::as requested by katie__pillar::
Michael Scofield bit his lip as he pored over the textbook in front of him. School was easy, and he always made straight As, but some subjects were more of a challenge than others. Math, Science – that sort of thing was easy. History: now that was hard. It was so subjective, and Michael found it hard to cope with the fact that there wasn’t necessarily going to be a right answer, one answer that was correct beyond doubt. He made some more notes, because he had an essay due on the early constitution of America, and he kept reading and reading but he couldn’t quite work out what the answer was supposed to be. He hunched further over the book Mrs Rankin had recommended from the library, and tried to figure out what he needed to write.
“Hey, kid!” The door opened, and Lincoln walked in, slinging coat and grocery bag onto the kitchen table next to Michael and his books. He started unpacking the bag, containing the basics that were all either of them could cope with cooking. They might have been on their own in the past five years since their mother died, but it didn’t mean either of them had progressed beyond mac and cheese. Lincoln glanced over his brother’s shoulder as he passed to put tins in the cupboard above the sink.
“History, hey? Whatcha doing?” Michael shrugged, his voice tight with tension.
“Constitution. But I don’t… there are so many opinions. I’ve read four books, and they all say different things and I don’t know which is right. How do answer this if I can’t find out the answer?” He was breathing too fast, and something in the back of Michael’s mind made him think that it was just an essay, it wasn’t important, but all he could think was that it was a puzzle and he couldn’t solve it and… a hand fell on his shoulder, large and comforting.
“No-one has the answers, Mikey,” said Lincoln, squeezing gently. “You just have to, y’know, consider the options. They don’t expect you to know what went down how back then.”
“Michael, chill. It’s no big deal. Look, put this crap away now. Do your Math, you know you like that better. I’ll make some dinner.” And Lincoln, not waiting for a response, swept the history books off the table and chucked them into the tiny living room, clapping Michael on the shoulder as he grabbed a clean pan off the drying rack.
Michael watched as Lincoln began to make them dinner, even though it was Michael’s turn, and realised that he would do anything for his elder brother.