Title: Mistakes Come In Three

Summary: The boy's eyes narrowed and a flicker of disgust twisted his lips into a sneer. "I'm your son jackass."

Disclaimer: Pah I wish I owned Prison Break! 'Cept if I did, the show probably wouldn't do that well what with me not knowing much about television business and all :P

Author's Note: Phoar remember this story guys? Ya, been a long time since I've updated. Sorry bout that.

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The last bolt fell into Westmoreland's hands as the other cons scrabbled to prevent the large pipe from crashing down.

"Whoa ¡Este pedazo de la mierda está hombre pesado!" Sucre growled, arms straining.

"You got it?" C-note asked, his voice as strained as Sucre's.

"I got it."

"I got it."

"We got it."

"Oh shit I don't got it!" Someone nearly yelled and Westmoreland had to race in to catch the slipping end of the pipe.

"I'm getting to old for this macho crap." He growled as he too strained with the heavy pipe.

"Set it down!" Michael said, "Nice and easy just right here." The room was filled with grunts as the pipe was lowered and finally touched the ground with a soft ping of noise.

"You guys ok?" Lincoln's voice came from above and relieved grins spread across the six inmates faces.

"Hope you got your next move planned Pretty." T-Bag said, peering suspiciously at the small vent in the ceiling. Michael grinned and looked up as well,

"Should have told you guys to start dieting." He said and everyone's eyes went to the teeny whole in the ceiling.

"Ah hell." Said C-Note.

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Air. Real air. Fresh air. It was cold, biting almost, but it was still free air.

T-Bag dropped over the other side of the wall and scurried into the shadows after the other inmates, turning and watching as Westmoreland did the same.

"I thought you said your friends would be here." Abruzzi growled turning to C-Note. "I don't see them."

"Yo chill! They'll be here!" C-Note growled back, worriedly checking the road. Sirens went off at the prison and searchlights slammed on.

"We don't have time." Michael said, turning and leading the group through the shadows and then bursting into a run down Fitz.

The first alleyway loomed up and the group bolted around the corner, nearly tripping over themselves as they skidded to a halt; headlights blinding them. A dark head suddenly popped out the window and a voice hissed at them over the thrum of the old truck's engine.

"Didn't Celia tell ya'll to not be late! Gah! Get in the damn car, we gotta speed!" The men, to stunned to question anything, clambered into the vehicle and the boy slammed on the gas pedal. The old truck leapt from its hiding place and several of the cons were thrown backwards.

"Better buckle up, ya'll in for a bumpay ride!"

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T-Bag was sitting in the front seat of the truck and his hand gripped at the door handle as Damian roared round another corner, the shoddy sounding engine coughing in protest.

"Whoa boy! I wanna live long enough to enjoy ma freedom! Even know how to drive this thing!" Damian grinned in response as he swerved around another corner, giving out a 'yehaa' as the tires skidded against the asphalt.

"Nah, who need's teachen'? S'basically touch n' go." Fields were racing past now but Damian still didn't let up on the gas pedal. Every so often he'd pat the dashboard and urge the car on, talking to it like it was a real person.

Finally the boy slowed down and the cons let out a collective sigh, Damian grinned at this.

"Should have known T-Bag's offspring would be crazy."

"Pienso que rompí mi asno!" Sucre groaned in the back. Damian gave them a shrewd grin.

"Fox River must be overrated then."

"I think I'm gonna hurl." Sucre murmured, clutching his stomach. Damian suddenly looked panicked and glanced back into his review mirror.

"Not in ma truck! Out the window if ya have to! Hey, Michael Scofield there's a plastic bag at your feet!" There was the rustling of a plastic bag and then silence filled the car, Sucre pushing the bag away saying he didn't actually need it. Damian occasionally stared into the back seating and then would pat the dashboard reassuringly again.

"So do I have anymore rugrats runnin' around?" T-Bag drawled, breaking the silence. Damian glanced over at him, scowling momentarily before looking back at the road and then nodding.

"Ya. Two. Sarafina and-"

"Sarafina?" T-Bag asked wrinkling his nose. "Hell kinda name is that?" Damain grinned and then gave a boyish laugh.

"She hates been called Sarafina, so for most part we's all just call her Sara. She's somethin' like three-four years older 'en me; and boy she can be a right bitch." Damian gave another soft laugh. "Ah, but she ain't that bad really. Once ya get to know her. She's just a bit…cold."

"And who's this other 'mystery child'?"

"That'd be Celia." Damian paused for a moment and the grin slid off his face, a rather bemused expression entering his dark eyes. "There ain't a way to describe her, ya'll just gotta meet her for yerselves."

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Damian slowed down the car even further and pulled off the rickety road and onto a dirt track, the engine rumbling every time it had to climb out of a pot hole. Finally a rather rundown farmhouse came into view, dead field grass surrounding and what could once have been a beautiful pond to the left of the house.

"Hot damn, we made it." Damian said with a smile, parking the truck just to the right of the entrance of the house. "Let's go." He said and then climbed out without another word, pushing his seat forward so the cons in the back could clamber out.

"Sara! Celia! We gots company!" Damian yelled, a rueful grin spreading across his lips. The eight males stood in the hallway, Damian just off to the side and leaning casually against the wall, T-Bag standing up at the front of the group.

Then all of a sudden they were there; two girls walking down creaky stairs. The smallest girl had a hand on the railing and her other hand was held by the older girl. The youngest was taking one step at a time, but her blue eyes were forward and they were milky blue of unseeing eyes. Although the older girl was striking, it was the smaller one who first grabbed everyone's attention. She realised the older girl's hand once they had reached the bottom of the stairs and then moved carefully to the group of men.

The little girl stopped within inches of T-Bag and reached up carefully, a pale hand closing around one of his fingers and gently tugging him down. T-Bag knelt in front of the little girl who couldn't be more than eight years old, but he couldn't hold her stare for long. Those cloudy blue eyes were piercing and they were boring right into his brown ones.

The girl lifted both her hands and placed them on T-Bag's face, feeling out the cheekbones, eyes, nose, forehead and lips. Finally she let her hands fall back to her sides and a small smile played about the pale pink lips.

"Hello Theodore." Her voice wasn't the voice that should belong to a child; it was older and wiser in a way.

"Celia?" T-Bag recognized the voice now, and once again the warning bells went off in his mind like her voice was something…unnatural, uncanny.

Celia didn't respond in words, only smiling that small smile and nodding her head so wispy tendrils of white gold hair fell across her face. "You remember me?" She asked.

"Only your voice." T-bag managed.

"…Do you remember my mother?" There was a long silence and Celia's smile was a sad one, but she smiled nonetheless. "I had a mother, I have yet to have a father." She turned and walked over to Damian, reaching up for him and the fifteen year old complied, scooping up the skinny wisp of a girl.

It was then that the older girl stepped forward – Sara. T-Bag stood quickly, clearing his throat rather gruffly but stopping as he finally caught sight of his older daughter. She was…gorgeous. Long blond hair that cascaded past her shoulders, rather sharp nose, pink full lips, a tall and slender frame and the iciest blue eyes. They had the same dark, hateful look that T-Bag often wore when dealing with someone he didn't like. The same 'I would love to hurt you right now but that'll just have to wait' look in them. She stepped up closer, raising her head slightly in a kind of assessing way. She was a few inches taller than him and very slowly the corners of her lips turned up in a cocky sneer.

"Hm. Shorter than I expected."