Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and I am not affiliated in any way, shape or form with anyone who does.
Michael looked at Lincoln; his brother had been working silently, lost in thought for over half an hour and it was beginning to worry him. Eventually he couldn't deal with it anymore and walked over, keeping his voice low enough that nobody could overhear him.
"What's wrong?"
Lincoln looked at him as though he had only realised he was there. His voice appeared, depressed and quiet. "Nothing; I was just thinking about prison."
"Yeah, me to."
Lincoln shook his head, "you have no idea what it feels like."
Michael stopped digging, wondering what he could have meant. Since being incarcerated he had suffered to try and rescue him. Images flashed through his mind of what kinds of torture Lincoln must be going through if he couldn't know what it felt like. He was loath to ask, but he knew that he had to find out or the question would eat away at him. "What do you mean?"
"You have no idea what it is like to be in prison when you're innocent."
Michael laughed harshly, unsure if he could believe what he had heard, aware that the rest of the convicts had paused to look at him before they continued. "Of course I know what its like. I'm here aren't I?"
"You couldn't know; it isn't the same."
Michael held out an arm, stopping him from digging to question him further, "and what does that mean?"
"You committed a crime Michael. Like it or not you did something wrong and you deserve to be punished for it," Lincoln looked at the ground, obviously desperate to avoid his gaze. "I didn't do anything wrong."
He continued to dig and Michael moved across the small room to the tool box, trying to clear his mind although he knew that he would not be able to. He wished that he hadn't asked the question, because, no matter how much the question would have eaten away at him, the answer hurt much more than it ever could have.