#oh yeah. hi btw i am one of those people who headcanons hard that owen grew up in working class london

[starpirateee]

For drabbles, may i request an alternate universe where Curt fell instead of Owen in SAF?

Oh anon this one's MEAN, straight up. I'm more than happy to oblige, though!

tw for blood, injury and death (your canon typical act 1 part 1 nonsense 😔)

"Hands up, both of you!"

Owen subtly slipped his pistol into the inner pocket of his jacket as he and Curt backed off so far they ended up backing into each other, and raised his hands as a point of surrender. They had been on a rather impressive chase through the halls of the facility, to the point where there had been a second where Owen had thought they were going to get away.

But, typical to their luck, that wasn't the case. Someone was pissed about the plans that Curt was about to steal, and perhaps the fact that Owen had offloaded into a guy's kneecaps didn't exactly help their case…

Feeling Curt pressed against him brought a little bit of calm to the storm, he supposed. The two of them were in this together, after all, and it was a comfort to know that included going down together when something went wrong.

The Russian agents began to advance, forcing Curt and Owen that little bit closer to one another. Owen counted six on his end, all holding various firearms. They weren't messing around, one of them would likely shoot if they so much as moved in a way they didn't like. He felt Curt take a heavy breath against his back, his shoulder blades rising and falling like he was trying to pull himself together. He dared to try and shoot him a glance over his shoulder, and then the entire building shook beneath their feet.

"Curt?" Owen's eyes widened, watching the agents fall to the ground one by one. He and Curt had built such a sturdy support system by accident that they managed to remain the only ones upright.

Curt looked around frantically, eventually meeting Owen's gaze. "I lied! I set the timers for three minutes!"

Owen decided he would think about that at a later time, when there was less chance thay were going to be actively killed. "Oh god… Curt, you're gonna be the death of me, I swear to-"

"We don't have time! Kill me later, we gotta go!"

The pair of them started running again, Owen only a few steps ahead of Curt. he gripped the railing as tight as he could manage, pushing himself up and trying to work out their next move before it happened. They needed to stay ahead of the game, and it helped that he already knew the layout of this place a little.

Curt was trailing his path. His footsteps clattered against the metal staircase, keeping good pace-

Until they came to an abrupt stop.

"What're you doing, old boy?" He asked, slowing his pace a little.

No response.

Panicked, Owen glanced back, at the exact moment he heard a piercing scream rip through the air. When he turned around, he just about managed to catch Curt slip through the gap in the railing, caught on the tail end of…

Of the banana peel that he'd left on the ground not a quarter of an hour before.

Owen gasped, rushing forwards and reaching out for his hand. "Curt! Hold on!"

Their fingertips brushed together. Owen made an effort to lean forwards as much as he could, but he couldn't get there fast enough. Curt fell through his grasp, through the balcony…

Owen's body carried him away from the balcony until his back slammed against the wall. He breathed, his eyes wide, and then scrambled away from the scene. He didn't have the time.

He raced out of the facility, hearing the vague sound of pursuit behind him. There was one thing on his mind, and that was escape. Escape before the two of them succumbed to the same fate. Escape, so he still had the chance to go back and look for Curt after-

There was another violent rumble that shook the ground and forced Owen to sturdy himself against the nearest wall. God only knows he was powering himself on pure adrenaline alone, and he was well aware of the mere seconds he had left before the whole building caved in on itself.

This rush of adrenaline carried him out, and in the moment, he'd almost completely forgotten that he was running alone, that he was no longer clearing a path for another man.

As the blasts became more frequent, he turned, instinctively checking for Curt. But, there was nobody following him, neither Russian or American… What the hell did Curt think he was playing at? Where was he?

Oh.

Of course.

Curt had fallen from a sizeable height off the balcony, and he wasn't coming back. All logic dictated that he was already dead, though Owen's better instincts begged him to believe that wasn't the case. While there was nobody to blame for Curt's fall but Curt himself, it still hurt to think about how he was almost not the first one up the stairs, or that Owen had not bothered to protest when Curt refused to lock in the saftey barricades. He had set his timers for three minutes. He'd blatantly lied… Now look where he was.

Owen didn't have the time to curse him out, because just as he turned and went to carry on running, the building started to come down just beside him, and he was thrown back into the air. A sharp fracture of broken brick hit him square in the face, tearing the skin of his cheek, and he was unconscious before he hit the ground. He didn't know how long it was before he regained himself, but it was darker than he remembered when he finally opened his eyes again.

Immediately, he was hit with a wave of something that was in equal measures pain and nausea, and winced, bringing a hand up to his face. His forefinger brushed against his cheek and he winced, drawing back slightly. When he tried again, forcing himself through the pain, his fingertips came back bloody. Brilliant. One more thing to deal with… And he knew for a fine fact that he didn't bring the usual amount of supplies with him, because this was supposed to be an in-and-out job.

His gaze landed on the wreckage of the facility that he'd just escaped from. Part of him seemed to have some instinct to look for survivors, but he knew that, unless they'd escaped like him, there wasn't a chance they'd survive under that much debris. He hauled himself to his feet and started to run a survey to the best of his ability, while trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the way his face muscles were twitching in an attempt to alleviate the tension caused by the wound.

"No…"

A building in shambles, barely identifiable beyond the rubble. Owen could do nothing but stare at it, as he forced himself not to cave. His knees were shaking, his eyes stinging from the anger, the guilt and the grief that racked him all at once.

He was alone.

He was the only one to have made it out on time.

Upon the realisation of that fact, he screamed into the echoing mess of the old facility. His nerves won over, and he collapsed to his knees, gripping the sleeves of his jacket like his life depended on it. Nobody else survived. Nobody could see him right now, taking his pain out on a pile of broken bricks.

"NO! CURT!"

But still, there was no response to his cry. The world breathed in Owen's stead, for he was struggling to keep his in check. This wasn't like him at all. He was supposed to know how to keep himself together. He was supposed to stay composed; god forbid that's how everyone saw him anyway.

Owen Carvour, who never lost his cool under pressure. Owen Carvour, who had a comment for everything and a cool head to combat trouble. Owen Carvour, who didn't know how to break.

"Fuck-" A sob left him, desperate and torn. His eyes met the rubble, the facility that had blown from the ground up, the place where Curt was lying dead. "FUCK! Mega, you're such a FUCKING IDIOT!"

He felt the heat in his throat. He'd ran himself hoarse in complete futility, screaming at the air, over something that he still hadn't begun to process.

For god's sake, he had to pull himself together. Where could he go from here? How did he declare to the Americans that their mission was a total failure, not only because they lost the blueprints they were supposed to acquire, but because their best agent just died in the field? This wasn't his mission, thank god. He was here as backup, it wasn't even fully under MI6 jurisdiction. All that meant was that he was lucky it wasn't him in that rubble… He'd have to pray that the fall would've killed him, or he knew for a fact that his agency would.

Hadn't Curt's scientist associate said she wasn't far away? A few miles… What did that give him?

There was a port a few miles away…

Without trying to think about any other alternative there might be, he let himself start running. He ran down the street, knowing only the vague direction that the port was in. The only reason he'd known about it's existence at all was because he'd caught a glimpse of it as he came into town.

Eventually, the paved road gave way to something less level, and he paused, looking past the high walls and straight into the marina. That had taken… Longer than he'd expected, but he had never had the reason to fault his sense of direction before, and he'd been right in trusting at least that part of himself this time too.

Thing was, he only knew this woman by her surname. Apparently, he was driven enough that he didnt care, and he walked the length of the marina trying to call after her.

"… Agent Carvour?"

A voice drew him out of his search, and completely startled him in the process. He turned around, wide eyed, and laid eyes on a short, blonde woman standing a couple of feet away from him. But her voice sounded familiar enough that he was able to recognise her without ever having seen her face.

"Oh my-" He breathed, beyond the point of pretending that he wasn't afraid, or heartbroken in equal measure.

"You were asking after me?"

"Doctor Larvernor…"

Her brow furrowed. "What happened to you? You sound��� Rough. And… where's Curt?"

"I sound what-" He blinked. Just saying those words out loud had made him realise exactly what she was talking about. "Shit. I didn't even realise…" But it was true. Through his hoarse voice and the absolute multitude of stress that had piled on his shoulders in the last minutes, he had barely noticed that he had slipped back into the accent he'd upheld until he was a teenager. He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It's fine… I'm fine- I'm still bleeding…"

"At least stay for long enough to let me look at that for you?"

"Oh- uh, you don't have to, doctor…"

"Call me Barb, Agent… Everyone else does," She smiled a little, maybe offering a slight of comfort along the way.

"Barb…" He nodded. Then he met her gaze, and in return, offered, "call me Owen. Please."

"Come with me, Owen."

She led him to where she'd been staying for the duration of Curt's mission. He had to duck to get through the door, but it was considerably roomier on the inside. She motioned for him to make himself comfortable, and he took a rather awkward seat on the first chair that he saw. Immediately, she busied herself with getting some supplies, and he brushed his hair back from his face so that she could have as much access as possible to the gash on his cheek.

"What happened there?"

"Debris, I think. Somethin' hit me in the face. I am fine, you- you needn't worry…"

She waved a hand dismissively. "You get used to patching up agents when you do it as a side job… It's nothing."

"You- uh- you asked about Curt… That's why I came looking for you, actually."

Barb stopped mid way through picking up her supplies from the table where she'd laid them, and frowned briefly. Her silence was a good indicator for him to continue, and he chose to do so as an ample distraction for the gravel he could feel delved into his skin.

"First of all, the blueprints are gone. They were- god" He winced involuntarily, and Barb's hand drew back.

"Sorry, sorry…"

He screwed his eyes shut. If he had a reaction after that, it wouldn't be so severe. "They were destroyed when the facility went up…"

Barb frowned. She knew that it had been a risky move to let Curt off with blowing up the facility, that man was too reckless for his own good sometimes…

"… Along with him."

The world went silent. Barb felt her chest ache, and realised she'd been holding her breath. "What?" She prayed he didn't mean what she thought he meant.

Owen hadn't come to terms with it yet, and at the rate things were going, he wasn't sure if he ever would. But, he had to admit it one way or another. It wouldn't be awfully fair if he was the only one who knew of Curt's fate, and then he went off the grid too… He heaved a sigh, trying not to let his reactions break the mask that hid his true feelings. He couldn't handle the weight of the world if they knew about them.

"Curt, he's… He's dead, Barb. He fell. I didn't- I couldn't- save him in time."

#spies are forever #saf #owen carvour #agent curt mega #tw blood #tw injury #tw death #void offering #star mail #nova's tags → #yep... i knew this one was coming... #eventually someone was gonna ask for some angsty spies shit #hey. who am i if not someone who provides serviceable angst to the people #catch owen screaming himself hoarse then losing the will to keep up his accent #oh yeah. hi btw i am one of those people who headcanons hard that owen grew up in working class london