Summary: Last chapter! Logan forgets he and his claws are made of indestructible material and most everything else isn't, and Victor surprises everyone. Takes place only a week or two after the previous chapter.

Rated T for Logan and Victor. Which is a totally legit reason for anything to be rated T (or higher), lol.

"Stupid!" Slash! "Fuckin'!" Slash! "Brother!" Slash!

Growling in the back of his throat, Logan whirled and cut through a forest of trees that smelled like metal, a frenzy of furious strikes and wicked blades as he fought Sabretooth.

Slash! Off went Sabretooth's head. As the dark-haired head rolled to the floor, the simulation in the Danger Room faded away, and Logan was left standing in the middle of an empty metal room.

Damn Danger Room. It never could get his his brother's fighting style right.

Logan snarled to himself, at his brother, and at the entire world in general. That sadistic idiot had to go and leave him again! And who knew what twisted schemes Victor was involved in now.

And well, Logan wanted someone to fight.

With the bloodlust still coursing through his body and sharpening his senses to murderously twitchy and diamond-edged, he bared his teeth, gnashing out, "Danger Room Protocol 408743."

This time the scene that fabricated around him was a cityscape, and three metal Sentinels were chasing some kids who were supposed to be young mutants through the streets.

At least the Danger Room got the Sentinels right, Logan thought, as he ran over and hacked down one of those flashing advertisement boards to crash down on one of the robots, as the other two turned their attention to him and began firing lasers out of their eyes.

But even as he dodged and jumped and slashed and danced and tore out mechanical Sentinel guts, Logan was all too aware of how fake it all was. Sure, fighting in the Danger Room for hours on end calmed down Logan enough so he wouldn't kill someone—like Cyclops, for example, the aggravating bastard—but it wasn't real. The hard-light laser constructs looked nearly indistinguishable from reality, and the acoustic engines provided accurate noise level and frequencies, and the progressed waved tractor beams created accurate dust and wind effects; but it didn't smell real, didn't taste real, didn't feel real; not to Logan, with all his heightened senses.

No blood, no heat, no pain, no screams. Nada. It was all of the fight with none of the thrill.

He'd been at it for hours now. He wasn't sure how long exactly—he'd started in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep and couldn't walk the mansion without the urge to destroy something, and so he'd come to the Danger Room to try to burn it off. It must have been morning already, but Logan wasn't wearing a watch, and he didn't particularly care.

He'd fight till he was done (which might not be for days) or till Cyclops kicked him out to have a training session in there with the kids.

As it turned out, turning the Sentinel count up to three dozen—a number even the Wolverine couldn't possibly defeat singlehandedly—and getting nearly burnt to a crisp despite the fact that the fabricated lasers didn't effect him nearly as much as the real ones, Logan was finally done enough to relinquish the room to Cyclops and Storm when the mutants inevitably came with the kids to train.

And well, Logan had been getting hungry anyway.

In the X-Men kitchen, there was a cooked steak in the frying pan. Now Logan didn't know who had cooked it or whose steak it technically was, but it was abandoned, and he was hungry, so it was now his.

"Somebody else's loss is my gain," he said to himself with a wry twitch of his lips.

Now if only he could find a knife to cut the damn thing... but the only knives that could be found in the kitchen were butter knives, and even with his super strength, there was no way he was going to cut through a steak with a butter knife.

Especially since it appeared one of the reasons the steak had been abandoned was that it was an usually hard and difficult-to-cut steak.

After scouring through all the drawers and cabinets of the kitchen and still not finding any knives, he stood there and glared at the steak for a moment.

"Oh, fuck this!" he growled.

Snikt! One of his adamantium claws slid out of the place between the knuckles of his pointer finger and middle finger on his right hand, and with it he easily sliced through the steak—only to realize that he'd exerted too much power and the blade had cut not only through the steak, but the cast iron frying pan it was in as well, and straight through the stove top beneath, in a screeching sound of tearing metal and an orange flurry of sparks.

Pulling his hand back quickly, he accidentally cut deeper down through the oven door, and the detached half fell open with a loud, banging clatter that made Logan jump back, arms flying up so that the blade sticking out from between his knuckles struck one of the lights with white-blue sparks and an electric fizzle and he crashed into the table, the wood crumpling beneath the weight of his adamantium skeleton.

Quickly pushing himself up from the floor, he forgot to put the claw away, and it cut through the linoleum tile and the concrete floor beneath.

Glancing around the demolished kitchen, he stared at his handiwork in shock. "Oh shit," he said, thick eyebrows raising as he realized that he was screwed. "Storm's gonna zap me fer sure."

It was dinner and the dining hall was bustling with student's chatter, as Logan took his tray and irritably sat at an empty table as far away from everyone as possibly, his dark scowl warning everyone that he was, by no means, in a good mood, and that it was best not to bother him.

In fact, everyone had been mostly leaving him alone for the past week, ever since he came back from the woods one morning with his clothing in bloody tatters and wearing an expression that warned of certain death to anyone and everyone who so much as looked at him funny.

And when he'd faced Cyclops wrath for busting up his motorcycle, which had ended with the rest of his shirt getting burned off his flesh, Cyclops had gotten three slashes across his chest, the scars of which wouldn't be going away for a while, as well as a couple black eyes, which nobody had thought was possible.

Then the snarling feral had to listen through a lecture from Xavier about not riding off in the middle of the night on Cyclops' motorcycle to deal with personal problems without telling anybody, and for beating the prettyboy up.

And on top of all that, Logan couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten a good nights sleep.

Needless to say, he'd been in an even fouler mood than usual.

And then this day he'd already faced Storm's wrath destroying the kitchen and gotten zapped with lightning and had been about to lose his self-control and tear all the hair right out of her head when Charles happened to intervene.

So Logan was convinced that at least this day couldn't get any worse.

He was wrong—or then again, maybe he was right.

Because just at that moment there was a knock on the front door to the school, and Kitty ran through a few walls to go answer it.

Casting his eyes out the windows into the black night outside, Logan couldn't see anything from inside the brightly lit mess hall, and so he watched the doorway with begrudging curiosity to see who it would be, as he continued eating the slices of meat on his plate, stabbing them harshly with a fork before sticking them in his mouth and chewing ferociously.

Abruptly Kitty came running back into the hall with an expression of wide-eyed horror on her face, opening her mouth to say something, when a tall, dark figure appeared in the doorway to the hall, and everyone went quiet.

Logan's hazel eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, adamantium teeth effectively biting through the metal fork that was in his mouth.

The dark figure grinned a fanged grin.

"Victor," Logan growled, standing up and spitting the head of the fork out of his mouth even as he clenched his fists, razors sliding out from between his knuckles with a snikt!

The decapitated head of the fork clanged as it hit the floor of the suddenly silent space, skittering and rolling a few feet before coming to a standstill.

Victor's blue eyes had followed the fork's trajectory, before lifting up to his brother's face, scintillating with amusement. "Still accidentally breakin' things, I see. Are ya still accidentally stabbin' yerself all the time as well?"

"What're ya doing here?" Logan demanded. His only response to the provocation was a low, deep growl in his throat.

"Just takin' ya up on yer offer," Victor shrugged, clawed hands tucked safely in the pockets of his black trenchcoat to show that he wasn't currently posing a threat, as he stepped into the hall and the lights illuminated his harsh face and wary blue eyes. "Does it still stand?"

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath as the two ferals held each other's gazes unblinkingly for a moment, before Logan's adamantium claws slid back up into his forearms with the softest sounds of flesh tearing and then healing again.

FIN.

I think Victor had to think things over for a bit, and maybe tie up a few loose ends, kill off the people was working for or something, you know... but yeah, I told you Victor was slightly less evil here, didn't I? X3 Yay for redemption!

Anyways, I'd love to hear your thoughts!