Men With No Names

Jesse McCree had certainly had better months.

His chest still throbbed when he exerted himself, breath coming at a much slower pace than he was used to. His ribs felt strained, not surprising that he had been thrown from the top of four story building only a month ago. Only by the virtue of his mechanical left arm and a surprisingly soft wall had he slowed his fall enough to avoid death upon impact. The entire arm was still battered from the elbow down, most of the paintwork scraped off, leaving dull metal open to the eye. But he had survived.

And now here he was, sitting alone in a diner somewhere along eastern edge of Arizona, hundreds of miles from the fall that had nearly taken his life. It was a quaint little place, quiet and homey. The kindly old woman manning the counter hadn't asked a single question about his scars, outfit or general state of disrepair but had instead directed him to sit wherever he pleased and signal her when he was ready to order. He was nursing a steaming cup of coffee and considering trying to eat something when the doorbell ringed.

Footsteps, but odd. Metallic clanks on the black and white tile of the floor, slow and steady. Behind them, shrouded by their volume, softer pattering, almost like bare feet. Jesse didn't turn; he preferred to let strangers keep their peace. The old lady began to say something, but stopped suddenly, as if in shock. Might've been an Omnic; they were a rarer sight in secluded regions like this one. More footsteps, the doorbell ringing again; somebody else, wearing boots of some sort.

"C-can I getcha anything, sir?" the old lady asked, that twang in her voice shaken, a fearful quaver to her tone. "Ma'ams?"

There was no response but a softer mechanical sound that sounded quite a bit like a gun being cocked, and Jesse sighed. He was not in the mood to get in a gunfight, especially not with an omnic. But he rose and stood, hand going to his gunbelt, fingers grazing the worn pearl grip of his Peacekeeper. He turned, poncho swaying with the motion, and stared down the pair.

And then he froze, because he was looking at a dead man.

"Jesse." That voice… harsh, rasping, the voice of a man who had seen far too much and lived far too long for the dangers he surrounded himself with.

White hair, close to the scalp in a buzz cut. A face more a patchwork of scars than a cohesive human expression, the most evident a thick pink line splitting the forehead in two. Lips, pale and dry, twisted in a half-scowl. There were no eyes, just a horizontal orange visor, edged in dull steel that Jesse realized was bonded to the skin around it. A body that was more machine than man; orange prosthetic arms, bulky and strong; legs mechanical below the knee, and a head sheathed in steel leaving only the scalp and face open to sight.

He had two women with him. One was small and dark and grinning at Jesse with a mischevious look that reminded him uncomfortably of Ash in their younger days. Her hair was shorn from half her head, a series of wires attached to the scalp that intermittently lit up a soft violet shade. The other was taller, muscular, with red hair tied back in a tall ponytail. Freckled, and looking at Jesse with some sort of preemptive apologetic smile.

The man stepped forward, and Jesse's hand rose from his gun and towards him. He needed to know if this was real or a delusion brought on by a lingering concussion. The man caught his forearm in a strong, cold grip. Real. Present. Physical.

Jesse shuddered.

"Jack." he said, and the word sounded like madness on his tongue. "You're…"

"Alive." Jack Morrison, former Strike Commander of Overwatch and vigilante justice-seeker, finished Jesse's sentence for him. "It was close."

"And…" Jesse's eyes went up, scanned the two women. He knew the redhead, and his eyes narrowed. "You… you're Brigitte. Torbjorn's little girl."

She winced, a flash of misery so raw and fresh it made Jesse cringe in sympathy showing on her face for just a moment before disappearing again. She swallowed, hard, and Jesse knew his suspicions were correct. It was gone after a moment though, and she returned to her previous expression of apology.

"And you…" he looked at the other girl, who just gave him a smile and stepped closer to Jack, leaning against one of his arms.

"She's half the reason I'm alive." Jack said, nodding, before glancing over his shoulder at Brigitte. "And she's the other half."

Jesse let his eyes wander across all three, really taking them in. Jack was in a tank top and shorts, a curiously casual look ruined by his military-grade prosthetics. Brigitte was similarly dressed, and the the third girl was wearing a leather jacket and jeans, both in black. They all looked worn and tired, bags under both the girl's eyes, and Jack was probably only standing because he was a stubborn sonuvabitch who didn't understand the idea of 'recovery time'.

"Take a seat." he offered, gesturing to his booth. "You all look like hell."

It took a moment for everyone to end up seated, Jack insisting on being closest to the door and the other girl sitting next to him, while Jesse ended up opposite Jack with Brigitte beside him. The old woman approached them tentatively, but Jesse gave her a grin and she smiled weakly as she laid out three more menus.

"Water." Jack said, while the two women began browsing their own menus, Brigitte getting coffee with entirely too much sugar and the mystery woman requesting cola.

Jesse let them sit in peace for a minute, Brigitte folding her hands on the table and letting her posture slacken out while the mystery woman drummed her fingers atop the lacquered wooden surface. Jack just sat, that horizontal orange bar scanning back and forth across the empty diner.

"How many staff?" he asked, voice low, and Jesse sighed.

"The lady, and somebody cooking in the back." he said. "How did you find me?"

"This is exactly the sort of place you would go to hide." Jack said. "We rode Route 66 and followed tips. You aren't exactly inconspicuous; you ride a refurbished Harley and dress up like a gunslinger from the old movies. Plenty of people had seen you, and we saw your bike outside."

Jesse felt a twinge of annoyance at that; he had thought he was being subtle, travelling by night and sticking to rural areas, stopping in towns as little as possible except to sleep in motels for a few hours at a time. But he had to admit; Jack was right in accusing him of being predictable.

"Alright, that… that makes sense." McCree admitted, nodding once. "Why did you go huntin' for me, though? There's… there's not much left for us, Jack."

"There's always justice to be done." Jack replied, shaking his head. "Talon can't get away with this; not after everything else they've done. You know that as well as I do."

Jesse gave the other two a glance each; Brigitte was staring at the table's surface with that same thousand yard stare he'd seen on men and women who'd seen far too much for anybody, let alone a woman her age. The mystery woman was just leaning against Jack, smirking at Jesse, and the man was left with multiple questions as to just what she thought she was doing and whether or not she knew what it looked like.

"Jack…" Jesse's voice was low, hesitant. "What are you planning?"

Jack looked at him with that visor, a cyclopean orange eye like a band of magma over his face, and his lips twisted in a scowl.

"What I've always done," he said. "Saving the world… whether or not it wants me to."

Jesse didn't get an opportunity to reply to that statement, because moments afterwards the doorbell rang again and the old lady greeted the new customer from behind the counter, where she was putting their drinks on a tray.

"Good afternoon, ma'am…" Jesse stiffened up when he recognized the voice, and his hand went to his gunbelt for the second time in just a few minutes.

The woman standing by the door was tall, almost as tall as Jack but half as wide, and was looking directly at Jesse with a savage, toothy grin. She had the dark skin of a central-African with white hair from some godforsaken experiment that Jesse knew nothing about, pale brown eyes that glimmered with savage delight at the sight of him. Her dark red duster coat was a peculiar sight to get used to, but Jesse knew exactly how she had obtained it and how many men had died so she could take it from its previous owner.

Her hands were on her hips, and Jesse could see she still wore her knives in the open where most would hang a gun..

"Hey there, Jesse…" she said, sweet as sugar and cold as ice. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Jesse rose from his booth and drew, cocking before he cleared leather and firing once immediately. The old lady screamed, and the woman in red just stood there as the bullet flew, blowing her brains out against the glass door. She fell to the ground and Jesse turned when he realized there was no blood or brain matter being blown, before a fist crashed into his jaw and he was knocked awry.

Jack was rising from his seat, while Brigitte was snapped from her stupor and turned. Hands went to what were likely various concealed weapons, but Jesse was too focused on not being slit open to notice. He caught one of the woman's hands with his robotic one, and tried to put his peacekeeper against her gut. She forced the gun away with a palm to the wrist before wrapping her fingers around his throat, picking him up, and putting him through the table.

Wood splintered and snapped, and he was pretty sure one of his freshly healed ribs cracked again as he was slammed against the tile floor. His peacekeeper slipped away from his hand, and the woman kicked it away. Then it was her turn to take a hit as Jack drove a metal fist into her jaw and knocked her a good four feet away. She spat blood and giggled before ducking a follow up punch and slamming a fist into Jack's stomach.

Her knuckles bruised on impact and Jesse saw blood spurt from a broken finger before Jack grabbed her by the throat and hauled her straight up into the air, suspending her in his grip. She choked and spat, undamaged hand grabbing at his prosthetics, before she stabbed a knife into the elbow joint. The fingers splayed open and she fell to the ground, rolling backwards and rising to her feet.

Brigitte was out of the booth at that point, standing behind Jack, and Jesse was getting back up. Jack tore the knife from his elbow, closing his fist again and snarling like an enraged animal. The woman chuckled.

"You've really pissed someone off now, Jesse." she said. "Same goes for your unlucky little friends here. You're each worth a few million, and it's an open contract. Everybody I know is on the hunt… shame I got to you first. Ashe'll be real upset I broke her favourite boy-toy without her…"

Jack had apparently had enough of hearing the woman's taunts and laughter, lunging forward with a right cross that would have made any boxer proud. The result was a monstrous crack as the woman's jaw broke, followed by her limp form disappearing as it fell to the ground. Jesse tried to speak but coughed, and when he looked at his hand he saw flecks of red.

Shit.

"She's got some sort of displacement tech!" Brigitte warned, looking this way and that, before a booted foot slammed into the pit of her knee, driving her off her feet.

Jack whirled, and that visor of his began glowing like a lantern before he simply backstepped away from a knife strike, catching the wrist in one metal hand. He twisted hard and the wrist snapped, the woman in red gasping in pain before Jack's other fist crashed into her face in a straight jab. Her nose went off like a bomb, a blast of red coating Jack's knuckles before another punch crashed into her mouth and something, perhaps multiple somethings, cracked and splintered as her front teeth were demolished.

"Enough!" he bellowed, turning and throwing her to the floor before stomping hard, a metal foot cracking ribs and pinning her to the ground. "Who put out the hit?"

The woman in red was coughing up blood a little too much to actually answer the question, and Jesse grabbed Jack by the shoulder, trying to pull him away. Jack shrugged his hand off and reached down, grabbing the woman by the lapels and hauling her upright, then into the air. The old lady was screaming something fierce, and even Jesse went wide-eyed when Jack threw the woman through the picture window over their ruined booth, demolishing the pane and leaving a glistening pool of shattered glass underneath the woman's bloodied form.

Jack stepped out through the destroyed window, glass shards crunching under metallic feet, and knelt down beside the fallen woman, one hand clutching her unbroken wrist.

"Who put out the hit?" the demand was spoken in a low growl, and when the woman didn't answer his other hand came up and snapped the woman's pinky finger like a twig. "Four fingers left. Who put out the hit?"

The woman spat blood in Jack's face, and he didn't so much as wince before snapping her ring finger.

"Three fingers left." he said. "Who put out the hit?"

"Dunnooooo…" the woman rasped, voice gurgling in her throat, and Jack snapped her middle finger.

"Two fingers left." he said. "Who put out the hit?"

"Jack!" Jesse grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull away. "For God's sake, she doesn't know!"

"She knows," Jack said, grabbing the woman's index finger. "Two fingers left. Who. Put. Out. The. Hit?"

The woman coughed up a wad of bloody mucous and grinned, teeth stained a pinkish red by all the gore in her mouth and throat. Jack snarled at her, and snapped the finger with an almost gentle twist of his wrist.

"Thumb." Jack said, and Jesse just watched, hearing footsteps behind him. "Who put out the hit? Was it Talon?"

"I…" the woman began to speak, then coughed up some more blood, then spoke again. "Don't… know… money… was anony… anon… anonymous…"

"Wrong answer." Jack snapped her thumb, and then someone with red hair tackled him to the floor.

"Stop!" the demand was a cry of anger and something else, something Jesse really didn't want to dig into, and Jack was left staring up at an angry Brigitte straddling his chest, pinning him to the ground. "That's enough, Jack! She doesn't know!"

"She does." Jack replied, reaching up to shove her off. "She knows. She's not the sort to take an anonymous job."

Jesse looked at the woman in red who, despite spending the last minute being utterly brutalized by an angry cyborg, was still smiling that big predatory grin. He winced at the site of her face; her nose was a lump of crimson flesh, and her smile was missing several teeth, while the others were cracked and splintered into jagged messes.

Brigitte was insistent on remaining atop Jack, holding his arms back with her own. It was a losing battle, but Jesse was still impressed by the girl's strength. Were those tears in her eyes? He hoped not; that would make this even worse.

She leaned in towards Jack and whispered something in his ear, and Jack fell still for a moment. Then his lips twisted into a scowl and he rolled, throwing her off.

"No." he said. "But this isn't just for him."

"And what about the rest?" Brigitte demanded, rolling onto her back. "What about all your friends? What about Genji, and Gerard, and… and Reinhardt? Would they want this?"

Jack ignored her, stalking back towards the woman in red, and Jesse watched and listened as Brigitte said the last four words Jack would ever want to hear.

"Would Angela want this?" Brigitte asked, and Jack froze, still as a stone.

Jesse watched as a series of emotions flickered over his old friend's face like a slideshow; anger, misery, anger again, even deeper misery, nostalgia, more anger, then finally, understanding. Even without eyes it was easy to read Jack Morrison; his entire face was a window to his soul. It had been Gerard who was hard to read. Jack… Jack was an open book once you knew what to look for.

"No." he said, voice soft. "She… she wouldn't want… this."

It was like watching the old soldier be killed yet again, for the third time of his life, fists clenched and jaw set, both slowly loosening until he was almost swaying in the breeze. Jesse put a hand on his shoulder, and Jack let it remain.

"I need your help, Jesse." he admitted, voice low. "Everyone else… everyone else is gone. It's just us now."

"I…" It was Jesse's turn to hesitate. "I know. At least, I figure I knew."

He smiled, though, despite it all, before stepping back. Brigitte stood beside him, a look of steadfast determination on her face. The mystery woman Jesse still couldn't place was standing behind them a little, still grinning.

"So…" Jesse saluted for the first time in years. "What are your orders, commander?"

Brigitte followed suit, and Jack just stared at them for a moment, the ghost of smile creeping across his face before he nodded.

"We're going to finish the mission." Jack said, looking over at the fallen woman, whose smile had faded and turned into a look of confusion. "We're going to avenge our fallen comrades. We're going to get the job done once and for all."

He paused, and looked back at Jesse and Brigitte, and Jesse knew the next words before they came out of his mouth.

"We're going to save the world." Jack said. "And that means one thing."

Another pause, a glance at the woman, and Jack's fists clenched again.

"We're going to destroy Talon." he said. "Whatever it takes."

"Understood, sir." Jesse nodded, before realizing that they had attracted a crowd of onlookers, some fifteen-odd locals all staring in awe or horror at the sight before them. "Maybe give us the plan after we get the hell out of here?"

Jack looked around and noticed the same thing, before looking back at Jesse and nodding.

"Lead the way, Lieutenant." he ordered.

iiiiiiiiii

Jesse led the way, all right. He led the way straight down the highway a good fifty miles, after turning in the would-be assassin to the local sheriff without so much as a 'how do you do' and leaving a few hundred in cash for the diner before taking off. Jesse wanted to clear the county by the end of the day, and they made such good time they were two counties away by the time the sun began to fall.

At that point Jesse pulled his bike over into the parking lot of a motel, the sign out front boasting that it was going to be the only one for the next hundred miles. Jack and the girls, loaded up together in a beat up truck that kicked and spat whenever the old soldier touched the brakes, followed him in. The four probably made a hell of a sight crossing towards the motel's office, wearing their beat up clothes and possessing no less than four artificial limbs total if Jack's two leg-halves counted as a whole.

Their approach was viewed by a young woman sitting behind the counter, who didn't seem to recognize the three of them in any way but did seem to realize they were potentially trouble. She had a pensive look about her, not helped when Jack almost broke the door opening it with his glitching hand, which had begun spasming due to the knife wound in his elbow.

"Two rooms for one night," Jesse said, giving the girl an easy smile. "My friends haven't had the best day, so the best rooms you have, please."

The woman nodded slowly, reaching under her desk for the keys. The transaction was quick and painless, and Jesse paid her a little extra in exchange for some confidentiality and privacy. The driveway was almost empty, barring a battered old hovercar that looked about ready for the junkyard itself. It was only after Jesse and Jack had gotten themselves into the room (and Jack had subjected it to a five-point security sweep and bug check) that they relaxed.

"So…" Jesse hung his hat on the hook near the door, giving the same courtesy to his gun-belt. Jack just sat on the bed nearer to the door, hands folded together in front of him.

"You gonna tell me what the plan is?" Jesse asked, sitting down heavily in an overstuffed armchair with a groan of pain as his ribs flexed. "Where we're headed? 'Cause the way I see it, we're gonna have a hell of a time doin' much of anything being outgunned and outnumbered the way we are."

Jack was silent for a moment, possibly gathering his thoughts. His fingers remained interlaced, and that orange visor slowly traced up to look square at Jesse. Jack looked like living hell; his face was scarred, bruised and beaten, like the rest of him. Even his comparatively new mechanical parts seemed worn and weary.

"I have a plan." he said finally, looking at the floor again. "It's a bad one. Too many variables, too much relying on luck and timing. We don't even have the resources we need yet, and it's on a strict schedule. But it's all we've got."

Jack was never one to share the full details of a plan, so Jesse didn't bother asking. What he did do was think on that; one thing stuck out to him. Something he may be able to help with… though part of him was hesitant to even bring it up. The solution… it was one he didn't really want to go through with.

"Resources." Jesse repeated. "What do we need?"

"Money." Jack said. "Ammunition. A vehicle; something that flies, fast."

Jesse sighed, looking at the floor himself for a moment. The sound of crickets chirping signalled the end of the day, and he rolled his organic shoulder before closing his eyes and biting the bullet.

"I can get us all of it." he said, and he could hear whatever metal doohickey Jack now called a neck whir as he looked up. "I… I know someone. But I don't know if she'll be willing to talk to me at all. Might come to bullets… with her, it usually does."

"Who are we talking about?" Jack asked, and Jesse sighed again.

"My old partner," he began, looking up. "Her name's Elizabeth. But never call her that; she goes by Ashe."

"Ashe…" Jack scowled. "Deadlock."

"Best I can do." Jesse replied, wincing as he leaned back. "You say we need money, ammo, and somethin' that flies. Deadlock has all three. But I'll need to find a way to meet Ashe."

"Can't you just call her?" Jesse felt a flash of indignation at that statement.

"Hell, Jack, I don't just keep in contact with all my old criminal buddies," he retorted. "Besides, Ashe and I… I burned that bridge a long time ago. Most in Deadlock still know me, fear me, even respect me. But her…"

He smiled wistfully, thinking back to memories of white hair in desert sunlight, plump red lips meeting his own amidst the haze of gunsmoke and dust… then he felt that throbbing ghostly pain in his shoulder, and he closed his eyes as the smile turned into a frown.

"She was different." Jack finished his sentence. "I know your history, McCree. It was all in your file back when… when Gabriel recruited you. Will she talk to you?"

Jesse nodded.

"She will." he said. "Probably shoot me after, but… it's fair."

"How do we find her?" Jack asked.

"I know a guy Deadlock uses for intelligence." Jesse replied. "I'll send him something, a tip. There's a train, southbound through Deadlock Gorge in just a few days. They'll hit it if I send them the tip that there's something real valuable on there."

Jack's fists clenched and Jesse smirked, raising a hand.

"Relax, sheriff Morrison," he said. "The train belongs to Talon. Or at least, it's their stuff being shipped. Crews nothing but bots, not even Omnics. Completely clean. We do some damage to Talon, get ourselves a chat with Ashe, and maybe even get some of that ammo you wanted from the train."

Jack's fists unclenched again, and he nodded once.

"How long to Deadlock Gorge?" he asked.

"Two days if we ride all day." Jesse said.

"We leave at dawn." Jack said. "Tell the girls."

IIIII/Author's Note/IIIII

Welcome to a vaguely pretentious exercise in doing my favourite thing in writing; destroying everything, killing almost everyone and making the survivors pick up the pieces and save the world... or die trying.

I don't know much about the Overwatch fanfiction community, besides the basics that presumably everybody here has played the game and probably consumed most of, if not all, the third-party media. In that case, I must make the somewhat shameful admission that while I've read most of the comics, watched all the shorts and played a fair bit of the game (Moira main represent) I haven't consumed every single piece of content involved with Overwatch. So if I take any small liberties with lore and backstories it's likely because either a) I don't actually know and am making something up or b) I genuinely can't find any info on it.

I'm not going to demand you be gentle with reviews, but please be constructive with your criticisms and tell me what you like, don't like, and hope to see. This story's pretty well plotted-out in my head, but there's plenty to be changed and adjusted depending on feedback. I'll also make an effort to reply to most longer reviews (or the funny ones) in PMs, but I won't do it in my Author's Notes; I find that just ends up being obnoxious for people who just want to read the story and usually pads word counts. This is probably the longest Author's Note this story will have.

Well, with all that out of the way, welcome to Men With No Names, named so for the spectacular Heavy Horses song Pale Rider, which was used in the Reunion cinematic and has been playing on repeat for the last half-hour or so and fuelled most of that last scene with Jack and Jesse. I recommend it highly. Fight scene with the unnamed assassin (don't worry, she has a role beyond this) brought to you by Castle Vania's John Wick Medley.

Hope you all had a good time, and hope you keep reading. Until then, sayonara.