Fic: Until Proven Innocent (Prison Break, Sentinel, Supernatural) Teen/Adult
Series: Lost Legacies (Sentinel School)
Title: Until Proven Innocent
Fandoms: Prison Break, Sentinel, Supernatural (though Sentinel is only obliquely referenced)
Pairing: Dean/Michael
Summary: Dean finds a kindred soul in his Guide, but circumstances complicate matters.
I'm sure this mangles all sorts of timelines, but it's set in the brief period in season 2 Prison Break when Michael leaves Sucra, but hasn't met up with Linc yet. For Supernatural it's also season 2, some time after the bank job but before the finale.
Thanks as always to Moon, who makes me clarify my rather convoluted thoughts.
“It says here that five men have died in the last month. They all showed signs of trauma and bite marks consistent with an animal attack, probably some kind of dog, but no definite cause of death,” Sam said as he scanned the newspaper articles he’d managed to dig up. They were few and far between for such unusual murders, but that wasn’t surprising. In Sam’s experience people tended to ignore things which made them feel vulnerable or uncomfortable.
“Mmhmm,” Dean hummed in agreement because Sam would get pissy if he didn’t answer, even if he wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to the TV screen. Michael Scofield’s mug shot took up half the screen and the intrinsic presence and intensity of even a photograph overwhelmed the rather plain looking psychologist taking up the other half of the screen.
“There are many people with undiagnosed antisocial personality disorder who prosper in business and as professionals. It’s theorised that in a competitive environment antisocial behaviour may even be adaptive. This is almost certainly what happened in Michael Scofield’s case. His studies and short career as an architect were both challenging and competitive, and provided him with an outlet which was ultimately disrupted by his brother’s incarceration,” the psychologist stated.
Dean snorted dismissively and changed the channel. As fascinated as he was with the story he wasn’t going to sit through some idiot’s account of the situation when it was doubtful that he’d even interviewed Scofield. Not that the quacks could get things straight even with an interview. Dean had had more than enough experience with well meaning shrinks and social workers when he was a kid and he knew that more often than not they saw what they wanted to see. Dean knew there was more going on, if only because Scofield had requested the prison where his brother, Lincoln Burrows, was and that both had managed to escape before Burrows was executed. Dean had to admire that if nothing else.
“Why the interest?” Sam asked, surprised that his brother was so fascinated by a case that didn’t have even a hint of the supernatural in it.
Dean looked thoughtful for a moment, as though he was actually considering Sam’s question then shrugged. He wasn’t the type who endlessly evaluated his motives and angsted over what he was doing. With a few notable exceptions, he tended to make a decision and leave it at that.
“Guns, murder and conspiracy. What’s not to like?” he said eventually with a grin. Sam rolled his eyes and returned to his research. He’d fill Dean in later. Not that there was much to tell him. As far as the police were concerned all that had happened was an animal attack.
“Would you go to prison to break me out?” Dean asked curiously after almost thirty minutes of channel surfing.
“No.”
Dean watched Sam for a long moment before he smirked. Sam simply stared back with his nonchalant little brother look that he’d never quite managed to grow out of.
“Liar.”
“If you ended up in jail it’d be entirely your own fault,” Sam told him without sympathy.
“Hey,” Dean objected, “the skinwalker was not my fault. Neither was the bank… sort of.”
“No, but being caught would be.”
Dean opened his mouth to argue, then paused as he thought about it for a moment and shrugged.
“Besides, it’s not like you would go to prison for me,” Sam added absently as he returned to researching. A conspicuous lack of mocking made him look up again. “Dean?”
“Dude, don’t you dare go all chick flick on me,” Dean warned as he glared at his younger brother.
“If it’s any consolation I’ll bring you cigarettes when you get arrested,” Sam said with a grin. Trying to have an emotional conversation with Dean was like poking a rattlesnake. You could only get away with it for so long before you either suffered for it or had to shoot the damn thing. Some days Sam leaned towards to latter.
“ ‘When’? Your confidence in me is astounding,” Dean drawled.
-----
Michael was careful to keep his head lowered so that the hood shadowed his features as he picked out some energy bars and bottles of water. It wasn’t much but it would be enough to keep him going for a few more hours. Just long enough to get out of town and find some place out of the way to pull over and get some sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept well.
He watched the cashier out of the corner of his eye and hoped that the cashier eyeing him in the same manner had more to do with the late hour than Michael’s escaped convict status.
The TV took up half the cashier’s attention and Michael would have been grateful, except for the fact that it was a report on him. Evidently it was another one of the ones that tried to explain who he was and why he was that way since they’d dug up his yearbook photo from somewhere and a picture of his old school was shown briefly.
He’d seen a few of the reports just to see how much they’d managed to work out and what exactly he’d be dealing with. There’d been a little curiosity too, but that had been quashed by disgust. He’d had better profiles on most of the Fox River inmates and he hadn’t had access to half the material the reporters and law enforcement officers did. Not that that had hindered him too much.
Michael heard a noise at the back of the small shop and he turned to see a teenage girl staring at him with wide eyes. The phone she held to her ear was all but forgotten as her eyes flicked towards the TV. It was entirely too obvious that she had recognised him.
The sound of sirens quickly approaching confirmed that fact and Michael dropped what he was holding and raced for the door. The girl made no attempt to stop him and neither did the cashier who still seemed unaware of the situation.
He paused momentarily in the lights of the patrol vehicle only long enough to take in the features and uniforms of the men inside, then he was off. He dodged into a narrow alley as he heard car doors slam behind him and booted feet in close pursuit. He turned down several more alleys and crossed a street crowded with drunken young men and women and probably more than a few illegal teenagers too. The music, which seemed loud even on the street, probably meant that there was a club or bar somewhere nearby, but the last thing he wanted was to be cornered in unfamiliar territory. The streets might be more open, but they offered far more escape routes.
Michael ducked into another alley further along and crouched down behind some bins. The music was distant enough so that it wasn’t so much heard as felt and he focused his attention on listening for the patrolmen.
Michael remained in place for several hours before he deemed it safe enough to move once more. The night was cold and his fingers ached, as did the foot from which his toes had been cut.
He began to make his way warily back to his car. The car was two blocks from the shop but Michael was unrepentant in his paranoia and preparedness. He couldn’t afford to lose the car, not after all the other setbacks, and stealing another car would only bring too much additional unwanted attention.
-----
Dean looked around the study where the most recently murdered man had holed himself up. There was still a dark red stain on the carpet where the man had been mauled, but not nearly enough to kill him. Dean waved the EMF detector around, but there was hardly a spike. Maybe enough to indicate that something heavy had passed through some time ago, but then again it could just as easily be normal interference.
“Nothing much this end,” Dean said into his phone.
“The latest victim looks terrified,” Sam told him, voice subdued.
“Guess he was scared to death.”
Sam sighed but made no comment. Dean grinned.
“I’ll let you know if I find anything else,” Sam told him before he hung up. Dean put the phone in his pocket as he continued to look around the room. He was in the middle of looking through the drawers in the desk when he heard the front door knocked in.
Without hesitation he pulled the window open and dived out. He rolled and was up and running within moments. As he came around the front of the house he spotted a police officer covering the front. The officer turned to see him and then took off after him calling back to his partner.
As Dean ran he could hear the officer catching up to him and he cursed the fact that he managed to find an officer who was actually fit. Moments later another pair of footsteps joined the first and Dean pushed himself a little harder.
“Freeze,” one of the officers yelled and Dean just knew that he’d pulled a gun. He wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to face death for a third time.
A quick look around showed Dean that there weren’t going to be any convenient escape routes. He slowed to a stop and raised his hands. With a sigh he sank to his knees.
“Hands on your head,” one of the officers ordered.
Dean did as he was told and winced as hands pulled at him roughly, first to cuff him and then to bring him to his feet.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the officer began.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, allowing them to push him towards the car. Sam was never going to let him live this down.
-----
Michael drove carefully, his entire body tense. He had a peak cap pulled down low over his face even though it was some time before dawn and still dark enough that a cap was pointless. He also made sure to follow all the road rules. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over. He wasn’t willing to stick around in an attempt to wait out the alerts either. Mahone was close on his heels and he couldn’t afford to hang around for a few days.
A dark shadow moved in front of Michael’s car and he slammed on the brakes, swerving to avoid it. He pushed open the car door with such force that it strained the hinges and springs. Michael looked back down the road but didn’t see anything. The shadow moved once more, this time it skulked along the sidewalk, and Michael turned to see a large black dog.
The dog cocked its head to one side and Michael couldn’t help the trembling fear that started in the pit of his stomach and threatened to weaken his limbs. He’d never been particularly afraid of dogs and he couldn’t understand this sudden fear, because despite the dog’s size it had made no threatening moves.
Michael gradually began to hear the baying of a number of dogs. He wasn’t entirely certain when the noise had appeared or when he had identified it as dogs, but he couldn’t help his heart beating rapidly or his breath catching in his throat. He scrambled back into the car and tried the ignition several times but the car would only sputter and die.
Michael looked up, feeling a shiver, and saw what appeared to be a swiftly approaching mist, within which he could see more figures, though this time they were white with hints of red. He could make out more dogs and what appeared to be horses and creatures he couldn’t hope to name. Michael clambered over the seats and pushed open the passenger side door, which was further away from the approaching horde.
In moments he was on his feet and running. He didn’t dare pause long enough to look over his shoulder. They might still be some distance away but he could hear the footsteps and hoof beats draw closer, along with guttural shouts and what might have been commands, but they weren’t in any language Michael recognised.
Michael turned the corner, stumbling and barely regaining his feet as he went. He saw steps leading up to a church and he hoped that the scant bits of legend and folklore that he’d picked up were right. He staggered as much as ran up the stairs and flung the door open only to slam it shut behind him.
He moved to the pews and sank down, fragmented prayers flitting through his mind for the first time in a long while. He had never quite believed in a god of any kind, but then he’d never believed that whatever was out there was possible either.
The silence lasted for almost twenty minutes before there was a loud bang at the door. Michael half rose as he turned towards the door. He paused, alert, as he waited. Finally there was another loud bang, too loud for someone simply knocking.
Michael jogged down the centre aisle towards the back of the church. There was a sharp crash as the door cracked. Michael looked back once to see it splinter and he raced to a side door. He opened it quickly and shut it behind him.
He paused a moment to take a deep, calming breath and then he was off again. He hadn’t even gone a few metres when he heard them break through the side door. He glanced behind him but saw that they had slowed in following him.
He could kick himself for blindly panicking, something he’d never been prone to, and forgetting to evaluate his surroundings. He’d always been able to rely on his rationality and clarity. It’d been what had gotten him through his ordeal at Fox River. Despite all his planning he hadn’t been nearly prepared for what happened, but he’d been able to think clearly. All his life the only thing he’d been able to count on was his mind.
Michael scanned his surroundings to see what had changed. There’d been the church, but that hadn’t held them for long. He didn’t know the rules, didn’t know what worked and what didn’t, but he figured that if the church couldn’t stop them then it wouldn’t really slow them down.
He looked around once more before he realised. It was so obvious that he was bothered that he hadn’t noticed it before. It was lighter. At some point during the time in which he’d sought refuge in the church dawn had broken. It seemed that they still had some strength in the shadows.
Michael sprinted the last few steps into a bright patch of sun between two buildings. He backed away several steps as the horde charged at him but remained in the middle of the patch of sunlight. He ignored the car that hooted at him and the police car that happened to be patrolling. Instead he watched the horde draw closer until they reached the sunlight where they faded and disappeared as though they’d never been there at all.
“Sir,” one of the police officers asked, approaching Michael. “Are you alright?”
Michael looked around to see several people watching him. He realised that none of them had seen the horde. As he looked around he wondered if perhaps he’d finally succumbed to the stress, if being on the run had caused him to devolve into psychosis.
“Oh shit,” the officer said, getting a good look at him. “You’re that Fox River guy.”
-----
Dean looked up as the cell next to his opened. He’d been placed in his own cell simply because he was considered too dangerous to be placed with the others. Apparently the same went for the guy who’d just arrived. The man looked up and Dean was surprised to see Michael Scofield.
“Dean,” he said by way of introduction once the officer was gone and Scofield had settled onto the cot.
“Michael,” was the soft response. His voice was soft and even and not at all what Dean had been expecting from one of America’s Most Wanted.
“I know,” Dean told him with a grin. “I’m a big fan.”
Sharp blue eyes evaluated him and Dean couldn’t help but feel that he’d been found wanting. His grin faded.
“They say you went to prison to break your brother out,” Dean continued, because the story had fascinated him from the very beginning and he needed some sort of resolution. All he got was a blank look that revealed nothing. Dean decided to take that as a challenge.
“I bet he doesn’t even realise what you’ve given up for him, sacrificed for him, over the years,” Dean said, watching Michael closely. He was rewarded with a hint of attention.
“You gave up your life for him, but that’s just how it ended. It started with little things like the last bowl of his favourite cereal and a TV program you wanted to watch.”
“You’ve been watching too many television psychologists,” Michael commented with deceptive nonchalance. He looked vulnerable and oh so tired before he turned away, folding his arms as he leaned back against the wall. Dean empathised, but he carried on regardless.
“You gave up dreams and friends you might have had because he needed you, he needed someone to watch out for him. You lied for him too, but he’ll never know because even with all you’ve done he doesn’t realise what you’ll do, how far you’ll go, to make sure it stays that way.”
Michael turned his face away from Dean, but Dean caught the open and vulnerable expression before it was hidden. He watched Michael’s chest heave as he took a deep breath and turned back to Dean, expression inscrutably calculating once more.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Michael told him, his voice carefully neutral. Dean shrugged.
“I know you. I am you.”
Michael raised a condescending eyebrow as he looked Dean up and down. Dean simply smirked and gave Michael a provocative look.
“Like what you see?” Dean asked, resorting to clichés to cover his own vulnerability. He hadn’t meant to expose himself that much.
“You’re not my type,” Michael replied dismissively.
“Liar,” Dean said, voice low and teasing. Dean grinned victoriously when a blush began to colour the pale skin but there was renewed distance in Michael’s expression and Dean figured he’d remembered their situation.
“He’s innocent,” Michael confessed softly, as though he needed justification, as though he needed absolution.
“Your brother?”
Michael nodded, eyes snapping back to his. Dean had never had anyone focus solely on him the way Michael did. As though, for as long as Michael held his gaze, reality was narrowed to just the two of them and Michael could see through all his masks and performances. Dean felt a little like an ant under a magnifying glass. It was going to destroy him, but for the moment he was the centre of everything.
“So am I,” Dean admitted with a self-deprecating smile, taking Michael’s word as fact. He could count the number of people who actually believed that on one hand. Burrows was probably in a similar situation.
Michael nodded once more, accepting his claim. He didn’t know why he felt so relieved that Michael believed him.
“I think it’s about time to get out of here,” Dean said, shifting emotional gears, as he stood up. Michael watched him curiously. “I don’t know about you but there’s an FBI agent I’m not too keen on meeting.”
Dean went up to bars of his cell that edged the hallway and leaned against them, looking as far as he could down the passage.
“Hey! Hey, I want my phone call!”
Dean turned to Michael and grinned when an officer came towards them.
-----
Michael looked up when several officers led two men dressed in cheap suits, FBI most likely, to their cells. He watched as Dean was cuffed and handed over to the two agents. Dean had planned something when he’d made the phone call but he’d neglected to tell Michael anything more than that they wouldn’t be there for too much longer.
Michael understood. It was too easy for them to be overheard, but he’d been at the centre of things for so long that it made him uncomfortable to be left out of the loop.
Dean didn’t seem too upset by the FBI agents, though Michael wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to tell if Dean actually was upset. He seemed the type to cover up what he was feeling then bury it down deep. Still, Dean didn’t seem too worried, so Michael decided to follow his lead.
There was something about Dean that made relaxing his guard alright, and contrary to everything he knew Michael wasn’t too eager to fight it. Trusting Dean was almost instinctual, on a level beyond any rational opposition his brain could come up with. The strength of his feelings surprised and worried Michael, who was used to compartmentalising everything, but it had been so long since anyone had taken him at face value, since he hadn’t had to justify every thought and action. It was nice, he decided, uncomplicated. Dean’s easy acceptance tempted him in ways that were far too alluring.
He made sure to stand clear and have his hands in view at all times when the officers entered his cell. It was a little disturbing to realise that only a few hours in a cell brought back behaviours he’d learned at Fox River. He ducked his head, not meeting any of the officers’ eyes while they were in his cell. He let them push him around just a little. Realistically he knew that he’d picked up the skills and behaviours he’d needed to survive, but he couldn’t help but feel that he’d been cowed.
He and Dean followed the two men outside, both acting as listless and apathetic as defeated men were supposed to, though Michael had to quash a smile when Dean raised his head a little and winked at him
They climbed into a van that looked official enough that Michael gave Dean an uncertain look. Dean grinned and settled onto the hard metal bench. Michael mirrored his movements.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t break me out,” Dean said smugly once they’d gone several blocks. Michael looked at him strangely.
“Shut up, or I’ll change my mind,” Sam replied and he glanced back through the grating to look at Dean.
“I’m all for kinky, but I’d really like the keys now.”
Dean lifted his hands to show the cuffs, though Sam had turned to face forward once more.
“You’ll have to wait a few hours when we reach the next town. You can have the keys then,” Bobby told him.
“Which reminds me,” Dean said, leaning back and trying to make himself as comfortable as he could. “How the hell did you get here so fast?”
“Working on a possession just a few towns over,” Bobby answered.
Dean nodded, figuring it must be one hell of a possession, no pun intended, for Bobby to make the trip himself. Michael allowed himself to relax a little. If Dean trusted the two men posing as FBI agents then he was willing to go along with it. He only had to work out why he felt like he could trust Dean. It wasn’t anything specific, like Dean’s looks or affable nature, though Dean had both. Michael had never allowed that to sway him before. Michael shifted his gaze away when Dean smirked at him.
-----
They slowed to a stop in an alley and Sam jumped out, going to the back doors immediately while Bobby wiped down the van. In less than a minute both Dean and Michael were out of the cuffs. Dean rubbed his wrists absently.
Michael glanced around, taking in the fading light. He’d spent just over eight hours locked up and another several hours travelling. He needed to get on the move again, and soon, because Mahone was on his way.
“It was good seeing you boys again, but I’ve gotta get back to that demon,” Bobby told them, clapping Sam on the shoulder. He jogged down the alley towards where his own car was parked a block away.
“The car’s around the corner,” Sam said. Dean grinned. They started to make their way toward the Impala, but Dean stopped and turned when he realised that Michael wasn’t following.
“Thanks,” Michael murmured before he pulled the hood up on his sweater and began to walk down the street in the opposite direction.
“Hey wait,” Dean started, not entirely sure what he wanted to say or even what he wanted from Michael. He paused when he saw the large black dog standing in the middle of the street watching them.
Sam saw his expression and tensed. "What is it? Cops?"
He made his way towards the car and the trunk which doubled as an armoury. Dean shook his head when he noticed the mist and shadowy figures approaching.
“Black dog,” he corrected. It had to be a black dog, an omen of the death that the Hunt both contained and wrought. Dean raced to Michael’s side and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
“Your car won’t start,” Michael said, watching the approaching mist. Dean nodded, taking him at his word.
“Sam, it’s the Hunt. We need to split up. I’ll meet you at the motel.”
They’d passed through the town on the way to investigating the murders, so Dean knew where the motel was.
“I don’t see anything,” Sam argued.
Black dogs only appeared as a warning of death, they weren’t actually part of the Hunt, though they did tend to gravitate to the spirits that made up the Hunt and the deaths that inevitably occurred.
“Just trust me,” Dean growled back. They could argue all they liked once they were safe.
Sam hesitated, uneasy about leaving Dean with a stranger. Finally he threw Dean a gun and an extra clip. He took a gun for himself and slammed the trunk shut. Dean went down the alley, Michael close on his heels while Sam took off down the road.
“It’s too long until sunrise,” Michael said as they ran. Dean shot him a sidelong glance that promised he’d be following up Michael’s knowledge of the occult later.
“The motel’s just a few blocks away, if we can make it there we’ll be safe.”
“This thing isn’t stopped by walls and doors,” Michael argued.
“It’s a good thing we can do better than that then,” Dean said with a smirk. The sound of hooves and baying grew closer and Dean pushed himself as far as his body would allow. Dean cast an anxious glance at Michael, but at the same time couldn’t help but feel relief that the Hunt hadn’t followed Sam.
If he’d had the breath for it, Dean would have laughed with relief when he saw the motel. He glanced to make sure that Michael was still with him and then the door opened and they barrelled into the room. Sam slammed it shut behind them and poured salt across the threshold. He tossed a stick of chalk to Dean who began to draw symbols on the window frame while Sam repeated the same symbols on the door.
They had just finished when there was a thunderous knock on the door and it shuddered in its frame but held. Dean sank onto one of the beds and tried to catch his breath now that he had a chance.
“The symbols,” Michael began, curiosity peaking despite the situation. “What are they?”
“Protection symbols. Should hold until morning,” Sam said.
“And then what?” Michael asked.
“Then we find out how to kill it.”
“You can’t kill the Wild Hunt,” Sam told Dean, collapsing onto the other bed. Dean smiled grimly.
“Well I’m all for giving it a try,” he replied, expression set with determination.
“You saw the Hunt, Dean,” Sam said, desperately trying not to sound as lost as he felt.
Dean simply nodded, knowing that Sam hadn’t seen it or the black dog that foreshadowed its arrival, that he wouldn’t be able to fight the Hunt, that he wouldn’t be able to have Dean’s back. Despite all that, Dean sent a silent thanks to every god they’d ever even vaguely heard of that the Hunt wasn’t after Sam. He just had to find a way to save Michael.
He dug into his bag and tossed a pair of sweats at Michael. “Better get some sleep. I’ve got first watch.”
Part 2
Title: Until Proven Innocent
Fandoms: Prison Break, Sentinel, Supernatural (though Sentinel is only obliquely referenced)
Pairing: Dean/Michael
Summary: Dean finds a kindred soul in his Guide, but circumstances complicate matters.
I'm sure this mangles all sorts of timelines, but it's set in the brief period in season 2 Prison Break when Michael leaves Sucra, but hasn't met up with Linc yet. For Supernatural it's also season 2, some time after the bank job but before the finale.
Thanks as always to Moon, who makes me clarify my rather convoluted thoughts.
“It says here that five men have died in the last month. They all showed signs of trauma and bite marks consistent with an animal attack, probably some kind of dog, but no definite cause of death,” Sam said as he scanned the newspaper articles he’d managed to dig up. They were few and far between for such unusual murders, but that wasn’t surprising. In Sam’s experience people tended to ignore things which made them feel vulnerable or uncomfortable.
“Mmhmm,” Dean hummed in agreement because Sam would get pissy if he didn’t answer, even if he wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to the TV screen. Michael Scofield’s mug shot took up half the screen and the intrinsic presence and intensity of even a photograph overwhelmed the rather plain looking psychologist taking up the other half of the screen.
“There are many people with undiagnosed antisocial personality disorder who prosper in business and as professionals. It’s theorised that in a competitive environment antisocial behaviour may even be adaptive. This is almost certainly what happened in Michael Scofield’s case. His studies and short career as an architect were both challenging and competitive, and provided him with an outlet which was ultimately disrupted by his brother’s incarceration,” the psychologist stated.
Dean snorted dismissively and changed the channel. As fascinated as he was with the story he wasn’t going to sit through some idiot’s account of the situation when it was doubtful that he’d even interviewed Scofield. Not that the quacks could get things straight even with an interview. Dean had had more than enough experience with well meaning shrinks and social workers when he was a kid and he knew that more often than not they saw what they wanted to see. Dean knew there was more going on, if only because Scofield had requested the prison where his brother, Lincoln Burrows, was and that both had managed to escape before Burrows was executed. Dean had to admire that if nothing else.
“Why the interest?” Sam asked, surprised that his brother was so fascinated by a case that didn’t have even a hint of the supernatural in it.
Dean looked thoughtful for a moment, as though he was actually considering Sam’s question then shrugged. He wasn’t the type who endlessly evaluated his motives and angsted over what he was doing. With a few notable exceptions, he tended to make a decision and leave it at that.
“Guns, murder and conspiracy. What’s not to like?” he said eventually with a grin. Sam rolled his eyes and returned to his research. He’d fill Dean in later. Not that there was much to tell him. As far as the police were concerned all that had happened was an animal attack.
“Would you go to prison to break me out?” Dean asked curiously after almost thirty minutes of channel surfing.
“No.”
Dean watched Sam for a long moment before he smirked. Sam simply stared back with his nonchalant little brother look that he’d never quite managed to grow out of.
“Liar.”
“If you ended up in jail it’d be entirely your own fault,” Sam told him without sympathy.
“Hey,” Dean objected, “the skinwalker was not my fault. Neither was the bank… sort of.”
“No, but being caught would be.”
Dean opened his mouth to argue, then paused as he thought about it for a moment and shrugged.
“Besides, it’s not like you would go to prison for me,” Sam added absently as he returned to researching. A conspicuous lack of mocking made him look up again. “Dean?”
“Dude, don’t you dare go all chick flick on me,” Dean warned as he glared at his younger brother.
“If it’s any consolation I’ll bring you cigarettes when you get arrested,” Sam said with a grin. Trying to have an emotional conversation with Dean was like poking a rattlesnake. You could only get away with it for so long before you either suffered for it or had to shoot the damn thing. Some days Sam leaned towards to latter.
“ ‘When’? Your confidence in me is astounding,” Dean drawled.
-----
Michael was careful to keep his head lowered so that the hood shadowed his features as he picked out some energy bars and bottles of water. It wasn’t much but it would be enough to keep him going for a few more hours. Just long enough to get out of town and find some place out of the way to pull over and get some sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept well.
He watched the cashier out of the corner of his eye and hoped that the cashier eyeing him in the same manner had more to do with the late hour than Michael’s escaped convict status.
The TV took up half the cashier’s attention and Michael would have been grateful, except for the fact that it was a report on him. Evidently it was another one of the ones that tried to explain who he was and why he was that way since they’d dug up his yearbook photo from somewhere and a picture of his old school was shown briefly.
He’d seen a few of the reports just to see how much they’d managed to work out and what exactly he’d be dealing with. There’d been a little curiosity too, but that had been quashed by disgust. He’d had better profiles on most of the Fox River inmates and he hadn’t had access to half the material the reporters and law enforcement officers did. Not that that had hindered him too much.
Michael heard a noise at the back of the small shop and he turned to see a teenage girl staring at him with wide eyes. The phone she held to her ear was all but forgotten as her eyes flicked towards the TV. It was entirely too obvious that she had recognised him.
The sound of sirens quickly approaching confirmed that fact and Michael dropped what he was holding and raced for the door. The girl made no attempt to stop him and neither did the cashier who still seemed unaware of the situation.
He paused momentarily in the lights of the patrol vehicle only long enough to take in the features and uniforms of the men inside, then he was off. He dodged into a narrow alley as he heard car doors slam behind him and booted feet in close pursuit. He turned down several more alleys and crossed a street crowded with drunken young men and women and probably more than a few illegal teenagers too. The music, which seemed loud even on the street, probably meant that there was a club or bar somewhere nearby, but the last thing he wanted was to be cornered in unfamiliar territory. The streets might be more open, but they offered far more escape routes.
Michael ducked into another alley further along and crouched down behind some bins. The music was distant enough so that it wasn’t so much heard as felt and he focused his attention on listening for the patrolmen.
Michael remained in place for several hours before he deemed it safe enough to move once more. The night was cold and his fingers ached, as did the foot from which his toes had been cut.
He began to make his way warily back to his car. The car was two blocks from the shop but Michael was unrepentant in his paranoia and preparedness. He couldn’t afford to lose the car, not after all the other setbacks, and stealing another car would only bring too much additional unwanted attention.
-----
Dean looked around the study where the most recently murdered man had holed himself up. There was still a dark red stain on the carpet where the man had been mauled, but not nearly enough to kill him. Dean waved the EMF detector around, but there was hardly a spike. Maybe enough to indicate that something heavy had passed through some time ago, but then again it could just as easily be normal interference.
“Nothing much this end,” Dean said into his phone.
“The latest victim looks terrified,” Sam told him, voice subdued.
“Guess he was scared to death.”
Sam sighed but made no comment. Dean grinned.
“I’ll let you know if I find anything else,” Sam told him before he hung up. Dean put the phone in his pocket as he continued to look around the room. He was in the middle of looking through the drawers in the desk when he heard the front door knocked in.
Without hesitation he pulled the window open and dived out. He rolled and was up and running within moments. As he came around the front of the house he spotted a police officer covering the front. The officer turned to see him and then took off after him calling back to his partner.
As Dean ran he could hear the officer catching up to him and he cursed the fact that he managed to find an officer who was actually fit. Moments later another pair of footsteps joined the first and Dean pushed himself a little harder.
“Freeze,” one of the officers yelled and Dean just knew that he’d pulled a gun. He wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to face death for a third time.
A quick look around showed Dean that there weren’t going to be any convenient escape routes. He slowed to a stop and raised his hands. With a sigh he sank to his knees.
“Hands on your head,” one of the officers ordered.
Dean did as he was told and winced as hands pulled at him roughly, first to cuff him and then to bring him to his feet.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the officer began.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, allowing them to push him towards the car. Sam was never going to let him live this down.
-----
Michael drove carefully, his entire body tense. He had a peak cap pulled down low over his face even though it was some time before dawn and still dark enough that a cap was pointless. He also made sure to follow all the road rules. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over. He wasn’t willing to stick around in an attempt to wait out the alerts either. Mahone was close on his heels and he couldn’t afford to hang around for a few days.
A dark shadow moved in front of Michael’s car and he slammed on the brakes, swerving to avoid it. He pushed open the car door with such force that it strained the hinges and springs. Michael looked back down the road but didn’t see anything. The shadow moved once more, this time it skulked along the sidewalk, and Michael turned to see a large black dog.
The dog cocked its head to one side and Michael couldn’t help the trembling fear that started in the pit of his stomach and threatened to weaken his limbs. He’d never been particularly afraid of dogs and he couldn’t understand this sudden fear, because despite the dog’s size it had made no threatening moves.
Michael gradually began to hear the baying of a number of dogs. He wasn’t entirely certain when the noise had appeared or when he had identified it as dogs, but he couldn’t help his heart beating rapidly or his breath catching in his throat. He scrambled back into the car and tried the ignition several times but the car would only sputter and die.
Michael looked up, feeling a shiver, and saw what appeared to be a swiftly approaching mist, within which he could see more figures, though this time they were white with hints of red. He could make out more dogs and what appeared to be horses and creatures he couldn’t hope to name. Michael clambered over the seats and pushed open the passenger side door, which was further away from the approaching horde.
In moments he was on his feet and running. He didn’t dare pause long enough to look over his shoulder. They might still be some distance away but he could hear the footsteps and hoof beats draw closer, along with guttural shouts and what might have been commands, but they weren’t in any language Michael recognised.
Michael turned the corner, stumbling and barely regaining his feet as he went. He saw steps leading up to a church and he hoped that the scant bits of legend and folklore that he’d picked up were right. He staggered as much as ran up the stairs and flung the door open only to slam it shut behind him.
He moved to the pews and sank down, fragmented prayers flitting through his mind for the first time in a long while. He had never quite believed in a god of any kind, but then he’d never believed that whatever was out there was possible either.
The silence lasted for almost twenty minutes before there was a loud bang at the door. Michael half rose as he turned towards the door. He paused, alert, as he waited. Finally there was another loud bang, too loud for someone simply knocking.
Michael jogged down the centre aisle towards the back of the church. There was a sharp crash as the door cracked. Michael looked back once to see it splinter and he raced to a side door. He opened it quickly and shut it behind him.
He paused a moment to take a deep, calming breath and then he was off again. He hadn’t even gone a few metres when he heard them break through the side door. He glanced behind him but saw that they had slowed in following him.
He could kick himself for blindly panicking, something he’d never been prone to, and forgetting to evaluate his surroundings. He’d always been able to rely on his rationality and clarity. It’d been what had gotten him through his ordeal at Fox River. Despite all his planning he hadn’t been nearly prepared for what happened, but he’d been able to think clearly. All his life the only thing he’d been able to count on was his mind.
Michael scanned his surroundings to see what had changed. There’d been the church, but that hadn’t held them for long. He didn’t know the rules, didn’t know what worked and what didn’t, but he figured that if the church couldn’t stop them then it wouldn’t really slow them down.
He looked around once more before he realised. It was so obvious that he was bothered that he hadn’t noticed it before. It was lighter. At some point during the time in which he’d sought refuge in the church dawn had broken. It seemed that they still had some strength in the shadows.
Michael sprinted the last few steps into a bright patch of sun between two buildings. He backed away several steps as the horde charged at him but remained in the middle of the patch of sunlight. He ignored the car that hooted at him and the police car that happened to be patrolling. Instead he watched the horde draw closer until they reached the sunlight where they faded and disappeared as though they’d never been there at all.
“Sir,” one of the police officers asked, approaching Michael. “Are you alright?”
Michael looked around to see several people watching him. He realised that none of them had seen the horde. As he looked around he wondered if perhaps he’d finally succumbed to the stress, if being on the run had caused him to devolve into psychosis.
“Oh shit,” the officer said, getting a good look at him. “You’re that Fox River guy.”
-----
Dean looked up as the cell next to his opened. He’d been placed in his own cell simply because he was considered too dangerous to be placed with the others. Apparently the same went for the guy who’d just arrived. The man looked up and Dean was surprised to see Michael Scofield.
“Dean,” he said by way of introduction once the officer was gone and Scofield had settled onto the cot.
“Michael,” was the soft response. His voice was soft and even and not at all what Dean had been expecting from one of America’s Most Wanted.
“I know,” Dean told him with a grin. “I’m a big fan.”
Sharp blue eyes evaluated him and Dean couldn’t help but feel that he’d been found wanting. His grin faded.
“They say you went to prison to break your brother out,” Dean continued, because the story had fascinated him from the very beginning and he needed some sort of resolution. All he got was a blank look that revealed nothing. Dean decided to take that as a challenge.
“I bet he doesn’t even realise what you’ve given up for him, sacrificed for him, over the years,” Dean said, watching Michael closely. He was rewarded with a hint of attention.
“You gave up your life for him, but that’s just how it ended. It started with little things like the last bowl of his favourite cereal and a TV program you wanted to watch.”
“You’ve been watching too many television psychologists,” Michael commented with deceptive nonchalance. He looked vulnerable and oh so tired before he turned away, folding his arms as he leaned back against the wall. Dean empathised, but he carried on regardless.
“You gave up dreams and friends you might have had because he needed you, he needed someone to watch out for him. You lied for him too, but he’ll never know because even with all you’ve done he doesn’t realise what you’ll do, how far you’ll go, to make sure it stays that way.”
Michael turned his face away from Dean, but Dean caught the open and vulnerable expression before it was hidden. He watched Michael’s chest heave as he took a deep breath and turned back to Dean, expression inscrutably calculating once more.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Michael told him, his voice carefully neutral. Dean shrugged.
“I know you. I am you.”
Michael raised a condescending eyebrow as he looked Dean up and down. Dean simply smirked and gave Michael a provocative look.
“Like what you see?” Dean asked, resorting to clichés to cover his own vulnerability. He hadn’t meant to expose himself that much.
“You’re not my type,” Michael replied dismissively.
“Liar,” Dean said, voice low and teasing. Dean grinned victoriously when a blush began to colour the pale skin but there was renewed distance in Michael’s expression and Dean figured he’d remembered their situation.
“He’s innocent,” Michael confessed softly, as though he needed justification, as though he needed absolution.
“Your brother?”
Michael nodded, eyes snapping back to his. Dean had never had anyone focus solely on him the way Michael did. As though, for as long as Michael held his gaze, reality was narrowed to just the two of them and Michael could see through all his masks and performances. Dean felt a little like an ant under a magnifying glass. It was going to destroy him, but for the moment he was the centre of everything.
“So am I,” Dean admitted with a self-deprecating smile, taking Michael’s word as fact. He could count the number of people who actually believed that on one hand. Burrows was probably in a similar situation.
Michael nodded once more, accepting his claim. He didn’t know why he felt so relieved that Michael believed him.
“I think it’s about time to get out of here,” Dean said, shifting emotional gears, as he stood up. Michael watched him curiously. “I don’t know about you but there’s an FBI agent I’m not too keen on meeting.”
Dean went up to bars of his cell that edged the hallway and leaned against them, looking as far as he could down the passage.
“Hey! Hey, I want my phone call!”
Dean turned to Michael and grinned when an officer came towards them.
-----
Michael looked up when several officers led two men dressed in cheap suits, FBI most likely, to their cells. He watched as Dean was cuffed and handed over to the two agents. Dean had planned something when he’d made the phone call but he’d neglected to tell Michael anything more than that they wouldn’t be there for too much longer.
Michael understood. It was too easy for them to be overheard, but he’d been at the centre of things for so long that it made him uncomfortable to be left out of the loop.
Dean didn’t seem too upset by the FBI agents, though Michael wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to tell if Dean actually was upset. He seemed the type to cover up what he was feeling then bury it down deep. Still, Dean didn’t seem too worried, so Michael decided to follow his lead.
There was something about Dean that made relaxing his guard alright, and contrary to everything he knew Michael wasn’t too eager to fight it. Trusting Dean was almost instinctual, on a level beyond any rational opposition his brain could come up with. The strength of his feelings surprised and worried Michael, who was used to compartmentalising everything, but it had been so long since anyone had taken him at face value, since he hadn’t had to justify every thought and action. It was nice, he decided, uncomplicated. Dean’s easy acceptance tempted him in ways that were far too alluring.
He made sure to stand clear and have his hands in view at all times when the officers entered his cell. It was a little disturbing to realise that only a few hours in a cell brought back behaviours he’d learned at Fox River. He ducked his head, not meeting any of the officers’ eyes while they were in his cell. He let them push him around just a little. Realistically he knew that he’d picked up the skills and behaviours he’d needed to survive, but he couldn’t help but feel that he’d been cowed.
He and Dean followed the two men outside, both acting as listless and apathetic as defeated men were supposed to, though Michael had to quash a smile when Dean raised his head a little and winked at him
They climbed into a van that looked official enough that Michael gave Dean an uncertain look. Dean grinned and settled onto the hard metal bench. Michael mirrored his movements.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t break me out,” Dean said smugly once they’d gone several blocks. Michael looked at him strangely.
“Shut up, or I’ll change my mind,” Sam replied and he glanced back through the grating to look at Dean.
“I’m all for kinky, but I’d really like the keys now.”
Dean lifted his hands to show the cuffs, though Sam had turned to face forward once more.
“You’ll have to wait a few hours when we reach the next town. You can have the keys then,” Bobby told him.
“Which reminds me,” Dean said, leaning back and trying to make himself as comfortable as he could. “How the hell did you get here so fast?”
“Working on a possession just a few towns over,” Bobby answered.
Dean nodded, figuring it must be one hell of a possession, no pun intended, for Bobby to make the trip himself. Michael allowed himself to relax a little. If Dean trusted the two men posing as FBI agents then he was willing to go along with it. He only had to work out why he felt like he could trust Dean. It wasn’t anything specific, like Dean’s looks or affable nature, though Dean had both. Michael had never allowed that to sway him before. Michael shifted his gaze away when Dean smirked at him.
-----
They slowed to a stop in an alley and Sam jumped out, going to the back doors immediately while Bobby wiped down the van. In less than a minute both Dean and Michael were out of the cuffs. Dean rubbed his wrists absently.
Michael glanced around, taking in the fading light. He’d spent just over eight hours locked up and another several hours travelling. He needed to get on the move again, and soon, because Mahone was on his way.
“It was good seeing you boys again, but I’ve gotta get back to that demon,” Bobby told them, clapping Sam on the shoulder. He jogged down the alley towards where his own car was parked a block away.
“The car’s around the corner,” Sam said. Dean grinned. They started to make their way toward the Impala, but Dean stopped and turned when he realised that Michael wasn’t following.
“Thanks,” Michael murmured before he pulled the hood up on his sweater and began to walk down the street in the opposite direction.
“Hey wait,” Dean started, not entirely sure what he wanted to say or even what he wanted from Michael. He paused when he saw the large black dog standing in the middle of the street watching them.
Sam saw his expression and tensed. "What is it? Cops?"
He made his way towards the car and the trunk which doubled as an armoury. Dean shook his head when he noticed the mist and shadowy figures approaching.
“Black dog,” he corrected. It had to be a black dog, an omen of the death that the Hunt both contained and wrought. Dean raced to Michael’s side and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
“Your car won’t start,” Michael said, watching the approaching mist. Dean nodded, taking him at his word.
“Sam, it’s the Hunt. We need to split up. I’ll meet you at the motel.”
They’d passed through the town on the way to investigating the murders, so Dean knew where the motel was.
“I don’t see anything,” Sam argued.
Black dogs only appeared as a warning of death, they weren’t actually part of the Hunt, though they did tend to gravitate to the spirits that made up the Hunt and the deaths that inevitably occurred.
“Just trust me,” Dean growled back. They could argue all they liked once they were safe.
Sam hesitated, uneasy about leaving Dean with a stranger. Finally he threw Dean a gun and an extra clip. He took a gun for himself and slammed the trunk shut. Dean went down the alley, Michael close on his heels while Sam took off down the road.
“It’s too long until sunrise,” Michael said as they ran. Dean shot him a sidelong glance that promised he’d be following up Michael’s knowledge of the occult later.
“The motel’s just a few blocks away, if we can make it there we’ll be safe.”
“This thing isn’t stopped by walls and doors,” Michael argued.
“It’s a good thing we can do better than that then,” Dean said with a smirk. The sound of hooves and baying grew closer and Dean pushed himself as far as his body would allow. Dean cast an anxious glance at Michael, but at the same time couldn’t help but feel relief that the Hunt hadn’t followed Sam.
If he’d had the breath for it, Dean would have laughed with relief when he saw the motel. He glanced to make sure that Michael was still with him and then the door opened and they barrelled into the room. Sam slammed it shut behind them and poured salt across the threshold. He tossed a stick of chalk to Dean who began to draw symbols on the window frame while Sam repeated the same symbols on the door.
They had just finished when there was a thunderous knock on the door and it shuddered in its frame but held. Dean sank onto one of the beds and tried to catch his breath now that he had a chance.
“The symbols,” Michael began, curiosity peaking despite the situation. “What are they?”
“Protection symbols. Should hold until morning,” Sam said.
“And then what?” Michael asked.
“Then we find out how to kill it.”
“You can’t kill the Wild Hunt,” Sam told Dean, collapsing onto the other bed. Dean smiled grimly.
“Well I’m all for giving it a try,” he replied, expression set with determination.
“You saw the Hunt, Dean,” Sam said, desperately trying not to sound as lost as he felt.
Dean simply nodded, knowing that Sam hadn’t seen it or the black dog that foreshadowed its arrival, that he wouldn’t be able to fight the Hunt, that he wouldn’t be able to have Dean’s back. Despite all that, Dean sent a silent thanks to every god they’d ever even vaguely heard of that the Hunt wasn’t after Sam. He just had to find a way to save Michael.
He dug into his bag and tossed a pair of sweats at Michael. “Better get some sleep. I’ve got first watch.”
Part 2