Dying is not hard. It never has been, it never will be.

The pain comes before, the anguish of your loved ones, the fear of what lies afterwards. But death, in reality, is as simple as sleeping.

Arthur knew this as he laid down to die. He drew every breath like it was his last, awaiting the inevitable darkness as the sun rose before his eyes.

He had almost believed those tales of your life flashing before your eyes as you pass away. How could anyone know if it was true anyways? Not like anyone had lived to tell the tale.

To live after death sounded morbid. But Arthur knew he would live on, in the hearts of those he left behind, through John, through Jack, through Abigail.

He had many regrets, and yet, none of them mattered now.

His eyes closed one final time, his breath growing shallow, his heart slowing down as he prepared to succumb to his illness and his injuries. A comorbidity death for sure, he knew he would have kicked that rat's ass if he wasn't sick. It would be Micah dying on this mountain had he been a better man sooner, had he thrown Strauss out of camp the moment he found out that he had been lending money to people with no possible way of paying back in a timely manner.

None of that really mattered now, none of it would ever matter again. Arthur righted his wrongs, as much as he could. Perhaps in some cases he only coated ruined lives in a sheet of gold, he hoped at least Mrs. Downes was doing better, despite all the pain and tragedy he had been responsible for.

Arthur's three final heartbeats rang loud in his ear, the last of his oxygen rich blood pumped through his bloodied face, his ears cold yet burning, a final thump in his chest.

"Hi there."

With the energy he had felt in his youth, Arthur shot up, bloodshot eyes cleared of redness. The startle seemed to kickstart his heart, he turned around, almost aggravated at the interruption to his rather peaceful death.

"What the hell?"

A man in a top hat and a mustache, striking a similar resemblance to Trelawny, suddenly obscured his vision.

"Goodmorning Arthur," he spoke with a gentle yet authoritative tone, "lovely day, isn't it?"

"I guess," Arthur felt a cough coming on, but before he could react, the feeling had faded, "who the hell are you?"

"Who I am is really not important, Arthur. Who you are, that's important."

"Nice to know. Can you go away now," Arthur readjusted and prepared to lay back on the rock, accepting his death once more, "I kind of have some dying to do."

"Is that so? Is that what you want?"

"No, but I don't really have a choice."

The man smiled, "Do you?"

Arthur sighed and slowly rose again, "Yes, I in fact do, tuberculosis if you must be so inclined."

"Yes of course, from Mr. Downes."

Arthur shook his head in frustration, "Who the hell sent you? Did Micah tell you to come up here? Finish me off? I got money in my pocket, whatever you want, just take it. Kill me if you want. Just leave me the fuck alone."

The man shook his head and took a couple steps towards Arthur before squatting down and reaching for Arthur's pocket. His icy blue eyes looked at the strange man's hand in confusion, as when he reached for the lone dollar hanging from his pocket, the dying man realized he couldn't feel a thing.

"Who the hell are you?" He said with a furrowed brow. The man stood upright again and waved the dollar in the shine of the sunrise, turning the crumbled bill into a fresh crisp one with a simple flick of his wrist.

"Consider me an old friend, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur sighed, catching on softly but refusing to believe it. He turned around to look at the rock he had been lying on, only to see his mangled body left behind.

To say his concern was vivid would be an understatement, Arthur jumped to his feet, his nonexistent heart beating a million times a minute.

"That's just residual, it will fade. Your consciousness is used to feeling, well, human. In your next life you'll have a bit of a different biology. Best get used to forest life, of course."

Arthur shook his head, denying the reality of his current predicament, "No no, this is just one of them death bed visions, something or other. You ain't real, I know you ain't real."

The man laughed through his nose, a smile gracing his face as his features said "pity." "That wouldn't be the first time you've said that, Arthur Morgan."

"Look, maybe you're a ghost, or an angel or the devil or whatever. If you don't wanna tell me then it's your secret to keep. Let's get to the point, why are you here?"

"I wanted to give you one final choice on your journey, Arthur. That's what I do, I give choices."

"Then what's this choice?"

"Continue living this life, or move onto the next."

Arthur was sure this was a deathbed vision now. He chuckled and placed his hands on his physically faded hips, "oh boy, so stay on this road or pick a new one, huh? What a choice. What? I get to be a deer? A Bear? Shit in the woods and get shot at all day?" He chuckled again and looked to the sky, "Don't sound so different from the last life, do it?"

"If you'd really like to know, you'd be a stag, yes. Your life after that would depend upon the way you lived then, and so on and so forth."

Arthur raised his arms, "so what was I before then?"

The man tapped his chin, "I believe you were a Shire horse, mister Morgan. Your name was Klaus, and you were shot when your owner was robbed."

Arthur nodded, "sounds about right."

"I want to make it clear, usually I've finished by now and my client will have been in the next life. I share a bit more with those who seem scared-"

"Scared? I ain't fucking scared, I welcomed death with open arms until your smart ass dropped into the picture."

The man shook his head and continued, "the choice is yours, Mr. Morgan. The only catch is, well, you will never get the chance to be a stag, or anything else ever again, if you choose option one."

The blue-eyed man crossed his arms and giggled to himself, "so you're saying I won't get to shit in the woods?"

The man sighed, "I feel you aren't taking this seriously, Mr. Morgan."

"Sure then," Arthur said condescendingly, still refusing to fully believe anything he had just been told, "if it so indulges you, I will continue on living as the man I am, and I'll keep on plundering and raping and making others miserable just as I always have been."

The man smiled, "oh Arthur, we both know you never had it in you to rape anyone."

"I'm sure a lot of people would prefer I did in comparison to what I ended up doing to them."

He nodded, "so, it's settled then, Mr. Morgan. Immortality is officially yours."

"So be it," Arthur walked back to his corpse, attempting to kick his own foot before sitting back down on his own lap and contemplating just how much longer it would be until blackness closed in and he could officially consider himself dead, "Now you son of a bitch, why don't you take your philosophical bullshit and-" just as he turned to tell the man off, he was gone.

Arthur sat in silence for a moment, attempting to process what had just occurred. 100% this was a deathbed vision, he had no doubt about it. But he could see with his own baby blues, the sun was still rising, the sky was still growing brighter, the clouds shone with vibrant purity. There was no great black sheet of darkness, there was no fading light, there was no death in all his sight.

Unless, this is death? To walk the world a paling ghost, to see his friends continue living, to watch them die, to see the world change before his aquatic eyes.

He waited, and waited. He got up and paced a bit, his body freezing to the touch, and yet, not stiff.

Arthur looked up and saw, suddenly, the bright blue sky was now fading in a glorious sunset. An entire day had passed, and still his body laid there, slumped against a rock, and his faded see-through figure appeared to be getting more and more transparent with each passing minute.

Suddenly, he heard a crack coming from around the corner, along with a grunt and heavy breathing. He turned around and saw none other than Charles, lifting himself up onto the mountain, sweat beading on his forehead.

"There you are, my friend."

"Charles!" Arthur shouted. The man looked around, the sound of a wolf's glorious howl seemingly drowning out his voice.

"Charles, I'm right here!" Arthur stepped right up to him, it would be impossible for him to not see. Instead of embracing his friend, Charles stooped low next to Arthur's body, holding his hand and bowing his head in silence.

In that swift moment, with his brave persona broken to pieces, Arthur realized what was happening.

He was dead. His spirit, on the other hand, was still living.

His emotional heart took over for his real one, and with fear and agony, he screamed at the top of his ghostly lungs, "Hey! Come back! I didn't want this, bring me back! Kill me! Make me a deer, I don't want this!"

He turned again to see Charles lifting his dead body up upon his shoulders, and slowly returning down the mountain, leaving Arthur's vision within seconds.

Instead of following behind to see his own grave, Arthur turned painfully to the sky, feeling the need to berate God for this awkward situation he had found himself in.

"Is this punishment, huh? For the shitty way I lived my life? Is this hell?!"

"It's not hell, Arthur."

He turned again, almost relieved to see the strange man appear once more.

The man took his hat off and shook his head, "you were supposed to lay back down into your body, Arthur."

"How the fuck was I supposed to know that, dumbass?"

"I thought it was obvious, but I apparently need to work a bit harder on my hints."

Arthur nodded, "you think so?"

"You do realize I could have just left you to suffer for eternity, right?"

"Listen, I change my mind, I don't want this. I don't want my old tuberculosis body, I don't want my old life, just make me a deer or whatever and be done with it."

"You already made your choice Arthur, it's a choice you can only make once. So, I suggest you go find your body before your only choices become Mr. Cellophane or the Walking Dead."

"Excuse me?"

"That's a bit for you to chew later on, my friend. Now go find your body, lay down in it, and do not leave until you can move in it again. I can only hold off rigor mortis for so long." He snapped his fingers and with that, he was gone. Arthur frantically turned around, running in the direction he saw Charles go, deciding in a split second that he'd rather live eternity in a body rather than the alternative, even if he did have to cough every five minutes for all of forever.

It was dark now at this point, and despite looking around for any sign of his friend, Charles had made off quickly with his body. He listened for any sound of digging or further grunting, even the whinny of his Appaloosa, but nothing stuck out.

"Fuck this ghost shit." Arthur muttered under his breath, "Can't fly, can't see through shit, can't walk through anything, can't tell my friend not to bury my dead body." He tried to kick a pebble but failed, falling confused as to why some things seemed impassable but others were not.

"I was supposed to die up there and be done with it. Then fucking God, or Jesus, or Satan or whatever, Lucifer comes and curses me," he looked up at the stars, directing his anger again to whoever may be listening, "I still don't believe any of this is real, by the way! I know I'm probably drunk in some saloon or some shit, getting' the crap beat out of me!"

Whether or not he actually believed that, not even he knew.

Awoooooo

"Get away!"

Arthur heard the faintest scream of his friend, and knew he was in trouble.

He ran down the mountain, feeling like an eagle flying down as he realized he didn't have to worry about broken bones or getting hurt. A seven-foot jump felt like nothing. If it weren't for the whole non-existence thing, he might have picked this instead.

He ran in the direction of snarls and shouting. Charles' horse whinnied and cried out in the night as the sound of a struggle took place. Arthur came across the scene, a massive grey wolf had his arm in it's mouth, and Charles was backing away, holding a gun and aiming for its head, not even noticing the two wolves coming behind him.

"Goddamnit Charles, just leave my body, save yourself!" He ran closer, realizing he couldn't do anything to stop the attack, but knowing he had to try.

There was a saying that animals saw spirits, Arthur was in fact a spirit at this point, the next part of that theory was hoping it was true, and if it was, hoping that they cared enough to leave Charles alone.

He sprinted forward, holding out his arms and screaming as loud as he could, hoping to break whatever sound barrier was between this world and his old one.

The wolves perked up their ears, staring at Arthur plain as day, unsure of whether to attack or to respect his stance and leave.

"Get out! Go!"

The one closer to him snarled, and Charles shot his gun, injuring the wolf that had Arthur's arm in its mouth.

The wolf ripped at the flesh sharply and took off running, Charles turned to see the two wolves with a mixture of terror and anger in their eyes.

With a strong breeze, a heavenly fog erupted from the ground, coating Arthur in a powder made of light. Charles covered his mouth in fear and surprise, and behind him came a white stag, large and powerful with golden horns and glowing blue eyes.

"Arthur!" Charles called as the spiritual scene took place. Arthur turned to see him after he had called, seeing his eyes weeping as he witnessed the ghost holding out his arms against the wolves, the stag pierced his mighty hoof through the dirt and let out a low rumble, terrifying like an earthquake but sweet as a song. It sent chills down his spine, and the wolves tucked their tails and ran as far as they could away from the ethereal sight.

Within a moment, the image was gone. Arthur's silhouette faded with a second gust of wind, and the man was alone again.

Charles fell to his feet, unable to believe the sight he had just seen. But it was real, the wolves had seen him too, they saw the massive buck, and they would have killed him had they not.

"Arthur, if you can hear me," he looked up to the sky, frantically seeking a sign as he wiped a tear from his eye, "thank you."

Arthur smiled upon his friend, relieved that he could do something to help, but not even knowing just how he did it. He felt as though he had someone to thank as well, he just didn't know who yet.

"Tell the others that I miss them too, if you can."

"If I see them, I'll let them know." Arthur said, knowing he couldn't be heard.

Though his valiant act was well-needed, albeit unexpected, he couldn't stop Charles from digging him a proper grave. And he didn't want to, he knew it was his way of saying thank you to the spirit who just saved his life.

So, he watched with patience as Charles took his time, paying respect to his body, and finally, lowering him down into the ground. He wandered away and within a few minutes, he returned with a bouquet of beautiful flowers and laid them down on the large hump of dirt.

Arthur sighed, trying not to shed a tear at the site. He never felt as cared for as he did now, after he had already died. If he were still alive, with all his human abilities in tact, perhaps he'd already be crying.

"I will be back to give you a nice marker, I'll build it myself, I promise."

"I guess there's no way of convincing you to dig me up now, is there?"

"Thank you again. You were well loved, even if… well… I loved you. You were my brother." Charles walked away and back to his horse, galloping off into the night.

Arthur watched him riding away, waving an unseen goodbye, unsure if he could return and explain that he was still alive, once he figured out how to get his body back, that is.

Author's Note:

So, Red Dead is my new obsession, and as with every new obsession of mine, I have to write about it.

This story will play with the ideas of immortality, reincarnation, and of course, music.

Each chapter will be named after a different song I feel reflects the chapter, or will reflect something introduced in that chapter that will be elaborated later.

Please enjoy and consider reviewing and following the journey!