"Like Mother, Like Son" for clex_monkie89
Title: Like Mother, Like Son
Rating: NC-17
Character/Pairing: Michael/Lincoln/Mama!Scofield
Requested By: clex_monkie89
Summary: Michael is insane, and Lincoln keeps secrets.
Author's Notes: Warning: underage sex, incest, non-con, disturbing content.
Dr. Tancredi had never been so happy to see Lincoln Burrows. She had always tried to schedule the brothers close to one another so that they might have a few moments to talk, but today, she was desperately hoping the older brother could help her to calm Michael Scofield, who seemed to be succumbing to some sort of psychotic episode before her very eyes.
She had merely been asking him about the origami he did so well, and when Michael had told her that it was Lincoln who first taught him how to do it, Sara had tossed her head and laughed, saying that she didn’t think Lincoln was the type to do that sort of thing.
That was all it took, and Michael’s eyes had gone a kind of…blank. He had begun to shiver and then shake all over, before sliding to the floor from his chair, while Sara watched in horror.
When she reached for him, Michael had shrieked as if he were being tortured and Sara stared, horrified and not knowing what to do next. Then she remembered that Lincoln was waiting outside for his appointment, and she had a thought.
“Lincoln!” she shouted, opening her office door quickly. The older man looked up instantly, knowing something was very wrong by the tone of her voice, “Come here! Guard-uncuff him!”
“Doctor, you know I can’t…” the guard began, but Sara cut him off coldly.
“Do it! This is an emergency!”
Moments later, Lincoln was escorted into the office by the guard, and Sara looked helplessly at him, pointing to Michael, who was huddled in the corner, staring into space, “Do you know what’s happening to him?” she asked, desperate.
Lincoln swallowed heavily and managed a small nod, “Yeah…it’s happened before…” he admitted softly.
“Can you…help me to reach him? He won’t let me near him…” Sara asked hopefully, and again Lincoln nodded.
“It’s okay, Michael,” Lincoln said soothingly, approaching his brother slowly, as you would a dangerous animal, “Its me…Linc. I’m not going to hurt you, Michael.”
When his older brother got close enough to touch him, Michael shrank away, whimpering. Sara just stared in bewilderment at the scene playing out before her. Lincoln made no further attempt to approach Michael, and instead decided on a different tactic. He crouched where he was and came eye-to-eye with his younger brother, taking a deep breath before speaking again in a calm, soothing voice that Sara guessed had been honed to perfection from years of practice, “Come back to me, Mike,” he said gently, “It’s okay…”
After a long moment regarding the person in front of him, Michael smiled slightly and then threw himself into Lincoln’s protective embrace, sobbing like a small child, “Oh Linc!” he moaned, gripping Lincoln’s shoulders as he cried.
The older, larger man just held Michael stiffly, rubbing his back and closing his eyes as tears seeped out of them.
Sara simply stared in amazement until the guard broke the solitude of the moment by announcing that he really needed to get Burrows back into his chains.
Michael tore himself away from Lincoln to glare at the guard hatefully, “No! Don’t! Please don’t! He’s not an animal! He’s my brother! Please…”
Lincoln’s eyes were soft and sympathetic as he regarded his younger brother, “Its all right, Michael. It’s the way it has to be.”
He held his arms out for the cuffs and allowed himself to be restrained once more, never taking his eyes off of his baby brother, “I love you, Mike…it’ll be all right, man…”
A few hours later, Dr. Tancredi, unable to shake the events of the morning from her mind, decided to pay Lincoln Burrows a visit on Death Row.
“You wanna know about Mike, right?” Lincoln said in an easy swagger.
Sara smiled and nodded, looking at the floor. She had heard that Lincoln was quite a ladies man, and now she was beginning to understand why-he wasn’t her type, but there was a gentleness about him, and he certainly seemed to have a way with people.
Lincoln smiled in return and took a deep breath, not sure where to begin, “I guess it started…around when our mom died. Michael took that real hard, and I don’t know…he withdrew from life, you know? He would have these…episodes. Where he would stare into space and not be able to communicate or talk or anything…it was strange…”
“Michael told me that you looked after him when he was young-after your mother passed away…” Sara offered.
Lincoln stared into space for a moment, then nodded slightly, “I did the best I could-I was a kid myself. And mom-she wasn’t right in the head either…” his voice trailed off, or Lincoln did not finish the thought.
“He told me that you took good care of him. He told me about the origami cranes…” she continued, and suddenly Lincoln’s eyes flared with something akin to anger unexpectedly.
“None of those stories are true,” Lincoln cut her off quickly, because the pain was too great for him to recall, “Michael…made them up. He does that a lot. Always has.”
“I don’t understand,” Sara said.
Lincoln sighed heavily, “I was a shit brother to him-and everyone in his life always let him down or abandoned him. Michael was lonely a lot growing up and…I don’t know, its almost like…he created a world for himself, a better world where he had a big brother who cared for him and helped him and looked out for him-I guess it was a coping mechanism.”
Sara stared impassively at the hulk of a man before her, not quite able to comprehend what he was saying, “Are you telling me Michael makes up stories, and then convinces himself that they are the truth?” she asked incredulously.
Lincoln gave her an even stare and then nodded, “Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you.”
“But that’s…” Sara struggled to find the right word, and failed, “Forgive me, but…that’s crazy, Lincoln.”
A flash of anger passed over Lincoln’s features and then disappeared, replaced with a look of helplessness, “I know…” he said, looking away, “Michael has…problems. He’s not…right, you know? That’s why I’m so worried about him. After I’m gone, will you look after my brother?”
Sara managed to nod her head, “Of course,” she said quickly, feeling as if she could not breath, “Well…thank you for this information. It will help me in my diagnosis and that can only help Michael.”
Lincoln nodded at her, and turned away, clearly wanting to be alone.
Sara left the cell more confused then ever.
FLASHBACK:
It was the anniversary of the death of their mother, and Michael had cried himself to sleep, while his older brother held him.
Lincoln looked down sadly at the sleeping form in the bed. Michael always looked so young when he was asleep…
Lincoln had been out of jail for three weeks now, and things were finally returning to some sort of normal….at least, as normal as their lives had ever been.
Michael had been too young to remember their mother in any great detail, so to Michael she was perfect-an angel without fault. But Lincoln knew the truth…he remembered. Their mother had tried her best, and was a good person-but she was troubled, and she seemed to have passed on that particular aspect of her personality to Michael. Her instability and her tendency to lie-to make up a false world in order to escape from the one she was trapped in…. Lincoln had been too young to understand all the details, but he knew she lied to them about their father, for example….
Their dad had walked out on them, and Lincoln held no great love for the man-but he didn’t remember his father ever laying a hand on his mother, nor did he recall the screaming fights she claimed they’d had over her pregnancy with Michael. Lincoln would sit quietly and grit his teeth when their mom told Michael about the beatings she received at the hands of his ‘no-good’ father, and the fighting they had engaged in nightly for months before he left.
It was easier for Lincoln to let his mother tell these stories, and easier to let Michael believe them, so Lincoln did not say a word, but he was angry with her, and didn’t understand why she lied about dad all the time….
It wasn’t until years later, when Michael began to exhibit the same tendencies, that Lincoln realised their mother had been unstable…but he never told Michael; he could not. He loved his brother too much to destroy the pedestal the boy held his mother up upon…
So Lincoln sat and watched Michael sleep, and tried to push away the bad memories of their mother-the times she lied, the times she screamed at Lincoln for no reason, the times she spent locked in her room, talking out loud to no one…. Lincoln knew, even then, as a small child, that she was not well, and years later, when Michael began to do the same, it broke the older brother’s heart.
Michael began to whimper in his sleep, and Lincoln knew he was having another nightmare. Gently, he reached out to shake him out of it.
“Mike? Wake up, Mike…I’m gonna go to my bedroom now, okay? You were…having a nightmare again…wake up, baby…”
Michael came awake and stared up at Lincoln, “I was dreaming about mom….” He said in a raspy sleepy voice.
Lincoln managed a small smile, “Is it okay if I go to my bed now, Michael?” he asked quietly, standing up.
“Sleep here with me? Please?” Michael’s voice sounded raw with desperation.
Lincoln knew Michael was really far too old for this sort of thing, but he decided he would deal with that another time. He smiled down reassuringly and got back into bed beside his little brother, pulling him close, “Go back to sleep, Mike…” he whispered in the darkness.
Michael rolled close and snuggled against his older brother contentedly-and Lincoln tried not to think about how good that felt.
LINCOLN’S NIGHTMARE:
He must have fallen asleep, because he was dreaming of her again…their mother. The way she had looked before she got sick-all beautiful and needy…and naked. She was sliding into bed with Lincoln-the way Michael did now-she was pressed against her son wantonly….
“Please, Lincoln…” she was moaning, “Love me…love me like your father used too…you look so much like him, baby…”
And Lincoln was recoiling from her, disgusted and angry. He was only fifteen-why was she doing this to him, her own son? He wanted to scream at her, even hit her-but he dared not, not with Michael sleeping only a few feet away…
. His mother grasped his erection and stroked him to hardness, then led him to her wetness, begging in that breathy voice of hers for Lincoln to fuck her, to make her feel good.
Lincoln closed his eyes and pushed inside her tight wet hole and began to piston his hips the way she had taught him to when they first made love two years before.
“Oh, that’s it…” she moaned against his ear, pulling him close, and arching her back, “Make love to me, Linc….fuck me….be a good little man and fuck me…”
And Lincoln did-he fucked her until he came inside her, and then she would lead one of his hands to her pussy and make him finger her until she orgasmed silently, biting his shoulder to keep from waking Michael, her whole body wracked with shudders and a slick wetness spreading over her son’s fingers and spent sex, as he gently withdrew from her. …
Lincoln awoke in a cold sweat suddenly, and breathed a sigh of relief that it had only been a dream-a dream born of memory. Silently, tears slid down his face as he recalled the sexual abuse their mother had inflicted on him until, at last, she was too sick to come to his bed any longer.
Michael, of course, knew nothing of this either. Lincoln never told him about it, of course. To Michael, their mother was an angel-but Lincoln knew she was the devil, and even though she was long since dead, she still tormented him.
Lincoln had hated it-had hated her. He was honestly happy when she got cancer. She deserved to suffer after what she forced him to do to her for years….and Lincoln never told a soul about it. Years later, when he was a drug addict with no future and a criminal record, Lincoln knew, deep inside, that what his mother had done to him had contributed to his problems, had led him to a life of angry desperation…..and every time Michael glared at him, put him down or looked at his older brother with disgust, Lincoln wanted to scream at him and tell him the truth…but he never did.
Gradually, as he came awake, Lincoln realised that Michael too was awake-and gently, slowly humping Lincoln’s hip in the darkness, making a low, keening noise in his throat.
“What are you doing, Michael?” Lincoln asked in a tone that told Michael he knew exactly what he was doing.
It wasn’t exactly the first time they had done this sort of thing together, but Lincoln had half-hoped that, during his time in prison, Michael would have outgrown his need for this. Lincoln closed his eyes and cursed his mother silently for passing this particular sickness on to Michael-and him-- as well.
“You want me to stop?” Michael asked, his voice low and husky.
Lincoln said nothing for a while, just closing his eyes and enjoying the touch, but when Michael’s hand drifted lower, to stroke just below the waistband of his boxers, he stiffened slightly, “You should stop…” he said in a shaky voice, “We shouldn’t…”
Michael stilled his hand, but did not pull it away. Hesitantly, he pressed his lips between Lincoln’s shoulder blades, and then rested his forehead there, whispering, “It’s okay, you know…if you…need this. I won’t tell anyone…. I need it too…”
Lincoln heard himself gasp involuntarily at Michael’s words and pulled himself away, his mouth impossibly dry, “Stop,” he begged, sounding angry, “I don’t want to, Mike…”
The younger brother looked up at his older brother sadly, “I know…” he said softly, “but you’re Linc…you’re my…everything…please? Love me? Make me feel good?”
Lincoln gasped as Michael uttered exactly the same words his mother had once uttered when she wanted the same thing from him-and he hated her more at that moment, then he ever had before.
Before Lincoln could reply, Michael’s lips closed over Lincoln’s and the older man whimpered softly at the feel of them, so soft and warm. He opened his mouth instinctively, letting Michael’s tongue sweep over his languidly, “Please, Linc…” Michael whispered desperately as he broke the kiss, looking at his brother with pleading eyes.
Lincoln felt his last bit of resolve faltering. He had been locked up for almost a year, and he was desperate himself-for sex, for affection, for pleasure from something other than his own hand and fantasises, “Michael…” he groaned, letting his little brother kiss him deeply again.
“Let me suck you, Linc…” Michael whispered seductively, and Lincoln nodded tightly, hating himself for giving in again.
Michael smirked and slowly descended his brother’s muscular form, taking Lincoln’s thick cock from his sweats and sliding his hot mouth over it.
Lincoln groaned and arched up off the bed wantonly, his groan turning to an impossibly erotic whimper as he gripped Michael’s head and guided his brother over his hard flesh, “God Michael!” he gasped as his cock was enveloped in the white heat of his little brother’s mouth. He bucked upwards, uncontrolled and desperate for release.
Lincoln came quickly-the fastest he’d ever come from a blowjob, spilling heavily into Michael’s mouth, eyes tightly closed, moans escaping his lips.
When Lincoln opened his eyes, Michael was straddling his hips with his cock in his own hand, stroking it quickly while he stared down at his older brother’s body, taking in the beauty of it. When he saw that Lincoln was watching, he blushed and looked down, stopping his strokes instantly and whimpering.
“Can I?” Michael asked in a small, submissive voice.
Lincoln gave him a tight nod again and watched, with a dazed, distant stare, as Michael began to pleasure himself.
Part of Lincoln wanted to reach out and stroke the flesh himself, and another part of him was absolutely disgusted by the thought. He settled for just watching, amazed at how beautiful Michael looked as he masturbated before him, lost to his pleasure, his body flushed and moving erotically.
“Can I come on you?” Michael asked, breathless and close.
Lincoln wanted to say no, wanted to be repulsed by the idea, but he could not-he wanted it, “Yeah…” he managed to say, swallowing thickly as he said it.
With a painful cry, Michael released himself moments later, white liquid spurting forth from his sex, and landing all over Lincoln’s belly and chest as the younger man leaned over his older brother’s naked form.
Lincoln watched, transfixed-- it was a truly gorgeous sight. He heard himself grunt as the semen showered him, then reached up to help support Michael’s balance as the boy shook in the aftermath of his climax violently.
At last, the tremors subsided and Michael opened his eyes to stare at Lincoln, not sure how his brother was going to react to what had just passed between them. He could not read the older man’s _expression as Lincoln stared up into his eyes. But then the older man smiled gently and pulled Michael down on top of him, cradling the younger man in a tender embrace, “It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, “Shhhh…”
Lincoln cried then, hot tears spilling onto his face in the dark-tears of realisation that they had crossed the Rubicon, and there was no going back. They had never gone this far before-but now they would only go further and further-and they both knew it.
After that, they progressed to lovemaking, and after they first made love, they did it every night.
The first night they had sex, Michael had been blowing Lincoln in their bed, when he stopped suddenly, and crawled up Lincoln’s nude body, straddling his hips, “Fuck me?” he asked.
Lincoln groaned in defeat and then shook his head, “Not like this…lay on your belly…”
Michael knew why Lincoln wanted him on his stomach-so he wouldn’t have to look his little brother in the eye while he fucked him. Michael smiled slightly at the notion, and did as Lincoln asked.
Lincoln slicked his cock with salvia and lay down against his brother, finding his entrance in the darkness of the living room, hearing Michael gasp in pleasure as he slipped on finger inside, and then another, preparing the boy quickly.
“This what you want, Mikey?” he grunted, kissing the boy’s ear, “Want me to fuck you? God-why? Why do you want this? Why do you make me want this?”
He sounded tormented, sad-confused. Michael wanted to turn over and look at his brother. He wanted to stroke the man’s face and tell him that it was all right to want this. He wanted to tell Lincoln that he loved him, and that he wanted to make love to him and with him because of that love. But Lincoln was heavy against him, preventing any real movement, “YES!” Michael cried out instead, and moments later, Lincoln entered him.
“Oh fuck!” Lincoln cried out drunkenly, his hips moving erratically against Michael’s body, “So tight!”
He tried to be gentle, guessing it was the boy’s first time-but the need was too great, and he slammed against Michael’s willing body harder and harder, seeking release.
Beneath him, Michael was completely still and moaning into a pillow loudly. Lincoln was not sure if his moans were from pleasure or pain, but at that point, he didn’t care, “I’m gonna come!” he grunted against Michael’s ear, licking it wetly.
Michael turned his head to the side so Lincoln could hear him, “Come inside me, please!”
His words were all it took for Lincoln to fall into the abyss of orgasm. He thrust a final time and came, pouring himself inside Michael’s body, a primal groan escaping his lips that he did not even recognise as his own, as he came forever.
Michael whimpered in protest as Lincoln gently slipped from his body, then smiled as he felt his older brother’s lips against his back, kissing it softly, “Oh, Mike…” he moaned, his words slurred with alcohol and exhaustion.
“Sleep,” Michael said gently.
In a moment, Lincoln was sound asleep.
Months past.
Lincoln had known for a long time that Michael was not normal. He had always been a bit left of the middle. But after he emerged from his latest lock up, and after he began sleeping with Michael, Lincoln began to see that his brother’s problems were serious, and he began to remind Linc for all the world of their mother. The thought made Lincoln sick to his stomach.
He watched as Michael would withdraw from everyone and everything, living in his own, silent world for days at a time. When he was like that, no one could reach him, except possibly Lincoln.
He would emerge from this self-imposed exile after a few days and act like nothing had happened, talking and acting like he used too-but these silent, almost trance-like states became more and more frequent…. Lincoln could bring him out of them by talking quietly to him, and holding him-but if anyone else spoke to him or tried to touch him, Michael would lose control and strike out.
When he came to Lincoln for sex, the older brother always gave in to him, as he had with their mother, though he knew what they were doing was wrong.
There was a reason why Lincoln made love to Michael-and it had nothing to do with sex or his own desire for the boy. He simply knew the boy needed it, and without it, he was certain Michael would lose whatever tentative hold he had on himself.
Michael, after all, had been abandoned all of his life-and Lincoln was the only real family he had. Somewhere along the line-Lincoln could not put his finger on when, exactly-Michael’s love for Lincoln had…changed. It had gone from childhood worship of a big brother to..something darker, more obsessive. His brotherly love for the person who had tried-though often failed-to care for him when he was a child, had twisted into a bizarre kind of possessive love that one should only feel for a lover.
Lincoln knew, instinctively, that this was all very wrong and very dangerous. He knew that if he continued to sleep with Michael, he risked making Michael’s problems worse, but he feared not sleeping with Michael and not giving the boy what he so badly wanted and needed even more. And neither boy had ever known a normal existence-how could they start one now?
Then the lies started. Michael began to fabricate events that never happened, conversations that never occurred. And it wasn’t childish make-believe stories, but stories with immense detail-stories that had been thought out thoroughly and planned.
At first, Lincoln believed that Michael was only telling the lies to other people to hide how dysfunctional his older brother was, how lonely and sad his own life was. That would have been understandable. But slowly, Lincoln began to realise that the lies Michael told, he believed himself. To Michael, they were not lies-they were his truth.
Lincoln knew he had to confront this head on, and he tried.
One day, when Michael got home from school, Lincoln was waiting for him in the kitchen.
“Michael, we need to talk,” Lincoln said softly, motioning for his brother to sit at the kitchen table.
Michael watched his brother intently, trying to figure out what was wrong, “Yes?” he asked nervously as sat down.
Lincoln kept his face carefully neutral, and did not meet Michael’s eyes as he began the hardest conversation he’d ever had with Michael, “Baby boy…I want to talk to you about…some of the things that you’ve been saying and doing….do you remember what mom got you for your eighth birthday, Mike?”
Michael looked at his older brother with a confused _expression-why were they talking about his eighth birthday? -and then thought about it, coming up with the answer quickly, “That book-from mom. On origami.”
Lincoln smiled gently and nodded, “That’s right. And do you remember how much you liked it? And how I kept teasing you and saying it was stupid?”
Michael had to smile at the memory as he nodded, “Yeah…”
Lincoln shifted uncomfortably in his chair and reached across the table to clasp one of Michael’s hands in his own, “Baby, I still think origami is stupid, you know what I mean?”
Michael’s eyebrows knitted together, bewildered, “No, I don’t…” he replied honestly.
Lincoln took a deep breath and steadied himself, then plunged ahead, speaking slowly and calmly, “Michael, I don’t make those birds for you-the ones you think I make and leave around the apartment for you? I don’t do that, baby. You do it. You make those cranes, not me. Do you understand?”
Michael squinted at Lincoln, then began to shake his head in disbelief, “No, you make them. You leave them for me-so I’ll know you’re there for me…that you love me.”
Lincoln’s heart was breaking, but he had to deal with this, so he went on, “No, Michael-you make them, and then you make yourself believe that its me…I don’t know why. But you d, and you’ve been doing it for a while, and it freaks me out. I think its because you’re lonely, or…”
He could not bring himself to say the words….
“Or what?” Michael pressed demanding.
So Lincoln was forced to say the words, “Or…sick. I think you…might be sick, Michael.”
There was a dead silence and then, “Why are you doing this?” Michael asked, in anguish, “Why are you lying and trying to make me think I’m crazy? Why would you do that? I know you make them for me! I would remember if I made them myself!”
Lincoln swallowed thickly and tried to keep the tears in his eyes from spilling onto his face. He stared at the middle of the kitchen table and squeezed his brother’s hand softly, “There’s more, Michael. There are other things you…believe that…aren’t true. Like that story you told V about the monsters in your closet, and how I told you fear was nothing but air? Michael, I never said that to you. We never had that conversation…”
Michael was hyperventilating now, shaking his head emphatically, “You did! I was nine years old, and…”
“No!” Lincoln cut him off angrily, then instantly felt regret when he saw Michael jump in fear at his booming voice, “There’s lots more I could tell you, other shit you think is real, that’s not-lots of stuff! Stuff you tell kids at school your teachers…and those spells you have-where you don’t talk for days? That’s not normal, Michael! You can’t go on doing stuff like that…. Michael, you need some help. And..I’m gonna get it for you. V thinks that maybe a therapist…”
“I don’t need a fucking therapist!” Michael snarled, standing up suddenly, “I need you to stop lying to me!”
“And I need you to stop lying to yourself, Mike,” Lincoln replied sadly. He looked up at his younger brother and felt as if his heart was being torn from his body when he saw the look of torment and betrayal on his younger brother’s face, “Please…let me get you some help, Michael. You’ve been through…so much-and I’ve been a shit brother to you these past few years. Its only natural that you might have some…problems, you know?”
Michael began to shake violently. Then, when Lincoln embraced him, he went completely slack in his arms. He stared into space and looked to be in a trance. Lincoln knew that look well, and he felt a stab of panic coarse through him.
This was all way beyond Lincoln-nothing in his life had ever prepared him for dealing with something like this. He had been a child when their mother had gone mad, and he wasn’t able to comprehend what was happening to his brother or why.
Lincoln stood and approached his brother cautiously, “Michael, answer me, please?”
Michael’s face went startlingly pale and his eyes seemed lost and far away. He trembled and seemed unable to react or speak.
Lincoln closed his eyes, “Don’t, Michael…please. Don’t…close up on me! Stay with me, Michael…don’t do this…”
But Michael was gone, and Lincoln knew it. It had happened before.
He called Veronica and an ambulance and they took his little brother away to the psychiatric ward of the local hospital.
Michael came out of his stupor long enough to fight the ambulance workers, screaming at Lincoln as they drug him away, “No! Linc! Don’t do this! Don’t let them take me away! Please? I need you! Don’t send me away!”
Lincoln nearly gave in-would have, if Veronica had not held him back, saying, “Let him go, Lincoln. It’s the best thing for him right now. He needs help.”
Lincoln slowly sank to the floor, his head in his hands, and cried like a baby.
For a few days, they would not even let Lincoln see his brother-and when they did, Lincoln was almost sorry he visited.
Michael was catatonic, lost in a ‘walking coma’, as they called it.
When he finally was allowed to visit, Lincoln could not believe the state he found Michael in.
“Oh, God…” Lincoln had to look away, not even recognising the person who sat in the hospital room.
The doctor gently led Lincoln out of the room and into a large office.
“Your brother has developed what we believe to be a Dissociative Personality Disorder.” A doctor told him matter-of-factly, talking about Michael as if he were an animal in a lab experiment.
Lincoln stared at the doctor blankly, “Look, Doc-I didn’t finish the tenth grade, okay? I need you to speak English.”
The doctor smiled at the remark, and rephrased it, “Your brother suffered great loss, and compensated for that by creating a fantasy life for himself-one where he wasn’t always so alone. He made you the centre of that fantasy. And the stories that he tells are not lies-at least not to him. He believes that they really happened. He needs to believe that they happened-otherwise he would have lost his ay long ago. Otherwise, he could go insane now.”
Lincoln shook his head, “He seems pretty insane already, Doc…”
“Yes, but its different. As long as Michael can cling to his ‘lies’, as you call them, he can maintain the veneer of a normal life. If those lies are taken from him, and he is faced with the real truth of his life, well….what you see now happening to him will be nothing compared to the damage he could do to himself.”
“So, what’s the answer? We let him go on lying to himself?” Lincoln asked, feeling frustrated and confused.
“No,” the doctor replied firmly, “But…we have to move slowly. This will be a long process.”
Lincoln knew what that meant.
“Look, doc-you know, I am all Michael has, family-wise, and we don’t have any money. Shit, I don’t even have insurance. I don’t even know how I’m going to pay for this-we can’t sign up for anything long-term.”
The doctor looked longingly at Lincoln, as if he were desperate to help him, but did not know how, “We will keep him here for as long as we can, and do whatever we can to help him.”
Lincoln nodded sadly, “I understand.”
He visited Michael, and stroked the boy’s face lovingly as Michael stared into space, silent and lost in his own world, “Oh baby boy…I wish I could help you. I wish I could take all your pain away…”
That night, back at their apartment, Lincoln stared at his latest ‘shipment’ from Creb.
He was supposed to sell the heroin, but he felt it call his name. He wanted to forget…needed to. All the pain, all the responsibility-Lincoln wasn’t sure he could handle it. He reached for the bag, and dipped a finger into the powder, rubbing it over his gums the way he had seen other users do.
The numbing effect was almost immediate, and Lincoln sank back onto his bed, floating away into a blissful state of nothingness, where there was no Michael, no responsibility, no promises made to long-dead mothers…nothing.
He liked it.
END FLASHBACK
Back in his cell, Lincoln pondered his relationship with Michael, and its many facets. Michael’s illness had been the biggest fear Lincoln held for him-that he would lose his mind and not be able to retrieve it.
Lincoln always blamed himself for not sending Michael away when his younger brother came to his bed at night. Michael wasn’t well, and Linc knew that-he should have been stronger….he was, after all, the older one…but he had been so lonely and he did love Michael so much. He could never send Michael away when he asked to sleep with him.
Sometimes, all Michael wanted was to be held and soothed after a nightmare, and even though Linc knew it was rather…odd that a sixteen year old boy still crawled in bed with his older brother after a nightmare, Lincoln was happy to do it because he knew it would make Michael happy.
It was the other times that tormented Lincoln and made him feel like a pervert and an abuser…it was the times when Michael would come to his bed naked, and aroused…and begin to touch his older brother in a way that was so many levels of wrong-and Lincoln would let him because it felt good, and a part of him wanted it, even though he knew how wrong it was. Michael had been fourteen when that started, and it didn’t stop until…well, it never really stopped.
So many times, Lincoln tried to end things-tried to explain to Michael how wrong it was, and he had wanted so badly, at those times, to tell Michael the truth about their mother-that she had raped Lincoln and lied to them and that she was mentally ill, and unbalanced, and had visited her perversions on her own sons….but Lincoln could never bring himself to say the words, and Michael never stopped needing him, so the cycle of sickness continued.
And it led them both eventually to Fox River.
It was almost as if there were two separate Michaels-the one who was needy and young and sweet and lost-and the other one, a sexual being with demands and wants that Lincoln wanted to fulfil, but hated himself for fulfilling. And there was the calm, cool and collected Michael-the brilliant engineer-and the crazy Michael-obsessed with details, unable to handle the business of his mind, sick with constant stimuli….now, here at Fox River, those two Michaels seemed to have finally merged into one.
The thought terrified Lincoln.
FLASHBACK:
Lincoln knew the instant he walked into their apartment that something was wrong. He looked at Michael with a worried _expression, “Hey Mike…” he said uneasily, closing the door slowly.
Michael looked up at his brother with a bitter _expression. He was sitting on the couch, with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them-he looked all of ten years old, “How was work, Linc?” Michael asked, his voice low and sarcastic.
“Fine,” Lincoln replied, giving his younger brother a strange look and crossing the room to look at the mail, “How was school?”
Michael sneered slightly and tossed his head, “Fine…I went to see you-at work today.”
Lincoln gave Michael a knowing look, and said nothing.
“So,” Michael continued, “Where do you REALLY work, Linc? Do you even have a job?”
Lincoln rubbed the back of his neck and tried to remain calm, “I work Michael.” Was all he said.
Michael glared at him with distain, “Where?” he demanded.
“I work for Andrezani…that’s all you need to know,” Lincoln replied, dejectedly.
Michael shook his head in disgust, “What do you do for him, Linc? Beat the shit out of people who don’t pay protection money to the mob? Or maybe you sell drugs to school kids?”
“Enough!” Lincoln snarled, angry and frustrated at Michael’s inability to see that he was doing all of this for him, “You stay out of it! I am not talking about it!”
Michael knew Linc well enough to know that if he continued this any further, he was in for a beating-Lincoln solved problems with his fists. Sighing heavily, he gave up, “Fine.” He whispered.
Lincoln gave Michael a look that spoke of hurt and a sense of…betrayal, “You judging me, Mike? Because you really have no fucking right! I did it for you! So you could be with me, and not in some children’s home!”
“Mom would roll over in her grave if she saw what you’ve become!” Michael seethed at him, his eyes wild and accusing.
Lincoln exploded, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking DARE bring her into this! She asked me to look after you-and I have! The best way I could-it wasn’t always good, I know-but I did the best I could. That’s all she could ask-and all you can ask! Fuck! I was a kid myself when I took you on-a kid myself when I had LJ-what the fuck do you want from me, Michael?”
There was an angry silence as both brothers regarding one another. Michael was the first to look away, breaking eye contact and sighing heavily, “Okay,” he whispered, defeated and knowing it, “Whatever-you win, Linc. Do what you want. I wish mom hadn’t died…things would be so much better if she had lived…”
Lincoln felt rage well up within him. He wanted so badly to grab Michael, shake him, and tell him the truth-that things would probably only be much worse if mama had lived because she was a sick freak, that she was a pathological liar, just like he was, that he was working for the local mob boss because it was the only way he could afford to pay Michael’s shrink bills. He was working for that horrible man and doing terrible things just so Michael could maybe have a chance at getting better and not ending up in a psych ward for the rest of his life.
Lincoln wanted to scream out the truth-but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and punched the wall as hard as he could, causing the younger brother to jump in surprise and fear, “It’s not what I want, Michael-I’ve NEVER gotten what I want, okay? Its…the way it has to be right now….and mom wasn’t the saint you think she was, Mike! Trust me!”
Michael’s eyes narrowed accusingly, “What’s that supposed to mean?” he hissed.
Lincoln bit his lip to prevent the words from falling from his mouth, “Don’t…don’t worry about it…” he said at last.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Michael asked softly, sensing something just below the surface, and reaching out for it.
“Plenty!” Lincoln sneered.
“Talk to me, Linc…” Michael begged, suddenly contrite.
“No…” Lincoln replied firmly.
And they left it at that-both of them afraid to push any further, neither really wanting to go there….
Michael stared at the floor; unable to meet Lincoln’s blazing eyes, and feeling guilt creep into his mind. He knew that Lincoln was right-he did what he did for Michael.
Lincoln retreated to his bedroom, slamming the door for emphasis. Michael knew that he was going in there to smoke some weed, maybe do a line of coke…whatever it was that he did when he needed to calm down. And the guilt within Michael only deepened-this was all his fault. Lincoln wouldn’t be doing any of this-working for the mob, selling drugs, taking them-if he didn’t have to look after his sorry ass.
When Lincoln emerged a few hours later, angry still, and high as a kite, Michael was sitting in living room watching TV. Silently, Lincoln sat beside him, then reached for his brother and pulled him close, kissing his forehead, his cheeks and finally deeply kissing him on the mouth.
He hated himself for wanting this-for doing this. He was no better then their mother, who had used him for sex when he was just a boy-and would have most likely, used Michael in the same way if she had lived. He was just continuing her sick game… but he did so much for Michael-now it was Michael’s turn to do something for him. Besides, it wasn’t as if the kid didn’t want it-at least, that was how he justified it to himself.
He pulled Michael on to his lap and held the younger brother’s face in his palms as he kissed him, lifting his hips slightly to rub his hardness against Michael’s ass suggestively.
“Oh..” Michael moaned, breaking the kiss and panting against Lincoln’s mouth gently, looking at his big brother with heavy lidded eyes.
“I want to fuck you,” Lincoln growled low in his throat, and the sound of his gruff voice made Michael harden almost instantly, “I need to, Michael…”
Michael laid his head against his big brother’s chest, and nodded against it, “Take me to bed then,” he replied in a hoarse whisper.
So Lincoln did.
Then the brothers were naked and skin was sliding against skin, and it was like the best heroin in the world, Michael’s body….
“God, I love this,” Lincoln groaned as he slid all the way inside to the hilt, feeling Michael shudder beneath him. He placed wet kisses to the boy’s neck, “Being inside you like this…I love you, Michael. Everything I’m doing…I’m doing it for you, baby…so you won’t end up like her…””
Michael whimpered softly, not understanding what Lincoln meant, and turned his head to meet Lincoln’s demanding lips. They kissed for a long moment before Lincoln began to move inside him, and the older man used the kissing-and the sex-as an apology to Michael.
It was an apology Michael seemed to accept, because he began to move with his brother as one, and soon he was whispering, “I love you..I love you…” over and over again, against Lincoln’s ear as they made love slowly and tenderly in the twilight of the evening, “I’m sorry…so sorry…that you have to take care of me…”
For Lincoln, this was about desire-a desire he had denied for too long, and that now threatened to overtake him in every way. For Michael, the sex was about connection and love-a physical way to express his need for Lincoln. Alone, in bed, they were both so open, so vulnerable to one another-their true selves exposed.
“No, don’t say that,” Lincoln gasped between kisses, thrusting against his brother, all open and vulnerable and panting beneath him, “Its okay…it’s all right..I want to take care of you, Michael….I love you so much…”
“Oh, Linc…” Michael groaned, sounding almost as if he were in pain, “You’re my whole life, Linc!”
And Lincoln knew that was the truth.
“Ohhhh, I’m coming…” Lincoln gasped quietly against Michael’s neck, tensing and spilling his heat within the boy’s open, vulnerable body under him, feeling Michael shudder as he filled him, and letting his eyes roll back in his head at the perfection of the pleasure.
He continued to move, thrusting gently against Michael’s lithe body for a few more moments, trying to hold on to the bliss, and wanting to make Michael come while he was still inside of him.
With a soft cry, Michael gripped Lincoln’s shoulders, clawing at them a bit too hard, as he found release, coming against his own belly and Linc’s, hearing the older man groan as the warm liquid spilled between them, “That’s it, baby…come for me…come for Linc…” Lincoln said in an impossibly husky voice that caused Michael to yelp with lingering desire.
Spent, they lay entangled and covered in sweat and semen. Lincoln’s fell to one side and brought Michael with him, crushing the boy against his massive body, both of them trembling and caressing one another as they came down from their respective highs.
Theirs had always been a dysfunctional, damaging relationship-for both of them. Michael-so needy and mentally unbalanced-and Lincoln-so angry and self-destructive. They both needed and loved one another desperately because there had only been the two of them against the world for so long-but they knew, instinctively, that their need and love was unhealthy, so the relationship always teetered on the edge of resentment.
It was the same with sex. When they made love, both of them knew it was wrong, but also knew that they could not and would not stop. The pleasure, both physical and emotional, was blindingly good, but it was always followed by a deep, silent regret that hung heavily in the air between them.
For Lincoln, there was the added guilt of being the older one-the one who was supposed to know better and protect the younger one. Sometimes, when he got drunk or stoned, he would berate himself mentally, convinced that he was raping Michael, betraying the boy’s devotion and trust, becoming their mother….
For his part, Michael felt guilty for making Lincoln want him-he felt that Lincoln would never have crossed that line, would never have begun a physical relationship with Michael, if he had not initiated it, practically begged for it.
Lincoln was a wild child right from the start-always in trouble. As he grew older, and began dabbling in drugs and drink and sex, he became more and more dysfunctional, but his love for Michael was one thing that never wavered. It was the one thing that no one could accuse him of not feeling.
Michael had always been quiet and withdrawn and not completely stable. The death of their mother made things even worse for him. He often told Lincoln about the ‘noise in his head’ and his inability to quiet it. When he made love with Lincoln, the noise was quieted-at least for a short time.
But Michael was only getting worse-and Lincoln knew it.
Lincoln finally knew his brother was insane the day he realised that Michael was making hundreds of origami birds, and then placing them all over their shared apartment-and then telling people that Lincoln made them. That Lincoln made them for him-to let him know that he was there for Michael, looking out for him.
It was a particularly bad time in their lives-Lincoln was deeply involved with drugs and could not get through the day without them. He went out most nights, leaving Michael alone. He would drink and get stoned and sometimes bring a girl back to the apartment, and have sex with her in the bedroom he shared with Michael. He knew the boy heard them, saw them…but Michael always pretended to be asleep.
After the girl would leave, Lincoln would come to Michael’s bed and tell him he loved him and they would end up having heated sex. Lincoln knew Michael hated these other girls-he was jealous of them-and he knew Michael was worried about him.
But he didn’t know the lengths Michael would go to create an alternate reality for himself-a place where he was safe and his brother wasn’t a druggy and a con-until the day he found nearly seventy paper birds under Michael’s bed. And until the day V asked him if it was true that he made those little birds for Michael.
“What?” Lincoln asked, looking at Veronica as if she were insane, “No! Mike makes those himself-lots of ‘em, too. I don’t know why the fuck he does it…why did you think I made that shit?”
Veronica’s face went pale and she looked away, “it’s just that Michael told me….well, he told me you made them. Why would he lie like that?”
Lincoln gave her a lopsided grin, “He was probably just fucking with you, V!” he laughed.
Veronica gave Lincoln a sharp glare, “He wasn’t, Linc. He was…serious when he said it….”
Veronica told Lincoln how she had found Michael alone in the apartment at three in the morning two nights earlier. She had stopped by when she saw Lincoln out at a bar on her way home, and decided to check on Michael and see if he was all right.
VERONICA’S STORY:
Michael sat shivering in the cold apartment, waiting by the front door in a large lounge chair, with a blanket wrapped around his thin frame.
“Michael, what are you doing here in the dark? You okay?” she asked as she entered, kneeling beside the chair, “You’re freezing, Mike! Why isn’t the heat on?”
“Linc forgot to pay the bill, and they turned it off,” Michael replied flatly.
Veronica rolled her eyes at that, “Oh, Michael…I’ll take care of it for you tomorrow, I promise, okay? Right now, you need to get to bed. Lincoln’s going to be…out for a while.”
“Mike, what are these?” she asked, picking up one of the delicate creations and examining it closely.
Michael smiled for the first time that evening and took it from her, “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he breathed in wonder, “Linc has to…go out a lot, and…work and stuff. He makes these for me, and puts them all over the place, so when I find them I will know he’s thinking of me, and looking after me. The bird is like a symbol, you know? Lets me know he’s there for me…”
Veronica smiled to think that Lincoln would do something so kind-and so completely out of character-for Michael, “That’s sweet.” She whispered, helping the boy into bed.
“Yeah, he loves me…he does. He takes such good care of me. I love finding these birds. He does it just for me…” Michael continued, his eyes blank and…strange; his voice full of hero-worship for his big brother.
Veronica smiled down at Michael, pausing to kiss his forehead, “Of course he does,” she said soothingly, “Get some sleep now, Michael.”
Long after Michael had fallen into a troubled sleep, Veronica stayed by his bedside, staring at those origami birds….
The social worker’s name was Irene and she was exactly what Lincoln had expected her to be. She turned up at precisely one o’clock, in her starched suit, and wearing too much eye makeup. When he opened the door, Irene gave Lincoln that look that was fast growing used to from polite society-a look of slight distain, mixed with utter bewilderment.
“Thanks for coming’,” he managed to say without gritting his teeth, as he swung the door wide and invited Irene in.
She smiled in a condescending way and walked in, noting the messy living room in a way that reminded Lincoln of Michael, and the way his brain automatically catalogued everything as soon as he walked into a room.
Irene sat on the couch without being invited to do so, and looked up at Lincoln, “So, I assume you asked me here to talk about your brother?”
Lincoln instantly disliked this woman, but he knew that these were the people, the kind of people, who held the keys to his future, and Michael’s-these middle class idiots who did not understand anything he had been through, but were so eager to judge him, “Yeah, its about Michael,” he admitted, sitting uneasily in a chair across from her, not quite knowing how to begin.
“I guess…Michael’s told you that I got busted, right?” he started, and Irene nodded disapprovingly.
Lincoln fought mightily to keep control of his temper, fighting the urge to say something snide, “Yeah, well…it’s my third offence. Three strikes and you’re out and all that…I’m gonna be doin’ real time this time.”
Irene swallowed visibly, and looked anywhere but at Lincoln Burrows.
I just want to make sure that while I’m away, Michael can keep getting help. He sees this…psychologist a few times a month. I usually pay for it, so I don’t know if there is some kind of welfare payment or something that would…pay for something like that?”
Lincoln took a deep breath, calming himself and steeling his nerves for Irene’s response.
“I’m afraid there is no such provision, Lincoln.” She replied curtly.
“Listen, Michael has…problems….”
“I am aware of your brother’s condition. I doubt they are so serious that he requires psychological counselling.” Irene replied efficiently.
“That’s bullshit!” Lincoln could contain his temper no longer, “You don’t know! You think you do…yeah, he’s got Low Latent Inhibition, but there’s more…lots more. Stuff only I know….”
Now Irene seemed truly interested. She leaned forward silently, and narrowed her eyes at the young man before her, “I’m listening,” she said, and for the first time, Lincoln believed her.
“He…makes stuff up. Lies. All the time-thing is, I think he believes the lies are true. He tells stories about growing up-things that never happened. He tells stories about stuff I’ve done for him that I never did.”
Irene narrowed her eyes further, “I have no idea what you are talking about, Lincoln,” she said, sounding utterly confused.
“Neither do I, really…” Lincoln replied, almost wistfully, “At the hospital they called it Dissociative Personality Disorder. But he could never be officially diagnosed because we didn’t have medical insurance….anyway; he has these…episodes, where he goes off somewhere else in his head. He won’t talk and he won’t interact with anyone but me….its like he’s a zombie or something. But his shrink…he seems to be helping Michael with that…”
“I still see no reason why I should believe any of this,” Irene said sternly.
Lincoln loved Michael so much. The younger boy was all the family that he had in the world, and to admit that he was afraid his brother might be losing his mind was something Lincoln found very difficult to do, “Okay…I’ll give an example. When Mike was seven years old, he saw a show on TV about origami-you know, when you fold up little pieces of paper and make shit out of it?”
Irene nodded slightly bemused by Lincoln’s description of the ancient art.
“He got all interested in it, so for his birthday that year, my mom got him a book on it. And Michael’s been doing it ever since-little paper birds and flowers and all kinds of stuff…I thought it was fucking-sorry-I thought it was…dumb. I always used to ride him about it, you know? Saying it was stupid. …A few years ago, Michael started telling this story about me-that I would go out at night, and leave him alone-which was true-and that he would be scared-which, I guess, was also true. But then he said that he would wake up and there would be an origami bird on his pillow, and he would feel better because he knew that I made it and left it there for him. To let him know…I don’t know what the fuck I was supposed to be letting him know! That I was there for him, watching over him or some shit like that…. I never made those birds! I wouldn’t even know how. And I wouldn’t even want too! But Michael has told that story to everyone we know-even me. He believes it. It’s like he’s convinced himself of all these lies to make his own life seem better then it is.”
Irene considered what Lincoln was saying, and had to agree that it sounded very…odd. But she was not a psychologist, and could not make any diagnosis, “I can talk to my supervisor,” she offered quietly, “And I can recommend a clinical psychologist for Michael to see-one appointed by the state. If he or she agrees that Michael needs treatment to continue, then perhaps we can consider it.”
Lincoln looked visibly relieved, “Thank you,” he whispered gently.
Michael had continued to see a counsellor until he left for Loyola a year later, and seemed to get better. He seemed to have a handle on his problems, and put them behind him-until the day Lincoln saw him at Fox River, and Michael told him all about the escape plan….and until three days ago, when he collapsed in Dr. Tancredi’s office…..
END FLASHBACK
Michael looked like hell when Linc caught sight of him during yard time a few days later. He was pale and drawn, and looked as if he had not eaten or slept. But when he caught Lincoln staring over towards him, he brightened and managed a small smile walking over to the chain fence that separated them, Hey..” he said softly.
Lincoln smiled in return, “Hey, baby boy-how are you feeling?”
With diverted eyes, Michael gave his stock answer, “Better.”
Lincoln gave his younger brother an appraising look, and decided to let it go, “I’ve been so worried, Mike…”
“I’m sorry,” Michael replied bitterly.
Lincoln shook his head sadly, “You don’t have to apologise, baby…” he started to say, but Michael cut him off coldly.
“Why did you tell the doctor about my…problems?” Michael sounded so very betrayed.
“What?” Lincoln looked at his brother, confused, “I had to tell her, Mike-she’s a doctor. She wanted to help you.”
Michael laughed bitterly, “No one can help me-you know that.”
Lincoln sighed and rested his forehead again the chain link fence in defeat, “I know you believe that-but it’s not true. Sometimes…” he looked away, thinking.
“What?” Michael pressed.
“Sometimes…I think you don’t want help.” Lincoln turned back to stare-or rather, glare-at Michael, “And…we need to talk about this, Mike. It’s not going to just go away, but I want to help you. And…we have to talk about mom too…there’s stuff you need to know…”
Michael took a deep breath, “Not now,” he said firmly.
“Then when, Michael?” Lincoln pressed.
“Afterwards….after we…get out…” Michael whispered in reply.
Lincoln nodded slowly, “You’ll let me help you then?”
Michael managed a tight smile, “Yes-after I help you.”
The two men regarded one another for a moment. Then Michael slowly turned and walked away.
Thank you for participating! :)
Rating: NC-17
Character/Pairing: Michael/Lincoln/Mama!Scofield
Requested By: clex_monkie89
Summary: Michael is insane, and Lincoln keeps secrets.
Author's Notes: Warning: underage sex, incest, non-con, disturbing content.
Dr. Tancredi had never been so happy to see Lincoln Burrows. She had always tried to schedule the brothers close to one another so that they might have a few moments to talk, but today, she was desperately hoping the older brother could help her to calm Michael Scofield, who seemed to be succumbing to some sort of psychotic episode before her very eyes.
She had merely been asking him about the origami he did so well, and when Michael had told her that it was Lincoln who first taught him how to do it, Sara had tossed her head and laughed, saying that she didn’t think Lincoln was the type to do that sort of thing.
That was all it took, and Michael’s eyes had gone a kind of…blank. He had begun to shiver and then shake all over, before sliding to the floor from his chair, while Sara watched in horror.
When she reached for him, Michael had shrieked as if he were being tortured and Sara stared, horrified and not knowing what to do next. Then she remembered that Lincoln was waiting outside for his appointment, and she had a thought.
“Lincoln!” she shouted, opening her office door quickly. The older man looked up instantly, knowing something was very wrong by the tone of her voice, “Come here! Guard-uncuff him!”
“Doctor, you know I can’t…” the guard began, but Sara cut him off coldly.
“Do it! This is an emergency!”
Moments later, Lincoln was escorted into the office by the guard, and Sara looked helplessly at him, pointing to Michael, who was huddled in the corner, staring into space, “Do you know what’s happening to him?” she asked, desperate.
Lincoln swallowed heavily and managed a small nod, “Yeah…it’s happened before…” he admitted softly.
“Can you…help me to reach him? He won’t let me near him…” Sara asked hopefully, and again Lincoln nodded.
“It’s okay, Michael,” Lincoln said soothingly, approaching his brother slowly, as you would a dangerous animal, “Its me…Linc. I’m not going to hurt you, Michael.”
When his older brother got close enough to touch him, Michael shrank away, whimpering. Sara just stared in bewilderment at the scene playing out before her. Lincoln made no further attempt to approach Michael, and instead decided on a different tactic. He crouched where he was and came eye-to-eye with his younger brother, taking a deep breath before speaking again in a calm, soothing voice that Sara guessed had been honed to perfection from years of practice, “Come back to me, Mike,” he said gently, “It’s okay…”
After a long moment regarding the person in front of him, Michael smiled slightly and then threw himself into Lincoln’s protective embrace, sobbing like a small child, “Oh Linc!” he moaned, gripping Lincoln’s shoulders as he cried.
The older, larger man just held Michael stiffly, rubbing his back and closing his eyes as tears seeped out of them.
Sara simply stared in amazement until the guard broke the solitude of the moment by announcing that he really needed to get Burrows back into his chains.
Michael tore himself away from Lincoln to glare at the guard hatefully, “No! Don’t! Please don’t! He’s not an animal! He’s my brother! Please…”
Lincoln’s eyes were soft and sympathetic as he regarded his younger brother, “Its all right, Michael. It’s the way it has to be.”
He held his arms out for the cuffs and allowed himself to be restrained once more, never taking his eyes off of his baby brother, “I love you, Mike…it’ll be all right, man…”
A few hours later, Dr. Tancredi, unable to shake the events of the morning from her mind, decided to pay Lincoln Burrows a visit on Death Row.
“You wanna know about Mike, right?” Lincoln said in an easy swagger.
Sara smiled and nodded, looking at the floor. She had heard that Lincoln was quite a ladies man, and now she was beginning to understand why-he wasn’t her type, but there was a gentleness about him, and he certainly seemed to have a way with people.
Lincoln smiled in return and took a deep breath, not sure where to begin, “I guess it started…around when our mom died. Michael took that real hard, and I don’t know…he withdrew from life, you know? He would have these…episodes. Where he would stare into space and not be able to communicate or talk or anything…it was strange…”
“Michael told me that you looked after him when he was young-after your mother passed away…” Sara offered.
Lincoln stared into space for a moment, then nodded slightly, “I did the best I could-I was a kid myself. And mom-she wasn’t right in the head either…” his voice trailed off, or Lincoln did not finish the thought.
“He told me that you took good care of him. He told me about the origami cranes…” she continued, and suddenly Lincoln’s eyes flared with something akin to anger unexpectedly.
“None of those stories are true,” Lincoln cut her off quickly, because the pain was too great for him to recall, “Michael…made them up. He does that a lot. Always has.”
“I don’t understand,” Sara said.
Lincoln sighed heavily, “I was a shit brother to him-and everyone in his life always let him down or abandoned him. Michael was lonely a lot growing up and…I don’t know, its almost like…he created a world for himself, a better world where he had a big brother who cared for him and helped him and looked out for him-I guess it was a coping mechanism.”
Sara stared impassively at the hulk of a man before her, not quite able to comprehend what he was saying, “Are you telling me Michael makes up stories, and then convinces himself that they are the truth?” she asked incredulously.
Lincoln gave her an even stare and then nodded, “Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you.”
“But that’s…” Sara struggled to find the right word, and failed, “Forgive me, but…that’s crazy, Lincoln.”
A flash of anger passed over Lincoln’s features and then disappeared, replaced with a look of helplessness, “I know…” he said, looking away, “Michael has…problems. He’s not…right, you know? That’s why I’m so worried about him. After I’m gone, will you look after my brother?”
Sara managed to nod her head, “Of course,” she said quickly, feeling as if she could not breath, “Well…thank you for this information. It will help me in my diagnosis and that can only help Michael.”
Lincoln nodded at her, and turned away, clearly wanting to be alone.
Sara left the cell more confused then ever.
FLASHBACK:
It was the anniversary of the death of their mother, and Michael had cried himself to sleep, while his older brother held him.
Lincoln looked down sadly at the sleeping form in the bed. Michael always looked so young when he was asleep…
Lincoln had been out of jail for three weeks now, and things were finally returning to some sort of normal….at least, as normal as their lives had ever been.
Michael had been too young to remember their mother in any great detail, so to Michael she was perfect-an angel without fault. But Lincoln knew the truth…he remembered. Their mother had tried her best, and was a good person-but she was troubled, and she seemed to have passed on that particular aspect of her personality to Michael. Her instability and her tendency to lie-to make up a false world in order to escape from the one she was trapped in…. Lincoln had been too young to understand all the details, but he knew she lied to them about their father, for example….
Their dad had walked out on them, and Lincoln held no great love for the man-but he didn’t remember his father ever laying a hand on his mother, nor did he recall the screaming fights she claimed they’d had over her pregnancy with Michael. Lincoln would sit quietly and grit his teeth when their mom told Michael about the beatings she received at the hands of his ‘no-good’ father, and the fighting they had engaged in nightly for months before he left.
It was easier for Lincoln to let his mother tell these stories, and easier to let Michael believe them, so Lincoln did not say a word, but he was angry with her, and didn’t understand why she lied about dad all the time….
It wasn’t until years later, when Michael began to exhibit the same tendencies, that Lincoln realised their mother had been unstable…but he never told Michael; he could not. He loved his brother too much to destroy the pedestal the boy held his mother up upon…
So Lincoln sat and watched Michael sleep, and tried to push away the bad memories of their mother-the times she lied, the times she screamed at Lincoln for no reason, the times she spent locked in her room, talking out loud to no one…. Lincoln knew, even then, as a small child, that she was not well, and years later, when Michael began to do the same, it broke the older brother’s heart.
Michael began to whimper in his sleep, and Lincoln knew he was having another nightmare. Gently, he reached out to shake him out of it.
“Mike? Wake up, Mike…I’m gonna go to my bedroom now, okay? You were…having a nightmare again…wake up, baby…”
Michael came awake and stared up at Lincoln, “I was dreaming about mom….” He said in a raspy sleepy voice.
Lincoln managed a small smile, “Is it okay if I go to my bed now, Michael?” he asked quietly, standing up.
“Sleep here with me? Please?” Michael’s voice sounded raw with desperation.
Lincoln knew Michael was really far too old for this sort of thing, but he decided he would deal with that another time. He smiled down reassuringly and got back into bed beside his little brother, pulling him close, “Go back to sleep, Mike…” he whispered in the darkness.
Michael rolled close and snuggled against his older brother contentedly-and Lincoln tried not to think about how good that felt.
LINCOLN’S NIGHTMARE:
He must have fallen asleep, because he was dreaming of her again…their mother. The way she had looked before she got sick-all beautiful and needy…and naked. She was sliding into bed with Lincoln-the way Michael did now-she was pressed against her son wantonly….
“Please, Lincoln…” she was moaning, “Love me…love me like your father used too…you look so much like him, baby…”
And Lincoln was recoiling from her, disgusted and angry. He was only fifteen-why was she doing this to him, her own son? He wanted to scream at her, even hit her-but he dared not, not with Michael sleeping only a few feet away…
. His mother grasped his erection and stroked him to hardness, then led him to her wetness, begging in that breathy voice of hers for Lincoln to fuck her, to make her feel good.
Lincoln closed his eyes and pushed inside her tight wet hole and began to piston his hips the way she had taught him to when they first made love two years before.
“Oh, that’s it…” she moaned against his ear, pulling him close, and arching her back, “Make love to me, Linc….fuck me….be a good little man and fuck me…”
And Lincoln did-he fucked her until he came inside her, and then she would lead one of his hands to her pussy and make him finger her until she orgasmed silently, biting his shoulder to keep from waking Michael, her whole body wracked with shudders and a slick wetness spreading over her son’s fingers and spent sex, as he gently withdrew from her. …
Lincoln awoke in a cold sweat suddenly, and breathed a sigh of relief that it had only been a dream-a dream born of memory. Silently, tears slid down his face as he recalled the sexual abuse their mother had inflicted on him until, at last, she was too sick to come to his bed any longer.
Michael, of course, knew nothing of this either. Lincoln never told him about it, of course. To Michael, their mother was an angel-but Lincoln knew she was the devil, and even though she was long since dead, she still tormented him.
Lincoln had hated it-had hated her. He was honestly happy when she got cancer. She deserved to suffer after what she forced him to do to her for years….and Lincoln never told a soul about it. Years later, when he was a drug addict with no future and a criminal record, Lincoln knew, deep inside, that what his mother had done to him had contributed to his problems, had led him to a life of angry desperation…..and every time Michael glared at him, put him down or looked at his older brother with disgust, Lincoln wanted to scream at him and tell him the truth…but he never did.
Gradually, as he came awake, Lincoln realised that Michael too was awake-and gently, slowly humping Lincoln’s hip in the darkness, making a low, keening noise in his throat.
“What are you doing, Michael?” Lincoln asked in a tone that told Michael he knew exactly what he was doing.
It wasn’t exactly the first time they had done this sort of thing together, but Lincoln had half-hoped that, during his time in prison, Michael would have outgrown his need for this. Lincoln closed his eyes and cursed his mother silently for passing this particular sickness on to Michael-and him-- as well.
“You want me to stop?” Michael asked, his voice low and husky.
Lincoln said nothing for a while, just closing his eyes and enjoying the touch, but when Michael’s hand drifted lower, to stroke just below the waistband of his boxers, he stiffened slightly, “You should stop…” he said in a shaky voice, “We shouldn’t…”
Michael stilled his hand, but did not pull it away. Hesitantly, he pressed his lips between Lincoln’s shoulder blades, and then rested his forehead there, whispering, “It’s okay, you know…if you…need this. I won’t tell anyone…. I need it too…”
Lincoln heard himself gasp involuntarily at Michael’s words and pulled himself away, his mouth impossibly dry, “Stop,” he begged, sounding angry, “I don’t want to, Mike…”
The younger brother looked up at his older brother sadly, “I know…” he said softly, “but you’re Linc…you’re my…everything…please? Love me? Make me feel good?”
Lincoln gasped as Michael uttered exactly the same words his mother had once uttered when she wanted the same thing from him-and he hated her more at that moment, then he ever had before.
Before Lincoln could reply, Michael’s lips closed over Lincoln’s and the older man whimpered softly at the feel of them, so soft and warm. He opened his mouth instinctively, letting Michael’s tongue sweep over his languidly, “Please, Linc…” Michael whispered desperately as he broke the kiss, looking at his brother with pleading eyes.
Lincoln felt his last bit of resolve faltering. He had been locked up for almost a year, and he was desperate himself-for sex, for affection, for pleasure from something other than his own hand and fantasises, “Michael…” he groaned, letting his little brother kiss him deeply again.
“Let me suck you, Linc…” Michael whispered seductively, and Lincoln nodded tightly, hating himself for giving in again.
Michael smirked and slowly descended his brother’s muscular form, taking Lincoln’s thick cock from his sweats and sliding his hot mouth over it.
Lincoln groaned and arched up off the bed wantonly, his groan turning to an impossibly erotic whimper as he gripped Michael’s head and guided his brother over his hard flesh, “God Michael!” he gasped as his cock was enveloped in the white heat of his little brother’s mouth. He bucked upwards, uncontrolled and desperate for release.
Lincoln came quickly-the fastest he’d ever come from a blowjob, spilling heavily into Michael’s mouth, eyes tightly closed, moans escaping his lips.
When Lincoln opened his eyes, Michael was straddling his hips with his cock in his own hand, stroking it quickly while he stared down at his older brother’s body, taking in the beauty of it. When he saw that Lincoln was watching, he blushed and looked down, stopping his strokes instantly and whimpering.
“Can I?” Michael asked in a small, submissive voice.
Lincoln gave him a tight nod again and watched, with a dazed, distant stare, as Michael began to pleasure himself.
Part of Lincoln wanted to reach out and stroke the flesh himself, and another part of him was absolutely disgusted by the thought. He settled for just watching, amazed at how beautiful Michael looked as he masturbated before him, lost to his pleasure, his body flushed and moving erotically.
“Can I come on you?” Michael asked, breathless and close.
Lincoln wanted to say no, wanted to be repulsed by the idea, but he could not-he wanted it, “Yeah…” he managed to say, swallowing thickly as he said it.
With a painful cry, Michael released himself moments later, white liquid spurting forth from his sex, and landing all over Lincoln’s belly and chest as the younger man leaned over his older brother’s naked form.
Lincoln watched, transfixed-- it was a truly gorgeous sight. He heard himself grunt as the semen showered him, then reached up to help support Michael’s balance as the boy shook in the aftermath of his climax violently.
At last, the tremors subsided and Michael opened his eyes to stare at Lincoln, not sure how his brother was going to react to what had just passed between them. He could not read the older man’s _expression as Lincoln stared up into his eyes. But then the older man smiled gently and pulled Michael down on top of him, cradling the younger man in a tender embrace, “It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, “Shhhh…”
Lincoln cried then, hot tears spilling onto his face in the dark-tears of realisation that they had crossed the Rubicon, and there was no going back. They had never gone this far before-but now they would only go further and further-and they both knew it.
After that, they progressed to lovemaking, and after they first made love, they did it every night.
The first night they had sex, Michael had been blowing Lincoln in their bed, when he stopped suddenly, and crawled up Lincoln’s nude body, straddling his hips, “Fuck me?” he asked.
Lincoln groaned in defeat and then shook his head, “Not like this…lay on your belly…”
Michael knew why Lincoln wanted him on his stomach-so he wouldn’t have to look his little brother in the eye while he fucked him. Michael smiled slightly at the notion, and did as Lincoln asked.
Lincoln slicked his cock with salvia and lay down against his brother, finding his entrance in the darkness of the living room, hearing Michael gasp in pleasure as he slipped on finger inside, and then another, preparing the boy quickly.
“This what you want, Mikey?” he grunted, kissing the boy’s ear, “Want me to fuck you? God-why? Why do you want this? Why do you make me want this?”
He sounded tormented, sad-confused. Michael wanted to turn over and look at his brother. He wanted to stroke the man’s face and tell him that it was all right to want this. He wanted to tell Lincoln that he loved him, and that he wanted to make love to him and with him because of that love. But Lincoln was heavy against him, preventing any real movement, “YES!” Michael cried out instead, and moments later, Lincoln entered him.
“Oh fuck!” Lincoln cried out drunkenly, his hips moving erratically against Michael’s body, “So tight!”
He tried to be gentle, guessing it was the boy’s first time-but the need was too great, and he slammed against Michael’s willing body harder and harder, seeking release.
Beneath him, Michael was completely still and moaning into a pillow loudly. Lincoln was not sure if his moans were from pleasure or pain, but at that point, he didn’t care, “I’m gonna come!” he grunted against Michael’s ear, licking it wetly.
Michael turned his head to the side so Lincoln could hear him, “Come inside me, please!”
His words were all it took for Lincoln to fall into the abyss of orgasm. He thrust a final time and came, pouring himself inside Michael’s body, a primal groan escaping his lips that he did not even recognise as his own, as he came forever.
Michael whimpered in protest as Lincoln gently slipped from his body, then smiled as he felt his older brother’s lips against his back, kissing it softly, “Oh, Mike…” he moaned, his words slurred with alcohol and exhaustion.
“Sleep,” Michael said gently.
In a moment, Lincoln was sound asleep.
Months past.
Lincoln had known for a long time that Michael was not normal. He had always been a bit left of the middle. But after he emerged from his latest lock up, and after he began sleeping with Michael, Lincoln began to see that his brother’s problems were serious, and he began to remind Linc for all the world of their mother. The thought made Lincoln sick to his stomach.
He watched as Michael would withdraw from everyone and everything, living in his own, silent world for days at a time. When he was like that, no one could reach him, except possibly Lincoln.
He would emerge from this self-imposed exile after a few days and act like nothing had happened, talking and acting like he used too-but these silent, almost trance-like states became more and more frequent…. Lincoln could bring him out of them by talking quietly to him, and holding him-but if anyone else spoke to him or tried to touch him, Michael would lose control and strike out.
When he came to Lincoln for sex, the older brother always gave in to him, as he had with their mother, though he knew what they were doing was wrong.
There was a reason why Lincoln made love to Michael-and it had nothing to do with sex or his own desire for the boy. He simply knew the boy needed it, and without it, he was certain Michael would lose whatever tentative hold he had on himself.
Michael, after all, had been abandoned all of his life-and Lincoln was the only real family he had. Somewhere along the line-Lincoln could not put his finger on when, exactly-Michael’s love for Lincoln had…changed. It had gone from childhood worship of a big brother to..something darker, more obsessive. His brotherly love for the person who had tried-though often failed-to care for him when he was a child, had twisted into a bizarre kind of possessive love that one should only feel for a lover.
Lincoln knew, instinctively, that this was all very wrong and very dangerous. He knew that if he continued to sleep with Michael, he risked making Michael’s problems worse, but he feared not sleeping with Michael and not giving the boy what he so badly wanted and needed even more. And neither boy had ever known a normal existence-how could they start one now?
Then the lies started. Michael began to fabricate events that never happened, conversations that never occurred. And it wasn’t childish make-believe stories, but stories with immense detail-stories that had been thought out thoroughly and planned.
At first, Lincoln believed that Michael was only telling the lies to other people to hide how dysfunctional his older brother was, how lonely and sad his own life was. That would have been understandable. But slowly, Lincoln began to realise that the lies Michael told, he believed himself. To Michael, they were not lies-they were his truth.
Lincoln knew he had to confront this head on, and he tried.
One day, when Michael got home from school, Lincoln was waiting for him in the kitchen.
“Michael, we need to talk,” Lincoln said softly, motioning for his brother to sit at the kitchen table.
Michael watched his brother intently, trying to figure out what was wrong, “Yes?” he asked nervously as sat down.
Lincoln kept his face carefully neutral, and did not meet Michael’s eyes as he began the hardest conversation he’d ever had with Michael, “Baby boy…I want to talk to you about…some of the things that you’ve been saying and doing….do you remember what mom got you for your eighth birthday, Mike?”
Michael looked at his older brother with a confused _expression-why were they talking about his eighth birthday? -and then thought about it, coming up with the answer quickly, “That book-from mom. On origami.”
Lincoln smiled gently and nodded, “That’s right. And do you remember how much you liked it? And how I kept teasing you and saying it was stupid?”
Michael had to smile at the memory as he nodded, “Yeah…”
Lincoln shifted uncomfortably in his chair and reached across the table to clasp one of Michael’s hands in his own, “Baby, I still think origami is stupid, you know what I mean?”
Michael’s eyebrows knitted together, bewildered, “No, I don’t…” he replied honestly.
Lincoln took a deep breath and steadied himself, then plunged ahead, speaking slowly and calmly, “Michael, I don’t make those birds for you-the ones you think I make and leave around the apartment for you? I don’t do that, baby. You do it. You make those cranes, not me. Do you understand?”
Michael squinted at Lincoln, then began to shake his head in disbelief, “No, you make them. You leave them for me-so I’ll know you’re there for me…that you love me.”
Lincoln’s heart was breaking, but he had to deal with this, so he went on, “No, Michael-you make them, and then you make yourself believe that its me…I don’t know why. But you d, and you’ve been doing it for a while, and it freaks me out. I think its because you’re lonely, or…”
He could not bring himself to say the words….
“Or what?” Michael pressed demanding.
So Lincoln was forced to say the words, “Or…sick. I think you…might be sick, Michael.”
There was a dead silence and then, “Why are you doing this?” Michael asked, in anguish, “Why are you lying and trying to make me think I’m crazy? Why would you do that? I know you make them for me! I would remember if I made them myself!”
Lincoln swallowed thickly and tried to keep the tears in his eyes from spilling onto his face. He stared at the middle of the kitchen table and squeezed his brother’s hand softly, “There’s more, Michael. There are other things you…believe that…aren’t true. Like that story you told V about the monsters in your closet, and how I told you fear was nothing but air? Michael, I never said that to you. We never had that conversation…”
Michael was hyperventilating now, shaking his head emphatically, “You did! I was nine years old, and…”
“No!” Lincoln cut him off angrily, then instantly felt regret when he saw Michael jump in fear at his booming voice, “There’s lots more I could tell you, other shit you think is real, that’s not-lots of stuff! Stuff you tell kids at school your teachers…and those spells you have-where you don’t talk for days? That’s not normal, Michael! You can’t go on doing stuff like that…. Michael, you need some help. And..I’m gonna get it for you. V thinks that maybe a therapist…”
“I don’t need a fucking therapist!” Michael snarled, standing up suddenly, “I need you to stop lying to me!”
“And I need you to stop lying to yourself, Mike,” Lincoln replied sadly. He looked up at his younger brother and felt as if his heart was being torn from his body when he saw the look of torment and betrayal on his younger brother’s face, “Please…let me get you some help, Michael. You’ve been through…so much-and I’ve been a shit brother to you these past few years. Its only natural that you might have some…problems, you know?”
Michael began to shake violently. Then, when Lincoln embraced him, he went completely slack in his arms. He stared into space and looked to be in a trance. Lincoln knew that look well, and he felt a stab of panic coarse through him.
This was all way beyond Lincoln-nothing in his life had ever prepared him for dealing with something like this. He had been a child when their mother had gone mad, and he wasn’t able to comprehend what was happening to his brother or why.
Lincoln stood and approached his brother cautiously, “Michael, answer me, please?”
Michael’s face went startlingly pale and his eyes seemed lost and far away. He trembled and seemed unable to react or speak.
Lincoln closed his eyes, “Don’t, Michael…please. Don’t…close up on me! Stay with me, Michael…don’t do this…”
But Michael was gone, and Lincoln knew it. It had happened before.
He called Veronica and an ambulance and they took his little brother away to the psychiatric ward of the local hospital.
Michael came out of his stupor long enough to fight the ambulance workers, screaming at Lincoln as they drug him away, “No! Linc! Don’t do this! Don’t let them take me away! Please? I need you! Don’t send me away!”
Lincoln nearly gave in-would have, if Veronica had not held him back, saying, “Let him go, Lincoln. It’s the best thing for him right now. He needs help.”
Lincoln slowly sank to the floor, his head in his hands, and cried like a baby.
For a few days, they would not even let Lincoln see his brother-and when they did, Lincoln was almost sorry he visited.
Michael was catatonic, lost in a ‘walking coma’, as they called it.
When he finally was allowed to visit, Lincoln could not believe the state he found Michael in.
“Oh, God…” Lincoln had to look away, not even recognising the person who sat in the hospital room.
The doctor gently led Lincoln out of the room and into a large office.
“Your brother has developed what we believe to be a Dissociative Personality Disorder.” A doctor told him matter-of-factly, talking about Michael as if he were an animal in a lab experiment.
Lincoln stared at the doctor blankly, “Look, Doc-I didn’t finish the tenth grade, okay? I need you to speak English.”
The doctor smiled at the remark, and rephrased it, “Your brother suffered great loss, and compensated for that by creating a fantasy life for himself-one where he wasn’t always so alone. He made you the centre of that fantasy. And the stories that he tells are not lies-at least not to him. He believes that they really happened. He needs to believe that they happened-otherwise he would have lost his ay long ago. Otherwise, he could go insane now.”
Lincoln shook his head, “He seems pretty insane already, Doc…”
“Yes, but its different. As long as Michael can cling to his ‘lies’, as you call them, he can maintain the veneer of a normal life. If those lies are taken from him, and he is faced with the real truth of his life, well….what you see now happening to him will be nothing compared to the damage he could do to himself.”
“So, what’s the answer? We let him go on lying to himself?” Lincoln asked, feeling frustrated and confused.
“No,” the doctor replied firmly, “But…we have to move slowly. This will be a long process.”
Lincoln knew what that meant.
“Look, doc-you know, I am all Michael has, family-wise, and we don’t have any money. Shit, I don’t even have insurance. I don’t even know how I’m going to pay for this-we can’t sign up for anything long-term.”
The doctor looked longingly at Lincoln, as if he were desperate to help him, but did not know how, “We will keep him here for as long as we can, and do whatever we can to help him.”
Lincoln nodded sadly, “I understand.”
He visited Michael, and stroked the boy’s face lovingly as Michael stared into space, silent and lost in his own world, “Oh baby boy…I wish I could help you. I wish I could take all your pain away…”
That night, back at their apartment, Lincoln stared at his latest ‘shipment’ from Creb.
He was supposed to sell the heroin, but he felt it call his name. He wanted to forget…needed to. All the pain, all the responsibility-Lincoln wasn’t sure he could handle it. He reached for the bag, and dipped a finger into the powder, rubbing it over his gums the way he had seen other users do.
The numbing effect was almost immediate, and Lincoln sank back onto his bed, floating away into a blissful state of nothingness, where there was no Michael, no responsibility, no promises made to long-dead mothers…nothing.
He liked it.
END FLASHBACK
Back in his cell, Lincoln pondered his relationship with Michael, and its many facets. Michael’s illness had been the biggest fear Lincoln held for him-that he would lose his mind and not be able to retrieve it.
Lincoln always blamed himself for not sending Michael away when his younger brother came to his bed at night. Michael wasn’t well, and Linc knew that-he should have been stronger….he was, after all, the older one…but he had been so lonely and he did love Michael so much. He could never send Michael away when he asked to sleep with him.
Sometimes, all Michael wanted was to be held and soothed after a nightmare, and even though Linc knew it was rather…odd that a sixteen year old boy still crawled in bed with his older brother after a nightmare, Lincoln was happy to do it because he knew it would make Michael happy.
It was the other times that tormented Lincoln and made him feel like a pervert and an abuser…it was the times when Michael would come to his bed naked, and aroused…and begin to touch his older brother in a way that was so many levels of wrong-and Lincoln would let him because it felt good, and a part of him wanted it, even though he knew how wrong it was. Michael had been fourteen when that started, and it didn’t stop until…well, it never really stopped.
So many times, Lincoln tried to end things-tried to explain to Michael how wrong it was, and he had wanted so badly, at those times, to tell Michael the truth about their mother-that she had raped Lincoln and lied to them and that she was mentally ill, and unbalanced, and had visited her perversions on her own sons….but Lincoln could never bring himself to say the words, and Michael never stopped needing him, so the cycle of sickness continued.
And it led them both eventually to Fox River.
It was almost as if there were two separate Michaels-the one who was needy and young and sweet and lost-and the other one, a sexual being with demands and wants that Lincoln wanted to fulfil, but hated himself for fulfilling. And there was the calm, cool and collected Michael-the brilliant engineer-and the crazy Michael-obsessed with details, unable to handle the business of his mind, sick with constant stimuli….now, here at Fox River, those two Michaels seemed to have finally merged into one.
The thought terrified Lincoln.
FLASHBACK:
Lincoln knew the instant he walked into their apartment that something was wrong. He looked at Michael with a worried _expression, “Hey Mike…” he said uneasily, closing the door slowly.
Michael looked up at his brother with a bitter _expression. He was sitting on the couch, with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them-he looked all of ten years old, “How was work, Linc?” Michael asked, his voice low and sarcastic.
“Fine,” Lincoln replied, giving his younger brother a strange look and crossing the room to look at the mail, “How was school?”
Michael sneered slightly and tossed his head, “Fine…I went to see you-at work today.”
Lincoln gave Michael a knowing look, and said nothing.
“So,” Michael continued, “Where do you REALLY work, Linc? Do you even have a job?”
Lincoln rubbed the back of his neck and tried to remain calm, “I work Michael.” Was all he said.
Michael glared at him with distain, “Where?” he demanded.
“I work for Andrezani…that’s all you need to know,” Lincoln replied, dejectedly.
Michael shook his head in disgust, “What do you do for him, Linc? Beat the shit out of people who don’t pay protection money to the mob? Or maybe you sell drugs to school kids?”
“Enough!” Lincoln snarled, angry and frustrated at Michael’s inability to see that he was doing all of this for him, “You stay out of it! I am not talking about it!”
Michael knew Linc well enough to know that if he continued this any further, he was in for a beating-Lincoln solved problems with his fists. Sighing heavily, he gave up, “Fine.” He whispered.
Lincoln gave Michael a look that spoke of hurt and a sense of…betrayal, “You judging me, Mike? Because you really have no fucking right! I did it for you! So you could be with me, and not in some children’s home!”
“Mom would roll over in her grave if she saw what you’ve become!” Michael seethed at him, his eyes wild and accusing.
Lincoln exploded, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking DARE bring her into this! She asked me to look after you-and I have! The best way I could-it wasn’t always good, I know-but I did the best I could. That’s all she could ask-and all you can ask! Fuck! I was a kid myself when I took you on-a kid myself when I had LJ-what the fuck do you want from me, Michael?”
There was an angry silence as both brothers regarding one another. Michael was the first to look away, breaking eye contact and sighing heavily, “Okay,” he whispered, defeated and knowing it, “Whatever-you win, Linc. Do what you want. I wish mom hadn’t died…things would be so much better if she had lived…”
Lincoln felt rage well up within him. He wanted so badly to grab Michael, shake him, and tell him the truth-that things would probably only be much worse if mama had lived because she was a sick freak, that she was a pathological liar, just like he was, that he was working for the local mob boss because it was the only way he could afford to pay Michael’s shrink bills. He was working for that horrible man and doing terrible things just so Michael could maybe have a chance at getting better and not ending up in a psych ward for the rest of his life.
Lincoln wanted to scream out the truth-but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and punched the wall as hard as he could, causing the younger brother to jump in surprise and fear, “It’s not what I want, Michael-I’ve NEVER gotten what I want, okay? Its…the way it has to be right now….and mom wasn’t the saint you think she was, Mike! Trust me!”
Michael’s eyes narrowed accusingly, “What’s that supposed to mean?” he hissed.
Lincoln bit his lip to prevent the words from falling from his mouth, “Don’t…don’t worry about it…” he said at last.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Michael asked softly, sensing something just below the surface, and reaching out for it.
“Plenty!” Lincoln sneered.
“Talk to me, Linc…” Michael begged, suddenly contrite.
“No…” Lincoln replied firmly.
And they left it at that-both of them afraid to push any further, neither really wanting to go there….
Michael stared at the floor; unable to meet Lincoln’s blazing eyes, and feeling guilt creep into his mind. He knew that Lincoln was right-he did what he did for Michael.
Lincoln retreated to his bedroom, slamming the door for emphasis. Michael knew that he was going in there to smoke some weed, maybe do a line of coke…whatever it was that he did when he needed to calm down. And the guilt within Michael only deepened-this was all his fault. Lincoln wouldn’t be doing any of this-working for the mob, selling drugs, taking them-if he didn’t have to look after his sorry ass.
When Lincoln emerged a few hours later, angry still, and high as a kite, Michael was sitting in living room watching TV. Silently, Lincoln sat beside him, then reached for his brother and pulled him close, kissing his forehead, his cheeks and finally deeply kissing him on the mouth.
He hated himself for wanting this-for doing this. He was no better then their mother, who had used him for sex when he was just a boy-and would have most likely, used Michael in the same way if she had lived. He was just continuing her sick game… but he did so much for Michael-now it was Michael’s turn to do something for him. Besides, it wasn’t as if the kid didn’t want it-at least, that was how he justified it to himself.
He pulled Michael on to his lap and held the younger brother’s face in his palms as he kissed him, lifting his hips slightly to rub his hardness against Michael’s ass suggestively.
“Oh..” Michael moaned, breaking the kiss and panting against Lincoln’s mouth gently, looking at his big brother with heavy lidded eyes.
“I want to fuck you,” Lincoln growled low in his throat, and the sound of his gruff voice made Michael harden almost instantly, “I need to, Michael…”
Michael laid his head against his big brother’s chest, and nodded against it, “Take me to bed then,” he replied in a hoarse whisper.
So Lincoln did.
Then the brothers were naked and skin was sliding against skin, and it was like the best heroin in the world, Michael’s body….
“God, I love this,” Lincoln groaned as he slid all the way inside to the hilt, feeling Michael shudder beneath him. He placed wet kisses to the boy’s neck, “Being inside you like this…I love you, Michael. Everything I’m doing…I’m doing it for you, baby…so you won’t end up like her…””
Michael whimpered softly, not understanding what Lincoln meant, and turned his head to meet Lincoln’s demanding lips. They kissed for a long moment before Lincoln began to move inside him, and the older man used the kissing-and the sex-as an apology to Michael.
It was an apology Michael seemed to accept, because he began to move with his brother as one, and soon he was whispering, “I love you..I love you…” over and over again, against Lincoln’s ear as they made love slowly and tenderly in the twilight of the evening, “I’m sorry…so sorry…that you have to take care of me…”
For Lincoln, this was about desire-a desire he had denied for too long, and that now threatened to overtake him in every way. For Michael, the sex was about connection and love-a physical way to express his need for Lincoln. Alone, in bed, they were both so open, so vulnerable to one another-their true selves exposed.
“No, don’t say that,” Lincoln gasped between kisses, thrusting against his brother, all open and vulnerable and panting beneath him, “Its okay…it’s all right..I want to take care of you, Michael….I love you so much…”
“Oh, Linc…” Michael groaned, sounding almost as if he were in pain, “You’re my whole life, Linc!”
And Lincoln knew that was the truth.
“Ohhhh, I’m coming…” Lincoln gasped quietly against Michael’s neck, tensing and spilling his heat within the boy’s open, vulnerable body under him, feeling Michael shudder as he filled him, and letting his eyes roll back in his head at the perfection of the pleasure.
He continued to move, thrusting gently against Michael’s lithe body for a few more moments, trying to hold on to the bliss, and wanting to make Michael come while he was still inside of him.
With a soft cry, Michael gripped Lincoln’s shoulders, clawing at them a bit too hard, as he found release, coming against his own belly and Linc’s, hearing the older man groan as the warm liquid spilled between them, “That’s it, baby…come for me…come for Linc…” Lincoln said in an impossibly husky voice that caused Michael to yelp with lingering desire.
Spent, they lay entangled and covered in sweat and semen. Lincoln’s fell to one side and brought Michael with him, crushing the boy against his massive body, both of them trembling and caressing one another as they came down from their respective highs.
Theirs had always been a dysfunctional, damaging relationship-for both of them. Michael-so needy and mentally unbalanced-and Lincoln-so angry and self-destructive. They both needed and loved one another desperately because there had only been the two of them against the world for so long-but they knew, instinctively, that their need and love was unhealthy, so the relationship always teetered on the edge of resentment.
It was the same with sex. When they made love, both of them knew it was wrong, but also knew that they could not and would not stop. The pleasure, both physical and emotional, was blindingly good, but it was always followed by a deep, silent regret that hung heavily in the air between them.
For Lincoln, there was the added guilt of being the older one-the one who was supposed to know better and protect the younger one. Sometimes, when he got drunk or stoned, he would berate himself mentally, convinced that he was raping Michael, betraying the boy’s devotion and trust, becoming their mother….
For his part, Michael felt guilty for making Lincoln want him-he felt that Lincoln would never have crossed that line, would never have begun a physical relationship with Michael, if he had not initiated it, practically begged for it.
Lincoln was a wild child right from the start-always in trouble. As he grew older, and began dabbling in drugs and drink and sex, he became more and more dysfunctional, but his love for Michael was one thing that never wavered. It was the one thing that no one could accuse him of not feeling.
Michael had always been quiet and withdrawn and not completely stable. The death of their mother made things even worse for him. He often told Lincoln about the ‘noise in his head’ and his inability to quiet it. When he made love with Lincoln, the noise was quieted-at least for a short time.
But Michael was only getting worse-and Lincoln knew it.
Lincoln finally knew his brother was insane the day he realised that Michael was making hundreds of origami birds, and then placing them all over their shared apartment-and then telling people that Lincoln made them. That Lincoln made them for him-to let him know that he was there for Michael, looking out for him.
It was a particularly bad time in their lives-Lincoln was deeply involved with drugs and could not get through the day without them. He went out most nights, leaving Michael alone. He would drink and get stoned and sometimes bring a girl back to the apartment, and have sex with her in the bedroom he shared with Michael. He knew the boy heard them, saw them…but Michael always pretended to be asleep.
After the girl would leave, Lincoln would come to Michael’s bed and tell him he loved him and they would end up having heated sex. Lincoln knew Michael hated these other girls-he was jealous of them-and he knew Michael was worried about him.
But he didn’t know the lengths Michael would go to create an alternate reality for himself-a place where he was safe and his brother wasn’t a druggy and a con-until the day he found nearly seventy paper birds under Michael’s bed. And until the day V asked him if it was true that he made those little birds for Michael.
“What?” Lincoln asked, looking at Veronica as if she were insane, “No! Mike makes those himself-lots of ‘em, too. I don’t know why the fuck he does it…why did you think I made that shit?”
Veronica’s face went pale and she looked away, “it’s just that Michael told me….well, he told me you made them. Why would he lie like that?”
Lincoln gave her a lopsided grin, “He was probably just fucking with you, V!” he laughed.
Veronica gave Lincoln a sharp glare, “He wasn’t, Linc. He was…serious when he said it….”
Veronica told Lincoln how she had found Michael alone in the apartment at three in the morning two nights earlier. She had stopped by when she saw Lincoln out at a bar on her way home, and decided to check on Michael and see if he was all right.
VERONICA’S STORY:
Michael sat shivering in the cold apartment, waiting by the front door in a large lounge chair, with a blanket wrapped around his thin frame.
“Michael, what are you doing here in the dark? You okay?” she asked as she entered, kneeling beside the chair, “You’re freezing, Mike! Why isn’t the heat on?”
“Linc forgot to pay the bill, and they turned it off,” Michael replied flatly.
Veronica rolled her eyes at that, “Oh, Michael…I’ll take care of it for you tomorrow, I promise, okay? Right now, you need to get to bed. Lincoln’s going to be…out for a while.”
“Mike, what are these?” she asked, picking up one of the delicate creations and examining it closely.
Michael smiled for the first time that evening and took it from her, “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he breathed in wonder, “Linc has to…go out a lot, and…work and stuff. He makes these for me, and puts them all over the place, so when I find them I will know he’s thinking of me, and looking after me. The bird is like a symbol, you know? Lets me know he’s there for me…”
Veronica smiled to think that Lincoln would do something so kind-and so completely out of character-for Michael, “That’s sweet.” She whispered, helping the boy into bed.
“Yeah, he loves me…he does. He takes such good care of me. I love finding these birds. He does it just for me…” Michael continued, his eyes blank and…strange; his voice full of hero-worship for his big brother.
Veronica smiled down at Michael, pausing to kiss his forehead, “Of course he does,” she said soothingly, “Get some sleep now, Michael.”
Long after Michael had fallen into a troubled sleep, Veronica stayed by his bedside, staring at those origami birds….
The social worker’s name was Irene and she was exactly what Lincoln had expected her to be. She turned up at precisely one o’clock, in her starched suit, and wearing too much eye makeup. When he opened the door, Irene gave Lincoln that look that was fast growing used to from polite society-a look of slight distain, mixed with utter bewilderment.
“Thanks for coming’,” he managed to say without gritting his teeth, as he swung the door wide and invited Irene in.
She smiled in a condescending way and walked in, noting the messy living room in a way that reminded Lincoln of Michael, and the way his brain automatically catalogued everything as soon as he walked into a room.
Irene sat on the couch without being invited to do so, and looked up at Lincoln, “So, I assume you asked me here to talk about your brother?”
Lincoln instantly disliked this woman, but he knew that these were the people, the kind of people, who held the keys to his future, and Michael’s-these middle class idiots who did not understand anything he had been through, but were so eager to judge him, “Yeah, its about Michael,” he admitted, sitting uneasily in a chair across from her, not quite knowing how to begin.
“I guess…Michael’s told you that I got busted, right?” he started, and Irene nodded disapprovingly.
Lincoln fought mightily to keep control of his temper, fighting the urge to say something snide, “Yeah, well…it’s my third offence. Three strikes and you’re out and all that…I’m gonna be doin’ real time this time.”
Irene swallowed visibly, and looked anywhere but at Lincoln Burrows.
I just want to make sure that while I’m away, Michael can keep getting help. He sees this…psychologist a few times a month. I usually pay for it, so I don’t know if there is some kind of welfare payment or something that would…pay for something like that?”
Lincoln took a deep breath, calming himself and steeling his nerves for Irene’s response.
“I’m afraid there is no such provision, Lincoln.” She replied curtly.
“Listen, Michael has…problems….”
“I am aware of your brother’s condition. I doubt they are so serious that he requires psychological counselling.” Irene replied efficiently.
“That’s bullshit!” Lincoln could contain his temper no longer, “You don’t know! You think you do…yeah, he’s got Low Latent Inhibition, but there’s more…lots more. Stuff only I know….”
Now Irene seemed truly interested. She leaned forward silently, and narrowed her eyes at the young man before her, “I’m listening,” she said, and for the first time, Lincoln believed her.
“He…makes stuff up. Lies. All the time-thing is, I think he believes the lies are true. He tells stories about growing up-things that never happened. He tells stories about stuff I’ve done for him that I never did.”
Irene narrowed her eyes further, “I have no idea what you are talking about, Lincoln,” she said, sounding utterly confused.
“Neither do I, really…” Lincoln replied, almost wistfully, “At the hospital they called it Dissociative Personality Disorder. But he could never be officially diagnosed because we didn’t have medical insurance….anyway; he has these…episodes, where he goes off somewhere else in his head. He won’t talk and he won’t interact with anyone but me….its like he’s a zombie or something. But his shrink…he seems to be helping Michael with that…”
“I still see no reason why I should believe any of this,” Irene said sternly.
Lincoln loved Michael so much. The younger boy was all the family that he had in the world, and to admit that he was afraid his brother might be losing his mind was something Lincoln found very difficult to do, “Okay…I’ll give an example. When Mike was seven years old, he saw a show on TV about origami-you know, when you fold up little pieces of paper and make shit out of it?”
Irene nodded slightly bemused by Lincoln’s description of the ancient art.
“He got all interested in it, so for his birthday that year, my mom got him a book on it. And Michael’s been doing it ever since-little paper birds and flowers and all kinds of stuff…I thought it was fucking-sorry-I thought it was…dumb. I always used to ride him about it, you know? Saying it was stupid. …A few years ago, Michael started telling this story about me-that I would go out at night, and leave him alone-which was true-and that he would be scared-which, I guess, was also true. But then he said that he would wake up and there would be an origami bird on his pillow, and he would feel better because he knew that I made it and left it there for him. To let him know…I don’t know what the fuck I was supposed to be letting him know! That I was there for him, watching over him or some shit like that…. I never made those birds! I wouldn’t even know how. And I wouldn’t even want too! But Michael has told that story to everyone we know-even me. He believes it. It’s like he’s convinced himself of all these lies to make his own life seem better then it is.”
Irene considered what Lincoln was saying, and had to agree that it sounded very…odd. But she was not a psychologist, and could not make any diagnosis, “I can talk to my supervisor,” she offered quietly, “And I can recommend a clinical psychologist for Michael to see-one appointed by the state. If he or she agrees that Michael needs treatment to continue, then perhaps we can consider it.”
Lincoln looked visibly relieved, “Thank you,” he whispered gently.
Michael had continued to see a counsellor until he left for Loyola a year later, and seemed to get better. He seemed to have a handle on his problems, and put them behind him-until the day Lincoln saw him at Fox River, and Michael told him all about the escape plan….and until three days ago, when he collapsed in Dr. Tancredi’s office…..
END FLASHBACK
Michael looked like hell when Linc caught sight of him during yard time a few days later. He was pale and drawn, and looked as if he had not eaten or slept. But when he caught Lincoln staring over towards him, he brightened and managed a small smile walking over to the chain fence that separated them, Hey..” he said softly.
Lincoln smiled in return, “Hey, baby boy-how are you feeling?”
With diverted eyes, Michael gave his stock answer, “Better.”
Lincoln gave his younger brother an appraising look, and decided to let it go, “I’ve been so worried, Mike…”
“I’m sorry,” Michael replied bitterly.
Lincoln shook his head sadly, “You don’t have to apologise, baby…” he started to say, but Michael cut him off coldly.
“Why did you tell the doctor about my…problems?” Michael sounded so very betrayed.
“What?” Lincoln looked at his brother, confused, “I had to tell her, Mike-she’s a doctor. She wanted to help you.”
Michael laughed bitterly, “No one can help me-you know that.”
Lincoln sighed and rested his forehead again the chain link fence in defeat, “I know you believe that-but it’s not true. Sometimes…” he looked away, thinking.
“What?” Michael pressed.
“Sometimes…I think you don’t want help.” Lincoln turned back to stare-or rather, glare-at Michael, “And…we need to talk about this, Mike. It’s not going to just go away, but I want to help you. And…we have to talk about mom too…there’s stuff you need to know…”
Michael took a deep breath, “Not now,” he said firmly.
“Then when, Michael?” Lincoln pressed.
“Afterwards….after we…get out…” Michael whispered in reply.
Lincoln nodded slowly, “You’ll let me help you then?”
Michael managed a tight smile, “Yes-after I help you.”
The two men regarded one another for a moment. Then Michael slowly turned and walked away.
Thank you for participating! :)