A/N: I'm in a Halloween mode right now. Okay, I will bring out my creepy little one-shot for the occasion, since I'm currently planning a Phantom of the Opera oneshot that will be a crossover with Le Horla by Guy de Maupassant, but… I need a bit of cheesiness after all that angst. So yes, here's a silly little idea that came to me. At first, it meant to be following canon and Quincey dying and everything… but I was afraid it would throw an ambiguity around the relationship between Lucy and Quincey (on Lucy's side, to be more precise), and to me, Lucy Loves Arthur, whatever F.F. Coppola might want us to believe on the subject. (And I could start ranting about Mina and Jonathan, but that will be for another time.) So I'm making poor Arthur die… The poor guy really doesn't get a break, hey? And anyway, it actually makes more sense that he's the one dying, but I'm rambling.

Finally, don't read this while listening to the Les Misérables soundtrack. Especially not Valjean's Death and Do You Hear the People Sing. I did the mistake of listening to it while writing this story. Seriously, it's poison. I cried my eyeballs out, because it just works so well in the context.

Disclaimer: Everything coming from Bram Stoker's Dracula belongs to the public domain.

It had all gone through so quickly.

Harker and he had made their way through the mob of gypsies (well, mob was probably an exaggeration in the context. But in the angst of the situation, while the sun was lowering more and more, giving his place to the world of night, a group of gypsies seemed like a mob), not caring about who pointed a knife towards them and who didn't. Harker had his kukri, which he had refused to let go of since practically the beginning of their journey from England to this lost place somewhere in Middle-Eastern Europe. Arthur hadn't paid too much attention. In all his desperate fierceness, he was a rather sad sight to see. On his face were still fighting boyish features and manhood. His hair was prematurely grey, his features hardened. He had been an innocent child once, like everyone, and perhaps longer than others. Now, he was like a child who had grown up too fast, but not in a gawky way. Like a child who had seen his innocence ripped away from him brutally.

He had felt, at a certain moment, something cold piercing his body. He had, by reflex, brought his hand towards the place… to see it covered with blood.

But it was no time to tremble or fret about it. He still made his way. Lucy's ghost was still too present in his mind. He continued to valiantly make his way, while Seward and Morris had thankfully managed to get to them and point their guns towards the gypsies. Instantly, their resistance stopped, finally permitting to Harker and Arthur to finally get to the crate containing Dracula's corpse.

Despite his wound, which he hadn't quite felt in the first few minutes but the pain of it becoming more and more intense, he had labored with his knife to open it with the help of his companion. The cover's nails had finally given way, revealing the vampire king, seeing in his semi-consciousness the sun throwing his last streams of light, his red eyes already glimmering in triumph.

Without the shadow of a hesitation, Lord Godalming had plunged his knife in the monster's heart, while Harker was beheading him.

The look of pure evil had disappeared. Peace had taken its place. It was strange to see such an expression on his face.

It was only then that Arthur Holmwood subconsciously judged it was the moment where he could give in.

He fell on the ground, just beside the crate, while all the company was grouping around him.

But he was already far, far away. And ready to go, for he felt nothing holding him back.

And he came back. But he was standing now, feeling younger, lighter than he had ever been.

He turned around, disoriented. He could see the landscape covered with snow, the night now fully installed, the moon and the stars shining. But it was a peaceful night. A night worthy of Christmastide, even.

He saw his friends still grouped. Around his body.

He gasped, not understanding why he was at two places at the same time. But, at the moment, he was going to call out, he heard a soft, familiar giggle, so familiar he fidgeted and turned immediately towards it.

It was her.

But somehow, she was so different of the one he had fallen in love; of course, so different of the monster who had taken his place; but even, so different of the body resting in peace in her coffin till Judgment Day would come.

She was in a summer dress, in a shade he had never seen before and that simply couldn't be compared to an earthly color, though it could sort of be compared to pink or blue. Her golden hair was floating freely on her shoulders and behind her back, going against conventions which demanded that it should always be pinned on the top of a proper lady's head. But somehow, it had nothing promiscuous about it. It simply gave her a more juvenile look that fitted her well. She looked juvenile and innocent, and even more beautiful than ever, light emanating from her, despite all the suffering she had been through. And most especially, she seemed happy.

A teasing, though soft grin appeared on her face.

"You don't seem that happy to see me."

It was only after getting out of the pure delight brought by her voice, more melodious than ever, that he realized that his mouth was wide-opened. He closed it swiftly, still not realizing that she was really there, in front of him. He still had trouble realizing the entire situation, anyway.

"What's happening?"

"You're dying," Lucy said softly, while pointing to his body. "And I've come to get you."

Arthur slowly turned around, seeing his friends in some sort of resigned grief. His heart stung. He couldn't go just like this, like a thief in the night, while he had fought for light to triumph.

"Please… can I at least tell them I'm in peace?"

Lucy nodded. "I was going to ask you if you wanted to do that."

In a flash, he had come back to his body. The pain was still there, aching from his side. He could feel that he didn't have much time left. But he knew what to do.

He opened his eyes, trying to keep them as wide as he could even if it was difficult.

And he smiled to them.

"Blessed be God!" he croaked, his voice becoming weaker and weaker. "None of this has been vain."

And, as his soul left his body for one last time, the smile remained.

He came back to Lucy. The contact with her hand was warm, warmer than anything he had ever felt. It wasn't like two lovers holding hands. It was much more. So great he couldn't even use words to describe it. It was love, soft and tender, but with strength so grand it amazed him. By the mere contact he had with her, he couldn't help comparing her to those warrior women coming from Asgard in Scandinavian mythology, coming to assemble all the proud men who had fallen during the combat to bring them to Walhalla.

They slowly made their way, until the landscape disappeared, and that light surrounded them. A light so great the light coming earlier from Lucy seemed merely insignificant.

Then pictures. Moving, live pictures of his entire life, of Lucy's life, of everything. He saw every good deed, every bad one. He would laugh, then cry while begging for God's mercy, than smile. It was all over, anyway.

Finally, he saw Him, in all his glory.

And it was only then that Arthur understood how the Angels could spend eternity glorifying Him.

And so he glorified Him, as he saw how God had loved them all so greatly, He had incarnated Himself as a true man, suffering while bearing all the sins of humanity, to die, but on the third day, to raise from the dead, triumphant.

He had never tricked death.

He had vanquished it.

For good, permitting Men to also know beatific joy, and someday, the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.

A/N: Had a sugar coma? Cried? Listened to Les Mis while I had explicitly warned you not to? Sorry. But review? *puppy eyes*