Logan didn't feel very well. His head was fuzzy and it hurt. His feet felt heavy. His chest was tight; even though his breathing was clear, there was a dull ache where his heart was. He thought he would get some fresh air. He left the small cabin he was staying in, and walked out into the forest. The morning was clear and cold. Even though Logan was wearing only a vest and pyjama bottoms, he only felt the cold as pleasant on his hot skin. He was only dully aware of the beautiful trees and wildlife in the forest this morning; his brain didn't seem capable of actual thought.

John Allerdyce wandered into the same forest Logan stood in. He felt the exact opposite to Logan today. He took pictures of almost everything he could see, amazed at how nice it all looked. How untouched it all was. How it was just his to enjoy this morning. John shivered as an icy breeze blew through the leaves, whispering to them. He walked on, following the rough path, marked by footprints of all the others who had admired the forest. Without really thinking about it, John wandered into a clearing, coming face to face with Logan. "Hi Logan," he smiled, pleased to see someone he knew, though it spoiled the feeling of the forest being his. Logan didn't answer, and looked at John like he had never seen him before. "Logan? It's me! It's John! Haven't you got an insult or a 'Hey Kid' for me today?" Logan still didn't answer. He didn't even hear John properly. He saw someone walk into his range of vision, dressed in bright colours that hurt his failing eyes. The person spoke to him, he realised, the words seeming too loud to him, boring into his very skull. Suddenly Logan was filled with a blind, animal rage. How dare someone disturb him? Especially when he didn't feel well. His breathing became heavier as he readied himself to strike. He flicked his metal claws out of the back of his hands, and held them up, seeing the reassuring shape of them. He roared in his anger, a sound so inhuman and animal, birds flew from the trees, and John jumped, his eyes widening in fear.

"Lo…Logan? Wolverine? It's me!" John gasped as Wolverine began to step slowly towards him, his muscles visibly tensing. He turned and began to run, following the rough path, dodging tree roots, branches scratching at his legs. Wolverine chased him with a growl, cutting the soles of his bare feet, not noticing the small beads of blood welling up from the nicks, still only feeling the inhuman anger towards his prey as he pursued it through the trees, his senses clarified, smelling rather than seeing the person running in panic before him. "Stop stop! Logan, Wolverine, please! This isn't funny!" John cried out as he ran, knowing it was useless, it was real, he was tiring, couldn't run for much longer, knowing that whatever Logan had been replaced with would catch him up and then…he didn't want to think about what would happen if he was caught. John knew he had to fight. It wasn't much of an option, but it was the only one he had. He sprinted for a few paces, surprising Wolverine, putting a little distance between them, digging frantically in his pockets for a cigarette lighter, and suddenly turning around, shooting a small flame from the top of the lighter. Wolverine stopped and blinked at the bright flame. Pyro felt something cold touch his face, then again. He looked up. The first snow of the day was beginning to fall. He looked back ahead of him.

Wolverine was tensing again, ready to pounce. John tried to build up a strong flame. Quickly and silently, Wolverine sprang, cutting Pyro's arm, ripping his jacket and drawing a line of dark blood. Pyro pushed him back, scorching his vest with one hand and leaving a small burn on his cheek with the other, in which he held a second cigarette lighter. The snow however, cooled the flame quickly, so Pyro was even more outmatched. Wolverine growled a little at the burn, but almost immediately jumped back at Pyro, scratching his face and tearing the arm completely off his jacket before Pyro could throw him back. Using all of his strength Pyro kicked and shoved Wolverine in the stomach, physically throwing him against a tree. He stood looking at Wolverine lying there; shocked, blood slowly trickling down his arm and cheek. He was panting now, weakening. Wolverine stirred a little but did not get up. His head hurt even more where it had slammed against the tree, his back jarred when it hit the trunk. Pyro knew he couldn't fight Wolverine for much longer. But he still wasn't getting up. Pyro wearily turned away and headed slowly back through the trees. Wolverine silently rolled over, getting up on to his feet; crouching so he could spring at Pyro. He crept forward a few paces, making sure he stayed silent. Soon he was close enough. He leapt at Pyro; his feet moving some small stones, making Pyro turn around to see Wolverine's muscular form coming towards him, having no time to prepare to strike back. Wolverine hit him, knocking him off his feet, the claws impaling his stomach and slowly, agonizingly drawing three lines right the way across. Blood immediately spurted from the wounds, splashing onto Wolverine, staining the thin covering of snow that had quickly built up. John registered nothing more than a sudden explosion of red and a strange warmth amidst a huge tidal wave of pain, ripping right through him, expanding out from his stomach. He cried out, thin and piercing in the lonely air, and dropped limply from Wolverine's arms onto the uneven forest floor.

The blood on Wolverine's face jerked him back to his senses. His head was clear again. His body felt his own. His feet were beginning to hurt and he felt the biting cold of the snow. He looked down and saw. His breath stopped in his throat. Blood was everywhere. On his clothes, claws, on the snow, on the trees. On John. What had he done? Logan saw the gashes across John's stomach. It was his fault. He had hurt John. "No," Logan whispered in disbelief, repeating the word over and over until he was almost screaming it. Nothing answered, but the snow fell faster, covering John where he lay. Logan's eyes widened. Was the kid dead? He knelt beside John, feeling a faint heartbeat in his chest, shallow, gasping breaths from his slightly parted lips. "Oh John. I'm so sorry kid. So sorry. So sorry." Wolverine said over and over into John's ear. Logan pulled the claws back into his arms and picked John up, knowing he had to do something soon or John would die. Logan shivered in the wind, his hair flecked with white as the snow fell faster. He began to run, stumbling as if he was drunk, at the pain in his own body, at the weight of an unconscious John in his arms. It took a long time, but finally Logan reached his cabin, kicking open the door and settling John on his bed.

Before he could treat John however, Logan knew he had to sort himself out first. He concentrated hard, and the small cuts on his feet closed up, the burns Pyro had given him disappeared. He only wished he could heal his friend like he could heal himself. As soon as his pain had faded, Logan knelt by John and pulled his sodden jacket off. The wounds still bled, but the flow was much slower now as John became weaker. Logan ran for the cupboards, scrambling madly inside them, looking for his first aid kit. He grabbed it and ran back to John, pulling out a handful of bandages almost before he had knelt down again. Logan pressed three bandages firmly along the lines of the three scratches on John's stomach. He didn't quite dare to inspect them closely yet, nervous of what he might see. He just had to stop the blood. He pressed the bandages further on to John, relieved when he felt the pressure against his fingers lessen, and eventually stop. Logan got some clean dressings, but before he put them on John, he washed his hands and got the sterile saline solution, gently cleaning the thin gaps between the gashes on John's stomach, only touching the edges of the cuts, which were very deep. Logan caught a proper glimpse of them, and saw he had even torn almost halfway into muscle. He looked away quickly, fighting down a bitter taste of bile. It hadn't been pretty. Logan wrapped the bandages around John's stomach as tightly as he dared, and secured them with a large safety pin.

But what had happened to him? Why couldn't he remember doing it? Why had he done it? It was John. His friend. Logan thought hard; he remembered his head hurting a lot…he remembered that his body didn't feel his own…he remembered going outside…and that was it. He remembered no more. Why? Logan came to one conclusion. His mind had been controlled by someone. This didn't help and only gave him more questions. Who had taken his mind? Why? He didn't want to think about it. He heard a small moan from the bed. John was stirring. Logan went over cautiously. John's eyes were still closed, and his face was pale, almost as white as the snow that hurled itself against the windows of the cabin. His forehead was burning at Logan's touch, and sweat stained the sheets. John moaned again, obviously in a lot of pain, and began to kick and shake, Logan gently pinning his shoulders to the mattress, shaking almost as much as John. What had he done? He asked himself again. Finally John was still, and Logan could try and help. He got a cold, damp cloth and placed on John's feverish forehead, sponging away the sweat that had run down his cheeks. At the cold compress John's eyelids fluttered and opened. Logan saw his eyes had dulled slightly. When John saw Logan, his eyes widened in fear and he tried to move, wincing at the pain that shot through his body, making his eyes water. Logan's eyes showed the hurt when he saw John try to get away from him. "John. Kid. Listen. I don't know what happened this morning. I wasn't myself. I don't even remember what happened, but it was bad. I'm so sorry. So sorry…" Logan just began to repeat this, over and over, hanging his head, his voice almost breaking off.

"Oh Logan…" John's voice was weak. "It's okay. It wasn't your fault; I could see it wasn't you…" John reached out and held on to Logan's hand. Logan nodded his thanks; he needed, as much as John, to hold on to something.

John closed his eyes again, and Logan thought he had fallen asleep. His eyelids were drooping and he was drifting away too. They both slept for a long time; many hours, until John spoke, dragging Logan from his dream. "I…it hurts" he whimpered.

"Okay, okay kid, let me take a look." Logan lifted the blankets covering John, and noticed a faint smell. His heart began to beat a little faster. It was the smell of decay. The dressings around John's stomach had red patches on them, streaked with black where they had still bled. "Okay kid, this might hurt; I have to take off your bandages." Logan undid the safety pin keeping John's dressings in place, and peeled them away from the wound as gently as he could, blood and loose skin sticking to the material. The smell got stronger as Logan worked, and John yelled out at the pain it caused him, squeezing his eyes shut. The dressings were finally off, and Logan's eyes widened. "I'd keep your eyes shut kid," he managed to say. The gashes looked terrible. They were not bleeding any more, but they had tinged with black around the edges, rotting skin. The exposed muscle had started to become susceptible to bacteria, and they were becoming infected, Logan could see. No wonder John was in pain. Of course being told to keep his eyes shut, John had to look. He opened his eyes and looked closely at his stomach, totally unprepared for what he might see. His face whitened and he looked at Logan. "You okay kid? John?" John shook his head and retched, vomiting yesterday's breakfast all over his sheets and Logan's vest. "Ugh. Nice going kid. I told you not to open your eyes!"

"Sorry," whispered John weakly "I'd rather not have done that actually." Logan smiled.
"I know kid." His face grew serious again. "But that's bad. I'm going to have to do something about it really soon. But first, let me clean up." Logan pulled his vest over his head, vaguely aiming it at the wash basket, already full of dirty clothes. He quickly pulled another t shirt over his head, and quickly ripped the sheets from John's bed. Not only were they stained with vomit, they were bloodstained and covered in sweat too. "I'll get you another blanket when I'm done okay?" but secretly he asked himself, what could he do? It was serious. Very serious. He thought for a while, and came to a conclusion. He didn't like it though. "John, I'm going to have to sort it out as best I can with basically salt water with a little bit of antiseptic in it. And I'm going to have to sew it. Your body will have to do the rest. I'll do my best, and I'll be right here for you. Oh…and you'll be awake during all of it. It's going to hurt." Logan told John. John nodded nervously as Logan went to the bathroom and scrubbed his hands.

He fetched everything he needed and showed John what he would be using. John vomited again at the sight of the needles, but after last time, Logan had found a bowl. Logan put on some surgical gloves, and got the large cotton pads, tipping a generous amount of antiseptic fluid on to them. "For this, I only need to use one hand," he said, offering his other to John, who gripped it as tightly as he could. Logan gently pressed the soaked pad on to the wounds, wiping away the dried blood, finally wiping it on the inside of John's wounds. John gasped, tears of pain beginning to roll down his pale cheeks. Logan tightened his own grip to comfort John. "It's okay kid. But now comes the most painful part. I'm sorry." He let go of John's hand and threaded some sterile cotton on to his needle, tying a knot in the end. "Brace yourself," Logan poked the needle through John's expose muscle, sewing that up first, to stop the infection if he could. John shrieked and fainted. Logan didn't blame him. He worked for hours, being as careful and gentle as he could, slowly sewing the skin, wiping away the watery blood and black liquid that leaked from the cuts as he pushed the ends together. How could he have done this? John woke up again just as Logan was finishing sewing up the final wound, cutting his thread with one claw; he couldn't find the scissors. "It still hurts Logan…" he said weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper. John raised his arms as best he could, and hooked them around Logan's neck. Logan understood; he needed to feel someone, needed to be told it would be all right, even if it wasn't really true. Logan lay down next to John so he wouldn't have to bend and tear at his wounds, putting his strong arms around John's thin body, resting his chin on John's head. "You'll be all right kid. They'll heal. I swear. I won't let you die." John said nothing, but held on to Logan. He felt helpless. He had tried his best, and promised his friend it would work out. What if it didn't? He felt guilty enough already. John fell asleep again, Logan soon after.

This time, Logan woke up first. He unhooked John from himself, and went to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. He finally found a tin of soup and poured it into a pan, deciding to give it all to John. He would get something later. He got a glass of water for himself, and another for John, taking the soup and water to him. John managed to sit up, and ate the soup ravenously. "It was all I had, sorry," smiled Logan, glad to see the John seemed to be getting a little better at least. For the next few hours, Logan stayed with John, laid on the bed together like before, talking about anything and everything. Logan had fallen asleep again when John started convulsing. Logan woke up with a start. "John? Hey kid? JOHN!" he yelled into John's ear, trying to get him to snap out of his fit. Logan still had his arms around John, and used his full weight to pin him to the bed, so he didn't hurt himself. However, he tore the stitches from one of his cuts, the wound bleeding freely, almost as much as it had when it was first inflicted almost five days ago now. At last John went limp in Logan's arms again. Logan sighed with relief and rolled off John, still not letting him go. He left John sleeping for a while, and drifted off again. Then he woke up.

Then he saw the blood. This time it was only a thin trickle, but it was coming from the corner of John's mouth, but his lips were not cut. Logan wiped it away, noticing John's cheek was cold. Logan's heart began to pound. "John? Kid? Hey wake up!" He began to shout, shaking John's shoulders. John's head just lolled and he didn't open his eyes. Logan felt for a pulse; frantically grabbing John's wrist, leaving small scratches from his fingernails. When Logan couldn't feel anything, he put his cheek next to John's lips, needing to feel faint breath again, like he had on the forest floor. There was none. Logan began to shake. No. It couldn't be true. Not John. Not his friend. Logan pulled John's body towards him, tears falling on to John's lifeless face. "NO!" cried Logan. "JOHN! Oh kid…" he sobbed. Logan stayed there all night. In the morning he finally got up, cracking his stiff joints and pulling the sheet over John's head, like they would in a hospital. Logan just walked away, out of the cabin, out of the forest, kept walking, trying to get away.

From what, he wasn't sure.