CHAPTER 11

Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies. 

This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.

INTERLUDE : BEING DAD

His name is James, most people know him as Logan, even more as Wolverine. They know him as a killer, as the very best in his field. As a monster, an unstoppable machine made for murder.

Only a very, very rare few know him as a father. Once, in a time of peace and tranquility, had found himself a home to own and a partner to share his soul with. Together they made a life, a child he would never get to see be born. A child he believed died in the womb of his wife, a woman murdered in cold blood.

Then he heard whispers of an assassin who was part of the heinous ninja clan, the Hand. A killer with claws, an unstoppable, relentless murderer that furthered the Hand's agenda.

Initially Logan assumed the Hand obtained Sabretooth, his vile, sadistic nemesis, to their services. Yet, the truth came to light with a grainy footage. One that showed a young boy, arrayed in red with claws peeking from his hands.

Logan knew then with certainty that the child was his. It was a feeling stronger than anything he'd ever felt. A feeling that consumed his being, he sought information wherever he could, he fought and clawed to obtain any shred of evidence, moving relentlessly from one place to the next, attempting to Locate the boy.

But if a ninja clan was so easy to find then it would have already been done. They cut off their own bases as a gecko might to its tail, always moving beyond his reach.

Time passed, yet the feeling never did. His friend and mentor aided him as much as he could, attempting to locate the boy to no avail, until a fateful day.

The day that brought him face to face with his son.

Rage colored him. He wasn't angry at the boy, he was angry at what had been done to the boy. He was enraged that they took his child and turned him into a killer, into a vicious device of death. He was infuriated that they'd stripped his boy of a good childhood, of a life of joy and love and care. He was furious that they took his innocent boy and turned him into a mirror image of himself, they had taken away his chance to be a father.

Wolverine knew what years of programming could do to a man, the horrors it induced in one, the damage it does to the soul of man. What then would it do to a boy?

He wanted to howl in agony and rage.

"Please, let us be civil." Charles, professor Xavier, the spiritual leader and guide of the X-men, his friend, said in a pleasing voice. "Please."

"Charles." Logan nearly growled. 'I need to handle this my way.' He conveyed mentally.

'Violence is not the answer my friend' The professor responded. Xavier tries, but no one understands the animalistic side within his kind. This wasn't violence, it was communication in the most primal sense. It was sincerity without pretense. He had much to say to the boy, the boy had much to say to him.

'This needs to happen. It'll be dangerous for anyone else. I'll find my way back to the mansion.' Logan responds.

 'Very well.' The professor, perhaps not fully understanding, would yet not stand between the reunion of father and son. "To me my X-men." He said, calling to his, explaining to them why they would need to leave.

Logan refocused on his boy, he could see the telltale signs of feralization, the eyes behind the mask were pulled in rage. He caught a scent on the boy, a discrepancy, a budding wrongness. He couldn't tell what it was but it was bound to be a disaster.

The constant growl caused the boy to tremble in sheer wrath.

Clank!

It was swift, swifter than a blink, the boy buried his claws into Wolverine's chest, stabbing viciously through his still beating heart.

Logan balled his fist and punched out. It was hard enough to shatter his son's mask and send him a step back, snapping the boy's head up.

"Bub, you're in for a teachin'" He said meeting those hate filled eyes that were lost in berserker rage. Maybe he had no right to start being a father to a son he was just meeting. But to hell with all that, he was a simple man and he would deal with this as simply as he could. With his fists, claws and words. 

 *.*.*.

Hmmm ... .a start perhaps.

Till next time, Rain (the best ever) away!

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