Author's Note- This story has been edited! So the first two chapters are redone and there is now a Prologue! Thanks


He looked blankly at the hand for a moment. One, that not half an hour ago, had been poised at his throat to kill him. He didn't. Staring at it a moment longer, Victor let instinct take over with a flicker of a smirk crossing his dark features.

He grabbed James' hand and pulled himself onto the top surface that hadn't been destroyed, boots crunching the debris under him. Victor stepped passed him but then turned around. He could have pulled himself up without James' help. He'd been doing it for a long time now. It was different now though, something had changed that he didn't claw himself back up and shove him. He realized suddenly that he'd finally let go of his grudge, that his brother betrayed him to run off with some frail broad.

Why was it gone?

It had ended, he thought, in that Jimmy couldn't do it. Even with the over powering smell of their animalistic rage, rage he had every intention in. Even in the worst kind of anger... Jimmy couldn't do it. Knew they were still brothers and he couldn't kill Victor, because they were blood.

They stared at each other for another moment, judging what the other was thinking. Each reading into the other's expression and body language on a basic level they had grown so accustomed to doing over the centuries.

"This doesn't change anything between us Victor…We're done."

He looked at his brother, staring at him, questioning him at first. The words he usually left unsaid saying themselves.

"We can never be done, Jimmy. We're Brothers. Brothers look out for each other."

The obvious statement hung in the air and made both think harder. Victor could be good with words when he wanted to be. It was just a matter of when he needed to, because he didn't. But Jimmy needed a good reminder in how things were, and he needed to keep it in his head.

Suddenly the platform they were on disappeared. His words started to echo in a sudden blackness as it all slid away, melting and twisting away into the anger and pain that had been so long hidden. It all attacked him, clawing into him, putting pressure over his entire body... and then suddenly it was melting into nothing just like Jimmy's memories.

Victor started heavily, eyes snapping open as he scanned the room over, his sharp and slightly ragged breathing filled the stale silence. His piercing eyes took in his dingy surroundings as his 'dream' faded. He could still feel it, the pressure all over him, the pain he didn't allow to fuck with him.

But soon enough his senses brought him back to the small room and the pressure eased. He stared around again. Some dreams were too real to shove away the moment he was awake. Even for him, they lingered. And then sometimes you got up and ignored that very same thing.

Standing up, Victor looked around for a clock...

Three in the morning.

The time didn't surprise him. He never slept long, not only did he not need it, even in the woods thing interrupted him. It'd been years since he probably got a full night's sleep.

He continued his path out of his bedroom, trying to focus on everything around him. He couldn't ignore the feeling though, the crawling rage that pushed through him. The rage that set his veins on fire with the urge to act, to kill, something to fill the animal's urges.

His all too human mind looked for a real diversion, one from the memories unwanted dreams brought to him. His urges was his usual outlet. But there was nothing for him to do. He was going to need to make some calls to that agent bastard he paid too much money to just to get some work.

He looked at the screen door leading out of the beaten up trailer. But there was nothing out there and he was still in New York. Should have just headed back to Canada, this side place of his had gone to hell.

He turned away from the screen, back to the sitting room. His gaze rested on the old beaten up television in the corner while a scowl forced itself on his face. He couldn't believe he was going to have to resort to that.

The television was severely out of use and outdated. It didn't bother him much. That was how he was, outdated. He belonged to another time, but that was another story.

So he gave in and watched the stupid television. The last of his cuts had stitched themselves back together in his sleep. He was glad he had decided to sleep it off. His slower healing factor had always been a source of aggravation to him. Jimmy and he had always wondered if he would not live as long because it was slower.

They doubted it; neither had aged in centuries as far as their senses could tell. The thought rarely ever crossed his mind. Certainly not now. Death was something so impossible to him that it never entered his mind as a normal human or even mutant's might. He was better than them, all of them.

His large form slumped on the tattered couch watching two guys go at it in an old war movie. They had always gotten a kick out of them. Never realistic of what the wars had been about or how they were.

Especially now as things were all high tech and all these damn graphics destroyed it. Bringing things to life! Some things just needed to die. The movie turned to a fake bloody battle field. He scoffed he wished it had been nearly that pretty. Or maybe he didn't. He couldn't be sure anymore. The blood didn't look real enough for him though.

He would change the channel, but that was the only thing ever on his television, old war movies or annoying television ads. He got the news too, but why bother with it? It would all change in a few years anyways. Everything today was about buying crap. He didn't pay it any mind. He never had and didn't care to start. Everything would change completely in the next centuries anyways. It always did.

He heard his stomach rumble and he rolled off the couch. His shoulder muscles finally clicked back into place, even after sleeping. Runt still hit hard when Victor pushed his buttons.

"Damn," He growled, a hit of annoyance in his voice, while he busied himself with searching his fridge for anything edible. As usual there wasn't much but dry cereal, which tasted full of preservatives and processed sugar. He preferred old hunting, even though they had grocery stores now with that 'organic' food. Bullshit. There were still too many preservatives in the stuff and it tasted awful.

He looked around blearily at his surroundings. He was still itchy from his dream and it was annoying him. Victor didn't linger. Yet he couldn't shake the feelings clutching weight on his shoulders.

Victor growled to his empty surroundings before walking to his screen door, letting it slam behind him. His eyes were set on the forest and he ran to it, welcoming the distraction it served.

He was tired of thinking, of caring about what Jimmy had done to him. Abandoning him, betraying him, and then just completely forgetting everything the two had been through. Forgetting brotherhood. He was sick of feeling it, of all feelings, and just needed an escape.

That was the good thing about their mutation though. They were always animals. That never changed. That could never be lost or forgotten. It was them. Jimmy fought it…he embraced it. He didn't pretend he was or could be something other than what he was. Why should he? It made him better, stronger, and it let him forget in ways nobody could, not even his good for nothing brother.

...

Logan tore the last of the droids in the danger room, the pieces falling around him to the ground. His blood was still searing in his veins though. The hell was wrong with that guy? He had picked a fight, had some motive that went unknown, unless it was just to fight which he didn't put past the guy. But then to just leave? Not finish their fight and whatever sick joy he got out of it. They both knew that neither could kill the other, so what was the point?

Logan wasn't sure why he was still thinking on it. He was a psychopath, easy answer. But it bothered him, and he couldn't figure out why he hated Sabertooth so bad. It was just something in his gut that told him to attack him, to tear him into tiny little pieces and burn them. Something that lit his insides on fire every time, he couldn't help it.

That wasn't what Logan was though... it wasn't what he did.

He shook his head from his angry thoughts as Ororo walked in.

"The team is going to need the Danger Room soon, Logan."

"I figured," He said, straightening his jacket as he reached in it for a cigar. He looked over at Ororo, who was pressing her lips together, but saying nothing.

He'd started past her, to clear out before he got roped into helping with it today, but Ororo stopped him with an outstretched hand.

"Is something wrong Logan?"

"No," He grunted automatically, pulling his shoulder away from her hand to continue to the door as he searched in a pocket for his lighter. Why was she bothering him with this touchy feely crap all the time? He was fine, and if he wasn't, he'd get fine. That's what he did.

"Logan," She continued and he stopped at the door to raise an eyebrow at her. She sighed and he finally got ahold of the lighter, flicking it he raised it to his cigar and lit it. "You're sure?"

"Yeah," He repeated, waiting a moment longer until she seemed to give up and he took that as his step out. Always with the questions...

Was he alright, yeah, obviously... or not so obvious. He didn't honestly know, just thinking to himself. Sometimes he thought he was, but he didn't know anything about himself, he assumed his name was Logan. From the dog tags no less. He assumed to hate his enemies, he assumed to like certain things. He would never know. It was all gone.

Logan made his way through the crowded hallways, filled with students that just got released from whatever class, and towards the back doors. The deep breath of fresh air as he hit the steps took a bit of the tension in his shoulders out, and he held his cigar away from his mouth for a moment.

Why was this coming back up? He thought he got rid of all these doubts after Alkali Lake. When he was faced with a choice. That he could just leave his demons in the past and not care about who he had been. That he was a different person now.

What was doing this though... maybe it didn't matter why. It rarely did for him. It was the act that meant more for Logan and the simple facts were that he couldn't.

He wanted the truth. A nagging feeling in him wanted the truth. He wanted to know why he liked motorcycles, or running in the cold mornings, who he had known, where his stupid jacket had come from and why he was so attached to it. He wanted to know what he had done, who he had been, good or bad, even his real name would suffice.

He just wanted the truth, whatever it may be.

He couldn't have it though. Any telepaths he trusted were dead. He had drowned the only connection to his past in Alkali Lake and there was nowhere for him to start, nothing to find.

So he found himself stepping off the porch and gaining speed as he started into the forest. Running into it and through the trees. Running so he could just flamin' forget about his inability to remember all these things. Running to forget that he could never seem to remember, no matter how badly he wanted it.