Author's note: There are two quotes from Origins. All my info is from that book, so yes it is based on something that Marvel actually did. I'm sorry if this story seems to be running out of steam. I'm trying to wrap it up but mention everything I want to mention. Chapter 4 should be the last.

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Chapter 3 – Revelations

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The Howlett estate, as it was still called, was not difficult to find, but information about it was tougher. There were many legends still told in half-whispers, of bad luck, curses, and the string of tragedies that followed it since its construction. The grandest estate in Alberta (some said in all of Canada) was now no more than charred ruins, a blackened, jagged skeleton in the snow on the hill.

They said the fire happened in the mid-80s, that some rich businessman (who held little stock in superstitious legends) had moved in with his family. The wife had been "one of those fruity new-age dabblers," and always claimed she sensed presences in the old place. She had, they said, been possessed by the ghost of Elizabeth Howlett at some séance she threw for their high society friends. One by one, the family was stricken with all sorts of misfortune. The eldest son went mad, the man lost his business to an unscrupulous partner. Then, one autumn night, the whole place was ablaze with a strange fire that couldn't be put out. They had to let it burn until it gutted the place and then went out mysteriously on its own. The investigation could reveal no definite cause: speculation ranged from a careless servant to the eldest boy or the possessed wife. It was impossible to know for certain: the entire household had perished in the hungry flames.

After that people tended to stay away from the big, ruined house on the hill. Children didn't dare play near it, animals instinctually shied away from it, and no one bid on the land or expressed any desire to even tear the ruins down, much less build anew.

Logan and Raven managed to loosen the tongues of a few older folks in the town, many of whom had lived their entire lives there and remembered stories from their parents and grandparents. Slowly at first, then with greater ease, they gathered peoples' memories. Raven claimed they were doing research for a book. "I'm no expert on journalism, but shouldn't you be taking notes?" one astute woman asked.

"I have a photographic memory," Raven explained, tapping her temple with her finger. "It's all up here."

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"The Howletts? They were a particularly strange clan and no mistake," one particularly helpful elderly gent informed them. "My pa was friends with one of the hired men. Master John was a real down-to-earth fella, they said, but his father, that was another story." He paused to take a sip of his coffee. The three of them huddled in a booth in the near empty diner, having a late lunch. The walls were draped festively with garland and wreaths; it was Christmas Eve day, and Raven had completely forgotten, a rare enough thing.

It would be the first Christmas since she joined the X-Men that she hadn't spent at the mansion. Logan had never been very big on Christmas, and he didn't want to delay their journey. It was bad enough they had to cut it short; he wasn't about to fail in his vow another year. He had told Raven the night before that they'd have to continue their journey when he got back from Japan. She had protested that with British Columbia the next province over, they may as well go there while they were relatively nearby, but he was adamant. He would bring her back to Westchester and return in late January "in time for your birthday," he promised. It would be her 21st, and he joked that he was going to take her out drinking to celebrate. After what had happened in that bar, she wasn't looking forward to going to another, no matter what kind of bar it was.

The man continued, "That old man was the meanest, most miserly old codger alive, my pa said. He and his son argued constantly over how to run the estate. The eldest boy took ill and died soon after they built the place, though I've heard rumors that suggest more sinister reasons for his disappearance. The mistress of the house went mad after that. The younger boy was sickly, I remember that. It wasn't a happy household, to be sure."

"Whatever happened to them?" Raven asked. She glanced surreptitiously at Logan; his face betrayed nothing.

The old man sighed and rolled his cup back and forth between his hands. "My pa said one night in autumn, same time of year as that fire was so many years later, in fact, there was an altercation at the house. Some servant the master had been having problems with had been thrown out that day, and that night he broke in and shot the master and his wife. What happened to the young lad, no one knows." He hunched forward, his voice hushed, "But my pa told me that when they got in the house, the servant was lying there dead, his chest and stomach torn open like with claws or somethin', and his son had three deep gashes across his face. People say that the young master was a werewolf or some such thing, that after his parents' murder he joined the wolves. Some say he runs with 'em still but that's a load of cock-and-bull if you ask me. He'd likely be dead by now. Few men live to be that old, werewolf or no." He finished his story and gulped up the rest of his coffee; Raven took his distraction as an opportunity to raise an eyebrow at Logan. The old man rose.

"Pardon me, but I ought to be gettin' home. Good luck with your research," he said, bidding them farewell.

"Yes, thank you for your help," Raven called after him. He left, and she and Logan spent a few moments in silence.

"Shall we go take a look?" she asked.

"I suppose," he agreed, laying down some money for the bill. Raven took him by the hand, and they left.

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Even ruined and crumbling, it was imposing, and Raven could still see it in her memory, the enormous house that seemed to have hundreds of rooms. They strolled arm in arm around the grounds as the sky grew dark and snow began to fall, their breath making clouds in the air as Raven told Logan all she knew about this part of his past, all she remembered. She gestured to places, areas of the house and the grounds and explained what memories they tied to, feeling like some sort of temporal tour guide. Logan nodded, but he said nothing most of the time. She could tell he was trying to remember, and once in a while a comment of hers would seem to register. One by one, things took hold.

Raven mentioned the bad things hesitantly, nervous about what reaction they would provoke. Recognition showed on his face at a few mentions, but flickered and died. Of course the most horrible memories would be buried quite deep. She was almost relieved when he admitted he couldn't remember the worst parts at all.

"That man mentioned claws," Logan said, "but I thought I didn't have claws until the Weapon X project."

"You did," Raven explained, "real claws, claws of bone. They're still there, just plated with adamantium like the rest of your bones. That research team probably did you a favor," she mused. "It probably hurts a bit less to have blades slicing your skin than to have bone claws punching through."


"Mama, I... I can't feel my hands! Rose? What's happened to my hands?"


Raven closed her eyes, clenching her teeth in remembered pain. Her hands twitched in her pockets.


"You are not my son! You're a monster... an animal!"


It was hard enough telling him about it, difficult enough for her to deal with the pain of memory; secretly, Raven was glad he couldn't remember most of what she was telling him.

"It's good to at least know what happened," Logan admitted as they stood next to where the hedge maze had been. It was overgrown now, a tangled wilderness, dusted lightly by the gentle snowfall. Raven shivered in the cold, and he put his arm around her. They stood silently for a while, taking in the scene.

Raven broke the silence, "Do you remember Rose?"

Logan nodded slowly. "Red hair. I remember she had red hair. She was beautiful. We were friends... I loved her." Raven stiffened, although she already knew all of this. She felt ashamed of the ache in her stomach at those words. Logan's eyes squeezed shut. "I killed her, didn't I?" he whispered.

"Yes," Raven breathed.

"I don't know how or why, but I did." His voice was pained.

"It was an accident," Raven assured him, but her thoughts were far away, remembering that day. "You went feral for a long time after that. It was the second time you forgot everything. Ran with the wolves true enough."

Logan turned to Raven and pulled her close. She embraced him tightly. "Darlin', let's go," he said. He sounded unbelievably weary and looked drained, older somehow; the lines in his face seemed more pronounced. Raven felt sick at heart; perhaps it was a mistake after all, this journey. They turned and left the ruins of the past behind.

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"You're quiet tonight," Raven remarked. "More than usual, I mean." They lay in bed together, in the ratty motel room that was the only lodging they could get this Christmas Eve night. Better than the stable of an inn, Raven admitted, but not by much. Much better than freezing to death in the truck. At least it was clean. She wished more than ever that they were back at the mansion, drinking egg nog with Professor X and listening to Jean bitch about the lights on the tree being messed up.

"James, I'm sorry," Raven whispered, burying her face into the pillow. "This was a mistake, wasn't it? I'm just making things worse." She was miserable. It seemed everything had gone wrong, not in the way she feared it would, but wrong nonetheless. She swallowed hard against the painful lump in her throat.

Seeing her distress, Logan cradled her to his chest, trying to soothe her. "Bloodraven, darlin', don't cry. I mean, it hurts, but it's gonna hafta hurt. I knew from the start I was gonna learn terrible things about my past. It ain't your fault." He stroked her hair, her face, kissed her tears away.

"It's Christmas," she wept, "and here we are, thousands of miles away from the only home we know, in some shitty motel--"

"Honey, I'm just glad I'm with you. It doesn't matter where we are; we're together," he reminded her. "Now let's get some rest. If you don't fall asleep, Santa'll never come." He smiled.

"Ha ha," she replied sarcastically, but she gave him the tiniest of smiles.

"That's my girl," Logan murmured proudly, kissing her cheeks. "We're just tired is all. Everything looks bleak at night; we'll be fine in the morning." Holding each other tight for warmth and comfort, they soon fell asleep.

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