Start to Finish - Prison Break (Michael, Lincoln) 1/1
Title: Start to Finish (1/1)
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters:Michael Scofield, Lincoln Burrows
Genre: Gen, none-epilogue-compliant, AU
Pairing:None
Rating:PG-15
Length:630 words
Summary:There were many half-truths in his life, but there was one thing he knew; his brother would never lie to him. Spoilers for Season One, Two and Three. This is a belated birthday present for the lovely halfshellvenus, who wanted a bittersweet story with Michael and Lincoln that ignored Season Four. halfshellvenus, I know you're not a fan of seasonal stories, so please excuse the subject matter of the first paragraph - it was either that or the tooth fairy. *grins*
~*~
Michael was in first grade when he found out that Santa Claus was a lie. At first, he didn’t believe the taunts from his new classmates, but after Linc threatened to beat up the kids who’d told him, he’d realised it was true.
Awww, man, Lincoln had told him afterwards. You can keep believing if you want to, you know. He punched him lightly in the arm. Just don’t tell those dorks.
Michael shrugged, turning away so his brother couldn’t see his red eyes. You don’t believe it.
His brother hesitated, and when he spoke, it was in the same voice he always used to answer Michael’s questions about their dad. Yeah, but I’m older than you. That’s how it’s supposed to work.
That’s how it’s supposed to work. Michael frowned, then nodded. That made sense to him, because how things were supposed to work always made sense to him, even when everything else was weird and confusing.
Besides, Lincoln wouldn’t lie to him.
~*~
Swear to me. He was crying now, struggling to get the words out through the fist-sized lump in his throat, but he barely noticed. Swear to me that you didn’t kill him.
Lincoln looked at him through the reinforced glass barrier, his features set in an unreadable mask. Only his eyes were alive, and they blazed with an indignant fury. I swear to you, Michael.
His brother kept talking, and when the words Fox River left his mouth a few moments later, the spark of an idea began to ricochet inside Michael's head, slicing open tiny slits of possibility in his tangled thoughts. Michael looked at Lincoln, not caring if his brother saw his tearstained face, because even though everything was still a huge fucking mess, he knew now what he had to do.
Because Lincoln wouldn’t lie to him.
~*~
The Panama sun was relentless, stinking hot in a way he’d never anticipated, and he’d long lost track of whether it was sweat or blood that made his shirt cling to his back. He couldn’t quite remember if it was his blood, either.
It didn’t matter.
His brother curled his fingers through the wire fence in a silent reassurance, although Michael didn’t know if he was supposed to take comfort or offer it. I’m gonna get you out of here, Michael. I promise.
Michael nodded as sweat mingled with his tears, stinging his eyes and mercifully blurring the sight of Lincoln’s stricken expression. I know.
He had started to believe that a lie was sometimes easier than the truth. From the hopelessness in Lincoln’s eyes, his brother knew it too.
~*~
Want a beer?
Michael began to wave away the offer, then reconsidered. Fishing was a ponderous waiting game at the best of times, and the sun was high in the sky. Why not? He took the cold bottle from his brother’s hand, then raised it in a silent toast.
Lincoln raised his own beer, then shaded his eyes from the sun, his gaze fixed on a distant point on the horizon. The water lapped against the hull of their boat, a steady, oddly soothing sound, and Michael was almost tempted to ask what his brother was thinking. Almost, but not quite, because some questions were better left unasked. Instead he settled on another, far less innocuous question.
Think we’ll catch anything today?
His brother’s smile almost reached his eyes. A milestone, Michael thought. A dozen, at least.
Michael felt a rusty grin touch his own mouth. It was a barefaced lie - their best daily haul so far had been three undersized fish - but that was okay with him. They were still dealing with far too many demons to name, but sitting on this dilapidated fishing boat in the middle of nowhere, he understood that optimism needed to start somewhere, and that a lie wasn’t always a bad thing.
~*~
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters:Michael Scofield, Lincoln Burrows
Genre: Gen, none-epilogue-compliant, AU
Pairing:None
Rating:PG-15
Length:630 words
Summary:There were many half-truths in his life, but there was one thing he knew; his brother would never lie to him. Spoilers for Season One, Two and Three. This is a belated birthday present for the lovely halfshellvenus, who wanted a bittersweet story with Michael and Lincoln that ignored Season Four. halfshellvenus, I know you're not a fan of seasonal stories, so please excuse the subject matter of the first paragraph - it was either that or the tooth fairy. *grins*
~*~
Michael was in first grade when he found out that Santa Claus was a lie. At first, he didn’t believe the taunts from his new classmates, but after Linc threatened to beat up the kids who’d told him, he’d realised it was true.
Awww, man, Lincoln had told him afterwards. You can keep believing if you want to, you know. He punched him lightly in the arm. Just don’t tell those dorks.
Michael shrugged, turning away so his brother couldn’t see his red eyes. You don’t believe it.
His brother hesitated, and when he spoke, it was in the same voice he always used to answer Michael’s questions about their dad. Yeah, but I’m older than you. That’s how it’s supposed to work.
That’s how it’s supposed to work. Michael frowned, then nodded. That made sense to him, because how things were supposed to work always made sense to him, even when everything else was weird and confusing.
Besides, Lincoln wouldn’t lie to him.
~*~
Swear to me. He was crying now, struggling to get the words out through the fist-sized lump in his throat, but he barely noticed. Swear to me that you didn’t kill him.
Lincoln looked at him through the reinforced glass barrier, his features set in an unreadable mask. Only his eyes were alive, and they blazed with an indignant fury. I swear to you, Michael.
His brother kept talking, and when the words Fox River left his mouth a few moments later, the spark of an idea began to ricochet inside Michael's head, slicing open tiny slits of possibility in his tangled thoughts. Michael looked at Lincoln, not caring if his brother saw his tearstained face, because even though everything was still a huge fucking mess, he knew now what he had to do.
Because Lincoln wouldn’t lie to him.
~*~
The Panama sun was relentless, stinking hot in a way he’d never anticipated, and he’d long lost track of whether it was sweat or blood that made his shirt cling to his back. He couldn’t quite remember if it was his blood, either.
It didn’t matter.
His brother curled his fingers through the wire fence in a silent reassurance, although Michael didn’t know if he was supposed to take comfort or offer it. I’m gonna get you out of here, Michael. I promise.
Michael nodded as sweat mingled with his tears, stinging his eyes and mercifully blurring the sight of Lincoln’s stricken expression. I know.
He had started to believe that a lie was sometimes easier than the truth. From the hopelessness in Lincoln’s eyes, his brother knew it too.
~*~
Want a beer?
Michael began to wave away the offer, then reconsidered. Fishing was a ponderous waiting game at the best of times, and the sun was high in the sky. Why not? He took the cold bottle from his brother’s hand, then raised it in a silent toast.
Lincoln raised his own beer, then shaded his eyes from the sun, his gaze fixed on a distant point on the horizon. The water lapped against the hull of their boat, a steady, oddly soothing sound, and Michael was almost tempted to ask what his brother was thinking. Almost, but not quite, because some questions were better left unasked. Instead he settled on another, far less innocuous question.
Think we’ll catch anything today?
His brother’s smile almost reached his eyes. A milestone, Michael thought. A dozen, at least.
Michael felt a rusty grin touch his own mouth. It was a barefaced lie - their best daily haul so far had been three undersized fish - but that was okay with him. They were still dealing with far too many demons to name, but sitting on this dilapidated fishing boat in the middle of nowhere, he understood that optimism needed to start somewhere, and that a lie wasn’t always a bad thing.
~*~