Now I know Sabertooth was in the first X-men, but just for the story's sake lets pretend he wasn't :D


I thought you were the Moon and I was your Wolverine. Turns out you're the Trickster, and I'm just the fool who got played.

Now, Victor Creed isn't a man up for that kind of corny crap, hell he didn't even know Jimmy-boy had that kind of thought process. But still, seeing his brother there, almost crying, just looking so… Victor couldn't even come up with the word. He'd go with pathetic, but something in his gut told him that that wasn't right. Hopeless, ah there's the word.

It just didn't settle right in his stomach to see his little brother looking so lost, so worn out that he pretty much just threw in the towel. After seeing the man fight in every freakin' war America had to offer, seeing him break down over this was…ah hell he'd say it: heartbreaking. Not that he'd ever repeat that.

It took him a second to realize that his weird stomach feeling was, indeed, his older-brother protective instincts kicking in. And he came to a conclusion: No one, and I mean no one gets to hurt Jimmy like that unless it's Victor Creed doing the hurting.

Victor Creed made sure of that.


You'd be amazed at how much an extra 30 years can do to an already 120 year old mutant. Victor Creed certainly was amazed.

The 150 year old mutant groaned as he rolled out of his sad excuse for a bed. After stretching and doing a yawn that'd make a lion piss himself, Creed lumbered into his tiny bathroom. When he was done with his business and was washing his hands, he met his gaze in the mirror again, like he did everyday.

If you took a picture of Creed from 30 years ago and one from today, you'd honestly hardly find any difference. Well maybe if you were an average Joe. But if you were one of those people who really looked 'beyond' the picture, you'd see some pretty freakish differences.

An idiot would pick out that he didn't have his weird, 1880's half-beard anymore (Creed finally decided that that style was just a little too old, so he stuck with the beard stubble). But if you were the emotional person style, you'd see the tired, worn out look Creed has now. The look of a man who was defeated.

Those 30 years certainly took a toll on him. After seeing his little brother go back to his old lover, even after she betrayed him. Seeing him free all of those mutants. Seeing him fight that douche-bag Wade to the death. Well, it made Jimmy look more like a man that Victor did. And Victor didn't like being on-upped by his brother.

Creed was surprised how after that day, killing didn't give him the usual thrill it did. How his conscious was very slowly leaking back into his mind (he honestly thought he lost his mind when he felt that killing a rabbit was just too cruel). It gave him a lot of time to reflect, and reflect on things he'd really rather not reflect about.

All the deaths. All the families he destroyed. All the mutants he betrayed. He finally understood why Jimmy-boy threw such a hissy fit on their missions. He didn't want to be that kind of person anymore. He didn't want to be anything of the sort. He just wanted to be Victor Creed, just a person.

Creed splashed some water onto his face and stumbled over to his kitchen. The nice thing about living in a crappy old trailer is that you have all your basic necessities right next to each other. The crappy thing about living in a crappy old trailer is that it's very cramped (I mean, he's big enough as it is).

Opening his fridge and sadly only finding less-than-half a gallon of spoiled milk and something else he'd really rather not know, he closed his door.

"Ughn…" Creed groaned, rubbing his eyes. I guess I could go to work. He thought. Work meant coffee, and coffee meant there'd be a least a muffin or something he could snatch.

Throwing on a pair of worn jeans, a faded t-shirt, and his denim work jacket with a big HAROLD'S AUTO-MECHANICS printed on the back, Creed made his way out the door and into his 1991 Chevy truck.

If there's one thing Victor loves about living on the Oregon coast, is how accepting people are. Everyone at his job knows he's a mutant. His claws were one thing, no matter how much he tried to file them down they still grew back. And his fangs were a big give-away. Despite the disturbing features, Creed's boss, Harold, knew the man wouldn't try anything stupid.

Victor leaned back in his car seat while he shifted gears absentmindedly as he drove to his job. Harold, Victor snorted. That man was either freakishly oblivious, or just plain crazy. When Creed arrived in Oregon, dead broke and pretty much stumbling around in what Harold could assume rags, he gave the mutant a job without another word. Even if Creed had little to none experience with fixing cars. Due to that, Creed had nothing but respect for the old geezer.

Pulling into his usual parking spot next to Harold's Auto Mechanics, Victor cut the engine and climbed out. It was a perfectly sunny day, with the green spruce trees contrasting nicely with the intensely blue sky. It was around 7 A.M, so the sun was just peeking over the mountains.

Perfect. Victor smiled.

Opening the door to Harold's Mechanics, he was not surprised to see the lobby room completely empty. His stomach growled viciously, so he scuttled quickly to the break room.

There sat Harold Jr., or Junior as Creed calls him. Harold's son of 17 years, the boy was destined to take over to shop one day. He was currently lounging in an uncomfortable plastic chair, coffee in one hand and a TV remote in the other, watching some television.

"Mornin' Junior." Creed mumbled absentmindedly as he pouring himself some sweet, sweet, glorious coffee.

"Heya Creed." Junior smiled, stretching his arms. Creed glanced around the counter.

"Got any food?" The mutant asked.

"Wha? Oh! Yeah, my mom made some cornbread muffins." The lanky boy pointed towards a Zip-lock bag full of the yellow muffins.

Creed snatched one faster that humanly possible, and crammed the poor food into his mouth. He could've moaned at how freakin' good it tasted.

"Not gunna lie, kid," Creed said through a mouth full of cornbread, "your mom make's damn good cornbread."

Junior's lips pulled back into a smile. "I know! Great, isn't it?"

Victor nodded and plopped into the chair next to the boy. He trained his eyes onto the old TV screen. He was surprised to see the news was on.

"News? Really, Junior? Shouldn't you be watching something like that crap show Family Guy?" Creed asked, swallowing his muffin and grabbing a fifth.

Junior quirked a smile. "It's not on this early, and I heard that there was this huge battle in New York. Apparently there's this mutant 'Magneto' or somethin' dorky like that. Did somethin' HUGE at the Statue of Liberty. Captured this gal, it's a huge mess. The girl's okay, though…" Junior trailed off, glancing back at the screen. "Anyways, I wanna see if they say anythin' about it on here."

Creed gave a blasé nod, but deep down something churned in his stomach. Mutant activity was on the rise, and it irked him how discriminating the government was being.

"Well luckily for us, I found ol' 'Magneto' and got 'im locked up in a plastic cell. Ain't nothin' he can do now to escape." The man on the TV explained.

Creed's nails dug through his tenth muffin so fast that it punctured his palm. That voice. That freakishly, horribly, familiar voice. That stupid, freakishly, horribly familiar voice with a Southern twang. Junior's eyebrows shot up.

"Whoa, Vic, you okay?" He asked, sitting up.

"The bastard's back!" Creed snarled, and I really mean snarled. Junior scrambled out of his seat and was now standing.

"Vic, uh…dude, I can leave…" The boy mumbled, terrified.

"No!…I mean. No, you don't have to leave. I've just uh… had some bad experiences with that guy." Creed pointed a clawed finger towards the man still jabbering away.

"Oh…" Junior paused, then gave an understand nod. "William Stryker? I guess he's a real mutant hater. Was he an ass to you or something?" The boy asked. Victor couldn't help but smile. It amazed him how Junior was able to completely accept his mutation.

"Ah, well, he was way more than an ass to me. He actually made me and my brother-" Annnnd that's when it the wave of memories smacked him so bad, that if it wasn't a metaphorical wave, he probably would've died. Metaphorically speaking.

James Logan. Jimmy Logan. Jimmy boy. Wolverine. His brother. Man, it had been a while since Creed thought of those times with his brother. Hell, it's been a while since he even thought of his brother now, like, what exactly his brother was up too. It seemed as if the two lived on totally different worlds.

30 years ago, when Victor did indeed made sure that no one hurt his little brother other than himself, that was honestly the last he saw of him. After flat out base-jumping off of the tower on that dreadful island, he vowed to never get involved in the man's life ever again. He left not seconds after he jumped, deciding it was probably better to get out of there sooner rather than later. He felt like he caused enough damage in Jimmy's life. His solution? Move across the freakin' country and lay low.

So far it's been working.

But seeing William Stryker's disgusting face on the television screen, it could honestly make Creed gag. Why was this old man back? Did he want to create more experiments again? Was he looking for Jimmy again?

Creed lurched forward in his seat so fast that it made his chair fly across the room. Junior actually whimpered.

"Oh he best not be getting' near Jimmy." Victor seethed.

"Now uh, I 'pose I should thank a small group of mutants that did make an effort to stop Magneto from pretty much destroyin' the human race. I think you, anonymous mutants." Stryker reluctantly grumbled. Victor growled.

Junior started to shuffle towards the door. "I uh…yeah. Work's a callin'! Eheheh…heh….yeah." And with that, Junior flew out of the door with speed that actually made Victor proud.

Victor sadly glanced back at the screen. With Stryker's old, saggy face staring back at him, the old mutant could see something boiling under the mutant-killer's surface.

"An' I'm definitely makin' sure this kinda situation won't happen again. Ever. Again." Stryker concluded.

Victor felt the pit in his stomach churn so badly he actually did gag. Stryker was at it again. He was going to do something bad. Something very bad.

Creed certainly wasn't going to let that happen. He had to do something, and something quick. Had to warn someone.


Victor halted in his spot. Jimmy. He'd warn Jimmy. Jimmy'd know what to do.

And with that, he grabbed his car keys, another cornbread muffin, and flew out the door, oblivious to Junior's confused yet terrified look.

He'd have to find Jimmy first.