Chapter Text
When Hosea opened his eyes, the world was bright, which was odd, because he didn’t expect to open his eyes ever again. When agent Milton’s bullet pierced his chest, he expected silent dark, or even eternal hellfire.
Despite this, Hosea found himself laying in the grass—looking up at tree branches—not bleeding out on some dusty street in Saint Denis.
Saint Denis... God, he hoped the others were alright. Abigail had thankfully managed to slip away when the Pinkertons grabbed him— clever girl— but everyone else? What had happened to them? What had happened to his boys?
Panic surged through his chest, and he scrambled to his feet. Hosea had no idea how he’d survived or how he’d gotten out of Saint Denis—it made no sense—but the gang needed his help!
They’d survived firefights before, plenty of times, but this was different. This was no small-town police force— this was Saint Denis, with the Pinkerton agency backing them!
The gray-haired man looked down at his body, searching for any injuries, and—Oh... On the right side of his chest, where he vividly remembered the bullet hitting, there was a dark, open hole. So, he was dead.
Hosea found himself strangely at peace with that. He’d survived far longer than expected – being an outlaw was a young man’s game, after all. If a bullet didn’t get him eventually, his illness would have.
All things considered, he was satisfied with the life he had lived—though he wished he could have seen Dutch, John and Arthur make it out of that bank safe and sound before he kicked the bucket. Hosea couldn’t see them anywhere, so he just hoped they made it alright.
Looking around, he realized he couldn’t see anyone at all, and the world was almost silent. The only sounds were wind rustling the leaves and the quiet rush of a stream, but they were muffled.
It was like someone had put a piece of glass between Hosea and his surroundings. He was standing in a clearing, trees surrounding him on all sides, and a small lake up ahead.
It wasn’t a place he had been before—at least, not one he remembered—but it was peaceful, idyllic. It reminded the old man of a time years before, of Arthur, when he was young. It seemed like the kind of lake where Hosea would have taught Arthur to fish—and later, John.
Hosea kneeled by the shore, not quite sure when he had even walked over there. The water was blue and crystal clear—so clear he could see his reflection on the surface.
Hosea Matthews looked almost the same as he had the moment he died. His hair was combed the same way, and all the lines of age on his face were still there.
The only noticeable difference was his clothes. He wore his blue vest and white shirt, instead of the suit he died in. Good—he’d always liked that vest, might as well wear it forever.
“This isn’t so bad,” Hosea spoke to his own reflection. If he got to spend eternity sitting by a peaceful lakeside, there would be no complaints
...Well, maybe one complaint.
It was quiet, too quiet. The old man was—it seemed—completely and utterly alone in this forest. No animals scurried around in the bushes or branches, and there was no sign of any people. No sign of his dear Bessie.
Maybe this was hell, then. Hosea had not been a good man—not in a way that would achieve him eternal peace. Maybe hell was not as fiery as the bible made it out to be, but no less painful.
Once upon a time, Hosea would have had no problem with spending eternity alone, but that was before he’d met Dutch. Dutch van der Linde, the man who had changed Hosea’s life. Given him a purpose, a partner in crime, someone he could truly count on.
Hosea loved Dutch, was definitely in love with him too. Not in the same way he had been in love with Bessie, but it wasn’t too different either. Dutch had put the first cracks in the cold facade Hosea used to put up—but what really made it crumble was Arthur.
Arthur, his precious boy. Hosea would always remember the day they picked him up from the streets— a scrawny, dirty little boy who had robbed Dutch blind and almost gotten away with it.
Hosea had just wanted to leave him there, but Dutch had pushed. Said they needed someone like that, someone who most folks wouldn’t look twice at—and the older man had eventually relented.
Oh, how happy he was Dutch had pushed—because that little street kid had been the one to truly melt the ice around Hosea’s heart.
It took many hours of teaching the boy to read and write, helping him ride a horse, showing how to properly shoot a gun—but during that time, Hosea’s heart opened.
Even now, whenever he looked at Arthur, some part of him still saw the little boy who’d snuggle between him and Dutch after a nightmare. Hosea was so fiercely proud of the boy, of the man he had become.
After Arthur came John, then Tilly, Sean, and so many other wonderful young men and women. Maybe Hosea had gone soft in his old age, but it had been all worth it.
Even now—as he sat all alone in the afterlife, feeling the pain of loss so acutely—he didn’t regret loving. He could never regret the joy it brought him, but the pain of knowing he would be alone for the rest of eternity weighed on him like a mountain.
The gray-haired man buried his face in his hands to hide his tears. This was what he deserved—Hosea knew that. He had done terrible things in his life—peace was not something he had earned—but that made it hurt no less.
“I’m sorry...” He whispered, though he didn’t know to who. Maybe to dear Bessie, who would have to spend her own eternity without him.
The snap of a twig cut through the air, so clear it almost sounded like a gunshot compared to the muffled breeze. Hosea looked up, and his brown eyes met clear amber.
A few yards to his right—just by the shore—stood a gray fox, staring at him. It wasn’t particularly large, but something about it drew Hosea in like a moth to the burning flame—he couldn’t take his eyes off the animal!
“Hello?” the old man eventually spoke – his voice still choked with tears.
The fox did not answer. Of course it didn’t—it was a fox! Animals can’t speak, you old fool —Hosea thought to himself, a small laugh bubbling up from his throat.
You miss them.
A voice rang out, sudden and clear. It seemed to come from everywhere at once—and it startled Hosea so bad he nearly fell backwards, heart jolting in his chest.
“What?”
You miss them. Your family.
Hosea’s gaze returned to the fox—because the fox had to be the one speaking. It had not moved from its position, but it looked at the gray-haired man with a slightly tilted head—as if questioning him.
“Yes. Yes, I— I do,” Hosea cleared his throat
The fox bowed its head slowly—a nod.
They still need you. He still needs you.
Before Hosea could ask any more questions – about what the fox meant or who he was—the old man blinked.
And the world went dark.