A/N No one shoot me, I am still working on the others, but you know when I get a new idea I have to get it out.

This will be both epic - and use some ideas I've used in some of my other pieces, so if there is anything familiar, no this is not a continuation, nor is it related to anything else I've written (or Marvel for that matter).

I don't own Victor, Logan or any other mutants (or non-mutants) that are referenced in this piece that are owned by Marvel Comics, however I will, as usual claim my own creations, both light and dark, tragic and comedic, human, mutant or otherwise.

I know others have called some of my other works epic but this will span 182 + years, and multiple points in history, so be warned, there will be death and destruction, lemons and lemon aide, blood and hate, and somewhere along the road redemption and destruction.

Not for the faint at heart.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He sat in the damp underground room, chained to a wall, a muzzle over his face, wearing nothing but a single rag tied around his waist. He wanted to roar his defiance, growl his anger, but all he could do was whimper. Whimper because, day in and day out, he was reminded of how frail he'd once been, how tortured, how hated. For the first time since getting out of that cellar the first time, he felt broken, frail, and - admitting it only in the deepest recesses of his mind - afraid.

He had been down here, by his best reckoning, two months, at least he hoped they were throwing food in once per day. If not it could be longer. Every time he tried to sleep his mind was assaulted by the memories of his younger self, tormented by feelings he'd refused to acknowledge from the moment his bastard of a father released him from that damned cellar to help look after the damned Howlett boy.

He wasn't feeling charitable today, James had been both his salvation from darkness, and his jailor in a different type of prison. One where he had to be polite to his father's whore, and to the man they were cuckolding, had to pretend he gave a shit about a screaming baby that grew into his oh so blessed brother.

Sometimes he hated Jimmy, everything seemed to work out for him. Hell, he'd lost his damned memory, his life, and landed at Xavier's with a damned frail that worshiped the ground he fucking walked on. Other times he remembered what it was like to change his stinking knappies and wipe his snotty nose, and Victor pitied James, never really knowing who he was. And the times, like when he'd taught the Runt to fish, and that strange warm feeling of pride when Jimmy landed that damned perch.

He heard the door at the end of the row of rooms open, must be feeding time again. He scratched another mark on the line of marks on the wall. As he cleaned the stone dust from under his claw he caught the scent. Female, drugged, yet a scent that should be wild and free. He growled low as he heard the dragging of feet or other body parts, and the door to the room next to his creak open. A slight "oof" as they dropped her form on the floor the rattle of chains, and a few crude jokes and the sound of something wet hitting flesh.

"Stupid mutie bitch." He heard one of the guards say. "Hope the Man gets tired of you quick, I want a nice long go at ya." The sound of phlegm in the back of someone's throat, and again the sound of wet hitting flesh.

He made note of the scent and voice. When he got out of here, he'd get his revenge. He didn't give a shit about the frail, he just wanted to remember who was such an asshole, they didn't deserve to keep breathing.

The footsteps paused at his door, and he heard a chuckle. "Won't be long now. Oh how the mighty will fall." The same voice said as the food slot opened and the paper-wrapped bundle flew into the room it landed within a well defined mark on the floor, but he still didn't move. He remembered the torment and humiliation of moving too soon to grab the food and having it snatched from his claws to the sound of laughter.

They waited about five minutes. "Maybe the girl will play nice, this one's no fun anymore."

He heard the footsteps and the slam of the rusted door at the end of the hallway slam shut and lock. The doors were old and rusted but the chains, the D rings and wall mounts bolted into the solid granite walls were all new. The shackles themselves were old, but in excellent condition, with screw locks that he couldn't pick with his talon nails. The entire setup was ideal for keeping a mutant like him prisoner.

It wouldn't have held him if Stryker'd given him the metal like he promised, but that was in the past, and nothing to dwell on now.

A moan from next door startled him. He bit back a yelp of surprise and instead let out a warning growl as he rose to his knees, the ceiling only allowing him to crawl on the floor. He reached the bundle and sniffed. Bologna and some form of cheese, and surprisingly a bottle of water.

Thirst had been his biggest agony in this place, they rarely included liquid in his food bundle. The bottle was thin plastic, nothing he could use to escape, it didn't have a screw on lid. Just a seam where the lid would have been. They'd sealed it somehow after cutting off the normal opening. He stuck a thumb claw through the top and took a slow scent. He didn't smell anything but water, but his first sip was cautious just the same.

He waited, sometimes they put poison in the food and laughed as he writhed in agony until his healing purged the poison from his body. So far no ill effects. He grabbed the sandwich, only one, barely enough to give him enough calories for his healing to keep working. He debated saving it, knowing that he'd just feel even more hungry if he ate it now. If he saved it, and ate it with tomorrow's meal he might actually feel full enough to try to sleep.

Another moan from next door, and he let out another growl. He wondered if they'd left the frail food, and started trying to plot how to get his hands on it. He finished the sandwich in three bites, but continued to drink the water slowly, he didn't want to drink it too fast and end up wasting it on the floor when he threw up.

He could feel his dry as leather tongue move a little more freely in his mouth as his body absorbed the water a little bit at a time. He curled up against the only wall he could reach, the one adjoining the frail, and tried to keep from shivering. Eating raised his core temperature, and he was always cold after a food bundle.

He heard small sounds of movement in the cell next to him, chains clanging from small movements, the brush of cloth against cold, hard stone, the brush of something softer, hair maybe moving against skin, another moan and louder chains rattling as the frail moved.

His own chains ground against each other as he pulled himself to a sitting position.

"Who's there?" Her voice had a strange lilt to it, but he couldn't place it. He growled at her, he didn't need some frail being a chatterbox. Suddenly, it occurred to him that they put her here deliberately to torment him more.

"Please, answer me, is anyone there?"

He took a deep breath, and another sip on the precious water. He heard sobs from the other side of the wall, and growled again. Stupid frails and their stupid tears. He wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up, but his mouth couldn't seem to remember how to form the words.

"I can smell you, I can hear you breathing, just say SOMETHING." She screamed the last, both loudly and shrilly enough to hurt his ears. He started a growl that actually turned into words.

"Grrrrut the fuck up." He surprised himself.

"What?"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Each word was a struggle, but he knew the message was clear, leave him the fuck alone.

"Please, who are you? Where am I? How did I get here? What do they want with me?" The last was cut off by a sob.

"Bitch, shut the fuck up. It was nice and quiet here before you showed up, and I want it to be that way again." He growled.

He ignored her questions, he didn't know the answers, and doubted she'd like to hear 'I don't know.'

"Please..." It was a strangled sob. He knew he wouldn't get much sleep until she figured things out, stupid damned frails and their stupid damned questions.

She finally settled down to quiet hiccups and breathing, and he leaned his back against the wall. His eyes started to drift shut.

"My name is Kaitlyn McCauslin, I was sleeping in my room at school this morning. I don't know why I'm here. Maybe ransom, my dad's fairly rich, but I don't see why they'd kidnap me." He growled, he didn't know either. The group holding them didn't really seem to need money, as their facility seemed to indicate. He knew the rooms they were in were called oubliettes, places to put people to forget about them, that put them in some sort of late medieval castle or fortress. He'd bet anything the very slight hum he heard every once in a while was some kind of low light surveillance camera inside the cell, and the sedatives, just to knock him out and take him from a Parisian hotel room had to have cost a small fortune. They had to be genetically designed, no other sedative would work on his metabolism.

He heard a jerk on the chains through the wall, and a whimper. He could smell her better where he was sitting and turned to run his fingers over the wall. He found a small crack, barely large enough to fit his smallest finger through, but her scent was coming through it.

He felt his jaw tense, his teeth grinding against each other as he analyzed her scent. Fear he expected, even some anger, but it was the lack of pain that caused him to question what he smelled.

"Are you a mutant?" He ground the question out between his clenched teeth. He didn't want the frail to think he was in the least bit interested in talking, but his curiosity was going to drive him insane if he didn't ask.

"Yes." The word was a whisper.

"You heal?"

"Yes." It was a little stronger.

"Anything else." His throat was starting to itch, and the tickle made him cough.

"Sight, smell, taste, hearing. Touch too, can't stand wearing anything that isn't a natural fiber, makes my skin raw." He nodded, his too.

He remembered Jimmy giving him a hard time about tanning hides until they were butter soft. When Jimmy's skin started to become sensitive, Victor had laughed his ass off at the chafe marks on his brother's skin from fabric that was too rough.

"Agility and strength too?" He asked.

"Yes"

He nodded again, he thought her scent was familiar, she smelled a little like him, and Jimmy, and every other feral he'd ever met.

"What's your name?" The question was more of a plea.

"None of your damned business, now shut the fuck up, I'm tryin ta sleep."

He closed his eyes, not that it mattered much, there was a little dim light that came in the door, and there must be some cracks in the walls that let light in. He had enough that his heightened sight could pick out rough shapes, and identify what was thrown into the cell.

The darkness behind his eyes soon filled with images and memories, good ones, the ones that helped him stay sane.

He was in his thirties, the War Between the States was raging in full glory. He remembered riding up on the half burned house. He didn't even realize he was talking out loud.