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Chapter Text

He’d been so sure he’d breathed his last breath on top of that mountain after Dutch and Micah left him there. What he didn’t expect was a pounding headache, fresh air being dragged in by strong, working lungs, and no coughing. What the hell happened? And when did he close his eyes? And why did his body feel so awkward?

He blinked open his eyes, taking in the world around him. The first thing that hit him was his surroundings. He was laying on his stomach, surrounded by tall, green pine trees in the middle of a silent forest. The only sounds were the wind making the trees rustle and creak. The second thing was how everything seemed to look different in the dark light. It was sharper somehow. Everything bounced out at him, making him able to see details, even in the poor lighting. And the last thing was the fact that he could see a lot more than usual, he could almost see 360 degrees around him. Which was odd. The only thing that was out of focus was straight in front of him, and behind him.

“You’ll get used to it,” a familiar voice chuckled. His head snapped up to attention, the pounding in his head making him wince and groan in frustration. It didn’t sound like a human groan, though. The voice beside him sighed, almost content. “Now, Arthur, how’re you feeling, son?”

Arthur turned his head and finally saw who sat beside him in the grass. Hosea Matthews grinned at him. He looked a lot younger than last time he saw him, being shot dead in the chest by agent Milton.

“Hosea?” he tried to say, only for it to sound like a dying cat being strangled to death. Or like a deer. And that’s when he noticed his furry legs, the uncomfortable extra weight on his head and the lack of fingers and toes. What the hell? Why the hell was he a stag? At least he hoped he was a stag.

“The one and only,” Hosea grinned before getting to his feet. He stretched his legs and placed his hands on his hips, as if he was expecting something. “You getting up, or are you going to stay there?”

Arthur wanted to die again. Had he been reincarnated as a god damned stag? Why couldn’t he just die in peace and leave it at that? Hosea continued to stare at him, waiting patiently. Arthur tried getting himself up, the unnatural bending of his legs making it surprisingly difficult, but he managed to rise unsteadily and take a couple of wobbly steps towards the man he saw as a father.

“Why…?” He croaked, not able to finish the question. Hosea looked like he understood anyway.

“I guess you have some unfinished business to attend to,” he informed, starting to move through the trees slowly, letting Arthur get used to his new body as he followed. Arthur shook his head in disbelief. He would probably never be able to rest. Maybe that was his curse for all the things he’d done in his life? All those innocent lives taken for no reason other than a dream about saving his family. And then everything had crumbled under him, letting him watch as the people he loved were taken from him, or show a side of them he’d never believed they had in them. So much tragedy for absolutely nothing. The only good thing was the few people he got out safely. He wondered if any of them were still alive. God, he hoped John had been able to meet up with Abigale and Jack. That was his main mission in the end.

“You saved a lot of people, Arthur,” Hosea turned to him as they continued through the trees. He smiled sadly as Arthur lowered his head. He couldn’t help but feel like he should have done more, saved more people. He knew he probably could, but he’d been too busy doing everyone else’s dirty work for anything else to matter. “I know you probably feel you could have helped a lot more, but be happy with the ones you helped get a second chance,” Hosea placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked. “It’s unbelievable how they all moved on as they did. Tilly has a husband now. I believe she’s pregnant, too, actually. Mary-Beth is writing romance novels. I think they’re selling pretty good. Mr. Pearson owns the general store in Rhodes, believe it or not!” Arthur almost stopped walking. He’d given his family a second chance at life.

“How long have I been gone?” he asked, still not entirely used to the growling sounds escaping his throat. It was astonishing that Hosea even understood him.

“Five years, give or take,” Hosea said with a strange look flashing over his features for a second. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show up.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur looked at the older ghost. The only way to describe him was to compare him to one of his earliest memories as part of the Van Der Linde gang. One of the nights when there’d been only the three of them; Dutch, Hosea and Arthur. Arthur had gone out on his own, believing he could rob something by himself without any assistance. He’d gotten shot, and somehow managed to crawl his way back to camp after a couple of days. Both of the older outlaws had looked like they hadn’t been able to sleep for days. Their movement stressed and their faces somehow older than before he’d left. Of course, in the beginning, Arthur had thought they were worried someone had followed him, and he’d probably have to pack his things and leave, or they’d just kill him and end his suffering. That was until they dragged him to his bed and started to treat the gunshot wound, and scolding him for leaving in the first place. Hosea had even dragged him into a tight embrace. It was the first time they’d called him their son.

“Both Molly and Susan showed up pretty quickly after they died,” Hosea explained. “We’ve all been waiting for you, knowing you probably didn’t have much time left. And then, when you finally died, you never showed up. We were there at the ledge when you…” he trailed off and swallowed. “We wanted to greet you when you woke up, but it never happened. Most of us gave up, thinking you’d been dragged off to hell or something, but I couldn’t stop looking for you. I knew you’d show up eventually, the only thing left was to know where and when,” Hosea frowned. Arthur expected him to continue, but the old con artist remained silent.

“When you say you’ve all been waiting for me-“ Arthur glanced at him.

“I mean all of us. Sean, Kieran, Lenny, Molly, Susan, Jenny, Davey and Mac. Bessie and Annabelle waited with us, too, for a while,” Hosea looked straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. “But after nothing happened, they all began to drift away. I don’t really know where they are anymore. Probably exploring the world they never got the chance to see,” The man paused. “And Eliza and Isaac came looking for you, once.”

The mention of his family made his heart ache. He’d missed all of them so much it hurt. He hoped he’d see them again one day.

“What about you?” Arthur feared the answer. If his suspicions were right, he wouldn’t like what Hosea was going to say. The man hesitated.

“I…” he started, looking down at the grass underneath their feet. “I’ve been waiting around for you since you got back from Guarma,” Arthur gawked at him. “I could hear you cough sometimes at night when we were staying at Shady Belle, and when you returned from you little adventure overseas, it had become so much worse, so I ended up following you around until you collapsed in St. Denis. After that, I stuck close by ‘til the end, so to speak.”

“And when I didn’t show up after I…” Arthur couldn’t get himself to say it, as he looked at the man who raised him.

“I waited wherever your body was,” Hosea said slowly, continuing with his voice slightly above a whisper. “Charles came back and found you, burying you so you faced west towards the evening sun, just like you said you wanted that one time.”

“And then?”

“I saw a stag appear in the grass beneath your grave.”

“Beneath it?”

Hosea nodded and pointed over his shoulder. Arthur looked in the direction and was surprised when he could see the top of a wooden cross on a ledge high up on the side of the mountain.

“You’ve stayed up there for five years?” Arthur said, not wanting to believe it. Hosea shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face.

“I’ve been around,” he grinned. “I had to make sure everyone was okay. I took a few trips every week, checking up on old friends, but I ended up here more often than I like to admit. I didn’t want to give up on the possibility of you turning up again.”

“I have to be honest with you, Hosea,” Arthur sighed. “I’m happy you did stick around, because I’d probably be freaking out a lot more if I were alone when I woke up.”

Hosea laughed; a hearty laugh Arthur had been sure he’d never hear again. It was refreshing.

“Now, let’s get you out of these woods so we can figure out why you’re a stag instead of a spirit,” he grinned and tugged at Arthur’s antlers playfully.

Arthur was just about to answer when he heard something come flying through the air towards him. The next moment a burning pain spread through him like flames. The pain made him collapse to the ground and scream until his lungs had no more air left in them, leaving him heaving for breath, fighting to get away from whatever was lodged in his shoulder. He could faintly hear Hosea calling his name through his own panic. He tried to find something to calm him down, but his vision was swimming, and he couldn’t see. Two warm hands found his face, stroking his forehead soothingly to calm him down. He finally caught Hosea’s wide stare, finding it more calming than it should be, like just looking at his father figure made him feel like everything would be okay, whatever happened to him.

He drifted off into the darkness as he heard voices in the distance, cheering at the game they’d just caught.

He didn’t know why it surprised him when he woke up again, at the exact same place he’d woken up the first time. He didn’t feel any pain from where he’d been shot, and a quick check made him realize there was no blood or wounds. He was fine.

He looked around, feeling a little disappointed when Hosea wasn’t there. He’d hoped the man would find him again. Then a thought crossed his mind. What if Hosea thought he’d be gone for another five years?

He hurried to his feet, trying his best to keep his balance as he trotted through the trees, in the same direction they’d went the first time he woke up. He listened carefully for any sounds around him.

Voices not too far in front of him made him slow down and carefully move through the forest, trying to be as silent as possible.

“What the hell is this?” one of the voices shouted. Arthur continued to close in on them. “Where did it go? I know I hit it! You saw I hit it, right?”

“Yeah, you got it right in its damn shoulder,” another spoke up. Arthur stopped between two trees, watching the two hunters walking around, searching for what must have been him mere minutes ago. There was no trace of him at all. No body, no blood, not even any tracks from where he’d been struggling on the ground.

He began to back into the cover of the trees again when he saw someone standing tensely on the other side of the hunters. Hosea looked like he’d aged at least ten years in the minutes he’d been gone. For a second he almost shouted for him, but he caught himself just in time. It would be really foolish if he made a sound and the hunters saw him. He’d just be shot again.

He tried to get Hosea’s attention by moving instead. The man didn’t see him at all, making Arthur wanting to hit his head on a tree trunk. He decided against it, however, and made his way through the maze of wooden branches and dry twigs on the ground. He needed to make sure Hosea knew he was okay.

He was almost right behind the hunters when he lost his balance for only a moment, but it was enough to make him trip on a root, which caused him to step a little too hard to keep himself from falling. The low thud made his stomach twist and the world seemed to slow down as the two hunters turned around. He just had a few seconds to react, but he saw his chance and charged forwards, his head down and antlers pointing towards the people who’d shot him.

They didn’t know what was happening before they were being pushed towards a couple of trees. They screamed as the antlers dug through their skin. Arthur blocked out the sound and focused on disarming them. When he pulled back, both of the men scrambled to their feet and rushed through the trees, leaving behind their hunting rifles. He snorted, amused by their reaction before remembering what he was doing there in the first place.

He turned to see a shocked Hosea blinking owlishly at him.

“You’re back?” he asked quietly, taking a few steps towards Arthur. Arthur nodded.

“I woke up at the place you found me,” he grunted and walked over to him. Hosea just continued to stare at him.

“You just disappeared!”

“And then I found myself back where I started. Are we done pointing out the obvious?”

“This isn’t possible…”

“Says the ghost talking to and understanding a stag,” Arthur tried to roll his eyes, but it ended with more of a head roll instead. His eyes were pretty much locked into one place, it seemed. “I don’t care how it works, Hosea, I just want to know why this is happening to me. Is peace too much to ask for?”

Hosea let his eyes fall to his feet, and Arthur wondered if he’d been to harsh on the guy. He’d probably be shocked too if something like that had happened to him. He was about to apologize when Hosea sighed.

“I guess this unfinished business makes you immortal for the time being,” the older man started. “You’ll probably end up where you started if you die, having to start over in a sense until you’ve finished what you’re supposed to be doing.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. It made sense, but he wanted to test that theory, just to be sure.

“I think we should test it,” he said and started to look around for a way to give himself a quick and painless death. Hosea’s eyes widened in horror.

“No?”

“Yes,” Arthur looked around, trying to get an idea. “You go back to where you found me. If I’m not there when you get there, just wait a few more minutes. If I don’t show up, you’re free to go wherever you please, and you won’t have to worry about me no more.”

Hosea looked like he was going to refuse, but Arthur kept going.

“It’ll be fine, Hosea,” he met his eyes, trying to look as reassuring as he possibly could. “I’ll be there, just go.”

And with that, he took off into the night. He tried his best to duck under low branches and probably find a more open place so he could go faster, but his wish was soon met by open air. It seemed like he didn’t have to run as far as he thought to find a way to die. He could just run straight off a cliff he didn’t know was there. Which is how he ended up once more in the grass below his grave. Just in time to see Hosea run through the trees.

“You took your time,” Arthur said as Hosea glared at him.

“You didn’t have to do that, Arthur,” the man sighed before sitting down beside him. Arthur gave him a playful shove with his antlers.

“But now I’ll know if I’ve done what needs doing. If I ain’t done yet, I’ll just end up here.”

“What did you do to-“

“It’s not important,” Arthur cut him off, not wanting to go into details on how he’d ended up back in the spot he’d woken up in. “What is important, is what I have to do to get on with my life, or afterlife, or whatever the hell this is. Are you staying with me, or do you want to find peace?”

“I’m going to stay with you for a while. I’ve waited for you this long; I can keep going until you’re ready. We’ll find peace together, or I’ll stay with you as long as you need me to.”

Arthur nodded. He’d hoped Hosea would stay with him. He’d missed the man a lot, so spending a little more quality time with him would be great.

“Okay, then. I recon we’ve stayed here long enough, don’t you think?” Arthur got to his feet, ready to take on what the world wanted of him. Hosea agreed, and soon they were on their way again.

They took another route this time, staying clear of the spot where the hunters had been. They were walking over a mountain when a question popped into Arthur’s head.

“Did John make it?” he asked, glancing over at Hosea, who was balancing on the edge of a cliff. He had a peaceful expression on his face, like nothing could ever bother him again. Not a single worry to stress over. Not even a slight fear of falling off the edge he was walking on. Arthur realized it was just that; peace. He didn’t have to be scared of falling, or anything the world could throw at them. Nothing could hurt him anymore.

“John’s fine,” Hosea smiled. “Other than being an idiot like he always was, but what else is new.”

“What happened?”

“Got into a fight with Abigale about a feud between two ranch owners. Abigale wanted him to stop killing people, John wanted to help his boss, and Abigale left him.”

“Jesus,” Arthur muttered, and made his way down a slight slope. It was more slippery than he was used to. Normally he’d have a horse carrying him through difficult terrain, but this time he was on his own four legs.

“Yeah, but he’s trying to get her back. Last time I checked on him he’d bought a ranch just outside of Blackwater. They were working on getting the house up when I visited him.”

“They?”

Hosea grinned at him.

“Charles and Uncle joined him. They’re trying to help him out. At least Charles is doing his best. Uncle is still the lazy bastard he was when we left them.”

Arthur snorted. Of course, Uncle would lay around and not do much. When did that man ever do anything productive in camp? Always blaming his lumbago. Charles wasn’t a surprise either. He’d been helpful ever since he’d joined the Van Der Linde gang.

“Maybe we should pay them a little visit?”

“That’s your choice, son,” Hosea stopped when they got a bit further down the mountainside, a path leading down towards a river. “If that’s where your instinct tells you to go, let’s go.”

Arthur stopped beside him. He didn’t know what he’d do when he got there, but he was somehow certain he needed to meet his “brother”.

“Well, if you know where he is, lead the way!” he said, following the older man as they continued on their way, back towards where all this tragedy had first started with a ferry job gone wrong.

It took less time than he expected. He could almost see the fence on John’s property when he felt sharp claws dig into his flesh, pushing him down into the dirt. Teeth dug into the skin of his neck, ripping and gnawing, blood pulsing out of the wound. Again, he could hear Hosea scream his name.

It was a fucking cougar. He’d been so close, and a cougar had decided to pounce him.

The pain was shocking, until it faded together with everything else, and he died once more.

When he woke up, he was seething. Not only had he left Hosea back at John’s ranch, but he was alone, and back to where he’d started. Again.

He let out a roar, or as much as a roar a stag could make. Close enough, it lessened the frustration as good as anything, at least.

He got up quickly, falling into that awkward jumping run deer were know for, and tried to remember his way back to where he’d died. He was furious. How many times would he have to die to be able to move on?

He made his way over the mountain, almost slipping over the edge of the cliff Hosea had been balancing on, giving himself a minor heart attack before finally getting a grip again.

He ran past some hunters trying to shoot him. He almost hit a grizzly bear when he rounded a boulder. Another damned cougar chased him for a while before giving up when he’d crossed a river. He actually crashed into a deer, sending them both tumbling down a hill, leaving him dizzy and disorientated for a second. Everything just fuelling the flames.

When he finally got back to where his dead body should be laying, he only found a few broken twigs. The cougar was nowhere to be found, and Hosea was gone.

He breathed heavily as he made his way through the forest. His temper hadn’t died down, and he wanted nothing more than to get over with this damned life so he could move on. He was tired of living. He’d done his part, so why the hell couldn’t he just get some rest for a minute.

His head was yanked backwards by his antlers. He could feel his neck straining from the awkward position. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the low hanging branches, and now he was stuck. Of course. Like his life wasn’t already stupid enough, he’d gone ahead and made himself stuck in a fucking tree. What a terrific way to die again. If something found him like this, he’d be dead. And then he’d have to travel the whole way back. Again.

He tugged and swore, only making his predicament worse. He was stuck and he was going to die. It was embarrassing, to be honest.

Just as he was about to give up, he heard someone approaching. He tried to see what was about to attack him this time, hoping for a quick and painless ending, but the moment he saw the black-haired man with a scarred face, he knew that to not be the case. John Marston was holding a bow at the ready, an arrow already pulled back and pointed at its target.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Arthur muttered, glaring at the arrowhead, knowing it would be painful.

When the words left his mouth, however, the arrow was lowered, and wide blue eyes met his. Had John understood him?

“Would you look at that,” Hosea walked up behind John. John didn’t seem to notice the old ghost. “Did you get stuck?”

John furrowed his brow, confusion making him look around for a moment, as if he’d heard someone talk. He quickly got out of his trance, and aimed at Arthur again.

“Of course, I got stuck,” Arthur groaned, already accepting having to walk all the way back after being shot by someone he considered his own brother. “And now this fool is going to shoot me because I was stupid enough not to look where I was going.”

John froze. Hosea chuckled as he leaned against a tree.

“Careful what you say, son,” he said and crossed his arms. “You never know who’s listening.”

Arthur directed his attention back at John, who looked like he’d understood every word he’d said.

“You…” Arthur started, ignoring John’s horrified expression. “You can understand me?”

“…Arthur?”

Chapter Text

When John woke up that morning, he thought it would be just like any other day. He got up from his bedroll, stretched and yawned before stumbling out into the hallway. He couldn’t believe they’d already finished the ranch house. If anyone in the gang had told him he would own his own ranch and try to live a clean life a few years ago, he would’ve laughed in their face. Probably even shot them just to make a point that he would never leave the life as an outlaw.

He chuckled to himself as he walked out into the morning sun. The heat warmed him up quickly as he stepped down from the porch and made his way over to the newly raised barn. They’d been working tirelessly to make the place look like home, and John had to admit the place started to feel more and more like a place he could relax.

The biggest threat at the moment were the Skinners. After they had kidnapped Uncle, John felt like he should have to have someone stand guard at night just to be sure his family stayed safe. Especially if Abigail and Jack came back to him. He would not put them in danger. Not after all they’d been through.

John opened the barn doors and stepped inside, breathing in the smell and instantly regretting it.

“Jesus,” he huffed, wrinkling his nose as he grabbed the shovel leaning against the wall beside him. The single cow they had been able to get a hold of mooed in greeting as he got closer. “Definitely some things I could live without...”

He patted the cow gently before getting to work. He finished up quickly, having plenty of experience from his time as a farmhand up at Pronghorn Ranch, and ended up leading the docile creature out to the horses. He figured the cow wouldn’t cause much trouble, and most of the horses couldn’t care less. They enjoyed each-others’ company, anyway.

As he let go of the animal, Rachel trotted over to him. The seal brown thoroughbred he got at Pronghorn Ranch had quickly become a nice addition to his family, given her calm demeanour and friendly personality.

The horse nudged his shoulder and started sniffing his pockets, looking for a treat.

“You’ve got no manners, miss,” he giggled as he pulled out a small carrot, trying to smuggle it to her so the other horses wouldn’t notice it. Thankfully the others remained blissfully unaware of the treat, too busy eating their breakfast. John guessed Charles had been up early and fed them before he went off to Blackwater to get more supplies.

He gave Rachel another pat before walking over to check if they had enough water, the horse following him, nudging him playfully. She trotted around him, tossing her head wildly before taking off in a gallop. She threw in a few jumps and kicks for good measure.

John shook his head at her antics. He would never understand that horse, that’s for sure.

He was about to pick up one of the buckets they used for water when a sound on the other side of the ranch made him freeze. It sounded like an angry shout, but more animalistic and warped than a human voice. Still, it felt familiar. Wrong, but right in a way he couldn’t explain.

He stood up straight, trying to see where the noise was coming from. When he didn’t see anything, he started to make his way over to the source, grabbing his bow from Rachel’s saddle as he passed it. He didn’t really know what to expect as he got closer to the strangled groans. He did not, however, expect the sight that met him.

A huge stag grunted as it tried to untangle itself from a low-hanging branch. John found it quite comical, but decided to put the poor animal out of its misery. He didn’t want to get too close to it, just in case it ended up hurting him. They didn’t need two injured people at the ranch right now, and besides, they were low on food. A stag would be great for the three of them.

He placed the arrow and pulled the string back just as the animal stopped struggling. It let out an irritated huff, which in itself was surprising as it sounded an awful lot like a human’s voice.

And then it spoke.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” it muttered. The weirdest thing about it wasn’t the fact that it had muttered, or that the sound came in addition to the weird grunts and other guttural groans, but the feeling of familiarity that washed over him, accompanied by a strong sense of sorrow and loss. It almost sounded like…

He shook his head, clearing it of the impossible thought that struck him before readjusting his grip on the bow. He aimed and-

“Of course, I got stuck,” the familiar voice of a long dead brother said. John tried his best to block out the sound. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him. He’d heard of people going crazy after being too long out in the sun. It didn’t help that the stag continued on as if it thought it wouldn’t be understood. “And now this fool is going to shoot me because I was stupid enough not to look where I was going.”

John felt his jaw drop as his brain worked out that maybe this wasn’t a weird hallucination caused by being out in the sun too long. The stag seemed to notice his stillness and mirrored his frozen stance.

After a short pause, the animal stuttered out: “You… You can understand me?” finally erasing every single doubt John had about going crazy. He was definitely going crazy and needed to get inside, maybe drink some water and just lay down for a bit until this shit went away and never happened again. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from uttering the name of someone he hadn’t talked about in a long time.

“Arthur?” he said, voice hushed and almost fearful. He had this sick feeling of dread and hope mixing together in his stomach. He really needed to lay down somewhere cool. This was not happening. It couldn’t be happening.

“John,” the stag said flatly, expression going from widened eyes and tense to a more relaxed, annoyed glare.

“I almost shot you!” In his head, he would probably come up with something better, like mentioning the one obvious thing he didn’t really want to acknowledge. That being the man- the brother, he’d left on that mountain now stood in front of him, stuck in a tree because the idiot couldn’t see where he put his antlers. Because he was a stag. The entire situation was ridiculous.

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Arthur growled and tugged harshly on the branch again. “Like how to get the hell out of this. God. Damned. Tree!” the last three words were accompanied by three violent tugs of his head.

For some reason John’s head had given up on any type of logical thinking, so he walked forward and started to untangle the furious stag. For the briefest of moments, he wondered what the hell he did to deserve this, but decided against going into all the stuff he’d done in the past.

“This might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” John mumbled as he gently got another small twig untangled.

“Careful who you’re talking to, Marston,” Arthur grunted. “I think I might’ve had weirder things happen to me lately.”

John sighed as he finally got the antlers out of the branch, guiding the stag’s head out of the tree and into a more open space before letting go. Or rather, Arthur pulling away harshly and taking a few steps away from him.

“What now, then?” John crossed his arms over his chest. He still couldn’t quite get himself to believe this was even happening. Arthur shrugged, which looked just as awkward as it sounded.

“I have no idea,” he said as John motioned for him to follow him. Arthur shook his head in frustration, but kept up with him as they walked back towards the ranch. “It makes no sense! I ain’t supposed to be here. I should be with the others or something, not trapped as a god damned stag. I’m sure it’s for a reason, but God damn it, why me...”

“You don’t know why you’re here?” John asked, fiddling with the string of his bow. For whatever reason, he’d thought maybe Arthur knew why he’d come back.

“As I said, I ain’t got a clue,” Arthur snorted. “Just woke up in the middle of the forest, below my own grave and found Hosea sitting next to me,” he paused, glancing behind him at something. “He says “hi” by the way.”

“Wait,” John stopped and stared at him, eyes wide and thoughts running a mile a minute. He really had to lay down for a while. Maybe a week would do the trick? “Hosea?”  

“Yeah, he’s standing right there,” Arthur gestured to a spot just beside John with his antlers. “He’s been helping me get to you. Not as easy as it looks waking up as an animal and having to travel across the states just to find one person who might be able to help you find out how the hell I can just move on. Thankfully he’s been with me the entire time.”

“So, you’re saying the ghost of Hosea is standing right here,” John said weakly. He tried to focus on the spot Arthur had tried to point to, but couldn’t see anything other than dry dirt.

“I just told you,” Arthur rolled his head in a way that reminded John of the animal version of rolling one’s eyes. “Anyway, he also told me something about Abigail and Jack leaving you? Want to tell me what the hell happened, there?”

John tried not to groan. Of course, Arthur would bring that up. What are brothers for if not for bringing up stuff you would rather not talk about. He’d honestly forgotten about it for a little bit while helping Arthur out of the tree, but the entire ranch was his attempt at getting his family back to him, which again worked as a constant reminder of his situation.

“They left me,” he said simply, starting to walk towards the house again. “Ain’t nothing more to it.”

“Oh, I’m sure there is,” Arthur chuckled, trotting up beside him. “At least now you know what it feels like when someone you care about just ups and leaves you behind, never knowing if they’ll ever come back to you.”

“This is nothing like that, and you know it,” John gritted out.

“Do I? Seems to me like it’s exactly like that, and you know it. You left her and Jack for a year, John.”

“And you never stop mentioning it,” John said exasperatedly. “Fine! I couldn’t stop myself from helping with a problematic neighbour, and she left me for it.”

“I’m guessing there’s a lot more to it than that, though.”

“There might,” John confessed. He pulled the brim of his hat farther down over his eyes, trying to hide his eyes from the stag beside him, “but the important thing is that I’m doing my best to get them back. I bought them a ranch, and I’m trying to keep myself away from anything illegal.”

“Good on you,” Arthur nodded. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You seem to have a habit to end up in sticky situations, John. It might even be why I’m here.”

“Why would I need you to tell me what to do?” John bristled, clenching his fists by his sides. “I’ve done fine by myself for the last seven years!”

“I don’t know!” Arthur exclaimed. “I just want to know how I can move on! I don’t want to be here, just as much as you probably don’t want anything to do with me. If I’d known you wouldn’t be happy to see me, I would’ve found someone else to bother.”

The words left both of them slightly stunned. They’d stopped in front of the ranch house, staring at each other, both wondering where to go from there.

“It’s not that I ain’t happy to see you,” John trailed off. “It’s just…”

“Really not something you need to be worrying about,” Arthur finished for him. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just been a long night and I feel exhausted. I’m sure your life is complicated enough.”

“It’s also the fact that I’m starting to question my own sanity,” John chuckled, rubbing a hand over his eyes, trying to get rid of the building headache. “Let’s just get inside and I’ll try to scrape up something to eat. Maybe Charles is back from Blackwater by now, too.”

Arthur nodded and followed John up the few steps to the porch, stumbling slightly at the last step. They walked into the house, John showing off all they had been able to build. A lot of work remained, and they needed furniture, but it was definitely a start. They ended up in what would become the kitchen and John started to put together something to eat for the both of them. He tried to find some vegetables and fruit for Arthur, but only found half an apple and some celery. Arthur seemed fine with it as the stag just huffed a laugh and waved him off when he said he could go out to the stable and see if he could find something else.

They sat down, which to John was another rather comical scene when the stag just slumped down into a stiff sitting position. Arthur looked like he wanted to run him through every time he started to laugh at his predicament.

After about half an hour, the front door opened, and Charles walked into the room carrying a bag of supplies. He stopped dead when he spotted the huge stag sitting on the floor.

“John…?” he never let his eyes stray from the beast. “Why is there a stag in the kitchen?”

John briefly wondered if he should just lie and tell him the animal had just wandered into the house after he forgot to close the door that morning, but that wouldn’t explain why he wasn’t trying to get it out of the house. Instead, he cleared his throat and spoke the truth.

“It’s Arthur.”

“It’s Arthur…” Charles said incredulously, finally meeting his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Of course, I’m fine!” John huffed and turned to the stag. “Say something, Arthur.”

“Hi, Charles,” Arthur snorted and probably expected the man to react differently. Instead, Charles just got an even more worried expression, which confused them both. “Can you understand me?” he continued, tilting his head. John glanced at him for a second, lips pressed into a thin line as he got up from the floor.

“You can understand him, right Charles?”

Charles shifted his weight and put down the supplies. A nervous frown settled on his features as he stepped over to John, placing a warm hand on his forehead.

“You don’t seem to have a fever, but maybe you should take the rest of the day off?” Charles said, stepping back again. “I’ll get the stag out of the house, just go to bed.”

“No, it’s really him, Charles! You’ve got to believe me,” John exclaimed, stepping in front of Arthur. “Just look at him! No wild animal would just sit down like that in the middle of a god damned house. It’s him. I guess you can’t understand him, but for some reason I can!” John winced. “That sounded a lot better in my head.”

“Listen, John,” Charles sighed, holding his hands up in a calming gesture, as if John was the wild animal, not Arthur. “You need to calm down. I’m sure you’re just stressed-”

“Of course!” John interrupted. “I’m stressed out of my mind, but that still doesn’t explain how I can perfectly understand what a god damned deer is saying,” he waved his hand in the general direction of where Arthur was sitting. He ignored the sound of amusement the stag made while still keeping eye contact with Charles. He let out a sigh and his arms fell to his sides. “Am I going mad, Charles?”

“You’re not mad, maybe just an idiot,” Arthur grumbled as he got up from the floor. Charles’ eyes flicked over to the animal as he heard the unnatural groans and grunts it made. He took a step back as Arthur made his way over to him.

“What’s going on out here?”

John startled and turned around to watch Uncle shuffling into the room. The burns on his back had started to heal, but he still had a long way to go before he could start to help out around the ranch again. Or, until he would be able to slack off against a tree again, at least.

Uncle stumbled when he saw Arthur. His hand gripped the wall to prevent himself from actually falling over.

“John, there’s a deer in the kitchen,” the old man glanced at John quizzically before returning his gaze to the animal.

“Jesus, he looks even worse than before,” Arthur stared at the new arrival. “What happened to him?” he added and looked at John, waiting for an answer.

“He got caught by the Skinners,” John explained, feeling more ridiculous by the second. All eyes were on him, and the urge to just go to his room and bury himself in his bedroll got stronger.

“The Skinners?”

“Yeah, the Skinner brothers?” John shifted his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nasty fellas up in Tall Trees. Caught Uncle a couple of days ago and tried to roast him alive. We got to him just in time, but it made him even more useless than he already was.”

“Hey,” Uncle exclaimed, making John bite back a laugh. Not only did the situation feel completely out of his control, but it felt like some sort of fever dream. Maybe he had gotten ill the day before and this actually was a dream? A really weird, very realistic (talking stag not included) dream.

“At least now you have a better excuse to slack off,” John grinned, nudging Uncle’s shoulder, apologizing when the older man let out a grunt of pain.

“John thinks the stag is Arthur,” Charles explained to the still clueless Uncle, turning Uncle’s pained expression into a confused one.

“And I still don’t know how to prove it,” John added. Uncle blinked, looking between John and the stag, before leaning more against the wall for support.  

“Arthur,” Uncle muttered, continuing to watch the animal. Charles raised an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t actually believe him, do you?” he asked, the disbelief clear in his voice. Uncle huffed a laugh, grimacing as it disturbed his sore back.

“No, I’m just wondering if our dear John hit his head on something and didn’t tell us about it.”

“I didn’t hit my head,” John growled. Now that he thought about it, it could be an explanation, actually. Maybe he just slipped and fell somewhere, knocking the sense out of himself and making him hallucinate that his dead brother had come back to haunt him as a dumb animal. It wasn’t impossible. It was probably more possible than the alternative, to be honest.

“Maybe I could do something to make them believe it’s me?” Arthur piped in. John closed his eyes for a second. How nice would it be if he just woke up in his bedroll right now? He opened his eyes, hoping for the best, but to his disappointment the same kitchen with the same two people and a stag met him.

“Okay, what would make you believe me?” John asked the two men in front of him. They glanced at each other for a second before Charles answered:

“Make it do something a stag would never do.”

“Like sit on the kitchen floor?” Arthur muttered, quite unhelpfully in John’s opinion.

“And what would that be?” John sighed. The more he thought about it, the more helpless he felt.

“I think I have an idea,” Arthur said as he started making his way over to the door leading outside. The stag grabbed the door handle with its mouth and made its way out into the blazing sun. John could feel the heat rushing inside.

“What?” He asked as he started to follow the animal, the other two men right behind him. He didn’t get an answer until he saw Arthur walking around, head low to the ground and searching for something. He let out a laugh when he saw the stag grab a large stick and come trotting back towards them. “What are you doing?”

“I’hm gohha dlawh,” came the answer.

“You’re gonna what?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and let go of the stick.

“Draw,” he grunted and picked it up again, walking over to a space where the dirt was mostly undisturbed and nicely suited to draw in. John could only watch as the animal stuck one end of the stick in the dirt and started to drag it over the ground.

“What is it doing?” Charles leaned his elbows against the railing on the porch, watching carefully as the marks on the ground started take shape. John answered without looking away from the scene before him.

“Drawing.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

After that very deep conversation, they stood in silence, listening only to the grunts and huffs from the stag struggling to draw with a stick in the dirt. Uncle joined them after a while, not bothering to ask what was happening. It felt surprisingly pleasant to stand and watch Arthur draw. So many things had happened lately, so to just take a moment to stand beside each other after everything felt refreshing.

When Arthur finally dropped the stick, the three of them quickly made their way over to see what he’d managed to create. John laughed as the drawing came into view.

It looked like shit. Not that John had expected anything like the drawings in Arthur’s journal or anything, but this was really bad.

“It’s not my best work,” Arthur deadpanned.

“I can see that,” John said between fits of laughter. Arthur just glared at him, stepping back from the lines on the ground. John continued to wheeze. “It looks like something Jack would draw when he was three!”

John knew it didn’t really matter as long as they could see what it was supposed to be, which they could. But after years of watching his older brother draw landscapes and people alike, looking down at the rough lines in the dirt made him feel something between giddiness and sorrow. Giddy from the fact that Arthur would laugh just as much if he ever saw the sketches John had been adding to the journal, and sorrow from the fact that Arthur would probably never be able to draw like that again, unless they somehow found a way to make him into a human again, which was unlikely. But, hey! Weirder things had happened.

His thoughts made his giggles die down and he took a deep breath to steady himself from the sudden wave of emotion that hit him. He let his eyes scan over the drawing again.

It was probably supposed to represent Arthur himself, if you went by the incredibly uneven letters beside the figure spelling out ARTHUR, but the drawing in itself was almost difficult to discern: A disfigured circle made up the head, the face was made up of two dots close together for the eyes and a wobbly line for the mouth. The neck consisted of two lines, but they were spread far apart and could be considered to look more like a horse’s neck than anything remotely human. The rest of the body was a square, four limbs came out of said square, and ended in four smaller “circles”. Arthur, who always had an eye for details, had added what was supposed to be a hat, but looked more like a pair of ears and a couple of horns sticking out of the head. Which made the whole drawing remind John more of a badly drawn pronghorn or cow more than a human. The horrible shape of the head did nothing to help this thought.

“Maybe it would’ve been easier to just use your hooves?” John glanced over at Arthur, who shrugged and looked down on his own feet.

“You’re probably right,” he said and started to scrape the ground under him, starting another drawing. John could already see it would look a lot better than the first.

“I don’t think you actually need to draw another one. This one is enough to convince them,” John gestured to the lines in front of them. “And I’m sure you’ll find some time to test out the hooves while we figure out how to get you to move on.”

Arthur looked at him for a moment before glancing over at the other two men. John turned to them, too, and found them both staring at the lines on the ground. He knew they would need some time to let it all sink in, but he had hope they would get used to the idea quickly enough. Charles was the first to snap out of his trance.

“It’s really you,” he mumbled before taking quick steps over to Arthur, throwing his arms around his neck. Arthur seemed slightly shocked by the hug at first, but after a few seconds he let his head rest against Charles’ shoulder.

“It’s really me,” Arthur whispered, zoning out for a moment, lost in the warm embrace. If John listened carefully, he could almost hear the frustration and sudden realisation in his voice, as if he only just now grasped the reality of his situation. His predicament was a strange one, for sure, and for a person that had done so much, tied off so many loose ends so that he could die knowing the ones left behind would be able to carry on without him, it would be frustrating to come back. He should be resting in piece on a cliff facing west, not stuck in the body of a stag.

“I buried you...” It was something John almost felt uncomfortable hearing. Charles had buried Arthur. He’d gone back for him and found him on that mountain, bruised and bloody from a hopeless fight, carrying his body to a place the dead man could enjoy. A place where John knew Arthur would love to sit for hours, watching the setting sun and sketching whatever wildlife came his way. A place where Arthur would be at peace.

But Arthur wasn’t at peace. He was here, hugging a friend he thought he’d never see again.

“It’s good to see you,” Charles patted Arthur’s shoulder a couple of times before letting go of his neck, turning to John. “I’m sorry for not believing you earlier, John.”

“I wouldn’t have believed me, either,” John smiled. “I’d probably put a bullet through my head just to put me out of my misery. Good thing I’m not as crazy as I thought.”

“Yeah,” Charles murmured, looking lost in the moment.

The silence between them were cut short by Arthur making his way over to Uncle. “Now, where’s my favourite parasite!” he exclaimed, making John tilt his head in confusion.

“What did he say?” Charles turned to John. John blinked a couple of times, puzzled by the line, before he translated the growls and grunts. Charles looked even more confused, but Uncle let out a loud breathy laugh, finally getting over his initial shock.

“I don’t believe it,” the old man giggled. “Still no respect for your elders.”

Uncle pulled Arthur closer to him, careful not to stretch the skin of his back too much. Arthur let out his own sort of chuckle, though it sounded more like he was chocking up more than laughing.

They ended up chatting for a few hours, getting Arthur up to date on all that had happened after the gang’s ultimate end. Arthur seemed happy to listen, enjoying their banter when they disagreed on different parts of the story. He asked a few questions, mostly about what had happened with the other gang members. John told him how some of their friends were still around, like how Tilly was in Saint Denis, married to a doctor, or how Mary-Beth had become a writer, and that Mr. Pearson had taken over the shop in Rhodes.

“But enough about them,” Uncle chuckled. He was sitting gingerly on a box by the window inside the ranch house. The others were sprawled around on the floor around him, John with his back propped up against Arthur’s side, legs stretched out in front of him. Charles laying on his side, a cup of coffee in his hand. “How have you been, Arthur? Anything special happen to you other than the whole “turning into a stag” thing? Did you meet a nice deer-lady to keep you company?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, ears flat against his head, a clear show of irritation. He glanced at John for a second before muttering a quiet:

“We won’t tell them about the ghosts, right?”

John felt a chill go down his spine, even though the room was boiling in the afternoon sun and he was sitting against a warm body. He had forgotten about the ghosts. Or ghost, actually. Were there more of them, now? Arthur hadn’t mentioned anyone other than Hosea. He’d forgotten about Hosea. Wow, he was a horrible person. Forgetting the guy who raised him. Nice going, Marston.

“John?” Charles worried expression came into focus in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“What?” he said faintly before he shook himself out of his daze. “I mean, yeah, yeah, sure. I just… got lost in thought for a moment, there.”

“Are you sure? You look a little pale, there, buddy?” Uncle asked, concern lacing his words. John tried to get himself together. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t even over yet.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned them,” Arthur nudged John’s temple with his muzzle, probably meant to be comforting, but ending up making his heart hammering even harder in his chest. This entire situation was absurd. It was far out of what John would call his comfort zone, and he’d just about had enough of it.

He took a deep breath. “It’s just been a long day,” John managed to force out. He breathed a little more, calming down and leaning back against the warm fur behind him. “We should really start thinking about how to help him.”

He knew he was deflecting. He knew that. He just couldn’t cope with the thought of ghosts walking among them on top of everything else that was troubling him right now. Charles, the wonderful man that he was, let them change the subject.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” he said thoughtfully, sitting back on the floor. “There has to be a reason you’re back, Arthur. And why as a stag? Wouldn’t it be easier to just come back as a human?”

“Can’t we just shoot him? See if he comes back?” Uncle questioned, making them all turn to look at Arthur. Arthur shook his head violently.

“Tried it, doesn’t work,” Arthur grunted. John turned to him slowly, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Tried it?” He exclaimed.

“Three times.”

“Three!?”

“Yeah, three. Shot by some hunters, ran off a cliff…” Arthur trailed off, looking at something on the other side of the room as he said it. He gave a slight pause before huffing. “Well, I didn’t actually mean to run off a cliff, Hosea, but when you’re actively trying to find a way to die quickly, you don’t actually complain when you’re suddenly in the open air. I didn’t feel a thing,” another pause. “Well, I’m sure you’d find me eventually,” John continued to stare at him as Arthur continued his one-sided conversation. “Oh, and then a cougar got me,” he finished as he turned back to John.

“Jesus,” John muttered, glancing over at the others. They were all staring at Arthur. “Okay, so dying again is out of the question. Any other ideas?”

“What about an exorcism?” Uncle quipped.

“I ain’t no demon,” Arthur grumbled.

“Maybe not, but it wouldn’t hurt to try,” John started to feel slightly more comfortable. They had a problem they needed to fix. He just had to stop thinking about the details of said problem unless he wanted to end up with another bout of panic.

“And what if it doesn’t work? What then?” Arthur asked. John shrugged.

“If it doesn’t work, we’ll just have to try something else,” he said, trying his best to form the sentence so that the rest of them understood what they were talking about without John having to repeat everything Arthur said.

“Maybe some sort of ritual?” Charles pondered. “Or something you’ve left undone, that you need to do?”

“Anyone you want to get revenge on?” Uncle piped in.

“No, I’ve always thought revenge is a fool’s game,” Arthur huffed. “And besides, I think the sickness killed me more than Micah ever did. I was dying before he threw the first punch. He just made the process quicker in the end. If anyone is to blame, it’s myself for beating up a dying man.”

“Not revenge, then,” John sighed. The only thing they could do was try different things and see what worked. “Is there anything else we could try? Should we make a list?” he pulled out Arthur’s journal from his satchel. He ignored the feeling of Arthur’s eyes boring into the back of his neck as he flipped it open to a new page and quickly scribbled down their ideas.

“You’ve been using my journal…”

John continued to ignore him, really hoping Arthur wouldn’t see the drawings he’d made in it, or his own little entries about his life. He felt surprisingly self-conscious about it, given his lack of skill. He wondered briefly if Arthur would mock him. Then he figured, well duh, he’s Arthur, master of teasing people.

“I’ll write down our ideas and then we start trying them tomorrow,” he said as he wrote the few suggestions down. “We’ll need a priest for the exorcism, and probably some supplies for any rituals you might think of, Charles.”

“I’ll see if I can track down someone who might be able to help with rituals,” Charles nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, and I’ll ride to Blackwater and see if I can find a priest,” John added before turning to Uncle. “Could you look after Arthur while we’re out?”

“Sure thing, John,” Uncle grinned, likely happy to be staying at the ranch. John knew he was still in quite a lot of pain, and the thought of leaving him alone here without any protection made his stomach roll. Beecher’s hope should be somewhere safe. Somewhere they could let their guard down, but after Uncle got kidnapped, he knew people could sneak in and take any of them while they slept.

Arthur seemed to sense the troubling thoughts swirling in his mind.

“I’ll be here to look after him,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to him.”

And with that, the silence fell over them. Everyone was in deep thought as the sun continued its blazing journey over the sky outside. The first one to leave was Charles, telling them he should get going if he wanted to find anything about a ritual. Uncle left shortly after, complaining about his back and that he should get back to bed. For once, John let him go without comment.

John started to think about what Arthur had mentioned earlier. The ghosts. There were more of them, and John didn’t know if Arthur knew he’d even said it, or if he had mentioned it intentionally.

“How many are there?” John asked, leaning back against Arthur’s side. He could feel Arthur tense underneath him.

“How many what?”

“Ghosts.”

“A few.”

John took a deep breath. A new idea formed in his head. The more he thought about it, the more plausible it sounded.

“What if you’re here to help them?” he glanced at the stag. Arthur seemed to think about it for a second before answering.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” John started, pausing only to take out the journal again. “What if the ghosts want something? Most of the ones who died, died without a chance to end things properly. I know you used your last few weeks to prepare, but what about those who couldn’t?”

“You might be on to something, Marston,” Arthur bared his teeth in what could only be a stag’s equivalent of a grin, which in John’s opinion looked more cursed than friendly.

“It might even be the reason I can understand you,” John scratched his temple in thought. “I mean, since you’re a deer, and all. Would be difficult helping people without thumbs and human vocal cords.”

“That’s true,” Arthur agreed. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but now I really need to feed my animals,” John looked out of the window. He’d been distracted since he first found Arthur in the tree, and now the sun was well past the highest point.

He got up from the floor, telling Arthur to make himself at home before slipping out into the heat. If he thought he saw a few more people in the room when he left, he played it off as exhaustion before walking to the barn.

Chapter Text

The thing about being a stag, was that you couldn’t really do much. You had no thumbs to grab things with, which meant you couldn’t draw/write, fish (or, you could fish, but Arthur didn’t feel like standing knee-deep in the river and catch fish with his mouth, or antlers for that matter, even though when he thought about it, it might actually work to use them as spears), craft things, make a fire, scratch that place your feet couldn’t reach, tie knots- you get the point. The list is long. So, when he was left by himself while John and Charles left for Blackwater, he had nothing to do.

He thought about waking Uncle and talk to him, but quickly discarded the idea. The conversation would be them talking at each other, not really with each other. Besides, Uncle had been seriously injured and needed the rest (for once that was an actual excuse, not his usual lumbago nonsense…).

Thus, Arthur was left to walk around with Hosea and whomever else decided to show up. The day before he’d been surprised to see a few other familiar faces while they’d been chatting in the living room in the ranch house.

Kieran and Sean had come by just as he was finishing up his drawing (no, he didn’t care that John had laughed at him. He had been able to get a look in his journal while John was sleeping, and the new additions weren’t really that impressive… Okay, fine, he was impressed. The man had improved considerably since Arthur had last seen him draw). He was thinking of saying hi, but they disappeared again too fast for him to actually be able to talk to any of them. Hosea had later explained it was because they saw he was busy and didn’t want to disturb.

They had come back after Charles and Uncle had left him and John later that day, giving him ghostly pats on the back and encouraging words when John went out to feed the horses and the cow. Lenny had come with them, too, though he was a bit stunned by Arthur’s situation. They had hung around for a little while until darkness started to fall, and John came back inside with a handful of hay and some classic oatcakes.

Okay, so another thing Arthur found out about his new “ride”, was that he really enjoyed things that he always thought had no taste. Don’t judge him, everyone tries to eat grass at least once in their life. Maybe not even by choice if you’ve ever had the pleasure of faceplanting into a field. And with this new body, he really enjoyed the taste of grass. And hay, but grass, that was wonderful. And the oatcakes, you probably ask? They tasted like the most exquisite meal you’ve ever tasted.

Anyway, Arthur had nothing to do while he waited other than talk with Hosea now that the other ghosts had left him to go do ghostly things. They had walked into the barn and looked around (Arthur even got himself a mouthful of hay the cow hadn’t eaten), and then they went into the small enclosure where the horses rested, before walking up to the tree on top of the hill at the southern part of the ranch overlooking the buildings beneath.

Arthur took a nap in the shade until Hosea cleared his throat and pointed at the driveway.

“Looks like John found someone,” he said and started to make his way back down to the ranch house. Arthur looked to where Hosea had pointed and saw John leading a man on a carriage onto his property. For a moment he almost hesitated going down there. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to find a solution to his problem, but more the means they used to solve it. Arthur wasn’t a religious man- stag, whatever, and after dying even less so. He didn’t believe in exorcisms, but he felt like if he didn’t even try it, he would feel really stupid later if it was the solution all along, and he had been hesitant to try it just because he didn’t believe.

“I’m right behind, ya,” he sighed and got to his feet, stalking after Hosea down the slope. He almost tripped over his own feet a couple of times. He still wasn’t entirely used to his new legs, and after laying still for a while, he ended up forgetting how to walk properly.

“Oh, look! What a magnificent creature!”

Arthur looked up when he heard the priest talking. For a moment he almost thought the man was talking about another animal, but then he remembered that he also was an animal often associated with beauty, and he wanted to just turn around again. John had obviously not briefed the priest on the details of his visit, which was probably a good thing, lest he deemed John insane and called the police to take him away.

The whole thing could be worth it, though, if only to be able to experience John’s ridiculous attempts at explaining the situation. It was even more worth it while looking at the priest’s expression go from confusion when Arthur got closer, to his look of horror when John stuttered out that “the friend” he’d talked about earlier was in fact a stag.

To say it took long to convince the priest to do an exorcism on Arthur was an understatement. Not only had Uncle come out during John’s attempt to talk the priest out of leaving, making the situation spiral even more out of control, but when Arthur got the great idea to play a little prank on John while he tried to make Arthur act like something other than a dumb animal, it took the whole thing to another level.

It wasn’t a big prank. Not at all. He just figured it would lighten the mood a little if he decided not to listen to John’s pleading, and rather just walk around them a bit, eating some of the dry grass outside the house, and play skittish when John eventually started to yell at him for being an asshole. It wasn’t until John got really mad and started to accuse him of not wanting to move on that he stopped playing around.

He probably overdid it a bit when he finally relented and started to act a lot less like an animal. Maybe it was the fact that he started to stand on his hind legs, or maybe it was the way he moved his front legs in a manner that no deer would ever do (a few decades later they would start calling it “jazz hands”, but that’s not really important). But quite soon after he’d done these things, the priest went a little grey and promptly fainted.

Soon after this, when they finally woke him up and gave him some water, the poor man was able to collect himself enough to try the exorcism.

It didn’t work.

Of course it didn’t, and Arthur had known it all along. Or, he wasn’t surprised by the outcome, at least. It didn’t feel like it would work, but they tried it, and that’s what’s important.

Not long after John lead the priest off the property, Charles came back bearing news about a man who might be able to help them.

“It’s a shaman living near Tumbleweed,” Charles explained later when they gathered around the fire to eat lunch. “The man I talked to in Valentine said he would probably be able to help us with any spiritual problems we might have,” he glanced at Arthur. “Like a soul trapped in the body of something else.”

“Well, that’s great!” John exclaimed. “Then we can just travel to Tumbleweed and we get this sorted out,” he grinned, obviously thinking this would solve everything.

“We’ll leave tomorrow,” Charles nodded. “If we ride before dawn, we should be able to get to Tumbleweed by nightfall. Uncle, you can stay and watch the animals. I’ve hired a couple of guards to protect the place while we’re gone, just in case something happens.”

“I really don’t have the money for hired guns, Charles,” John muttered, the earlier excitement draining out of him.

“Well, one of them is Sadie.”

“Sadie?” Arthur breathed. He hadn’t seen Sadie Adler since she rode off with Abigale. He looked over at John, who seemed to brighten again.

“Yeah, I’ve been helping her doing some bounty hunting,” John explained quickly. He seemed relieved to know he wouldn’t be handing over his farm to complete strangers. “She’ll probably help out with more than just guard duty, though.”

They continued their planning, agreeing that they would leave as soon as Sadie got there. It would be a long ride to Tumbleweed, and Arthur had to walk the entire way there on unsteady feet. Or, not really unsteady, but you can imagine the difficulty to actually get used to walking on four legs instead of two. And when you have to run on those legs? Sure, he’d been able to run for a couple of days when he’d woken up under his grave, but he’d been fuelled by pure rage and determination. It’s incredible what you can do when you’re distracted. But the thing is, Arthur didn’t want to go to Tumbleweed in case the entire trip was pointless. Demotivation can be a bitch when walking on stilts.

After finishing up their lunch, John, Charles and Uncle quickly went their separate ways to start packing and preparing for their journey, while Arthur once again walked up on the hill to settle down in the shade of the tree. It was quickly becoming a favourite spot of his, secluded and quiet as it was.

“Do you think it’s going to work?” Arthur asked Hosea when he’d finally collapsed onto the ground. Hosea slumped down beside him, curling one leg up to his chest. Arthur had noticed the man looked slightly younger than he was when he died, but not as young as when Arthur had first met him. He seemed like he’d gotten rid of all the pain he had been in, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel a weird sort of longing for that same sort of peace.

“I don’t know,” Hosea let his gaze flit over to him for a second, before settling on the horizon. “But if there’s someone who might know how to help you, then I’m sure it’s a shaman. I’ll stay with you anyway, every step of the way until you find a way”

“And what if I never find it?” Arthur was almost too afraid to ask about it, but for some reason he’d rather not get his hopes up just for it to become another horrible disappointment when it didn’t work. At least a shaman was more likely to give some good advise in comparison to a priest. They were a lot more spiritual, and Arthur had a spiritual problem that most likely needed a spiritual solution. “What if I’m stuck like this until I die naturally, or even worse, just don’t die at all? I don’t wanna live forever. I was done with my life. I had finished my business and I was prepared to finally just rest… I’m so god damned tired…”

Hosea stayed silent for a while, choosing his words carefully and thinking through his little speech. And then he said:

“I was a part of a gang with a crazy man as our leader. We started off with two, then we became three, and then four, five… you know how it goes. He kept going on about loyalty and what mattered the most. How faith and trust could be the foundation of any family, especially one as big as ours,” he paused, closing his eyes before continuing. “It felt like we could do anything. Conquer the world, if we wanted to. Freedom, he called it. And he went on and on, building this idea in my mind, that as long as we stood together, everything would be okay. But then it fell apart. The family we’d built from two, to three to four, five… Suddenly there were less of us. And I tried my best to keep us together, to keep our remaining members grounded and focused to prevent the inevitable disaster that I always knew would happen. I’ve never been more exhausted in my life. And then, when I woke up like this, I thought I would feel less tired, but no. I still felt like death itself. That is, until I found you laying there, so many years after I expected to see your ugly mug again,” Hosea chuckled. “Not knowing what had happened to you was more exhausting than trying to keep up with you. I felt ready to take on the world again.”

Hosea turned to face him, eyes kind and loving, a soft smile on his lips.

“You’re my son, Arthur,” he continued. “John, too, but he doesn’t need me right now. You have been through so much in your life. You’ve struggled and fought for all of us. Hell, you’re probably the one who deserves a break more than any of us. And since I consider you my son, there is nothing on this earth that would keep me from helping you, now. If you need me, I will be right beside you, every step of the way, be that as a stag for all eternity, or as a fellow ghost. I won’t leave you again.”

Arthur wanted nothing more than to cling to him at that moment. He knew it wouldn’t work, since he didn’t have the hands to cling with, so yeah, that’s a bummer, but Hosea understood, just as always, exactly what Arthur was thinking. And so, the father he always wanted scooted closer and held onto him.

If they stayed like that for a while, no one would ever know it but them.

They gathered outside the morning after. John and Charles had finished packing and readying the horses for the long trip. Uncle had been up early for once, making some food for them to bring on the long journey, and Arthur had tried his best to quell his anxiousness. The only thing left was waiting for Sadie and her colleague to arrive, and then they could get going.

Bad feelings swirled in Arthur’s stomach as he walked out of the ranch house and jumped down from the porch. He trotted over to where John and Charles were checking over their horses one more time. Both of them looked up as Arthur approached.

“Are you ready to get going?” John asked, making Arthur’s stomach roll uncomfortably. He didn’t want John to know that he really didn’t like the thought of going all the way to Tumbleweed for only one person. He almost proposed to take the train instead, since that would take a lot less time, but then he remembered that he was still a stag, and he doubted they would even let him near the train carriage before they shot him.

“Yeah,” he started. “Just trying to stop feeling so god damned nervous.”

“Nervous?”

Arthur hummed, “Just worried it won’t work. Would be a lot of time wasted just to talk to some feller.”

John shrugged, “I wouldn’t say it would be wasted. We need to try everything, anyway, and if that means we’ll have to take a trip to Tumbleweed, then so be it.”

“John’s right,” Charles nodded. “And besides; we owe you one. You helped us get out of a bad situation. The least we could do is return the favour.”

“Am I seeing things, or are you guys talking to a deer?”

The three of them turned to see Sadie Adler riding up the path towards them. Arthur almost didn’t recognise her. She was even rougher around the edges than she’d been the last time she’d seen her. Her horse was just as mean-looking as her.

“Hey, Sadie,” John greeted, tipping his hat. Charles gave a little wave.

“You wanna fill me in on what’s going on, or should I take a guess?” she grinned, jumping off her horse and strolling closer to them. She raised her eyebrow when she noticed Arthur didn’t run away from her. “That’s a tame one.”

“I wouldn’t call him tame,” John huffed, glancing at Arthur before turning back to her. “More like not actually an animal.”

Sadie stared at him, blinking slowly, “You feelin’ okay? You ain’t got a fever, or nothing, right?”

“He’s serious,” Charles said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s Arthur,” when Sadie didn’t say anything, he continued. “Uncle and I didn’t believe it either, at first, but then he proved it.”

“He proved it?”

“He drew the ugliest damned drawing I’ve ever seen,” John snickered. Arthur stepped on him, grinning when the man yelped.

“So, it’s actually Arthur?” Sadie looked him up and down, as if it would help her determine if he actually was Arthur or if they were all playing a prank on her. “Sit if you’re Arthur,” she ordered. Arthur rolled his eyes but sat down. Her reaction was instant. “You are Arthur!” She exclaimed and threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. “You’re really soft,” she mumbled into his fur, dragging her hands down his neck and back.

“It’s good to see you, Sadie,” Arthur muttered back. He’d missed her. They’d become good friends during his last months in the gang, and when they parted ways, he thought he’d never see her again. You can’t really predict what would happen to him.

Sadie snorted before letting go of him, “Is that what he sounds like when he talks?” she looked at John, but Charles was quicker to respond.

“Yeah, no one can understand him except John.”

“Wait, John can understand him?”

“I can,” John sighed, looking up at the sky for a second before turning back towards Sadie. “He said it’s good to see you,” he glanced around as if he was looking for someone. “Look, I’m sure Uncle can fill you in while we’re away, but we really need to get going if we’re going to get to Tumbleweed before nightfall.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Sadie nodded. For some reason she took it better than everyone else. “I think Frank will be here a little later, but I’ll be on lookout until he gets here.”

“Great,” John grinned, giving her a pat on the shoulder before walking over to Rachel. The thoroughbred nickered as he got closer. Arthur chuckled. The horse cared for John quite a bit, it seemed. “We’ll get going, then. Uncle went back to sleep. His back ain’t healed yet, so he might need some help ‘round here.”

Sadie nodded again. “Charles gave me a heads up when he found me yesterday.”

John nodded again, climbing up into the saddle and taking Rachel’s reins. Charles followed his example, soon sitting steadily on top of Falmouth. The nokota snorted, ready to go. Arthur on the other hand wanted nothing more than to sneak up to his spot under his tree (yeah, so what if he’d claimed the tree. No one else was using it. He might as well call it his). He just didn’t want to go.

“I’ll be right beside you,” Hosea walked up behind him. The ghost had been hanging around, not really doing much. Just observing them while they got ready. For a moment Arthur wondered how he would follow them when he didn’t have anything to ride on, but as soon as he’d thought it, Hosea walked up to John and jumped up behind him on Rachel. “What? You didn’t expect me to walk the entire way there, did you?” he huffed.

Arthur watched as John tensed and squinted, looking over his shoulder. It was as if he’d heard Hosea talk, which was ridiculous, but given everything else that had happened lately, hearing ghosts wasn’t that farfetched. Hosea seemed to notice it, too, but didn’t comment on it, just shrugged and let it go.

They said their goodbyes and set off. Charles was leading the group, Arthur running behind him, and John taking up the back. Arthur didn’t really mind running. It was less exhausting as a stag than as a human with tuberculosis, at least, but he also knew he wouldn’t be as fit as the horses. Deer mostly ran for short distances, only to run away from predators, which meant they were fast, but not really made for running for long periods of time.

That being said, he needed breaks. A lot of breaks. Which again made John laugh at him, suggesting they tie him up on the back of one of the horses. Charles found it less humorous, and Arthur even less. They had been going at it for hours by the time they had the first real break, letting the horses grass while the humans got some food. It was when Arthur started to consider the “tied up on the back of my horse” idea, when someone new came walking up to him.

“Arthur!” Molly O’Shea exclaimed. “What happened to you?” she giggled and gave him a hug. She seemed in a lot better mood since the last time he saw her. For some reason he thought she would be less happy after she was shot my Mrs. Grimshaw. He was even more surprised when Susan Grimshaw came strolling up beside her.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Mrs. Grimshaw laughed. “It seems we’ve found the reason for your absence. Did you get stuck in a deer, or is this a conscious choice?”

“What do you mean “conscious choice”?” Arthur growled, glaring up at her. “If I knew why I’m like this, all this shit would be over and done with.”

“Ignore him,” Hosea came up beside him, placing a hand on his back. “He’s just grumpy.”

“I noticed,” Mrs. Grimshaw huffed a laugh. “But tell us, Arthur. Where have you been all these years? We’ve been waiting for you.”

Arthur blinked up at her, astonished. “You have?”

“Of course! We were all waiting around for you on that mountain after Micah beat you up,” Molly informed making Arthur frown. All of them? He was about to comment on it when she continued, “but then you never showed up. We all followed Charles when he came to get you, hoping that maybe when you’d been buried you might appear. But you never did. Not until now, at least.”

“He didn’t show up until a few days ago,” Hosea explained. “He’s not possessing that animal; he is that animal. I don’t understand why, or how. The important thing is that he showed up at all.”

“Arthur!” John hollered, making the four of them turn to look at him. “Time to go!”

Arthur tried his best to stifle the groan escaping his throat. He was not in a good mood, and having to run after the horses again felt more demotivating than he’d like to admit.

“It was good to see you, Arthur,” Molly gave him a pat on the back. “If you need anything, we’ll be there.”

“Just send Hosea,” Mrs. Grimshaw added. “He knows how to find us.”

Arthur thanked them as they stepped away and disappeared. He walked back to John and soon after they were on their way again. For a moment he contemplated asking how far it was to Tumbleweed, but decided against it. There was no reason to ask. They’d be there eventually, and then they would be able to rest for a couple of days before they had to go back. At least then he’d be more familiar with the landscape, and he’d be able to tell how far it was.

They had another break in Armadillo, deciding not to stay there for long, given the cholera outbreak. After that, they went on for another few hours until the sun started to dip below the horizon. At that point, Arthur wondered if they’d ever get to Tumbleweed before nightfall. His legs were shaking and ever step he took felt like agony.

“It should be right around the corner, now,” Charles informed them as they turned down another road.

“Don’t get my hopes up,” Arthur panted, not caring that Charles didn’t understand him. Why the hell couldn’t deer sweat like other animals? He swallowed as much air as he could, hoping he wouldn’t end up overheating. He could only wish the dark would bring some colder temperatures. Running around in a fur suit in blazing heat was horrible. Cool air would be much appreciated.

“Relax, Arthur,” John said, pressing Rachel faster to run alongside him. “If Charles says it’s just around the corner, I’m sure he’s right. We’ll get a break soon enough.”

“You ain’t the one running,” Arthur bit back. It came out harsher than he’d meant it to, but now he really just wanted to be able to stop and lay down. Resting his legs until they could find the shaman and maybe, hopefully find a solution to his problem, would be a dream come true.

John left him alone after that, taking up the spot behind him again. Of course, Charles had been right. Once they rounded the last ridge, Tumbleweed came into view. It wasn’t big. Not at all. Even Armadillo had seemed bigger than this.

The few buildings were scattered around, a big barn at the southern end of town. Arthur suspected it might be housing horses, given the fence surrounding it.

They slowed down to a walk. People were looking at them as they made their way over to the saloon. Arthur knew it was because of him. It would be weird if they didn’t stare. Who brought a stag with them into town? And one who just followed them around, too? It was strange, for sure.

Charles steered Falmouth to the front of the saloon, jumping off and hitching him to one of the hitching posts outside. John did the same with Rachel, checking the horse over before turning to Arthur.

“We’ll just get something to eat and see if we can find someone who knows where to find the shaman,” he said before giving Rachel one last pat on the neck and stepping up the few steps to the saloon doors.

“Am I just gonna wait here, then?” Arthur shouted after him as he disappeared into the building. He looked at Charles, not for the first time wishing he’d been the one who understood him instead of John. “Seriously, Charles. Someone could shoot me the moment I’m alone.”

“I’m sorry, friend. I still don’t understand you,” Charles sighed. “But just stay here with the horses. We won’t stay for too long,” he followed after John.

“Yeah, right,” Arthur rolled his eyes, walking over to Rachel and Falmouth, laying down beside them. He could probably just take a nap or something while he waited. It wasn’t like he’d be able to escape if someone decided to take a shot at him, anyway. His legs were burning.

“Do you mind if I take a look around?” Hosea stepped up to him, crouching down. Arthur looked at him, blinking for a second. He really needed some time to rest, and having Hosea around to watch over him would be great, but Arthur had enough of a guilty conscience about Hosea having been waiting for him for years and worrying about him. “I won’t be long, I just…” he trailed off, gesturing towards the barn. “I wanted to take a look.”

Arthur glanced at the barn for a second before nodding, “Sure! I’ll just stay here and sleep while we wait for the others,” he stifled a yawn. It had been a long day, and if Hosea wanted to just take a look around, Arthur wouldn’t stop him from it.

Hosea smiled and tugged playfully at one of his antlers, “I won’t be long,” he repeated as he got up and hurried off. Arthur tried not to think about it too much, though he did wonder what had caught his attention all of a sudden. He decided not to care about it and curled up against the wall of the building, just hidden enough so people wouldn’t notice him too quickly. He drifted off the moment he closed his eyes.

It had been about an hour when someone shook him awake. He felt tired as hell, but he knew he would be able to go back to sleep soon enough. For some reason he’d expected it to be Hosea waking him, but when he opened his eyes, they were met with the sight of an irritated John.

“Come on, Arthur! Wake up,” John continued to shake him. “We need to make camp.”

“Did you find someone?” Arthur yawned, pushing himself back on his feet and following John and Charles as they mounted up and set the horses in motion.

“Yeah, we found the guy,” John paused long enough so that Arthur almost thought he wouldn’t elaborate. Something must have happened for him to be this agitated. “He just didn’t want to help us. Told us to get lost. Seems like he’s not much of a shaman after all, just a regular old piece of shit.”

Arthur closed his eyes for a second, taking in the news. They had come all this way for nothing. All of them had better things to do than to follow him around on a wild goose chase.

They were just about to leave town to find a place to set up camp when someone came running after them. Arthur turned around to see who it was, wondering if it could be Hosea returning from wherever it was that he’d gone.

John glanced over his shoulder, huffing, “If it ain’t the shaman himself,” he drawled, pulling Rachel to a stop. Arthur and Charles stopped beside him, staring curiously at the man running up to them.

The entire man could only be described as filthy. Mud caked his clothes, dirt smears covered his face and his black hair laid in tangles over his shoulders. Arthur’s hope that he wouldn’t smell as awful as it looked were crushed the moment he came close enough. It was a mix between sweat, shit, dirt and alcohol. The combination making Arthur wishing he’d be able to puke. Could deer puke? He didn’t know, and he almost wanted to find out.

The man stopped a couple of feet in front of him, his mouth open and eyes wide, “They were telling the truth,” the shaman whispered, stretching a hand towards Arthur’s face. Arthur recoiled, not knowing where the hand had been. He took a few steps backwards, frowning when the man followed. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I just saw a glimpse of him as you left. He’s extraordinary!”

“We tried to tell you,” John leaned forward. “But I ain’t sure if we want your help, no more. It looked to us you was more busy with the drink than wanting to help.”

The shaman eyed Arthur for a moment longer before turning to John. “Only because I didn’t know how amazing he is,” he said, pausing slightly to once again try to touch Arthur. “Do you see this?”

“See what?” Charles raised an eyebrow.

“This! Am I the only one? He’s almost glowing, and you don’t see it?” the shaman exclaimed, pointing excitedly at Arthur’s face. “A spirit animal in the flesh. I almost thought I didn’t have my gift anymore, but now I see! Now I can return to my tribe,” he laughed, finally able to grab Arthur by the antlers, twisting his head to look him over. “Wow, you are absolutely stunning. I never thought I’d see one in real life!”

“Wait, “return to his tribe”?” Arthur glared at John, trying to rip his head free from the man’s grip.

“He was thrown out because they thought he was a fraud,” John explained, rubbing a hand over his face. “He was more busy drinking than healing people.” Arthur felt the shaman’s grip loosen enough for him to get his head lose.  

“You can understand him?” the shaman gaped, staring at John in awe. John rolled his eyes, obviously starting to get tired of having to explain it to everyone they met.

“Yes,” he said flatly, looking so done with the entire situation that Arthur almost wanted to chuckle. “But that ain’t important. We just need to help him move on. If you can do some sort of ritual or something, that would be great.”

“It’s probably the most important thing you’ve said all night,” the shaman grinned.

John paused, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you’re the only one who can understand him, you’re the reason he’s back in the first place,” the shaman started to pace, gesturing wildly while he continued to explain. “Spirit animals are here for a reason, be that guidance or protection. If he’s here, you need him for something. There are no rituals for situations like these.”

“So this is all your fault, Marston?” Arthur snickered.

John ignored him, “Can’t you find out what he has to do, at least?”

“No, I can’t. The only way to know for sure is when it’s done.”  

John groaned, “So I’m stuck with him until he finds out what he has to do?”

“It looks like it,” the shaman shrugged.

“Well, at least we don’t have to stay here for another day,” John smiled tightly. Arthur screamed internally. He’d been looking forward to just have a day to recuperate before heading back towards Beecher’s Hope. “Thank you for the information. It’s been surprisingly helpful.”

John pressed Rachel forward again, steering her towards the open landscape a bit farther down the road. Charles thanked the shaman, too, getting Falmouth to follow John. Arthur huffed and was about to follow them when Hosea came running up to him. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, which was ironic. The shaman seemed to see him too, but he ended up just turning around and stalking away from them, eyes wide and hands shaking slightly.

“Arthur!” Hosea yelled, coming to a halt right in front of him. “Arthur, you won’t believe who I found in the barn! It’s Silver Dollar!”

“Silver Dollar?” Arthur almost couldn’t believe the old turkoman was still alive. No one had seen him since the bank robbery, and now he was in Tumbleweed?

“Yes!” Hosea grinned, but then his expression turned sour. “He can’t stay here, he’s never been in a stable a day in his life, and they have him locked up in a small box. I heard them talking about shooting him! We can’t just let them do that to my horse.”

Arthur thought back to what John had said about helping those who didn’t have a chance to prepare for their death. Even if he was only supposed to help John, no one could really stop him from helping a few ghosts, too.

He turned to John, took a deep breath and sighed heavily, “John, Silver Dollar is here in Tumbleweed. Hosea is wondering if we could maybe go and get him?”

“Go and get him?” John asked incredulously, pulling Rachel to another stop. “We don’t have money for a horse, and you know it. I don’t even have enough to pay down my loan.”

“I know,” Arthur nodded, walking up beside him. “But could we at least go and talk to them about how much they want for him?” He tried to not look at Hosea. The ghost was staring hopefully between the two of them.

John was silent for a while, thinking it over. He glanced at Charles, who had stopped Falmouth a bit farther down the road, and sighed, “Yeah, sure, fine.”

They turned around and made their way back through town. The sun had set a while ago, and the light was fading quickly. Arthur sighed as the temperature cooled down. It felt refreshing and welcoming after the hot day.

Hosea seemed more and more exited as they got closer to the barn. He probably hoped John would try to get the horse when he saw it, but Arthur had his doubts. It wasn’t that John never did anything for anyone, but he didn’t have any money with him. Not enough for a horse, anyway. And if Arthur’s suspicions were right, the stable owner might even try to up the price when he knew the horse had sentimental value.

They saw the owner leaning against the stable doors smoking a cigarette. He welcomed them and showed them inside when they told him about why they were there, and they followed him past quite a few horses until they came to the right one. Arthur stayed outside, sneaking around the outside without being spotted, and listened to their conversation.

“Jesus, what happened to him?” John’s voice exclaimed. “He looks like he ain’t been fed for weeks!”

“Not my fault, sir,” the stable owner said defensively. “I don’t know why he’s not eating, but he just stands there all day. Actually, we were planning on putting him down one of these days, since he’s just taking up space.”

“How much do you want for him?” Charles asked. There was a pause, the owner thinking over the price.

“You can buy him for 900,” he said. There was a stunned silence before John exploded.

“900?! You can’t be serious. You just told us you were talkin’ about shooting him, and now you want 900 dollars for him? How does that make any sense?”

“It’s a turkoman, sir!” the stable owner reasoned. “It’s a rare breed, and I know they are worth a lot more than that. 900 is basically stealing him.”

“We ain’t paying 900 dollars for an old, malnourished horse, mister. If you were planning on killing him anyway, I don’t see why I can’t get him for free,” John argued.

“Well, it seems this horse is important to you, so why not pay for him? I’m not giving him to you for free, so cough up the money or get the hell out of my stable.”

“Then we’re leaving,” John said. Arthur groaned and snuck around, trying to catch a glimpse of them as they walked outside. John just had to blow it. He might not be as good with words as Dutch or Hosea, but he should know arguing didn’t lead to anything. He could’ve tried to haggle a bit better.

After a few more angry words were exchanged, John and Charles were once again on their horses, Arthur trailed behind them and Hosea jogged beside him. He seemed troubled, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. If he’d been in the same position and it was Boadicea about to be shot, he’d be just as worried.

“Are everyone in this town annoying?” John grumbled as they got farther away from the stable.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Maybe they wouldn’t be annoying if you were just slightly less of an idiot,” he said, trotting up beside Rachel. “You weren’t exactly trying to be friendly.”

“It’s not my problem,” John glared at him. “If Hosea wanted to keep his horse so badly, then he shouldn’t have died in the first place.”

Arthur flinched, quickly looking behind him where Hosea once was. He’d disappeared again, and Arthur really didn’t blame him.

“You know as well as I do he’d never leave that horse behind if he had a choice, Marston,” Arthur hissed. “He never meant to leave any of us. If anyone is to blame, it’s Dutch or Micah.”

“Yeah? Well, why don’t you go back and get the horse? I guess I’m too much of an idiot to understand how to do it,” John kicked Rachel’s flanks, pushing her into a quick paced canter. “I’m sure you’ll have more luck than me!” he yelled over his shoulder.

Arthur met Charles’ gaze and sighed. He knew he wasn’t the only one who’d been tired after a long day.

“I’m sure he’ll calm down when he gets some rest,” Charles assured him. Arthur nodded in agreement. Even though communicating with anyone other than John was difficult, it wasn’t impossible. And Charles always seemed to know how to ask questions and talk in a way that Arthur could somewhat respond to, without needing a translator.

As they followed behind John, a thought struck him. Maybe he could get Silver Dollar out without the stable owner knowing it? He’d definitely be able to open the doors unless they were locked, and if not, he’d probably be able to at least kick the doors open somehow. A side door was enough to get the horse out.

A plan shaped in his head as they found a nice spot to camp and got a fire started. He would just have to wait until the others had fallen asleep, and then he’d be able to sneak away.

He only had to wait for about an hour until the two men had drifted off, both snoring softly.

Arthur grinned and got up from where he’d been laying. He walked silently back to town, and found the lights were out in the stable. He quickly went to work, checking the different doors, seeing if maybe they were unlocked. Luckily, the main doors were left open.

For a second, he almost thought it was a setup, but he quickly discarded the thought. Some people preferred keeping the doors open at night so the horses got some fresh air.

He snuck into the stable, finding Silver Dollar and feeling his chest tighten when he saw the poor horse. The horse looked like it was starving. You could see every rib. His legs were littered with scabs and barely healed cuts, and he looked so full of sorrow, Arthur knew he’d made the right decision. He couldn’t let the horse stay here and slowly waste away.

“Hey there, Silver,” he said, trying to sound gentle and calming. Not that the horse seemed to have much energy to be anything but calm. It glanced up at him, leaning forward and blowing hot air in his face as a way of greeting. Arthur chuckled and stepped closer. He got to work on the latch, easily unlocking it with his mouth before stepping back to let Silver Dollar step out of the box. “Let’s get you out of here. These bastards don’t deserve you.”

Silver Dollar nodded, making Arthur pause and squint at him. Did he understand him? Or was it just a coincidence?

“You understand me now, too?” he asked. The horse nodded again, and for a moment, Arthur was too astonished to move. How was this possible? It wasn’t like he could understand Silver Dollar. Maybe he was Silver’s spirit animal, too, then? Or was it just the ‘from one prey animal to another’ kind of communication that made the horse able to understand him? Arthur decided he didn’t want the accompanying headache from trying to figure that out, and just felt lucky the horse would understand him enough to not be difficult to get out.

They snuck out of the stable. Silver Dollar waited patiently as he checked around to make sure they hadn’t been spotted. The night was as silent as always, but a feeling of unease built in his chest the farther away from the stable they got. He tried to shake it off, but something wasn’t right.

And it clearly wasn’t as the first bullet hit the ground a couple of feet beside him a few second after the thought. The sound made them both jump and start running off towards the camp. Which was a bad idea, you’re right, but in the heat of the moment, you can’t always think clearly. Especially when your every instinct tells you to get to safety, and somehow the only thing that’s made you feel safe is the brother you are meant to protect. Arthur wasn’t proud of his decision. It only soured his mood even more when he heard the stable owner shout:

“They trained a deer to steel horses!”

Which wasn’t true. This was Arthur’s idea, thank you very much. He’d thought it was a pretty good idea, too, actually. No one would expect a deer to steal a horse. The idea is absurd. Stupid even. Maybe Arthur should have thought this through a bit better, but hey, he’d gotten Silver Dollar out of the stable, and soon they’d be on their way home. If the stable owner got killed, it wasn’t his problem. The guy probably deserved it for not taking better care of his horses.

Arthur stumbled a bit as a thought struck him. The stable owner had shouted to someone. And who do you go to if you expect to be robbed during the night by two sketchy looking guys? Well, you could always rile up the men at the bar. They were almost always up for a fight. But at this point, horse theft would be better handled by the police. And the thing about police? They like to shoot things. Mostly people, but a runaway deer stealing a horse would be a nice change of pace. And they practice their skills regularly. Mostly on people, but small, glass bottles do nicely, too. And other deer not currently stealing other people’s animals.

The next few bullets hit a lot closer to their target. Arthur cursed as the sand blew up right between his feet, making him shoot off to the side to avoid the next shots. He watched Silver Dollar run as fast as he could, which was pretty fast given his long legs, but Arthur still knew it wouldn’t last. The horse hadn’t eaten anything in a while, and thus had no energy to keep up the pace for a long time.

“JOHN!” Arthur yelled at the top of his lungs. They were close enough to camp that John and Charles should hear the gunshots. You wouldn’t have to be a light sleeper to hear them, but Arthur liked to make sure that John knew that he should really start packing up their things and get going before they were all killed.

“What the hell, Arthur?!” John shouted as the two four-legged creatures skidded to a halt in front of the camp. He’d already gotten out of his bedroll and started to collect the things laying spread around, Charles doing the same. Arthur knew the ability to yell at someone while quickly tearing down a camp came from years on the run, and John had obviously not lost that skill. He didn’t know how many times they’d ended up arguing while still helping each other out during quick escapes.

“You told me to go get him myself, so I went and got him!” Arthur panted, looking over his shoulder at the fast-approaching law and stable owner. They’d been able to make a bit of a gap between them while they ran, but now they were closing in. Who’d have thought people on horses running after a horse and a deer would be able to keep up pretty easily?

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” John exclaimed as he threw the saddle bags over Rachel’s back and strapped the bedroll to the back of the saddle. Charles remained silent as he jumped onto Falmouth’s back, pulling out a gun to start giving them all some covering fire. “And you call me stupid!” John growled and stepped into the saddle, kicking Rachel into a gallop.

The two men made quick work of the lawmen as they approached. Some of them were a bit more difficult to aim at, as they quickly swung their horses out of the way. They were good, but John and Charles were definitely better as they shot down anyone that got too close.

They spread out trying to make it more difficult to target them. Arthur tried his best to keep up with the horses, but again, three horses were a little too much for him. He’d been having trouble keeping up with a slow canter all the way down to Tumbleweed. Three horses in an all-out sprint? Not a chance.

Except when he saw that one of the officers were able to get in a good shot at John. He knew it would hurt. He knew this could all have been avoided hadn’t it been for his frankly idiotic plan. This was his fault, and he wouldn’t let John die because of his mistake.

So, he picked up the pace. Ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream as he jumped in front of the bullet aimed at John’s head. It hit him right in his side, piercing through his flesh and made its way into his heart. The force of it pushed him sideways mid-air and made him fall into the dirt. The blood loss dulled the pain, but John and Charles shouting his name came through his foggy mind. Maybe this was it? Maybe he finally could just rest? He craved sleep. He’d been running for so long. He was always running. As a kid, as an adult, and as a resurrected stag. Still running. Never really feeling like he would ever stop. But it would be so nice to just let go and stand still for a moment. Let everything slow down for a while, but no. He’d never be allowed to just give up on someone else when they needed him, and if the shaman said it was his destiny to help John even after he’d died, then would it hurt to try? Yes. If he’d be shot every other day, it would definitely hurt.

He let out a breath as he felt the darkness come for him. It was such a familiar feeling by now. How many times had he died? He felt the question melt away as he closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the fight around him fade away, leaving nothing but the pleasant buzz of draining life. He was dead once again.

And then he woke up.

Chapter Text

The ride back to Beecher’s Hope was a silent one. No one felt like saying much after what had happened. They had taken out the rest of the lawmen, and the stable owner had turned on his heels and fled the scene shortly after the last officer hit the ground. To say John and Charles would never be allowed to set foot in Tumbleweed again after this would be unnecessary. Not that there were any police left to arrest them, but still. The ones left behind would remember them.

John sighed and looked over at Silver Dollar. The malnourished horse had been trailing after them ever since Arthur took a bullet for him. They had ended up keeping the speed to a walk, trying to keep Silver Dollar from using more energy than necessary.

The horse’s mood had changed the longer they stayed away from civilisation. He seemed happier and more than content to just follow them for the long trip. He’d even been eating some grass and oatcakes while they rested.

The silence didn’t help much when it came to John’s thoughts. Hosea had probably heard his outburst. It wasn’t that he blamed Hosea for dying. Not really. But he missed the man more than he’d like to admit, sometimes. It didn’t help that Arthur was the only one able to see him and have a conversation with him. John wanted to talk to him, too. He wanted to apologise. The old man had been just as much of a father figure as Dutch had been, and losing him the way they did was painful.

“You think he’s waiting back at the ranch?” Charles broke the silence, glancing over at John before turning back to watch the road ahead. John huffed. He wouldn’t believe it if Arthur wasn’t waiting for them back at Beecher’s Hope. They had already been travelling for two days, and the ranch was about an hour away by now. If Arthur wanted to, he’d be able to get there before them. John’s anger had mostly subsided after the initial shock of seeing him and Silver Dollar running at them with a bunch of lawmen at their heels, but the thought of what had happened still stirred at the quiet, bubbling irritation.

The entire trip had worn him down, the long journey taking its toll on all of them, but when Arthur once again had sacrificed himself for him to let him get out of a shootout, it soured his mood even more. He was grateful, don’t get him wrong, but still, he had no way of making it up to his brother. How would he even start when the guy had saved his life twice already?

“Probably,” John muttered, giving Rachel a pat on the neck. The thoroughbred had been wonderful the entire trip, but he knew she, too, needed a good break. “I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t there already.”

“And what if he isn’t?” Charles asked, making John sigh.

“Then I guess he’s moved on.”

“I guess,” Charles muttered. He didn’t sound convinced, though, and John had to agree. Just taking a bullet from a random lawman seemed so anticlimactic, if he was being honest. After all they’d been through just in the short time Arthur had been back, with the shaman and priests, all for it to be over by that one bullet. It didn’t seem right, and John knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until he was completely certain Arthur wouldn’t come back.

They fell silent again, John giving Rachel more reins to stretch her neck out on the ride up the driveway to his farmhouse. It was nice to be back home, and knowing they’d been able to bring Silver Dollar back with them, giving the old horse a better end than what he almost got, made the trip feel a lot less wasted than he first thought it would be. Not that John had helped getting Silver Dollar out of that stable in the first place. The thought made his stomach churn with guilt, again.

However, once they got closer to the farmhouse, and he saw a dog come running at them, barking at them, the guilt got mostly forgotten about.

He didn’t own a dog, and he doubted Sadie or Uncle had somehow managed to get one just during the few days they had been gone. The yellow Labrador Retriever didn’t seem to mind his deep thoughts, continuing to loudly announce their arrival back home. John frowned, quickly getting off of Rachel. He didn’t know how the dog was with horses, so he decided it would be better to block its path so no one would get injured by accident.

“Now, who are you, mister?” John asked the barking Labrador, carefully stretching a hand out so the dog could greet him properly. For a short second, John almost thought the dog was Arthur, but the lack of dry, not-so-funny comments, made him understand that the Stag hadn’t suddenly shape shifted into a canine.

Charles pulled Falmouth to a stop beside him. “I’m guessing they might know the answer to that,” he said, gesturing over to the farmhouse. John looked up, seeing two very familiar people stand on the porch together with Sadie, and he didn’t need to think twice before he was running towards them, arms out so he could scoop them both up if they let him.

“John!” Abigail exclaimed, already running to meet him. John hadn’t thought hearing her voice would make him feel this relieved, but it did. It made everything right in the world for once. The moment he had her in his arms again, he would never let her go again. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Over his dead body.

So, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up in a small spin, making her giggle in delight, before putting her down again. He kept her close, being careful not to crush the woman. Still, he would hold her as tight as he felt was appropriate. Which was very tight, actually.

“Jesus, John,” Abigail laughed, hugging him back. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d missed me.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to miss you more if I tried,” John muttered, giving her a little squeeze before letting her go. He stared at her, taking in the sight of her before turning to Jack, who’d ended up strolling up behind them. “You alright, son?” he asked, ruffling his hair. The boy huffed at the display of affection, rolling his eyes, but he seemed to enjoy the attention.

“Sure, pop.” Jack smiled, and it made John feel like maybe he had a chance with the boy after all. They might’ve left off on a sour note back at Pronghorn Ranch, but just knowing they’d both returned to him, made all that had happened recently become a minor inconvenience. “I can’t believe you actually got a ranch,” Jack said, looking around as if the entire place was just a figment of his imagination.

“I sure did!” John glanced at Abigail. “It’s all yours.”

“I’m sure you mean ours,” she corrected him, making John shrug sheepishly. The ranch had been for Abigail in the first place, but he’d grown to love the place the more he worked on it. Knowing the woman he loved approved of it made it all worth it. All the blood, sweat and tears, long days and money struggles. Not to mention the added stress of having to deal with his dead brother.

Which brought him back to reality. He hadn’t seen said dead brother since they arrived, and not even a quick glance around the property made him any wiser on where Arthur could be. Unless the stag was in the farmhouse or in the barn, he wasn’t there. And, if Arthur wasn’t there, then where was he? John still couldn’t bring himself to believe that Arthur would actually move on just from a simple shootout with the law. It didn’t make any sense.

“Hey, pa!” Jack’s voice caught his attention. Since his thoughts had been filled with a certain stag, the excitement in his son’s voice made him sure the boy would announce the arrival of the animal he was looking for, but Jack’s eyes were glued to the Labrador Retriever that had just come running up to them. “I’d like you to meet Rufus,” Jack said as he gave the dog a good scratch behind the ears. Rufus let out a low boof, stretching up to give the boy a lick on the nose, sending Jack into a fit of giggles.

“So, that’s his name,” John exclaimed, once again leaning down to greet the dog. “Hello, Rufus. Nice to meet you.”

“A fitting name,” Charles said, coming up behind them. John guessed the man hadn’t wanted to disturb their reunion, which he was grateful for.

“Charles!” Abigail grinned, hurrying over to give him a hug, too. “Sadie said you were here, but I can’t say I believed her. She was sprouting some nonsense about a stag having joined you, too, so I couldn’t help but think she’d gone a bit mad from the heat,” she laughed. She must’ve sensed how the mood immediately changed, given the way she tensed up. “Was she serious about that? You actually tamed a stag and named it Arthur?”

She looked over to John, who looked over at Charles, who looked over to Sadie, who just shrugged, letting them handle it, making John sigh.

“It’s a long story,” he grumbled, once again feeling the worry come back. “You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“The stag? No,” Abigail hummed. “I do want to know why you would take it with you all the way to Tumbleweed, though. I’m guessing it ran away, since it’s not with you anymore?”

“He got shot,” John said, trying not to sound as irritated as he suddenly felt. It was a sore subject to bring up, and having lost his brother twice, both times during highly stressful situations, in both similar and very dissimilar manners, it hurt to know that Abigail didn’t believe Sadie when she’d told her about him.

“Then why would you think he would be here?” Abigail sounded confused, rightfully so, and John decided he would leave this discussion to after he’d gotten his horses cared for. He needed sleep and rest, and he knew the horses needed the same.

“Apparently he’s a spirit animal sent to bother me until he’s fulfilled his destiny or some shit like that,” John said, knowing it would lead to more questions. “And unless taking a bullet for me during the most ridiculous escape in my life is his destiny, then he should’ve been here.”

“Maybe you need to get out of the sun, too,” Abigail mumbled, looking concerned as John waved her off.

“No, I just need rest,” John sighed, gesturing for them to get back in the house. She complied, motioning for Jack to join her. “But that doesn’t mean whatever happened to Arthur isn’t real. Unless everyone on this farm has gone mad, and had some group hallucination, he was here.” John felt tired. “I’ll just tend to the horses and I’ll come back inside,” he explained, whistling for Rachel to follow him. Silver Dollar joined them, too, ears pointed forwards.

The horse had really had a glow-up just from getting out of that dark stable, and John knew he would never let him be neglected like that ever again. He owed Hosea and Silver Dollar, that. Also, Arthur had gone through a lot of trouble just to get the horse out of there, bringing John and Charles into it, as well, so, taking proper care of the horse was the least he could do.

He took his time with the two horses, trying to give them both the attention they clearly demanded. The moment he turned his back to one of them, the other would be impatiently giving him a nudge. Charles had joined him at first, taking care of Falmouth, before excusing himself and disappearing back to the farmhouse. John knew the guy had been through just as much as him, so he didn’t want to keep him there for longer than he had to.

When he’d finished with Rachel, he let the mare out to the other horses before turning his attention back to Silver Dollar. The Turkoman’s general state wasn’t the best, and now that John could finally look him over properly, he saw the horse looked even worse than he’d first thought. Not looking at the protruding ribs from lack of food, the overall state of him was just sad. Scabs and wounds littered his legs, some still bleeding, others looking like they were just about to get infected. Scars from years of abuse were speckled over his entire body, and John felt his rage roar to life. How could humans treat animals like this?

He took a deep breath, calming himself before bringing out a bucket and a cloth, filling the bucket with water and getting to work on cleaning the horse’s wounds. They’d healed enough to not need any bandages or anything, but he knew he’d keep an eye on them, just in case. Silver stood calmly, chewing to show his appreciation. The horse had always been a clever one.

“Is it really Silver Dollar?” Abigail asked as she came up to the fence. John glanced at her with a nod, continuing to clean a particularly nasty-looking cut on the horse’s flank. “He looks like he’s been though hell.”

“He’s been stuck in a stable for who knows how long,” John explained, moving on to the next cut. “Arthur got him out.”

Abigail was quiet for a moment, probably contemplating her next words carefully. “You really think it’s him?” she asked. John knew she referred to the stag being Arthur, and the worry for where his brother had disappeared to came back. Silver Dollar seemed to feel the concern, nickering softly at him. John gave him a short pat on the neck to calm him down again, and the horse sighed, lowering his head again, closing his eyes as John continued his task.

“I don’t just think, I know,” John muttered, pursing his lips as his eyes wandered to the general direction of Arthur’s grave. He hoped the stag would show up again, but given the fact that it hadn’t showed up even after a few days, his hope had started to dwindle more and more as the hours passed. “How much did Sadie tell you?”

“Not that much,” Abigail confessed, slipping through the fence and reaching out to pet Silver. The horse let out another sigh, letting her stroke his head gently. “Just that Arthur apparently had been turned into a stag, or something along those lines.” She paused, biting her lip. “I’m having trouble believing it, but you all seem so sure.”

“Because we are,” John muttered, finishing up the last bit of his cleaning job, before putting the bucket away and grabbing a carrot he’d prepared earlier. Silver Dollar’s head perked up at the sight of the vegetable, already stretching out his neck to try and grab at it. Even his lips pursed in an effort to take the carrot from John’s hands. The clear joy in the horse’s body language made him smile as he let Silver snatch the carrot from him. “If he shows up, you’ll see.”

“Then I hope he does,” Abigail said slowly. She gave Silver Dollar another careful pat. “I’ve prepared some food for you. It ain’t the best, but it’s still food.”

John chuckled. “I’ve got my doubts it could even be called ‘food’, but at the moment, I’m hungry enough to eat rocks,” he joked, earning himself a gentle slap on the shoulder. She didn’t say anything else, just started to walk back to the house, leaving John to give Silver Dollar one last check for the night.

He was about to follow her when he saw something at the corner of his eye. It made him freeze, not allowing himself to turn his head. A familiar figure was petting the silver horse. John knew the moment he would look at them properly, they would disappear, so he kept his eyes locked on the fence in front of him, focusing on the edge of his vision at Hosea. It had to be him. Even if John couldn’t make out any distinctive features, he instinctively knew it was his father.

The guilt of what he’d said once again crashed into him, and he had to take a shaky breath to calm his nerves. It seemed to get the attention of the ghost, and John could tell Hosea was fading out of sight again.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” John mumbled quietly, hoping Hosea would hear him. The ghost paused in its weird motion, seeming to let its attention fall on him. “I didn’t mean it.” He wanted to look at the shadow of the one he knew so well, but he was afraid the man would disappear if he did. He tried to come up with more to say, but the feeling of a smile on the shadow person made all words get stuck in his throat.

“It’s okay, son.” John could’ve sworn it was Hosea’s voice, but it could’ve been the slight breeze. It felt oddly familiar to that weird sensation he’d had when they were on their way to Tumbleweed and Arthur had clearly talked to someone. Sometimes, John had thought he could hear the answer, which was freaking him out a bit. Not only did he have a spirit animal, who’d now apparently decided not to come back to him, but he could see ghosts. Great. As if this entire situation hadn’t been weird already.

“It’s good to know you’re still around,” John said, finally looking up. The ghost vanished as soon as he directed his eyes to where he knew Hosea would be, just as he’d expected. He waited for a few more seconds, just in case another breeze or whisper could be heard, but nothing came, and he decided to just leave the horses for the time being. He smiled sadly at the spot Hosea had been, nodding a little to himself, before finally making his way back to the house.

After two days without a single sign of a generally pissed off stag, John felt like he had to do something. His hope of ever seeing his brother again had disappeared completely, and he contemplated if it was worth it to go looking for him. Arthur could be anywhere at this point, and even if they did find him, did he even want to be found? John didn’t know, but the restlessness of not knowing where he was, was getting tiring.

“Charles,” John said, getting the attention of the man who was sitting at the campfire, making a couple of arrows. “I need to find him.”

Charles immediately knew what John was talking about, if the determined nod gave him any indication. “I’ll join you.”

“You don’t have to,” John muttered, already feeling bad for having dragged the guy with him all the way to Tumbleweed. This would be another long journey, and John knew it.

“I’m worried, too, John,” Charles stated, already getting up from his seat by the fire. He grabbed the things he’d been using to make his arrows, tidying up quickly, before making his way past John and towards the main entrance to the house. “I’ll start packing.”

“Right.” John grimaced, following him inside. He started packing his own things, trying to figure out if he would need any clothes suited for cold weather, before deciding it was better to have something just in case. Freezing to death wouldn’t be ideal.

“Bring him back, John,” Uncle muttered from his place on the floor. “It ain’t as fun here without him.”

John sighed, looking over at the old man. His back had been healing well after the Skinner Brothers got him all roasted, but he was still in a great deal of pain. Abigail had been taking care of him since she got there, which John was grateful for. He didn’t want to lose Uncle, too. He might be a pain in the ass, but he was family.

“If I can find him,” John said quietly, more to himself than to answer Uncle, but the old man just scoffed at him, sprouting some nonsense about having some faith. It tugged at John’s heart, and he knew Uncle had said it as a joke. It still stung.

He’d already talked to Abigail about leaving, and even thought she’d been reluctant, she’d agreed to look after the ranch while he was gone. Sadie had agreed to stay, too, telling him she wanted to see Arthur at least one more time before he fulfilled his purpose or whatever.

John felt a lot better knowing Sadie would stay to keep the peace, which was actually quite ridiculous to think about. She’d caused a lot of arguments on her own with Pearson during her first months with the gang, and she’d never been one to back down when having a “civilised discussion” about something. She could be sharp as a knife, that woman.

The thought made him chuckle to himself as he mounted Rachel, checking her over one more time to make sure he hadn’t forgotten about anything. Charles was already sitting in Falmouth’s saddle, ready to go, and John gave him a short nod before pressing his Thoroughbred into a quick walk. He turned to wave at the people he was leaving behind on the ranch, watching them all gathered on the porch. He imagined a stag standing beside them for a moment, and he decided he wouldn’t mind having the unusual animal together with the rest of his family.

When he turned back to watch the road ahead, he could’ve sworn he saw a bunch of other shadows standing between them all, and he would’ve just brushed it off as stress if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d seen Hosea so clearly a few days earlier.

A cold feeling settled against his back, and this time, knowing the sensation of what it felt like when one of those shadows leaned against your back, he was acutely aware of Hosea sitting behind him on Rachel as they started their journey to the only place John knew to look.

Arthur had mentioned waking up under his own grave, and it had made a lot of sense to go there first. John had never visited it, so he let Charles take the lead as they made their way through the country. They took their time, knowing it wouldn’t be good to work their horses too much with the steep terrain. Normally, the trip wouldn’t take too long, but with their horses still recovering from the last trip, they decided it was better to just keep the pace down. They never knew what they would have to run away from next.

They mostly rode in silence, John taking in the nature around them as they continued towards their destination. They headed straight for Valentine, ending up renting a couple of rooms for the night and buying more supplies before once again being on their way. Nothing really happened until they were getting closer to Bacchus station and they heard someone swearing quietly to themselves.

“I know I got it!” a man exclaimed, pushing through the bushes and onto the road ahead of them. John pulled Rachel to a stop, watching the man carefully. He was holding a rifle, looking like he’d been out there for days if the state of him was anything to go by. “Shot it right in the face, and then it vanishes right in front of my face!”

“Excuse me, sir?” John asked, making the man jump. “Are you okay?”

“Okay?!” The man threw his hands up in exasperation. “I shot a damned stag, and now I can’t find it!” The man whined, pacing back and forth. “It was probably the greatest specimen I’ve ever seen, and then it just poofs out of existence! God must hate me! I’ve been out here looking for days!”

“Maybe it was only wounded,” Charles piped in, receiving what could only be described as a death glare for his suggestion.

“That damned animal got its brains blasted out of its head,” he grumbled, hands tightening on the rifle. “It fell right in front of me, I turned around for one second, and when I turned back, it was gone. Not a trace! No blood, no brain, no nothin’!”

“It seems you’ve been out here a little too long, mister,” John huffed, also getting the same death glare as Charles in return. “I mean, if there ain’t no trace of it, then I’d think you didn’t shoot it in the first place. You said it was the greatest specimen you’ve seen. Maybe you were just seeing things?”

“I know people who’ve gone mad trying to hunt the perfect game,” Charles added. John couldn’t tell if he meant it or if it was just to add to the argument. Safe to say, both John and Charles knew exactly what stag the guy had shot, and if he’d been out here for days, he might’ve been the reason why Arthur hadn’t returned to Beecher’s Hope for such a long time.

“I’m not like other people!” the man argued, once again waving his arms around in frustration. “I’m an experienced hunter! Days in the woods means nothing to me! I thrive here with the animals! I stalk my prey like a- like a cougar! Yes, like a cougar! Me! The best hunter there is!”

“And I don’t doubt it,” John said, trying to keep his voice even. “But I’m sure even the greatest hunter there is can have an off day, sometimes. And if you don’t mind me sayin’ sir, you look like you could need a rest.” He gestured to the man’s ruined clothes, making the man frown and look down on himself, taking in the damage.

“Huh, would you look at that,” the man muttered, letting his arms drop to his sides. “I didn’t know I’d gotten this roughed up. It wouldn’t be good coming home to the wife like this. She’d be furious!”

“Right?” John tried his best, but he couldn’t help but share a look with Charles. They should really get going, but this man was quite amusing in his own way. “Now, why not go to Valentine and get yourself some new clothes, and then go home to the wife and tell her all about the stag. I’m sure she’d love to hear about all the brains and the blood.”

“Oh, quite the contrary, I’m afraid,” the man said, placing the butt of his rifle on the ground. “She doesn’t like the blood, and certainly not the brains! That woman couldn’t stomach a dead mouse, let alone a stag!” He grimaced, kicked his rifle a little, and John hadn’t realised the weapon was cocked until the shot went off, scaring both the horses. Thankfully both the animals were easily calmed, and when they finally stopped trying to run off, John and Charles assessed the damage.

The guy was dead. Very dead, actually. Both blood and brains were present where the now dead man was laying on the ground.

“Well, at least he went out with both blood and brains,” John sighed, knowing how morbid it sounded. Arthur would’ve laughed. Probably.

“So much for being the greatest hunter alive,” Charles chimed in, pushing Falmouth into a slow trot. John followed suit, getting Rachel to match their pace.

“Not anymore,” he said dryly, earning himself a look from Charles. He decided to change the subject. “How far is it?”

“It’s just up past Bacchus station,” Charles explained, leading them over the train tracks. They passed the station and the bridge, John getting flashbacks to when Arthur and he had almost gotten run over by a God damned train before blowing it up, and rode up the trail past the hidden statue cave and the Mysterious Hill Home Arthur had written about in his journal. Arthur had said he’d woken up underneath his grave, so he kept his eyes peeled as they got closer to where the trail went up the side of the mountain. There was no sign of him anywhere.

They let their horses slow down to a walk as they made their way up the steep trail, leaning forwards in the saddles to make the climb easier for them, until Charles stopped Falmouth where the mountainside evened out and made a bit of a ledge. It was still steep, but it wasn’t impossible to traverse it.

John followed Charles as he got Falmouth to carefully move down the side of the mountain. The two horses stepped gently on the rocky surface, and it didn’t take long for the sight of a wooden gravestone to come into view. John’s eyes weren’t focused on the grave, though. They snapped to the huge stag laying beside the grave. The familiar animal was just looking at it, as if it was in deep thought.

John knew Arthur had heard them coming, but he didn’t react to their approach. He just continued to stare at his own grave. Maybe going here to get him had been a bad idea? John regretted it slightly, not knowing if his brother appreciated them coming to find him. Why did this have to be so difficult?

“I heard you got shot again,” John said, regretting it instantly as Arthur’s ears flattened against his skull in an obvious display of irritation. “He shot himself by accident, so…” he trailed off, not really knowing what else to say.

“What John is trying to say,” Charles took over to John’s relief, “is that whoever was looking for you is gone. If he kept you from coming back to Beecher’s hope, he won’t be a problem anymore.”

“I could’ve taken another route,” Arthur muttered, still not looking at them.

“Was that a thanks?” Charles glanced at John.

“No,” John said curtly. “Listen, Arthur, we were just worried when you didn’t show up on the ranch.” He stepped closer to the stag. “I mean, if you wanted to be alone, I’m sorry for coming to find you, but just not showing up…” he trailed off again before sighing. “I’m not mad at you for getting Silver Dollar.” He guessed Arthur might be mad at him for not getting the horse in the first place, but the longer they were there, the more it felt like something else. Not anger, but something more sombre. A sadness hung over the place, and John couldn’t tell if it was the grave or the spirit that caused it.

“I never went up here,” Arthur said quietly, turning his head to gaze out over the world below. The statement confused John, but he didn’t get to question it before Arthur continued. “I always just woke up and left. I forgot how much I liked this place.” He closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air. “I even had a spot I liked to sit just a little farther up.” He turned to look at Charles, making John glance between them. “Thank you, Charles, for finding this place.”

“What did he say?” Charles asked, looking at John expectantly.

“He’s thanking you for finding this place,” John translated, watching Arthur as he continued to talk. “Apparently, there’s a spot a little ways up where he liked to sit.”

Charles smiled sadly and turned back to the stag. “I overheard you talk with Lenny and Hosea about being buried facing west so you could watch the setting sun and remember the good times you had,” he said, making Arthur nod. “Found this place and thought it would fit nicely.”

“It’s perfect,” John translated, making Charles’ smile turn slightly less sad.

“And you brought Hosea, too,” Arthur said, finally turning to face John. His focus was slightly to his right, and John could feel the cold breeze against his side. It sounded like a whisper, just like he’d heard earlier, but this time he couldn’t make out what the whisper said. But given Arthur’s conversation with it, he could make out the fact that Hosea had disappeared for a while after John had his moment of idiocy. He hadn’t expected the conversation to turn to his left side, though.

“Eagle Flies?” Arthur said astonishedly, getting to his feet. John felt another round of confusion until he remembered the young Native American had been buried not too far from there. Also, the icy feeling against his left shoulder told him everything he needed to know. He didn’t need the extra visuals in the corner of his eye to confirm his suspicions, but there he was; a blurry, dark mass in the shape of the chief’s son. He kept his eyes straight forwards, ignoring Charles’ questioning look. The feeling of a smiling Hosea to his right made his shoulders creep up towards his ears. It was such an uncomfortable sensation, being surrounded by the dead.

The whispers continued, brushing against his ears as they continued their conversations. John wanted to say he managed to follow what they were all saying, but he was too uneasy to focus on anything other than keeping his gaze straight ahead of him. He wanted to keep them all in his sight. Not only because seeing Hosea gave him a weird mix of feelings blending together with the discomfort, but because it all felt so weird in general. It was freaking him out more than he cared to admit.

“What is he saying?” Charles asked, bringing John out of his frozen state. “He seems to have a pretty heated discussion about something.”

“He’s talking to Eagle Flies.” John’s voice cracked, causing Arthur to trail off in his tirade.

“You’re looking a little uncomfortable there, John,” the stag snickered, before realisation seemed to hit him. “Wait, can you see them?”

“Yes,” John said, still keeping his eyes straight ahead. “And almost hear them, too.”

“Damn, that makes no sense,” Arthur muttered, making John fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“About as much sense as being able to fully understand a spirit animal talking to me,” he scoffed.

“Can’t argue with that,” Arthur sighed, turning back to Eagle Flies. “I’ll see if I can find your father, but unless John joins me on this, communication will be a bit difficult.” He paused, another whispering breath whistling past John’s ear before he answered. “I’ll do my best. It’s the least I can do.”

And with that, the icy feeling dissipated from John’s left shoulder, only leaving Hosea at his right.

“What was that about?” he asked, finally letting himself relax now that he only had one ghost to worry about (or, well, he didn’t know for sure if Hosea was the only one there, but he was the only one John could sense, and being Hosea, it freaked him out a lot less than anyone else. He knew the guy’s presence by now. He’d been sticking with him since Arthur first appeared, so…).

“Eagle Flies wanted me to deliver a message to his father,” Arthur explained. “Apparently he’s staying in Annesburg for a while.” The stag fell silent. “If you’d like to join me, I’d appreciate it, John,” he added, glancing at John.

“I mean, sure,” John replied, shrugging helplessly. “Whatever I can do to help, I guess.”

“And Charles?”

“What did he say?” Charles asked, making John look at him.

“Seems we’re taking another trip,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “To Annesburg, this time.”

“As long as we’re not stealing more horses, I’m in,” Charles muttered, making John huff a laugh.

“Yeah, I doubt that’ll happen.”

“Well, then it’s settled,” Arthur grinned, making his way past the two of them. “Let’s go.”

And so, they went.

Chapter Text

When Arthur had first woken up again, he had started to get up immediately, ready to go back to Beecher’s Hope and find John and Charles. Then, the extreme feeling of exhaustion hit him, and he ended up standing there, looking at the world around him and taking in his quiet surroundings. Silence was something he hadn’t felt in a while. His entire life there’d been gunshots, screaming, hooves thundering against the ground. He’d always enjoyed the quiet of the forest whenever he went out hunting by himself. The solitude was something he needed, especially as the gang continued to grow and people turned to him for answers.

He missed his journal. When the world seemed to be against him, or if he had too much on his mind, writing had been his way to clear his head. Now that he was a stag, he had no way to get his thoughts out except by talking about them to others, but that wasn’t something he did willingly. Not to mention there were quite few people he’d be willing to talk to about his thoughts in the first place. So, they had started to crowd him, and he knew he’d have to sort through them sooner or later.

Instead of rushing off to Beecher’s Hope, he took his time, this time. He knew John and Charles would be taking their time, anyway, if they were having Silver Dollar trailing after them. That horse had been in such a sorry state, and if he was still with them, they’d go slow, which meant they would have at least a few days of travel ahead of them. Which, again, gave Arthur plenty of time to think. He guessed he’d take his time, too, just to get through all the shit that had happened after he came back from the dead.

He'd stayed beneath his grave for a couple of days, eating some grass, slumbering, thinking, going down to the river to drink, and using some more time to just get his mind in the right place. He’d ended up in the woods close to Bacchus station when a hunter came out of nowhere and shot him right in the face, killing him instantly.

At that point, Arthur hadn’t been able to actually come to any sort of solution to his problem, and dying made it even harder to think straight. It was like every time he died, his mood got worse, which might actually be understandable. Dying hurt a lot, most of the time. It didn’t matter how it happened.

He’d looked up at where his grave was supposed to be, and realised that he never actually went up there to see it. He’d never had a reason to. He’d just been moving towards where John was the moment he woke up, every single time. It had never even occurred to him to just go up and check it. Maybe he hadn’t really wanted to until now?

And so, he’d walked up the steep mountain and found the grave. It looked like someone had really taken their time to find a nice spot for it. It was surrounded by flowers, and the engraving made him smile sadly to himself. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness”. He wondered who’d made it. He didn’t think John would come back to get him. Not after barely getting away and having to meet up with Abigail and the others. It didn’t leave too many others. Him and John had been alone against the rest of the gang in the end, which meant Charles was the most likely candidate.

He'd ended up walking up to the spot he’d used to go to before all the shit had gone down. It was on the very top of the mountain, in the same area as the monk he’d tried to get to talk a few times, was. In the end he’d found a small ledge to sit on. The guy had a good idea of where to find a nice, quiet place to meditate. Arthur would give him that. He could see for miles. The clouds rolling in over the land, light breaking through them. Arthur didn’t believe in a god, even less after he died, but with a view like that, it didn’t surprise him that some people did.

He'd used the next few days going back and forth between his own gravesite and the top of the mountain, looking out over the landscapes, and at the sun moving slowly across the sky. It made his thoughts seem less heavy for a while. He could finally think through what had happened since he first woke up that day. There was so much to unpack. Being a spirit animal, for example. Why in the world would he be the one the universe decided should be a spirit animal? It made no sense to him.

The mess had started to clear up while he was laying by his grave. He guessed it would have gone a lot quicker with a journal, or if he’d had time to go through it bit by bit right after it all happened, but he guessed this was okay, too. Still, the entire situation made him oddly sad. He was in a constant state of irritation and melancholy, for no reason in particular. At least, he didn’t know why he felt that way, which was tiring in itself.  He thought it could be the longing for being able to rest, or moving on, or just leaving this shitty world behind.

And then, John and Charles had showed up, with Hosea tagging along with them. Arthur was glad Hosea seemed to have forgiven John, by the looks of it, but his mood remained sour. He tried to hide it to the best of his ability, also when Eagle Flies showed up to ask him for a favour. He didn’t mind meeting Rains Fall. He had a lot of respect for the chief, and his words had helped him through the rough time before he died. So, going to Annesburg to convey a message from his dead son was the least he could do.

When John and Charles had agreed to join him (at least as long as they didn’t steal another horse), Arthur had been relieved, and they had started their journey towards the chief’s last known location.

“So, where’s that spot you were talking about?” Charles asked as they got closer to where the trail evened out over the top of the mountain.

Arthur glanced at him, before veering off the path and headed straight for his little ledge. As he’d mentioned, communication with Charles never felt difficult, and just being able to show him a spot he was sure to love, got rid of some of that irritation he’d been struggling with.

Charles got off Falmouth, stepped over to the ledge as they arrived, and placed a hand on Arthur’s back. They all took in the view, even Hosea, who’d seemed to be slightly less impressed by nature after he died.

“I can understand why you like this place,” Charles muttered, making Arthur nod. John stepped up beside them, whistling in awe.

“It’s a good place to think,” Arthur said, giving John a look to make him translate, as the other seemed to have forgotten he was the only one understanding him.

“I don’t doubt it.” Charles smiled, giving his back a solid pat before turning to go back to the horses again.

John stayed put as Arthur, too, began to trek back to the path. It made Arthur pause and turn back. Seeing his brother this deep in thought was unusual to him. The guy barely had a coherent thought most days. Now he looked completely lost.

“John?” Arthur asked, making him sigh.

“I’ve been thinking,” John said.

“Struggling, no doubt,” Arthur replied as he walked back to him.

“Shut up,” John grumbled, giving him a gentle jab in the side. “I’ve been thinking about proposing to Abigail.”

“Probably the first good idea you’ve had in years,” Arthur huffed, earning himself another jab. “Of course, it would be a bit difficult to do unless she comes back to you.”

“If you’d come straight back to the ranch, you’d know she has.” John looked at him, a hint of anger in his voice. “Both of them, actually. And a dog.”

Arthur stared at him, before turning back to the view. “Sorry. I needed some time to think.”

“You could’ve been thinking before breaking a horse out of a stable.” John pursed his lips, before adding “and somehow I’m the one who’s the idiot.”

Arthur grimaced, looking over at Hosea, who was standing a little farther away from them, observing them. He guessed he was listening in on them, too, if the small smile playing on his lips was any indication, which made Arthur want to roll his eyes.

“Well, you are,” Arthur grinned, “but I ain’t gonna say I ain’t an idiot, too. I’m sorry for breaking out a horse, getting the law after you, dying, and then not coming back. I should’ve probably mentioned what I planned to do first.”

“I guess that would’ve been better than running at us with a bunch of lawmen after you, yeah,” John raised an eyebrow at him, but amusement had taken over for the anger, this time, making Arthur chuckle.

“I’ll be sure to warn you next time, then,” he snickered, nodding for John to follow him back to Charles and the horses.

“I was hoping there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’.”

“I ain’t promising nothing.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” John huffed as they got closer to the horses. He pulled himself up on Rachel, waiting for Arthur to take the lead again. Arthur waited for Hosea to get up behind John before continuing their journey.

They went down the mountain, finding themselves following the path alongside O’Creagh’s Run. Arthur smiled at Hosea as they went past the spot where they’d found the legendary bear, catching John’s attention as they snickered at the chaotic memory. He didn’t mention it, though, and quickly turned his focus back on the road ahead.

Arthur’s ears perked up as he noticed the familiar man sitting on the porch of his cabin, talking to the unique-looking beast of a horse. Hamish Sinclair looked up as they passed, eyes falling on Arthur, who slowed down to look at him.

“That’s something you don’t see every day,” the veteran stated, keeping his eyes on the stag. Arthur didn’t know what to say. He had been hunting with this man a couple of times, thinking of coming back to see him one more time before his end, but he never got around to it.

“We get that a lot,” John replied with a sigh. “You’re Hamish Sinclair, ain’t you?” he asked. Hamish nodded.

“That’s me, yeah,” he said, getting up from his seat with difficulty. The leg seemed to be bothering him, today, Arthur noted. “Who’s asking?”

“You knew a friend of mine,” John said, getting curious looks from both Charles and Hosea. Arthur had forgotten that John had taken over his journal, and probably read every single personal thought in it. “Arthur Morgan? He helped you with your horse a few years ago.”

“Oh yeah, I remember Arthur,” Hamish grinned. “How’s he doing?”

John paused, looking a little lost again, and Arthur couldn’t blame him. He didn’t know if they should tell Hamish about his predicament or just say he died.

“He’s, uh, he died not long after you last saw him, I’m afraid.” John sounded like he wanted to at least try to explain that he’d come back as a stag, but had changed his mind at the last second.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hamish’s eyes dimmed a little, and Arthur glanced at John. “He was a good man. We went hunting a couple of times. Helped me catch the tyrant that’s been living in the lake, too.” The veteran seemed to contemplate something, before his eyes lit up again. “You’re free to come inside and take a look, if you want? I have it hanging on my wall.”

John looked at Charles, who shrugged, before both of them slid off their horses and followed Hamish inside. Hosea stayed with Arthur outside.

“You’ve been around, I see,” he said, making Arthur nod.

“After everything started to go to shit, and my sickness got worse, I started paying more attention to the people around me. Helping strangers felt like the right thing to do, and I guess it was my way of trying to make up for all I’ve done.” He sighed. “I helped a lot of those I met, including Hamish. His horse bucked him off and ran away with his leg. I retrieved it for him, and he asked me to go fishing.”

“I’m proud of you, son.” Hosea smiled, giving him a pat on the back. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to go check out this ‘tyrant’ you caught.”

“Go ahead,” Arthur said, watching as Hosea stepped up on the porch and disappeared into the cabin. He gave Buell a nod, watching the Dutch Warmblood give him a nod back. Both Rachel and Falmouth watched their interaction, nickering softly in greeting. “Been a while, ain’t it,” Arthur muttered to the stallion, who seemed to agree. “You behaving properly?” Buell nodded again, making Arthur smile. “Good.”

They all stood outside the little cabin as they waited for the others to come back out, and Arthur hadn’t expected that to be with Hamish in the lead, holding a rifle. The veteran was yelling something about a boar, and soon after, a shot went off. The boar the man had been talking about was huge. It had been out by the outhouse, and ended up running off at the sound of the gun going off. John ran after it while Charles and Hamish got the horses. Arthur didn’t know who he should follow, but ended up rushing after John who seemed slightly winded as he ran up a slope.

“You okay there, John?” he asked, keeping up with him easily. There were some benefits of being a stag. Not getting winded easily was one of them (except when you had to run after two horses for hours. That sucked).

“Will you shut up and go after it?” John glared at him, still trying to catch up to the boar, finally getting up to the road. Arthur had been too busy snickering at him to keep an eye on where he was going, ending up getting entangled in a tree.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed, feeling his antlers catch on the branches and tug him to a stop. That made John stop to laugh at him. Karma, Arthur guessed. “Stop it and get me out of here!”

“I think I like you better this way,” John said, no remorse in his voice as he left him to go get Rachel. The three men ignored him as Arthur continued to swear at them, or at John in particular. “You got yourself into that tree,” John said as they started to walk away from him, “I’m sure you’re able to get yourself out of it, too.”

“Oh, come on!” Arthur yelled, tugging at the branches to try and untangle the mess keeping him stuck. He watched as the three men split up, John and Charles taking one way, Hamish the other, before disappearing out of sight. Arthur continued to try and get out, until finally one of the twigs snapped, and he fell forwards into the dirt.

“You kinda deserved that,” Hosea chuckled, watching him as he got back up. Arthur didn’t say a word, his pride not allowing himself to comment on it, before he rushed after the others. He decided to go after Hamish, feeling like John would just continue to mock him.

He got there just in time to see Hamish fire a shot at the boar, and miss. The boar obviously hadn’t liked being shot at, and immediately charged after the veteran. Hamish cursed, pushing Buell into a quick gallop as they tried to run away from the beast. Arthur only hesitated for a second before running after them. He saw John and Charles riding down from the top of the hill to his right, but he knew they weren’t close enough to help.

He wasn’t fast enough himself, actually, and as he got around the corner where Hamish and the boar had disappeared around, he witnessed the man get thrown off the horse. The boar didn’t wait, just rushed straight at the fallen man, and got him good. Arthur knew it was over. There was nothing any of them could do to save him.

Arthur felt the desperation and fury rise up in him as he charged at the boar, antlers down and ready to kill. He prepared for impact, tensing just before he drove the tips of his antlers right into the boar’s side, making it squeal in pain. He’d hoped it would kill the thing, but the boar turned its ugly head on him instead, trying to get his antlers out of its side.

Arthur stepped back, before driving the antlers into the boar’s side again, trying to shove the animal away from the dying man on the ground. He was big, but relative to the boar he was just a small nuisance. Arthur pressed harder, feeling himself managing to push the boar slightly to the left. He used the tiny victory to force himself to work harder. He wanted this animal dead. It had killed his friend, and for that, he had no mercy.

He let the thing go again, retreating enough to turn on his heel and start running, feeling the boar following him. He led it away from Hamish, trying to figure out a way to kill it without dying himself, and he decided another hit to the side might do the trick. He was faster than it, and so, he hurried to get out of sight, confusing the huge animal, before launching himself out of hiding, once again stabbing it. This time, his attack worked a lot better, pushing the boar onto its side. Arthur stomped on it, kicked it, bit and continued his assault until the boar was no longer fighting. He didn’t spare it another glance as he rushed to get back to the veteran.

“Hamish!” Arthur yelled, ending up beside the man. Hamish was breathing hard, groaning in pain as he held his stomach where the boar had gotten him. “God damn it,” he muttered as the man continued to squirm. Buell stood off to the side, looking spooked, but he refused to leave his owner’s side.

“He got me good,” Hamish croaked, looking up at Arthur. The man paused, squinting up at him as if he suddenly recognized him. And Arthur guessed he did, because the next words out of Hamish’s mouth was “Is that you, Arthur?” and Arthur could do nothing but nod. “I could almost feel it when you first showed up,” Hamish continued, not looking bothered in the slightest. Arthur had a feeling the pain might have something to do with it. Or maybe he knew he was dying and a dead friend showing up wasn’t the weirdest thing that could happen. “It’s nice to see you, old friend.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Arthur mumbled, slumping down on the ground beside him. Hamish wheezed a laugh through the agony, reaching a hand out to pat his shoulder. Arthur let him. “I got that boar for you.”

“I’m sure you did.” Hamish looked like he was about to drift off. “Fitting that you were the one that got him,” he added, smiling tiredly. “How’s the other side?”

“I ain’t been, yet,” Arthur confessed, but added “but I’ve heard it’s nice,” when he felt Hamish might need the reassurance.

“Will you take care of Buell for me?” Hamish asked, glancing at the horse in question. Buell seemed to sense the sadness of his dying friend, calming down enough to come over to them and press his muzzle to Hamish’s hair, gently. Arthur sighed.

“I ain’t in the best shape to take care of a horse, Hamish.” If he’d been human, he’d have gestured to himself to make a point, but Hamish seemed to understand what he meant, anyway.

“And what about your friends? Would they be up for the task?”

Arthur glanced back to see John and Charles come galloping around the corner, yelling at Hamish. They seemed to understand the situation immediately, hurrying over to help.

“Oh no,” John breathed, trying to see what the damage was. “Hamish?”

But Hamish wasn’t responding anymore. He had succumbed to his wounds. Arthur could still see him, though. He was shaking hands with Hosea just a few feet away, but John and Charles didn’t know that.

“He ain’t going to answer, you,” Arthur muttered, getting to his feet. “He asked you for a favour, though.”

“And what was it?”

“He asked if you could take Buell for him.” When he said it, Buell and Hamish looked expectantly at John. It almost seemed like John could feel it, as he glanced in the general direction of where Hamish was standing. “He’s a good horse. Stubborn and a bit of a scaredy-cat,” Buell’s ears flattened backwards in a display of anger. Arthur ignored him, “but loyal to a fault,” he added, making the horse less annoyed.

“Yeah, sure,” John said, reaching out to pet the horse gently. Buell understood what was going on, and let John lead him away from Hamish’s body. Arthur watched as Hamish’s ghost gave him a grateful nod. He nodded back, and Hamish vanished, leaving only Hosea.

“Should we find a place to bury him?” Charles asked, and the three of them agreed to get him back to his cabin and bury him there. They knew he’d loved the place, so why not let him rest there, too.

They were quiet as they found a shovel in his shack, and found a nice spot not too far away from the cabin where they started to dig. Soon after, the man was laid to rest in the ground, and Charles engraved Hamish’s name on a piece of wood before sticking it in the ground where his head would be. They stood around the grave, giving Hamish a minute of silence, before they decided to continue their journey. Buell stayed with them, following just like Silver Dollar had done on their way from Tumbleweed.

As they walked from the cabin, they didn’t get father than over the hill when a familiar mountain made Arthur grit his teeth. The mountain with the single tree on the edge of the cliff, where he’d been fighting Micah just as much as he’d fought to keep breathing. Where Dutch had stepped on his hand to stop him from shooting the man. Where the man he had considered his father turned his back on him, leaving him to die alone while watching the rising sun.

A glance was enough. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to remember it. Too bad for him, because the mere sight of it made his mind flood with memories and ghostly echoes of John yelling at him to keep pushing. The sound of gunshots as those he had considered family tried to kill him. His horse’s final breaths as he petted it, trying to ease its pain.

John had a similar reaction, giving it a glace before pointedly looking in another direction as they passed under it. Charles hadn’t been there during the fight, but he’d been back to retrieve Arthur’s body later, and probably had an idea of what the two of them were going through. He didn’t say anything, just kept riding silence, letting them work through the memories. Arthur didn’t know if Hosea had been there in his last moments, but he guessed he was, given the man’s pained expression as they left the mountain behind.

They continued through the forest where they’d been chased by the Pinkertons and what was left of the Van Der Linde gang, deciding not to ride past Beaver Hollow, and following the main road over the Kamassa River instead. Some people gave them looks as they passed, but none of them cared. The entire area was a bad reminder of all they’d been through.

As they rode into Annesburg, the people reacted pretty similar to what they did in Tumbleweed. However, the whispering was new. People put their heads together, pointing at them as they talked in hushed voices. Arthur was too emotionally drained to even question it, and instead tried to figure out where Rains Fall would be.

He spotted Eagle Flies waving at him by the train station, and he led the way over to the platform. When they rounded the corner, they saw Rains Fall sit with his suitcase on one of the benches. The old chief looked up and saw him, and Arthur realised that he didn’t just see him, he saw him.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you ended up as a spirit animal,” Rains Fall said with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. John and Charles had been hitching their horses around the front of the station before they, too, joined them. “And if it isn’t Charles,” Rains Fall grinned, taking Charles’ hand and shaking it. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for my people, Mr. Smith. It’s good to see you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Charles smiled. “I’m sure you remember John?”

“Yes,” Rains Fall nodded, “of course. Nice to meet you again. I see Arthur’s with you, too, having some unfinished business to take care of?” He gestured to Arthur, who tried to shrug in his weird way.

“You know it’s him?” John looked surprised, glancing at Charles, who seemed just as shocked.

“My people are familiar with spirits, Mr. Marston.” The chief smiled mysteriously. “That doesn’t mean seeing a spirit animal is any less extraordinary.”

“I don’t think he can understand me,” Arthur told John, who nodded at him.

Eagle Flies had been silent as they made their greeting, but he seemed to decide to speak up as they could hear the rumbling of an approaching train.

“My message, if you please. He’s leaving with the train.”

“Right, of course,” Arthur muttered, turning to Rains Fall. “Your son wanted me to give you a message. He wants you to know he’s sorry for all that happened, and that if he knew how foolish he’d been, he wouldn’t have done it. I’ve tried to tell him he ain’t a fool, and that I’ve been tricked by Dutch, too, but he ain’t listening to me.”

Eagle Flies rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. “I was a fool.”

“We’re all fools,” Arthur retorted, ignoring how the ghost pouted and instead turning his attention to the chief again. “He also wants you to know that he’s okay, and that he’s hoping your tribe is well.”

John translated the message, and Arthur watched as Rains Fall hummed. A small tear made its way down the man’s cheek, but the chief made no move to rub it away.

“It’s good to know you’re okay, my son,” Rains Fall said, looking directly at Eagle Flies. He didn’t seem surprised that his father could see him. “We’re in Canada, thanks to Mr. Smith. I came down here to see you, and thanks to Mr. Morgan, I was able to.”

The train pulled up to the station, stopping with a screech. Rains Fall glanced at it, before turning back to the people (and stag) surrounding him. He nodded a little to himself, smiling as he shook hands with John and Charles, giving Arthur a pat on the neck before smiling at his son again.

“It was good to see you all again,” he said, walking slowly over to the wagon, and getting on. He turned to look at them all one more time before disappearing out of sight. Eagle Flies smiled to himself, thanking Arthur.

“Thanks to you, I was able to talk to my father again. I’m forever grateful,” he stated as he started to fade out of existence. Arthur knew it was the last he would see of the chief’s son.

“It was my pleasure,” Arthur said, bowing his head in respect. Eagle Flies did the same as he vanished, leaving Hosea the only ghost around, once again. It was the second time he’d seen someone cross over to the other side today, and it felt almost like when he’d helped all those people before he’d died. It gave him something to do. Helping ghosts finish whatever they’d left behind. It gave him meaning.

“So, what now?” John asked, and he probably shouldn’t have, as someone yelled “It’s the Stag Gang!” and a bullet whistled past Arthur’s ear, just missing him before lodging in the side of the train station.

Someone else added “They stole the old veteran’s horse!” and the three of them were already on the run. John and Charles sprinted to get their horses, while Arthur was too busy dodging the bullets that were already raining to really think about more than getting in cover.

Too bad he couldn’t give any cover fire, but this time he refused to die. It had been too much death today, already, and he refused to end up at his grave again. He somehow got around the building, seeing Charles and John blasting their guns and kicking their horses into a quick gallop. Arthur took the lead, Buell coming up beside him as the humans took the rear, giving them some cover fire.

Arthur almost stumbled over a rock, but Buell grabbed his antler, steadying him. It was such a weird feeling that he almost forgot Buell was a horse for a second.

“We didn’t steal him!” Arthur heard John yell at their pursuers, but apparently no one believed them as more bullets flew past.

“We’ll lose them in the trees!” Arthur shouted, cutting off into the woods. Buell stayed by his side as they weaved through the trunks, while John and Charles tried their best to steer their own horses. “Let them run by themselves!” Arthur instructed John, who barely missed a particularly big tree. John let go of the reins enough for Rachel to take control, and she quickly made her way over to Arthur and Buell, falling in behind them. John yelled for Charles to do the same, and Falmouth took the opportunity to join the others.

They got through the trees, finding themselves close to Butcher’s Creek, and Arthur decided it would be best to avoid the place, and led his entourage back over the Kamassa River and in the direction of Emerald Ranch. They stuck to the treeline as they slowed down, not hearing the gunshots anymore, but staying cautious just in case someone was still on their tail.

Once they got closer to Emerald Ranch, they slowed down to let their horses catch their breaths and regroup.

“Word travels fast,” Charles muttered, patting Falmouth’s neck as they walked over the overflowed fields.

“They could’ve come up with a better name, though,” John chuckled.

Arthur had to agree. “The Stag Gang” seemed way too unimaginative compared to the members of the “gang”. They weren’t even a gang, just family at this point. But, of course, a family could be a gang, too. Still, he wouldn’t call their sorry group a gang, even if he saw them from someone else’s perspective.

They let their horses walk over the Heartlands before pushing them into a slow trot to get slightly more speed. They went down the path by the Caliban’s Seat when Arthur noticed something he hadn’t expected.

“Wait, Mason?” he uttered in pure disbelief, before he rushed forwards, leaving John and Charles to yell out in surprise.

Arthur didn’t listen as he sprinted up the hill, before grabbing Albert Mason by the waistcoat, just as he almost stepped off the edge of the cliff he was standing on. The man flailed as he was pulled backwards and onto safe ground, where he fell on his ass with a yelp. Arthur knew he’d panicked, but he refused to see another one of his friends die that day.

“Are you okay, sir?” John asked, as him and Charles managed to catch up with Arthur. He jumped off Rachel and helped Mason to his feet, Arthur still keeping his teeth locked onto the guy’s waistcoat.

“Yes, I’m quite well, thanks to…” he trailed off, looking over his shoulder to see Arthur latched onto him. “My goodness, that’s- that’s a stag!” he exclaimed, trying to get Arthur to let go of him, but to no avail. Arthur had no intentions of letting him go until they were safely off this mountain, and that was final.

“I’m sorry, Mister,” John sighed, meeting Arthur’s glare. “Arthur is a bit protective, today.”

Mason stopped, staring at John like he’d grown a second head.

“Did- did you say ‘Arthur’?”

“Yes, we named him Arthur. Like the king from that book,” John tried to lie, but Mason didn’t seem to buy it, instead turning his head to look back at Arthur.

“I knew a man named Arthur, once,” he muttered. “He kept saving me whenever we crossed paths. Just like this Arthur just did…” he trailed off again, the question he wanted to ask hanging in the air. Arthur felt like answering it, nodding his head. “My goodness,” Mason said, “I must be losing my mind.”

“I can assure you, you’re not,” John said, already catching onto what was going on. “You’re Albert Mason, I’m guessing? The wildlife photographer?”

“Well, yes I am!” Mason grinned, stretching out his hand for John to shake. “And who might you be?”

John took his hand. “John Marston,” he pointed at Charles, “and this is Charles Smith. We’re old friends of Arthur.”

“A pleasure.” Mason grinned, before his smile dropped and he gestured to Arthur again. “And I’m guessing he’s not going to let go of me until I’m safely back down from this place?”

“Yesh,” Arthur grunted, nodding so John didn’t have to translate it.

“Very well, then,” Mason admitted defeat, letting his arms fall to his sides. “I was going to shoot some Eagles, but I guess Mr. Morgan here won’t let me.”

“You’d beh cohhecth,” Arthur grumbled, tugging at the waistcoat to get Mason farther away from the edge.

“Will you at least let me get my camera?”

“No,” Arthur said at the same time John said “yes,” sternly. Arthur sent John a glare, trying to tell him that he did not trust this man with collecting his own camera from a very tall cliff. Of course, Mason listened to John instead of him, and made his way over to his camera, Arthur tagging along.

“You know, I was surprised when I didn’t see you after the alligators,” Mason muttered to Arthur as he started packing his things. “I mean, I never thought you’d end up like this, but I’d had a hope I would see you again. I went back to New York for a while, but I came back after my pictures got some recognition. They were truly a sight to behold.” Mason sighed. “I guess I won’t be able to take many more pictures of wildlife. Not without my trusted knight in shining armour, at least.”

Arthur huffed, making Mason chuckle. It gave him an idea, actually, and so he turned to John. “Joh, ahk hm ih he wahtsh th takh a pichtur oh meh,” Arthur asked, making John frown in confusion for a moment as he tried to figure out what he’d been saying.

“Um, Mr. Mason, I think he’s asking if you want to take a picture of him,” John finally said, just before Mason started to pack his camera. Mason lit up at the request.

“Would you do that?” He looked down at Arthur, who nodded again. “That would be great! I’d start my collection with your portrait, and end it with it!” Arthur hadn’t even known Mason had taken a picture of him the day they first met. He let go of the thought, instead pulling the photographer with his camera back until he was a nice distance away from the edge of the cliff, and finally let go of his waistcoat, trusting John and Charles to take care of his friend.

Mason got to work, setting up his camera so it faced the edge of the cliff, while Arthur carefully placed himself in front of it. He was standing with his back against the edge, head held high and proud, waiting for Mason to take his picture.

“You’re making this look very staged,” Mason complained, making Arthur outright laugh.

“Just take the goddamned picture!” he exclaimed.

John glanced at Charles for a moment, before starting to translate. “He says—”

“I think I got it,” Mason said dryly as he took the picture. “There. Now you’ve been immortalised in two different shapes.”

“How wonderful,” Arthur snickered, going back to the three men. He watched as Mason seemed to reach out to pet him, but thinking better of it, letting his hand settle on the camera again, starting to pack it up.

“Is there an address I could send the picture to?” Mason asked John.

“Just address it to Jim Milton and send it to Blackwater. I’ll pick it up from there.”

“Well, then,” Mason said, getting back to his horse who’d been hiding away in the trees nearby. He got the equipment secured to the saddle and turned back to Arthur. “It was nice to get to see you one last time, my good friend,” he muttered. “Thank you for rescuing me, yet again.”

“I hope you find something slightly less dangerous to photograph,” Arthur said, making Mason smile after John had translated it for him.

“Well, I guess I’ll go back to doing portraits of humans. It’s not nearly as interesting as the wild, but it does make money.”

“Take care, Mr. Mason,” John said as he got back up on Rachel, Hosea already sitting there waiting for him.

“It was nice meeting you all,” Mason said, waving a little as John made Rachel start the walk down from the cliff. Charles looked at Arthur.

“Are you coming, Arthur?” he asked, and Arthur hesitated.

“You go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you,” he answered, watching Charles narrow his eyes at him in question. Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes, using his leg to try and motion for him to go. Charles seemed to understand, and nodded, before following John down to the road.

“You’re not joining your friends?” Mason asked, and Arthur shook his head briefly. He looked expectantly at the photographer, waiting for him to do what Arthur knew he wanted to. “What is it?”

Arthur rolled his eyes again, lowering his head to allow Mason to pet him. The man let out a quiet “ah,” before carefully placing his hand on Arthur’s head.

“You’re very soft,” Mason giggled, ruffling his fur. Arthur glared at him, and he knew Mason was completely aware of how embarrassing this was for him. Still, it was probably the only chance the photographer would ever get to touch a wild animal that wasn’t either stuffed or made into some fur. “Thank you,” Mason added, looking into his eyes, “for all you’ve done for me.”

“Thank you for being my friend,” Arthur replied, knowing Mason wouldn’t understand him. It was, as everything else was, saddening to say goodbye to such a good friend. He might not have known Mason for a long time, but he’d definitely enjoyed their conversations and shared experiences. He was going to miss him.

Mason smiled, gave him one more pat on the head before telling him he should to after his friends. Arthur nodded, smiled that awkward deer-smile at him, and hurried after John and Charles. He looked back once, seeing Mason wave at him. Getting to say a proper goodbye felt really nice. It wasn’t often he got the time for it, but at least he got to say it now.

He met up with the others who’d started walking in the direction of Beecher’s Hope, again, and they started to speed up again, letting the horses run at a slow trot, once more. Hosea gave Arthur a questioning look, and Arthur shrugged.

“I met him right after rescuing Sean,” he explained, getting John’s attention, too, but his brother understood he wasn’t being talked to. “Helped him get his bag full of meat back from a coyote.”

“He sure is a curious fellow,” Hosea said. “Just as that chief.”

“Rains Fall is…” Arthur trailed off. “The world don’t deserve him. We saw his son when I broke the wheel when we were coming down from the mountains.”

“Ah, yes, the Native Americans watching us.” Hosea nodded. “I never got to meet any of them.”

“I think they would’ve liked you,” Arthur stated, and he was sure of it. Hosea was that type of guy. He might be a criminal and a con-artist, but the old man was wise and kind-hearted. The compassion Hosea felt for others would have been a great help in the end. But Hosea hadn’t been there, and they could only guess what the man would say about everything that happened. Cursing their stupidity, no doubt.

Hosea let out a low hum, contemplating Arthur’s words.

“I might have,” he said. “Maybe I’ll get to meet them all, one day, and find out what I missed out on? I was mostly hanging around camp during the last few weeks. That’s where all the others were. Until the last stand-off.”

“You didn’t just leave?”

“None of us did,” Hosea sighed. “Davey, Jenny, Mac, Sean and Kieran were all there when Lenny and I came to find the new camp. We followed you to Beaver Hollow and soon Molly and Susan joined us, too. We were all there at the top of the mountain, cheering you on.” Hosea pursed his lips, brows furrowing. “I swear I could’ve killed Dutch when he chose that rat over you. You’ve been our son since you joined us, and seeing him leave you like that…” he trailed off. “He’s going to hear it whenever he dies.”

“I’m sure he is,” Arthur said, knowing Hosea would keep his promise.

“It ain’t right,” Hosea muttered, looking down at the road beneath them. “None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for that goddamned boat. Maybe we should’ve started to think about getting people out of the gang long before that, but you know Dutch. Always having a plan.”

“He never had a plan after you died,” Arthur sighed.

“I’m not entirely sure he had a plan to begin with. He had plans, yes, but a proper one? No.”

“You might be right.”

“I wish I wasn’t.” Hosea grimaced, looking over his shoulder. Arthur followed his gaze, watching the sign that was hanging above the driveway of Beecher’s Hope.

They fell silent as they made their way through the gate, and they stayed silent until Abigail rushed out of the house with a blinding smile on her face, followed by Sadie, Jack and Uncle, and who Arthur suspected was the added dog John had mentioned.

He had no more time to think after that.

Chapter Text

It had been a long, few days of travel as they got back to Beecher’s Hope. They’d gotten Arthur back mostly without trouble. At least, none of them got killed. That wasn’t to say someone else had been killed. Quite a few, actually, and John would be happy if he never had to shoot another lawman ever again. He knew it was inevitable given how his luck seemed to be against him most days.

He jumped off of Rachel to greet Abigail, giving her another tight hug before turning to the rest of his family. Uncle had managed to get himself outside for once, with some help from Sadie and Jack. Even Rufus came bursting through the front door, yapping excitedly at their return.

“John, the Geddes boys came while you were away,” Abigail said, a huge smile on her face as she gestured to the pile of furniture outside the farmhouse. “They are such kind fellows. They gave us furniture!”

“Really?” John couldn’t quite believe it, even if it was right in front of him. The Geddes family had already done so much for them, and now they’d given them even more. He’d have to send them a thank you note or something. Maybe even some whiskey or fine brandy.

“Yes, look!” She pulled him over to the pile. “We can finally start fixing up this place, properly.”

“Yeah, but I think we should wait until tomorrow getting everything inside.” John grimaced, thinking of the work they would have to put in just to get everything settled. “It’s getting late, and we’ve been through a lot these last few days.”

“Of course.” Abigail seemed to remember what John and Charles had been away for in the first place, and turned to look at the two additional animals in their group. She hesitated a moment before slowly approaching the stag. John knew they’d talked about Arthur’s predicament, but he didn’t know how Abigail would react to actually meeting him. He’d been surprised by how well some people took it, but you never knew. “Arthur?” Abigail asked, inching closer to Arthur, who looked like his mind was elsewhere. The sound of his name brought him out of it, and he gave her a short nod.

Abigail glanced at John, who gave her a reassuring smile, and she took the last few steps until she was face to face with Arthur. He didn’t say anything, just watched her carefully, waiting for her to make a move. She still seemed like she didn’t really buy the whole “spirit animal” thing, but John could feel she was trying her best to accept it, even if it went against all logic.

“Pa, is it really Uncle Arthur?” Jack had come up behind him, watching his mother interact with the stag. “I mean, how do you even know?”

John sighed. “It’s him, alright. Trust me.”

Jack pursed his lips like he didn’t believe him, but he had a feeling as soon as he got to interact with Arthur, he’d be easily convinced. The boy liked living in his own little fantasy world, so letting some of that flow into reality shouldn’t be too much of a difficult task.

By that point, Abigail had flung her arms around Arthur’s neck, hugging the deer and muttering something John couldn’t quite hear. Arthur didn’t reply to any of it, either, instead curling his neck to hug her back in his own, weird way. She let go of him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, making Arthur shake his head in mock-annoyance.

John could almost feel that Arthur wasn’t really in the mood for much, and he guessed it had to do with what him and Hosea had talked about as they arrived at Beecher’s Hope. He’d tried to not listen in, but the more he tried not to, the more he heard, and not only Arthur’s voice, but also Hosea’s. It was like when he was seeing ghosts he couldn’t focus on them, or else they would disappear. When he tried to listen to the voices, they vanished, but trying to ignore them? Then, they sounded almost like muttering. And so, John knew Arthur and Hosea had been discussing Dutch and how they all had stayed around after the end, and he knew his brother had been in a bad mood since they first found him to begin with. Losing and saying goodbye to some of the people he cared about, too, and you had a sure way of keeping Arthur moody.

“I’ll go take care of the horses,” Charles announced, bringing John back to reality. He really needed a good night’s sleep. “I’ll take Rachel, too,” Charles added before walking off with the animals in question, leaving the rest of them. John had a feeling Charles also needed some time to himself, so he didn’t say anything, just gave him a quick, “thanks,” before turning back to his family.

Arthur had turned his attention to Jack, letting the boy ruffle his fur. John had to admit he was slightly surprised his brother hadn’t tried to do something more stupid, like the shit he’d done with the priest. Maybe some sleep would be all he needed to get back to his normal, annoying self. John secretly hoped so, since seeing him this gentle and careful was out of character. Arthur had always been the sarcastic asshole with an explosive side. Of course, he also knew the guy was a gentle soul, enjoying his quiet moments. That didn’t mean the guy wasn’t wild and unpredictable whenever he wanted to be. He had always been fun.

Okay, not always. Sometimes he was a true pain in the ass, and the bastard did it on purpose. Making life miserable for John had happened even more after John had left the gang for a year, never letting it go until Arthur’s new objective in life became getting John out of said gang, ironically enough.

“You alright?” Arthur asked, startling John enough to make him flinch. John noticed that everyone had started to get back inside the farmhouse, only leaving the two of them, and what could only be the ghostly, shadowy outline of Hosea. The sun had gone down enough to cast long shadows over the land, and the shape of Hosea blended right in. He wouldn’t have noticed if he was looking for it.

“I should be asking you, that,” John retorted, resting his hands on his belt. Arthur snorted, shaking his head a little. John didn’t know if it was because he genuinely wasn’t alright.

“We should get some sleep,” Arthur muttered, changing the subject, instead. It only cemented the fact that Arthur wasn’t doing too well, and John sighed, nodding for him to follow.

“Come on,” he said, watching Arthur tilt his head like a confused dog. Still, the stag followed him. He saw Abigail give him a questioning look, but he waved her off, telling her he’d come in a little later. She frowned, but let him go, anyway.

“Where are you taking me, Marston?” Arthur asked, walking up beside him.

“To your little spot up by the tree.”

“Why?”

“To talk.”

“I hate talking.”

“I know.” John grabbed Arthur’s antler, giving it a gentle shake, making Arthur yell out in indignation. The moment he let it go, the stag jumped sideways into him, knocking him over. This time John was the one to yell, but he quickly got off his ass, grabbing Arthur once again, getting him into a secure chokehold.

“Hey! Unfair, you little shit!” Arthur exclaimed, trying his best to get out of John’s hold. “I ain’t got arms! This is animal abuse!”

John didn’t listen, instead trying to force Arthur down on the ground. The two of them had wrestled a lot when they were younger, especially in the early days when John had thought he could take on Arthur without problem (it was, of course, a problem. Arthur was ten years older than him, and John was a twig growing up. That didn’t stop him from trying, and it had always ended with John eating dirt, or being thrown into rivers or lakes, depending on how annoyed Arthur had been). This time he finally had a chance to give his brother his own medicine, and he snickered as they continued their little fight.

He hadn’t expected Arthur to actually fight back just as ferociously, somehow kicking John’s leg hard enough for him to lose balance. Arthur took the opportunity to fling himself forwards, tilting at the same time, taking advantage of John’s tight hold on him. Which was how John ended up underneath Arthur, squished between dirt and a 160-pound stag, getting his breath knocked out of him.

“Still got it,” Arthur giggled, making himself heavy on purpose, John was sure of it. “Do you yield?”

“No,” John wheezed, trying to push Arthur off of him. But Arthur continued to wiggle, making it impossible to get a good grip on him so he could get free. “Okay, fine, I yield,” John grunted after a particularly bad jab by one of Arthur’s hindlegs.

Arthur immediately stopped and calmly got to his feet, giggling softly. John just glared at him, but he couldn’t help the smile playing at the corner of his mouth. They walked in silence the rest of the way up to the tree, both of them slumping down on the ground once they found a nice spot to sit.

“Now, what did you want to talk about?” Arthur sighed, adjusting so he was laying facing the farmhouse. John glanced at him, deciding to lay down, too, ending up with his back resting against Arthur’s warm fur. It gave him a great view of the stars above them.

“I was wondering what to do about that proposal,” John said finally, after a few minutes of figuring out why he’d wanted Arthur up there in the first place. He knew he could confront him about why he wasn’t feeling alright, which he was clearly lying about, but he felt it was too late, now. Instead, he settled for something he knew Arthur would be less annoyed talking about. The guy loved giving advice.

“And it couldn’t wait until, I don’t know, tomorrow?” Arthur turned his head to look at him. “I mean, I’m sure it’s important to you, but wouldn’t it be better to talk after we’ve got some rest?”

“I didn’t feel like going to sleep just yet,” John muttered, watching how the stars shimmered from above. The moon made its appearance from behind a cloud, too, bathing the world in a cold, white glow. “And I probably wouldn’t get much sleep, anyway, if I’m being honest.”

“Right.” Arthur hummed. “Well, I can’t say I’m an expert on proposals.” He huffed, before adding, “Unless you want her to reject you.”

“At least you can tell me what to avoid,” John retorted, making Arthur bark out a laugh.

“Yeah, there I’m an expert.” He let out a long sigh. “But I reckon you ain’t got nothing to worry about with Abigail. You’re already married, ain’t ya?”

“Well, yeah, but what if she doesn’t want to—” John started to argue, but Arthur cut him off.

“I think she would love it. It just shows her you care,” he said, making John feel like maybe he was just being an idiot with this. Abigail had come back to him, and if that wasn’t enough to convince him she wouldn’t reject him, he didn’t think anything would be enough to make him believe it.

He pulled out Arthur’s old ring making the stag turn to look at him, eyes narrowed.

“You still have that?” he asked, glancing from the ring to John and back to the ring.

“Of course,” John huffed, “just like I have all your other things.” He pulled out the picture of Arthur and Mary, showing it to his brother, who hummed in thought at the sight of it. “I was going to give it to Abigail, anyway, but now I feel like I have to ask for permission,” John confessed, grinning sheepishly.

“How thoughtful of you,” Arthur said, sounding more amused than anything. “I can’t really use it now, anyway.”

John stared at him, fiddling with the ring in his hand until he reached up and placed the ring on one of the antlers. It slid down quite far before it couldn’t go any farther.

“Seems to fit just fine,” John joked, ignoring Arthur’s unimpressed look, “but if you don’t mind me using it, I’ll give it to Abigail.” He reached for it, frowning when he couldn’t move it. “Shit.”

“Don’t tell me it’s stuck,” Arthur groaned, watching as John tried his best to get the ring unstuck. “How did this even happen?”

“I have no idea,” John uttered as he tried to twist the ring off. It didn’t work, and John felt his heart drop a little. “What the hell am I gonna do if I can’t get this shit off?” He continued to try until Arthur started complaining about it being annoying, and he ended up slumping down with a sigh. “Damn it, I can’t do anything right, can I?”

“Rarely,” Arthur snickered, glancing up to try and view his new accessory. “Maybe Abigail can get it off?”

“But then she’d know what I’m trying to do,” John said exasperatedly. “I had an entire plan, too.”

“Well, why not alter that plan?”

“To what? She’ll probably notice the ring the moment she sees you.”

Arthur hummed, “And what if she doesn’t see me?”

John narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

Arthur shrugged. “I’ll just stay away from you tomorrow, you go on you little date, and I’ll join you when you’re planning to propose.”

John had to admit it was an okay plan. Not only would he be able to propose to Abigail, but she probably knew how to get it off, too. Arthur would also get to be there, which gave John mixed feelings, having wanted to be alone for it, but he guessed having the stag around wouldn’t be too much of a problem.

“Fine,” he agreed, giving Arthur the details of his little plan, before discussing when it would be best for Arthur to make his entrance. They came to an agreement, quickly enough, both yawning by the time they had everything planned out. “I guess that’s our que to get to bed,” John muttered, getting up from his seat. He gave Arthur one more playful tug at his antlers, before leaving him up on the spot under the tree.

He had no idea if their plan would work, but he had hope. Arthur hadn’t even altered the plan too much, which was good. Now, all there was left was ask Abigail to go to Blackwater with him to run a few errands.

He went to bed, finding her already asleep, and snuck under the covers, trying not to wake her. He couldn’t wait for the morning, and even though he thought he’d end up sleeping like a baby after all they’d been through, he ended up getting very little sleep at all. His nerves kept him awake most of the night. When the light started to shine through the curtains, he quickly got out of bed to go take care of the animals before anyone else woke up.

He glanced up at the spot underneath the tree, seeing Arthur curled up, the light hitting his antler making the ring glimmer. It made John cringe and look over his shoulder to see if anyone else were up, but there was no movement, except Rufus staring at him from the porch. He knew he wouldn’t relax until the proposal was over and done with.

He took care of the horses, giving some special attention to Silver Dollar and Buell, even though Rachel felt it incredibly stupid, making it more difficult for him. She kept glaring at him whenever she wasn’t the centre of attention, so he had to end the grooming session with giving her a few scratches and pets. He’d been looking at Silver Dollar’s wounds, finding them looking much better than when he left, which was a good sign. None of them looked infected, which was even better.

He finished getting the barn fixed up after letting the horses out, his nerves keeping him occupied for the most part. This felt worse than the first time he proposed to her, for some reason. He would have less nerves if he was about to rob a bank, which was ridiculous.

“Oh, hey, John,” Charles said, startling him out of his thoughts. John flipped around to look at him as he entered, trying his best to not look like he was freaking out. “Are you okay?” Charles asked, because the guy noticed everything, as always.

“I could be better,” John confessed, giving Silver Dollar another pat on the neck before turning fully to Charles. “I’m just nervous.”

“I saw the ring,” Charles said, and John raised an eyebrow, until he gestured to where he knew Arthur was sleeping. “On his antler,” Charles clarified.

“I should go and wake him up so he gets out of here before Abigail notices it,” John muttered, but Charles stopped him.

“He’s already gone.”

“Really? He was sleeping when I got out.” John felt a little confused. He hadn’t been here that long, had he?

He opened the barn doors, seeing the sun already on its way over the sky. His eyes landed on the spot up by the tree. It was empty, just as Charles had said. He felt a little disappointed by that, like he wanted to talk to Arthur before he left or something, maybe just for an extra bit of courage before they started their plan.

“I met him just as he was about to leave,” Charles said from behind him. “Said he would wait out by Blackwater.”

“Good,” John muttered, stalking towards the farmhouse. Charles followed him, and John finally understood what Charles had just said. “Wait, he said he was going to Blackwater?”

“He heavily implied it.”

“Of course, he did.” John sighed, deciding not to question how Arthur somehow managed to ‘imply’ that he was going to Blackwater to help John propose. Still, Charles was a smart man, and Arthur had started to get used to communicating without language, it seemed.

They walked together back to the farmhouse. Charles said he had a few things he needed to craft, heading off to the scout fire, while John walked up the stairs to the porch. He could hear Abigail and Uncle arguing, making him let out another sigh. It was one of those days, he guessed.

“What’s going on here?” He asked as he stepped into the house.

“He doesn’t help out with anything at all!” Abigail complained, clearly having struggled to get Uncle off his ass for at least a little while. “His back isn’t even that bad, anymore, and he keeps coming up with his damned excuses!”

“John, get your wife to stop pestering me!” Uncle demanded, not moving from his seat. “It was a damn sight more peaceful ‘round here before she came back, that’s for sure,” the old man grumbled, earning himself a whack with Abigail’s broom.

“Shut up you lazy son of a bitch,” Abigail said, pulling her broom back to get ready for another swing. Uncle noticed, getting up quickly. John contemplated just letting them continue. He had too much to think about right now, and this wasn’t helping the situation.

“Stop it, both of you,” John grumbled, walking over to Abigail and taking the broom from her. She didn’t want to let it go, at first, but with a stern stare from John, she finally let him take it from her. He gathered up the courage he had, knowing this was the best moment to get Abigail out of there. Not only for the proposal, but also just to get her off the ranch for a bit.

He guided her out, ignoring her questions until they got out of into the sun. “He’s actually been pretty helpful,” John stated as he closed the door behind them.

“Are you taking his side, John?” Abigail narrowed her eyes at him, and John wanted to grimace.

“Not at all,” he muttered, trying to come up with a way to change the subject. His eyes fell on the pile of furniture. They needed to get those inside, but he felt it could wait until a little later. It also reminded him that they really did need some more supplies. “What do you say about going to Blackwater to get some more supplies?” John suggested.

“I actually do need to run some errands,” Abigail agreed, and John smiled at her, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried to get the wagon ready. He ignored Abigail’s surprised look, instead focusing on the task in front of him. He got the horses attached to the wagon, checking them over to see if everything looked okay, before getting up on the wagon, turned around with a smile and reached a hand out for Abigail.

“May I help you, my lady?” he asked, watching her expression change into amusement.

“Oh, John,” she chuckled, taking his hand and letting him drag her up into the driver’s seat. She stepped past him, John not letting go of her until she was sitting down beside him. He grabbed the reins, flicked them a couple of times to get the horses moving, before settling down. His heart was racing like crazy. He wondered if he would be less nervous if he had the ring with him, and didn’t have to trust Arthur to be there when he needed it.

“What do you say about having some fun while we’re there?” John asked, making Abigail look at him.

“Fun?”

“Yeah, you know, like decent folk,” John said, making Abigail frown in confusion.

“We decent now?” A small smile tugged on the corner of her mouth.

“I guess?”

Abigail blinked at him, looking like she was trying to figure out what John was planning, “Decent or not, I still got some errands to run,” she muttered, turning back to look at the road.

“That’s fine.” John nodded, flicking the reins again. Abigail moved a little in her seat, glancing at John again.

“I noticed Arthur wasn’t around this morning,” she said, and John had to force himself not to react to it. If everything was going according to plan, Arthur would be in Blackwater already, but she couldn’t know that. Not yet.

“He went for a walk,” John said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “Said he would be back a little later in the evening.”

“Oh,” Abigail said. “Did he say why? He seemed a bit distracted when you came back yesterday. Is he alright?”

 John was glad she didn’t think she’d just dreamed that Arthur had come back, but from how Arthur had been when they got home, he knew something was troubling him. He didn’t want Abigail to worry about it, but he guessed she’d picked up on the stag’s weird mood.

“I think he needed to get away for a bit,” John said, which was something Arthur did a lot when they were younger. His brother had often ended up taking a ride or a walk after something happened. John had always assumed it was to clear his head, and even Hosea had told John it had been a regular occurrence ever since Arthur joined him and Dutch. “A lot happened on that trip,” John added. “He got to say goodbye to some of his friends, and I think that got to him more than he’d like to admit.”

“He never was good with goodbyes,” Abigail muttered, leaning back in her seat. She closed her eyes, soaking up the hot sun, and John hummed in agreement. Arthur had never been good with saying goodbye, and most times he ended up not having the chance to. It had been like that for most of the people in the gang. They lost people suddenly and without much warning, and that was just how it was.

They drove into Blackwater, avoiding the pedestrians walking in the road, swung into one of the streets, before John pulled the horses to a stop in front of the barber shop. He looked around to see if he could spot Arthur, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, John tried to push down the uneasy feeling and hurried to help Abigail down instead.

“Why are you being so courteous?” she asked, but John shrugged, telling her he didn’t know. “I’ll head to the drapers for a minute, and then we can go have some fun like decent folk,” she said, keeping her eyes on John, studying him.

“Sure, I’ll wait here,” he said, letting her walk off. He tried his best to calm down, but he still couldn’t see any sign of Arthur, and he was starting to get worried about it. For a moment, he thought he saw him, but at a second glance, it had just been a bush moving in the breeze.

He sighed, watching a couple give each other a tight hug, and John felt another round of nerves travel through him. It felt like he was going to throw up or something. He didn’t have time to think much about it before Abigail returned, however.

“So, what kind of fun were you thinking?” she asked as she stepped up to him. John took the bag she had, placed it in the wagon, and turned back to her, offering her his arm. She narrowed her eyes at him again, but draped her arm around his.  

“I was thinking of getting our photo taken for starters,” he said, guiding her over to the photo studio. He could feel her eyes burning holes in the side of his face, but he ignored her, keeping his gaze at the studio in front of them.

“Our photo taken?” she asked, incredulously, and John flashed her a smile as he opened the door to the studio, holding it open for her.

Inside, a man stood fiddling with some sort of device, not seeming to notice them, too engrossed in what he was doing. John cleared his throat, trying to get his attention. The man glanced up for just a short moment, before turning back to what he was doing.

“Hello, madame, sir,” he greeted. “How can I help you today?”

John frowned a little, meeting Abigail’s questioning look. “We’d like to get our photo taken,” he said.

“A photo,” the man said, absentmindedly. “Yes, yes, that I can help you with, yes...” he trailed off, still not really giving them much attention. It made John wonder if this had been a good idea at all, but he still wanted to have a picture of Abigail and him.

“Uhm,” John shifted his weight, glancing at Abigail, “what do we do?”

The man paused, finally looking up at them, straightening his back. A flash of confusion passed over his face, and he blinked at them.

“I’m sorry, wh-what did you want?” he stammered, keeping his hands hovering over the device he was working on. John felt like a deer looking down the barrel of a gun. Or at least, he thought this might be how a deer would feel. He guessed he could ask Arthur about it.

“We’d like to get our portrait taken,” John repeated, seeing how the man finally seemed to understand the request.

“Oh, well, we do that!” the man exclaimed, looking like he was genuinely surprised to have a customer. John once again started to wonder if this had been the best idea. “Oh, wonderful! Handsome couple, quite…” he trailed off, waving his hand around to come up with something to say about them, ending up with, “something…” making John hold Abigail a little tighter, just to keep himself from doing something rash. “But you need a background,” the man stated, gesturing for them to walk over to the little set-up.

“A background?” John asked, looking up at the painted waterfall behind the two chairs and table with a vase of roses in front of the camera. It made John think back to the picture Mr. Mason had taken of Arthur the day before. The painting was great, but this didn’t even scratch the surface on the real deal.

The man started to talk about the different backgrounds they had, from Niagara Falls to Mount Vesuvius erupting and how the different backgrounds would fit for different pictures. John just smiled and nodded, acting like he knew what the guy was talking about, even if he didn’t have a clue. He let Abigail decide which background they would use, and ended up with the one looking like the prairie, with a small, white house and a few trees. Abigail said it reminded her of home, and John had to agree.

They took their place in front of the camera, not really knowing what to do, ending up standing awkwardly waiting for directions. The man told them to find a pose that would make them feel comfortable, and John was about to move when some racket outside caught their attention.

John raised his eyebrows as he saw what could only be Arthur sprinting past the photo studio. He was followed by a bunch of people, and John had to bite back the groan. Of course, that moron would end up doing something stupid like getting an angry mob after him. Again.

“What is going on out there?” Abigail asked, apparently not having seen Arthur.

“Probably some idiot who can’t follow a simple plan without screwing it up,” John grumbled, making the other two look at him, puzzled.

“That’s oddly specific,” Abigail pointed out, making John curse inwardly.

“Is it?” he replied, pulling her close to him, catching her off-guard with their sudden close proximity.

“I—” Abigail started, but she cut herself off with a huff.

“Oh, just like that!” The man exclaimed, and John had to admit he’d forgotten the man was there for a moment. He smiled down at Abigail, and a moment later, there was a flash, and the man took their picture. He hoped it turned out okay. “Perfect! I’ll get this developed. Wait here,” the man told them, disappearing into the other room.

The moment he was out of sight, Abigail started snickering.

“What?” John asked.

“Nothing,” Abigail giggled. “Nothing at all.” John continued to stare at her, waiting for her to say something more. “Tough guy.” She continued to snicker. “Gunslinger,” she said, making finger guns at him.

“Excuse me?” John scoffed,

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything,” she said, and John rolled his eyes. “I just posed,” she added, striking a pose as she said it. John wanted to kiss her.

“Shut up,” he said instead, making her smirk. “You know, you’re not very nice to me,” he grumbled.

“Oh, I’m nicer than you deserve,” she retorted, watching as he sat down to wait for the man to finish developing the picture.

“True,” he chuckled, just as the man came back.

He handed John the picture, and John paid for it, feeling Abigail hang over his arm to look at how it turned out, and he couldn’t help but smile at it. It felt nice to have her that close, and the picture had turned out really nice. Abigail looked absolutely beautiful in it.

They said their goodbyes, thanking the man for his service, before leaving the studio. John glanced around, trying to see where Arthur had run off to, not seeing a single trace of him, except a tuft of fur on the ground. He pressed his lips into a thin line, hoping Arthur didn’t end up getting killed by the mob.

“So, what do you want to do now?” he asked, letting Abigail catch up to him. She hummed in thought, looking at the theatre.

“There’s one thing I’ve wanted to do,” Abigail said thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen one of them moving picture shows before.”

“Never?” John shouldn’t be surprised. The women in the gang rarely got out of camp while they were on the run, and Abigail often stayed in camp anyway because of Jack. He guessed she hadn’t gone to one after she left him for a while, either. This seemed like the perfect time to let her experience it.

“No,” Abigail confirmed.

“Well, come on. Let’s do that,” he said, taking the lead.

They walked into the theatre, ordered their tickets and went to sit down. It was a show called “Sketching for Sweethearts”, and John had to admit it was impressive to see how the pictures really looked like they were moving. He draped one of his arms around Abigail’s shoulders, feeling really happy that she agreed to join him into the city. The thought of what he was going to do later still made him nervous, but he refused to let it ruin their time together.

They walked out of there hand in hand, John taking her with him down towards the water. The sun had started to go down again, and Arthur was still nowhere to be seen. The stag had some time left, but John would feel better if he knew where he was.

“Are you finally gonna drown yourself?” Abigail joked as they made their way towards one of the boats. John huffed, giving her hand a squeeze.

“In a manner of speaking, I guess I am,” he muttered, once again ignoring Abigail’s questioning glance. “Happily so,” he added.

“You’re acting really strange,” Abigail drawled, which John denied, because he felt this was a pretty normal way of acting when you were nervous about proposing to your favourite person in the world.

They got into a boat, John helping Abigail, before he pushed off from shore, taking the oars and rowing out onto the lake. When they got far enough out so they had a good view of the setting sun going down behind the city, he let the boat glide to a stop.

“If you’re asking something, do it,” Abigail said, letting John know she had her suspicions of what John had planned. He guessed he had been acting a lot different than he usually did.

He felt like reaching for the ring, knowing just holding it would probably calm down the nerves. Too bad it was stuck to Arthur’s antler. Well, here went nothing.

“Will you,” he trailed off, getting up from his seat so he could step closer to her. He waddled over, careful so he didn’t lose his balance, before getting down on one knee. He held his hand out for her, letting her place her hands in his. “Will you marry me?” he asked, watching her eyelids flutter in astonishment.

She scoffed, letting out a small laugh, “Get up. I am married to you—”

“No,” he cut her off. “I mean, proper,” he trailed off again, squeezing her hands gently, “in front of God.”

Abigail stared at him, looking like she was trying to find out if he was joking or not. He obviously wasn’t, and he really wished he had that ring right about now, just so she could see that he was dead serious.

“You serious?” she asked, making him sigh. This would have been the perfect time to get it out, but it was stuck to an antler somewhere on shore.

“Well, I have a ring…” John started, making Abigail tilt her head, expecting him to get it out and show her, “but there was a bit of an accident.”

“An accident?”

“You’ll see,” John muttered, looking away. “I’ve had it for a long time, and I’ve just tried to find the right time to give it to you.” He looked back up at her. “It would make me very happy if you would—”

“We’ve lived a lot of lives,” Abigail said quietly, making John hum.

“Let’s just live this one from now on,” John said back. “You and me and Jack,” he smiled, the thought of their little family. “A family, by law.” He almost wanted to add the rest of their little family, because that’s what they were. He had a feeling Uncle would stick around for a long time, and he wouldn’t mind having Charles and Arthur around, too. Still, he knew at least one of them would want to have a life of his own, and Arthur had a purpose none of them knew much about, other than the fact he wouldn’t stay forever.

“John, I—” Abigail started, shaking her head. “I never knew it mattered to you.”

“It didn’t,” John said truthfully, smiling up at her, “but now it does.” He got up from his seat as he saw her smiling back at him. “If you think this is dumb, I can assure you, what happened to that ring is even dumber.” He sat down beside her. She put her arms around him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“Shut up you silly man and kiss me,” she ordered, pulling him into a kiss. He held onto her, wondering how he was this lucky. She was such an amazing woman, and she had somehow agreed to marry him; a complete fool.

She pulled away from him, placing her forehead against his, grinning up at him.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, making her snort.

“Yes,” she whispered, and he pulled her into another kiss. He’d been nervous for nothing, it seemed. She was his, just like she’d been ever since they met during their time in the gang. She was the most important person in his life. Her and Jack. His little family.

They stayed out on the lake for a while longer, enjoying each other’s company until the sun was gone under the horizon. John decided it would be a good time to start going back home, and grabbed the oars again. He kept his eyes on Abigail as much as he could. She was looking right back at him, a huge smile on her face as they neared shore.

The boat scraped against the sand, stopping abruptly, and John jumped out, pulling it up so it wouldn’t accidentally drift out again when they left. He held out a hand for Abigail, helping her out and onto land again. He kept her hand in his, not wanting to let her go.

A sound of harsh panting caught his attention, and he turned around to come face to face with Arthur. At first, John wanted to be angry since Arthur hadn’t let him know that he had been in Blackwater other than running away from an angry mob, but another look at the stag made his words die down in his throat. He was covered in red dust from head to toe, mud coated one side, looking like he’d fallen into a puddle or something. A painful looking wound stretched across his shoulder, looking much like he had been grazed by a bullet.

“Jesus, what happened to you!?” John exclaimed, finally finding his words.

“Too much,” Arthur replied curtly. “I reckon it went well?” He nodded towards Abigail looking just as shocked as John felt.

“Are you okay?” Abigail asked, placing a gentle hand on Arthur’s neck. Arthur sighed, but nodded, probably not wanting to make her worried. “You look like you’ve been through a war sone—” She cut herself off, and John watched as she noticed the ring on the antler. “Oh,” she muttered, reaching up to try and get it off. It wouldn’t budge.

“I did say it was an accident,” John said, ignoring Arthur’s pointed look.

“I bet I’ll be able to get it off with some gun oil,” Abigail said, taking a closer look at it. John felt relieved that she might be able to find a way to get it loose, and gave her hand a little squeeze.

“Sounds good,” Arthur muttered, grimacing as Abigail turned her attention to the wound on his shoulder. John told her to leave it until they got home, and the three of them made their way back to the wagon. Arthur stayed behind them, looking around at the people walking by. John kept an eye on them, too, just in case someone else decided to attack them. Walking around with a stag had become more dangerous than he’d ever thought was possible after said stag broke a horse out of a stable. Somehow, John had a feeling Arthur’s current state was a result of that. Again…

Arthur limped over to the back of the wagon, jumping in easily enough, barely avoiding Abigail’s bag, before laying down as if trying to hide himself. John helped Abigail up into the driver’s seat again, and they were on their way back.

“Excuse me, sir?”

John held back a groan, pulling the horses to a stop. He looked down at the sorry sight of a man. Something about him seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place him. His clothes were in tatters and filthy, like he’d been through a lot.

“Yes?” John asked, and the man seemed relieved that he had taken the time to stop and help.

“I’m looking for my friend,” he said, sounding slightly crazed. “Gavin!”

“No way,” Arthur breathed from the back of the wagon. John ignored him.

“Has he been gone long?” he asked, still trying to ignore Arthur muttering something about him being a poor bastard.

“Yeah,” the man said. “A few years. A few bloody years.” He let out a manic laugh. “I can’t remember what he looks like.” Another wheezing laugh seemed to force themselves out of him, like he couldn’t help himself, or if it was the only way to keep from crying. “I’m looking for him, but I don’t know who he is.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” John said, making the guy nod.

“Yeah, me too. Me too,” he let out another little wheeze. “I’ve wasted my life looking. I’ve looked, but I never saw. I saw nothing.” He giggled, but it slowly turned into whining. “Gavin,” he whimpered, making John feel even more sorry for the guy.

“Good luck,” John said, but the man didn’t seem to listen, just saying his friend’s name once more, before turning and walking off, yelling the name as if it somehow would summon him. John looked after him, seeing Arthur do the same. “Have you seen him before?”

“I’ve met that guy so many times and all over the place,” Arthur said, sounding a little breathless. “Poor guy is still out looking.”

“Wonder if he’ll ever find him,” John said, making Arthur huff.

“The more I think about it, his friend either set him up, or he doesn’t exist.” The stag let out a long sigh, and turned to John. “If he haven’t found him yet, he ain’t ever gonna find him.”

“You might have a point,” John muttered, turning back to driving the wagon back home to Beecher’s hope.

They fell silent, only talking a little bit, Abigail telling Arthur what she and John had been up to, and Arthur seemed to be happy just listening to her babble on about how much fun she’d had. It occurred to John that his brother had wanted this. Arthur had wanted them to have a new life. A better life. Now that they had it, the guy had to be happy for them.

They drove past the sign hanging over the driveway to the ranch, and soon after they were parked out in front of the house. Arthur got up, jumping out of the wagon, wincing as the wound stretched. Abigail quickly went inside to get some supplies to clean the wound, while John hurried to get the horses fixed. He returned with a bucket of water and a brush, thinking the stag could really use a clean-up. Arthur actually let him without making much of a fuzz, and John was grateful for it.

He got rid of the mud and the dust while Abigail cleaned the wound. She said she thought it didn’t need stitches, and John agreed. It was shallow enough to be okay with just a bandage.

When he was clean, Abigail got to work on the ring, using some gun oil to smear around the antler, trying to get it to seep in behind the metal band. It didn’t take long before she managed to twist it loose, getting it off of the stag. She cleaned the ring with a cloth, and John did the honours of placing it on her finger. She gave him a kiss, and they decided it was time to go to bed. It had been such a long day.

“I’m happy for you, John.” John already knew it was Hosea’s voice, and he realised that he hadn’t seen much of the old ghost during the day. He guessed he’d been following after Arthur, whatever had happened to him. He’d ask the stag about it later.

“Thank you,” John muttered, almost feeling Hosea smile at him. He could see his shadow beside Arthur as he made his way to the porch. It made him feel warm knowing they were all there for him, even if he couldn’t really see them. It was comforting.

He greeted Charles in the kitchen, walking in on Abigail sharing the news, and after a few more minutes, they were both headed to bed. He didn’t know what to do with all this happiness. It seemed like everything was going well for once. They had their ups and downs, sure, but overall, he felt incredibly lucky to have all these people around him. He wanted it to last as long as possible.

He smiled to himself, pulling Abigail close to him under the covers, kissing her temple, before drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

“That went well,” Hosea said as Arthur laid down on his spot by the tree overlooking the ranch. “I’m surprised you got out of that one alive.”

“I’m still not in the clear,” Arthur said, gesturing to his wounded shoulder. The day had been crazy. He’d woken up and bumped into Charles just as he was about to leave for Blackwater. Somehow, he’d managed to tell him where he was going. It was most likely because of the ring stuck to his antler, but he wouldn’t question it as Charles wished him luck and continued on his way. Arthur had hurried away from the ranch, making his way to the town, trying to find a nice place to stay while he waited for John and Abigail to show up, which had ended up with him ending up near the southern part of the town, up by one of the houses. He’d used the time trying to come up with how he should approach the two of them.

It had taken hours until the two of them arrived, and at that point, everything had already started to go to shit. First of all, someone had started to stare at him, trying to scare him. Arthur wasn’t a jumpy guy, and the young man seemed to notice that, walking slowly towards him. Arthur had been anticipating the man doing something stupid, and managed to dodge his attempt at jumping at him, which the man didn’t seem to be happy about, as he fell face-first to the dusty ground.

That had started a chain reaction of events, as more people noticed that Arthur wasn’t running away from the guy, and of course, someone seemed to notice the piece of jewellery stuck to him, making people seem to think he was a lot tamer than he looked. That also led to someone yelling “Hey, didn’t someone rob the stable in Tumbleweed with a deer?” which made a small mob of people start to gather. At that point, Arthur decided he should definitely get out of there, and had turned to sprint away from them, which unfortunately only made them decide to follow him. Once they did that, he cursed to himself, ending up running through Blackwater, past John’s wagon and away, hearing someone get their horses.

He'd been dodging bullets for hours, getting grazed by one of them, startling him enough to lose his balance and fall off a small cliff and into the mud below. It had been the perfect hiding place, as he managed to get up and make his way between a few big rocks. The people following him rode past, and he hoped they would continue to go in the wrong direction.

When the coast was clear, he’d sprinted back to Blackwater, hoping he wasn’t too late, and thankfully he managed to get there just as John helped Abigail out of the small boat. He was completely exhausted, but he’d made it, just like he said he would.

Hosea had stayed with him during the entire chase, but Arthur hadn’t seen him, just felt his presence. He’d asked him about it, and Hosea had told him that spirits could decide how they looked, but that he felt it was more polite to stay visible and human. Apparently, the old ghost also felt it was quite unnerving floating around like nothing but air, and Arthur could understand that. Being somewhat physical was nice. Not that Arthur knew how it was to be anything else at that point, but he could imagine.

“I doubt it’ll get infected,” Hosea said, sitting down cross-legged beside him. “Maybe it even heals before tomorrow? You’ve only been killed instantly. We don’t know how getting wounded works.”

“I can hope, but it feels pretty much like any other graze,” Arthur muttered, curling up a little more. He let out a short sigh, looking at Hosea. “I’m getting tired,” he confessed, changing the subject. “Like I’m getting to the point where I don’t think I’ll be able to keep going. Next time I die, I hope it’s the last one.”

“You’ll be able to move on before you know it,” Hosea reassured, placing a hand on his back. Arthur hoped he was right. After he got killed last time, it felt like he’d lost all sense of purpose and meaning. He enjoyed his time with John and the others, that wasn’t the problem. No, the problem was that he felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there. They still had their lives and their futures ahead of them, Arthur didn’t. Instead, he’d been shoved into the body of a stag, his purpose determined by otherworldly forces he had no control over. He didn’t like it.

Arthur yawned, laying down on the side where he wasn’t wounded, getting ready to sleep. “Maybe it’ll even happen tomorrow,” he mumbled, letting himself fall into dreamland. His dreams were calm that night, at least, and it didn’t bode well for the day to come. It was like a calm before the storm. Everything seemed too happy and relaxed, things working out well for once.

Arthur woke up early the day after, seeing someone come riding up the driveway. He recognized it as Sadie, and quickly made his way down to greet her. She exchanged some words with Charles who’d also gone to greet her, and Arthur could feel his stomach churn at the excitement in her voice. It wasn’t the type of excitement like sharing some fun news. This was bloodthirst. He’d heard it in her voice enough times to know exactly what it sounded like when she’d gotten intel on where to find a target.

John came out on the porch after Charles had shouted for him to come out, looking slightly worried. When the woman gave them the news, that she’d heard about someone in Strawberry looking like one of Micah’s guys, Arthur closed his eyes hoping John wouldn’t be so stupid as to go after Arthur’s killer.

John hurried back inside, Abigail following him and telling him not to go, which John seemed to ignore, and Arthur wanted to hit the guy. Micah wasn’t worth getting killed over. Not when everything had been going so well for them all.

He came back out, wearing Arthur’s old hat, and Arthur felt his blood boil at the sight of it. This was a revenge mission, he realised. John was going to get revenge on his behalf, and Arthur didn’t want him to.

“Don’t do it,” Arthur said, getting the attention of John, Charles and Sadie. It seemed like they’d forgotten the fact that he was there with them. That he had a voice in the matter. They were already sitting on their horses, ready to ride off.

“We’re doing this for you,” John stated, and Arthur shook his head.

“You ain’t doing this for me. I don’t want this, and I think you know that,” Arthur replied, trying to sound calm, even if his head felt like chaos. “If you die because of this…” He trailed off. He didn’t know if he’d be able to forgive John if he ended up dying because of the same piece of shit Arthur had died to.

“I ain’t going to die,” John said, sounding mad. It only made Arthur furious.

“You don’t know that!” he exclaimed. “You’re throwing away the perfectly good life you have, possibly leaving your wife and kid, and for what? This sounds more like something Colm or Dutch would do, not you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to them,” John hissed. “Micah deserves to die, and you know it.”

“Good luck taking him on, then, oh dear brother mine.” Arthur hadn’t meant for it to sound so sarcastic, but he was, as mentioned, furious.

“You’re not joining us?” John asked.

“No,” Arthur replied, already turning to get away from there. He didn’t even care. He was so tired of all of this, and Micah being back only put fuel to the fire, letting his life-force burn up even faster.

He heard John tell the others what Arthur had said, leaving out the most essential parts, probably trying to keep Charles from staying behind, too. On second thought, Charles would most likely stay with John anyway, just to keep them safe. Sadie wouldn’t let go of any opportunity to quench her bloodthirst, so she’d most likely lead the charge against the old gang member.

Arthur could feel Hosea walk beside him, knowing the old man was looking at the three riders. Arthur knew he was worried, and he wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t worried, too, but this Micah thing had gone too far. Arthur didn’t believe in revenge. He never had. Going after Micha was a death sentence, even if they managed to take him down. Revenge never ended well, and John should know that.

“I…” Hosea started, making Arthur look at him. “I think I might follow him.” Arthur frowned, almost feeling a little betrayed that Hosea didn’t join him in his demonstration, but the more Arthur thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. He didn’t want John to die, and if things went south, Hosea could just tell him. “Just in case.”

“If he gets in trouble, you can come get me,” Arthur agreed, watching Hosea nod, and smile at him before vanishing.

It was all so quiet without anyone around, and he didn’t know he’d craved it until he was all alone in the big world. He’d left the ranch walking without much of a purpose. He couldn’t stop worrying, but the anger he felt at the situation buried it, making him keep going in the opposite direction. He walked towards the west and the life he’d wanted but never got. The one he’d never get, actually. He didn’t regret being part of the gang, but he regretted dying. He regretted beating up Thomas Downs, sealing his fate. He regretted not letting Micah swing in the first place. Everyone would be better off if he did. He’d deal with Dutch’s disappointment and anger, but the snake wouldn’t have been able to shoot its venom into their family, splitting them up and dooming them all. Of course, Dutch had helped with that, too, showing his real colours in the end.

He continued his walk, feeling the wound under the bandage tug at every step. Hosea had been wrong about it. It didn’t heal faster just because he was a spirit animal. It still made little sense to him. All of it. The spirit animal thing, the resurrection, his purpose. Nothing made sense to him right now.

“Help the blind!” Someone yelled in the distance, and Arthur stopped in his tracks, looking around to see if he could spot the familiar figure of a man with a cane. “Help the blind!” the man repeated, and it made Arthur able to pinpoint where the blind man was.

He was standing right by the road just a little ways in front of him, holding the well-known cup and leaning on his cane. Arthur all but sprinted towards the man, having given the man a dollar every time he saw him, always getting cryptic messages in return. The more he thought about those messages, the more he realised the man could see the future. He’d been right about everything he’d said, even if it sounded like complete nonsense to Arthur when he’d first said it.

He had forgotten he wasn’t a human, and when he stopped in front of the man, blinking at him trying to come up with some weird way to communicate with him, the blind man surprised him by humming.

“I know you,” he said. “I’m sorry for all you’ve gone through, sir.” Arthur almost felt like the man was staring into his soul. “I have foreseen many things, but this was unexpected.”

“You knew what was going to happen with the gang,” Arthur said, watching how the blind man smiled mysteriously.

“I know many things, sir,” he stated. “Though I do not know why you’re here when you should be elsewhere.”

“You can understand me?” Arthur stared at him.

“I may not be able to see through my eyes, but it does give me great hearing,” the man stated, and Arthur could tell the guy wasn’t talking about hearing in general. “That’s not important right now, though, sir. I can see the end of your journey, but it does not end with me. Run and you will find your purpose at the hand of the one with the forked tongue.”

“You ain’t ever gonna just tell it to me straight, are you?” Arthur wondered, feeling just as annoyed as when he’d been human and encountered the blind man. It had happened a lot, and every time he felt more confused.

The blind man grinned. “What’s the fun in that?” he replied, making Arthur groan. “But do hurry, sir. Time is running out.” Arthur pursed his lips, already knowing the man was talking about going after John, which he still really didn’t want to do. The blind man seemed to notice his hesitation. “It’s you or him, sir. Both of you can’t see the future.”

“You mean John’s going to die if I’m not there to save him?” Arthur asked, but the man shrugged, not saying anything more. “Come on, you have to give me something more than that!”

“Do I?” The man tilted his head in question, and Arthur felt like he definitely wanted to hit something. “Or are you just staying here for selfish reasons, sir? Being where you should be, should be enough of a reason in itself, should it not?”

Arthur closed his eyes, almost feeling like his soul was tugging him in the direction of where John and the others had ridden off to. A sudden urgency took over him, like the realisation of what he had to do finally took a hold of him, making him properly understand his own purpose. He stopped thinking about it, instead letting his instinct guide him, leaving the blind man behind as he turned and ran back towards Beecher’s Hope.

His lungs were already burning when he got to the ranch, the heat from the still rising sun making him once again hate the fact that deer didn’t just sweat. Was it so hard for nature to make a system that didn’t require him to stay in the shadows? He guessed so, given he could already feel he would be overheating soon enough unless he got out of there. Thankfully he would be going towards Strawberry, which had slightly lower temperatures.

He hurried in through the opening in the fence, seeing Uncle sitting on the stairs to the porch. Arthur wanted to continue forwards without stopping, but the blind man’s words rang in his head. His journey was at an end, and if Arthur could say goodbye to yet another friend before moving on, then he would.

So, he changed directions, moving towards the old man on the porch. Uncle spotted him and got up from his seat, and Arthur slowed down enough not to run right into the guy. He looked slightly startled, but he seemed to calm down a bit when he realised Arthur wouldn’t just run him over.

“You’re running after John, ain’t you?” Uncle asked, and Arthur nodded. They stared at each other for a moment, before Uncle sighed and sat down again. “Somehow I feel like you’re trying to say goodbye.” Arthur nodded again, making Uncle pause. “I see. Then I wish you luck. Keep that boy safe, alright?”

“It seems that’s the only thing I’m good for,” Arthur grumbled, even if he knew Uncle didn’t understand him. He jumped a little when he felt the old man’s hand ruffle the fur on his head, nudging him a bit towards the driveway and the road towards Strawberry. Arthur scoffed at him, but understood that Uncle wanted him to leave.

“Go on,” Uncle huffed, giving Arthur another shove. “I ain’t gonna be the one saving that moron.”

“Yeah, yeah, relax,” Arthur brushed him off, shaking his head in mock-annoyance. He gave Uncle one last look, took in the sight of the ranch around him, and decided that this was something much bigger than himself. If John didn’t come back, it would all be for nothing. Or, maybe not nothing. The farm would still be here, as well as the rest of the people living here, but John wouldn’t be there with them. All because he’d decided revenge was the best option, even if it wasn’t his fight.

He nodded at Uncle one last time, drew a quick smiley face in the dirt in front of the man, gave him a wink and was once again on his way towards his end.

Running still felt horrible, his legs carrying him easily enough, but in the heat, it was just a matter of time before he stumbled and fell from heatstroke. The three riders had left for Strawberry earlier, and with the horses being faster than him, he had a feeling he would be too late to stop them from doing anything stupid. Charles had often ended up as the voice of reason in their group, but at this moment, with Sadie being as bloodthirsty as she was, and John letting his anger get the better of him, Arthur doubted Charles would have much say in their decisions.

He splashed through the Upper Montana River, feeling the cold water cool him off, which was refreshing enough. It gave him new energy, and he let himself speed up again. The sun had already started going down, again, and he really hoped he’d be able to catch up with the others. He had no idea where to go if they left Strawberry before he got there.

He passed the stable near the small town, heart beating harshly in his chest as he rushed down the hill and into the streets, frantically looking for any sign of his three friends. He grimaced when he couldn’t see any of them, and slowed down to take in everything around him.

People were walking around, looking at him with wide eyes, something Arthur had gotten pretty used to during his days as a stag. He couldn’t get himself to care much about it anymore. Another few people were talking about the public hanging that had gone very different than anyone had expected. They were talking about some lady shooting the guy in the noose instead of hanging him, and Arthur knew it had to be Sadie. That meant they’d found the guy already, which was unfortunate.

Arthur trotted over the wooden bridge, cutting up towards the police station, eyes locked on the crowd chatting in front of the hanging man. Well, he wasn’t properly hanging. He had a noose around his neck, but the man wasn’t dangling. His upper body was held up by the rope, but the rest of him was slumped on the wooden floor. The trap door hadn’t been opened, and the cause of death was the obvious bullet wound in his chest.

“Arthur!” Lenny’s voice broke through the chattering crowd, getting Arthur’s attention. Arthur looked up and found the kid running towards him with Sean following him. “I got worried when you weren’t with John.” Lenny stopped in front of him.

“We got into a bit of an argument,” Arthur explained, which Lenny and Sean didn’t seem too surprised by. “I’m here now, though. Do you know where they went?”

“He said something about Mount Hagen,” Sean said, referring to Cleet. “The others left about an hour ago.”

“Great, thanks,” Arthur said, already starting to run again, pushing through the small crowd and taking a left when he came to the first split in the road. He could feel Lenny and Sean staying with him, floating around somewhere by his side.

They made their way along the cliffs, getting to the two wooden bridges before someone yelled “Hey, boys! Look! Target practice!” and Arthur felt his stomach drop as a couple of bullets whistled past his head. Of course, the Laramie Gang still had some guys up in these parts of the land, and of course they were bored waiting for some poor guy to show up so they could rob him. Arthur really didn’t have time for this, but that didn’t help as a bullet lodged itself in his neck, ripping open his blood vessels and he bled out quickly. He could hear the panicked voices of his two friends, but the only thing Arthur could think about was to die quickly so he could keep going. He knew where Micah and the others were, and it would be quite the trip to get there from his gravesite.

He closed his eyes, letting death take him and teleport him back to his usual little spot under the grave, and opened them again to the sun’s last few rays casting the world in muted colours. He was on his feet within seconds, already sprinting in the direction of Mount Hagen.

He didn’t get far before he heard the sound of someone yelling for help, and Arthur bit back a groan. Still, he turned on his heel, going towards the man in distress.

“Oh, thank goodness, I got my foot stuck in a bear trap, can you—” the man stopped talking the moment Arthur came into sight, staring at him in astonishment. Arthur didn’t have time for this, but he slowed down to a trot, coming to a stop in front of the man. The hunter blinked up at him. “Wh-what in the world?” he stuttered.

Arthur huffed, making the man jump, which only led him to groan in pain from jostling his injured leg. Arthur sighed, quickly trying to come up with the best way to get the bear trap open. He decided he could try to force the two metal arms apart, even if it would be difficult without hands.

He stood on his hindlegs, placing his front hooves against the teeth and pushed. He could feel the jaws respond to the pressure, and he continued to press down on them until the arms slowly spread open. Still, he knew it wouldn’t be enough to get the man out of there.

“Would be nice if you’d help out, mister,” Arthur wheezed, and the man seemed to get back to his senses, and grabbed onto the jaws, biting back his screams of pain.

With the two of them both working on the trap, it soon snapped open, and Arthur felt relieved as the man hurried to get his foot away from the contraption. He wrapped a bandage around his leg, trying to cut off the blood flow, which he was more or less successful with.

“I-I can’t believe this,” the man breathed, obviously still in pain. “Saved by a buck. You must be a spirit animal or something.” Arthur almost wanted to chuckle at that, and nodded quickly so the man knew it wasn’t just a coincidence. “No one’s gonna believe me,” the man muttered, still staring at Arthur in disbelief.

Arthur shrugged, feeling he’d wasted enough time as it was. He had a long run ahead of him, and he couldn’t stand around for long. He gave the man one last nod, thinking the guy would definitely make it, before turning around to continue his journey.

He ran over the river above Donner Falls, trying to take some shortcuts where he could, and following the road whenever he needed to keep himself orientated. He made his way past the geysers at Cotorra Springs, turning the sharp corner a little too fast, feeling himself lose his footing and slide off the steep slope. He rolled a couple of times before coming to a stop, hurrying to get on his feet again, took the slope in a few jumps, just managing to get over the edge without sliding down again, before once again leaping forwards into a sprint.

At least, his eyes managed to see pretty well in the dark, but that didn’t help when he turned another corner and ran straight into a horse. It hurt a lot more than Arthur had anticipated, and his mind briefly went to the few times he’d done the same while riding his own horses.

There had been a man on top of said horse, and he was not happy with being thrown off and into the dirt. He quickly got to his feet, Arthur doing the same and both staring at each other.

“God damned deer!” The man pulled his gun, and Arthur was running away before he could fire it. A couple of bullets hit the ground close to him, but the man seemed just dazed enough not to be able to aim very well.

It didn’t take long before Arthur was sure he’d managed to lose the man, and he let himself slow down just a little bit to conserve energy. That had been a mistake, however, as more bullets flew past him.

The guy had followed him!

“Oh, you bastard,” Arthur cried out as one of the bullets hit his ass. The pain spread through him like fire, but he couldn’t stop now. He refused to die again on this trip.

He ran around a small rock, narrowly avoiding another guy on a horse, spooking them both as he skidded around them in the dark. The one who had been following Arthur didn’t see them, though, and Arthur couldn’t help but bark out a laugh as the two riders collided. The guy was launched off of his horse and fell to the ground. Both of them had ended up falling, but the guy who had been chasing him lay still, most likely dead, Arthur thought as the new guy got up from the ground.

“What the hell?” The man uttered, staggering over to his horse before pulling himself up into the saddle. “I ain’t staying around here, that’s for sure! Crazy bastard!” The man kicked his horse into a quick gallop, and disappeared into the night. Arthur still couldn’t believe that had just happened, and ended up more or less cackling to himself as he started running again.

The bullet in his ass forced him to slow down, though. It ended up with him seeing the crack of dawn before he finally saw the base of Mount Hagen, and he had to figure out the best way to get up there. He’d been up there once looking for a rock carving for that strange guy living near Owanjila, but that didn’t mean he thought running all the way up behind it was a good idea. It would take too long.

“If I just had a map, I’d be able to check,” Arthur grumbled, slowing down so he could take in his surroundings.

He looked up at the mountain in front of him, feeling like he was really running out of time as the sun lit up the white snow, almost making it look like the mountain was glowing. Maybe it was? It wouldn’t be that surprising given everything else.

He trotted carefully down towards a small creek, the water looking really inviting after such a long run, and he let himself give in to temptation as he slurped up the icy liquid.

A low snarl made him sigh. He didn’t even need to turn around to know there was at least one wolf behind him. It had probably smelled the blood from the bullet wound.

He tensed up, readying himself for a fight, sucking in another mouthful of water. He didn’t swallow it, instead waiting for the right moment.

He could hear movement from both sides of him, which meant there was at least two wolves, and hopefully no more. He waited patiently for one of them to pounce, and once the one on his right, did, he quickly turned and spit out the water, managing to hit the wolf in the face, disorienting the animal enough to use his antlers to catch it and fling it towards the other one on his left.

The wolves hit each other, tumbling over each other, but they obviously didn’t give up from that. It made Arthur really pissed off, since he didn’t have time to fight them right now.

“Listen, guys, I really don’t have time for this,” Arthur said, and the wolves paused, looking at him and tilting their heads. “Are you serious?” he muttered, staring at them. “You understand me?”

The wolf he’d spat on nodded slowly, and Arthur tried to just not question it, instead taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He knew he could communicate with horses, but now he could talk to all animals? Had that been an option all this time? He guessed he hadn’t really tried, and the cougar that had gotten him during the first few times he died hadn’t actually given him the chance to talk to it. Maybe there were some perks of being a spirit animal?

He hummed to himself, watching the two predators look at him with some sort or anticipation in their eyes.

“Maybe you’ll be able to help me?” Arthur asked as the wolves sat down in front of him, obviously having decided that he wasn’t something you should eat. “I need to get to the summit, but I don’t know the fastest route. Do you know a way?”

The wolves blinked at him, one of them getting up and walking past him, the other trailing behind. The one in the lead turned to look at him, like it was expecting him to follow, too, and Arthur did. He walked behind them up a hill, jumping up a couple of ledges before they ended up on a trail. Arthur could already hear gunfire the closer they got, and the wolves seemed to feel his urgency, speeding up into a run.

They turned up the trail and Arthur almost ran straight into the wolves as they stopped. He stopped behind them, waiting for them to do anything, but when they didn’t, he hesitantly moved past them. They still didn’t move, only watching him quietly.

“Thank you,” Arthur muttered, making the first wolf lower its head in respect. “If you just wait a little bit, there’s going to be a lot of dead bodies up on that mountain. You’ll be able to eat for days,” he informed them. The two wolves licked their lips, sitting down as if they had no plans on leaving if there was food involved, and Arthur thanked them once again before turning towards the summit again.

He followed the trail up the side of the mountain, watching the bodies laying in the snow and stepping around them, almost stumbling over one that had been buried under a thick layer of white powder. He followed the dead until he spotted Charles and Sadie standing on top of the hill, Charles leaning heavily against a rock, while Sadie clutched her side. Around them stood Lenny, Sean, Grimshaw and Molly, all looking grimly at their wounded friends.

“Jesus, what the hell happened here?” Arthur said as he got to the top of the hill where it evened out again. When he got there, he also noticed Kieran standing a few feet away, keeping his eye on Sadie who’d started to make her way away from Charles. His arrival stopped her, and she turned, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Took you long enough!” She sneered, but Arthur ignored her, instead looking them both over to see if they were in any immediate danger. It looked like they’d gotten everything under control, and Arthur let out a breath of relief, knowing the two of them would most likely pull through. “John went ahead,” Sadie said, once again making her way towards where Arthur guessed John had gone off to. “I’ll get up there eventually, but you should…” she trailed off, gritting her teeth and hissing, clutching her side a little harder. “You should just go help him.”

“We’ll look after them, Arthur,” Kieran said, and Arthur gave him a look of gratitude, before he leapt forwards into a run, careful on the icy parts and speeding up where he could allow himself to go fast. He didn’t have to worry about Micah’s gang, it seemed. All of them were laying dead. John’s work, no doubt. His brother was just as good with a gun as Arthur had been.

He got to the summit without much trouble, trying to follow the trail in the snow to figure out where John had gone, until he noticed it leading down the side of the mountain again, towards what looked like a small cabin or outpost.

He carefully made his way down towards it, seeing the silhouette of who could only be John hiding behind a few boxes, gun out and pointing at the little shed roof beside the cabin. Arthur had a feeling he knew exactly who was standing under that roof, but he didn’t really have time to think much of it as shots were fired, keeping John stuck behind the small crates.

Arthur heard the moment Sadie arrived at the scene, probably having found a better route instead of following John’s path. The bullets stopped, and Arthur took the opportunity to get closer, sneaking up on them, trying not to be noticed. The three people were too preoccupied with their little stand-off, and if gave Arthur enough time to sneak down and behind the little outhouse beside the shed roof.

It gave him the perfect view of the scene, John finally able to get up from his hiding spot, and Sadie keeping her gun trained on Micah. The sight of the rat made Arthur bristle, and he could feel the hairs on his body stand up. Last time he’d seen Micah he’d been on a different mountain, fighting to get enough air to keep going for just a little while longer. This time he could breathe just fine.

The sound of the door to the cabin getting kicked open made all of them jump and turn to look at who was about to join them, and Arthur had to keep himself from swearing, knowing John would be able to hear him.

“Hello, son!” Dutch said, stepping out, guns fixed on John and Sadie. “Mrs. Adler.” Arthur thought he would explode from the pure fury boiling up in him as his old leader came to a halt. He noticed Hosea stepping out behind Dutch, looking like he wanted to strangle him, and Arthur would most likely help him do it, if he got the chance. “Been a while.” Dutch finished, watching them calmly.

Hosea noticed Arthur, stomping over to him just as Micah took his chance and flung around, grabbing Sadie and forcing her down on the ground. They wrestled, but with Sadie wounded, it didn’t take long before Micah had her in a chokehold, gun pressed against her head. Hosea rolled his eyes at it, ending up leaning against the outhouse.

“Took you long enough,” Hosea said, and Arthur glanced at him, not wanting to answer and bring attention to himself. “I can’t believe him,” the old man grumbled, obviously talking about Dutch. “Is he really that easy to manipulate that he got fooled twice by the same bastard? Unbelievable.”

John was talking to Dutch, switching between pointing his gun at him and Micah. Arthur didn’t really listen to what they were saying, too busy keeping an eye on their body language in case one of them decided to do anything.

He just had a split second to react as he saw Micah twitch, and Arthur didn’t have to think about it.

He charged.

Chapter Text

Ghosts. Ghosts everywhere. Shadows hiding between the tree trunks, behind the rocks, out of sight, following. The entire way up Mount Hagen. John had seen them. He’d felt their presence even if he couldn’t see them properly. They had kept moving in his peripheral vision ever since he left Arthur behind at Beecher’s Hope. He’d felt cold even in the scorching heat before they got closer to Strawberry. He knew it was Hosea. He didn’t need to think about it, or wonder what gave him such a chill. The old man was holding onto him as they rode towards the town where Cleet was hiding. Hosea was looking after him, and it was comforting.

The shadows had become shapes with faces—familiar faces, the closer they got to the summit. Charles had been left behind against a rock, Sadie pushing and taking the lead, but John had only seen the worried look on Lenny and Sean’s faces. They were gone when he focused on them, but they’d been there. John knew it. Then, Sadie got stabbed, and Kieran, Mrs. Grimshaw and Molly looked on in horror, and then they, too, were gone again. There, but not there. John kept moving, and heard Hosea whisper when someone tried to sneak up behind him. He caught a glimpse of him as he turned around, but then, like the rest of them, he vanished.

Then he’d felt Hosea’s presence leave him as Micah stepped out of the cabin on top of Mount Hagen. Where he’d gone, John didn’t know. He only knew it returned once Dutch kicked the door open and stepped out, because John could see the rage on Hosea’s face over Dutch’s shoulder. And then it was gone. A cold breeze brushed past him towards the outhouse, but John had no more time to think about it. Nor did he have time to acknowledge the shadow leaning against the side of the outhouse, or the quiet whispers coming from it, too focused on Micah keeping Sadie captive, and on Dutch talking nonsense.

John didn’t have time to react as he saw the stag come charging out from behind the outhouse. He’d been too distracted to notice Arthur’s arrival, but now he was fully focused on how Arthur rushed towards Micah, hitting him just as Micah pulled the trigger. The bullet flew past John’s head, harmlessly, as the stag and the rat fell into the snow. Sadie used this to drop and roll away from them, once again pointing her gun at Dutch.

Arthur didn’t stop after tumbling over Micah. He kicked the gun out of his hand and tried his best to stomp on the guy that had ruined their lives. John could only watch as the stag continued to beat down on Micah, not stopping even if Micah tried to grab onto him and get him off.

“You—” Stomp. “Piece—” Stomp. “Of—” Stomp. “Shit!” Arthur yelled, too focused on trying to kill Micah to notice the man reaching for his second gun.

“Arthur!” John exclaimed, but it was too late.

Micah pulled out his gun, placed it against Arthur’s chest and fired. Arthur, however, didn’t even react to it. He continued to hit the man under him, even as Micah shot him twice more. That did the trick, and Arthur’s movements turned more sluggish, giving Micah the upper hand, letting him grab onto Arthur’s antlers and tug him off of him.

“That was unexpected,” Micah grunted, getting up from where he was. His face was pretty mangled, covered in blood, but like a demon, he seemed completely unfazed. John couldn’t keep his eyes from darting to the heavily breathing stag on the ground, knowing he’d been saved yet again. “So, where were we?” Micah said, snickering wickedly.

A gunshot went off, and Micah staggered, blood oozing from his chest.

John’s attention snapped to Dutch’s smoking gun. He didn’t let the surprise slow him down, however. Instead, he turned back to Micah, emptying his own gun into the man. Somehow, Micah was still standing, spitting blood and coughing out a raspy laugh. Then, he took a few steps, and fell.

John only spared a moment to assure himself that Micah was dead, before running over to Arthur, falling to his knees beside him.

“Arthur!” he exclaimed again, taking his head carefully. Arthur had his eyes closed, but he was still breathing. “Can you hear me?”

“Unfortunately,” Arthur replied quietly. John didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He was relieved that Arthur was still alive, for the time being.

“You named a deer after him?” Dutch’s voice came from behind him, and John felt like rolling his eyes.

“No, that is Arthur,” Sadie informed him through gritted teeth, sounding like she was struggling with her pain. A stab wound would do that to a person. John knew the feeling.

“That somehow makes less sense,” Dutch said.

“About as much sense as you joining Micah, again,” someone said, and it seemed like both Sadie and Dutch heard it too, as they both jumped and looked around. Their eyes fell on Hosea. He was standing right there beside them, surrounded by everyone else. Sean, Lenny, Grimshaw, Molly, Kieran and even Mac, Jenny and Davey. John could see them, even if none of them looked solid. He wasn’t the only one, either. Both Sadie and Dutch had their eyes locked on the ghosts from the past.

“It—It can’t be,” Dutch breathed, taking a shaky step towards the ghosts. Hosea didn’t look even slightly impressed.

“Yes, it can,” Hosea grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “You doomed us all Dutch, and for what? Money?” Hosea sighed, closing his eyes, like he was trying to keep himself from yelling. “Not to mention you left our son to die alone.”

John felt Arthur move his head to look away from the scene in front of them. John frowned, placing a hand on Arthur’s neck, trying to give him as much comfort as possible, even if he was in agony. Probably not only from the gunshot wounds. John didn’t know what had happened after Arthur had told him to run on that mountain all those years ago, but by Hosea’s reaction, it hadn’t been good.

“I didn’t have a choice!” Dutch exclaimed, but Hosea just rolled his eyes.

“You had so many choices, Dutch!” he retorted, taking a step towards him. “You could have chosen those you considered family, but instead you let that rat get into your head.” Hosea took another step towards him, ending up face to face with him. “You could have shot that snake on that mountain top and stayed with our son, but no. You let Micah live and let Arthur…” Hosea’s voice trembled, and he stopped talking, looking away from Dutch. “You killed our son.”

“I did no such thing.” Dutch’s voice was dangerously low.

“You may not have pulled the trigger,” Hosea looked up at him again, “but that doesn’t mean you’re any less guilty of driving him into an early grave. And not just him.” He gestured to the other ghosts around him. “You could have prevented this, Dutch, but you didn’t.”

Dutch looked speechless. It was an unusual expression on someone who was considered to have a silver tongue, and John felt like this might’ve been the first time it’d ever happened to the old leader.

“Could you just not?” Arthur muttered, getting Hosea’s attention. The old ghost glanced down at him, seeming to realise that the stag probably wasn’t in the mood for this. “Not now,” Arthur added with a groan.

Hosea frowned, brushed past Dutch and crouched down beside John and the stag.

“I’m sorry, son,” he apologised, smiling sadly at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like this is it.” Arthur breathed. He turned to John, looking up at him with his gentle eyes. “Thank you for believing me, John. It means a lot to me.” John wondered how it had been for Arthur to die the first time. Hosea had said he’d died alone on top of a mountain. He wondered if Arthur had been scared, or maybe relieved to finally let go. Yet, just knowing that he’d been by himself with no one around him seemed, well, sad. Most of the others had been able to die quickly, or at least relatively quickly. Arthur had gotten TB, which was a death sentence for any of them. It was slow and painful from what John knew. He hadn’t deserved it.

Now, everyone was gathered around the dying animal. The important people in Arthur’s life. At least, most of them. The ones who were important at the end of it from what John could see. The ones who couldn’t be there the first time. Some of them were there to say goodbye, others to say hello and welcome.

“Of course, I believed you, Arthur,” John muttered, stroking a hand over Arthur’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t shut up long enough to let me question my sanity.” It earned him an amused huff. “Besides, I thought I’d never see you again, and hearing your voice while you were stuck in that tree just…” John trailed off, not really knowing what to say. What had he thought? First of all, that he was having a heat stroke, or just going crazy from all the stress of getting the ranch up and running. But it had been great, too. He’d thought it was wishful thinking until he heard him again. And then again. And again. Until he didn’t have any doubt that it truly was Arthur standing there beside him for the first time in years. “I think it was exactly what I needed.” John finished.

Arthur sighed, closing his eyes. The rest of the people there came a little closer. Sadie sat down beside John and placed a hand on the stag’s back, patting him gently. Even Dutch took a few steps closer. He kept an eye on the ghosts around him, of course, some of them sending him annoyed glances. Some of what Hosea had said to him seemed to have gone through that thick skull of his, and John guessed the man had no intentions of leaving his son once again. At least, John wanted that to be the case, instead of it being from pure curiosity of the situation.

“Thank you,” John said when no one spoke. Arthur hadn’t stopped breathing yet, but his breaths were slowing down, and he could almost feel him slipping away. “For coming back and saving my ass again,” he added, seeing the corner of the stag’s mouth twitch upwards.

“Woah!” Charles’ voice came from behind them, making everyone turn to look. Even Arthur opened his eyes a bit, but he had no energy to react more, John noticed.

“Shut up and get over here,” Sadie ordered, waving him over. Charles looked like he wanted to ask what was going on, but the man quickly shook it off, and hurried over, slumping down between John and Hosea before placing a hand on Arthur’s forehead.

“Charles,” Arthur whispered, smiling a little.

“Arthur,” Charles replied, sounding like he was trying to keep his emotions under control. “I guess this is goodbye?” John was a little confused, since it sounded like Charles had understood Arthur, but he guessed the guy just knew Arthur well enough to know more or less what he was saying. He’d managed to understand a pretty complex plan involving multiple steps that Arthur had explained to him, so why wouldn’t he understand when his own name was being said?

“Yeah,” John answered for him, feeling how Arthur had no intention of talking. Either that, or he just couldn’t.

“Then I wish you a nice journey,” Charles said.

“It was nice to meet you again, you big dork,” Sadie sniffled.

“We’re right beside you, son” Hosea reassured.

“Thank you for looking after me.” John smiled down at Arthur as he took his final breath. It was ragged and he could hear the blood in his lungs, but the silence that followed somehow felt louder. Deafening almost. A reminder that he wasn’t there anymore.

Sadie let out a sob, and Charles moved over to comfort her. John didn’t move, just kept stroking his hand over the warm fur. It felt like a better end to his brother’s life. Surrounded by people he loved, no months of suffering beforehand, no illness. Of course, John knew it hadn’t been what Arthur had wanted, waking up as a stag with no explanation years after he died. Still, it felt better to know his brother had gotten a second chance to finish what he started, and to see how his hard work of getting John out of the gang had turned out.

John took a deep breath, waiting a little longer before letting go of the stag. He carefully moved from under it, placed its head carefully into the snow before looking up at… nothing. Hosea wasn’t in front of him anymore, and for a moment, John thought the ghost had vanished again, like he’d done so many times before. That is, until he turned around and saw Hosea hold onto Arthur. The proper Arthur. The human. The ghost.

Arthur was hugging Hosea right back, and soon the rest of the dead members of the Van Der Linde gang walked over to greet their old friend. Arthur was smiling. He looked relieved, and John had to remember that this was what his brother had wanted. He’d wanted to move on, and now he had. John was happy for him, but that didn’t stop him from already missing having him around, even if he’d been a major pain in the ass most of the time.

John wondered if it would have been different if Arthur never got sick. Most likely at least. Maybe he’d have ended up joining John, Abigail and Jack in the end? Maybe he’d have helped them build the ranch? And then stay there helping out on the farm, take care of the horses and finally get a better life. Maybe he’d live a long life? Maybe he’d end up leaving with Mary? John guessed he’d never know. There was a comfort in imagining it, thought.

Arthur turned to him, smiling at him, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. It looked like he was saying something, but there was no sound. It made John frown, which also made Arthur look at him in confusion.

“I can’t hear you anymore,” John said, and Arthur pursed his lips in thought. Then he smiled again, nodded and stepped over to John. He stopped right in front of him, making John hold his breath, waiting for something to happen.

Arthur pointed at something behind John, and John turned, slightly bewildered that there was anything there. There wasn’t.

“Until we meet again, brother,” Arthur whispered in his ear, and John tried his best not to focus on it, knowing what his brother had done. Instead, he smiled and turned back to look at Arthur one more time, knowing it was just a matter of time before Arthur started to fade. He already had difficulty discerning the other ghosts around them. They were all fading fast. He knew he wouldn’t see them again until he, himself, died.

“Yeah, until then,” John said, nodding a little to himself, seeing Arthur start to get more translucent. Not long after, he couldn’t see him when staring right at him, and then he vanished completely together with the rest of the ghosts, leaving only snow behind them. Even the stag had disappeared, like Arthur’s soul was the only think keeping it on this plane of existence.

“Did that just happen?” Dutch’s voice cut through John’s tired mind. He turned to look at the old leader, who had his eyes on the spot where Arthur had just been. John wondered if he was still there, but it felt empty, like they’d all just left.

“It did,” John said, turning away from Dutch to help Sadie and Charles to their feet. The two of them had lost quite a lot of blood, and he wanted to get them back to Beecher’s Hope before they ended up not being able to travel.

“I…” Dutch trailed off, looking completely lost. John waited for him to continue, but he never did. Instead, he started to wander off, so far into his own mind that it looked like he had no recognition of the world around him. He just walked, leaving Charles, Sadie and John behind on the mountain. John didn’t care. He’d had enough of him, and if he never saw him again, he’d be happy.

“We should check the cabin,” Sadie stated, voice still wobbly. “They said they got the money from Blackwater. It should be in there.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, walking over to the cabin.

He stepped inside, looking around the small space for somewhere to keep a huge pile of money and valuables, before his eyes fell on the chest by one of the walls. He walked over to it, opened it slowly and let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. There it was. All of it. The money they’d hidden close to Blackwater.

“It’s here!” John exclaimed, letting himself laugh. He grabbed a nearby saddlebag, and started to load the gold bars and money into it. He somehow fit all of it in there before hurrying back out to where Charles and Sadie were waiting. The horses had come to meet them, it seemed, as Rachel, Falmouth and Hera were all waiting there as he stepped out. “I got all of it!” John informed them, getting the saddlebag secured over Rachel’s back before helping Sadie and Charles onto their horses.

“That’s great, John,” Sadie grunted as she swung her leg over the back of Hera. “Can’t wait to count it all.”

“It’s probably best to wait until after we get off this mountain?” Charles suggested, and the two others agreed, getting their horses to start moving back towards Beecher’s Hope.

John stayed in the back in case any of the others needed any assistance, even if he knew they didn’t. They were both tough enough to keep going without much problem. Their wounds were serious, and they definitely needed some attention, but they’d survive.

They rode down the side of the mountain they’d come from, passing the bodies of Micah’s gang members. It made John realise he hadn’t seen Micah’s ghost or spirit after he’d died. Even if he’d seen everyone else, Micah hadn’t been there. It was weird, John thought. The guy had always had this intense presence, but after he died, he was just gone and forgotten in the snow.

They passed a couple of wolves feasting on one of the bodies, and John placed his hand on his gun just in case they got any ideas. One of them looked up at him, and for a moment, John almost thought it was going to attack, but it didn’t. It just stared at him, silent and serious, before bowing its head. John almost felt like it was from respect or something, but he couldn’t be sure. He kept an eye on it as they passed them, but they never moved to attack.

They took a few breaks every now and again, just so Charles and Sadie could get some extra energy while they moved towards the ranch. Both of them kept telling John it would be better to just keep moving and not stopping, but John wasn’t having it. They also never actually refused when John told them to take a break. Complained? Sure. But they still got off their horses and accepted something to eat, as well as some potent health cure John had whipped up during the night before the last fight against Micah and Dutch.

When they got back to Beecher’s Hope, Abigail, Uncle and Jack came storming out to help the three of them. They seemed sad that Arthur wasn’t with them anymore, Abigail even crying a bit, but as the evening crept up on them, wounds tended to and everyone sitting around the scout fire outside the farmhouse, they all seemed happy. Happy that they got to meet their old friend once again. Someone who was taken away from them in such a horrible way. It felt as if they’d been able to give Arthur a proper goodbye this time. At least, John, Charles and Sadie had.

John was happy that he’d gotten that chance, and even if he wished Arthur and the other ghosts were there when him and Abigail got married, and when they finished the farm and had nothing more to worry about, it didn’t matter. He knew they were most likely there for all of it, just out of sight. 

“What the hell did I tell you?”

John’s eyes fluttered open, looking right up into the familiar eyes he hadn’t seen since he’d been standing on top of Mount Hagen. Arthur looked mildly furious, and it took John a moment to remember what had happened.

Agent Ross. Getting hit over and over and over again by bullet after bullet after bullet. Knowing Abigail and Jack had gotten away. Taking his final breath in front of the Pinkerton agents that had no intentions of leaving him and his family alone, even after all John had done for them.

“Arthur?” John breathed, even if he would never breathe properly again.

“Revenge is a fool’s game, Marston,” Arthur said, the words bringing the memory of something similar being spoken years before, from the mouth of a stag. “Four years, John,” Arthur continued when John didn’t answer immediately. “Four years! Are you kidding me?”

“Will you shut up?” John yelled, making Arthur roll his eyes. “How would I know they weren’t being serious?” John felt very aware that he was still laying on the ground, but with Arthur standing right above him, he felt like he couldn’t move. “You’d have done the same!”

“No, I definitely wouldn’t! And here I thought you’d become slightly smarter after almost getting eaten by wolves.” Arthur straightened his back. “Guess I was wrong.”

“You weren’t there!” John exclaimed, finally getting up from the ground so he could stab a finger into Arthur’s chest. Arthur didn’t back down, of course.

“I was there for everything,” he corrected, and it made John’s brain stutter to a halt.

“Really?” John frowned, looking at Arthur.

“Really,” Arthur confirmed. “But, enough about that. Welcome to the afterlife, brother.” He grabbed John, giving him a noogie, which made John try and escape his brother’s grip with little success. He only made it by jabbing Arthur in the side with his elbow, and even then, Arthur didn’t let him go completely. It was about to escalate further when someone yelled at them.

“Hey, kids!” It made them both freeze on the spot, John with his fingers tangled in Arthur’s hair, tugging at the strands, while Arthur had grabbed onto his leg, trying to make him fall. They looked up and saw Hosea stand with his hands on his hips, watching them unimpressed. “Knock it off, please.”

“They’ll never learn,” Dutch said, stepping up beside Hosea, an amused grin on his face. “Manners were never their strong suit, anyway.”

“We’re not kids,” Arthur complained, making Hosea scoff.

“You sure act like it.”

Arthur sighed as they let go of each other, John still slightly confused about everything. Hosea seemed to notice his struggle, giving him a gentle smile.

“We’ll explain everything, John,” he said, nodding for the two of them to follow him. “Just follow us, and it will all make sense in a bit.”

And John did.

THE END