Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break, Buffy: the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. Nor do I profit from writing this. Please don't sue me. Most of the action and some of the lines are taken directly from Prison Break episodes #6 & 7: "Riots, Drills, and the Devil (pt. 1 & 2)".

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Trepkos was pissed. The people who'd hired him had made it sound like a cakewalk to take down Burrows. They'd never said the man was inhumanly strong. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was on Death Row and had nothing to live for. Or maybe the people who'd given him the contract hadn't been properly forthcoming about Burrows' nature.

He reached up and rubbed one of the small horns encircling his head. Thanks to Burrows' little trick with the handcuff, he was bleeding too badly to maintain his disguise as the human 'Turk'. It felt like his whole gut was on fire, just from those three little stab wounds. He was starting to think Burrows had punctured an organ, though how a human could hit that hard…

He tightened his hand around the length of pipe he'd found. He'd killed twenty demons in the ring and would have killed the twenty-one necessary to win his freedom if that vampire hadn't come in and let them all out. A measly human was not going to get the better of him.

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Not for the first time, Cass cursed the Powers That Be for making her short. She'd been short in life, and they hadn't saw fit to make her any taller in death. It limited her on what bodies she could slide into. Right now, she found herself wishing she was as tall and lanky as Scofield. And wearing tennis shoes.

Her foot slipped as she tried to scramble from one pipe to another, and she barely caught herself before she went crashing through the ceiling. The prisoners were down there—the ones who'd been harassing her in the sick bay office. It hadn't taken them along to figure out where she'd gone. She could hear them cackling like a pack of hyenas.

"You ok?" Michael asked as he helped her across.

"Yeah, I'm fine—just thinking about writing the doctor a note telling her to invest in shoes with tread for work before I slip out."

"How does that work anyway? Sucre…Lindsey couldn't tell me."

"Basically? My soul evicts hers and takes over."

"What happens to hers? It goes to your body?"

"No, I don't have one of those any more. I mean, I can corporealize when I need to, but I paid my fee to the boatman a long time ago. No, she's sitting in a place in the Hereafter that looks sort of like the waiting room at a dentist's office, probably reading three-year-old copies of Cosmo and drinking really bad coffee."

"Sucre too?"

Cass chuckled. "Last I was up there, he was busy making friends."

Michael paused. "Sucre's a good guy. There was no way of knowing, when I got here, who my cellmate would be—if it'd be someone who'd go along with the plan. I lucked out, I guess, with him. He wants to get out and marry his girlfriend before his cousin can steal her away. Still, the plan makes him nervous."

"He's terrified of demons," she said, sitting down beside him to rest for a moment. The heat, up here in the ceiling, was almost unbearable. She wiped her face on her arm, smelling the smoke caught in the fabric of her shirt.

"He's Roman Catholic."

"So I'm told." When they'd rounded that last corner, the sounds of the prisoners had died down. They might be able to take a little break, let her catch her breath. "What's happening in the cellblock?"

Michael's eyes flicked upwards for a moment, as if he were praying for strength. "All hell's breaking loose…but I think if we stay up here, we should be ok."

The Oracle tried to meet his eyes, but he wouldn't look at her. "You're blaming yourself for it," she ventured.

That made him look over. "You saying I shouldn't?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm not saying that." Great, another morally conflicted man dropped right into her lap. As if she didn't have her hands full already. At least, she didn't think a file on Michael Scofield had ended up on her desk. Not that she'd checked recently.

One of the ceiling tiles, just ahead of Scofield, popped up, and he held out a hand to silence her. Cass waited, barely breathing, as a head belonging to one of the prisoners slowly poked its way up through the newly made opening. Michael waited for a moment and then, just as the head started to turn, slammed his foot into the man's face. The head disappeared.

"Move!" she ordered, and they both scrambled past the opening in the ceiling and further on down the pipe until they reached an office where the renovations hadn't quite been completed and the ceiling opened up. As they watched, the rampaging inmates rushed passed the door, their shouts echoing up and down the hall.

Michael went first, climbing down onto a filing cabinet and then dropping to the floor. Cass lowered herself down as slowly as she could, her toes barely reaching the cabinet. The tiny drop let out an enormously loud clang. She froze, afraid that the noise would bring the inmates back in their direction. "Here, I gotcha," Michael said, reaching up and putting his hands under her arms to help her down.

Cass swallowed as her feet hit the floor. "I need to warn you," she said in a hushed voice. "There's a demon in the prison. His kind usually hire out as mercenaries and musclemen. I don't know why he's here, but be careful."

"I will," he promised.

The door banged open. "Hey! Fish!" Oh, god, it was the big one again. The one that had licked her. "You gonna keep that nurse all to yourself?" He leered at the both of them, mindless of the blood oozing from his arm where she'd stabbed him.

Cass turned and ran for the connecting office, but a set of grunts made her stop in the doorway and look back. Scofield had jumped on the other man's back and was now hanging on for dear life as the big inmate tried to shake him off. She started to move forward to help, but they came flailing towards her, and she had to jump back. Michael actually seemed to be getting the better of him, his lanky arm pulled tight across the other man's throat, but then another of the convicts—the scrawny white guy with the bad leg—raced in and jumped on the pile.

The Oracle lashed out with her foot, catching the man at the back of the knee with her loafer, and was rewarded with the sickening crack of bone. The man collapsed, screaming in pain, as she kicked him again, this time in the kidney. He'd be pissing blood for a week if she had anything to do about it.

Scofield, in the meantime, had managed to choke the big man into unconsciousness. He looked up at her, pale eyes wild, and she yanked him to his feet.

This part of the prison actually looked sort of familiar. It took her a moment to realize they were headed for the visitation area. She rounded a corner and skidded to a halt—prisoners ahead. Michael slammed into her from behind, nearly knocking her over. "Can't go this way," she murmured.

He glanced down at his arm, rolling it to look at the back of his forearm as if he were checking a part of his tattoo. "We have to go back," he said, pointing to the way they'd just come. Back into the depths of the prison.

Cass was starting to shake from the adrenaline poisoning, and her brain felt soupy. 'Fighters' brain', the foot soldiers called it. She was glad one of them was thinking clearly as she followed him into what looked like a storage area. Desks, chairs, filing cabinets, and shelves were stacked helter-skelter in the rooms they ran through.

"That's it!" he said, pointing to a door leading out into the yard.

The Oracle dug into the pocket of Sara's slacks and came up with an electronic key card. "Wait…I can't leave you here," she gasped. The rest of those inmates couldn't be that far behind—she could here them screaming like wild dogs.

"You don't have a choice," he said, giving her a roguish smile "I'm one of the bad guys, remember?"

"What're you going to do?" she demanded. Leaving him like this just seemed wrong, despite his reminder that he was a legally held prisoner of the state of Illinois. She'd already left one man behind today (oh, god, she hoped he was ok).

He shrugged, resting his hands on his hips. "Go back to my cell…stay out of the way."

Something was flickering across the wall behind him—a little red dot. Horror filled her as her adrenaline-overloaded brain realized what it was. "Fuck, Michael…"

He looked down, brow furrowing at the tone of her voice. "What?"

Cass glanced back over her shoulder, out the reinforced window in the door. There were a handful of men, in black, crouching on the roof across the yard. Snipers. "They see us." She looked back and saw the tiny red dot, sitting right over Michael's heart.

He saw it too, his throat working to get the words out. "You have to go."

She shook her head. "I can't—they'll kill you." She was in the body of the prison doctor, a civilian. They'd protect her, but they wouldn't think twice about shooting him.

Michael swallowed again. "Go out the door," he ordered, stepping closer to her. "I'll drop to the floor."

"These are sharpshooters, Michael," she snapped, "They won't miss, and you are not taking a bullet for me!"

"Wasn't planning on it," he said as he reached out and shoved her, intending to push her closer to the door and out of the way. Cass resisted, fighting back against the force of the push, even as she heard the crack as a bullet shattered glass behind her.

Pain beyond pain exploded like a firework in her head.

She felt her spirit try and yank free of Sara Tancredi's body as it fell to the floor, a bullet embedded in the back of its head. Instinct wanted to swap her soul for Sara's, to let Sara die, but Cass refused to go. "Michael…" she hissed. Making the words come out was like speaking through a mouthful of molasses. She couldn't see through the blinding pain that filled her vision with blackness and bursts of white brighter than any bolt of lightning.

He was next to her. She somehow felt his elbow bump her shoulder. "Oh, God…"

"Michael..." she repeated. This body was dying fast as the blood flowed out. "Need an out—Lindsey's cross. Bleed on it…opens a portal. One shot…no set destination. Thank…"

And she died.