FROM THE AUTHOR:

Hello all, Tobi has returned with a new story to write for you. Tobi is currently working on chapter four of this new one, meaning there are already two other chapters written, but they are waiting to be beta'd. Tobi can't promise when he'll update, but he's hoping at least once a week, but don't hold him to that. At first he wasn't even going to post until he finished writing the entire story, but Tobi also knew that he would be going into a hard semester this year at school and would need motivation to continue. So Tobi is hoping for some reviews to keep the writing flow going.

Tobi said in the summary that there will be two mutants kids, but in the description there is only one name other than Logan's. This is because Tobi wants you to wonder who the other mutant will be, not that the second one will be more mind blowing than the first, he just wants your curiosity to churn while reading in hopes you'll continue to follow to see who the other mutant is. He wasn't going to put any one's name but Logan's at first, but after reading the first chapter it will be obvious who the first mutant child is going to be.

ABOUT THE STORY:

It's AU guys! It's going to be a combination of the comics and the movies, but more so movies than comics. Only characters and some minor facts from the comics will be used, which is why I put this under regular and not crossover.

I'm also planning on two more sequels. The first two stories in my series are family oriented and the last one more along the lines of action/plot/romance type thing.

That's all for now, enjoy the first chapter and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: If I owned X-men movies I wouldn't be writing fan-fictions. Let's just put it that way.

The country of Ireland was worth visiting, but what made the trip worthwhile by far was their beer, which was impressively fermented to perfection. Logan grunted a "thanks "as he was handed another glass of the golden liquid, giving a good sip before placing it back on the bar. It was good enough that he'd considered staying, that is if he ever actually intended on having plans of staying anywhere long term.

The mutant wasn't much of a settler. Nothing ever seemed to draw his attention long enough to stick to one spot; he never really felt he fit anywhere, and why would he? He had 12 inch metal claws and a surly attitude—who the fuck wanted him? Jim Bob definitely wouldn't be inviting him to any neighborhood barbeques anytime soon. Plus he was never one for schmoozing and socializing with others, mutant or not. So far both had tried to kill him, so what did he need the company of others for? All it brought was heartache and disappointment, so he was better off on his own.

Still…

It was human nature to want to belong somewhere, to need to belong somewhere, but that's just it. He wanted to belong, but he has no idea where that place is. Logan doesn't know; he can't remember anything before waking up twenty years ago in what looked like some abandoned plant. The only thing connecting him to his forgotten past was a dog tag, some wiry kid with red hair claiming to know him, and a dead chick. Logan's grip slowly tightened around the mug of beer, anger surfacing at the memory.

Who was she? Logan thought, not for the first time in so many years. I knew her. He did, he was sure of it. A feeling deep in him curled upon seeing her face, a sense of recognition, an instinct; something he's come to rely on quite heavily since his awakening. He knew her, he was sure of it, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember. Nothing came to mind when he tried to think of the distant past and as the years dragged on, it was beginning to seem like he never would.

Until three months ago.

The thought slowly brought him back to reality, background noise of the pub returning to focus as he remembered why he was here in Ireland in the first place. He was looking for something; his best clue to unlocking his past and he'd been traipsing around the world following it.

Logan sniffed the stuffy, mildewed air inside the building; smells of alcohol, cheese, cologne, and sweat wafted through his nostrils before a small, irritated grunt left his throat. Nothing. He couldn't catch the scent through all the other dominating odors, but he knew it was here. Logan had followed the scent right into the tiny pub, but there were too many people inside to point out its origin ...which was why, above all else, he hated crowds. He decided to stay waiting at the bar, as close to the door as possible, so that if the scent left, he'd know about it.

Logan returned his attention back to his drink, the noisy chatter of the pub beginning to collectively pick up, as a mixed smell of excitement and confusion began to fill the room. This usually meant a common topic for everyone in the general area was being discussed, and it seemed to stem from the televisions that were selectively spaced on the walls. Curious, the mutant looked up from his glass to view the television directly over the bar. On it was an aerial view of a castle encased in flames, the same image that was on every screen. The estate surrounding the burning building was closed off with yellow tape, swarmed with the local police force, a few fire trucks, and a couple of ambulances. A banner scrolled across the bottom of the TV, "CASSIDY KEEP MASSACRE [CASE CLOSED]". Then the image minimized into the upper left-hand corner of the screen to present a raven haired reporter seated at a desk.

"This is the scene that greeted us in the late evening of November 17th, almost three weeks ago." She spoke in the neutral tone that was a seal stamp of all anchormen. "The beloved doctor and CEO of Cassidy Medical Industries, Casey Cassidy, and his wife, Eileen Cassidy, were found dead in the esteemed home along with all the employees and attendants that worked and lived in the home."

"Upon first inspection, authorities suspected that Mr. Cassidy, who had become desperate since his unforeseen corporate bankruptcy a year ago, had been at fault for the crime after finding his body with a suicide note stating only 'I couldn't allow my family to live in despair'. Later it was discovered that it was a framed suicide, which then begged the question who and why?" The footage of the burning castle filled the screen again and switched to one of a middle thirty year-old man with brown hair being led away into a cop car, the name Patrick Rourke appeared on the banner below; the female anchor could now be heard as a voiceover.

"Patrick Rourke, CFO and best friend to the late Cassidys, has been found responsible. After five intense days of investigation Rourke came clean stating that he wanted revenge for what Casey had done to him. If you remember Rourke's wife, Claire, had died in childbirth; the baby girl, who was to be named Maeve, died along with her mother. As it turns out, Claire Rourke had been gravely ill upon notice of her pregnancy and went to Mr. Cassidy for help. In the end his attempts to help had failed."

The image disappeared from the screen altogether, leaving the face of the raven-haired reporter in clear view as she continued. "Using his position as Chief Financial Officer, Rourke set about sabotaging Cassidy funding, forcing the prestigious doctor to use his own inherited fortune in a desperate move to save his company, and leaving the Cassidys nearly broke."

"Unaware of the change in their relationship, Casey Cassidy called Mr. Rourke over to his home in order to discuss his funds and a possible comeback. During this secluded meeting, Rourke struck, taking the lives of the Cassidys and the castle employees. For his crimes, Rourke has been sentenced to sixteen years in prison."

"Although the investigation has been wrapped up, officials are still unsure about what happened to the now 4 year-old heir, Sean Cassidy." Footage of Cassidy Keep before the attack filled the screen, hundreds of people on the front lawn looking to the nearest balcony. On it was a man with carrot orange hair and a blonde haired woman with a child perched on her hip. The couple, assumed to be the late Cassidys, were waving out to the crowd of people below.

"The child was last seen publically two years ago on March 17th, St. Patrick's Day, to celebrate his birthday." The camera zoomed in on the face of the boy, making it obvious that he was definitely the son of Casey Cassidy; his curly carrot-red hair curled subtly around his chubby face, which was peppered with freckles. The screen then showed the face of a dark haired youth talking to the press in front of a Catholic Church. "After weeks of searching and investigating, officers have presumed the young heir dead, having possibly burned in the fire. This leaves Thomas Samuel Eamon Cassidy, Sean Cassidy's 18 year-old cousin, the sole heir to the Cassidy estate and funds." Tom disappeared from the screen and the reporter returns full-screen with another anchorman next to her.

Logan tuned the rest of it out, giving his mug of beer his full attention; the whole thing seemed like some damn soap opera; he humphed and took a swig of his drink. The recluse mutant had hoped that at least leaving home would get him away from all the goddamn drama. Guess drama's everywhere, he mused. It made sense anyhow. People are the same wherever you go — nothing's really different, just the language and scenery that surrounds them.

"Rourke may be an aul git, but I betcha the laddie's da is responsible for the boy's disappearance."

Logan lifted an eyebrow as a conversation from a nearby table drifted into his ears. An overweight male with a cigar sticking from his teeth was talking to an equally obese woman. The pair seemed to be near the same age, late fifties, and likely married.

"What ye mean, Finny?" The wife asked with a tone that suggested she already knew.

"I mean," Finny continued, dabbing out is cigar into his empty bread plate, his wife rolling her eyes in preparation for the absurd. "Mr. Cassidy rid himself o' little ole Sean."

Apparently, even after knowing her husband was going to say something crazy it didn't stop the surprise and denial of his claims outright.

"Come now, Bridged, ye know I'm right."

"Ye expect me to believe Casey Cassidy killed 'is son!" Evidently not.

Finny took a sip of beer. "Bridged, think about it, we all knew Cassidy had started his…downward spiral—" He swirled his right index finger around his temple to imply what exactly he meant by his choice phrasing, "— long before his bankruptcy. There are signs before a corporate turns on its belly like that, like a year 'o signs. He knew he was heading to a dead end and it slowly drove 'em loony. What the news forgot to mention was that these signs started three months after the little lads second birthday…" The man gave his wife a conspiratory look, she responded with a weary sigh. "Notice we ain't seen the boy or 'is ma at all during the fall? They'd been witnesses to 'is lost on reality, until he finally went mad."

"Using his funds as a last resort was just the first time the public saw 'is insanity rearin' its ugly head." He finished off his beer and then lit another cigar as if to say 'case-in-point'.

Bridged shook her head in disbelief. "Ballix! I don't believe a word, and it still don't explain why he'd kill 'is son."

Finny took a long drag of his cigar before leaning back and letting out a long breath of smoke. "Now that is the real mystery."

His wife just shook her head, possibly trying to figure out how she ended up married the man. Logan pitied her.

"Rubbish, all of it utter rubbish…"

Before Logan could hear Finny grant Bridget the honor of knowing exactly why it wasn't rubbish, his heart slowed to a steady thrum. The world around faded into nothing, and a low growl escaped his throat, his instincts taking the helm.

The scent.

It smelt salty, bitter, feral and held a hint of arrogance—like a pussycat—but above all he recognized it, he just couldn't think of where—

Suddenly, as it had been happening every time he caught a whiff of the aroma, there were pictures, flashes of images. There were people and places, leaving him with a distinct feeling that they were familiar to him. He knew them, just as sure as he knew that girl.

One image of an old Gothic styled house grew to full scale, taking over his vision. The colors were of grey and black with the backdrop of people, two men, a woman, and a boy about his age.

"Stay where you are James!"

"I told you never to come back here!"

"We're brothers, Jimmy."

The scene changed to one outside, and he and the boy were older, but it was still dark outside.

"We didn't sign up for this."

"Who do you think you are? This is what we do!"

"I'm done."

"We can't just let you walk away!"

Logan rips off his dog tags and walks away.

"Jimmy!"

It stopped as suddenly as it came. Logan took a moment to gather himself, Jimmy? Before he could follow that train of thought, an instinct told him something was off.

The pub was dead silent.

Logan sat up to find every eye in the joint focused on him, including the bickering couple from earlier. A hand fell on his shoulder; he followed the length of its arm to find the bartender attached to it, giving him an awfully concerned look.

"Ye okay, lad?"

The dark hair mutant gave a grunt before quickly standing. "Fantastic."

He shoved what he suspected to be the right amount of exchange for his drinks, and then briskly left. He had to catch up to the scent. He darted out into the cold Irish night, his shoes making a soft pat-pat sound as they pounded against the cobbled streets of County Mayo, his path lit by the luminescent, bulb streetlamps. There was nothing in sight that could be in connection with the smell, so he stopped and traced the scent again. He lifted his head and closed his eyes, putting his focus into his sense of smell, and sniffed.

There.

Logan's eyes flew open and narrowed, his mouth pulled into a snarl as he headed in the direction of the scent, making a couple of turns along the way. Up there! Further up the street he caught sight of a figure in a long brown overcoat, moving with such precision that Logan was sure whatever he was chasing definitely wasn't human.

Logan yelled after him. "Hey, you! Stop!"

Nothing. It just kept speeding in its designated course. As the Wolverine attempted to catch up, he noticed the pattern of his target's movements were familiar. He has definitely seen that before, in fact…Logan darted through a few buildings, heading towards the woodlands just beyond the city to cut him off. If he was correct, the cloaked figure would come this way and he would have the jump on him.

Unless, of course, he was completely wrong and the figure would come from behind to give him a good knock in the head. Logan fell forward on his knees, grabbing at the back of his head in pain. Had he been anybody else the hit would have knocked him out cold, but lucky for him he had a skeleton system made of a very sturdy metal.

"He definitely ain't human…" Logan mumbled to himself.

Anyone who hit him that hard should have broken their hand upon impact.

Logan got up to catch a glimpse of his attacker, yet all he saw was a shadow disappear behind some bushes. Dammit! He couldn't lose him. He flew through the bushes, desperate to catch up, but as soon as he got through he found himself alone in a clearing. He sniffed, no one but him and the trees.

The wolverine let out an angry roar and slashed the trunk of a nearby tree with his claws. There was a scent, but it was faint and the chase had only led him back to where he had started, following breadcrumbs. Logan sighed and headed back towards town. He needed sleep if he was going to spend all day tomorrow smelling random objects to pick up a trace of the scent. Damn, he thought, I had him! He had been so close, as it was the first time the scent had been so tangible before, yet, it seemed, so far away from getting answers.

As he reached the edges of the city, his sensitive hearing picked up some rustling in the nearby bushes. Acting fast, Logan ducked behind a tree to catch the cloaked figure by surprise, but after taking a sniff he realized it wasn't the scent. Logan was about to step out of his hiding place, figuring it was some animal, when a small child crawled from the underbrush. The dark haired mutant watched, eyes focused on the small form.

From this distance, Logan could make out the short curly hair that bounced on the kid's head. The kid moved slowly towards the garbage cans that littered the edge of town, looking over his shoulder and pausing at every small noise before continuing his course. After approaching the closest tin can, standing up on his tiptoes to reach it, he pulled an empty soda can out and turned it upside down. When nothing came out, he threw it away. He reached in again only to find a crumpled up newspaper that was quickly tossed to the side before he reached into the trashcan again. It went on like that, him pulling out random objects and checking their worth before they were tossed aside, until finally his hand came upon a half-eaten burger. Upon this discovery, the child hurriedly sat on the ground and began tearing the food in to small tiny pieces, which he then stuck into his mouth.

Now Logan had seen it all.

He has been assaulted on all sides by people trying to kill his spirit, or turn him into something he's not. He's seen people lose their minds and get put away never to have common interaction again. He has seen the homeless, starving and lost till the point they barely had a grip on humanity, just breathing bodies littered over the streets.

Never. Never has he seen a child struggle to eat on its own.

He thought the kid was just out past his bedtime and decided to muck around in the garbage like kids tend to do when they think no one is watching, but no. This child was hungry and doing the only thing it could to feed itself—to survive.

A feeling of disgust at having witnessed something like this swelled in his stomach, along with a small twinge of protectiveness. Despite his own situation, he couldn't just turn a blind eye and walk away; he decided to help the poor kid.

He tentively stepped out of his hiding place to avoid startling the child, which he swiftly found out had been a great idea because not five seconds after moving did the kid's head jerk up in Logan's direction, his body going completely still. The boy, and it was definitely a boy the closer Logan got (though the curls had baffled him), looked ready to bolt with any wrong move. Logan held his hands in the universal it's okay, don't shoot gesture, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. He knew this was a difficult task due to his 6'2'' stature, buff form, dark clothes, and the smell of beer wafting off of him. He practically raised every alarm that told kids to get-the-hell-outta-dodge, without even trying.

Logan made the abrupt decision to quit his forward approach, leaving about five feet between him and the kid. Now that he could get a good look at the kid he found himself noticing a few things that made his sloppy rescue attempt all the more needed.

For one thing, the kid wasn't hungry, he was starving. The pathetic excuse for clothes he was wearing shamelessly showcased two sets of ribs—an obvious sign of malnourishment. Further inspection showed pale skin, which had been scarred more than a few times, and what looked like a giant gash on the left side of his head.

His head brought on the next subject of notice.

On his face, and this was very important, was what looked like, for all intense and purposes, a bear trap. It was platinum silver, covering the entire area between the top of the chin to just under the nose. The top and bottom were rimmed with small sharp edged that resembled shark teeth, the only hole the contraption possessed was a small slit where the boy's mouth was. The purpose of the mechanism was clear:

Keep the victims mouth closed

Except that would kill him, which was clearly not the goal seeing as there was an opening that left just enough room to fit small bits of food to keep him alive.

Even though this bit of information was a hard pill to swallow upon finding a starving child, the last bit of observation beat it on the scale of insanity, but only by a peg.

The child was between the ages of four and five with bright carrot-red hair, and freckles that peppered his what-had-once-been chubby face. Logan recognized his face the instance he was close enough to map it out, and it wasn't a feeling of familiar recognition like from his past.

No.

This recognition was very present, and brought on the very real feeling of irony — irony because Logan was a hundred percent sure he was looking into the face of the very late Sean Cassidy.

So I did a bit of researching to get the feel of Ireland, but not too much. This is a fanfic not a novel, Tobi's facts have to be believable. Not hard core truth.

Phrase: An Aul git (Irish term used to describe someone who isn't very nice)

Hope the accent came across. If there are any Irish out there who can help it would be much appreciated!