#mc76 week

~Mod Munchy

Forgiven. @mc76events

~Mod Munchy

In which Gabriel is off on a mission, leaving Jack to tell not only Fareeha but also Jesse the bad news. 

Smell that, wilting grain, the melted snow revealing all the withered stalks. How’d he end up here anyway? Bullet wound to his shoulder, possibly bleeding to death. He smelled copper, and tasted iron; petrichor. That’s what Jack called that musty, wet smell. Petrichor. What a nice word to say, over and over, just seemed to work. He’d never heard of it till his Overwatch days. Dust after rain. “Jack...” he murmured turned his head around, he could feel the cold and damp seeping into his bones. So tired, so cold, and everything was so quiet. Had they driven off the Talon soldiers? “Jack?” Movement hardly managed to rouse him as he stared at the grey skies. Sound of rifle fire cracked through his hazy mind. Pulse rifle, about 50 yards away. Even if Jesse were to shout he wouldn’t be heard that far away. No one had come to check if he’d actually died. He supposed that was lucky. Hadn’t he always been lucky? Lucky to run into Overwatch, lucky to make it out before it collapsed, lucky to find Jack again. Seems his luck had run out. Jesse let his eyes shut, just a moment wouldn’t hurt. “Jesse?” came a voice. The sensation of motion, he was rising up. He could hear the heavy breathing, and feel the steady bobbing of the easy, practiced jog. The crinkling of dry straw when he was dropped in. Did he hear horses? Snorting and clopping. “Jesse come on.” He cracked his lids, a barely made out the pale face hovering over him. His serape was thrown away, and his shirt torn. “You need to stay with me. Stay awake. You’re going to be okay.” Was he? McCree felt calloused fingers working at the wound, checking to see if the bullet had passed through or if it was lodged somewhere. He supposed it should hurt but he was so beyond pain it just felt strange. Copper, and iron; the straw smelled of must. Petrichor. Remember, Petrichor. “Jesse....inject...stay awake,” he only managed to catch a few of the words Jack was saying. A feeling of something pushed into the wound and expanding. Foam...right, it’d stop the bleeding allow the wound to heal faster. So maybe his luck hadn’t run out just yet. “Petrichor...” he mumbled with a smile. Jack’s confused face only fueled his grin. “Petrichor.” “Petrichor...?” Jack asked furrowing his brow. Jesse wasn’t entirely lucid enough to explain. He reached his metal arm up, and Jack let his fingers interlock with the cowboy’s. “You’re going to be alright.” Jesse believed him as he lay back, taking shallow breaths, and closed his eyes. Kinda nice to be in a stable, sleeping with the horses, he was sure a cowboy or two had done this before. He felt something draped over him, horse blanket, smelled of the animal. On his good side, he was joined by the old Soldier, laying down; covered in a blanket. Must be exhausting, out here at his age. Being ambushed by Talon. Jesse felt himself drifting off. Jack wrapped and arm around him, and at least he knew for a while he was probably safe. At least this straw was pretty comfortable.

The rise and fall, that’s what they’ll call it in fancy museums. When they’ve forgotten what really happens all they’ll have for a title is: The Rise and Fall of Overwatch. It’ll be full of sappy garbage about heroes, showing pretty mock battle scenes maybe it’ll have uniforms on mannequins. Maybe it’ll have wax figures, scale models of their equipment, terrifying comparisons with the sizes of Omnics they fought. A bunch of feel good fluff to satisfy a family on their weekend off. Maybe it’ll even be a traveling exhibit. Just another remnant of history, that can be looked at with the rose tinted glasses of good vs evil. Most of it was just grey. Things that had to be done. Back then he’d almost believed in that garbage. Good guys fighting the bad guys, but as he’d gotten older, the feeling faded away. They weren't the good guys. Not the bad ones. Just some people still fighting against invisible problems. People expected them to solve the riddle of peace. They didn’t. They never could. It’s a cold morning, and a lit cigarette; he’s breathing in icicles and smoke. Sun hasn’t even managed to crack the horizon, cause here in the north it’ll be another hour or so. He can’t help it, being up at this time. His body had gone from farming time to military time, and finally to not waking up at all, just awake through nights at a time. It had done damage to him probably. He didn’t look so bad, super soldier enhancement would do that for you. He did feel it. Age, strange thing to think about now. Used to just be some number far off, 55, at least he was pretty sure that was the number. His dad had said eventually you lost count, and it wasn’t like he was going to celebrate it. “Do you always get up this early?” asked a groggy voice from behind. He glanced over his shoulder. A man wrapped tight in a red bit of cloth, not exactly dressed for the weather. “No sometimes I get up earlier,” he’d reply and drop the cigarette, using his boot to put it out. This sleepy town they were holed up in was so quiet. It wasn’t home, but it felt like it when his eyes were closed. “Jack, it’s like 3 degrees out, why the hell are you just standing out here?” his companion demanded. “Something out here we need to look into, Jesse; we can buy you a coat if you’re going to complain.” Jesse grumbled and disappeared back inside the motel room. Jack pulled another cigarette out of the pack. Weird having Jesse out here with him. He was having trouble seeing the scruffy outlaw as the kid he’d met back in New Mexico. Cheeky, 17 year old. How’d he ever end up as the number one most wanted criminal in the US? Wrong place, wrong time. Well, Jack could get a lot of mileage out of Gabriel’s teachings. Not that he particularly wanted to think about that waste of skin. He found his face curling into a sour scowl at the thought of Gabriel. Maybe they’d find him after all this time, alive, and miserable. That’d really satisfy the new festering displeasure in Jack’s soul. Jesse didn’t seem to keen on the man either, seemed like only yesterday they were out on missions together. Jesse’d had a lot of respect for Gabe. Now? Well seems he regrets not being able to put a bullet through the man’s head himself. What a waste, expending energy on hating the dead. They’d both grown old on that kind of feeling. His cigarette was just burning out on his lip, as he stared out over the parking lot and on towards the highway. Big empty flat land, full of snow. No sign of the crisis here. Course even if there was, snow made for a good way to cover a body. He dropped the cigarette smoldering in a pile of slush, and went back inside. Time to get ready to go.

Sometimes moments are remembered in a hue.