Michael didn't factor in Sara back at Fox River, but from then on, he had assumed that he had been absolutely certain to factor every possible outcome to every plan he made.
He was wrong.
Michael hadn't factored in getting shot after a run in with the cops weeks after escaping with his brother.
It had started with a car chase:
"They're gaining on us." Michael reported to his brother. To their distress, it wasn't the police that were chasing them. These suits were much higher up, and they wanted both Scofield and Burrows cold and dead. Of course, the brothers didn't know that a specific detail yet…
"I'm going as fast as I can." Lincoln told him, pressing on the gas with all his weight.
"I'm just saying…" Michael mumbling, looking out back window once more.
"No, I'm just saying." Lincoln said firmly through clenched teeth as he tried desperately to lose the three cars chasing them.
"Take the next left." Michael ordered, looking out the window.
"Are you crazy? You want me to take that tight a turn with the speed we're going?"
"Do it." Michael said again. He had already checked their speed and done the math out in his head. They could make it.
Lincoln didn't have to say he was going to comply; he just did it. He frantically turned the wheel to the left and sped down the narrow street. They lost two cars, but the one that had been farthest away had had time to calculate the turn and proceeded to tail them.
"We still got one." Michael said.
"I don't know where we are." Lincoln said, following the road. "It's kinda difficult to plan a complicated getaway without knowing the streets. The last thing we need is turning onto a street with a dead end, during a car chase." That's when the driver of the car behind them began to fire off shots. "Jesus!" Lincoln and Michael ducked down, hearing the bullets collide with the back windshield's glass.
"They're not shooting to stop us." Michael realized. "They're trying to kill us."
"What? No, they want us incarcerated." Lincoln disagreed. "They're trying to get us to stop the car."
"They're taught to shoot at point-blank range." Michael informed his brother. "If I was that good a shooter, I don't think I would be hitting a windshield when I was aiming for a tire." With that, another bullet hit the glass and shattered it with a sickening bang.
"We're getting out of this car." Lincoln said finally. The brothers' car squealed to a stop, and so did the one behind it. Michael and Lincoln got out and began to run immediately. On foot they had access to alleyways, sewers, buildings… They could lose the guy quickly if they made the right decisions.
After running for a while, they took a sharp turn into an alley, but they were greeted with a large brick wall. Dead end.
"Now what?" Lincoln mumbled to himself. Michael's anxiety-ridden, blue eyes scanned the area, looking for any possible way out. He checked everything down to the number of pebbles on the ground, but nothing seemed to add up to an escape route. They certainly didn't have enough time to outrun the-
There he was.
Standing at the alley's entrance - looking at them both behind dark sunglasses - was the driver from the car that had been behind them. "Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows…" He addressed them with a smile as he cocked his gun in their direction. "What a pleasure." Michael didn't look at him for more than five seconds before continuing to survey the area. Maybe they could get around his right…? His left? Could they jump? Dig under? Find some way to scale the estimated ten foot brick wall that had trapped them in the first place? "It's unfortunate I'll have to execute you this afternoon." The man said insincerely. "Well, it's a little redundant for you, isn't it?" He asked Lincoln. Michael hated the man for saying that. He had put his sweat and blood into breaking his brother out of prison to keep him alive. It couldn't end just like that… because of a stupid brick wall and an uncomfortable circumstance.
The first bullet, though, came without warning, and it hit Michael with unexpected precision. The man in the suit had been staring at Lincoln the whole time he had talked, it hadn't seemed like he had even realized another person was present; it had made hitting Michael completely unpredictable.
"Michael!" Lincoln shouted. The bullet had penetrated his brother's side, and Michael gripped it tightly in an attempt to suppress the bleeding.
The second bullet seemed to come slower. It was aimed at Lincoln, but due to the first one having already been shot, the older brother was more prepared for it. He leapt out of the way and sprang for the mystery man, pummeling him until he was dead on the cool concrete.
"Linc…" Michael whimpered. He couldn't sit up, but he wanted to know what all the noise was; he wanted to know if his brother was okay.
Before getting a verbal answer, his arm was forcibly slung across his brother's shoulders for support as he tried to walk. "We're going to get you help, okay?" Lincoln assured him. "You're gonna be fine."
Michael nodded. He had been pretty badly hurt in the past, even before Fox River. It wasn't his first painful experience by any means.
Everything was in and out of blurriness in Michael's eyes on the long walk back to the car, but pretty soon, he was laying down across the back seats. Lincoln had wiped the glass off of the upholstery and laid a towel down that he kept in the back secretly in case the beachfront life plan worked in their favor.
"How ya holdin' up?" Lincoln asked, getting into the driver's seat and starting the car.
"You can't go to the hospital…" Michael said weakly. His eyes were beginning to close whether he wanted them to or not, and he had to keep blinking them to stay alert. "T-They'll recognize us."
"That's not really a feeling, Michael." Lincoln attempted to focus the conversation on his brother's current state.
"I feel like it's a bad idea to go to the hospital." Michael edited, forcing a sly smirk.
"Thanks for that." Lincoln rolled his eyes and sped up. His brother's quick mind was still present, which was a good sign, but they needed help ASAP.
Okay so maybe the hospital wasn't an option, but Lincoln knew the next best thing. Both he and Michael had been to Dr. Tancredi's office enough to have seen the paper on the bulletin board that listed the emergency phone number list. Granted, they were supposed to be restricted for staff only, but it had been right in front of them every time they had been to the infirmary. How could they not have at least glanced at it. The problem was, Lincoln couldn't quite remember Sara's.
"Michael?" Lincoln said. There was no response. When he glanced in the rearview, he saw his brother's hand slipping from the wound, and a significant amount of blood was leaking from the puncture. "Hey!" Lincoln reached an arm back and gave Michael's face a light smack. "Michael, stay with me." He ordered.
"Hmmm?" Michael hummed, not opening his eyes but instead adjusting his hand back onto the wound and applying weak pressure.
"What's Sara Tancredi's phone number?" He asked, "The emergency one that's on the bulletin board in the infirmary."
Michael groaned. "You want me to recall a random phone number?" He slurred.
"Yes. We need it, man. Come on." Without that number, there was hardly any chance Michael would get treated in time and still be a free man afterward.
"Eight, One, Five…" Michael recalled. He seemed to know what he was talking about, so Lincoln began dialing.
"What next?" He asked.
"Six…" Michael's brows furrowed in concentration… or was it pain? "Nine… Zero."
"Okay, only a little bit left. Come one, man." He encouraged.
"Eight, Five, Nine, Three." Michael finished, rolling on his good side as he bit his lip in pain. He was shivering like it was snowing inside the car. God, there was a lot of blood on the towel that should have been in his body.
"You sure?" Lincoln checked before pressing call, just in case Michael had accidentally recited a number they didn't need to be calling when they had just escaped from prison.
"If memory serves." Michael said, looking his brother in the eye through the rearview. His blue eyes were pained and tense, but they squeezed tight too soon to have given the older brother a chance to see anything else in them.
"Dr. Tancredi." The voice on the other end of the phone greeted. Lincoln was slightly stunned and didn't answer right away, which was cause for alarm to Sara. "Hello?" She asked, a little more urgent.
"Uh, hi. Hello" Lincoln responded awkwardly. "Dr. Tancredi… It's Lincoln. I need to know where you are."
There was a pause. "Lincoln Burrows?" She clarified.
"Yeah. Michael's been shot. You're the only one I can trust to treat him. Can you do it?"
Another pause. "Uh, yeah." She said quickly. "Uh, Absolutely. I'm at my apartment." She told Lincoln the address and instructed him to make sure Michael was keeping pressure on the wound, but that wasn't as easy as it sounded.
"Michael," Lincoln said louder than usual, hanging up the phone. "She says keep pressure on your side."
"Mmmhmmm…" Michael was drifting, and Lincoln knew it, but he wasn't that far from Sara's apartment building. He just had to find a way to keep his brother with it.
"Um… I'm gonna need you to give me that phone number again." Lincoln requested suddenly.
"What?" Michael opened his eyes irritably.
"The phone number. Tell me it again."
"It's the same as the last time I told you." Michael whispered tiredly, allowing his eyes to close again.
"I don't care. Say it again." Lincoln commanded authoritatively.
"Eight, One, Five…" Michael started.
"Okay, so far so good." Lincoln said. "What next?"
"Six?" Michael said it more like a question, and he raised his eyebrow wondering if he was right.
"Yep, keep going." Lincoln pushed on. One more block left. He thought.
"I don't know, Linc. I… I can't remember the rest." Michael sounded exhausted, and his arm had slipped off his side once again allowing the blood to pool onto the towel under him.
"Oh no you don't." Lincoln said, finally parking outside of the apartment building. He quickly climbed out of his seat and once again pulled his brother's arm over his broad shoulders. Michael was shuddering with cold, and he could hardly stand. "Michael, you gotta walk a little." Lincoln told him. If Lincoln Burrows walked into the building with a bloody Michael Scofield in his arms, they'd both be arrested in minutes. "We gotta look kind of normal."
"Okay…" He nodded. He was trying really hard, but with the amount of blood loss, he was lucky he made it to the elevator.
By the time the boys arrived at Sara's room, Michael had become dead weight. His eyes were barely staying open, and Lincoln had to lean him against the wall to knock on the door. "You okay?" He asked his brother as they waited for Sara to let them in.
"I'm bleeding out." Michael stated with exasperation in his voice.
"Lincoln?" Sara opened the door. She glanced to the side to spot Michael. "Dear God…" She said. "Bring him in and get wet that shirt off." Michael's shirt was soggy with blood, and Lincoln noted the heaviness as he lifted it off of his brother's skin.
Dr. Tancredi proceeded to clear the table and help Lincoln lay Michael on top of it. "What happened?" She asked, grabbing some peroxide out of her doctor bag.
"A few guys showed up and one of them tried to kill us." Lincoln explained. "I have no idea who he was or who he worked for." He admitted.
Dr. Tancredi moved to assess the wound, but Michael caught her wrist. "Michael," She said calmly. "let me help you." He looked at her face, lacking certainty. Then he looked at Lincoln's.
"Relax, man." Lincoln said. "She's gonna patch you up." Michael let go.
Dr. Tancredi pulled the peroxide from her bag fully and hesitated before pouring it over the puncture. "This is going to hurt. I'm not going to sugarcoat it." She said.
"Make it quick." Michael said, shutting his eyes. He had been in pain before, sure, but he had never had someone pour peroxide into his deep, bloody, bullet wound.
As agreed, she poured the liquid quickly, but Michael jolted forward with a pained groan. "Lincoln, hold him down." She ordered. He did so in seconds.
The doctor had to fish for the bullet for a few minutes before pulling it out with small pliers. After that, she proceeded to stitch the skin, clean him of the excess blood, and cover the injury with a gauze bandage. "He lost a lot of blood," Dr. Tancredi commented. "but applying pressure helped. He's not going to need a transfusion. He just needs rest." She said.
"Good." Lincoln exhaled with relief. "How ya doin', Michael?" He patted his brother's head.
"...'m tired." Michael chimed in, still struggling to stay awake.
"You're welcome to stay the night here." Sara offered. "I've got more than enough room, and I don't think you should be driving around this late if that guy chasing you two wasn't alone. His partners probably came back and found him."
"We don't want to drag you into all this." Michael said in his trademark, whispered tone. "We can make it to a motel somewhere." He began to sit up, when Sara pushed him back down gently.
"I insist." She said firmly. "I have two fairly large couches with no one using them. I don't need furniture going to waste." When she said it like she was going to be insulted if they were to say anything by 'fine', the guys agreed. "Good." She said. "I'll get some blankets." Michael knew she must have taken his shivering into account, because the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and he was becoming more aware of the wide array of feelings that accompanied gunshot wounds: one of them being the cold.
"Let's get you on the couch, man." Lincoln said, helping Michael up and over to the nearest couch.
"I have blankets," Sara handed them to Lincoln. "As well as a sweatshirt for you." She handed Michael the shirt, which he gladly took and slipped on gingerly.
"We'll be out of here by morning." Michael assured her.
"We'll see about that." Sara nodded. "Right now just focus on resting, okay?" She knelt down and rolled up his sleeve before swabbing a small section of his arm down with an alcohol wipe.
"What's this for?" Michael asked as she removed a needle from her bag and got ready to puncture his skin.
"With a bullet, there's always increased risk of infection. I can give you this to help prevent it." She looked at him for approval, but Lincoln seemed to be the one to know what was right.
"Go ahead and do it, Doc." He nodded. Michael held his arm out willingly, and Dr. Tancredi injected the liquid into Michael's vein, said goodnight to both of them, and left to go to her bedroom for the night.
Michael woke up the next morning still on Sara's couch. He evaluated the light outside and the warmth of his body under the blankets to assume he had been there longer than originally intended, and it was fairly close to noon. "Good, you're up." Lincoln said, sitting on the other couch and looking at his brother. "I thought you were going to sleep forever, for a while, there."
"Believe it or not, I'm still tired." Michael said quietly, still trying to regain strength after the night before.
"You took a bullet to the side and redecorated my car in the process. I believe it."
"I called into work to tell them I was coming in late- Is he awake?" Sara's voice chimed from doorway. She was dressed in scrubs, as if it was a normal work day and there weren't two escaped felons in the middle of her apartment. Michael looked her over silently, before she approached him and touched a hand to his forehead. "How're you feeling, Michael?" She asked.
"Fine." He told her. When she gave him a look that disagreed, he reiterated: "Sore."
"I would expect that. Can I take a look at your wound before I go?" She asked.
"Sure." Michael nodded, taking his shirt off and letting her remove the piece of gauze from his side.
"It looks good." She nodded approvingly. "Keep the wrap on it." She retaped another piece of gauze and stood, but as she headed for the door, she stopped. "Will I be seeing you two again after I walk out of this room?" She asked.
"I don't think so." Lincoln said. "We're leaving soon, but thank you for everything you've done." He stood and shook her hand.
"Take care of him." She told the older brother. 'I love you' she told Michael, but it came out "Goodbye." She left the room with tears in her eyes, and when she stepped in the elevator and pressed the ground floor button, she was surprised to hear the ding of the door-open signal before both doors had even had the chance to close the whole way. Blocking their path was Michael still dressed in Sara's large sweatshirt that he could only assume belonged to her father.
"You should have known 'goodbye' wasn't going to cut it, after you saved my life."
"You're in love with what I did for you?" She stated the question, sounding kind of disappointed.
"No," He said, stepping inside the elevator with her and letting the doors close behind him. "it was just another reason for me to love you." He took her gently by the neck and kissed her affectionately before pulling back as the doors opened and revealed Lincoln standing in the lobby, by the door to the stairs.
"You ready to get outta here?" Lincoln smiled to them.
"We're ready." Michael confirmed, taking Sara by the hand and leading her out of the building. On the way out, Sara discarded a phone with its last text message being her resignation from Fox River.
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