February 1886,
Broadstreet, London

The duo made their way up the narrow street until they reached the building bearing a rusted 1013 address sign.  Nicolas unsheathed his claws and quietly slid the door from its hinges.  The boys entered the flat and were immediately assaulted by the pungent odor of vomit and dried urine.

The moonlight shining through the cracked window provided just enough light to illuminate the claustrophobic room.  The sparse furniture was limited to only a tattered chair, a table and, a narrow bed.  The table had a black satchel on it, a black nightstick that the boys recognized from the Institute, and a half-eaten bowl of stew.   Victor strode toward the table as Nicolas crept towards the bed.

Nicolas, claws outstretched advanced on the sleeping figure and plunged a single claw into Donaldson's shoulder. He drug it upward, effectively severing the ligaments and tendons.  Donaldson woke with a start and howled in pain when he moved the left side of his body.

"Who're you?" he demanded.

"Take a good look asshole.  It's the last face your sorry ass is ever gonna see," Nicolas said and spat in the man's face, Donaldson snapped to full attention as he recognized the young man before him.

Victor's scuffling drew Donaldson's attention and his eyes grew wide at the sight of his youngest victim.  Nicolas' claws drew him back to his surroundings and he shook in fear, too terrified to move as five other lethal-looking claws shot from the youth's hands.

Nicolas slid the six claws quickly down Donaldson's naked chest, tearing the flesh and drawing blood.  The man screamed in pain and was rewarded with a punch in the mouth from Nicolas' now closed fist.  He grabbed Donaldson's head roughly and slid all but one claw back into his arm.  He brought the razor-sharp claw up, prepared to slit the man's throat; the blade close enough to draw a thin line of blood, and suddenly stopped.  He couldn't do it; he wasn't a cold-blooded killer.  Frustrated with himself, Nicolas punched Donaldson one final time and muttered, "You're not worth it." before stalking out into the street.

Nicolas' ears picked up a sickening 'thud', then a moan, and he panicked when he realized Victor wasn't with him.  Just as he turned around, he saw the boy exit the flat with a satchel tucked under his arm and the nightstick clutched tightly in his hand.

Breaking the tension between them, Nicolas gently took the satchel, and after pulling the contents out, he turned to the boy.  "So Vic, do you want to stay in this God-forsaken country or go to America?"

"America," came the barely audible reply.

Nicolas swung his arm around the boy's shoulders and steered him toward the only place in town that they could get a cheap bed at this late hour- Miller's Court.

Reaching their destination, the boys discovered that much had changed in the lower east side.  Miller's Court had long since been abandoned and was simply a pile of rubble, save for the last room on the lower level.  The door had long been torn off, and all that remained of the window was a piece of a dirty rag.

Victor started forward toward the tiny room as if in a trance.  Nicolas came up behind him and the younger boy turned and spoke.   "This is where my mum was killed.  By my own father," he said with such heartbreaking sadness that Nicolas moved toward him and pulled the now sobbing boy into a tight hug.

As they sank to the ground, Victor's statement kept playing in his head.  If what he'd said was true, then the two boys were brothers.  If that was the case, then going by the fact that his father had been a ruthless murderer, and his brother a child murderer, Nicolas' chances of getting through life without blood on his hands appeared to be slim.

An hour later, Nicolas had pulled a sleeping Victor into the small building.  with his keen sense of sight, Nicolas could see the faded bloodstains that had splashed the wall behind the bed.  The sight made his stomach churn and he was more than anxious to leave.  However, Victor needed his rest and this was the only place available to stay at the moment. Nicolas knew it was risky to still be in the same city as Donaldson's body, but he doubted that the inspectors would trace the crime back to a ten year old boy.

The child began to toss and turn in his sleep and mumble words that sounded like pleas for mercy.  The dream shifted directions and Victor's face grew tight with what appeared to be anger and hatred.  He shook violently and eventually woke himself with a blood curdeling scream.  He collapsed against Nicolas' chest and began sobbing hysterically.  Nicolas eased the child closer to himself and began rubbing his back in soothing gestures.

"I couldn't stop him Nicolas, I couldn't stop myself." Victor spoke aloud in an anguished voice.

"Shush Vic. I know.  It's over now, just sleep.  Just sleep now.  It'll be alright." Nicolas attempted to reassure the child.

It seemed to work and Victor slipped back into unconsciousness all the while holding onto Nicolas with a death grip.

Nicolas kept watch all through the night and as the day broke he noticed a slumped, beaten down figure stumble across the lane.  Ever wary of the fact the person might present a threat to Victor, Nicolas slowly pulled the boy back from the doorway and slipped toward the shadowed figure.  Creeping quietly near the figure, Nicolas took the time to carefully study the man lying on the ground.

His dark brown hair was laced with silver, and Logan realized it was eerily similar to his own.  The man's head held three strange holes in the forehead and each of the temples's.  The lips were open, and spittle ran out the sides of his mouth.  Finally, Nicolas locked gazes with the man, and was startled to see the glazed hazel eyes gazing back at him.  A block of ice settled in his stomach as Nicolas realized who he was staring at- William Adams.

The cruel irony of the situation hit him fully and Nicolas turned and wretched until the meager content of his stomach had been emptied onto the ground.  The man lying near him groaned and rolled face-down into a nearby puddle.  Nicolas was at war with himself on weather to pull the thing from certain death.  Justice beat out morality and Nicolas ran back into the building where Nicolas was located.

Three hours later the two boys were on a ship heading to America.  It was their unwritten future.  England represented the past, and everything else you can't leave behind.

Victor's Lab
Present Day

Marie and Victor sat in silence, watching Logan's face twitch with the memories he had recently been reunited with.  Marie felt a closeness growing between herself and Victor.  She'd already shed countless tears for the things Victor had faced in his early life.

He'd told her everything he knew about his and Logan's shadowed past, and Marie in addition learned of Logan's point of view and take on the situation.  Neither story was a tale that even the Grimm's' brothers would touch with a ten foot pole.

As Logan stirred, Marie walked over to him and began gently stroking his arm.  His eyes flooded open and a look of unimaginable anguish crossed his beautiful features.  Too weak to even move, Logan silently begged for Marie to come closer to him.

She climbed into the bed behind him, and pulled him up until he was cradled in her lap.  She silently rocked him back and forth as the damn broke and Logan began to weep.  Sobs racked his large frame, and he turned around to cling to Marie in the same manner Victor had held on to him all those years ago.

Marie held him and spoke words of acceptance, empathy and comfort to the broken man as he continued to purge himself of guilt that nobody should ever carry.  Marie's litany reached his ears and for the first time in days, a glimmer of hope shown itself in Logan's otherwise dark life.  He could only hope Marie's hope would sustain him through this journey into his hellish past.