but sounds young—seems to be one of his kind. “I guess we were a little more formal than where you’re from.”
The boy laughs, and it’s the best sound that Ackles-1 has heard in months. “Yeah, probably. Our staff dupes were all Carlsons. I think they were stoned half the time.”
Ackles-1 is happily scandalized. “I don’t even know what that means, but it sounds like it would be fun.”
“So are you? A dupe, I mean?”
Ackles-1 pauses before answering. Obviously the boy is like him…well as like him as he can be, since he doesn’t have any duplicate brothers. “I am. Just turned sixteen, and sent here.”
“Me, too! Just turned.” The voice is excited again, and Ackles-1 finds himself pleased that he managed to do that. “Did any of your other models end up here as well?”
His heart drops to the pit of his stomach. This is the part where things will all go wrong, when the boy will find out that Ackles-1 is all alone and figure out that there must be something wrong with him.
“I’m a one,” he says softly, his voice lowering to a mumble. Half of him hopes that the boy can’t hear him.
“What did you say?”
Ackles-1 sets his chin and raises his voice. It’s the boy’s loss if he chooses to judge him over this.
“I said that I’m a solo one. There are no others in my line.”
A startled gasp comes clearly through the vent, and Ackles-1 sits back against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest and willing himself not to react.
It’s several seconds of silence, and he’s beginning to think that the boy is not going to respond at all.
“So am I.”
The words comes softly, and Ackles-1 throws himself back against the vent to hear better once more.
“What are you?” he asks, not believing his own ears.
“I’m Padalecki-1. And I’m all alone.”
Ackles-1 squeezes his eyes shut and slips his fingers through the holes in the vent, clutching on to the metal like he was holding flesh.
“We’re not alone anymore,” he says and he swears that the sound coming through the vent sounds like crying.
Ackles-1 wakes up with a strange itching sensation on the back of his neck.
He jumps up from the bed—barely rumpling the pristine sheets—and heads towards the tiny round mirror hanging on the wall over the dresser. He tries to crane his head, but the position is awkward, and he can’t make out what’s there. He rubs it absently and heads back to the bed to await the arrival of breakfast.
Right on time, Nurse Cindy comes in fifteen minutes later carrying a tray with a selection of fruit, plain yogurt, and wheat toast. If he didn’t know better—and it's possible he doesn’t—he would think they have him on a diet of some sort.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks, setting the tray down on the little table in the corner of the room where he takes his meals. She starts unfolding the napkin on the tray, and nods her head, beckoning him to come sit and eat.
“My neck is itching,” he says, not sure she can do anything about it, but figuring she is his only resource at the moment. He heads towards her slowly, sitting down in the chair at the table and staring down at the not altogether appetizing meal.
She hums a bit and heads behind him, running her fingers smoothly around the nape of his neck. “It’ll do that for a few days while it heals.”
His heart rate speeds up. “Heals?”
“Yes, the marking chip. It’s a simple procedure, nothing to concern yourself with.”
“What’s it for?”
She doesn’t bother looking at him as she spreads the napkin across his lap for him.
“Identification, of course,” she replies. Finally she looks up, meeting his eyes for just a moment before looking away again. “It only activates if you leave the premises. Don’t want you to get lost.”
He’s suddenly not very hungry, but he picks up the toast and chews a bit of the end as the thought that someone—Dr. Pellegrino, maybe—implanted something in him to track him.
Like he would run away.
Like there was going to be a reason for him to run away.
He puts the toast back on the table and wipes his fingers across the cloth on his lap.
“I brought you something,” Nurse Cindy says suddenly, breaking the slightly tense silence in the room. He looks up at her and sees her smiling as she takes a pad of paper and a pack of colored pencils out of a pocket in the apron she has tied around her waist. She puts them down on the table next to the tray and looks at him expectantly.
“How did you know I like to draw?” he asks slowly, reaching out to trace his fingers over the multi-colored sticks.
“It was mentioned in your profile. I thought it might help with the boredom while you’re in the quarantine stage,” she replies.
He wonders briefly who wrote the profile, and how in-depth it is. Does it have his favorite foods? Does it mention Genevieve? Does they know any more of his secrets?
“Thank you,” he says softly.
Nurse Cindy appears pleased, and pats him briefly on the arm. “You’re quite welcome. And don’t worry, once quarantine is over, then you’ll get to meet some of the others. Just be a good boy, take your medication, and everything will be all right.”
He glances back down at the tray, just now noticing the little white cup with one blue pill and one red. It makes him uneasy, but the pills have been managing to tamper the fever inside of him. He’s thankful for that small mercy.
“You’re not a duplicate, right?” he asks, not knowing why. She has a name and not a number designation. But this is a strange place, and he’s not sure what is up and what is down anymore.
“No, of course not,” she tsks. “Duplicates don’t have security clearance for this facility.”
He’s definitely not sure what that means, and he finds that he’s still tired enough from his slumber to not care to find out.
When she sees that he’s not going to ask any further questions, she gives a quick nod and heads towards the door. “I’ll see you for lunch,” she says, and then is swiftly gone, the lock clicking shut once more.
“Is she gone?” The voice comes through the vent.
Ackles-1 runs hurriedly over, dropping to the floor and clutching his legs to his chest.
“She’s gone,” Ackles-1 replies, excited that the boy seems to want to talk to him for a second day in a row. Of course, there isn’t much competition at this point, but he’s trying not to be greedy.
“Man, I hate fruit,” the boy grumbles. Ackles-1 laughs, delighted. It’s all just so normal and he can’t help feeling like he’s bursting with it. Okay, well as normal as things can be while conversing with a stranger through an air vent.
“Nurse Cindy brought me some stuff to draw with. I thought that was pretty nice,” Ackles-1 points out, rubbing his thumb over the knee of his sleep pants.
“Must be nice having one of the big shots sweet on you,” the boy replies, his voice teasing.
Ackles-1 laughs. He can feel himself blushing, even though he’s all alone in the room. “I don’t know about that. Did she bring you anything to help pass the time?”
“No, I had that Ty guy this morning. I swear, it’s like he thinks the world will end if he smiles or something.”
“He is kind of mean looking,” Ackles-1 giggles, putting his hand over his mouth as if he’s embarrassed by the sound.
“I think he’s just mad that I’m taller than him.”
Ackles-1 swallows hard, and there’s a weird tingling sensation in his belly at the thought of what the boy must look like. Ty isn’t a small guy. So if his new neighbor is taller than him, then he must have shot up early.
“You must be pretty tall for your age then, huh?” Ackles-1 asks tentatively.
There’s a pause and he wishes he could see the boy’s face when he responds.
“The last few months before the fever came were pretty crazy. Grew six inches practically overnight. My whole body hurt, let me tell you,” the boy responds, and his chuckle is soft through the vent.
“Yeah, I was the same way, though I didn’t grow quite as much. Even my hair grew faster towards the end, it was really weird.”
“They said it was our bodies preparing.” The voice stops, and Ackles-1 leans down to see if he’s missing something.
“Preparing for what?” Ackles-1 says, almost in a whisper.
“I’m not sure.” Another pause. “Are they giving you the pills?”
Ackles-1 looks back at his tray, where the two simple looking pills sit in their tiny cup. Nurse Cindy will certainly check on them when she comes back in later, and make him take his second dose of the day.
“Yeah, one red and one blue. You?” Ackles-1 replies.
“Same here…I’m not sure we should take them.”
Ackles-1’s breath quickens, because he was just thinking the same thing. He’s not sure it’s the right thing to do. In truth, the entire thing is scaring him, just because he doesn’t know what is going on.
“It’s been helping with the fever though, right? My skin doesn’t tingle as much as it did before.”
The boy pauses again and Ackles-1 imagines that he’s contemplating it. “I guess you’re right. But I did wake up this morning with something weird on my neck.”
“Me, too! Nurse Cindy said it was a marking chip, whatever that means.”
Ackles-1 can hear rustling on the other end of the vent, and wonders what the boy is doing. “A marking chip? What in the world is that for?”
“I don’t know,” Ackles-1 admits, since he’s been wondering the same thing. “Maybe it’s a medical thing?”
“Yeah, maybe,” says the boy, but he sounds even less convinced than before.
Ackles-1 doesn’t like the somber mood and tries to bring him back to the laughing boy from earlier. “So, what do you like to do for fun? You know, before? I like to draw.”
More rustling, and Ackles-1 imagines the boy is sitting back against the wall the same way he is. “I can play music pretty well. Piano, guitar, even the violin a little bit. One of the Carlson dupes taught me, and he said I was a natural.”
Ackles-1’s smile is so big that it threatened to fall off his face. There was a music room at the home where he grew up. It was usually used by Mother Tapping on the nights she would put her hair down and let some of the children curl up around her. She’d play the loveliest music on the piano, her face serene. Those were the nights that he could almost believe that she loved them.
“That’s really great. I wish I was musical, but I never really learned.”
“Yeah, the Carlson dupes were kind of great like that. They didn’t care too much about what Mother Smith thought.” The boy’s voice sounds nostalgic suddenly. “One of them even taught me how to read.”
Ackles-1 huffs out a surprised breath. “You can read?”
“Yeah, not that great, but well enough. Kind of hard to learn undercover, but it was worth it in the end.”
“I think I was meant to meet you,” Ackles-1 blurts out suddenly, and can’t regret saying the words because they are so very true.
There’s a slight banging sound on the vent, and Ackles-1 realizes that it’s the boy pressing his hand against it. Ackles-1 does the same, automatically and instinctively mimicking the movement.
“I think I was meant to meet you, too.”
The air is suddenly very serious, and Ackles-1 breaks the tension with a light-hearted quip. “We have to actually meet one of these days.”
It works, and the boy laughs softly. “I have a feeling that there’s no way to stop that.”
Ackles-1 hugs himself, allowing himself a happy moment, even if it’s short and sweet.
The week passes quicker than he expected, the secret conversations through the vent with his new, tentative friend helping immensely. The other times he spends drawing—mostly from memory—faces of people that he has known. Some are familiar images, like three Palicki girls sitting on the floor cross-legged, tongues in the corners of their mouths as they concentrate on the blocks in front of them. Some are just hints of what could be, like the drawing of Nurse Cindy in profile with a hint of a smile on her face.
She comes in one morning wearing that smile, the obligatory tray in her hands. She sets it down and he goes obediently over to the table to eat his fruit.
“Are you ready for your big day?” she asks, pulling his napkin over his lap. He had tried to stop her doing that on the third day she did it. But she seems to like fussing over him, and part of him likes letting her do it.
“Big day?” he repeats, popping a blackberry into his mouth and letting the juice rushover his tongue.
“Quarantine is over. You get to go to the recreation room today,” she announces, running her palm over his hair quickly before pulling back and popping her hands into the pouch of her apron.
His eyes grow wide, but then a quick count of the days proves that she is correct. If he is getting out of quarantine today, that means that his new friend is getting out as well.
“Will there be other duplicates there?”
Nurse Cindy smiles knowingly at him. He thinks she must sense how lonely he is, and seems sympathetic to his feelings. Or at least as sympathetic as anyone he’s met in this place.
“You bet. There’s another duplicate getting out of quarantine today, too. He’ll probably be there. Ty or one of the other orderlies will show you around, and Nurse Cohan will be there if you need anything,” she fills him in.
“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on here?”
Nurse Cindy purses her lips. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it, okay? You need to settle in first, let yourself adapt. After a little bit, they’ll assign you your daily duty while you wait for the doctors to finish preparing you.”
Well, like that doesn’t sound ominous at all. He’s thankful that it seems he and the boy next door will be going through whatever mysterious process this is at the same time, together. He holds his tongue for now, knowing that Nurse Cindy is not going to give him any more information.
He goes back to his breakfast silently, and she’s just about to leave when something seems to catch her eye. He tracks her gaze to the various sketches on the bed, and the one in particular of her. Her face softens, and she looks back at him questioningly.
“You drew me?” she asks, slightly incredulous. “From memory?”
“Yeah.” He gives a small nod, slightly embarrassed for some reason. “You have a nice face.”
A strange look crosses her face and she tenses up, before relaxing again and placing a hand on his arm for a quick squeeze. “You’re a lovely boy. I hope you don’t ever forget that, no matter what happens.”
He looks at her with a frown, confused by what she’s trying to say. She looks like she wants to say more, but she shakes her head and leaves the room as quickly as she came.
==
It’s early afternoon when Ty comes into the room and tells him to come with him. Ackles-1 tries not to show his eagerness, but being locked in that room for an entire week with no one but a voice in a vent for company is getting to him. He’s not sure what he’s going to find at the end of the multitude of hallways, but at least it’s breaking the monotony.
Ty gives him a cursory tour of the facility, although Ackles-1 suspects that it’s not even remotely the entire part. More than likely, it’s the designated parts for the duplicates, and the other parts with the medical suites and labs are far more guarded. Once again, he wonders what Nurse Cindy meant when she said that duplicates don’t have security clearance here. Did they think they were going to sabotage things? What reason could they possibly have for doing that? He’s never met a duplicate that was prone to violence; even the Murrays were more annoying than disruptive.
Ty shows him the several rooms that he calls the “work rooms” but it’s lunch time and they are empty of any workers. Ty doesn’t explain why or who are working in these rooms, but Ackles-1 figures that they are part of the duties that Nurse Cindy spoke of earlier.
Finally, about twenty minutes into the tour, Ty leads him into a room with the words “Recreation Room” next to the keypad besides the door. Ackles-1 gets excited again, hoping beyond hope that there are actually other duplicates in there to talk to, maybe even his new neighbor.
Sure enough, inside the room are at least a dozen duplicates, ages raging from around his own sixteen to slightly older. They all have the white shirts with their designations stitched to their chests, and Ackles-1 is almost ashamed at how comforting that familiarity is to him.
They seem to be in various states of repose, a few playing what looks like chess and others watching Commander Richings give one of his rousing speeches on a nearby hologram machine. The most interesting thing is how unique they all are—only one line is doubled, and the others are all singular to their models. If they didn’t have number designations that range from 10 and higher, he would almost think they were Ones like him.
“Have fun,” Ty says, looking almost amused, and heads back out the door. Ackles-1 looks around tentatively, searching the faces for any sign of someone that might be familiar. He’s not sure if he can manage a sweep of all the shirts in the room to see if anyone has Padalecki-1 written on them, but tries to sneak a peek regardless.
A slightly older girl with a pleasant face and long blonde hair tied back in a braid walks over to him. Her designation says Cassidy-17, and he’s about to say hello when he looks down the length of her slim body and sees what looks like a pregnant belly.
The girl notices his gaze and her hands go down to cradle her stomach carefully before looking back up with him with an easy smile. “Hello, welcome! Did you just get out of quarantine today?”
Ackles-1 doesn’t know what to say, terribly confused by her condition. This facility was secure, wasn’t it? How could one of the duplicates be with child? He’s never seen anyone pregnant before and only knows about the condition from the history holograms they were shown growing up.
She seems to sense his perplexity, and rubs her belly one a few times. “This is the third. The first time is hard, but you’ll get used to it.”
“Excuse me?” he stutters out.
Any further questions are stifled by the sign of a tall, gangly duplicate with messy brown hair being led into the room by one of the other orderlies. Ackles-1 knows, knows, deep inside that this kid is Padalecki-1, his friend.
The kid catches sight of Ackles-1, and his face breaks out into the most radiant grin he’s ever seen. The indentations in his cheeks are even deeper than those of Mother Tapping. Ackles-1 doesn’t know how he knows who he is, but he supposes he is sensing it as surely as he himself is.
The orderly leaves, and the kid comes right over to Ackles-1. Sure enough, Padalecki-1 is stitched neatly in red on the shirt that stretches over his chest. With only the slightest hesitation, the kid is grabbing Ackles-1 into his arms for a bear hug. He presses his face into Ackles-1’s neck, and he’s at least two or three inches taller so it’s at an odd angle. It doesn’t matter though, as he presses them together like two puzzle pieces that suddenly clicked together.
Padalecki-1 pulls back, his face suddenly red like he’s embarrassed that it was his first reaction. Ackles-1 feels warmth all over his body—that strange tingling sensation in his nipples and groin that the medication has been tampering down rushing suddenly back. He’s suddenly flustered, and grits his teeth a bit to will the sensations to stop.
“Hi,” he says, slightly breathless.
Padalecki-1 brushes the hair out of his faces and smiles that smile again. “Hi.”
“Do you two know each other?” Cassidy-17 asks, her voice amused as she continues to rub her belly.
“No, we—“ Padalecki-1 starts to answer, but he stutters quiet when he sees her condition. He looks over at Ackles-1, who just shrugs helplessly.
Cassidy-17 seems to sense their confusion, but doesn’t address it. “I’m going to go sit back down now. My back’s killing me, you know.”
“Yeah sure, of course,” Ackles-1 replies, not knowing at all.
“What the hell?” Padalecki-1 hisses in a whisper as soon as she’s out of earshot.
“I have no idea,” Ackles-1 replies.
Padalecki-1 seems like he’s going to say something more, but then pauses to just stare down at him again. It’s kind of intimidating, but Ackles-1 finds himself preening at the same time. He can feel his face heating up, but thankfully his body stops acting up.
They head to the corner of the room and crowd next to each other, cross-legged on the floor. Some of the duplicates are opening staring at them, but something inside of Ackles-1 is drawing him to the other boy. He wants a little bit of time to be alone, or as alone as they can be in a room full of a dozen other teenagers.
“It’s really good to see finally you,” Padalecki-1 says, his eyes soft. His hair is brushing against his forehead in wispy strands, and Ackles-1 finds himself wanting to stroke his hand through it. He’s never felt anything like this in his life, and he wonders if it has anything to do with the medication and the new sensations in his body since the fever struck.
“I feel like I already know you,” Ackles-1 blurts out, regretting the words for only a moment before Padalecki-1 slips his hand into his, tangling their fingers together. Ackles-1 doesn’t understand what he is feeling, but he has a strange suspicion that he’s not alone in feeling them.
They spend the week trying to get acclimated to their new environment as best they can. There’s a feeling that something is going to happen sooner or later, but right now they are content in getting to know each other and sharing some of their experiences growing up in their separate homes. Padalecki-1 shares stories of how the Carlson models would sneak contraband in right under the nose of Mother Smith, and Ackles-1 would respond with descriptions of mayhem by the Murrays.
It takes a few days of face-to-face meetings in the recreation room and late night conversations between the vent before Ackles-1 brings up Genevieve. His new friend is sympathetic to his loss, and there is a part of Ackles-1 that knows their quick friendship has a lot to do with how much Padalecki-1 reminds him of Genevieve. The quick wit, the needed banter, and the way he’ll squeeze Ackles-1’s hand when he feels instinctively like he needs it.
That leads to what has been brewing in the back of Ackles-1’s head since he found out that Padalecki-1 could read. He feigns a slight chill and puts on a hooded sweatshirt over his cotton shirt before heading to the recreation room one afternoon. Tucked inside is his most treasured possession—the baby name book that Genevieve left him before she was taken away.
The two of them tuck away in their corner of the room like usual. The other duplicates started leaving them alone soon after their first appearance, the curiosity at the beginning about them quickly dissipating. Ackles-1 looks around quickly to see if Ty or Mike, the orderly in charge of Jared, are in the room. He doesn’t trust the orderlies, although Nurse Cohan is nice enough. His gaze lands on the chair where the Nurse usually sits during the time the duplicates are in the room and smiles when he sees that it’s Nurse Cindy on duty this afternoon. She glances over at him with a quizzical look. When he shrugs at her, she just smiles slightly and goes back looking through the chart on her lap.
He doesn’t think he would have chanced what he’s about to do if it wasn’t Nurse Cindy on duty. There’s something about her that makes him comfortable, even though part of him is telling himself that it’s a dangerous thing to be. She seems to be the only person in this place, besides Padalecki-1, that he can possibly trust.
“I want to show you something,” Ackles-1 begins, keeping his voice low so that the duplicates nearby won’t hear him. His back is to the room, and he is hunched over a bit—facing Padalecki-1 with his legs crossed.
“Is it another drawing?” his friend asks, and Ackles-1 shakes his head with a slight blush. The first time he brought his sketch pad to the recreation room, Padalecki-1 made a big deal fawning over his “talent.”
Ackles-1 hasn’t showed him the latest sketches—all variations on his new friend, with his goofy brown hair, indentations, and slightly crooked teeth. His face heats up just thinking about tracing his fingers over the paper.
“No, not this time. It’s something more important.”
Padalecki-1 gets a serious look on his face, but looks intrigued, so Ackles-1 continues.
“It’s a book of names. My friend, Genevieve, that’s what she used to pick her name out. She gave it to me right before they took her away and told me to be someone,” Ackles-1 says. His voice is shaking as he pulls the book slowly out of his sweatshirt and places it in the hidden spot between their bodies.
“How did she get it?” Padalecki-1 says, his eyes wide as he glances down at the book.
Ackles-1 shakes his head. “Not really sure. She had some of the staff duplicates who liked her. She was charming like that.”
Padalecki-1 smiles that crooked smile of his, and leans in closer. “I know a guy like that.”
Ackles-1 is really blushing now, but it’s impossible not to return the smile. “So anyway, I was hoping, since you can read…”
“You want help picking out a name.”
He says the words so matter-of-fact that it takes Ackles-1’s breath away. The idea of having a name for himself—an identity that went beyond a mystery Original and a number sewn onto a piece of cotton—made something unidentifiable well up inside of him. If he didn’t know better, he would think it was joy.
“Yes,” Ackles-1 says, and the confirmation makes him giggle involuntarily.
“Okay,” Padalecki-1 replies with a nod, glancing quickly over at Nurse Cindy to make sure she’s distracted before reaching down to leaf through the book as subtly as possible.
It’s kind of exhilarating, going through the pages and listening to Padalecki-1 as he sounds out various names. His reading is perfunctory at best, but it does the job, and that alone is exciting.
It’s almost ten minutes later when the right one hits them both.
“Jensen.”
“Say it again,” Ackles-1 breathes.
“Jensen.”
Jensen. Genevieve. Jen. Gen.
Ackles-1 closes his eyes—wetness at the corners—for a moment.
Jensen opens them.
“That’s the one.”
The fondest look he’s ever seen anyone give him is on his friend’s face, but Jensen can’t do anything other than smile back in return.
“Now you,” Jensen insists, taking a deep breath. He reaches down to turn a few pages back.
Padalecki-1 looks a bit surprised at first, until a grin grows on his face and he starts listing names starting with a “J.” Jensen can’t help but feel a little flustered that Padalecki-1 seems to want to match his new name in some small way.
“Jacob? James?” he throws out, and Jensen wrinkles his nose. They don’t seem quite right, so Padalecki-1 continues. “Jared?”
“That one!” Jensen exclaims, a little too loudly if the way a few nearby duplicates glance at them are any indication. He grabs the book and crams it into his sweatshirt quickly, just in case they are found out.
“Jared. I like it,” Jared says, chin tipped up. “Jared and Jensen.”
“Jared and Jensen,” Jensen repeats.
“It’s got a nice ring to it,” Jared says, and there’s that grin again.
They burst into laughter, and it’s even worth the disapproving stare that Nurse Cindy gives them.
==
Part 2B
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And of course being the same age Jensen doesn't even get those few years to be taller than Jared. : )