A Multifandom OneShot Collection

[Curtwen] I'll Fight

Based on a writing prompt. Prompt will be posted below.

It was the third day of Curt's hunt after Owen. The third day after his world had shattered around him for a second time.
Owen was alive.
Something that Curt would've given anything for just a few days ago, and now made everything so much worse. He knew how to deal with Nazis and hitmen, but not with an ex-lover turned villain. That was never part of any training.
He had traced Owen to a weapons museum that night and was now sneaking through the shadows where the light, which dimly illuminated some of the exhibition cases, didn't reach. It was eerily quiet. So quiet, that he could hear the blood pumping in his ears. Suddenly, a voice rang out from somewhere he couldn't quite locate.
"I knew you'd choose me."
Curt whipped around, his gun pointed in front of him and eyes darting around in the dark, looking for any sign of movement. "Yeah, well, don't flatter yourself," he said into the nothingness. "I'm not here to hug it out."
He heard Owen scoff. "Oh, is that so, my dear?" he asked with a sweet voice, the smugness amplified by his British accent. "Then why aren't you helping that Russian girl? Why go after me, a small cog in the system?"
Curt had to swallow hard. To save you, he thought. To wake you up from whatever crazy delusion you're suffering.
"Even a single missing cog can break the machine," he said instead. There was still no sign of Owen, though he thought he might have been getting closer, inch by inch. Suddenly, when he passed a column, a spear came down on his hand, blazingly fast, knocking the gun out of his hand. Before he could go after it, Owen stepped in front of him, the tip of his spear trained at Curt's throat. His eyes were cold while he pushed the agent backwards into the nearest light.
"Huh," he made, as if disappointed by the lack of difficulty it took to disarm him. "Well, that's a ravishing explanation. Frankly, though, I don't believe you." Curt's gaze flicked from the spear to the eyes of the man he thought to have lost years ago. The man he thought to have killed due to his stupidity. His eyes were once filled with brightness, sarcastic humour, and... love. Whenever he had looked at him back then, there was a softness in his gaze that was only ever meant for Curt. Now, the cold that had replaced it was mixed with anger and hatred.
"Owen, what happened to you," Curt whispered. The former MI6 agent took a few more steps toward him, pushing him further back and letting the light now also reach his own face.
"You happened to me, Curt," he said with a snarl. He spat out his name with disgust, making Curt flinch. "You and your recklessness. Leaving me for dead at the bottom of a staircase, like a broken doll. It was your stupidity that brought us into that situation, and I had to suffer for it."
"No," was all that Curt could push out, barely more than a whisper. He closed his eyes for a second, calming the beat of his heart and collecting his thoughts. When he opened them again, Owen's gaze was still icy cold, fixed on his face. "Please, Owen, I thought you were dead after that fall. I thought that if I were to reach you before the explosives went off, all that would lie before me would be the lifeless corpse of the man I love." Once again, Owen scoffed at his words. "I couldn't bear that. All I could manage was to get away as fast as possible." Curt averted his eyes, pain flaring in his chest at the memory. No matter how hard he had tried to drink it away, he could never forget that day. "I ran as far as I could and watched the building bury you under itself. But still, your ghost followed me. There hasn't been a single day since then, where I could shake you off. The more I tried to run, the closer you followed." He looked back up at Owen, who still stared at him without any emotion. He sighed. He was exhausted. He had barely slept since the hunt had been on. "God, Owen, the evening before we confronted von Nazi was the first time since then that I ever had a moment of genuine happiness. I thought that I could actually get a win for once, and have friends again."
Owen raised one brow. "Well, that's heartwarming, love, but if you think that changes anything, then you're even dumber than I remembered."
Curt slowly nodded to himself, realisation dawning that he might, after all, have to lose Owen again. For good, this time. But he wouldn't give up just yet.
Quickly, he grabbed the spear, janked Owen towards himself and then pushed him aside, throwing the man off balance just enough to have time to grab a staff from one of the displays, blocking an incoming attack from the spear at the last moment. His eyes were guarded now, focused on every movement that Owen made while they were circling each other.
"You know I'll win," Owen said, voice calm as if stating a fact. "I've always been the better spy."
Curt swallowed, trying not to let the stinging sadness distract him. "And you know that I'll fight."
Owen's mouth twitched, seemingly amused by the naivety of the man in front of him. "Typical Curt. Pretending to be a hero." Curt's lips were pressed into a thin line. "You know, I admired that back then. Before it was my demise."
Owen's features softened for a moment, but not long enough to be distracted. Curt tightened the grip on his staff, knuckles turning white. "You're a jerk," he pressed out. "You know I didn't mean for any of this to happen. It took me years to even touch a gun again. Your loss broke my heart."
Owen glanced at the watch on his wrist at that, easily deflecting Curt's attack when the agent thought he saw an opening. The wood of their weapons made a clanking noise when they were crossed between them, their faces now merely inches apart. Curt had to concentrate not to let his knees wobble. He could smell him. The scent of a familiar cologne that regularly followed him into his nightmares, mixed with gunpowder and a bit of leather. But there was now also the stench of something new, barely there but still noticeable enough for Curt's stomach to twist. Chimera. His gaze met the eyes of the man he loved, now an impenetrable wall that gave up nothing about what he might have thought or felt.
"Well," Owen started, and Curt could feel his breath dancing over his face when he talked. "It's time to say goodbye for now, I need to catch my boat."
And just like that, Curt was being shoved backwards, needing to find his balance while Owen vanished into the darkness - leaving behind the ever so slight trace of his smell, and a man who tried his best to swallow back tears that came dangerously close to falling.