Overwatch x Reader

McCree x Reader: A Shoulder to Cry On

It's an angsty fluffy one my dudes... AND it's the longest fanfic I've written so please enjoy!

Warning: Talks about blood, violence, and death (basic angsty material).

Y/N POV:

It was all too much to take in on my own. The death that surrounded me ever since I joined the renewed Overwatch. My job was to be their support, to protect them from death's door. But death always won every time I entered the field. Blood would cover my hands as I tried to patch up bullet wounds as best I could, cursing at myself for not being able to has access to medical technology that was currently in short supply. Agents would yell in the comms to give up on them, to let them go and move on. But I never listened, too set on trying to save what they considered dead. I wanted to prove them wrong, I wanted to be their Mercy. All I am now is the Angel of Death. Watching the gleam in my comrade's eyes as they turn gray. Their last words ringing in my ears. Their blood on my hands. 

But through it all, I never cried; not in front of anyone at least. I held a mask that showed determination and confidence, a face that never caught a second glance. My higher ups thought everything was fine, giving me medical records that never seemed to end. There was always something to report from a papercut to a bullet hole from the safety on the gun being off. There was no peace, just a blaring noise that kept me up at night. And no family alive to turn to. No friends to talk to without some guilt for putting my problems on their shoulders. I was alone.

"Hey, doc?" A gloved hand on my shoulder shook me out of my train of thought. I looked up from my bloody tools to see Agent McCree's worried expression. "You've been staring down at your hands for a little over 30 seconds."

I felt my cheeks warm up, "I'm sorry, Agent McCree." Taking a deep breath, I put the tools to the side and went back to bandaging the bullet wound he got on his shoulder from his mission to Route 66. 

Jesse McCree was an agent I have been familiar with since joining, mostly because his cowboy attire made it easy to spot him in a crowd. We have been on a few missions together, and I can say that I have saw him shirtless...Only for medical reasons. He brings a laid back vibe to the group, cracking jokes when tensions are high. But he draws the line in the sand when it comes to business. I've witnessed a new agent trying to get him to open up about his past, only to be shut down then and there. I don't mind his company when he and I make small talk in the hallway. Yet, I can't help but feel nervous when I stick around him for too long. And the concern he showed me just now made me want to run for the hills and hide. 

"Is there something wrong?" Agent McCree pressed on. 

"No, your wound is going to heal just fine."

"That's not what I meant." He almost sounded disappointed. My attention went from his wound to his hazel eyes, staring at me like they were begging me for something.

"Then, what did you mean?"

"I meant you." 

I jumped up, taken aback by this sudden attention coming from him. He never confronted me before, not even after a mission. All he'd do was leave me be, and that's all I ever wanted. What changed his mind?

My focus went back to bandaging his wound. "I'm fine, McCree." I lied. Hopefully he'd fall for it and leave me alone.

"You sure?" He tilted his head.

"I should be asking you these questions, McCree. You're the one that got shot, not me."

"What? Is it a crime to show some level of concern towards ya?"

I finished patching up his shoulder as quickly as I could, preparing myself to use my doctor dialogue to send that nosy cowboy out of my office. 

"Agent McCree, you're shoulder is all patched up and you are free to go." I gently pushed his back as he got up from his sitting position, giving me a raised eyebrow.