Disclaimer, Spoilers, History Notes, and note about the Immortals AU: See Chapter One

Trigger warning: See end of chapter.

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Chapter Two: May 1873, Part II

How could he be so stupid? With such a small, confined space, he was going to run out of air sooner rather than later and die once again.

He forced himself to calm at that thought, knowing he needed to last as long as possible, so that his friends might find him and get him out of this hole he'd been buried in. Perhaps they would soon be there, though he knew it was wishful thinking.

His breathing slowed, but the air was still noticeably thicker. Time was most definitely not on his side.

Suffocation* was inevitable and imminent. Would this death be his last? Or, would he be forever caught up in an endless cycle of death and resurrection, suffocating over and over forever?

Panic and fear warred within him, wanting to take over again, wanting to push him towards what may be his final death all that much quicker. Instead, he managed to push aside those thoughts yet again. Right then, he would think of only this death, refusing to think past this point.

He gasped for breath; it was becoming more and more difficult to draw any air into his lungs and he was feeling more and more sleepy. There was a tightness in his chest, and he found his thoughts drifting.

Forcing himself to concentrate, he decided that, if these were his last moments of his long life, he would think only about those he cared about most – his brothers.

Aramis, Athos, and d'Artagnan… He missed his brothers in this newest life of his.

Because his company of soldiers had been on the road towards a new posting, and considering the color of his skin, Porthos knew he had been extremely fortunate to have been buried in a coffin instead of his body being placed directly in the ground. His commanding officer had treated all of his men equally, regardless of their skin color or background. In that respect – and the man's temper – his Captain had reminded him of Tréville.

Realizing his mind had drifted, Porthos forced his thoughts back to his brothers.

Regardless of how well they were – or were not – getting along in any current year, one rule that none of them had never dared to break was to let the others know the name of their current alias and their general location. Due to a situation beyond their control, they had been fated to be brothers for eternity, cursed to immortality and thus needed to be able to keep an eye out for each other, even if only from a distance.

His death would be reported, but would word ever reach his friends? Or would his disappearance off the face of the earth forever be a mystery to them? Would they think he had forsaken them, abandoning them to live his immortal life without the company of his brothers?

Porthos gasped and attempted to draw air into his struggling lungs.

He prayed that, if this ordinary coffin, deep under the moldering earth was to be his final resting place, it would be his final death. He had lived well beyond his normal lifespan, and had been places and done much more than he could've ever imagined he would do. Porthos was content to find out what lay beyond the immortal life that had been forced upon him and his friends.

Trying to breathe in, he found that there was no more air. Panic returned.

He didn't know if he could wake up without air to sustain him, and he hoped he wouldn't find out.

The end was almost upon him, and he was feeling beyond tired at this point.

Death was coming. Perhaps this time, it would keep him.

Visions of his brothers flashed before his eyes and the panic disappeared.

With one last gasp for non-existent air, he closed his eyes and surrendered to his coming death.

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Sometime later, Porthos opened his eyes and he attempted to fill his lungs with air, but found that he couldn't.

Darkness and silence surrounded him. He was confused, wondering what was going on.

He couldn't breathe. He didn't know where he was or what had happened to put him in the dark.

There was a last gasp for air before his heart stopped and he knew no more.

In a matter of seconds, he had come back to life, only to lose it again.

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Thus a vicious cycle began.

A gasp in the absolute darkness.

Confusion reigning in the silence.

Sometimes there was panic.

Sometimes fear.

Often, there was both.

Regardless, there was no air and Death once again attempted to claim him…

…and failed…

…too many times to count.

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To be concluded.

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History Note:

Suffocation: (Warning: Potential Trigger!) Some information from the Popular Science website… As the carbon dioxide builds up, it would make you sleepy. You'd fall into a coma before your heart stopped. You might feel the suffocation, but you wouldn't be conscious during those last moments.

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Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for her help with proofing. Remaining mistakes are my fault.

Thanks for reading!

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Trigger Warning: (Spoilers) This story deals with someone essentially being buried alive. The character was dead when buried, but because they are immortal, they revive, suffocate, and die more than once. Some details about trepanning, burials, and suffocations are described further in the History Notes. You might want to skip this one if you think this might be a trigger.