So I've been thinking about how messed up all the lives in Prison Break are. I decided to try to write a fic about them having semi-normal lives. I'm not really sure how good it is...?

This is set sometime after season 5, and it's told from a fairly odd perspective. It has different people narrating the different chapters, which I thought would be cool. There are the character's thoughts and actions, which I'm hoping is something different to read idk...

For some reason, the app won't let me update the story title or summary, so I added some parts where their past comes back up, but there's no Company. There aren't any active chases or running, but just some parts where the past resurfaces. I had some different ideas and decided to change my plot.

I decided to keep Michael's Fox River tattoos on because they made what I'm doing funnier and better, so don't be confused by that. There's a method to the madness.

They're living in a Chicago suburb now, because I decided that it would help with what I'm doing. I also thought that there would be some bad blood and bad memories in Ithaca (there are in Chicago too, I know), but the ones in Chicago are less raw. Just to clarify.

So anyway, I just wanted to make some things clear to help you understand and be less confused. Enjoy!

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Michael

Being with your family for five years is surprisingly the best feeling a person can have.

It's been odd, being normal and not looking over my shoulder every ten seconds. Let me put it this way: being a civilian beats looking over your shoulder to see who's coming after you next. There are also new challenges after you've missed seven years of the modern world: Star Wars, your family, technology, and math. Math is very different.

"You have to go inside to check in with the office and Mike's teacher first," Sara reminded me. I've always been good at processes and following orders, so knowing what to do isn't what I'm scared of. It's the stares.

I've learned that having tattoo sleeves from twelve years ago covering the entire upper half of your body doesn't exactly scream, "Great guy!" If people recognized me from the news reports and mugshots from nineteen years ago, and if they knew that they had gotten me out of a prison, they'd stare even longer. Today is a ninety degree day, so no way am I wearing long sleeves. I'll have to wear a dreaded t-shirt.

I've tried to stick to jackets, but it being late spring in Chicago, that doesn't work anymore. We've only lived here for three weeks, so I'm still adjusting to the weather. I'm psyching myself up for the inevitable stares heading my way. "Dad, you'll have to come inside with me," Mike reminds me for the eighteenth time this morning. I find a parking spot and walk him inside. I realize for the first time that I look extremely out of place in a middle school. I walk into the office and the secretary tries to hide her surprise. "How can I help you?" She sounds friendly, which is comforting. "Hi, I'm Mike Scofield's father. I'm here to drop him off for school, and I was wondering if there was anything special I needed to do?" The secretary does a double take and then smiles. "Just a background check," she says cheerfully.

I'm trying to hide my fear, but all I can think about is whether or not the CIA came through for me or not.

I wait with baited breath as the background check went through. "You're all set. You can go on field trips, school events, and class parties. Thank you!" I breathe a sigh of relief as I smile and walk Mike back to his classroom. The stares might as well be lasers into my inked skin. One of the moms decided to make a bold move. "I've never seen you here before," she says. I smile apologetically before I say a few self-explanatory words, but I'm cut off by a recognizing stare from one of the other moms. "You're..." she watches Mike standing beside me. The bell rings, so I give Mike a hug and he runs into the classroom. "Michael Scofield," I say, not really sure what else would work. The shocked looks on their faces tells me that they have at least a very mediocre understanding of what happened in the past years. "You're... Sara's Michael?" I'm taken aback by the possibility that, for the first time in a while, someone knows Sara instead of me. Most people know me by name, but maybe not her. But then I remember that I haven't been in Chicago for nineteen years and that no one around here knows me anymore. I've mostly stayed home in the past few weeks, so very few people even know that I exist.

I nod, trying to get out of the awkward topic. The second bell rings, finally freeing me of the grueling conversation. I try not to act awkward as I leave the school, shoving my hands deep into my pockets and trying not to blush.

I'm somewhat socially anxious, considering my past and my reasons not to trust people.

It was just this past week that I got all of my pre-Fox River belongings all returned. That included half a million dollars, an apartment, a bank account, my loft in Chicago, and my black Tesla Model S. The entire time, that car just sat in a big warehouse where belongings from prisoners are stored. It still runs and works surprisingly well, although Sucre had to come fix it when I got it back.

Life was going very well when I was 26.

Sara doesn't want me to be working yet, but I am anyway. I got a job at my old firm, and I'll just be working during the days while Mike is at school starting tomorrow. I refuse to work at home by choice, but if I have to I will.

Sara refuses to let me put any of my pre- Fox River money into her bank account, but I slipped about 100 grand in yesterday. She'll find out when she gets her bank statement tomorrow.

I've spent an "obsessive amount of time cleaning" since I've been home (Linc's words). So I decided to do something different today. Organize.

Linc would say that it's the same thing. But it's not to me. Cleaning is with a vacuum, broom, mop. Organizing makes things look neater and nicer. For instance: Mike has a pile of books in the corner of his room that he's always wanted a bookshelf for. I've decided that today is a good day to start building it, which is organizing, not cleaning. I should be done with it before I have to pick him up from school. The only thing I have to do after I pick Mike up from school is pick up my new computer from work, which means that I have to wear a suit to a middle school. Great.

The t-shirt was bad enough, but the thought of wearing a suit magnifies my social anxiety by a large magnitude. Let me explain why.

When I was in college, I was headed to a job interview wearing a suit, and there was a group of girls who kept telling me how cute I looked. I completely ignored and eschewed the idea of having a girlfriend in college, but I was friendly anyway. It took all my determination not to just walk away without any acknowledgement of them, but that wouldn't have been the best option. They followed me the entire way to the job interview and each one of them asked me out multiple times. I told them that I was taken, which was the biggest lie anyone has ever told. You couldn't have paid me to date anyone in college.

That's why I don't wear suits around women unless they're colleagues or someone I know incredibly well.

I've decided to get my mind off the absolutely humiliating idea of the suit and to start building the bookshelf that Mike's wanted. I'm pretty sure that white would look nice in his room, so I grab the can of white paint from the shelf in the garage.

When I gather everything to start building, it's only then that I check my watch. It's 11:30, which means that I have to go get Mike in four hours. Plenty of time for me to finish building the bookshelf and get ready to go bring him home. I have about ten minutes until Linc makes his daily phone call to me.

I'm sawing the boards when my phone rings. It's Linc. "Hey, Linc," I say with a smile. I look toward the side of my house to see him literally standing there, leaning against the gray siding. "Where did you come from?" I ask, slightly confused. He just grins and pockets his phone. "I saw the Model S out front. When did you get that back? I haven't seen it in years," Linc asks, but it's then that I realize; he hasn't seen me since I got it back. "I got everything pre-Fox River back last week, including that, my half million dollars, and my bank account. And for some reason, they held my loft," I explain. He seems to be studying what I'm doing, so I decide to tell him. "I'm building Mike a bookshelf."

He jogs over to help me, and in two short hours we built the shelves and painted them.

Linc decides that he wants to stay for a while, so I invite him in to watch yesterday's Monday Night Football game. I almost lose track of time; we've been watching for nearly an hour and a half when I remember that I have to get ready. "Linc, stay and watch, but I have to get ready to go to work and get Mike," I quickly explain.

I run up the stairs, taking them two at a time until I've reached the bathroom.

My hair isn't long, so it dries quickly when I'm done in the shower. I check the clock on the wall; I have an hour untiI have to go get Mike from school and pick up my laptop. I grab my suit that's hanging from the closet door and put it on quickly. I tie the navy blue striped tie around my neck, and it falls loosely over my white button-down shirt. I throw my navy blue suit jacket over my shoulders, pull on my nicest black shoes, and then pull on the matching pants. I walk into the bathroom to grab my cologne, then after I use a few sprays I walk down the stairs and adjust my sport coat. Linc obviously feels like he's at home; he's helped himself to the pretzels from the cabinet and the drinks in the fridge. He hears my footsteps and turns around, his eyes widening. "Where are you going? On a date?" He asks, which means he clearly thinks I'm overdressed. "Relax, Linc. I'm not cheating on Sara." Jf my brother thinks that I'm going to cheat on my wife of thirteen years, then I'm pretty sure he's got a screw loose.

"I'm just stopping by work to get what I need to start. Good impressions, right?" Linc rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV, cheering on the Patriots. I check my watch; 3:00, the perfect time to leave. I hop into my car and drive to Mike's middle school.

I steel myself for a few minutes in the parking lot before I walk into the middle school. The moms standing by the classroom door start staring, and I run my hand over the back of my freshly dyed hair, an old gesture of nervousness. I decided that I didn't like the gray that had come on so quickly, so I dyed it as close as I could to what I had before. Dark, nearly black.

I stand and check my watch; ten more minutes until I can pick Mike up and leave. "You look important," says one of the moms next to me. It takes all of my self-control not to just roll my eyes and ignore her, but I answer politely. "I'm starting work on Monday at the engineering firm in town," I quickly explain. I hate explaining myself to total strangers who shouldn't care about what's going on in your life. Her eyes linger on me for just a millisecond too long to be a friendly look, so I know exactly what she's thinking. I just smile and try to look like I'm at least a halfway nice guy when the bell rings and I'm freed from the awkward silences and topics of conversation.

"Are you Mr. Scofield?" I turn around with Mike by my side to see his teacher standing behind me. "Yes. Is there something wrong?" I'm trying to be friendly and not check my watch too often because I have to be at work in half an hour. "Your son is a very bright boy," she begins. "He's one of the smartest children in his grade, and, might I add, the grade above him too." I can't believe this. My son has my brain. This could be bad for him, but right now it's working in his favor. "He's doing very well in class, and he works well with the other students. Really, he is one of the most fantastic. But I brought you here today to ask you something," she compliments. I smile fondly at Mike, who is sitting contently in the corner reading from the bookshelf. "The principal and the teachers in his grade agree that he could benefit from skipping seventh grade and going into eighth next year." I do a double take and smile. "Wow. When do we need to make a decision?" I ask. She looks over to Mike in the corner and then back to me. "Anytime before the registration deadline for the new school year. Just come to either the principal or I and we have a permission form that you can sign to allow him to skip seventh grade," she explains. She really seems like she genuinely cares about Mike, which makes me feel more comfortable in the room. "That's all I needed to ask. Thank you for your time, Mr. Scofield." I smile and stand up from the oddly small chair and walk into the corner to take Mike home. "Bye, Mrs. Jacobs," Mike says a bit forcedly to his teacher and Mrs. Jacobs smiles back. I see the poster on the wall: "Field trip countdown: 1 day! Remember to ask your parents to come!" It makes me smile as we walk out of the room and back to my car.

I get a text that I don't have to grab my computer from work today, so I can go home. I just realize as I'm walking to the car that Mike's never ridden in my car before. Sara always tells him that it's not a toy, no matter how many times I tell him it's okay if he touches it and climbs inside. When I open the door for him, he stops. "Your car is so cool. But mom doesn't like when I skateboard and shoot hoops around it and stuff," he says. "Mike, it was basically free. I'm not really a stickler," I say with a smile. He turns up to me with a huge smile on his face. "Okay!" He jumps up into the passenger seat of the black car and buckles his seatbelt. I close the door gently behind him and climb into the driver's seat, looking back at him to see him looking out the window with a smile. How did I get so lucky?

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I decided to change the timeline to five years after season 5 because it would help me with what I'm doing, so I'll make changes and edits along the way if I notice anything that needs to be changed.

Much love