A/N: I'm pretty much ignoring the fact that X3 was ever made for the sole reason that it totally pissed me off. (Killing off half the main characters! What the hell were they thinking?) So everybody who (stupidly, pointlessly) died in the third X-Men movie is alive and well in my little story. Sadly, I couldn't fit all the characters I wanted to in this chapter, but there's always the possibility of future stories.

There's a smattering of dialog taken from the Origins movie.


Disclaimer: I do not own Sabertooth or any of the X-Men characters in any universe that I'm aware of.

I'm not making one red cent from this story. I'm just havin' some fun.


It was a beautiful place, if rather tame for Victor's taste. The high wall surrounding the mansion and its grounds was pretty much submerged under a waterfall of ivy, except for a spot beside the wrought iron gate trimmed back to reveal a plaque: XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED CHILDREN. Victor trod up the long driveway leading to the gate with all his worldly possessions; the clothes on his back and boots on his feet. The automated gate swung closed before he reached it. No surprise there. Victor stood before the barred entrance, clawed hands casually tucked into the pockets of his long black coat, and waited. He could hear the sounds of kids playing in the distance, though none were in view. Maybe the professor warned them away.

Moments later a group of people emerged from the mansion and headed towards him. At the forefront was Professor Charles Xavier trundling in his electric wheelchair. To his right was Cyclops, with his pretty red haired fiancée at his side. To Xavier's left was Storm, her face like an ebony carving, beautiful and distant. And behind her and slightly off to the side, his face set in a determined scowl, was Jimmy. Logan, as he was known here.

Victor smirked. "All these folks to welcome little ol' me. Guess I should be flattered."

"The hell d'you want, Sabertooth?" Logan snarled. Victor's muscles tensed in reaction to his brother's aggressive tone. He felt the urge to leap over the gate and come at the other mutant, claws slashing, but fought the impulse. He forced himself to remain still, fists shoved deep into his pockets. He could smell the emotions radiating from the people glaring at him through the bars; anger, fear, hatred. They were all ready to unleash their powers the second Victor so much as twitched; all but Xavier. The bald, wheelchair-bound mutant gazed thoughtfully at the unexpected visitor. Victor imagined he could feel the old man rummaging through his thoughts.

"He is not here to fight, Logan."

The others were clearly unconvinced.

"Then why is he here?" asked Cyclops in that wannabe tough guy voice.

Victor sneered. "Why don't you fuckin' ask me, brown-noser?"

The visor-wearing mutant took an angry step towards him when Jean gripped his arm. "Scott," she said in a way that meant calm down. Victor saw the unrequited longing in his brother's eyes when he glanced at the pretty redhead. Poor bastard, pining after someone else's frail.

Cyclops forced the question through gritted teeth, "Why are you here?"

Victor shifted uncomfortably. "I'm here to see my brother."

Confused looks were exchanged between the mutants. What the hell was he talking about? What brother? Then Jean's latent telepathy picked up what Xavier already knew and her jaw went slack. Her astonished eyes turned towards the still seething Logan. Storm and Cyclops noticed, followed her gaze. Shocked disbelief, then suspicion, then growing unease.

"He couldn't possibly …" Storm trailed off, too stunned to finish.

Jimmy took in his teammates' stares and glared daggers at Victor. "You're fulla shit."

"C'mon, Jimmy," Victor said wearily, "Do I smell like I'm lyin'?"

Logan suddenly threw himself against the cold bars of the gate, the backs of his hands twitching as his claws threatened to burst out. "Don't act like you know me!" he snarled, "This's just another one of your sick games."

Victor shook his head. "Not this time, Jimmy."

"My name's Logan!"

"Right," the other feral agreed, "James Logan, after our father. And before that your last name was Howlett."

Logan scoffed.

"He's telling the truth," Xavier's calm voice jarred them from their verbal sparring, reminding them that they had an audience.

Neither feral broke eye contact, though the intensity of their stare-down eased a fraction. Logan stepped back from the bars, let his hands hang loose at his sides. He had the look of someone who didn't want to believe what he confronted. He repeated the earlier question, "Why're you here?"

Inside the pockets of his coat, Victor's fists relaxed, claws retracting from his palms which healed in an instant. "Settling up. Tyin' up loose ends."

"Like what?" his brother asked, voice heavy with distrust.

"Like helpin' you get your memory back."


There was a lot of arguing over whether to let him through the gates, whether to keep a guard on him and how many, whether or not to put him in restraints. Mostly it was everybody else versus the professor, so naturally the old man won out. Victor couldn't resist a smug grin as he strolled through the open gate and entered the school grounds. The other mutants arranged themselves around him, distrustful in spite of their leader's assurances. Nice to know they weren't completely soft. They entered the mansion. Victor followed the softly humming wheelchair through the foyer and down a long corridor. He eyeballed his surroundings, the plush carpeting, the aged mahogany, the tasteful paintings. The place smelled of furniture polish and old books. "Nice digs."

"Thank you," Xavier responded pleasantly, his manner like that of a host giving his guest a tour of the family estate. He led the motley group to a particular door that, when opened, revealed a large study. A vast window dominated the wall behind the antique desk. It offered a view of the school's manicured grounds. Victor saw kids of various ages lounging in the grass with their textbooks, playing Frisbee, kicking a soccer ball around. Most looked like any other boy or girl you'd pass on the street. A few had some cosmetic quirk such as green hair or odd-colored eyes which could be explained away as rebellious fashion, while a handful of others were so outlandish they could barely be recognized as human. Victor wondered if Penelope's niece was one of the kids out there.

Professor Xavier maneuvered his chair behind the desk. Logan positioned himself by the bookshelves, as far from Victor as he could get, arms crossed and face set in a hard glare. Victor stood behind the two leather chairs situated in front of the professor's desk. He looked bored.

"It's alright," Xavier spoke up as the rest of the X-Men started to crowd through the door, "Your presence here will not be required. Please, give us some privacy."

They hesitated, obviously unhappy with the thought of leaving the older man in the same room with Sabertooth, even with Logan present as well.

"Are you sure, Professor?" Cyclops asked, his blank red visor fixated on the tall feral.

Xavier gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be quite alright, Scott." Victor rolled his eyes impatiently. Logan's scowl deepened.

Reluctantly, the others left the study, shutting the door behind them.

Logan turned to the professor. "So how's he supposed to help me get my memory back?"

Victor tsked. "You're gonna hurt my feelings, talkin' about me like I'm not here."

"Shut up," his brother snapped.

Xavier's reasonable voice interjected smoothly. "The memories are still present in your mind, Logan. However, the connections have been severed somehow, possibly from some sort of severe neurological trauma your healing factor wasn't entirely successful in repairing."

Logan fidgeted. "Yeah, we've been through that. You said you could fix 'em on your own, but you keep puttin' it off."

"I have been hesitant to perform such a delicate task for fear of causing further damage to your brain," the older mutant explained patiently, "On the other hand, Victor here," he indicated the looming figure with a sweep of his hand, "whose thoughts tell me is indeed your half brother, has shared many of the same experiences you have throughout your considerable lives. I believe I can use myself as a conduit to merge his mind with yours for a span of time and with any luck his memories may stimulate your healing factor into reforging the connections to your own."

Victor bridled a little at the way the old man talked as if he came up with the idea himself, but as he saw the hopeful look come over Logan, he realized his brother would only consider going along if the believed it was all Xavier's idea. It was a hard thing for Victor to accept; his brother trusting someone else over him. Victor pretended not to notice the professor's sympathetic glance.

"How sure are you about this?" Logan asked.

Xavier shook his head. "Not at all, but this may prove your best chance to regain your past."

The mutant turned his suspicious gaze towards Victor. "Why now? Why the hell are you doin' this?"

Victor met his stare for a long moment, then turned and seated himself in the leather chair nearest him. "We gonna do this shot or not?"

Xavier looked at Logan and indicated the other chair with a nod. Showing great reluctance, Logan dropped into the seat. Neither feral looked at each other; eyes front, focused on the telepath seated opposite them. Xavier leaned back in his wheelchair, hands flat on the armrests, his face a picture of serenity. "Try to still your thoughts."

Victor snorted. Christ, he hated telepaths. Just the idea of letting one of them crawl around in his brain made his skin crawl. He shifted in his seat. How the hell was he supposed to "still his thoughts"? Should he close his eyes, or …

It wasn't what he expected. Not a sequential stream of images or flashes of particular moments. Past and present, youth and adulthood, all swirled within his mind at once. Images jumped out, voices spoke, none of them in any order or even matching each other. And as the chaos progressed, some of the images and words that surfaced were not from any moment Victor remembered himself. In those minutes or hours, Victor and Logan were no longer separate individuals, but a single entity with lifetimes of memory.

we can never be done JimmyI was just the fool who got played … (long tree roots coiled around Victor's body) … how do you know you've never tried before … (Jimmy getting hit with a cannonball) … it's not my name he's calling sirbrothers look out for each other

Victor's eyes rolled up in his head. Some dim part of his consciousness was aware of his brother gasping beside him.

I can take anything he can no you can'tyou boys tired of running … (Logan carrying a child in his arms, leaving a trussed-up Stryker to his death) … they have my sistertwo years I rotted in that hellholedid you just call me Blob … (Tessa sewing new clothes for the two foundling boys) … your name is Logan it means the WolverineI was just the fool who got played … (Victor and Jimmy in the trenches, back to back) … he deserved it and you gave it to himalways thought it'd be Wade come knocking at my dooryou know what happens to men who go lookin' for blood what they find it little dark for sunglasses … (Jimmy making love to Kayla, Victor making love to Tessa) … there's a special place in hell for the things we did … (Victor screaming as the flames engulfed him) … don't ever let me go … (Jimmy carrying a wounded Kayla, the agony of the bullets penetrating his back, falling to his knees, running towards Stryker with an angry roar, leaping towards the man who pointed a gun straight at his head, that final explosive sound) …

was she worth it

Victor's eyes snapped open. He doubled over, gasping painfully. He heard Jimmy make similar noises from his chair. After a few seconds Victor forced himself to sit upright. He saw Professor Xavier behind his desk, looking far wearier than he'd ever appeared to either mutant before.

"Did it work?" Victor asked.

The professor looked to Logan. Victor followed his gaze. His brother seemed to gather his thoughts. He nodded slowly. "I … I remember." His eyes were glazed; it would take time for him to fully come to terms with it all.

Xavier smiled. "Congratulations, Logan."

Victor abruptly stood and headed for the door. Neither mutant tried to stop him. Out in the hall, a waiting Cyclops moved to bar his path. Before Victor had a chance to shove the upstart out of the way the younger man paused, scowled, and grudgingly moved aside. Victor sneered. So the professor wasn't above using his telepathy to order his X-Men around.

Victor exited the corridor, crossed the foyer to the big double doors he'd entered through earlier.

"Victor."

He froze at the sound of his brother's voice. Funny how much a voice could convey in just two syllables; how one person could tell another there are no more secrets between us by the simple utterance of a name. It could almost be considered a form of telepathy in itself.

"What?" he asked, his back still towards the other mutant.

"Tell me something. Is she worth it?" There was no malice in the question. It was asked in the tone of someone who already knew the answer and did not condemn it.

Victor turned, faced his brother from across the room. The memories he'd picked up from him about Kayla, those few happy years together, and then the loss of her; Victor understood now that Jimmy's pain from losing the woman he loved was far worse than the pain Victor suffered at his brother's abandonment. Even though Victor's vengeful act was only a ruse, a twisted attempt to somehow convince his brother to come back to him, the anguish he inflicted on Jimmy was unforgivable, even for family.

Jimmy looked in his brother's eyes, saw the understanding and regret, and nodded. "Tell Tessa I said hi. And tell her thanks for everything she did for us."

Victor nodded. He started to turn away, hesitated. "D'you think we have a chance?" he asked, unable to meet the other's eyes.

To his surprise, Jimmy answered, "Yeah, I think so."

Victor looked at him. "Why?"

His brother shrugged, smiled faintly. "'Cause you didn't kill that guy."

He didn't need to ask what guy he meant. It cold only be one person; the one who started Victor on this insane personal quest …

Victor drove the rattling car out to an empty pasture a few miles from town. When he got out of the vehicle his nostrils were assaulted by the acrid stink of cowpiss. A nearby pond seemed to be the source of the stink; apparently the cattle had decided to contribute to the water level after they drank from it.

Victor rolled the unconscious man from the passenger seat and dragged him over to the closest fencepost. Once the man was tied in place, Victor opened the trunk of the car in hopes of finding some inspiration for his act of vengeance and was thrilled to discover a couple of emergency road flares and two plastic gas cans. One of them, labeled LAWNMOWER in black marker, was empty, but the other still contained plenty of gasoline. It was perfect. He would burn the fucker who'd burned him, only this guy wouldn't be coming back from the experience. Victor grinned as he carried the gas can towards his unconscious victim. But then something strange happened. The closer he got to the man with the rose tattoo on his neck, the slower Victor's stride became. It was almost as if … as if he didn't want to do this. Victor shook his head and snarled. The bastard deserved to die.

If you do this, some voice in his head spoke up, you won't be able to go back.

Back where? What the hell—

Back to Tessa. Victor froze. No, that was ridiculous. She knew damn well what he was.

Think that makes a difference?Sure she knows. But she thinks you've changed, and you haven't exactly tried to discourage that line of thinking, have you?

That damned smug voice just wouldn't shut up! Victor gritted his teeth and forced himself to take another step.

If you torch that guy, the voice continued, relentless, you'll be showing her that you haven't changed at all. People like her won't live with monsters.

What the fuck did he care? It wasn't his fault she lived under some delusion about him. She didn't mean anything to him anyway. She was just a way to pass the time till winter was over.

Now who's deluding himself?

"Fuck!" Victor flung the gas can. It struck the ground a few yards away, bounced and rolled, its contents sloshing. He stood there, trembling, caught between the life he'd always known—brutality and anger, distrust and bloodshed, never staying still, never forming connections—and something other. A life of stability, of never having to look over his shoulder, of spending years or even lifetimes in a single place. With Tessa.

He couldn't let that bastard get away with what he'd done.

You don't have to kill him.

Victor picked up the gas can and carried it back to the car. He replaced it in the trunk, lifted out the empty can, and carried it over to the pond. Up close, the stench was even worse. Victor turned his head away and breathed through his mouth while he filled the gas can with foul water.

Fear and drunkenness prevented the tattooed man from realizing the liquid dumped on him wasn't gasoline. When Victor dropped the lit flare into the spreading puddle the man screamed and added his own contribution to the smelly fluid. It took a few seconds for the idiot to catch up to the fact that he wasn't on fire.

"W-wha-?"

Victor smirked. "You dumb shit."

"Y-you're not gonna … ?"

"I told you what happened to me was life-altering. Not the actual burning , but everything that happened after. If you and your sheep-fucking buddies hadn't torched me, the last few months woulda turned out a lot different." The mutant grimaced in disgust. "As much as it makes me wanna puke sayin' it, I owe you. So no, I'm not gonna kill you. This time." He leaned in close for emphasis, eyes glowing in the dying flare's sputtering light. "But if I ever see your sorry ass again …" He raised his hand so the man could see his claws more than double their length.

The man with the rose tattoo gulped. "Y-you won't. I'll leave town tomorrow, I swear to Christ."

"Atta boy." Victor walked around to cut the man's wrists loose, then left him to wriggle out of the barbed wire wrapped around him. "You don't mind if I borrow your car, do ya?" He hopped into the vehicle and drove off before the man could respond. He went back to town where the next morning he picked up the cash Guy wired him.

Victor knew he couldn't just drop everything. His career choice meant a lot of unpaid debts needed settling; the sort of debts that could lead to some very determined people hunting him down. Victor wasn't worried about himself so much as Tessa. If he was going to go back to her, he needed to be sure his old life never touched her.

I should at least tell her …

No. Victor knew in his bones once he went back into that forest he would never willingly leave it again. Tessa would be hurt by his unexplained departure, doubtless thinking herself abandoned. He would just have to make it up to her when he got back. Whatever it took …

Now his business was finished, his old life finally ended. Victor looked on his brother for perhaps the last time. "Take care of yourself, runt."

The corner of Jimmy's mouth turned up. "Good luck, bub."

"I'll need it," Victor sighed ruefully, "Spent the last of my cash gettin' here."

"Maybe this'll help." Jimmy tossed him a set of keys. "They go to the bike out front."

Victor stared at the keys in his hand, eyed his brother sidelong. "Yours?"

"Nah," the other mutant smirked, "Belongs t' Cyclops."

Victor let out an evil chuckle.