Overwatch ➸ Reader Insert Oneshots

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

Prompt 54. "Whoa, there. You good?" "No..No, I th...think I'm gonna pass out."

[Rating: PG13]
[Word count: 2130]
[Summary: You made enemies while working for Overwatch, ones that are still out to get you years after its dissolution. When one of these enemies spikes your drink, McCree is the only one around to help.]
[Genre: the bitter taste of angst]
[Unedited]

Requested by: elwingthefirst

     You had once been one of the most infamous agents of Overwatch, willing to cross the morally grey areas others feared. You weren't a bad person; at least, you didn't think you were. You just went farther than most others would to establish the justice the world had been lacking for so long.

     Unfortunately, most other people didn't see it that way. By the time Overwatch had dissolved, you were a few political assassinations too deep for redemption. With nowhere to go, an impressive bounty on your head, and unfinished business with a long list of terrorists and corrupt politicians, you drifted. You went from one of Overwatch's best agents to a vagrant vigilante all in one fell swoop. You were alone now, but it was for the best. You wouldn't have any protocols to abide by, any complex friendships and alliances to navigate.

     Keeping your head down was difficult at first. You were recognizable, with prominent features and a loud mouth. As time went on, though, and different battle scars began to wear at your once refined appearance, less and less people could distinguish who you were. Those who could were often afraid to approach you at all, let alone confront you. 

     You were at ease with this thought in mind as you took a seat on your bar stool. Lately, drinking had become somewhat of a pastime for you. It was a way too let your mind drift, a way for you to distance yourself from the stress of your line of work. There was always a bar nearby, a drink to be had.

     "Whiskey on the rocks." You glanced up at the bartender, reaching up to adjust the scarf that covered the lower half of your face. "Put it on my tab."

     He offered you a nod. You'd been to this bar a few times. You somewhat liked the bartender. He knew not to strike up a conversation with you, and he never said anything whenever you slipped up and offered him a credit card with a different name than the one you usually gave (you had several credit cards and IDs, none of them in your real name).

     "That's a strong drink for a little lady like you," a man next to you drawled.

     You glanced over at him with the intention of telling him to f*ck right off, but were caught off guard at the ridiculous cowboy hat he wore. It almost reminded you of—

    Your eyes skimmed down to his face. Holy sh*t, it was Jesse McCree. 

     You'd been on a few duo missions with him in the past, and he was one of the few Overwatch members you found you could tolerate. He was tacky, but at least genuine in his actions. You could appreciate that. You'd even spared a bit of your free time for him, going out drinking or playing poker (both of you had a terrible cheating habit) with him every week or so.

     That was then, though. Now he was a stranger, just a ghost from your past life. It wasn't necessary to acknowledge him as somebody you once knew, so you didn't. "I can hold my liquor, Cowboy." Your voice was low as you spoke. 

     He laughed, pulling out his wallet. "Is that right? I s'pose it'd only be polite to offer you a drink, then."

     You waved your hand in dismissal. "You should use that money to buy some real clothes. Don't mind me."