Characters: All (Gen)
Spoilers: Early parts of Season 2.
Summary: 50 sentences on Prison Break, written for 1fandom.
Every piece of fact and speculation Michael unearths is added, overlapping, moving, merging, adjusting—it’s a monument to a larger truth that already owns him, and though it looks like chaos it’s Lincoln’s only chance to live.
There’s having a baby in your teens and then losing his father to drugs or boredom (or whatever Lincoln’s demons were), and then there’s the fear of history repeating itself and nothing to lean on but Lincoln and his nightmare example to work a “Scared Straight” miracle on this boy who is more like his father every day.
What was five became nine, and then ten before one was lost; it’s less an agreement now than a throwing together of destinies, piece and peril, chaos and collusion, agitation and anchor.
He begins with charm, moving into their confidence with false admiration and flattery, and by the time he drops the mask it’s too late for anyone to scream.
It ticks off years and weeks and hours, in a countdown that measures Lincoln’s mortality.
It’s only been a few weeks—not like the years Lincoln’s been stuck here waiting to die—but Michael feels his name slipping away along with every other sense of who he used to be.
From ambush to orphan in a few short minutes, there is no time for “Mom” or “Sorry” or Why?
Toothless, imprisoned and banished from the world—if it’s all because she loves him he’s glad she says it, since he’d never be able to tell.
Best damn assassin in the business— all calm and camouflage—and he can’t possibly be down here in the dark feeling his leg go numb and knowing that rescue isn’t coming.
Self-righteousness from the mouth of a pedophile isn’t pretty no matter how you look at it.
He went to war for his country, and then his country became at war with him—encouraged and then betrayed, then later jailed for a wrong-time-wrong-place accident where his conviction was sealed by the color of his skin.
It’s worse here than Michael imagined, and even focusing on his plan to save Lincoln doesn’t keep these walls from echoing inside his soul.
Kellerman has a different name in the real world; but under that cheerful demeanor lies a sociopath, waiting to prey on the innocent and unwary.
All his thoughts become a fantasy future, where he and Maricruz and their baby begin their lives for real in some unreachable haven.
Connections cross and fray and loop inside his mind; he’s left with confusion and misguided reasoning, and intelligence alone can’t make the pieces be linear or keep them from wandering away.
This Earth is but one life, a chance to live and love and grow, but even after the worst mistakes it’s not this life that matters; Maillor struggles to make them see that, make them become who they must to enter the afterlife of their eternity.
They’ve been partners since the academy, and Hale expects that to make some kind of difference up until Kellerman shoots him in that alley like a wayward dog.
It’s coming if he doesn’t stop it, if he can’t make it work and get them out while Lincoln’s alive.
She can’t leave the drugs behind any more than her mother could resist the alcohol, and one is gone and the other keeps getting lost, and burying himself in his career means there’s more to him than being a witness to their self-destruction.
The fear eats at him every day— visions of The Chair and his horrible, painful end—and it’s killing Lincoln to imagine it, because the waiting’s worse than dying
Losing his mother was bad enough, but being named her killer and knowing that the truth won’t save him is the final blow to his innocence: the Universe is not just.
Imperturbable, charming and deadly in turns, Abruzzi is as changeable as the weather near the sea.
Maricruz is his love, carrying his baby, but Hector’s stealing her away just because he can and because Fernando can’t stop him or pay him back for that deliberate betrayal.
In prison Lincoln’s always hated the snow— the way it keeps him locked inside for months on end—but this year when he watches it fall he feels regret that this will likely be the last winter he ever sees.
Prison divides along color the way he’s used to, but still he hides in a crowd he’s not really part of, and what’s sad is that he’s done it his entire life
A couple of times a day, if he’s lucky—that’s how often inmates on Death Row get outside—and it’s like air every time he sees it, but the sky always looks smaller caged by the walls surrounding Fox River Prison.
There are no more tears, finally, no will to keep going, only a single purpose that starts with bedsheets and ends with him falling into nothingness on his first and only flight.
All Lincoln’s thoughts are down where he can’t hear them, a litany of hopelessness, anger and loss.
Those quick hands of David’s make him an expert smalltime thief, but his mind is slower-- he never sees the big picture until it’s far too late to change his mind.
Often dangerous but never vulgar, they are T-Bag’s unique menace—the weaving of savagery inside a cocoon of refinement.
Not even days stand between them and the execution, and Michael checks his timing and re-invents his plans, but it’s coming too fast and he’s afraid because... it’s his brother, and there’s just one chance to get it right.
Lincoln’s stomach clenches on itself in the darkness of the abyss, as Stolte shaves his head to help the electricity kill him faster when the moment comes.
Michael didn’t save him—because Lincoln’s stepping into the room that holds The Chair—and his goodbyes are stuck in his throat and no clemency is coming, and with a pang of excruciating finality Michael feels the soul inside him shatter into dust.
A means to an end, every step along the way; her brother in invisible isolation and some junky taking the fall for his murder, but it’s all for a greater purpose—the luxury of scruples didn’t get her where she is today.
He’d avoided the streets and the easy answers, but he weighs other people as casualties against his brother’s life now, and that means a large part of himself was lost when he wasn’t even looking.
The paths behind and through and across stream down inside him, every moment-number-place a deluge of details he must not forget.
Open or shut forms the balance of everything, and Michael hopes she was really listening when he told it her was Lincoln’s life.
Though he wants better for his prisoners he rarely trusts them, and this is why: here in the dark, he remembers how safe Scofield seemed, right until he destroyed that trust and bound him to this chair before shutting him away.
He knew something was up in the break room, knew Scofield was behind it with his smartass-sneaky ways… bound and buried under the floor now, he watches Scofield and his gang steal past toward freedom, and he vows that he will get them for this and for everything, no matter what it takes.
A bank-robbery legend and a gentleman underneath-- how could he choose the brink of escape to finally become mortal?
It should have been easier, this impossible plan-- it takes second chances, revisions, and five kinds of luck before they’re finally over that wall and running to freedom.
Freeing Michael from T-Bag’s handcuffs becomes a necessary but hopeless thing, until Abruzzi steps forth with his Gordion solution that renders the puzzle moot.
Nick was her lifeline to Lincoln’s freedom, but he stopped being a hero when he pulled out that gun.
Just one small, dangerous act was what it took, but she left the door open and let herself be used, and she knew it but still she did it— now loneliness and self-hatred are all she has left.
She tracked down the quiet terminus of the Conspiracy’s secret, only to find that it was her end as well and she might never be found.
Like relics of promise or hope the paper swans keep coming—without answers or a sense of where to start.
The facts tell a story, tell a future he has to find, and if he stares hard enough and gathers enough data the truth will explode before him in a gestalt of knowledge that leads him to the fugitives every time.
The first part is over—they’ve escaped against all odds—and this journey toward buried riches is a treasure in itself, just the two of them together and brothers again on the open road.
That so many of them escaped at once is a miracle, but they will not disappear if he can help it; there are traces and hints and connections to be found, and they form a path that Mahone will follow like a whisper in the dark.
The ever-after ending that calls to Michael is a hideaway by the sea and though getting there may kill them both, its promise is all he has left.
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