Disclaimer: I really disclaim this chapter. I'm just taking the movie dialogue and all and transcribing it. Marvel and Fox own all this.

Chapter Eight: The End

Warning: This chapter has death and violence.

The steady sounds of the summer night permeated the manner, insects buzzing and wind ripping through the trees and over the dark, gurgling creek. It blew through the open windows of the mansion, causing the curtains to flutter and the lights of the fire and kerosene lamps to shutter, flickering warmly on the wooden future and the pale faces of Victor and James.

The wind smelled of dead leaves, lavender and a coming storm. Quietly, Victor sniffed and then lowered his head to concentrate on the knife in his hands. Over in his bed, James coughed and Victor frowned, cutting away at the thick boney appendages of his fingernails. Save for the endless chores of bugs outside, silence was settled in the small, fire lit room. After an hour's worth of childish prattling, James had finally worn himself out and was just sitting there and wheezing, as he watched Victor fiddle with the knife.

"You're always sick," Victor muttered, breaking the silence.

"*Akh-koff-ah* You were sick when you were my age," James retorted, looking back with a mixture of exhaustion and defiance. He was dressed in a red robe, which seemed to accentuate his deathly pale skin and his mop of dark hair.

Victor scowled, but before he could reply, he heard a heavy step in the hall and the scent of John Howlette reached him, just as the door was pushed open. Having snuck in the window, Victor hastily jumped up, but it was too late to find a place to hide. Instead, he merely hid his hands and knife behind his back.

John took him in with a mixture of surprise and displeasure. He knew from James' frequent conversation that James considered Victor a friend, but he trusted the boy little more than he trusted the father and if Victor was still here, then that meant Tom probably hadn't left the estate either.

"Evening Sir," Victor said with hasty nervousness.

John surveyed him warily, but kept his tone as polite as ever, "Evening Victor. I didn't realize you were still here." Turning from the teenager, John when to sit beside his son.

"I was just keeping James company, Sir, if that's alright." Victor explained, watching John with dark eyes. He couldn't help but notice that John didn't have his guns with him a the moment.

"Very kind of you," John muttered, not bothering to look at Victor, as he leaned forward to tenderly feel James' forehead, concentrating all his attention on him. "Feeling better Son?" he asked, pushing a dark strand of sweaty hair from James' blue eyes.

"Still cold, Father," James answered, leaning back in his pillows.

"It's just a mild fever," John assured, "You'll be alright in the morning."

James smiled, taking his father's warm hand, "You always say that."

John chuckled kindly "And you always pull through."

"Yeah," James nodded, his smile down right angelic, as he looked up into John's face.

As he watched, Victor couldn't help but feel a bitter knot of jealously in his stomach. For a moment, he wanted to rip them both apart. It wasn't fair. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be, for him or James. If they were really brothers, why did James have a father who came to him with a kind touch and comforting words, rather than a brutal sick and curses? Why were they so different?

"Now," John said, reaching to take a small glass bottle from the bedside table, "You've taken your medicine?"

"Yeah," James nodded then started, looking toward the open door, as the sound of harsh bangs and yells were heard down the stairs.

"Open it up!"

Victor recognized his father's roar and tensed where he stood, looking down the hall in alarm, as the banging continued. "Open it up! Open up!"

"Your father's drunk again," John said, glancing quickly at Victor, "You should help him home Victor."

Victor glared. He wasn't leaving James.

"It's not my name he's calling, Sir," he said he eyes hard, as he glared back as John.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" came Tom's shout and there was a crash, as the door burst open downstairs.

Elizabeth's shrill voice was heard and John jumped quickly to his feet, angry determination replacing the gentle fatherliness in his face.

"Father!" James cried in alarm, reaching after him.

"Get off me!" Came Elizabeth's angry shrieks and James' eyes widen with fear.

"Stay here, James," John ordered fiercely, before leaving the room with long strides. Victor followed, closing the door behind him.

In the front hall, Elizabeth and Tom were struggling by the open door, shouting in each other's faces. Tom had Elizabeth's arm in one hand and his rifle in the other and his bearded face was red with rage. "I told you I'd come. I told you!" he was snarling.

"Get you hands off her!" John shouted, with all the rage and authority of a British major general. He hardly seemed to glance at the weapon, as he rushed fearlessly down the steps. Victor, on the other hand, stayed behind on the landing, sticking close to the dark wall.

"Where's my boy! You got no right to keep him." Tom growled, turning to face John.

"I told you never to come back here!" shouted John, crossing the floor toward Tom.

Tom didn't hesitate a moment. Even drunk, he was the best shot in the all the Northwest Territories and John Howlette was hardly six feet away. Lifted the rifle he pulled the trigger with a bang and a blaze of gun smoke.

Elizbeth shrieked and even Victor bit back a cry of alarm, as John was thrown back with a spray of blood, hitting the polished floors of the manner hall with a thump.

"No no!" Ferociously, Elizabeth beat Tom with her fists, but Tom hardly seemed to notice, as he pulled her toward the door, looking at what he'd done without regret.

It was then that a flash of red ran past Victor, as James streaked down the steps, falling down to his father's side in frantic alarm and disbelief. Quivering, James looked down at the blood and his father's pale face.

Even through the pain, John managed to lift his head to look up at James with gentle regret. Shakily, he raised a bloody hand to his son's cheek. "J-Jimmy," he stammered quietly and managed to softly squeeze James' shoulder, before his hand and head fell back to the floor.

They all saw John Howlette's eyes roll back in death.

"No," cried Elizabeth, her red hair falling in her face, as she bowed her head.

"James?" Tom asked, lowering his gun and looking solemnly at the boy, now kneeling in the pool of blood. Slowly, James looked up, his pale face a mask of disbelief and rage. Victor had never seen so much hate burn in a child's eyes.

"There are things you don't understand," said Tom, his tone unusually calm and sober.

"Don't!" cried Elizabeth, trying to pull from his grasp.

"I need him to know!" shouted Tom at her, spittle flying from his lips.

"Please no."

"No more lies." Tom's voice was determined, but he looked back at James, as something caused Elizabeth's eyes to widen.

Victor's breath caught, as he saw something extend from James' hands. Six sharp spikes, growing from his knuckles like the spines of a thorny tree. James looked at them in horror, lifting his hands as they just kept growing, blood spilling out all around them. They extended nearly a foot, before James suddenly went berserk. Seized with blind rage, he yelled at the ceiling like a furious animal, his strange claws held out to either side then got up and rushed at Tom with all the speed and furry of a wild dog.

Tom lifted his gun, his face a mask of surprise, but unflinching. He pulled the trigger to shoot, but Elizabeth grabbed the rifle, jerking it away, just before it went off. There was a bang, followed by a thud as the little boy rammed into Tom Logan. All six of his claws buried themselves in Tom's stomach and the strength of the attack was enough to slam the man against the wooden doors.

"James!" Elizabeth sobbed, dropping the gun in shock and stepping back, as she saw Tom pinned to the manor doors, blood gushing where her son's fists were planted.

Tom's back was ridged with shock and pain and he took several heavy breaths, writhing and looking down at the face of his attacker. Young as he was, James had his mouth twisted in a savage snarl and passionate hate burned in his eyes, like the hate of hardened warrior.

"He… he wasn't your father," Tom gasped, a hand clasping James' shoulder, as he sagged against the doors.

Victor still held his breath, as he saw James quiver and go pale. Turning his head, James looked at back at John's body then at his mother. Elizabeth took a shaky breath, but didn't deny it.

Numbly, James looked back up at Tom.

"S-son," gasped Tom, then crashed lifelessly to the floor, as James staggered back, pulling his claws away. Frightened and confused, he turned large eyes to Elizbeth, who was now kneeling on the floor, her horrified eyes fixed on Tom's body in disbelief. Slowly she raised her eyes to James and there was repulsion in them. "What are you?" she breathed.

James shook, like a half drowned cat and then bolted from the room, running out into the night in a blaze of red robe and bare feet.

Watching him go, Elizabeth sobbed then crawled over the floor to Tom, pulling his head into her lap. She looked up, when Victor scrambled out of the shadows and down the steps, grey eyes staring at his father and fanged mouth agape.

"He's dead!" she shrieked, harsh sobs, unlike any she'd ever cried, rising in her throat. "NO! He's dead! He killed him! Tom! TOM! OHoh!"

Victor didn't wait to hear any more. Snapping his mouth closed, he dashed out after James, leaving the body of his father behind in the cradle of Elizabeth's arms.

A moment later, there was the scramble of feet, as several of the servants and Dr. Kymbol crashed into the room, but Elizabeth already had taken Tom's rifle in her hands.

"It was all my fault," she whispered, looking over at Dr. Kymbol with a tear-streaked face. "I never should have left him." She looked mournfully down at Tom and put her hand on the trigger.

"Ma'am!" shouted Kymbol, jumping forward, but it was too late. Elizabeth shoved the barrel under her chin and shot herself with a loud crack of gunfire. Dr Kymbol and the others watched in horror, as Elizabeth Howlette collapsed between Tom Logan and her husband, John Howlette.

AN: All I have left is the epilogue, which will be coming out soon. Hope you all liked this chapter, even though it was pretty much the same as the movie scene. Leave me a review. Please!