Chapter Text
Dangerous.
Unpredictable.
A threat to one’s self as well as others.
These were words that Jesse McCree was all too familiar with. He’d been on the receiving end of such terms on many occasions, once upon a time. He’d done some things he wasn’t proud of back then, had made stupid, careless decisions in his youth that he would undoubtedly be paying the price for until the day he died. Even so, he was given the chance to change all that, had made himself what some would consider a better person, thanks to Blackwatch. Even if things between them and Overwatch went to shit years ago, he was still able to retain that sense of good in hopes of redeeming himself of his past crimes.
In the eyes of his comrades, those terms no longer applied to him, never really did, considering his youth and the easy way he had fallen in line back then under the watchful eye of his late Commander. Such descriptions were better left to those that served to disrupt the balance and goodness of the world, people he now sought out to stop at all costs to preserve the peace that was already in shambles across the globe.
Imagine his surprise, then, when those very words were thrown around to describe the woman lying before him, resting peacefully in a near comatose state after a long procedure of healing from Dr. Zeigler many hours before.
Granted, he had shown up late to the fight, had no idea that having been called in for backup wasn’t just because of the numerous groups of Talon operatives that just so happened to be swarming the area. In fact, he wasn’t meant to join the team at all, but a last-minute issue in the opposite direction left the initial group three members short, and the others were too far away to assist in the fight.
When he arrived at the point, Dr. Zeigler was already in the process of mending Winston, who looked equal parts worried and furious for being knocked out of the fray. He could hear the gunfire in the distance, as well as just being able to make out Tracer blipping around, pulse pistols firing rapidly as she darted through the air. Whatever was going on, it must have been big.
Winston had looked startled at his presence, had been about ready to dismiss him and tell him his help wasn’t necessary, though Mercy had given him a look that McCree could only describe as imploringly firm, and his decision changed abruptly.
With a bit of reluctance, Winston had sent him out into the shit storm ahead to help the others, telling him beforehand that comms were down, and to keep his next words in mind: the objective is unpredictably dangerous; upon approach, stand down, do not engage. An odd request, yes, but he had no time to dwell on the matter, running off into the fight with a tilt of his hat in understanding. The others would surely understand the meaning, if he needed any more clarification.
He had run into several scattered groups of the enemy on his way to the rest of the team, taking them out with precision, and even bypassed Bastion at one point with a nod of acknowledgement sent in the combat robot’s direction. He continued on his way, taking out more enemies on his way, then came to a stop just on the other side of the main fight. A large, abandoned building stood between him and the chaos, but what gave him pause was the startling scene of a large group of downed Talon operatives and a lone figure kneeling in the middle of them, facing away from him.
McCree had been cautious with his next approach, and rightfully so. The figure was that of a woman attempting to catch her breath in choking gasps, who looked like she had been through hell and back, clothes tattered and skin and hair smudged with dirt and sweat. Dark crimson bloomed along her side and was moving across her back in a slow climb, possibly from a newly acquired wound he could not readily see. She was not one of the initial team members, nor did it seem like she was the enemy, if the fallen operatives were anything to go by. Even so, he kept Peacekeeper steady in his hand.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he’d called out, and instantly she ducked her head and twisted at the hip, both hands sporting pistols unwaveringly aimed at him. Practiced and precise. His motion to duck and move to the side had been pure instinct to avoid the shots that never came. The movement ultimately stopped his approach, eyes carefully assessing his new opponent from a distance.
She was scuffed up pretty badly, her arms bruised and a gash against her right cheek streaking her somewhat obscured face with fresh blood, brows furrowed in what he guessed was pain at the angle of her twist pulling at the hidden wound along her side. Her eyes were slightly narrowed and held a strange, unnatural glow to them, lips set in a frown and slightly parted as she continued to steady her breathing. She hadn’t attempted to shoot him, at least not yet, and though she looked ready to let loose a hail of bullets, he had a strong feeling that she wouldn’t, if he played his cards right.
“You’re lookin’ mighty rough around the edges, there,” McCree had commented lightly, spurs chinking as he stepped closer slowly, methodically. Her eyes had been stuck to his every movement; her arms had held firm in their aim. She was being cautious, too, unsure of his intentions. He understood the sentiment.
“We got ourselves a healer, real kind and gentle-like. She could look you over, if you want.”
The glare she’d been sporting began to falter, hands shifting their grip on the guns just a fraction. Jesse stopped his approach several yards away from her at the action, hindered by the unconscious or dead bodies of Talon operatives at his feet, by the still-possible threat of a shot to the head, and the sudden, unexplainable feeling of familiarity. He had given what he’d hoped was a gentle enough smile, trusting his gut instinct and replacing his revolver in its holster at his side, hands fanning out to show her he was without a weapon. A stupid, reckless decision he had hoped at the time wouldn’t backfire on him.
“I ain’t here to hurt ya, darlin’. I’m just wantin’ to help the best way I can, if you’ll let me.”
All at once, the intimidating aura around the woman had disappeared, guns dropping to the ground with a clatter as her arms fell to her sides heavily. Her eyes were almost doe-like as she looked up at him, wide and watery and no longer containing that strange glow they held just seconds ago. She looked like a completely different woman, vulnerable and haunted in that moment, as if she had no way to defend herself despite having been pointing loaded guns at him mere seconds ago. She looked downright scared, and hell, Jesse was no better.
Surely, what he had seen before him was a figment of his imagination, a ghost of a memory now standing right in front of him of a woman he thought dead.
“(Y/n)?”
“I...I didn’t-”
“Nerf this!”
McCree had only a moment to prepare for the blast, unable to counter the force of which blew him backward into the nearest wall. He gave a heavy grunt at the hard hit, taking a minute to right himself as the dust and rubble began to settle. D.Va had been standing in the middle of what once was the building between him and the main fight, looking every bit pleased with herself. Tracer appeared by her side in a blip of movement, quickly followed by Genji.
The fight, for the time being, had ended.
“You made quite the mess’a them, love,” Tracer commented, giving the younger woman a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.
“Yes, while a rather brash move, it proved effective,” Genji followed up, surveying the damage and almost instantly catching sight of McCree as the cowboy stood. “Jesse, they sent you? Surely Winston would not have…”
The cyborg’s gaze had then shifted even further to the side.
“You found her, then. I am sorry you got to her first, my friend.”
McCree turned his own gaze to the left, finding the woman he had spoken to right before the blast…you... lying unconscious, body pressed close against the wall. Your breaths had been shallow, but it was to be expected, given your overall state. You had looked so different before, almost feral.
The objective is unpredictably dangerous; upon approach, stand down, do not engage.
What the hell had happened to you?
Jesse had volunteered to carry your unconscious form back to the safe house where Dr. Zeigler could properly wrap your wounds and stop any bleeding until you could be transported to the temporary Overwatch HQ. After a two-hour travel and yet another two hours waiting beside the infirmary doors, he then volunteered to keep watch as you rested. Though there were a few firm words exchanged, Jesse was allowed the first watch with the promise of letting someone else take over after a few hours.
He’d done that nearly ten hours ago. Besides some small shifts of your head or small, breathy sighs through your nose, you hadn’t shown any signs of waking up anytime soon.
Looking at you now, it was almost like looking at a different woman from the one he knew. Angela had done amazing work healing your injuries and had even cleaned you up, as best she could, given the circumstances. Under all that dirt and grime had been lightly marred skin and long, dulled hair, now carefully pulled back and to the side for convenience. You looked peaceful in sleep, not at all like the broken, nearly hostile woman he had encountered almost fifteen hours before.
Not at all like the woman he had last seen nearly two years ago.
Your hair was so much longer than he remembered, darker, and there were fresh scars along your forearms and hands, possibly even more beneath the clean clothes you’d been dressed in, that hadn’t been there when he last saw you. The softness of your cheeks had sunken in, as you were much thinner than he remembered, and it made him sick.
Hell, maybe he was just projecting. After all, he’d been going strong for nearly a full thirty-six hours on nothing but coffee and the two shots of whiskey he’d downed to relax him after arriving back at the base.
He should have gotten someone else to take his place after the first four hours, as both Soldier and Winston had wanted sharp eyes on the potential threat to Overwatch HQ, a threat McCree wasn’t sure he was able to see. No one who looked that frightened, that haunted, could be a threat to them, at least not willingly, not consciously, and especially not you.
There were things that weren’t adding up, either, now that he was thinking about it more. Winston wasn’t giving any details, likely because he only knew the bare minimum, and Soldier was keeping his mouth sealed shut on the matter of your sudden resurgence from God-knows-where until he returned from Ilios, meaning there was something more at play. He already gathered that Talon was the one behind your disappearance, but was there a specific reason as to why they took you in the first place? How did you escape?
More importantly, what exactly happened before he found you out there, surrounded by fallen operatives? It wasn’t unheard of for one agent to take on groups of the enemy, but being surrounded, especially with fifteen to twenty opponents against a single individual…it would have proven to be a difficult, if not impossible, task to take them all out in such a short timespan, and while you had always prided yourself in your combat skills, they wouldn’t have been enough with the way you had most likely been swarmed, especially in your current state. How had you taken them out on your own?
Damn, he felt like he needed another drink. He’d have been inclined to do just that, retire to his room with a bottle of good whiskey and the call of his slightly worn down mattress to keep him company, but he couldn’t shake the want to keep close to you, just in case something were to happen. This time, he could stop it. This time, he wouldn’t feel guilty for letting you slip out of his grasp.
Jesus, what the fuck had happened to you since you disappeared?
“Oi, what’s this? What are you still doing on watch, Jesse?”
The cowboy tipped his head back to see a confused looking Tracer staring down at him from just behind his chair, hands on her hips and her mouth forming into a stern pout. He gave her a weary, lopsided grin, eyes moving back to the unconscious woman as he gave a gruff sigh.
“Guess I lost track of time. That’s a good enough excuse, ain’t it?”
“Hardly enough to keep Soldier from giving you a good lashin’ out through video feed if he finds out you’re still here. When’s the last time you had a bite? Proper rest?”
McCree scratched at the scruff of his beard, thinking back as he gave a tired hum.
“When did I come back from my last official mission?”
“Jesse!”
“Relax, sweetheart, I’m only messin’ with ya. Ain’t like I haven’t had some rest here n’ there, a snack or two. Enough to keep me goin’, at least.”
“Well, that won’t do you a bit of good! You need real food, real sleep,” Tracer argued quietly, arms now crossing over her chest. Her voice softened considerably after, and an understanding frown crossed her features. “It’s time you had a break, love. I can take over for now. I’ll even let you know if anything changes as soon as it happens.”
Jesse couldn’t even find it in himself to dissuade the Brit, worn as he was. Instead, he gave a low, sleepy grunt.
“You drive a hard bargain….”
“Alright, then, off with you!” Tracer exclaimed gently as she took his words as him agreeing with her terms, hands now pushing at the mercenary’s shoulder to urge him into movement. He gave a low chuckle while moving to his feet a bit sluggishly.
“It’s like you’re tryin’ to get rid of me, or somethin’,” he commented, his tone light and teasing.
“I’m only worried for you, is all. No need in losing sleep when you’ve got a whole team to help with the load, right? Now, go on, before the others catch sight of you lingerin’ about!”
McCree gave another chuckle at the push against his arm meant to move him closer to the door and followed suit, spurs clinking gently with each step. At the entryway, he turned back, eyes lingering on your comatose state a moment longer before his gaze found Tracer’s own. He tipped his hat in farewell, Tracer giving a nod and a wave of her hand as he finally made his way out of the infirmary and down the hall, hopefully toward his room for a good rest.
You were in good hands, he had to remind himself as he walked further away from the infirmary. You were in good hands, Tracer would make sure you were alright.
Once McCree had left the room, Tracer turned her attention to you, watching your resting form for a long while with the slightest frown.
“Let’s hope you’re not as dangerous as they’re making you out to be, love. Might break a heart or two around here.”