[There's no witty retort, no sass, no one-liner. His head hurts and he's too addled for that. All he can keep focused on is the task at hand, the other man's wrist in his and that he's not gonna' let go. McCree keeps holding on, eyes angry and pleading.
Logical thought has been punched out of him already and a baser instinct convinces him he might need to punch back if that gets 76 to calm down. Knock some sense into the asshole--McCree'll do it. But the thought comes too little too late, and the way he rears his other wrist back is sluggish, easy enough for even an old soldier to see.
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Logical thought has been punched out of him already and a baser instinct convinces him he might need to punch back if that gets 76 to calm down. Knock some sense into the asshole--McCree'll do it. But the thought comes too little too late, and the way he rears his other wrist back is sluggish, easy enough for even an old soldier to see.
He's going to have to make him.]