1680

His name had been Matthew for ten years, but that was almost as long as he dared to keep still, to keep up appearances in a town that was ever watchful. With so many of its residents perishing from either illness or the unforgiving winters, it was almost too easy to notice the undeniable perseverance of one man.

The water felt icy against Matthew's skin as he gasped, blinking in shock and shaking from the chill; a chuckle sounded a few feet ahead, and he glanced up from where he'd been hacking away at the frosted ground. He'd been trying to dig a grave in the dead of winter, his hands reddened and cracked in places. Despite his deep familiarity with the changing seasons, the elements still found a way to hurt his skin.

Tobias stood in front of him with a self-satisfied smirk etched onto his usually stony features, an empty pail swaying in his grasp. He pressed a hand flat against the belt at his hip, as he often did, and shook his burly head with faked disapproval.

"You ought to be more careful, son—wouldn't want to catch ill, in this kind of weather…" he shook his head and dropped the pail, turning away.

"Don't want all of Salem to watch you die, now—would you, boy?" he called as the distance between them grew, and Matthew watched, cold beads of water dripping from his hair, shivering and furious.

Tobias had known his secret for the better part of a year now and he liked to dangle the threat over Matthew's head like some ominous reminder; he liked to do whatever he wanted, actually, and toying with someone who wouldn't dare fight back was exactly that.

He could kill Tobias—easily, in fact. He'd murdered enough people to hone a certain skill, but Tobias' death would cause a stir in the town. No one would miss him; Tobias was a largely disliked bully with too much money for his own good. The people would notice his absence all the same, though.

And a stir in Salem was something he'd been desperately trying to avoid.

1914

"Seems to me like you'd be shitting yourself right about now, but you ain't even shaking from the cold. What's wrong with ya?" asked one of the soldiers crouched down beside him, someone with a name like Bobby or Robbie or something that rhymed with it. He could never quite recall.

He stared straight ahead, at all of the other young soldiers with blood on their chins because they were biting their lips so hard. Bobby nudged him in the shoulder, shouting over the rain and crash of the waves hitting at their backs.

"Ay, Adam! I asked you a question, man—aren't ya scared?"

It was a question born more from a desperate desire for reassurance and comfort than anything else, but Adam knew that he had none to offer the boy. They'd all die, more than likely.

He turned and gave the soldier a withering stare, but Bobby was either ignorant or brave, for Adam's withering stares had turned lesser men pale with fear.

He cocked his head and smiled to himself, though his lips trembled from the cold and whatever fear he still felt.

"Well, I sure am scared shitless, I'll tell ya that!" he laughed shakily, but Adam could hardly hear it.

He was too focused on the nearing blasts of gunfire that echoed from the shore.

From the look in Bobby's eyes, he heard it too; it was the last time Adam saw him smile.

…

"How long are they going to wait, huh? They're keeping you in suspense to mess with your head," Abe whispered weakly as he sat in his cell with his back against the barred wall. Henry, seated similarly in the adjacent cell, closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them, frustrated and worried. He knew that Abe was right; it was only a matter of time before they finished whatever they were doing to Adam and came for him instead, now that his secret was as exposed as his scar had been to their prying eyes.

"I know, Abe," he murmured, opening his eyes to take in the same walls he'd known for days.

It had been one week since that vulnerable, fateful day of their capture, and Henry was glad to see Jo and Abe well and unharmed, though poorly fed. Adam, on the other hand, hadn't been so lucky.

For seven near-sleepless nights, they'd all lain on the chilled concrete floor and listened to his various tortures; Henry could never figure out what they were doing to him. Later, they'd drag him down the long hall from the experimentation room and toss him into the cell across from Henry. He was always naked and soaked to the bone, water dripping from his hair as he shivered. They'd given him a blanket on the first night, which he always clung to with a near animalistic fervor, his fingers trembling as he scrambled back to sit against the far wall, hiding in the shadows of the cell.

He hadn't spoken a word to any of them, despite Henry's questions.

In the cell beside Adam's, Jo sat with her arms wrapped around her torso. It was thankfully warm wherever they were, but a chill still swept over them every now and then. With the exception of Adam, they'd been given thick hospital gowns and socks, yet that did little for their comfort. Henry was starting to grow concerned for all of them: Abe was in no shape to have the added physical strain of imprisonment, Jo was already looking restless and unsettled, Adam looked terrifying, and Henry's own body could fail him quite soon.

The "scientists" had been sure to avoid feeding him; they'd acted as if, since he was immortal, he didn't need food and only needed enough water to keep him alive. It was miserable.

They didn't feed Adam either, since they just killed him whenever they were done with him and plucked him out of whatever river they must have been near. Abe had offered Adam his food the other day, but Adam had silently refused it.

Henry looked at Adam's empty cell, listening to the eerie silence of the hall; the experiments must have ended. Adam would be back any minute, and the scientists would be back with him, back to taunt Henry with the threat of their presence.

He frowned, imagining it with a heavy sense of dread; he hated being so weakened, so powerless. What made it worse-though he'd never admit it out loud-was that Adam had been made that way, too. Ever since Henry had met Adam, he'd been a formidable immortal with a constant upper hand, never a vulnerable, trembling shadow huddled against the wall. Henry, despite himself and all his bittersweet memories of Abigail, felt pity for Adam. It wasn't a new feeling by any means; he'd pitied Adam when he first learned of his time in Auschwitz, but that hadn't lasted very long. Any sympathy had flown out the window the moment he discovered that Abigail's killer had been right under his nose the entire time.

But he didn't kill her, said an argumentative voice in his head that sounded a lot like Adam.

Henry recalled their last therapy session and how nonchalant Adam had been about the entire situation; he ground his teeth together, pressing the back of his head against the wall. It wasn't enough that Adam suffered now. It wasn't enough that he'd saved Abe and Jo. Nothing could ever make it right.

The steel double doors at the end of the hall swung open and slammed against the walls as two men dragged Adam, who never struggled, to his cell, trails of water left in his wake as his feet loosely grazed the concrete. The scientists opened the cell door and tossed him in; he made a noise as he fell, but it was more surprised than pained. The men were both dressed the same: dark, likely armored military gear and black helmets with tinted shields covering their eyes. They reminded him of motorcycle helmets. They each had a gun and knife holstered at their hips, yet Henry had never heard any shots fired during his stay.

One was leaning against the bars of Adam's cell as he spoke in a muffled voice with the man locking the door; he turned and gave Henry an assessing look.

"When did he say to bring him in?" he asked, never taking his eyes from Henry.

"In a couple days, I think. I don't know-my shift changes after today so I didn't pay attention when he told us."

"Shit. I don't want to ask him to repeat himself. You know how he'll react."

They hurried off to presumably solve their dilemma and Henry was left alone to contemplate; he had two days.

Suddenly, a cold reality set in.

…

Day eight, and already Adam was growing restless inside. He thrust out his hands so that they'd hit the hard floor before his face did as the guards tossed him into his cell. Adrenaline singing his veins, he could feel his heart pounding; he'd never get used to the familiar rush of basic, instinctual terror.

Each time they plucked him from the river, his first thought was only of safety and defense, but he always had to drown out such foolish notions. He had to focus on Henry-Henry and Abe and Jo. He had to forget every single lesson he'd learned, had to swallow any and all urges to fight, and had to completely deny that part of him that yearned to be free from the primal torment.

Scrambling against the concrete floor, he gasped, water dripping down his face. His nerves were shot to hell, or maybe even a place far beyond hell, and his fingers had taken to shaking at all hours of the day. His broken composure was genuine, despite his efforts to keep a strong poker face; the refreshed memories of Auschwitz and the routine tortures kept him wide awake during the nights and trembling during the daylight hours. It was something that couldn't be overcome or outsmarted. It was falling back into his darkest nightmares, trapped in a web of his own making.

If not for his attachment to Henry, he would never have accepted defeat. If not for his foolishness, he could have avoided the situation entirely.

Huddled against the wall, he brought his knees up to his chest and sighed shakily, closing his eyes. He'd been naïve to believe that saving Abe and Jo would ever bring Henry closer; he'd ruined those chances long ago. Yet, something stubbornly held firm, some misguided belief—like the kind he'd grown to ignore.

But Adam, for whatever reason, couldn't quite ignore this one.

He opened his eyes to the sound of Henry's voice, coated with desperation and even a bit of concern.

"Adam, please—answer me. As much as I dislike the idea, we all have to work together to get out of here. It's our only chance," Henry whispered urgently.

Blinking out of whatever trance he'd been in, Adam glanced up and noticed that the guards who'd just dropped him off had gone, thankfully. The four of them were left alone in their cells, and Henry was across from Adam, pressed against the door of his cell with his hands wrapped tightly around the bars, his knuckles white. He'd clearly been trying to reach Adam for a while now, and his gaze lit up with hope once he noticed Adam's focus. Adam thought that he probably hadn't truly focused in days.

"Adam! We have to do it tomorrow—when the guards come. We have to find a way to.." Henry faltered, his face falling at the realization that he was going to have to fight his way out, "—kill them, all of them," Abe finished, sure and certain. He stared at Adam from the cell beside Henry's, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his shoulders hunched from either cold or fear—Adam couldn't tell.

A voice beside Adam, familiar yet weakened, shakily agreed.

"It's our best chance, when they're here to pick Henry up. Catch them by surprise, work together, get their weapons," Jo explained in a hushed tone, "..escape, generally."

Adam turned his head to look at her, with her unkempt hair and wild, dark eyes, her skin pale and unhealthy from the mistreatment. They were all staring at Adam as if he had the answers; suddenly, Adam remembered something that Jo had said, piercing through the fog in his mind.

He glanced at Henry, tilting his head.

"They're taking you?" Adam asked softly, but it was by no means a kind tone.

Henry, picking up on the sneaking hostility in Adam's voice, swallowed nervously and nodded, never taking his eyes away from Adam's.

"Either tomorrow or the next day, the guard said."

Adam crawled forward, his knees scraping against the chilled concrete floor as he shifted the blanket around his shoulders, covering himself before he snuck into the dim light and wrapped a hand around the bars, mirroring Henry's position.

There was something ancient and smooth about the way Adam moved then, Henry thought. He hadn't quite witnessed it before, hadn't really seen the age in Adam. He'd never been angry at Henry before, not really. He'd been annoyed and teasing and cold, but he hadn't been furious. Not like he was now.

Adam's eyes were wide and his fingers trembled, his breathing shallow.

Henry scooted back, despite the protection of the bars; a shiver went through him. The pressure must have been getting to Adam, he thought. Adam was merely exhausted and stressed, nothing more.

"So you would plead for an escape route, only when the threat of torture is aimed at you—is that right?" Adam asked calmly, never blinking.

Henry shook his head frantically, his grasp on the cell bars tightening with a spike of fear.

"No, that's not what I—I just meant that…we need to escape," he tried to explain, but Adam chuckled to himself.

"We've always needed to escape—forget it, it's done," Adam finished in a clipped tone. He let out an uneven breath and released his grip on the bars, shaking his head as he pulled the scratchy blanket tighter about his shoulders.

"I've been planning an escape for days now, but these things take time. You can't just decide that you're going to escape tomorrow morning; you have to observe the enemy and plan around their weaknesses. We only get one shot at this, you know," he reprimanded coolly, looking to Abe and Jo with a disapproving expression coming over his features.

They were just surprised that he was talking; he hadn't spoken or moved in the eight days they'd been locked up. He'd just stayed in that corner, huddled and trembling.

Jo spoke up first, since Henry was still reeling from the implication that he could be so selfish.

"So, what's your plan?" she asked confidently, knowing that, despite his personality and his penchant for cruelty, Adam was an excellent schemer.

He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye, nearly acknowledging her specific brand of sudden approval, but he just sat back on his heels and stared at Henry instead.

"One of the usual guards won't be here tomorrow morning; he's switching shifts with this newer guard that transferred from somewhere—I only heard them talking about it when the doctor was taking a break from his experimentation with me," he spoke of the experience with a frown on his face, "Anyway, the other guard has a habit of leaning against Jo's cell door while the first guard takes me out of mine—a rookie mistake, really. So, when this happens tomorrow, I'll take down the new guard after he opens my door, and Jo can hold off the one that leans against her cell until I can dispatch him. The goal is to keep his hands away from his weapons," Adam explained to Jo calmly, "so hold him against the bars however you like—just don't let him get to his gun or knife."

Jo nodded, attentive and determined, and Abe cleared his throat in the ensuing quiet.

"And…what are we supposed to do?" he asked, staring at Adam expectantly.

"You wait until I've taken care of them, then I'll get the key and free us. We can dress in their clothes as a disguise and take the compound from the inside."

"So, I'm guessing this involves a lot of killing and bullets, right?" Abe continued, "Well, I've got news for you: Jo and I aren't bulletproof; it only takes one stray shot to ruin our day. So, I think we should wear the disguises, and you and Henry can figure it out, yeah?"

Henry and Adam shared a look and an agreement passed between them; this agreement, unbeknownst to Henry, relied upon Henry killing to defend them. Adam briefly wondered if Henry would be able to even do it, to take another life—despite the necessary, do or die circumstances.

When Henry moved his gaze to Jo for some kind of motivated, concerned feeling, Adam kept watching him. He wasn't certain that Henry would pass this test, wasn't confident that they'd all get out unscathed. It was imperative that Henry not falter when they put their plan into action; any hesitation could mean death for their mortal companions.

And it would definitely mean endless torture for Adam and even Henry.

He was so naïve and had always been—this was no exception. Henry had no idea what horrors awaited him past those steel doors. Adam knew all too well, which was why he was confident that he wouldn't make a mistake when the time came. Henry, however, could easily mess things up. Adam only hoped that he was mistaken in his doubt.

Nodding at Abe, Henry smiled. It was an old, familiar smile that Abe remembered from his childhood. It was a protective gesture, an attempt to conceal Henry's true anxiety for the sake of his son.

"Of course, Abraham," Henry reassured gently.

Jo watched the pair from across the hall, resting her cheek against one of the cell bars, wondering if they were ever going to escape, wondering if she'd ever get to investigate another case with Henry, or lose at a game of chess with Abe. She wondered if she'd ever share an early morning cup of coffee with Reece, or tease Hanson about his wife, or even pretend to be overly bothered by Lucas' extensive knowledge of serial killers.

What if it never happened again?

Somehow, Jo knew that she understood Adam's ferocity just a bit more; if she'd been through hell, she'd do nearly anything to avoid being taken back.

And when the time came to take down the guards, Jo knew that she'd do anything to protect Abe and Henry from the same fate.

Adam retreated to his familiar corner, crossing his arms over his chest to stop from shivering; he was still wet from the river. They all left him alone after that, knowing that he was hardly in a mood to continue a conversation. They probably thought that he was thinking about the laboratory and all the time he'd spent in it thus far, but in reality Adam was thinking of a new, secret plan: one that might actually work.

1918

The soldiers crowded around him, some with limps and most with blood spotting their skin. Despite their exhaustion, their cheers were refreshed and lively; they threw up their helmets in celebration.

The war was over, and he was part of the winning side—however much of them had survived, that is. He didn't recognize any of the faces around him, and almost wished that he did. He almost wished that he could spot a face in the crowd and remember him from that first day of gunfire and smoke. He wished that he could recognize a kindred spirit, a survivor.

There was no one, and Adam's relief faltered; he was alone, in a sea of bodies that would never know.

"Come on, come on! " one of the commanders shouted, dragging a camera along with him, which was linked to three wooden stilts that had definitely seen better days, "Stay still now—ay! Don't look so serious…We just won the war, boys!"

Cheers and whistles erupted around Adam, and the high of the moment lifted his spirits, albeit briefly.

He wouldn't remember how it felt, to be victorious in a righteous cause—to be freed of such needless violence and death.

Adam would soon forget how it felt to have his comrades' arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as they posed in front of the commander, all silly grins and dirty faces, grateful for the end.

Hey, guys! I'm sooooo sorry that it's been so long since my last update. Besides laziness and writer's block, I've been pretty busy with some life changes. But ugh there's no excuse. :( I haven't abandoned this, though! I hope to return to updating semi-regularly from now on, if anyone out there is even still interested in this fic, haha.

Please R&R! Any feedback is always appreciated.