Shooting through time| A McTracer Fanfic

3: Downfall

McCree took off the next day, riding off into the sunrise, to go find himself a place to stay. A new one. He found himself in Switzerland, staying in a run down apartment. It was the best to lay low. He sat on the squeaky bed. He set the TV on, it buzzing with static every so often. He spent the day in, thinking about his old life. Just some Deadlock. His eyes scanning Overwatch's CCTV, with his little 'gift' that Lena had sneaked him. McCree sat in the lousy apartment with flies buzzing to and fro. His gear sat within his bag. The smoke from his cigar curled and wisped, the moonlight playing on his face, expressing the sadness and concern he held for his old team. He watched the tv, scanning for anything that could lead to an update on his friends. Then, it happened. The Swiss base blew up, a billow, of smoke following suite. That was his calling. He had wanted to return, with a single concern. He loaded his gun and twirled it a little, before holstering it into his BAMF holster. He left. Time do dispense justice, and keep peace. He left his apartment, grabbing his hat. He got on a hyper train, sitting inside. He rubbed his Deadlock tattoo. It was a part of him, showing him he could beat this heavy obstacle. He then took out a black ski mask. He had to be "dead." How would he do it? Then an idea sparked. He took off leaving the station and pulling on his wooly black mask, his clink following his heavy footsteps, arriving to the wreck of Overwatch HQ.

Everything was rubble. He looked around, his face itching. Then he saw Reyes. He rushed over to him and tried shaking the bearded man. He was bleeding profusely. His boss opened his eyes. "Jesse...? Wh-What happened?" The cowboy took a minute. "Gabe, listen to me. You're still unconscious, and I'm a figment of your imagination, why else would I look so young?" he added "Also, you're pretty fucked up. I'm actually a paramedic, dragging you off to an ambulance. Try not to speak, 'kay boss?" With that, he started to drag Reyes. Then he just stopped breathing. McCree had only realized this when he was at the ambulance. "Boss...?" he asked. He shut Gabe's open eyes. "Get Ziegler on this. Please." he pleaded to the paramedic. He nodded and wheeled off Gabe. McCree had one more person to search for. He knew she would help 'till the bitter end. He threw rubble around, and saw one of her pistols just poking out from underneath. The itch in Jesse's face grew, so he ripped off his mask and slipped his fingers underneath the rock and began to lift the rock, straining himself to not let his best friend go. He was sweating horribly, and groaning in pain. He finally threw it up. There was only one of her pistols and her blue eyepiece. Jesse sank to his knees. "No, ngh, no!" He began to silently weep, at the loss of his friend before crying out. "NOOOO!!" He picked up the pieces of Tracer's gear, and took them. He rubbed his eyes, and walked off, picking out a black rose that he had come across, and laid it in her place. He then left, his hat covering his eyes. He didn't even see the girl wrapped in the towel, as he took the long walk back, sniffles following his clinking footsteps with a different rhythm. He promised to himself he would fight for her. With that, he packed and rode off, not stopping until he hit the desert. It hurt his heart. It ached.

Lena had sat in the cold rain, a towel around her. She saw Jesse come, look for her, and cry out in anguish. Yet she couldn't speak. She was still in shock. A paramedic, from a local hospital came to her side. "You alright?" She asked Lena. "Oh wot? Uh, yeah." The paramedic sat next to her. She was ginger. "You're Tracer, right?" She nodded, pulling her usual Overwatch happy-go-lucky chat. "I forgot to introduce myself. Sorry, I'm Emily."

Jesse's tears streaked his face as his Triumph sputtered sadness. Through his tears, he didn't see the shattered glass bottle, as hit punctured her tire and she squealed a song of death, falling over, making the cowboy fall off, the bike rolling and landing on his left forearm, her engine punctured. Jesse screamed in agony, unconsciousness slowly taking him. Then the bike started to flame. He was dragged off, just as Triumph waved her final goodbye and detonated, burning his arm. "Hold on, I'm going to take you someplace safe." He heard a distant voice, before darkness consumed his vision, and he passed out. He awoke in a bed. His left arms was numb. At least from the forearm down. He groaned and moved his left arm to rub his head, but all he found was a mangled forearm ending at his elbow. He looked at it, before his breathing quickened and he passed out again. He re awoke with someone with their hand on his sweat caked forehead. He saw that it was... the bartender? She told him "Ah, so yer awake. That's good. We had to cauterise yer arm. Bone must be shattered to shit." Jesse nodded. "By the way, that was some fine shooting of the Deadlocks, you showed 'em what for. So it's a bit easier on my bar." McCree got up and asked what he could do about his arm. She told him that there is a doctor for hire in Switzerland. He nodded and walked out, thanking her in the process. She called "Go get 'em, ya vigilante!" He smiled and walked off. He boarded a hyper train to Switzerland. He had a note for said Doctor's address. He was in the city. He made his way to the address and knocked. The door was opened and behind it stood Doctor Angela Ziegler. "Hello there, what can I do for- you..." Ange looked up at the cowboy, then at his arm, which was in a sling. "I think it's best you come in. Ve have lots to discuss." Jesse took off his hat as he stepped into Angela's apartment. He took a seat by the window. "Jesse McCree. The last person I would expect to turn up here. I thought you died..." She had said. McCree gave a toothy grin and said "Well, everyone's got a breaking point." She showed him to a bed to stay, while he recovered. He was about to light a cigarillo, but then Angie slapped it out of his lips leaving him dumbfounded, before he caught on and laid back on his bunk.

"Smoking's bad for you"

"Aight doc, no smokin while I'm here. Got it."

A/N : This more of a McCree chapter