big iron.

[Deleted]

J E S S I E   M C C R E E

Strangers used to talk 'round these parts, smokin with my boots a'kicked up and I remember 'em all. Outlaw, not a care in the world, I used to think I was invincible. Twenty shots on my belt, notches- tallies, they  watched peacekeeper and I with blood on my breath. Sittin' in corner bars with that guitar solo in my ears, I used to love music, I reckon. 

I wish I were that same man. 

Hips kissed, sweet metal; "they're lookin' for ya, Jessie,"

"They can find me with their eyes closed, Huck." I ain't ever cared much for small talk. Ego and ergo, I lived. Cowboy. I ain't ever hid from much either, I keep my head down now. Coverin' my eyes before I left, they're still lookin' for me out here and I don't reckon I'll keep em waitin' either. Four years, eight years, twelve- it ain't make a damn a difference, y'see, people want you dead you learn to live cozy with the noose. Mercy tells me it's stupid- us trainees aren't allowed to return home, well ain't that sweet.

They think I got a home 'round here. 

Don't let me be misunderstood here, partner, but if we're all lookin for one dead Jessie McCree, who am I to leave 'em waitin? Peacekeepers came huntin' for me before, back before I buried Huck in a shoot out and I ain't leave Sombra for dead. Lit cigarette and "live large, Jessie," I ain't plan on disappointin'. He came a lookin' for me and the whole bar thought me a mad man, dust in my boots my biggest complaint - "you aren't plannin on-"

"On what, livin?" Smirk and it ain't nothin' serious. 

It ain't ever was, Jessie.

We danced at high noon and I played fair, just like with Huck. Ain't never a man a quicker draw than McCree, I reckon, big iron on our hips and vigilantes ain't ever scared me. Twenty notches, drawing knots in nooses and we count- one, two. He shoots early, in my shoulder and I flinch; gunpowder burns, you don't get used to it. One shot, grazing his neck and Huck ain't have that privilege- no use shootin' the good. Shrug and laugh, have a pint to drink, Sombra tells me I'm an idiot and we share moonshine at night. It ain't taste as well the second time around. 

If she's comin' back I can't stay the man I've always been; that ain't fair. Good, I don't think I've ever been truly good -- too stupid. Too self absorbed, gun slinger and I got a man to murder. Those wanted posters still hang with my name on them, I keep my head down walking past red dust. Mercy can't patch me up this time and that's fine; whoever's lookin for me ain't leaving in better shape. I ain't got tricks up my sleeve, just a flannel and whiskey, eighteen year old - I could have been anything. Yet here I am, funny how that works. 

And I waste no time, sun's a risin' and I search for that faithful spot with trumpets in my ears. Whistlin' to myself like I ain't got a deadeye on my head; ain't nothin' I'm not used to, I reckon. I buried Hunk and my gun five feet apart, they'd take me to prison but they ain't touchin peacekeeper, she's the only one I could save. I reckon it's like findin' old photos, digging up an iron plated six shot with my name on it, five bullets loaded. I only had to shoot one, 

it works that way sometime. 

Part of me wishes I ain't ever come to these parts, but I hold my revolver one time again and it's not worth it. Some part of me was supposed to be better than this, but hell who cares bout this old cowboy anyways? One vigilante, one Jessie McCree -- if I die now then so be it, ain't nothin' much goin my way anyways. So I hold my breath, pistol on my old holster, buy a drink. I wish I ain't so disappointed, that's my one regret. 

But I ain't dyin' today, boots kicked up on the bar's railin', hat coverin' my face. 

Some dogs don't settle down, not around these parts.

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

I used to not give any of it a second thought.

Rely on instinct more than thought. My thoughts were dumb, pointless, they would make me hesitate more than anything. And the next time I blinked my target would be gone, out of my sight. Sometimes lost forever.

So I learned to see them and react.

Not think about consequences or who’s in the way. I knew I had one mission to accomplish. To protect the ones I loved.

But my rash decisions would lead to more people hurt than saved, and I lived with the guilt every time it happened, for every individual I hurt, sometimes in more way than one. But I did it again and again. Repeating my actions. Repeating my mistakes. I thought it would get them to notice me.

It didn’t.

She wanted a better life for me, not the same one she endured. With pain and suffering and loss. But I will make a name for myself. I know what my calling is, I must bring justice to those who deserve it. I must protect those who need it, I can not bare to let them suffer.

The pain is just something I will need to learn to deal with.

There’s a part of me that thinks she tries to ruin it for me, sabotage it. Tells them not to give me the time of day, look the other when they see me, pretend I’m not here. But I won’t let them forget. I make sure to let them know every time I catch someone they can’t, every time that I make a difference. They try to ignore it, but there’s a part of me that knows they’re watching.

At least that’s what I tell myself to make everything feel better, to make it feel like I’m doing the right thing.

But there’s one that keeps avoiding me. Every time I think I’m close to him he manages to evade me, disappear in a cloud of smoke, and it takes me months to track him down again. He’s stealthy, but I know in my mind there’s no way he can actually be that tough.

Whispers and rumors line the streets of where he’s been, of where he is. But so far they’ve all lead to dead ends. There’s a part of me that says that for once, justice won’t be served. But then there’s another part of me that tells me not to give up. (I think that part might be my mother)

I wonder the streets aimlessly, searching for something, anything. But nothing comes up, so I let my feet take me where I please, as if I’m flying but I’m not sure how high I plan to go. There’s something that makes me stop in front of a bar.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special, I’m not even much of a drinker. But my feet carry me in and fifteen feet in front of me there he is. My hand reaches to the inside of my coat, making sure my pistol is there and tightly secured. I’m hoping that it doesn’t come down to that, there’s innocent people in here. I take a deep breath before heading over, always preparing myself for the worst.

I take a seat next to him, not even glancing in his direction. The bartender comes up to me and I order whatever is first to come to mind, no intentions of even drinking. So with drink in hand my eyes still stare straight ahead, not daring to glance at him quite yet.

”A fugitive in a bar? How stereotypical,”

Finally I allow my eyes to drift towards him. Drink in his hand, eyes focused, he looks exactly like all the posters. And after all this time I finally found him. Without even searching, without even trying. Maybe I should try this more often.

”So are you going to come with me quietly or am I going to have to hurt you first?”

Maybe now they’ll finally notice me.