Chapter Text
in a sense, it’s about trying to hide the wildest parts of yourself. you learn to file down your fangs the same way you learn to hide your blushing around the boy next door and the way your hands flap when you get excited. you stay away from full moons and gay clubs and people that embody what a real man should be.
you come home from school bloody and bruised and your mother wipes your tears and strokes your hair and scratches behind the ears in the spot you like when you’re in the form only she gets to see, and you tell yourself you will never feel this loved by anyone else.
you join the agency and tell yourself you can do some good in this world, you can make up for who you are by fighting for the people who hate you on principle, and you find the kind of man you never thought you’d get to have. he has long, mangy, scraggly hair that rivals your own fur, and a sharp laugh to rival your teeth, and even though you come home some nights covered in blood, he never seems to mind, because he’s usually bloodier than you are.
he is cautious and tamed in the way you have tried your whole life to be, except. except. sometimes, he gets this look in his eyes when you set out on a mission together. he tells you to set the timer, and you set it for a minute shorter than he tells you to, and when he learns, he looks at you with adoration in his eyes, brighter than any moonlight you’ve ever seen, and you feel yourself grow wild at the sight of it. once a month, once a month you could handle, but this- this is a lifetime endeavor. you will never turn back after this. you will never be human again.
you have never cared less.
you kiss him carefully, terrified of turning him, but he tells you he doesn’t care. so you kiss and kiss and kiss, and on the day your teeth finally break his skin, you watch him fall. and, like the wild creature that you are, you run. you run before you can see him get up again.
you lay under the night sky and drink and drink and drink until you’re too drunk to do anything with your claws but dig them into yourself, and you tell yourself that you are finally tame. you tell yourself that it is better that way. you tell yourself that you are human, but something inside of you scratches and claws and howls into the night, waiting for its mate to howl back the way he does in your dreams, when he holds you like he used to.
finally, you can’t stand it anymore. you make the call. you are a spy again. you are a proper spy, this time. you are what your father must have wanted you to be. you shy away from moonlight, and flirt with pretty russians, and straighten your tie, and still, the wolf howls for more.
it howls and howls no matter how often you mess up, no matter how deeply you fall, no matter how many people die because of you. you wonder why you never learned how to be anything more than a killer.
(the wolf wonders why you always assume it is a killer. the wolf does not want to sink its teeth into the fawn. the wolf does not want to run wild. the wolf wants to settle down in the midst of a deep, dark forest and curl close to its mate, feeling him nuzzle it behind the ears, in that spot that it likes.)
(the wolf has always been more like a dog, in truth. it may be wild, but it was still a wild thing raised in the 1930s, and animals bred in captivity will always long for the humans that scorned them, rather than others like them.)
eventually, like always, your fangs begin to show. it is inevitable. you are ready to be scorned. you are used to it. this world and its people have given you more scars than you have ever given them. and yet, she takes your secrets in stride and hugs you tight, and when she smiles at you, you do not see moonlight, but you see the slightest hint of stars. she joins you in gathering the rest of a crew, and for the first time in years, you drink with joy, and a part of your heart that you have not listened to in a very long time whispers pack, pack, pack.
and yes, when you see him again, maybe you want to claw and snarl and bare your teeth at him, and maybe you want to wag your tail and lick at his wounds and paw at him until he smiles. maybe he lunges at you before you get the chance to do either. maybe the moon in his eyes is gone, replaced with an unrelenting darkness. maybe you know what you have to do to save the rest of your pack. maybe it means killing the one you used to have.
(maybe you’re the one to kill, and the wolf is the one to cry.)
maybe it hurts like a wound that will never heal, but maybe you’ve still got people worth protecting. maybe you’ll be okay. and honestly, maybe you should listen to them when they tell you it’s time to settle down and come home.
but, maybe some creatures can never be tamed properly.
deep down, some part of you knows that you were always meant to be wild. some people were never meant for the quiet kind of life.
(that doesn’t mean you don’t long for it, still.)
Chapter Text
When Owen first sees it, he thinks it must be the concussion he's surely got after falling from such a height. Granted, he's been concussed before, and he typically doesn't hallucinate giant dog-wolf-things, but eh. Circumstances and all that.
And yet, the- well, it's got to be a wolf, really, it's huge- the wolf walks up to him, and the idea of trying to get away doesn't even cross Owen's mind, because his body's sort of broken right now. Luckily, rather than tearing his intestines out or something gruesome like that, the wolf simply sniffs him, whining.
"Hello there," Owen says, voice hoarse. "I'd pet you, but I'm not sure I can move at the moment."
The wolf tilts its head, whining higher, then pads over to Owen's side, sticking his muzzle underneath the pile of rubble weighing down his back and trying to push it aside.
Owen's eyes flutter shut at the movement, grimacing in pain.
The wolf seems to pause, ears pressed back against its head before it starts again, granted much slower this time.
Owen blinks. "Smart thing, aren't you?"
The wolf whines at that, pushing the largest of the pile aside, then trots back over, lightly pawing at his arm.
Owen huffs out something between a laugh and a sigh. "Sorry boy, not going anywhere at the moment. You might as well go now. This building's not going to stay together much longer."
The wolf whines and nudges him again, insistent.
Owen frowns. "Look, I can't move, love. Just go on ahead without me, yeah?" He lets his head fall back down, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "That's what everyone else seems to be doing at the moment."
And goddamn it all, he closes his eyes tightly, but he can still feel something wet drip down his cheek, and then-
Well, okay, something very wet is on his cheek, now. He cracks an eye open, and sure enough, the dumb thing is licking him.
"Alright, alright, that's enough. Geroff."
Instead, the wolf continues, licking up his face until Owen can't help but chuckle, raising a weak arm up to push the creature away. "Stop it, you bloody- fucking mutt- stop-"
It's only once he seems to stop crying that the wolf finally relents, stepping around in a circle a few times before carefully laying down next to Owen, halfway on top of him.
"You're a weird animal, you know that? And a pretty shite predator, too."
The wolf, of course, doesn't reply, merely swishing its tail over Owen's back.
Owen sighs, reaching the same hand out and allowing the wolf to sniff his hand before it nuzzles eagerly, leaving a good amount of dust and dirt on the hand when it's done.
"Ugh. Scruffy thing, aren't you?"
The wolf huffs, as if offended, and Owen can't help but chuckle.
"Who are you, my partner?" He grins a moment before his face falls. "Well, not... I mean, not really- Yeah. Not anymore, I s'pose."
The wolf huffs again, licking his face almost aggressively, and Owen snorts.
"Alright, alright, I get it, no sad shit, Jesus. You can stop me without licking me, y'know. No offense, but you're a bit gross."
The wolf growls, and Owen rolls his eyes. "What? It's true."
It fixes Owen with a look, pawing at Owen's hair.
"Yeah, I guess right now I'm not much to look at either, am I? Point taken, Scruffs."
The wolf tilts its head.
"Jesus. Must be losing it, giving a nickname to a bloody wolf. Well, guess you're Scruffs now, huh?"
The wolf gives a small yip at that, wagging its tail.
"Yes, yes, very cute. Has anyone ever told you you're a bit of a showoff?"
The wolf nuzzles him.
"Right. I just did, didn't I? Clever git."
There's a loud creak from overhead, and both Owen and the wolf seem to wince.
"Shit," Owen says eloquently. "That can't be good. Guess we're well and screwed at this point."
At that, the wolf honest-to-god snarls, moving its jaw towards his arm, and for a moment, Owen thinks the damn thing is finally going to tear him apart.
Instead, it bites at his left sleeve and proceeds to nudge at his other arm insistently.
"Not a great time to want pets, love." Regardless, Owen slings his arm over the wolf's back. Instead of letting itself be pet, however, the wolf starts moving. Owen begins to retract his hand when it snarls again.
It takes Owen a good minute to realize the bloody wolf is trying to drag him out.
"Oi. You're fucking nuts, Scruffs," He mutters.
The wolf huffs, as if to say, I know.
Notes:
Curt: *is so overcome by the emotion of what has just happened that he turns into a wolf*
Owen: The fuck
Curt: Well I guess I'm just going to be a wolf forever. This is my life now.
also if the ending seems inspired by Bolt that's because it was and I'm not apologizing for that
Chapter Text
Owen has never tried to manufacture happiness before.
Though, to be fair, he's never had a werewolf for a partner, either.
Still, inherent bizarreness of the idea aside, Owen has Theories that need to be tested and he's never been one to let something like that slide.
See, the thing is, Curt's form isn't always the same.
And no, not in the sometimes wolf, sometimes human way, but in the sometimes impossibly-large wolf, sometimes more dog-sized, sometimes brown, sometimes grey, sometimes black, sometimes matted and scruffy, sometimes softer way.
Owen's known about this for a little while now, but he's never really questioned it. He'd sort of just assumed it was an unexplainable occurrence, much like the fact that Curt turns at all. But lately, Owen's noticed... A pattern, of sorts.
When Curt is angry, or protective, his form is honestly more comparable to that of a bear. He's around the same size, with jet black, spiky fur and fang-like teeth. When he's sad or scared, he's a lighter gray, closer to the size of a chow chow with a short, soft coat. When he's exhausted or in pain, he's just small enough to curl into Owen's lap, deep brown fur sticking out from all directions. The completely random type of wolf that Curt turns into, it seems, isn't completely random after all.
However, testing this theory is something Owen wants to be careful with. No matter how curious he may be, Owen absolutely refuses to purposefully make Curt upset in any way, which takes out the majority of the triggers typically in place when Curt transforms. However, there's one emotion Owen hasn't seen Curt transform from yet, and it's one he's much more comfortable trying to trigger: happiness.
In the near-year he's known about Curt's secret, he's never seen it happen. Typically, he'd assume the emotion just... Isn't capable of turning him. After all, Curt's a pretty content person most of the time. Surely, if he were ever going to turn happily, it would have happened already.
Then, he and Curt get drunk.
Curt, as always, drinks far past the point of there being any chance he'd remember the night. However, while Owen typically drinks a bit less, it's still usually enough to get him blacking out. Tonight, though, Owen limits himself, well-aware that he has a meeting with his superior early the next morning.
Which means he remembers all too well when Curt starts crying.
It's over something small, too. Or at least, small too Owen. Clearly not small to Curt.
It was just a minor mistake on a mission. Cynthia had hardly even yelled at them over it. Hell, earlier that afternoon, Curt had seemed fine with it. But now, he's bent over, sobbing his eyes out, criticizing himself in the same brutal way that always manages to startle Owen when it happens.
In a single, harsh moment, Owen comes to the realization that maybe he doesn't know Curt at all. He'd sort of figured that once you you find out your partner can turn into a beast, you know everything about that. I mean, god, surely that's past third base in a relationship, right?
Maybe that's what gets him wondering about happiness as a component in Curt turning. He'd thought it wasn't possible if it hadn't happened, but then, maybe Curt's never actually been happy enough for something like that to happen. Owen's always assumed Curt is happy for the most part, but has Curt just been a master at covering things up this whole time?
How much does Owen really know about his partner? What kind of a partner does that even make Curt, if he's never let Owen know that he's upset? What kind of a partner does that make Owen, if he's been sitting around, waiting for Curt to tell him instead of just noticing?
So. Owen's going to try and see if he can make Curt happy enough to turn.
It's because he's curious about how Curt's transformation works, obviously. That's the only reason why he's doing this.
Not to make Curt happy. Not to know for sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that's he's actually made Curt happy at least once.
It's just an experiment of sorts, is all.
So, Owen begins carefully planning, until finally, the day arrives.
Curt is already in a good mood from the minute he wakes up. Owen doesn't know why, and honestly, he doesn't really care. He kisses Curt's cheek, jumps out of bed, and sets off to start the day.
Right off the bat, he makes chocolate chip pancakes (Curt's favorite) and brings them upstairs because he's just "craving them" (despite the fact that Owen doesn't care much for them, honestly). He "accidentally" leaves one of his sweaters out (which just happens to be the very sweater that Curt loves stealing from him, thinking he doesn't notice). He offers to do both sets of paperwork for their most recent mission (that he's already almost done with, because he knew it would take forever if he didn't start right away). He has Barb drop off a "brand-new" gadget for them to try (that's been sitting in the lab for weeks, waiting for Owen to ask for it to be sent over). And finally, the crème de la crème: while they're sitting on the couch, watching TV (some favorite of Curt's that Owen couldn't care less about) Owen offhandedly asks Curt a question about sentence structure.
Curt goes on for about half an hour before he cuts himself off, giving Owen a weird look.
"What?"
"You're looking at me weird," Curt says, a wry smile on his face.
Owen blinks, trying to think of what to say. He could cover it up with something simple, most likely. He could also make some dumb joke that gets them both laughing and forgetting the subject. But, well.
If he's trying to make Curt happy... Maybe he should just be honest.
"Sorry," Owen says, "I just can't believe how smart you are."
Curt flushes. "I mean, it's not anything difficult. It's just dumb stuff. I should probably stop rambling, actually-"
"It's not dumb," Owen says, honest. "It's really interesting. And I like hearing you talk about things like that. It's amazing, hearing how much you know about all of this. And I..." Owen shrugs, forcefully nonchalant. "I like seeing you get excited about things, you know?"
Curt ducks his head. "It's... It's not annoying, to you?"
"Of course not. It's, ah... It's actually kind of hot?"
Curt's cheeks darken, a small smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, well. You're uh, pretty hot too."
"Not as much as you."
Honestly, by this point, Owen's sort of forgotten that this whole thing started as an experiment.
But then, there's the familiar poof of smoke, and then-
There's Curt.
But it's not any side of Curt that Owen's seen before.
At first glance, this Curt looks almost identical to what Owen would first imagine when someone says "wolf".
Except.
Except, he realizes, Curt's fur is a bright, shining shade of gold.
Owen grins. "Hi, love."
Curt yips, tail wagging faster than Owen's ever seen it, and pounces, pinning Owen to the ground and licking his face.
Owen laughs, trying to push Curt off with no avail, and Curt barks again, clearly excited.
"You liked that, then," Owen says, still smiling, and Curt snuffles, walking a circle on Owen's chest before laying down, snout tucked right under Owen's chin.
Reaching up, Owen finds the spot behind Curt's ear and begins scratching. Curt's eyes close, and Owen would almost worry, but he can feel Curt's tail thwacking his stomach, still wagging happily.
Owen exhales, his own eyes fluttering shut despite himself.
No matter what form he takes, Owen always loves Curt, but-
This one might be a new favorite.
Chapter 4
Notes:
chimera curtwen time!! typical warnings, plus discussions of some morally grey topics and an instance of self harm
thanks to @the-buttspie on tumblr for this awesome concept!!
stay safe and enjoy lovelies!!
Chapter Text
Owen's not sure he even remembers what started it, this time, but he's not sure it actually matters, because once again, he and Curt are standing in the living room of the cramped flat Chimera has provided them with, fighting.
They've been arguing back and forth for about twenty minutes now, and all because Owen had dared to suggest that-
"You enjoy it, Curt, honestly, stop acting like you don't-"
"I don't enjoy what we're doing," Curt practically spits. "I hate it! I- goddammit, Owen, I'm haunted by it!"
Owen closes his eyes and takes another sip of the tea in his hand, chuckling.
"What?"
"Nothing," Owen says smoothly, an amused glint still in his eyes.
Curt growls. "What, Owen?"
"It's just..." Owen sets his cup down, thinking. "In my experience, there are many things that can haunt a person. It can be a thing you regret, certainly. But sometimes-" He pauses, looking at Curt curiously- "Sometimes, it's a thing you miss."
Curt swallows, uncomfortable. "I don't know what you mean."
Owen smirks. "Sure you don't, love." He crosses his arms. "I've seen the way you act, after an assignment. You're unhappy, sure, but I don't think it's the killing that makes you unhappy. I think it's the fact that it took you this long to realize the right thing to do."
That's the wrong thing to say, clearly, because Curt's head snaps up towards Owen's, glaring. "It is not the right thing! Chimera isn't the right thing!"
Owen scoffs. "And why do you say that, love? Because the A.S.S. told you to? Tell me, Curt, when's the last time you actually thought for yourself?"
"Fuck you."
"Not an answer, is it? You're their loyal little guard dog," Owen drawls, "And that's great, really dear, but do you know what happens when a guard dog gets too protective and starts attacking everyone that glances at him the wrong way?"
Owen leans forward, baring his teeth.
"They get put down."
Curt's face splits open, full of hurt, before closing up again. "Well," He hisses, "At least I lasted longer than you did."
Owen snarls, ready to retort, but just barely manages to force himself to walk away, storming into the kitchen before he says something he really regrets.
By the time Owen feels calm enough to come back in, Curt's turned. It's not that big of a shock, really. Curt's always been emotionally inept, and ever since The Incident, it seems like he's only gotten worse.
What does give Owen pause, however, is the blood on one of Curt's front paws. Owen looks closer, then jerks back, catching site of the bite mark.
"Oh for Christ's sake, now look at what you've done," He huffs.
Curt's head tilts down to look, as if just realizing.
Owen hurries over, grabbing Curt's paw, but drops it immediately when Curt whines, softening. "I'm sorry," Owen frowns, "I know it's not an intentional thing. But you've got to be more careful, Curt, honestly! This is the second time this week. I thought you'd gotten better at noticing before..." Owen gestures vaguely.
Curt looks away, not bothering to reply.
Owen sighs, picking up Curt's paw again. "It's alright. I'll... Take care of it."
He reaches behind the couch, pulling a first-aid kit out and opening it. For a few minutes, it's silent, Curt's typical rambling missing due to his transformation. Still, Owen's used to treating wounds amidst chatter, so he finds himself filling it.
"I wasn't trying to be harsh earlier," Owen murmurs, not looking up. "I'm... I'm sorry if I came across that way. But I just- I still know you, Curt. Trust me, I know a lot's happened these past few years, but I still know you- and bloody hell, I hate it when you act like I don't."
Curt huffs, glaring up at Owen.
"Huff all you want, but we both know that I'm right." Owen looks at Curt determinedly. "I know you, Curt, and you're a man defined by his morals. If you decided mint chocolate chip ice cream was wrong, waterboarding and the guillotine wouldn't get you to eat it. If you were really as against Chimera as you like to say, you wouldn't be doing it. You would've shot me on that staircase and been done with it."
Curt whines, pawing at Owen. "I'm not saying I wanted that to happen! I'm just saying that I think A.S.S. taught you to do certain things, and then taught you to feel bad about doing them when you shouldn't."
Curt fixes Owen with a look.
"I'm serious! How is what we do any worse than what anyone else does? Honestly, what's so evil about Chimera? What's terrible about trying to make a better world?"
Curt hits Owen's head with his tail.
Owen rolls his eyes. "You can get peeved all you want, but I've asked you that question a million times and you've never been able to answer me. Just admit it- the only reason you're so against Chimera is because they're against the A.S.S., and you still can't admit that they've been treating you like rubbish since the moment you joined them."
Curt growls, biting Owen's arm just harshly enough for it to leave a mark.
"Ow, fuck!" Owen bolts up, glaring.
Curt glares right back.
"Fucking Christ, fine! I'll shut up and let you be a prat, then!"
Curt huffs, swishing his tail moodily.
Owen glares at Curt for another minute before groaning.
"I just-" Owen thuds back onto the couch beside Curt, silent. After a few minutes, he glances over at Curt. "I just don't want this to be as hard for you as it was for me," He murmurs. "Realizing things about the old agencies, I mean."
Curt flops his head onto Owen's lap, ears drooping down. Owen reaches a hand down to pet him.
"Curt... You know we're going to be okay, right?" Owen hesitates, then continues. "I know everything's rather shit right now, but we'll be fine. We've got each other, after all."
Curt whines, ears drooping further.
"We'll be just fine," Owen murmurs, unsure if he's reassuring Curt or himself. "You'll see."