Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Wolverine, Jubilee or Sabretooth. Those characters are Marvels, as for Iggy, I own him. I don't see why anyone would want him though, but I might as well claim him while I still can.

Author's Warning: I've been thinking on how to write this. I hated sequels that you'd have to read the beginning to understand, but after re-reading my own material, there's too many plot points in the first one that'll be covered in this one. I apologize to those who hate being told to read the first part (believe me, I empathize with you all) but it has to be done. The first part is called The Ties that Bind.

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Winter, the time of year when Darwinism comes into full effect. The weak die, covered pound by pound by snow, while the strong barely survive the harsh conditions. Of all beings in this world, Victor Creed knew all too well those ideals. He lived this long by being strong and adaptable to anything that comes his way and, the majority of the time, eventually obliterating those same obstacles; however, he can't destroy the obstacles in his way now.

Snow elegantly fell to the ground like ballerinas on stage. Unfortunately, most of them landed on top the a hulking blonde figure who's claws where hidden in his trench coat pockets and a permanent frown imprinted on his face.

"I hate winter," he muttered to himself he pulled up his coat and walked along the desolate streets, only the sound of honking horns and the damaged lights flickering above kept him company.

Suddenly, he heard the rattling of chains and the cocking of guns. A novice gang tactic that usually would work on any frail to give up his possessions – but he wasn't frail. Knowing the oncoming onslaught he pretended to quicken his pace to lead the attackers on. When he heard a couple of footsteps quicken behind him, he knew that he baited them. He quickly ducked into an alley as he waited for his prey to come. Saliva dripped down his lip, it'd been a while since he got into a good fight and at this moment, he needed to release some steam. He took out his trench coat and put it aside where blood wouldn't get splattered on it.

They came in like a bad production of gangster movie. Greasy hair, cocky smiles, and weapons galore covered the fifteen people advancing towards him.

A woman pointing a sawed off shotgun towards him, "Our employer just wanted you, he didn't mean alive," she pulled the trigger as Sabretooth's body was knocked back into the brick wall.

He coughed up blood as he gave a toothy grin to the shooter, "is that all ya got frail? Seems Logan chose weak bounty hunters ta get me this time," another shot came off as the bullets drove through his body – at the same time it healed with no problems.

While his body took a while to recover, the bounty hunters kept on advancing though. Good, he didn't have to waste a lot of energy, so he'd wait until he saw the glint of greed and bloodlust in their eyes. He dashed forward and got face to face with the woman shooting the sawed off and growled in front of her horrified face before knocking the weapon away to the ground.

She tried to run away, but he got a handful of her hair and threw her against an unsuspecting mook, both of them unconscious.

Suddenly, he felt something stab into his back. Not even wincing, he turned around to see a punk quaking in his boots. Reaching over and taking the knife out of his back and sighed, "ya stabbed me in the muscle, it wouldn't even dent an old broad – next time try ta aim fer tha vital organs – if there is a next time" the punk tried to run – big mistake.

Creed aimed the knife directly at the spot where the punk hit him. He threw the blade and made direct contact – even Bullseye would be jealous of his aim.

"Who's next?" he taunted the twelve there, quivering in their boots. One chick had enough courage to swing her bat towards his face, which he promptly caught with his teeth, chomped down and made instant toothpicks.

"Nice try girlie, but next time yer better off going for a broader, sensitive spot, like here!" Sabretooth punched the girl in the chest, knocking her unconscious. Eleven...wait five stood there with their guns out -- seems like the other six wasn't interested on his bounty.

"Shoot this guy up," one of them announced as they tried to get their guns out, but a simple swipe just knocked all their guns out of their hands.

Sabretooth just waved his fingers at them, "yellin' the obvious ain't gonna get ya anywhere frail, ya should shot me when ya got the chance. He sliced downward at the guy who swore at him. Blood spattered where his mouth was. The others got the idea and left.

The guy sputtered and coughed up blood, "...bastard...we'll –" his sentence was cut short as Sabretooth claws went down on his prey. The guy winced for his death, but it didn't come. Instead he felt something go out of his pants pocket.

"Frail, bringin' a cell phone – rookie crap like this would get ya killed," Sabretooth flipped open the phone and dialed the numbers, "yeah...got some punks injured here...some bleedin' some unconscious...just trace this call..." He dropped the phone down on the guy, "police comin' for ya, better get yer story straight frail." With that he went over to pick up his trench coat and started to leave.

"Ya guys were no match fer me! Good thing I decided ta go easy on ya," he turned his backs on them and went off down the dimly lit street. He noted what wrong the would-be assassins did because he'd have to teach his protégé what not to do.

But first things first...

He walked a couple of blocks as in bold, neon colored lights filled his vision.

"What would the kid like?" he smirked to himself as he went inside 'Toys R' Us.

Now, a part of him worried of his appearance, blood caked onto his trench coat and a little battered and bruised, but this was Christmas Eve and if the couple in front of him was any indication – he fit right in. The murmur of frails surrounded him as he entered the way too bright warehouse like room. They pushed and shoved him on the way in, but they where lucky that he dealt with his bloodlust earlier. He couldn't help but pick up the sounds of quiet panic as he remembered why he hated winter so much...

Christmas was tomorrow...

Now for one Sabretooth, he'd probably be in Barbados banging some chick while plotting to kill his next client – No, not this year though. Things have changed...

A kid bumping into his leg interrupted his thoughts. He looked down and gave a glare that made the snot nose kid running, crying to his mommy. Smirking he went down the isles of this decrepit store.

Action Figures...nope

Bikes...too big

Barbies...Hell no!

Ah, he found the department he needed to get to. The facade of weaponry surrounded him. Plastic guns and fake grenades were to the left of him, while those caps where they explode on contact where to the right of him. Only if he could give his apprentice the real ones? Then he'd be one step closer to making the kid the ruthless killer he knew the kid could be.

But she said no...

He growled internally when he remembered her dissident tone that she gave him. "Nothin' where anyone will get hurt if he used it!" she warned him when she advised him to get the kid a gift for Christmas.

Well, she didn't say get something that can be used for a weapon...if taught correctly. He scratched his chin as he looked further down – there they were.

The "plastic" guns lay in front of him. They were in black casings and if looked from far away with the untrained eye – a person would think it was a real one. If he had the "Desert Eagle" Replica, he'd give it to the kid – but no – that was destroyed.

"Excuse me," a meek man tried to push by him, but Sabretooth blocked his way, "Excuse me," the man stated again as Sabretooth didn't let up.

"Sorry fr--," he didn't need to blow his cover now, "friend," was the only word that would replace 'frail' and he bit down his tongue when he said it and moved out of the way.

The meek man went by but fell flat on his face. Stumbling to get up, Sabretooth helped the guy up, "gotta be careful, ya don't know when I fall like that could kill ya," Sabretooth gave that famous toothy grin as the man mumbled something and went on his way.

Sabretooth continued looking at the items in front of him. Finally, he decided on something that looked like a magnum and went to pay for it. In his hand, he opened up a wallet.

"Turd Ferguson...that's the frails name, at least he got dough," Sabretooth took a couple of twenties from the wallet and saw Turd in front of him. Sabretooth purposely bumped into him, putting back the wallet. He hated this subtle crap! If he had it his way, he'd tear Turd a new hole, in various places – just to hear him scream. Yet he didn't want the attention in this crowded area.

It'd be bad if someone caught him Christmas Eve.

He went up to the counter where the line lasted forever. In front of him was someone trying to shoplift and now someone behind him came up with a crying baby.
A vein was about to pop in Sabretooth's brain. All this crap dealing with frails just to get this one gift. He popped his claws in and out in his trench coat, while the other hand held the gift. When he heard the sound of the crying baby cease, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, he felt the cart behind him on his back. His eyes went wide as he turned around and instinctually growled at the person who bumped into.

Turd Fergson...With gifts that filled up the cart and a look that said, 'Sorry don't kill me,' and Sabretooth wasn't going to comply.

"Next!" he heard a cranky voice yell when he was about to tear the throat of this guy. Sabretooth quickly went up and gave the item. The pimply faced clerk priced it through.

"35.72," the kid gave the price as Sabretooth growled, he would've got a couple of "real" guns on the black market with that price. He forked over the cash and just took the 'fake' gun without having it packaged.

As he was leaving the store, he heard Turd ruffling through his wallet, "Oh no! Not now," Turd exclaimed. At least that was the bright spot to Sabretooth's shopping experience.

Walking down the street, the sound of snow being crunched beneath his steel-toe boots couldn't help but notice blood caking into his fur and it started to annoy him, but not as annoying as the long, long trek back to the hospital. He'd have to shoot that guy that gave him the bad directions or help him out. He didn't have so much fun as he did tonight.

...And he needed it.

The snow started to lightly fall again as he treaded across the slick concrete with his boots. Though he took one more step and he felt his balance collapse beneath him. He slipped and fell hard on his butt, but he grasped onto the package like it was a bomb. Wincing, he slowly got up. The superficial pain didn't bother him, but rather the thing he'd become. The skillful and best assassin out there could go toe to toe with the runt; yet, when it came to a slippery slope – he fell on his ass. Growling as he mumbled swear words he looked around to make sure that no one saw what just happened. Luckily, no frail was around. He sneered at the situation as he continued to go forward.

"Ain't that cute, Creed. Ya fell on yer butt and got a boo boo," he heard an annoying feminine voice taunt him. He growled and turned around to see no one there. He stopped sniffed the air, just the familiar smell tires and grime filled his nostrils.

No one was there...

Snarling at the air, he knew that he wasn't alone, "Ain't funny," he yelled out into the void. The snowflake that landed on his face was his only reply.
Huffing in anger, he just continued walking. The hospital was still a long way off and visiting hours would be a bitch to get through.

Did his mind just comprehend what he said in his head?

Victor Creed, rushing to go to the hospital so he could get in at visiting hours. First, he fell on his ass on the snow, and now he wanted to comply with the law. Laws – he broke them over and over again. This compliance thing grated his nerves.

It had to be done though and he cursed himself for his luck. Why couldn't he keep his reputation and keep this new feeling he felt when he saw the kid?

Because assassin's ain't supposed ta feel he reminded himself. He once again clutched the package in his hand. The kid meant nothing to him. He tagged along and he couldn't kill the brat. After all this, he'd kill the brat first chance he got or use him as a tool to get what he needed. At least that's what he repeated to himself.
Wrapped up into himself, Creed didn't even see the lights and hear the whir of machinery until a huge bus stopped right next to him. He looked and saw he stood next to a bus stop. He looked at the destination, Eerie General Hospital.

The doors swung open and in the driver seat sat a man in a Santa suit and the fakest beard ever -- oh, how Creed loathed Christmas at this moment.

"Getting in?" the man questioned, the beard nearly falling off, "not going to charge you -- Christmas Eve and all...Ho, ho ho!"

Staring in disbelief, Creed just took a step back, "No," he snapped quickly as he started walking away. He didn't need to be in a bus with a freak driver being overly cheery.

"No I insist," the annoyingly jolly man followed him on the bus.

Creed just about had it – he didn't need to deal with another jerk tonight.

"Look frail, I ain't goin' ta take yer free ride! So why dontcha go drive tha bus off a cliff and do everyone a favor by screamin' before ya die – that way, they could sing carols at yer grave," he snipped as he had to see the reaction to this one. He turned to see a rifle pointed to his face by the guy in the Santa suit.

"C'mon, I'd like to turn you in tonight," the jolly being moved his head like he was motioning to the back of the bus. Creed looked and saw that, other people in elf costumes held rifles outside the window, "it's only 9:03 – still time to make it, if you comply,"

Creed looked at the circumstances and started to laugh out loud, "Ya think Santa and a bunch of his cronies can take me – I'd rip yer heads off and give 'em ta children for – ," he tried to intimidate, but the shot through his chest told him that his intimidating skills weren't working. Instantaneously, he hopped into the shadows of the alley, still holding on to the toy gun. He looked around quickly for a way to escape as the shots flew past him and some of them hitting him. He found a ladder that led up to the roof of a red brick building and started climbing. Through the shots, the redundant screams of 'get him' and the sounds of his boots having that eerie sound of metal on the bottom and toes squishing with blood on the inside – he felt oddly familiar with something he thought he lost.

When he got to the top, he took in a breath and surveyed the cloudy night sky – beautiful. Now only if he could get away from those goons that where following him. He heard the footsteps coming up to greet him. He peered over only to take a bullet to the head. That would've hurt, okay it hurt a little, he liked having an adamantium skeletal structure.

He used his strength to push off the rusty metallic ladder, he tried to hold down his laughter as he saw the goons in elf costumes and the man in a Santa suit try to regain balance. Too bad for them that the ladder creaked of it's hinges and started to fall down towards the hard slick icy ground. Victor turned around and waited to hear that satisfying crunch sound and moaning. He didn't go back on his deal, they'd be alive from a fall like that, some of them more mobile than others, but alive.

He couldn't hold back his laughter anymore as a sharp gruff exhalation of suppressed completeness rang out loud to the night sky. Holding the plastic gun close to him, he rolled on the top of the roof laughing at the very thought of him almost killing 'Santa'. That's when he noticed a clear patch amongst the heavy clouds. He simmered down and looked at the stars beyond. How many times did he ignore them only to see them now? The guy said 9:03 and he hoped the hospital would have an exemption for him since it was Christmas Eve. A door led to the exit of the building, but if he went that way he would probably be seen by someone and as is, blood and guts wasn't conductive for Christmas cheer.

He looked over to the other rooftop, to him, the distance wasn't that far. Webhead could easily do it and he's better than that spider hero. So he readied himself and ran. Unfortunately, he didn't factor in the slick roof or the fact that he was wearing boots. He pushed forward though as he got to the edge and leapt. He saw people flailing their arms in the air in order to gain more distance, and he wasn't any different. He was going to make it, and much to his own amazement he made it. He laughed at his own accomplishments until the roof caved in on him. Damn his adamantium skeletal structure making him heavy!

Floor after floor after floor after floor, he felt his back being torn open as he felt the impact of solid ground. Oh joy to the world! He felt his wounds being stitched up beautifully as he had some ability to get up and dust himself up. The trench coat he wore had a nice tint of red along with his pants. He growled a bit as he had to take a piece of floor out of his stomach.

Good news though, he landed where a door was and he looked outside and it no one was there. Quickly he got to the door and broke it open. Suddenly, the alarm went off and all he could do is roll his eyes as he went out the door.

He didn't run, a good jog would suffice as he saw the hospital only a couple of blocks away. Now this made him have a huge grin as he quickened his pace. He felt no one around him and he could go at this pace and it didn't hurt as much. As he got to the parking lot, he saw the street lights go off in front of him. No problem, he could see in the darkness pretty well. He got to the sliding doors and they would not open.

Rage opened up within him and he felt like tearing this forsaken hospital apart. He growled out loud as a twitch came to his eye and a fist was going to ram through the door but they opened up. Bewildered, he didn't question what happened as he took a step inside, only to have someone pass him quickly and head towards the bathroom.

How'd he know? He'd been here too long to not know the layout of this place. He'd been a regular here for the past couple of weeks waiting for the boy to recover and now…of all days…maybe he'd be awake. He walked past the secretary who tried not to look at him, past the next couple of rooms that held no significance to him.

That's when he got to the room where the boy stayed. He took a deep breath and opened the door. The scent of the boy wasn't there, the place was too sterile. The Christmas decorations he helped put up where still there, that meant he had the right room. He hastily looked around to see the bed cleaned up and empty.

"Where!" he started to scream out but she appeared in front of him. She wore her ever present yellow trench coat, pink shirt, jean shorts, sunglasses and a frown. Her crossed arms didn't seem like a good thing, "What happened! Where –,"

"You're too late," she stated flatly as any momentum he had halted. Too late? How could he be too late, he just saw the boy a couple of hours ago and he was fine – unless. He heard the sound of plastic cracking as he felt the plastic gun almost crack up a bit.

"Too late," an angry whisper escaped Sabretooth's lips as he sat down on the bed with a gaze that looked nowhere.

"Yeah, they had to move him in order to clean up the room, you pay them to clean the room everyday remember? Geez your so forgetful, and what's with that face like you went through hell and –," this is when her words started to blur out to his hazy laziness. He leaned back on the bed that he made himself home to those weeks, took off his blood stained boots and torn up jacket.

"Do ya know how ta wrap a gift," he interjected whatever she said as he placed the plastic gun on top the table next to him, "do it fer me, I'm tired," he closed his eyes to feel what would eventually come.