open post;

[nostalgiabomb]

( x )

Comments

[twelveoclock]

Pal a' mine. Scientist. Real smart. He'll get ya sorted, and work on contactin' your friends too.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ A pause, then a grimace, then, ]

I'm gonna be really pissed if you're just takin' me somewhere to get dissected.

[twelveoclock]

Winston ain't the type. For that matter, neither am I.

I'm sure you trust me about as far as you can throw me, and that's fair, but thanks for at least comin' along this far.

[nostalgiabomb]

Well, considering the options I had to pick between were the Rogues gang or Butch Cassidy...

[ He trails off before clicking his tongue. ]

Kinda got caught between a rock and a hard place on this one.

[twelveoclock]

[ McCree actually looks at him then. He'd been teetering back and forth between thinking this guy was an alien or not, but the reference pretty much cements it.

He returns his gaze back to the road soon enough. ]

My job was t'keep whatever, or whoever, landed in that crater outa the Deadlocks' hands. I done that. Ain't nothin' sayin' we can't get ya back where ya came from.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He huffs out a slightly derisive laugh. ]

If you say so. Just— at least let me get a nap in before someone starts cutting me open. All I ask.

[twelveoclock]

I can appreciate a man'a simple tastes.

[ The town that appears on the horizon isn't much of a town. It's more like a small smattering of rundown buildings, including a gas station, a diner, and a small motel. ]

Gotta call for a pickup, so we're not goin' anywhere 'til tomorrow anyway.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ It's a cute little Podunk town, at least, but Peter keeps his comments to himself, aside from a lackluster, ] Yay.

[ He keeps a wary eye out, hand loosely holding the grip of his blaster. ]

You never told me who you're working for. [ Because stuff like "my job" and "waiting for pickup" has an official air to it. ]

[twelveoclock]

You never told me what you were doin' out in space, so I guess that makes us even.

[ Also, Overwatch isn't an official entity anymore. He can't just up and say that's who he's with.

He pulls into the parking lot of the motel and hops out of the Jeep, moving around to the back to fish out a red bag with a white cross on it. He waits for Peter to exit the Jeep before heading to the door to his room. He heads in first, flipping the light on, just in case Peter expects a trap.

There is none. Just a small, moderately clean little motel room. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Well, okay, despite the situation, the reply makes him huff out a begrudging little laugh; it seems to say, Alright. Got me there, but Peter still doesn't seem inclined to answer the question.

Once they park and head to the room, Peter stays a pace or two behind, blaster still unholstered, and he's a little surprised when McCree steps into a seemingly normal, only-slightly-dingy little room. He hesitates in the doorway. ]

... I usually get at least a drink or two before I spend the night with someone, just so you know.

[twelveoclock]

[ He plops the bag down on the dresser next to the TV, and motions with his mechanical arm towards the mini fridge on the other side of the room ]

Beer in the fridge if you want.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Another huffed out laugh, as he kicks the door shut behind him. He forgoes the drink, though, deciding instead that he'd much rather take a seat – which he does, carefully sitting on the bed. ]

I'm a little offended you're treating like such a cheap date.

[twelveoclock]

It's nice beer.

[ But if Peter doesn't want any, well. More for him.

He takes off his hat and his serape, leaving them on a chair, then turns to rummage around in the first aid bag. ]

You been favorin' that arm all night. [ he doesn't say which one, but it's pretty obvious which one he means ] What's yer assessment of the damage?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ u really wanna talk about arms bruh

Peter tracks the other man's movement around the room (and a flicker of distrust crosses his face as McCree starts digging into his bag). At his question, he shrugs. ]

Broken, I think. [ It's not like he's been hiding the injury, after all; might as well come out with it. ] It's fine if I don't move it around much.

[twelveoclock]

[ He fishes out some painkillers, and the basic stuff for Peter's cuts and scrapes. ] Got a sling in here if ya want it. Either way, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to see a doc.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Another flat, mirthless, ] Yay.

[ He gives a wary little glance to the supplies McCree pulls out (he's pretty sure he was taught as a kid to never accept candy from strangers), and he holds out his good hand. ]

I'll take the sling.

[twelveoclock]

[ He digs it out and hands it over. ]

Is that the only thing I'm gonna pull outa this bag that you're gonna trust?

[nostalgiabomb]

Nah.

[ Brightly, ] Bandages are fair game, too.

[twelveoclock]

All right. I getcha.

[ He pulls out a chair, flipping it around so he can sit in it backwards to face Peter, arms folded over the top ] You ever heard of Overwatch?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He's carefully maneuvering himself out of his jacket – difficult to do, while he's trying to keep one arm as immobile as possible – and his response is more than a little distracted. ]

No. Do they make clocks?

[twelveoclock]

[ He snorts. ] No.

Need a hand?

[nostalgiabomb]

I've got it.

[ And he does, apparently, though he bites back a hiss as he finally pulls his bad arm out of the sleeve of his jacket. That done, he slips his arm into the sling, hanging it from his neck, and lets out a sigh.

He waves his free hand. ]

You were saying?

[twelveoclock]

[ He reaches back behind him to grab some of the bandages, and a few sealed alcohol wipes in little packages, handing them across to Peter. ]

So you don't know Overwatch. You know about omnics?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He takes them with a quick nod of thanks, taking a quick second to inspect the packaging, before tearing the first wipe out of its packaging with his teeth. When he presses it to the first cut on his face, he lets himself hiss in a breath. ]

Omnics? Doesn't ring a bell.

[twelveoclock]

But Butch Cassidy does.

You from Earth or not? 'Cause I been havin' a hell of a time tryin' to figure that out.