An Appropriate Punishment

Summary: When young Michael does something very bad, Lincoln has to punish his brother but will he let his anger cloud his judgment? Warning language and graphic violence.

Lincoln sat in his room thinking of an appropriate punishment for his brother. What Michael had done. More like what hadn't he done? Lincoln's head throbbed with fury. He just came home and found his baby brother with three of his friends at their flat smoking his pot, drinking his alcohol and basically trashing his place. Not to mention that Lincoln had found out in the first place because the school called his cell about his brother truanting from school for the third time just this week. Lincoln had figured that his brother would be at home. What he didn't figure was that he would have to face his baby brother stoned, probably drunk and passed out on the couch while his so-called buddies trashed the house.

To say Lincoln was furious was an understatement of the century. After checking that Michael was really just passed out and not dead (not yet anyway) he kicked his three terrified buddies out. They were too busy trying to cover their own asses they left Michael without a second glance. Michael was going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

Lincoln went to get a drink from the fridge to calm down but it didn't help. Most of the alcohol in the flat was gone courtesy of Michael and co. Luckily his secret stash of beer in his room hadn't been touched. So much for his stash of pot though. Lincoln tried to quash his anger at the thought of it. After his third cheap can of beer, Lincoln could hear his brother stirring on the couch.

Michael's eyes fluttered sleepily for a moment and then he attempted to squirm out of Lincoln's hold.

"No no no. You are not getting out of this. Wake up Michael. Michael fucking Scofield. Wake the fuck up and see what the hell you've done."

Michael tried feebly to push Lincoln's hands away from him. His brother was calling him by his full name and that was never a good thing. It meant that his brother was very angry with him. Rightfully so, Michael supposed.

Lincoln was out of patience so he grabbed the front of Michael's shirt and slapped him across the face. His brother gave a surprised cry and tried to turn away just as Lincoln backhanded him. Not too hard. Lincoln knows not to hit his brother hard enough to leave marks that teachers, social workers and Veronica could notice. Now Michael's eyes were watery, his cheeks flushed and the corner of lip bleeding from the last blow. Lincoln could tell by his trembling lip that his sucker of a baby brother was about to cry.

"Don't you dare fucking blubber about this, Michael. How about you tell me exactly what the fuck you were up to today and what I should do to you for it. Stay awake, Michael because I swear if you try and go to sleep I will make sure that you're not going to be able to sleep," Lincoln threatened. He would have been more forgiving had he not suspected that this was probably not the first time Michael had been playing hooky and smoking his pot. He'd been waiting for this day for the last three weeks.

Michael managed to squeak out an apology, his eyes closing involuntarily.

"Don't test me now Michael. If you're sleepy and tired and feel like your head is spinning you only have yourself to blame," Lincoln growled. He could see that his brother was tired and drugged up but he had to be firm with him. Michael was going to go off the rails. Lincoln was practically holding him up. He let go of his brother and got a plastic bag as Michael turned a sickly pale colour. His baby brother promptly threw up into it several times. Michael sagged into Lincoln. His older brother sighed and got him a glass of water before propping Michael up again.

"Okay how about this. You nod if I'm right and correct me if I'm wrong. You tell me everything. Don't even think about lying to me because it will not be a pleasant experience. Alright?"

Michael nodded miserably. He tries not to look at Lincoln in the eye because he doesn't want to see the disappointment there but when he looks around the room he can see the debris and he feels a thousand times worse knowing he did that. There is a broken bottle in a corner of the room. Some dirty plates on the ground. Stains of alcohol on the couch. Just a mess.

"For the last three weeks, you've been skipping school with your…friends."

A nod.

"You haven't been doing your homework at all."

A nod.

"You've been drinking. Illegally."

A nod and a small sniffle.

"You've been smoking pot."

A nod. Now the waterworks were really threatening to spill but a glare from Lincoln make Michael blink back the tears.

"You've been stealing pot from me."

There was some hesitation.

"Don't lie to me Michael. You stole from me."

A wretched nod.

"God Michael. Has anything I've ever told you gone through your head?" Lincoln said in exasperation. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Michael didn't seem to know what to do. "I'm sorry Linc," he said hoarsely.

Lincoln lost it. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders, not caring if he was going to hurt him. He shook him violently as he yelled into Michael's face, "Do you know what you've done? I got called out of work. I could have lost my job today because of your stupid STUPID crap that you're pulling on me. The landlord could have kicked us out and we would have had to find a new place to live. The school could have expelled you. You know what the worst thing is Michael. You fucking lied to my face. For three weeks, I've known. Don't you think I know what pot smells like? I smelt it on you but I didn't say anything because I didn't want to believe you'd do that to me. I ignored the missing pot. The missing alcohol from the fridge. The smell of alcohol on your breath. The stains of god knows what on the couch. The hurried sounds of you packing up when I came home early. I just didn't think you'd do something that stupid. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Goddammit. You could have killed yourself drinking and getting high. You know they can take you away from me don't you? Is that what you what? They can take LJ from me too if they don't think I'm responsible enough to handle my own brother. You're a selfish little bastard. Oh God. You're his uncle. What kind of kid is he going to grow up as if he follows your example? Don't you know what you've done? Tell me Michael. Tell me because I'd really like to know why the fuck you'd do this when I'm trying my best to make it good for you. All of this shit you pull now of all times. What am I going to do with you?" Lincoln's hands were clamped onto Michael's shoulders because they were just itching to hit his brother. It was how Lincoln resolved things quickly. This time when Lincoln wanted to talk it out, wanted to try and understand his frustrating brother - Michael was not helping. Lincoln knew he hadn't been around for Michael as much as he'd wanted to but his brother needed to learn to grow up because he wasn't a kid anymore. Lincoln had LJ to take care of as well and Michael was making things infinitely more difficult.

"I'm sorry. I don't know," Michael said in a monotone. He flinched at his brother's words but didn't appear to show any other sign of remorse. "I don't know. I'm sorry. Just hit me. Just do it." He wanted to get it over and done with. He felt sick both physically and mentally. Sick with terror of waiting for his punishment. Sick with knowing that he had disappointed his brother and screwed up so badly. Sick because he was scared that his brother would leave him forever. Sick knowing that he had planned this all along because he'd thought that he could someone get Lincoln to pay attention to him instead of spending so much time with LJ. He knew this would get Lincoln's attention. Michael just hadn't realized how far he'd go to get it. This realization made him so sick he couldn't even talk about it.

"Oh my God, Michael. I said don't fucking try me. At least tell me you have some, some stupid stupid reason…"

When he saw that his brother wasn't going to answer him, Lincoln squeezed harder and shook him again like a rag doll as if it could clear the mess, loosen an answer of out of him. By the next morning, Lincoln's hands were going to leave ugly, swollen purple marks all over Michael's shoulders that would last until well into the next week. His baby brother's eyes were still glazed and he looked like he was going to be sick again but Lincoln didn't feel like caring.

"Just hit me. I know that's what you want to do to me." Michael's voice was hollow. His stoic-ness was to conceal his fear of Lincoln, to try to mollify the justified anger by taking it like a man but it sounded like a careless challenge to his older brother.

Lincoln didn't need any goading. He really was sick of Michael and his attitude. He didn't care if his brother was still under the influence of drugs. He'd hit him hard enough to make him feel it. In one fluid motion, Lincoln flipped his brother over the end of the couch and yanked his brother's pants and boxers down. He undid his heavy work belt then snapped the leather smartly down onto the tender skin repeatedly. As the pain began to sear its paths, his brother started struggling. Lincoln kept hitting him, feeling the anger swell then burn out of him. He could hear his brother's anguished wails and pleading but he didn't stop. It was like music. He remembered he had a set number of strokes but he was losing count in the sweet euphoria of his brother's pain. Michael's hands were pinned down and Lincoln kept hitting him, watching his brother kick and squirm futilely as the pale skin on his bottom turned bright red and then a dark red with a bluish tinge. Lincoln had never used his belt on his brother before and he was fascinated. The leather left pinkish marks that turned into puffy welts on top of welts. Lincoln left no skin untouched, deliberately striking the crease between bottom and thigh again and again as he enjoyed the high-pitched promises he was extracting from his baby brother. The desperate squeals turned into harsh hiccupping sobs, the frantic resistance into limp defeat as Michael realized that Lincoln wasn't going to stop anytime soon. The lashing was moving from his bottom to down to the back of his thighs and legs. It didn't matter that Michael was sorry; Lincoln just wanted to hit him because he didn't sound sorry enough. It was addictive, Lincoln felt like he was getting a sort of high off it. Lincoln was pushing out his anger on his brother and making him pay for everything he did. Lincoln smiled as he unleashed the other end of the belt, the buckle tearing into bruised skin and blood running down his brother's thighs…

"Just hit me. I know that's what you want to do to me." It almost an incoherent mumble. It sounds like some sort of twisted plea.

The images ran through Lincoln's mind: his brother on the edge of the couch, the belt, the crying the buckle, the blood running down his brother's thigh...Lincoln looked at his brother incredulously. He easily lifts his brother up by his shirt and almost throws him. But Lincoln feels afraid of the violence and bloodthirstiness of his mind. He pushes his younger brother roughly away from him, afraid that it will become reality.

"Don't fucking test me Michael, because I really do feel like beating the shit out of you."

He really does want to do it but he doesn't think he should. Veronica has always told him not to punish Michael when he's angry or drunk because he'll really hurt him. Part of Lincoln feels like Michael really does deserve to be hurt. Badly. He wants to really hurt him like Michael hurt him. The anger has gone replaced by an empty betrayal. Betrayal hurts like a bitch doesn't it?

Michael sits in a crumpled heap and he stares vacantly at his brother with his big blue eyes. Lincoln wonders if he's challenging him. Michael does want Lincoln to hit him in a way, because he feels bad now. He hasn't got anyone else to turn to and he hasn't paid his penance yet. The plan was perfect in his mind; it wasn't supposed to be like this. Lincoln was supposed to punish and then comfort him. Lincoln glares at him and he knows. Michael feels like he's staring right through him. Lincoln's rejection hurts so much more than a beating. Michael thinks that maybe he's not worth flogging. Just a dead horse to his brother. Useless.

"If you feel bad about it Michael, you should have thought about it before. Just…just clean up this shit."

Lincoln clenches his hands and storms out of the room as fast as he can before he can take those words back. Slamming the bedroom door, he leaves his brother with the mess of empty bottles and broken things.