You fucking bastard.

He slammed his fists against the mahogany in futility, screaming and screaming and knowing that no one was coming to save him.

It hadn't been enough for Hiro, had it? He hadn't done enough damage, he hadn't already broken his heart a million times over.

No, the sadistic bastard had to bury him alive.

He stopped screaming, and let his hands rest on the wood above, fingers splayed and pressing, hoping against hope that maybe, by some miracle, the coffin would burst open and he'd be free.

Stranger things had happened, right?

But of course it didn't – he didn't have super-strength, after all – and a small sob broke out against his will.

Alone, alone, he was always fucking alone.

He didn't even know how long he had been trapped in here – days? Weeks? Years? Maybe it had only been a couple hours. Maybe it had only been a few minutes. He had no way of knowing. It was as though Hiro had not only buried him alive, but had also stopped time just for him, so he could be trapped here for even longer than eternity.

He wouldn't put it past him.


He wanted to die.

For the first time in his entire life (his long, too long life), he desperately wanted to die.

But he couldn't. He was immortal. He was God.

Some God he'd turned out to be.


The endless silence seemed to stretch on into oblivion, caving in around him.

He screamed Hiro's name.


It was a fact, and an undeniable one at that, that he was still in love with Hiro Nakamura. Four hundred years, and he still couldn't think of him without his heart swelling and the tiniest flicker of hope scuttling across his chest.

Even after being buried alive by him, he still loved him.

Clearly, he was completely insane.

(Not that he didn't know this already, of course.)


You always hurt the ones you love, he thought bitterly to himself as his mind came up with senseless and inane plans for revenge that were never going to happen because he was never getting out of here, ever.

And he had thought the prison at the Company was bad.


There were patterns traced into the wood now – random lines and letters and other nonsense, nothing that made any sort of sense at all. His mind was spent, his body ragged and tired and pleading for the ability to give up and give in and escape.

He had never thought of it as a virtue before… being able to die. It had always been something weak, something for lesser mortals.

Now, he couldn't think of anything that would be sweeter.


That was a lie. He could think of something much, much better than dying.

It was easier to let go of past inhibitions and just dream of what could have been, now.

Yaeko was never there, she had never existed, and it was just him and Hiro, saving the world. Being heroes. Together, inseparable, bound forever by strands of time that were unbreakable and untouchable.

It was all just a fantasy, of course. But it was still nice to dream.


Revenge was a funny thing. It was never as satisfying as one thought it might be – when he had killed Kaito, he had expected a fulfilling sense of triumph. Instead, he had just felt numb.

But something spurred him on anyway, made him plot and scheme Hiro's downfall to the point of complete madness.

He supposed it was a way to pass the time.


Even while hating him he still loved him.

He remembered Hiro's joyful, infectious, hero-worshipping grin that had filled an empty hole that had been in his heart, that had given him purpose and meaning and hope. He was a hero to someone, to this strange little man from the future that spouted nonsense childhood legends and was determined (so determined) to "fix" history and make Kensei a hero.

But Hiro had been Kensei all along. Adam Monroe was no hero.


He had fallen into a routine of sorts. He would wake up, stare straight ahead for the rest of the day (if it was really day at all). Go to sleep. Wake up again. And so on.

Routines were comforting. They made things seem normal when they weren't.


He must've starved to death about fifty times by now.


It had never been about Yaeko, of course. He just couldn't understand how Hiro could not realize this. It was about him, it had always been about him. Right from the beginning, he had forgone saving a village because he was so caught up in his wild tales that were incredibly amusing at the time but that he hadn't taken seriously.

Without Hiro, there would have been nothing. He would've continued to have led an existence devoid of any meaning. Oh, he probably would've found out about his powers eventually - but he might not have regenerated enough times by then to live forever.

He might not have ever been immortal. He would never have been trapped underground like this, betrayed by the man he loved. He would never have experienced this sheer, agonizing pain that hurt much more than a bullet to the chest or arrows through his flesh ever could.

But the thought of never having met Hiro at all… it was intolerable.

He would do it all again, if never having met him was the alternative.

…God, he was insane.


He hummed Japanese lullabies to himself as he traced the scrapings in the wood with his nails, brushing past the torn pieces of cotton that he had destroyed out of sheer desperation.

He hadn't screamed for help for some time now. No one was coming. No one was ever going to come.

He didn't deserve to be saved.


"I should have killed you when I had the chance."

Somehow, that had hurt most of all.