Patreon Compilation – Fic#123 – Soldier76/McCree – Macro/Micro; heavily implied character death; broken bones; predicament – The End (Patreon)

Soldier76/McCree – This is a second part from an earlier reward drabble. Jack got shrunk for some reason and found his way into Jesse's room. Jesse is completely oblivious to Jack being there which leads to very... unfortunate events for Jack. BE AWARE THAT THERE IS HEAVILY IMPLIED CHARACTER DEATH AT THE END.

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Part 1 (Patreon Link)

The heat and stench is suffocating. Jack’s head feels like it is about to split like a ripe watermelon as he lies stuffed in Jesse McCree’s reeking armpit and contemplates what a miserable end it would be to his otherwise pretty good life. He is the Strike Commander, for Christ’s sake – they have a statue of him outside headquarters. He just… he couldn’t die suffocating on McCree’s rank farts as he snored away-

Suddenly, the sounds around him change. In his prison of moist skin and hair, it is very difficult to hear anything at all, but this is loud enough that even he can’t mistake it: alarms suddenly blaring into McCree’s rooms, jerking him out of his slumber in a second.

Jack doesn’t know what’s happening; one moment he is almost dying beneath McCree’s body, the next he is grabbing for dear life onto his copious amounts of armpit fur to not fall down to his death as the giant jerks back the blanket and gets out of his bed.

It’s kind of impressive how well Gabriel has whipped the cowboy into shape already, but Jack can’t find it in him to think of him charitably when he almost had his bones crushed by the stinking oaf.

He gasps desperately for the bit of fresh air he can pull into his lungs. His body is aching all over, grip made slippery by McCree’s sweat. He tries to scream and make Jesse aware of his whereabouts, but the blaring of the alarm drowns the little squeaks he can hope to make.

Why isn’t Jesse feeling him crushed between his biceps and his ribs? He tries to pull on his armpit hair to maybe itch him enough that he would go scratch and finally find him, but he doesn’t… he doesn’t have the strength for it.

Once more, tears sting Jack’s eyes. The alarm is so loud it is about to split his head. He can’t find a second of respite to just clear his mind and gather himself; everything just happens so much and so fast…

All of a sudden, the overhead alarm stops. Jack’s ears are ringing; he can feel something trickling down his right cheek and surmises that his eardrum might have ruptured on that side. His ankle is screaming at him with a throbbing ache. Is it broken?

McCree has stopped… whatever it had been what he had been doing and is just standing there still, listening into the sudden silence, Jack thinks.

A new ring starts up; far more quiet than the alarms just now. Some part in the back of Jack’s head supplies him with the info that that is the sound of their communication devices. McCree’s upper body suddenly swivels as he jerks into the direction of the sound.

The motion takes Jack off guard. He pulls in a shocked little breath of air, but is too panicked to even scream as Jesse’s wet armpit air finally slides out of his desperately grasping knuckles.

Jack flies through the air for what has to be just a split second but feels like an eternity before he finds himself neatly deposited… somewhere. He’s disoriented for a bit as he is suddenly encased in darkness before the stink hits him and has him reeling.

He flails but only finds – once again – fur curling around his limbs and ensnaring him like some goddamn vines.

In a cruel twist of fate, Jack somehow finds himself slotted in McCree’s asscrack like a wedge. He could laugh if he weren’t crying actual hot tears that are streaming down his cheeks while his ankle screams in agony and renders his body immobile for now.

He hadn’t thought that the stench from being trapped in McCree’s armpit could get even worse, but… here he is. He doesn’t want to know how it looks like further down in Jesse McCree’s asscrack.

McCree is wearing underwear – why?? why?? Jack would have sworn his right nut that this slob of a man would sleep naked – further encasing him in the reek of old sweat, badly wiped ass and the lingering remnants of McCree’s earlier rank fart.

The soldier gets moving, his cheeks starting to encase Jack more and more until he is wedged in deep and personal. Why is Jesse not feeling this?! Is this a joke? Is there a camera somewhere and the whole base is pissing itself with laughter as they watch their commander nearly shit himself in fear?

He can hear McCree taking the call. With only one ear and stuck where he is, it is nigh impossible to eavesdrop on anything McCree is saying, but he can hear him mutter what sounds like Gabriel’s name… and a few seconds later his own name.

“They are searching for me.” The thought shoots through his head red hot and crystal clear but fizzles out as fast as it had come. He’s helpless; he can’t do anything. If he couldn’t make McCree aware of his situation before this, he sure as Hell won’t be able to pull any attention to himself now that he knows help is so very painfully close…

“Nah… haven’t seen ‘im around, boss. Came back from that mission and been sleepin’ ever since.”

As McCree says that, words barely intelligible over the sleepy growl of his voice, he leans down to fish around for some discarded pants on the floor… and once again lets one rip that makes water shoot to Jack’s eyes. It is worse this time. He is not only much, much closer to the source, he can also feel it; the putrid, hot air wafting around his legs and abdomen.

It goes on for a perversely long time before petering out; McCree even paused while bent down, only finally grabbing his pants and standing back up when he is sure his intestines have expelled everything.

There are tears once more streaming down Jack’s face. The fact that he has to huff McCree’s fart just to stay alive is breaking him almost more than anything that has happened since his unfortunate accident that left him as small as he is now. The stink simply is not receding, a cloud of it trapped inside the stained underwear this slob is wearing. What did he say? Mission? Maybe he hasn’t even changed this sorry piece of clothing since he went out days ago…

Jack holds on for dear life, now openly sobbing as he feels McCree starting to move around, his cheeks sliding against each other until Jack is so firmly trapped between them that there is no escape.

It is worse than when he had been wedged half beneath McCree’s body and into his armpit; there at least he had known that sooner or later his ordeal would be over with and McCree would simply crush him and end it all.

Jesse’s ass is another difficulty altogether: the pressure is only enough to keep him wedged in there tightly but not enough to kill him. That is, if McCree didn’t sit down and finally snap his neck.

If Gabriel pulled the alarm and even contacted McCree personally, he is sure that Jesse won’t have a single minute of rest until they finally found Jack…

He doesn’t know how much time passes. He is stuck where he is, surrounded by the stink of McCree’s rancid farts. What the Hell did the bastard eat while he was out on mission?

It doesn’t even register properly when his body starts to move. One moment he is half-delirious stuck in the hairiest crack he’s ever had the displeasure of seeing, the next he is… sliding.

Falling.

There is only darkness around him. It takes a long while for his sluggish brain to tell him that McCree must be putting on pants and his movements have finally dislodged Jack from misery. It also means that he is practically funnelled into the cowboy’s boots.

For a second he is free, sitting in the heel of McCree’s boot, the air around him not clean but at least… tolerable. Above him is a circle of light that is snuffed out in the next second as the cowboy starts to push his foot in.

This is it. Now… now it will be over and done with. He almost welcomes it at this point, his whole body aching, ankle screaming with a crushed bone. Now he’d just be crushed beneath McCree’s heel.

An undignified end… but at least it would be over.