Chapter Text
Curt opened his eyes to a harsh white light.
He said nothing.
There was nothing he wanted to say. Was he doomed to repeat the day no matter what? To be killed as a best case scenario, and hear a grief stricken Owen's screams of anguish; to watch Owen be shot down as a worst case scenario, and then be killed himself?
There was no way out unless he could break the loop. Great. Good. The only glaring problem with that was that he had no idea how to do that.
It occurred to him that maybe all he had to do was make it to the next day. Or maybe there was something specific he needed to do. Maybe it would just end eventually, with no warning whatsoever.
But would it?
Besides, he would never know if the loop was over or not until he died. Great.
Oleg was only alerted to Curt's wakefulness when Owen walked towards him, almost transfixed.
Curt realized only then that there was something wet on his cheeks.
And once he'd noticed the tears, there was no hope of holding them back. He saw Owen flinch when he let out the most guttural sob he'd ever allowed to escape him; and Owen had to know something was wrong, because Oleg was out cold before he could say a word.
Curt decided at that moment that he didn't care anymore. That he could allow himself to be comforted, just this once, because there was no escape for him.
"Curt?"
Owen's voice was the sweetest voice he'd ever heard and he leaned his head forward. Tears spilled onto his trousers.
Someone wiped the tears away. Owen. His hands were cupping Curt's cheeks like they were made for it.
He sobbed again.
"Oh, Curt, love, what's wrong?" Owen asked him, softly. Curt didn't answer. He didn't know how to.
"Curt?" he continued, "My love?"
Oh, he's going there .
My love was a nickname of the special kind. One that Owen didn't use lightly. He must've been worried.
Curt forced himself to smile at him: "Hey…"
"What's wrong? Curt, you're worrying me."
He knew he was. But what could he do? It was the pain of a prisoner that didn't know if or when he was going to be killed for good. One with a cellmate who was blind and deaf and, despite loving him dearly and being so close, could do nothing to help him. He wondered how long Owen had been a prisoner, if at all. He wondered what had happened to him in those four years, and then killed his curiosity, knowing he would never get an answer. If he was lucky.
But was he ever?
"Curt?"
Right, he'd asked him a question. Curt nodded quietly.
"I'm fine." he murmured, but his resolve fell along with the handcuffs and he collapsed into Owen's embrace. Breathing in his cologne, he felt at home again, and he almost wanted to just… stay there, every time, until the guards came and riddled them both with bullets. But no, that would be cruel to Owen, even though he wasn't even sure that version of Owen would go on existing after his death. But, if he was going to, then Owen would have to watch him get gunned down, and then who knew what could happen to him.
Curt found the thought more distressing than he'd anticipated; his breath caught in his throat, and he pulled his arms tighter around Owen before letting him go. Kinda. He still kept his hands fisted in his jacket. What to say?
The usual let's get out of here ?
No, there was one thing he kept repeating to himself, over and over. More to whatever was up there than to Owen, he whispered it.
"Don't let me die."
Owen seemed surprised, but nodded gravely.
“Let’s go.”
Curt did not want to die. Not really.
It had taken him longer than he would've liked to realize that completely; to tell himself, in those exact words, I want to live .
He had died six times, and yet he hadn't died once. Not really. Because was a momentary death really death? Hardly.
It occurred to him that maybe there was something he could do.
He turned to Owen: "Owen?"
"Yes?"
"Tell me a secret."
Owen looked at him with a mix of is he okay and is this really the right time that Curt would probably, more generically, define as are you serious .
"Now?" was all he asked.
Curt nodded.
"I… Curt, we're in the middle of a m-" Owen tried, but Curt dragged him into a convenient broom closet by the wrist.
"Owen, please. This is important." he murmured, "This is… more important than I'll ever be able to tell you."
"They'll find us here."
"Maybe." Curt chuckled, bitterly, "But I have an idea. Trust me. Do you trust me?"
Owen took a long pause. Then he sighed: "With my life, dear."
"Bad decision." Curt laughed again, even less sincere than before, "Regardless, I need you to tell me something you have never told me before today."
"Curt-"
"Please."
It might have been the crack in his voice that did it. Owen's shoulders slumped in defeat and he paused to think.
An agonizingly slow minute ticked by.
Then: "I think I was seven years old when I committed my first crime." whispered Owen.
"Really?"
"Yes. I stole a toy from the marketplace. It was just a spinning top, really. But seven-year old Owen wanted it, apparently." he chuckled.
Curt felt a soft smile bloom on his lips: "What did it look like?"
"Red." Owen replied, without hesitation, "Shiny red, with little yellow and brown patterns."
"What were the patterns?"
"Mostly triangles." Owen laughed, "God, I can't believe I still remember it! It broke less than a month later."
Curt laughed with him, softly, taking in the pleasant tickle of Owen's breath against his skin. He reached for his hand, wrapping his fingers around his palm, and then he leaned forward to bury his head on Owen's shoulder.
"I love you." he murmured, "Whatever happens, remember that. I love you. I never want you to think otherwise. It's not worth it."
"I'll never doubt it." Owen promised, wrapping his free arm around Curt's shoulders, "But, Curt…"
He seemed to pause when Curt froze stiff under his touch. But the wait was worse than whatever he meant to say: "Yes?"
"Is now… really the best time to have this conversation, dear?"
Curt deflated: "No, not for you."
"And for you?"
"Yes." Curt admitted.
"Then it's the best time."
Curt's smile broke into a grin: "Don't get cute with me, you bastard."
"It might be easier if you weren't cuddling me, love."
Curt mumbled a protest, but made no attempt to move. Silently, he chastised himself for falling into Owen’s embrace when he knew he would be too weak to leave it. He was right. They might be found if he stayed. If they could just escape…
Curt bit his lip.
“We have to go.” he said, finally. Owen nodded, reaching for the doorknob.
The lock clicked, useless.
A weight sank in Curt’s gut. He almost laughed. Of course.
Voices outside.
A hiss. Gas.
Owen turned his head towards him, dark, sincere eyes shining with love; he cupped Curt's face again, dried his tears.
He said something, but the noise drowned it out.
His lips said I love you too .
Curt woke up in that chair again.
He smiled. Closed his eyes.
It took Owen a while to realize he was awake.
“He’s awake!” said Oleg.
“Welcome, Mr Mega. Make yourself comfortable.”
Oh, slipped a bit on the pronunciation there, doll.
Curt smiled. There was… something new. Something better. A sort of peace he hadn’t found before, in any of the loops: a new feeling. He turned to Owen and his terrible disguise. If he hadn’t been tied up, he was sure he would’ve kissed him: "I'm pretty comfortable as it is, sugar. If you could find some margaritas, it would be perfect."
A shiver ran up his spine, and he felt it.
Something’s different .