Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break, I just merely write about the characters and torture them I write this stuff purely for my enjoyment as well as Prison Break fans! That'd Be All Of You
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"Only twenty-four hours to go Fish," Sucre told to his cellmate as he jumped from the top bunk down onto the hard ground.
This lockdown has lasted for seventy-two hours, and the boredom was doomed to kill Sucre far quicker than the Fox River State Penitentiary could ever get the job done. Yet the inmates still had twenty-four hours to go.
Michael was able to get the needed arrangements taken care of for the breakout that was approaching quickly. His inked body was pure testament to his loyalty to his older brother, Lincoln was the reason he was here, and he would not be leaving without his older sibling.
"Fish, wake up," Sucre ordered, nudging Michael with his hand. Sucre frowned slightly when Michael didn't stir, but merely rocked with the pressure to his arm. "Scofield, wake up!" Sucre shouted now.
Michael had yet to come around. Content with lying facedown in the pillow, with the standard itchy gray blanket hiked up to his neck.
Sucre flipped Michael over onto his back and looked at the young man's face, trying to find any trace of the Fish faking. Michael's face was a mask of everything serene; there wasn't any discomfort mirroring back at Sucre.
"Hey Fish!" Sucre yelled, his nose almost touching Michael's. There was no reaction whatsoever. Panic pitted itself into Sucre's stomach as he realized Michael might be dead. "Don't do this to me man," Sucre begged the man that held the key to his freedom.
Picking Michael up by the arms, Sucre began shaking him fiercely, hoping that his cellie was just faking it to get a laugh. Sucre winced and immediately stopped this action when Michael's head bobbed around uselessly elicting no response.
"Oh god, don't be dead," Sucre mumbled, lifting his fingers to Michael's neck. The pulse was there, but was thumping against his fingers at an alarmingly fast rate.
The Latino cursed as a realization dawned on him. Michael had not anticipated the lockdown, and probably stopped taking the Pugnac to keep from getting really high blood pressure. But if that were true than Michael should have dangerously low blood sugar from the insulin shot he received days ago. Too much could be in his system. Sucre shook his head and marveled at how much the Fish had taught him about the damn Pugnac and diabetes in general.
"Dammit!" Sucre growled. He groaned, realizing that he'd have to try and get a guard attention. Slowly he layed Michael back down on the bottom bunk bed and walked slowly and reluctantly over to the barred door.
"Captain Bellick!" he shouted, wincing when he heard the voice of the vile man reverberate up to him.
"Shut up Sucre!" the guard, shouted from somewhere below him.
"It's Scofield sir, he wont wake up . . . and hasn't had a shot of insulin in days, I think he went into shock while I was sleepin' . . . he doesn't look too good."
Sucre heard Bellick curse then tell one of the guards under his command to go and find Sara Tancredi and tell her what was going on. Sara Tancredi had been on vacation, leaving her top nurse in charge to take care of everything. Surely if she had been here than the Fish wouldn't be unconscious and incapacitated. The good doctor would have fought tooth and nail to keep Michael in the infirmary throughout the lockdown.
"Open this cell now," Bellick ordered, his temper pushing every rational thought from his mind.
The red headed doctor was right behind him; he face flushed from running all the way from the infirmary. She knew the Warden would bite her head off later for coming into this wing of the prison since the riots were becoming an increasing problem, and the safety issues kept on rising.
"What's wrong?" she asked, pushing forward and in front of Bellick.
Sucre looked up at Sara and sighed. "I found him this way about fifteen minutes ago, he won't wake up," Sucre informed her, not sure if he should tell her about the Pugnac. He feared though that she'd try to pump him with more insulin, bringing down his blood sugar even more.
"Doctor Tancredi, he hasn't had an insulin shot in seventy-two hours," Tancredi's head nurse informed her.
"How is that possible?" she asked frantically. "It's very dangerous to deprive a diabetic from insulin . . . but it shouldn't result in losing consciousness."
Sucre leaned forward; knowing instantly that he had to tell her the secret Michael had been keeping to get into the infirmary. "Doctor Tancredi . . . I need to speak with you about Fish . . . I mean Scofield . . . privately," he whispered.
Sara nodded her head, knowing that one of Michael's mysteries was about to unravel. Turning to Bellick Sara instructed that he go and inform Lincoln of Michael's current condition and have him meet in the infirmary. Bellick hesitantly obliged.
"Now what is it?" The doctor demanded.
"He's been taking some drug called Pugnac . . . but stopped taking it when we went down for lockdown. He seemed fine last night . . . I didn't think anything about it until I couldn't wake him up," he whispered, paranoid of the nurse standing behind Sara, inching her own head in to hear the private conversation.
"What? Why would he be taking an insulin minimizor if he's not a diabetic?" Suddenly it dawned on the doctor how Michael had reacted when she had informed him that he was indeed diabetic . . . relief had been the expression on his face. "Oh my god . . . that's why he . . ."
"I know this all sounds really bad and it's adding to whatever shit you have with Scofield, but you know he wouldn't be doing it for some stupid bullshit . . . just let it go for now and help him," Sucre begged, hoping her compassion for Michael was enough.
Sara clenched her teeth, agonizing over the questions circulating through her head and she nodded. She called for the orderlies to come and help her asses Michael's condition. "Michael can you hear me?" Sara asked, opening his left eyelid and shining her penlight into his eye. She frowned when he didn't react to the bright ray of light shining into his eye.
"His pupils are reactive, but sluggish . . ." She turned to one of the orderlies. "We have to get him into the infirmary." Supervising the move, she watched as both orderlies carefully lifted the inmate up and carried him off.
INFIRMARY:
"Where is my brother?" Lincoln Burrows demanded with a guard posted at each side of him.
Sara Tancredi turned around at the voice that sounded almost childish in panic. She knew the two brothers had a deep respect for each other, even when thoughts and decisions had been made that could have very well torn them apart.
"Lincoln," she called, drawing him towards her voice.
The burly man rushed towards her, the clinking of metal handcuffs sounding throughout the room as they hit each other in his haste. "How is he? What's wrong? Bellick just told me something was wrong . . ."
"Lincoln did you know Michael was taking Pugnac to bring down his natural insulin level?" Sara asked, interrupting the babbling man. "He isn't a real diabetic is he?"
Lincoln shook his head softly; knowing it was hopeless and would lead to nowhere by denying her questions. "You don't understand Sara . . . and I don't think you ever will, I can't tell you to turn your back on what you now know about us, but please don't deny my brother what he needs right now."
"I would never do that Lincoln . . . there are many questions I have . . . but I'm sure I'll have to get used to the fact that they may never be answered. It's my job as a doctor to save patients with no questions asked, and that is what I'm planning on doing today," the red headed woman told him softly, trying to get rid of any doubt Lincoln may have.
Lincoln smiled slightly at the flustered woman, silently thanking god for this woman. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"
"I'm assuming that since he hasn't taken Pugnac in a few days that the insulin shot he received a couple days ago has increased his insulin level. It has brought his blood sugar down to the point of Michael losing consciousness," Sara explained, her doctor persona taking full throttle and control.
"What are you going to do?" Lincoln asked while the guard that was beside him let him free from the metal contraption that was holding both his hands captive.
"I'm going to call in a specialist to assist me . . . but basically I'm going to hook him up to a glucose I.V. to bring up his blood sugar," Sara began. "Lincoln . . . Michael isn't just unconscious anymore he's in a coma. Too much insulin can act quickly to mess with the body, over night even, which is what happened to Michael."
"What are you telling me Sara?" Lincoln asked, anticipating bad news.
"There could be an array of complications concerning Michael . . . all I can do right now is treat him to the best of my knowledge and hope for the best. That's why I'm calling in a specialist, and don't worry I'll cover up the whole Pugnac issue . . . for now," Sara said.
"Can I see him?"
"Of course," Sara told him, guiding him into one of the private infirmary rooms.
Lincoln walked quickly, wincing at the sight before him. Michael lay unnaturally still on the only bed in the room. An I.V. was stuck into his right hand, the glucose, which was undoubtedly trying to pump sugar into the immobile man. Michael's face was a pasty white, with perspiration running down the side of his face.
The older brother layed his hand upon Michael's sweat slicked forehead. "I'm here now Michael . . . just wake up now," Lincoln begged.
"He's okay for right now Lincoln," The good doctor told him. "Besides, if he was awake right now he'd be really uncomfortable."
"But at least he'd be awake," Lincoln whispered to himself.
Suddenly Michael's body started jerking, first very confined in little stints, then the jerks got bigger until Michael's entire body jerked up and down from the bed sporadically.
Lincoln jumped back horrified at his brother's unintentional movements. He fought not to be sick as Michael's head flopped around, Lincoln wondered if Michael's neck would snap under the strained movement.
Doctor Tancredi rushed forward, a nurse and orderly soon followed, instantly forgetting the other inmate. Letting Lincoln watch in horrid fascination at the scene that was playing like a horror movie in front of him.
"Hold him down!" Sara cried, latching onto one of Michael's flailing limbs. "Get me 10 cc's of Diazepam," ordered next. When the syringe was resting in her hand she quickly stabbed it into Michael's hip, and kept a strong hold on him until his movements slowed down and then finally ceased.
"Sara . . . what the hell just happened?" Lincoln asked as soon as he found his voice.
"Michael just had a severe seizure," she informed the horrified brother. "Marcus, go call the specialist and tell him to be here as soon as possible."
TBC . . . I hope you enjoyed that Reviews are welcomed and appreciated!