Title: Blurry
Author: Mooyoo, http://mooyoo.livejournal.com/
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Lincoln (slashy)
Prompt: 082: If
Word Count: 1,059
Rating: G/PGish
Summary: Michael has a nightmare.
Disclaimer: Paul Scheuring and a whole lot of other people who aren’t me own Prison Break.
He drifts calmly through a hazy dream of clear ocean and warm sand. Michael worms his toes, all ten of them, through the sand and laughs, and Lincoln laughs with him, and he has no idea what they’re laughing at, but nothing has ever been funnier and it feels good to laugh like this again.
He’s ripped suddenly out of sleep and he’s not sure why, but he knows that something’s wrong and his body jerks hard enough that his head slams into the wall next to the bed.
“Fuck!” he cries and when he shoots his arm up to touch what will soon be a bump, his elbow bangs into the wall as well and he begins to think for a moment that maybe they should move the bed to the middle of the room.
His eyes move blearily around the dark room, trying to figure out what woke him, when he realizes that Michael isn’t next to him anymore. His heart is in his throat for a brief second before he spots his brother crouched on the floor, back to him and leaning against the bed frame.
Lincoln tries to blink the sleep away and looks from his brother to the door as he sits himself up, then turns his head around to look out the window and then back down to Michael. He’s confused and not completely sure what’s going on, but there’s definitely something wrong and he still feels too sleep-laden and hazy to figure it out.
The first few months after the escape he was unable to keep his eyes closed for more than five minutes at a time – every noise, every slight rustle of movement, every quiet whisper had him leaping from whatever bed, chair, or piece of floor he’d collapsed onto, eyes wide-open and searching for trouble. Now that he was almost a year removed from prison, exhaustion and relief have finally caught up with him, and for the first time in years he sleeps heavily through most nights, sated and satisfied when Michael is next to him.
“Michael,” he murmurs in a gruff, sleepy voice as he leans across the small bed to get a better look at the other man sitting curled up on the floor.
“It’s okay,” comes a quivering voice from the depths of naked limbs where Michael’s head is buried. “Go back to sleep, it’s alright.”
“The fuck it is,” Lincoln replies as he finally notices how badly Michael is shaking.
Lincoln pulls the covers back hurriedly and slides to the floor in front of his brother, brushing off the brief impulse to grab a pair of pants to put on. He sits on his heels in front of Michael and grabs him by the shoulders, trying to get a good look at him and see what’s wrong. Michael jerks at Lincoln’s touch and Lincoln’s hands drop down instantly with a rush of fear. He feels like a goddamn girl for being hurt but can’t stop his stomach from twisting with the tiniest feeling of dread.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, biting back a “the hell” and trying to make his voice sound gentle.
Michael raises his sweaty face and shakes it, closing his eyes and making Lincoln feel even more nervous.
“What’s going on?” Lincoln asks again, mind flying over possibilities. “Was it a bad dream or something?”
Michael swallows and nods, head coming down to rest in his hands. His long fingers move back and forth over his head, alternately digging into and massaging. Lincoln wants to raise a hand and massage it for him, but doesn’t want to be pushed away again.
“Is – is it this?” He motions vaguely with his hand through the air between them and wishes there wasn’t so much space separating them. “Us? ‘Cause we can, uh – we don’t have to anymore, if you don’t want to.” He draws the words out slowly, hoping this isn’t actually the case.
He’s relieved, but only slightly, when Michael gives a short burst of breathy laughter and brushes a hand across Lincoln’s cheek without opening his eyes.
“Michael – ” he starts again but Michael stops him with a wave of a hand.
“S’fine, I’m fine, it was just – it’s not important.” Michael opens his eyes and paints a fake smile onto his face. “Go back to sleep. It’s okay.”
Lincoln nods and gets up to sit on the bed, waiting for Michael to join and him and growing agitated when he doesn’t. Michael rises from the floor as well but makes a move for the door and Lincoln catches him by the wrist to pull him none too gently back against the bed. Michael makes a small noise of protest and tries to squirm away but Lincoln barks at him to relax and pulls him against his chest.
They lie spooned together on their sides, one arm of Lincoln’s beneath Michael’s neck to clutch at his shoulder and the other wrapped tightly around Michael’s waist. He keeps Michael crushed against his chest and eventually they’re breathing together, in and out and in and out slowly again and again until after a while Michael’s no longer shaking.
“Hey,” Michael whispers so softly that it takes a moment for his voice to register through Lincoln’s drowsy near-sleep fog. “Do you ever think about it?” Michael continues in a quiet, tentative voice. “What would’ve happened, if I’d…”
He doesn’t finish and he doesn’t have to.
“Yeah,” Lincoln answers honestly.
He can feel Michael’s neck twitch and tense, is sure that his brother wants to say something else, but the words seem to die in his throat and he just turns his head to bury his face into the crook of Lincoln’s elbow.
Lincoln could say a million things right now, could tell him a dozen truths – it doesn’t matter because you did and I’m here and we’re here and don’t let yourself get trapped in the past and what could’ve happened or might’ve happened or didn’t happen.
He doesn’t say any of it, can’t say any of it, so he tightens his arms and pulls Michael against him so hard that he thinks maybe they can become one person. He presses his lips against Michael’s neck and breathes into his hair and listens to Michael sigh and tries to hold on just a little tighter.
-end-