"Hand me the size eight wrench bub." Logan ordered as I sat next to him.

I smiled, handing it to him, "You got it, old man."

He stopped what he was doing, rolling out from under the car a little to glare at me. "This old man with still kick your sorry bum. In front of all your friends. Do you really want them to see you get beat by your grandfather?"

"My grandfather is Wolverine. I don't really think anyone can expect me to win a fight against you. Except maybe Lovette."

Logan sighed, rolling back under the van, "That kid thinks you could do anything."

"That's why I have to distance myself form her." I mumbled. "She needs to learn to do things herself, that she can't always depend on me. If she learns that, then she'll learn to protect herself. Then I won't have to worry about her anymore."

Logan didn't even bother to stop his work, "You know she's gonna be five next week right? That's a bit young."

"I'm not saying it's fair." I mumbled, "And actually… no. I didn't know she was turning five…"

Logan didn't say anything. He didn't want to upset me, but I knew that statement probably sent me down a few pegs on his respect list.

We worked in silence for a long time, it was only when we were fixing the last vehicle, his motorcycle, that he finally spoke up. "Why is your self esteem so low that you don't think you could step up to the plate once I'm dead?"

I stared at him, "Logan, do we have to talk about this?"

He fixed me in a stern gaze, the kind of gaze only parent can give their kids. Part of me is relived that I have a father figure to give me this kind of look. The other part of me is furious that I need a father figure to give me that look instead of a father.

"Yeah, we have to talk about it. I'm not going to be around forever, and when I wake up in Hell for the second time, I wanna be able to think in relief 'It's okay, someone's got my spot covered.' And call me crazy, but I really thought it would be you."

I looked away from him, staring at the ground, "Why would you ever think it should be me? I'm nothing but a screw up Logan. I mean, New Hampshire, Madripor, Egypt, Young Justice, everywhere I go, I cause nothing but trouble."

Logan chuckled, "You think I didn't raised my fair share of hell in my day? It still is my day! I raise hell every chance I get."

"Your hell doesn't end up with a burning orphanage. Or hundreds of people dying thanks to a crime spree. Or a mummy trying to end all female life." I pointed out.

"You've learned over these past few years kid." Logan pointed out, wiping grease off of his hands, onto a white towel. That poor towel will never be white again. "I mean, it used to be you couldn't last ten seconds against me, now you can hold your own for eighteen minutes-"

"Twenty." I corrected.

"What?"

"You're first take down didn't count, the rules were only submissions, no take downs." I explained.

He grinned, "Rules, Shmules."

"Now whose the kid!?" I asked, pointing my finger at him, "And I ain't taking over for you Logan, I'm just… not gonna do it. Get Laura on this, she kicks my ass constantly."

Logan shook his head, "Laura isn't ready for so much responsibility. She's still trying to figure herself out, she doesn't need an entire team breathing down her neck."

He paused, "And, another thing, this is my last day on Utopia."

My eyes widened, "You're… retiring?"

"Hell no!" Logan snapped, glaring at me. If looks could kill I'd be dead right now. "I ain't old yet darlin."

You're unbelievably old, you geezer. I held up my hand sin defense, "Alright, truce!"

Logan sighed, grabbing a beer and opening it, "The X-men are splitting up."

I couldn't even comprehend it. The X-men and splitting up didn't belong in the same sentence, no, the same paragraph, no, the same book together! I mean, give me a break! The X-men have always been together, and they always will be. It's just a set thing!

"And I need to know kid, are you staying here, or are you coming with me to the new school I'm starting?"

My mouth seemed to move of it's own accord, because there was no way my mind was telling it what to say! My mind was still stuck on the splitting up thing.

"Where is your new school going to be?"

"Where Xavier's last one was." Logan answered.

"What are you going to call it?" Again, mouth not asking the right questions.

"Jean Grey's school."

Of course. Logan still hung up on Jean. Poor old bastard.

Ask a good question! One that matters! Do you hear me mouth!?

"Why do you need me to go?" I asked. Yes! Good questions! We're making progress!

Logan opened his mouth to talk, but someone interrupted. "Oh, Mio. I've been looking for you."

I looked over my shoulder, seeing Scott standing there, looking as uptight as usual. Logan growled, "What do you want Scott?"

"To talk to Mio."

"Dude, whatever happened to you, I swear, this time it wasn't me."

"No." Scott said, "It's not about any pranks. I just need a moment of your time."

"Fine." I mumbled, standing up and following him out of the garage.

He spoke quietly as we headed towards the mansion, not that it did any good. Logan heard anyways. "Mio, with Logan gone, I'm going to need a new danger room instructor."

"You can do that yourself."

"You're better at hand to hand combat, spying, natural instincts, survival, and not to mention, you have a devious talent for thinking up new danger room scenarios." He explained, "I'm going to need that, for our students."

"Then go grovel to Logan." I was getting pretty tired of everyone suddenly wanting my help. Usually people want nothing to do with me.

"I've tried to talk to Logan about this." Scott said, finally stopping in his walk, and placing a hand on my shoulder, "He refuses to reconsider. I need help Mio, and-"

"And you expect me to be like Logan. You expect me to want to naturally help people, sacrifice my soul for theirs, I know, I've heard his speech. Here's the thing Scott, I have a soul, or at least, I think I do. I'm not sure if a black hole qualifies. But I'm not Logan, boy scout. There's a reason why I call myself Hell Hound, and it's not because I'm one hell of a dog-feral fighter. It's because I look after myself first, and others second. I don't give a damn about you Scummers, so dig your own grave, and I'm gonna happily watch from the sidelines, maybe munching on some popcorn!"

I turned walking away, and then stopped, "Wait, no!"

I turned back to Scott, "Not popcorn, a candy apple! Oh great, now I'm hungry."

I walked back into the garage, "Give me one good reason why I should quit Young Justice and throw my lot in with you, a reason that doesn't pertain to family."

"Step up or step aside."

Good point.

"Alright Logan, what position you got for me at this school of yours?"

He grinned, "Japanese language and culture, and assistant danger room teacher."

I grinned right back, "You got it, I'll get my memories sorted out, and then I'll head out to join you guys.

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER:

As weeks turned into two months, Emma and I pulled through every crevice of my mind, bringing up every tampered memory until I vomited every day. Then I would sleep, and we'd start again.

I found out a lot about my real past, for instance, my father started coming around annually, on my birthday. He would always bring me a similar gift every year, several books. Most were in the English language, one with in Japanese, and all the others were in varying languages of Spanish, Italian, or French. One was even in Persian. Whenever I got a book in a language I didn't know, my father would expect my mother to teach me the new language, and for me to have mastered it by the time he came back, and memorized the book.

Once, he came around on a date that wasn't my birthday, and he only said ten little words to me, "Go to your room, I must speak with your mother."

I went to my room, and heard them arguing in a language I didn't know. Once my father left, I came out of my room, and same my mother, sitting at the kitchen table, crying.

I tried to comfort her, but she simple brushed me away, telling me she just needed to be alone. The next morning, my mother seemed to have aged over night. She told me my father had requested she teach me to fight.

She had revealed to me a treasure I never knew she had, a sword. It was a beautiful katana, traditionally crafted, with black cord wrapped around the handle as decoration. It's guard was iron, twisted into a circle that looked like the body of a dragon, circled around the collar.

I had been ecstatic, and had loved the art of swordsmanship. My mother proved to be a master at the art, and looking back at those memories with my now trained eye, I could easily tell that her fighting style was a traditional Japanese samurai art, Mugai-ryu. And over two years, I also became a master. What my father said to me when he came back for my birthday once I had mastered it, I now remember.

Father finally nodded, retracting his claws as I panted, still holding my sword tightly, my stance not wavering. It could be a trick, and I didn't want to risk another injury. My healing factor had already healed the lacerations dealt out to me by my father's claws, but the memory of the pain still lingered.

"You're base is flawless, you're balance is constant, and you're cutting angle stays the same basic width. You're strategizing could use a little work, you should think about using the environment to your advantage."

He walked over to me as my mother watched warily from the sidelines. She had never injured me while sparring with me herself, and it was clear she didn't approve of my father's rougher was. I slowly let my weapon drop as my father came to a stop in front of me. He held my gaze for a moment, before letting a small grin rest on his face. "Never the less, it's only taken you two years to master this style."

He put a hand on my head, rustling my long black hair, "It's a good start, and I am proud of your progress."

Only now do I realize, he never once said, "I'm proud of you."

I now remembered that I had grandparents on my mothers side. I remember my grandmother, I called her Uba. The Japanese word for Grandmother was Sobo, but it was very formal, and we were a fairly informal family, so I used the Japanese word for Nanny, which was Uba. Likewise, the Japanese word for Grandfather was Sofu, but I used the informal word, Oji, meaning Granddaddy.

Their memory was probably erased to keep me from returning to Japan. Why? At the rate this mind purge is going, I'll probably never know.

I was nine.

"Mother?" I asked, trying to practice my English, "Did you call me?"

Of course she called me. I could hear better than a dog, and I knew damn well she called me.

She nodded, holding up a basket, "Take this down to your grandparents, won't you?"

The frown I seemed to constantly have on my face disappeared, replaced by a rare grin. I had grown bitter as the years past, angry at the racist people in my village, angry that my father hadn't seen fit to recognize my potential and take me with him to the empire he was helping build.

But a visit to Uba and Oji? Nothing could get my spirits up more than that. I took the basket from her, "Alright mother."

I took off towards town, running down our hill and towards the three mile long trek into town. Long ago I had built up my stamina to run the entire three miles without rest, at my top speed.

Once my training had begun, I had discarded the now useless Kimono the women and girls in my village wore. It just seemed to be impractical for fighting and running and jumping and climbing. How my mother managed to still wear one while she fought was beyond me, but I chalked it up to my mother being an absolutely flawless woman.

I now wore what most men and boys in my village did in informal occasions, trousers and a t-shirt.

I got into town, and went into my grandparents house. Their front room doubled as a charm shop. My grandmother always said she was in touch with the spirits, that they spoke to her, and she would listen. She sold magic charms in her story. She didn't read people's futures, but every now and then she would just burst out in a weird voice, and rattle off something weird like, "Rains of sorrow wash over Shika Aburame tonight."

She said it was predications, but I never bought much into supernatural things.

"Uba!" I greeted, running into the shop."

She smiled, hugging me, "Hello Mio, how is my favorite Granddaughter?"

I smirked, "As far as I know, I'm your only granddaughter. And it better stay that way."

She laughed. "Shino, Mio is here!"

My grandfather walked by the entrance to the shop, and gave me a little nod, "Mio, is your mother well?"

I nodded, "Yes, she got over her cold last night."

He walked away. My grandfather never talked to me much, and I could smell, every time he was around me, all the indifference he felt towards me. But then again, my grandfather felt indifferent to just about everybody. Except my grandmother, and my mother.

"Uba?" I asked.

"Yes?"

"Why doesn't Oji love me?" I was very used to villagers not liking me, and even openly stating that they hated me, but in my opinion, family should stick together, and care for each other. I was so naïve back then.

Uba wrapped her arms tighter around me, "Your Oji is a very serious kind of man. In his eyes, no love is freely given, regardless of blood ties. One day, he will see how great you are, and he will love you."

"So I have to earn his love?" Just like father.

"I'm afraid so my love."

I snapped back into reality, grabbing the trash can and heaving into it again. Once my stomach was emptied, I trembled a little, "Well, that was when I was nine. We must be getting close now, right?"

Emma put a hand on my shoulder, rubbing little circles into the muscle. "Do not push yourself so hard. Why don't you simply ask your father what happened?"

"One, I hate the bastard, and as far as I'm concerned, he's Donna's problem now. Two, there's probably no way he'd ever tell me the truth." I explained, "Alright, so now we know my Oji was a bit of an asshole. Next memory?"

She shook her head, "No more today, your mind is weak enough. You mind is beginning to blur reality with illusion. I recommend a good night's sleep."

I nodded, "You got it."

LATER THAT NIGHT:

"I told you Conner, I'm going as fast as I can with this mind revolving thing, but it takes time. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I'm sorry. I just miss you baby."

"You sound like a star struck teenage girl."

"You know you love it when I get all girly over you."

"… It has it's appeal from time to time."

"Uh, babe? Is Logan within earshot?"

"No."

"Good. Damn I miss you so much, the second I get you home… Ugh, you have no idea what I wanna do to you."

I bit my lower lip, not sure what to say. Me and Conner may have been living together, but all we've ever done is French a little. Did I want to take that step with Connor? Well, he was a very attractive boy, and he was all mine. But was I ready for it? "I miss you too. Get condoms."

Step up or step aside, right?

I could hear him choke a little on the other line, "Oh, okay. You got it babe, the second you get home."

I laughed a little, "I gotta go Conner, this telepath stuff takes a toll on my mind."

"Well, when you get home I'll give you a head to toe massage. You just gotta get home."

"With promises like that how can I stay away? I seriously do have to go though, I'm beat."

"Alright, love you babe."

"… uh."

"…Mio?"

"I love you too."

I hung up right then and there. I don't know, I'm sixteen for the love of God, I don't know what love is!

I went into a deep sleep, for the first time in weeks. I had the weirdest dream ever though.

I curled up beside a small fir, my head on my father's lap, drifting on the edge of a dream. My father ran his fingers through my long black hair, "Father?"

He sighed, "Yes?"

"Where is Mommy?"

"… Go to sleep."

I curled up closer to him, using the muscle of his thigh as a pillow. "Yes Father."

It sickens me how obedient I was to him. Of course, back then I hadn't known him as a psychopathic, sociopath with a long history of uncalled for violence. He had probably seemed like a loving father, because I hadn't known what one was supposed to be like.

He ran his hand through my hair again, and then did something very un-Daken like.

"Nenneko, nenneko,Nenneko yo !Oraga akabo noNeta rusu ni,Azuki wo yonagete,Kome toide,Aka no mamma eToto soete,Aka no ii-ko niKureru-zo !"

I hummed at the familiar lullaby, and began to get tired.

"Nenneko! nenneko!Nenneko yo !Oraga akabo waItsu dekita ?San-gwatsu, sakura noSaku toki ni :Dori de o-kao gaSakura-iro."

"Nenneko, nenneko, nenneko ya !Netara o-kaka e tsurete ina !Okitara gagama ga totte kama !"

I jumped awake, panting. This is pathetic. Of all the horrible nightmares I've had of Daken, ones where he tortured me, kills my mother in front of me, drags me to Hydra, or the oddest one, he makes me look into a mirror, and all I see is his face.

But, this recent nightmare, dream, whatever it is, Daken singing a nightmare to me? Yeah, that's the scariest thins I have ever seen.

My phone suddenly beeped, showing I received a text. I opened it, it was from Donna.

Need your help. Daken is gone.

That asshole.