Overwatch ? Reader Insert Oneshots

McCree // It's Twelve O'Clock (At Night)

     He scoffed. "Real clothes? It ain't get any more real than this, sugar. If you let me take you home, you could have a real cowboy teach you to ride."

     Studying McCree in the dim, smoky lights of the bar, you downed a quarter of you drink. So much of him was the same, and yet so much had changed. He was still a charmer and an excessive flirt. He'd kept up the same cowboy look he'd boasted in Blackwatch, but he ditched the black color scheme and gone for an even more western appearance. He was older now, more weathered. Like you, he also had a few new scars. Probably as many emotional ones as physical ones. Still, it was good to see he'd at least managed to stay alive since the last time you'd seen him. 

    But seeing him again was bringing back too many memories. You'd need quite a few more drinks to make it through the night. 

     "Slow down there, doll," McCree chuckled as he watched you finish off your first glass of whiskey. "I don't need to get you drunk that fast. Consider myself more of a gentleman than that."

     You nodded at the bartender and he poured you another. There was already a warmth to you that only alcohol could bring, and you appreciated it. "A gentlemen who invites a lady home before even introducing himself?"

     "Pardon me," McCree apologized with a smile. "Name's Joel. What might yours be, little lady?"

      You almost spit out your drink, but put everything you had into swallowing down the searing liquid. Through the burning in your throat, you broke into a series of coughs. It took a good fifteen seconds for you to regain your composure and catch your breath before you could speak. "Seriously? Joel?!"

     McCree raised a curious eyebrow. "Is something the matter?"

     "No, no," you assured him, stifling an abrupt and disbelieving laugh, "you just don't strike me as a Joel."

     "Ya'know, I actually get that a lot."

     "Is it perhaps because your name is Jesse?" The room was starting to tilt and bend into a Picassoesque blur, and it just made the situation you were in feel that much more surreal. Through the oddness of running into McCree, and through the comicality of having him try to lie to you about his identity, you felt yourself begin to sway, your senses numbed.

      It was his turn to be taken off guard. His previously casual, nonchalant posture was now stiffer and more alert. His eyes seemed to dart from person to person as he scanned the room before he let them fall back on you. "How do you know me, girl?"

     You shrugged. "I met you a few years back. It's not like you're not a recognizable face, anyway."

     The pieces clicked into place, and in the next moment his hands were gripping your upper arms. His brow furrowed as he studied your face. "(Y/N)? What happened to you? I can barely recognize you!"

     "That's sort of the point. And I could ask you the same; at least I have all my limbs attached." You nodded offhandedly to his robotic arm. The inside of your skull felt like it was holding static as you spoke, your tongue heavy in your mouth.

     McCree chuckled uneasily. "Long, complicated story."

     Your muscles were loose and you felt like you would fall to your knees if you tried to stand. Yeah, you could go for a story. The longer the better, actually. You'd love to just sprawl out on a warm couch with some food—preferably something salty and loaded with carbs—and a tall glass of water as you listened to somebody rattle on about whatever may be on their mind.

     "Whoa, there." McCree's voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. "You alright?"

     "N. . .no? I th. . .think I'm going to pass out." Your words were slurring, but so was the sight in front of you. McCree's face was nothing but a blur of concern and confusion as he held your shoulders steady. God, you were more than drunk. There was something else at play entirely. "I think some—" You took a deep breath. "I think somebody put something in my drink."

     "Alright, now. Let me just get you someplace quiet. You live around here?" He shook his head, surveying the room in a hurry. "No, I'll just take you to the hotel I'm stayin' at. If somebody's out to get you, they might know where you live."

     You leaned into McCree as he helped you stand. When you inhaled, the scent of cigars and gunpowder filled your nostrils. Some things really never changed. You were so grateful to McCree, so lucky he was here to help. It'd been a while, but it seemed like you still had somebody on your side.

     Did you really, though? Suddenly, you felt a lot more apprehensive. The fact that you'd run into him again, after all these years, might not be a coincidence. Panic pushed through the confusion building in your mind and you shoved against him, not able to put much of your weight into your movements. "Let go of me!" you growled into his chest as he all but carried you past the people ambling around the crowded bar. None of them paid any attention to you. 

     "What was that, darlin'?" He kept you close to him as you made it through the exit and into the humid night air. "I can't understand you when you're mutterin' like that."

     "I said let go!" you snapped, ripping yourself out of his arms. The world tilted, and you tumbled onto the side walk. You couldn't feel the pain of the concrete scraping against your bare arms, but you could see the angry red flesh begin to bead with small drops of blood.

     McCree cursed. "You're okay, I'm gettin' you out of here before whoever laced your drink makes a grab for you." He took off his serape and dabbed at the scrapes that patched your arms. 

     "I don't trust you, cowboy," you slurred. There were tears building at the forefront of your eyes. "Traitor. I can't f*cking believe you'd do this to me. We used to play for the same team." Your vision was darkening, and you fought the threat of unconsciousness with furious stubbornness. 

     McCree's touch was tender as he pressed his serape to a particularly bad scrape. "We're still on the same team, darlin'. I ain't done nothing to wrong you. I'd never try to hurt you." He was practically cooing as he reassured you. "I'm sure you'd tear me to pieces if I did." 

     "Why should I believe you?! You were just like all the others." You were crying now, tears dragging down your flushed cheeks. "When Overwatch disbanded, you forgot about me. You all did. You know how many people cared to see what became of me?"  You sniffed, your voice rasping as you fought back sobs. "Zero. I thought at least you would've checked in on me, but I guess our relationship stopped at drinking buddies, huh? Do you know how alone I've been all these years? You don't deserve my trust."

     "Oh, sugar. I never realized—" he stopped himself, pulling you into him and holding you tightly as you cried. His lips brushed against your forehead lightly before he continued. "I'm so sorry. I didn't keep in touch with anybody. If I would've known you were in the same situation, I would've done everything in my power to find you. I'm here now, though, darlin'. I'll protect you."

     You were pissed that the drugs and alcohol had left you so vulnerable, but overcome with sadness at the thought of being alone again. "You're lying," you grumbled, your face buried in his chest. "You're always lying. It's like I'm playing poker with you again."

     His chest shook with a small laugh at hearing your accusation. "I ain't lyin' this time," he drawled softly. "I'm takin' you with when I'm back on the move. We'll leave as soon as I take care of whoever dared to do this to you. Promise."

     You could feel the puffiness of your eyes, but you knew that it wasn't the reason darkness was edging in on the outskirts of your vision. "Take care of him tomorrow," you sniffled. "I want to go to sleep. I still don't trust you, but I'll let you find me a place to crash tonight." Again, the thought of warm couches and junk food flickered through your mind. Somewhere safe and quiet for you to come to your senses would be nice. Your eyes fluttered shut as your tiredness finally encroached upon you. Your next words came out in a mumble. "And you better be there when I wake up, cowboy."

     You could vaguely feel McCree lifting you up and carrying you. His voice was muffled by the thickness of your exhaustion, but you could hear the smile in his voice. "Wouldn't dream of bein' anywhere else."