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[nostalgiabomb]

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[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.

[nostalgiabomb]

This isn't my first time here.

[ A lie, but only half of one. ]

But it's been a while since my last visit.

[twelveoclock]

[ McCree's expression is skeptical, but he lets that answer slide for now ]

How long ago is "a while"?

[nostalgiabomb]

A while.

[ He says it flatly as he's applying a bandage. Apparently he doesn't seem inclined to give specifics. ]

So assume a history lesson is in order.

[twelveoclock]

Hoo-ee. I am the last person you should be takin' history lessons from.

[ He leans back, snatching the TV remote from where it sits near the first aid bag, and flips the TV on. It's already on one of those 24-hour news networks, and the anchor is speaking over footage of protesters- some of them human, some of them clearly not. The anchor goes on to talk about "omnic rights" and the debates thereof. (Are these machines alive? Do they truly have free wills? Should they not be gien basic rights as a result?) At one point she references something called an "Omnic Crisis", and that's when McCree lowers the volume some ]

Welcome to the new Earth.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He arches an eyebrow when McCree turns on the television, nearly says some smart-assed thing about how he could've just said he didn't feel like having this conversation anymore, but Peter catches on pretty quick once he hears the reporter speaking.

He watches, frowning (and admittedly, one of the first things he thinks is, Did we learn nothing from Terminator, guys?) until McCree speaks again. He stays quiet for a second or two, before redirecting his attention to the other man. ]

And what's this Overwatch thing have to do with that?

[twelveoclock]

[ He motions to the TV ] Things between omnics and and people started out... rough. Rougher than they are now.

They rebelled against their creators an' the world at large. That was the start of the Omnic Crisis. Overwatch was a specialized force created to combat the omnics. A lotta folks called 'em heroes, but eventually the Crisis ended, and Overwatch fell outa favor with... well, with everybody.

They imploded after that. Tension in the ranks, that kinda thing. Officially, they been inactive ever since.

[nostalgiabomb]

"Officially inactive." [ He parrots it back with a doubtful little look. ] But have they been working in the background since then? Like, say, sending Black Bart into the desert to spot UFOs?

[twelveoclock]

Dunno. Could be. [ he smirks a little, his expression basically confirming Peter's suspicions ] It's all just rumors.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He snorts, something dismissive, and finally settles back on the bed, leaning his weight on his good hand. ]

So some dead Skynet-fighting organization, which may or may not still exist, may or may not have sent Buffalo Bill out to see what landed in the middle of nowhere in New Mexico.

What were you even hoping to find?

[twelveoclock]

No idea. But we knew that whatever it was, it was best kept outa certain people's hands.

[nostalgiabomb]

Like the Deadwoods? [ will he ever get that right. ] Or someone else?