Monsters (1/1)
Title: Monsters (1/1)
Author: veiled_shadow
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst, family
Pairing: Michael/Sara, other
Spoilers: 4x22 DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED FOR THE PRISON BREAK FINALE. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.
Disclaimer: All characters and situations from Prison Break are properties of Paul Scheuring, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, Hofflund/Polone and Original Television in association with 20th Century Fox
Television. No copyright infringement intended.
A/N: Okay, so I promised myself I would't do this, not after the emotional rollercoaster of 4x21/22, but this came out of nowhere, most likely in my attempt to overcome the sadness that's literally made me want to burst into tears whenever I think of Prison Break. This is a post 4x22 piece, and is a story that stays true [unfortunately] to the last scene we see, which takes place four years later.
It hasn't been betaed, it doesn't read particularly well, but I thought I might as well post it anyway. Plus, now it's out of my system, I can go back to creating my own canon, which will definitely include a very much alive Michael Scofield. Reviews are golden =]
Monsters
‘Mommy?’
The voice comes out of the dark, small and afraid, and Sara’s heart twists as she sits up, trying to seek the outline of his figure in the black room.
‘Hey baby,’ she says sleepily, comfort lacing her voice as she fumbles for the switch on the bedside lamp, knowing he must be really upset if he’s coming into her room at - she winces at the red glaring numbers on her alarm - four o clock in the morning.
He’s standing by the door when her eyes adjust to the light, looking ever so small in his striped pyjamas and her love for him spikes, filling the room in an instance. ‘Did you have a bad dream?’
He nods tearily, walking over to her as fast as his little legs can carry him, scrambling up onto the bed and into her open arms.
‘Hey,’ she murmurs, rocking him as she clutches him close to her chest. ‘What’s up, little man?’
His arms tighten around her neck in response, and her hand automatically comes to stroke back, trying to calm the storm that’s writhing inside him.
‘There’s a monster,’ he mumbles eventually into her shoulder, the tears soaking into the cotton of her nightdress. ‘In the closet.’
Oh.
‘Michael,’ she breathes, eyes squeezing shut at the irony that twists at her heart and she briefly wonders how in the five years of her son’s life, this hasn’t happened before. He’s still clutching at her desperately, as if he knows she can rescue him from the fear that’s snapping at his heels.
Exhaling softly, her fingers come up to run through his short, soft hair, soothing and calming him until his breath evens slightly and he looks up at her with blue eyes that are wavering with trepidation.
‘Come on, Mister,’ she says, getting out of bed and fighting back a shiver as her feet come into contact with the cold floor.
He still clings to her as they make their way down the hall way, his little legs wrapping themselves round her waist, and although he’s far too old to be carried she lets him, holding him to her chest tightly, because she knows a time will come when she won’t be able to do this anymore.
When they reach his room, he buries his face back into her shoulder, sniffling quietly into her skin.
‘Right,’ she says softly, putting him down despite his protests. She reaches for his hand, reveling in the feel of the small hand clutched in her own as she leads him over to the closet.
‘In here, did you say?’ she asks, pointing at the closet doors which are firmly shut.
He nods in the over dramatic way she’s become accustomed to in little children and she tries to swallow the small smile that tugs at her lips. Kneeling down on the floor, she takes his other hand in hers; looking into his blue eyes that still shine with apprehension.
‘You know,’ she starts softly, desperately hoping her voice doesn’t waver. ‘You’re daddy used to be scared of monster’s in the closet too.’ She pauses briefly, looking for a reaction, but all she can see are his eyes, staring back at her curiously. She takes a deep breath. ‘But you’re Uncle Linc told daddy that there’s no such thing as monster’s, and the only thing that’s in the closet is fear. And do you know what fear is made of, baby?’
He shakes his head, sniffling softly but not once dropping his gaze from his mother’s.
She smiles; a mixture of sadness and love swimming in her eyes as she reaches up a hand to brush away the remainder of the tear trails that linger on his cheeks with her thumb.
‘Air.’
It’s half an hour later when she finally manages to pull herself away from the sleeping boy in her arms and the empty closet with it’s doors wide open. She pads down the dark corridor, swallowing hard in attempt to remove the unexpected lump in her throat, and she wonders why she feels as if she’s deceived him in some way.
It takes her another hour of tossing and turning in the dark to realize it’s because he never got the chance to relay his own story to his son.
When she finally does surrender herself to sleep, all she can see is him. His face hovers over her, lips quirked into a smile and his warm breath caressing her skin with promises that make her want to weep, because for the first time, in a very long time, it feels real.
But when his fingers come up to flutter over her cheek it becomes too much, and she wakes with a gasp, heart pounding in disbelief as she stares into the familiar sea of blue that she thought she had just left behind.
Desperation overwhelms her and she frantically wants to pinch herself, do something, because she knows she must still be dreaming as there’s no way that he’s here, in her room. He can’t be.
Then reality hits her and she feels as if her heart has been wrenched out of her mouth as a childish giggle fills the room, and a far too cheery voice for the morning chirps,
‘Mommy, what’s for breakfast?’