Chapter Text
Oh god, he was dying.
Curt dragged his body through the dark streets of London, bleeding heavily from his side, trying not to panic. He’d never get to make Owen proud.
Owen.
A whimper escaped Curt’s lips as he kept pushing forward, just chanting, you can do it, Mega, just a little bit further, you’re almost there, you’re almost there-
Curt didn’t even realize where his feet had taken him until he was standing in front of a familiar apartment door, fumbling with his keys.
Oh god. This was his and Owen’s apartment.
This was the place they would go whenever they needed to lay low, when they needed to patch each other up after a botched mission, or even when they just wanted to hold each other close after a long day’s work.
Curt hadn’t been back there since Owen. . . Since he’d died.
Curt closed his eyes for a moment, bracing himself as he pushed the door open.
Things weren’t quite how he remembered them being, but he brushed it off as the blood loss clouding his memories. The slippers that Curt recalled being near the door were replaced with a pair of dress shoes, and the stack of books that was on the side table near the entryway had been moved and rearranged.
Curt stumbled his way through the apartment, barely even taking the time to remove his shoes. He headed right to the bathroom, movements heavy as he opened the drawers and looked for the first aid kit.
“Curt? What the devil are you doing here?”
Owen.
Curt hadn’t heard his voice in three long years, but he would know it anywhere. He froze in his movements, turning to look at Owen, momentarily forgetting about his injury.
Owen was looking at him with an expression of confusion mixed with something Curt couldn’t place. Anger? Hatred? That’s impossible; Owen could never hate him. Owen loved him. Most predominantly, though, was worry.
Curt took two steps forward before collapsing into Owen’s arms. “Owen, Owen,” He mumbled his partner’s name like a prayer. “Take me. Take me with you. Don’t leave me here alone.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Curt?” Owen was just as warm and strong as he remembered, and Curt could practically feel the worry washing off him in waves now.
Curt raised a hand to cup Owen’s cheek, beginning to cry. “Take me with you back to heaven.”
Owen looked at him in horror, and Curt realized that his hand was covered with his own blood. Now, he had marred his angel’s face with it.
“Hold tight, my love,” Owen said softly, and Curt could feel himself being lifted. “It’ll all be okay soon.”
Curt closed his eyes, accepting death.