A/N:Yes, I just saw Deadpool and Wolverine. Yes, I was bummed we only got that teeny, tiny Sabretooth cameo. (Loved the movie overall! It was a good time.) Yes, the movie (and Ariadne_Karloff's comment on Ao3) inspired me to fish out my minimal notes, and what I could find of the partially written draft of the last chapter (from three computers ago. It's a miracle I had anything to work with), dust off the cobwebs of my memory, and attempt to close the last little bit of this story out.


"You could tear down that wall and push the room out more. It'll work better with the add-on."

"It's a fucking load-bearing wall. It ain't going fucking anywhere!"

"I'm just saying-"

"The wall stays," Victor cut the younger feral off. "Why are you here again, anyway? Not like you can do a damned thing to help."

The Wolverine was posted up in Victor's living room, offering unsolicited critique of Victor's active home renovation, and drinking Victor's damned beer.

"Supervision," Logan deadpanned.

Sabretooth snorted. As if the minute he left, Victor was going to be dragging the kid on some assassination mission or something. Like he wasn't the one that tried to drop her off on them in the first place.

"If you're supervising, then where's the kid?"

"She took exception to one of the trees..." Logan trailed off.

"Forget I asked," he said, swiping a hand down his face and letting it rest on his chin as he stared at his wall problem. It wouldn't even be a problem if he'd stuck to his original house expansion plans, but then he'd had the fucking stupid idea to add not one extra bedroom for The Kid, but two. For other visitors.

Because he was a fucking idiot that apparently loved company, and did stupid things like set rooms and shit up for them and everything.

Logan had been ending up in his goddamned cabin more and more since 'ol Bucket Head was currently doing his 'good work' from a base in Canada after pissing off the U.S. government with one too many stunts in recent years. The little shit and his entourage, namely The Kid, The Dog, and The Rogue, had repeatedly infiltrated his sanctuary to crash after their adamantium removal and transfusion session with such nonchalance, it had left the feral completely dumbstruck as to how to respond since murder and mayhem weren't an option.

But they were family, and he was loath to purposely fuck things up with Logan this time around. He truthfully hadn't even considered it; Sabretooth was getting too damned soft in his old age.

Besides, he had already been planning to expand the ground floor to better accommodate Laura's visits. He figured he might as well go whole hog and add any and all extra rooms at once to save himself trouble down the road.

Leave it to Victor's dumb ass to come with a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

At least the Rogue had been helpful in the process, even if she had fucked off to the hardware store some time ago. Laura… was enthusiastic, if not terribly reliable, when it came to the construction work.

"Put up a beam," the younger feral suggested from the couch that had been pushed out of the way, to the far end of the room.

Victor was busy thinking about his floor plans and his labor, and hadn't been paying close attention to the running monologue of the peanut gallery in the corner of the room.

"What?" He asked, his eyes finding their way back to the younger feral. Logan looked like shit, and Victor wasn't sure how or why he'd agreed to practically play nursemaid to the younger man while he was supposed to be renovating his cabin.

"A beam." Logan said again, as he gestured vaguely to the wall.

Victor blinked at the offending wall. It was a solution that he might have come to eventually, had he any intention of giving the notion further thought.

He tilted his head, easily picturing it. A beam would make everything a whole hell of a lot simpler.

Damn, his useless brother was right.

"Could'a just said that to start with. What am I paying you for?" Victor groused.

"You're not," the younger feral retorted.

"Yeah 'cause you're a suck-ass consultant."


Logan nursed his beer and paid the barest attention to the proceedings, even though watching the asshole and Laura squabble over her dragging a whole damned tree trunk into the house, bark and all, was objectively fucking hilarious. Especially when Constable Waddlesworth thought the whole thing was a game and got involved bringing in additional branches.

He'd imagined his treatment would get easier over time, and to be fair, it had, but he was still so damned tired.

The fact that Magneto hadn't redirected the adamantium straight into his heart was something of a surprise. It continued to be a surprise every week when Erik painstakingly siphoned admantium from his bones. It was a painfully slow and tedious process, and they had been at it for months now. He still wondered at times what the older feral had promised Magneto, but he figured he could just beat the shit out of his brother if necessary, once he was up to it.

His and Victor's uneasy truce had morphed into something different since the treatments started. Different, yet oddly familiar; it left Logan off-kilter.

He set his empty beer bottle with a thunk on the side table and stood, taking his time. The vertigo had gotten better and wasn't quite so incapacitating with the most recent treatments, but he sure as hell didn't want to risk falling flat on his ass in front of the older feral when he just wanted to take a piss and get a smoke in. Victor was somehow worse than Marie when it came to nagging him about doing it in the house.

"I'm done supervising you two imbeciles. Call me when dinner's ready."

"I'll let you know when Hell freezes over," Sabretooth called after Logan's retreating back before resuming squabbling with Laura.

It would be at least another six months of adamantium removal, blood transfusions, and Beast and Jean's brand of medicine, but Logan would live, and for once in his life, he found himself unexpectedly… content. He couldn't ask for more than that.


Sabretooth closed the door to Laura's brand new bedroom after glancing in to double check that the perimeter was secure. Nothing had ever made it past his outer defenses until this brat came along, which obviously meant he was slipping in his old age. Because of her insistent intrusion, these days, he took his home security extra seriously.

He'd yell at her about having the damned dog up on the bed in the morning.

Victor Creed didn't have a paternal bone in his body. He was an assassin, a mercenary, a killing machine. He didn't do warm and fuzzy.

Well, most of the time.

The End