THE HUNTERS AND THE HUNTED

Introduction

Logan was learning to dislike the internet.

In fact, he was learning to really hate the internet.

"It's like this," Kitty explained. "Some old Department H servers got hacked and a lot of data was retrieved. That included some personal information about you - such as the fact that you're pretty darned old. That got combined with those reports about you being a vampire that leaked out during that thing back in San Francisco, and some wild speculation about your regenerative abilities that have always been around, and now the word is out that you're actually some kind of undead monster."

Jubes was leaning on the desk next to where Kitty was seated. "It's a pretty good example of how data isn't information," she said with a disgusted shake of her head.

Logan didn't say anything. He just looked unhappy. Lethally unhappy. Those bastards on 4chan were damn lucky they were, in fact, "anonymous". If Logan ever tracked any of them down...

Jubes gave Logan a sharp and pointy smile. "You know, you could view this as an opportunity to experience the burden of being a member of the Undead-American community."

Logan gave Jubes a very hard look. "I was a vampire once upon a time. Remember?"

Jubes winced. "Uhm... let's not rehash the past. At the moment, we've got a bigger problem - 'cause now every monster hunter on the planet is after you. We've been monitoring the various deep-net boards where they swap information and targeting data. They don't like what they're hearing about you. You're moving to the top of a lot of hit-lists."

Logan rubbed his temples. He was developing a nasty headache.

"The problem is, monster-hunters are not exactly the kind of people who are inclined to listen to reason," Kitty continued worriedly. "They're more like, 'kill it with fire now - ask questions later'. To be fair, that sort of attitude does help keep you alive in their line of work."

Jubes picked up the ball again. "But there's something you gotta understand - and it's going to sound funny as hell coming from me. You see, despite everything the monster-hunters are the good guys. If you start killing them off, even in self-defense, then a lot of nasty critters are suddenly going to run wild. Which means that innocent people will die."

Logan thought that over. Then he said slowly, "So what you're telling me is that I've got a whole bunch of new enemies coming at me, but it wouldn't be a good idea to fight back?"

Kitty and Jubes nodded simultaneously.

"Can you fix it?" Logan asked impatiently.

Kitty and Jubes both frowned.

"Fix it? What do you mean?" Jubes asked.

Logan shrugged helplessly. "Hell, I don't know. The internet is your thing, not mine. Can't you... hack it back? Reverse the polarity? Something like that?"

Jubes rolled her eyes. Kitty just sighed and began talking about disinformation, memetics, information warfare, AI-based sock-puppet accounts and a bunch of other stuff that Logan didn't know a damn thing about. Once you stripped it of all the modern terminology, it sounded to Logan as if Kitty was going to mount a counter-propaganda campaign to try and clear Logan's name.

"How long will that take?" Logan asked worriedly.

Kitty hesitated. "It's not a precise science."

"Look, all you have to do is stay out of trouble until we get the word out that the Anonymous guys got it wrong," Jubes finished. She didn't look to optimistic.

"Stay ouf of trouble. Sure," Logan muttered mostly to himself.

The Pack

Logan was being chased all over town by a bunch of werewolves.

Well, actually it wasn't that simple. They were a pack of werecanines that included two werewolves, one werecoyote, and a werefox (actually, Logan knew that she was a Kitsune). In addition, there was a girl who was probably some kind of Fey and a completely normal kid.

None of what he was seeing made sense given Logan's understanding of how were-packs normally worked. This bunch really believed in diversity.

But like all kids nowadays, they were also into the internet and were pretty damn sure that Logan was a big, bad, monster. They were right, of course. They just had some of the more important details wrong.

After the Pack found Logan, the fight then proceeded to rage across a half-dozen blocks of downtown Beacon Hills. They ended up in a parking garage on the edge of the entertainment district. By the time they got to the garage, they were all beat to hell.

Logan spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete floor the parking garage. How the hell the normal kid - Stiles seemed to be his name - fit in with this particular wild bunch was something Logan didn't even pretend to understand. At the moment, Logan had his back firmly against a tall concrete wall and he had Stiles trapped in a half-nelson. Logan also had a fist pressed up against the side of Stiles' head. The threat was unspoken, but obvious. The Pack had better pay attention to what Logan was saying or he'd perforate Stiles' skull.

"I didn't come here to fight you," Logan growled. He really hoped they would listen. A lot depended on which of them was the Alpha - and Logan was having a hell of a time figuring that one out.

The werewolf called Derek was the oldest and the most physically dangerous. He was also the most aggressive and came across as the least likely to listen to reason once blood had been spilled. However, he obviously didn't want Stiles to get hurt and that was making him hesitate.

The other werewolf - Scott - was younger and less powerful than Derek. But there was something about him that didn't come across as the normal howl-and-leap werewolf - for one thing, he was also worried about Stiles. And Logan had noticed how Derek kept an eye on Scott during the fight, both protecting him and trying to key his actions off what the younger man was doing.

They were both facing Logan head on, crouched side-by-side in half-wolf form. But they weren't alone. Off to either side, flanking Logan and Stiles, were the werecoyote and the Kitsune. Logan wasn't underestimating them in the least. The coyote was viciously sneaky - she'd almost torn out one of his hamstrings right after the fight started. And Logan really didn't like the look of the katana that the Kitsune was wielding. If he had to make a guess, it had magical properties. And while the Kitsune wasn't yet a master of her blade, Logan's agonizingly perforated left kidney was proof that she was well on the way.

The Fey girl was way in the background, watching the show. She wasn't a fighter, but there was something oddly intense in the way she was watching the brawl...

"Let Stiles go," Scott ordered angrily. His words were distorted by the way his mouth was altered to accommodate his massive fangs, but Logan could still make out what he was trying to say.

"Yeah! Let Stiles go!" Stiles choked out. He was apparently having some trouble breathing.

And then something that had been bothering Logan finally snapped into focus.

"I know you two," Logan said quietly as he stared at Derek and Scott.

The two werewolves frowned at Logan and shifted uneasily.

"You're the muscle," Logan said, nodding in Derek's direction. "You're all about instinct and fury and fighting. You'd like to be in charge, but it's never quite worked out. Right?"

Derek didn't say anything. His yellowish eyes kept their focus on Logan, but something in his stance shifted. He was listening.

Then Logan looked at Scott. "You've got brains as well as brawn. You run this bunch, but you're never sure when it's time to stop screwing around and just get primeval. That's why you need Derek. He lets you know when it's time to let the beast loose."

Scott's eyes were eerily red. Like Derek, he was also keeping a solid target-lock on Logan and Stiles, but now something was obviously stirring within him. Scott couldn't help himself. He always considered the evidence. He was that kind of man.

Just like another Scott that Logan knew.

That was when Logan suddenly realized what he had to do.

"I'm going to let Stiles go," Logan said. "But before you guys come at me, I want you to remember that at least four of you have super-senses. And you should all know by now that the undead can't help but stink like death. So before the killing starts, you have to ask yourselves one thing: am I really what you think I am?"

The Pack stared wordlessly at Logan.

Logan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he released Stiles.

Logan had to give the kid credit - Stiles didn't immediately rabbit off. Instead, he turned to face Logan and backed away slowly and carefully, in a direction that wouldn't block the view of any of his friends.

"Well?" Logan asked all of the glittering eyes that were carefully examining him.

The Slayers

Buffy had somehow managed to work a stake in between two of Logan's adamantium-armored ribs. It was actually in his freaking heart and the pain was incredible as Logan's healing factor tried to perform the nigh-impossible task of re-forming his heart around a splintered cylinder of roughly sharpened wood.

With a roar of pain, Logan tore the stake out of his chest and threw it across the room. It slammed into the opposite wall point-first, quivering to a dead stop.

A normal man would have been instantly killed by Buffy's follow-up attack. She had a big damned axe and she managed to catch Logan right along the side of his neck with a powerful, two-handed swing. As it was, the axe ground to a halt in Logan's neck vertebrae as blood jetted out from his severed jugular.

Bright points of white light were filling Logan's field of vision as he grabbed Buffy by the front of her shirt and pitched her through the bar's plate-glass window. She landed on the sidewalk in a shower of bloody glass. Logan had to buy some time. Buffy had caught him unawares and had inflicted a terrific amount of damage in a short period of time.

Logan's ploy only partially worked. Buffy looked like she'd lost a fight with a box of razor blades, but she didn't hesitate to climb back through the window. And she still had her axe.

Logan greeted Buffy by smashing a table over her. At the last moment, she curled up and took the blow on her shoulders. That saved her from a fractured skull.

Letting the impact knock her flat, Buffy hooked the bill of her axe around Logan's ankle and yanked hard. Logan slipped on his own blood and slammed to the floor. Buffy lunged forward eagerly - and took a hard kick to the face that spun her half-way around and slammed her into the bar.

There was a brief pause as both fighters staggered to their feet. Buffy licked blood from her lips and hefted her axe. Logan had his claws out and didn't really seem to care about how important Buffy was to humanity's eternal struggle against the night.

Blasted Slayers, Logan thought grimly to himself. They were hell on wheels. He'd never met this one before, but he'd heard of her - Buffy had been in the business for quite some time. She was a tiny blonde who looked to be in her thirties. And she packed a ferocious wallop.

"Both of you. Stop it. Right now."

Whoever had said that spoke with quiet and firm authority.

Buffy and Logan both blinked in surprise.

"Faith?" Buffy said in obvious disbelief. She was still keeping her eyes on Logan.

"Hey, Bee. It's been a while," Faith said nonchalantly as she helped a cowering drunk to his feet and then carefully pushed him out of the bar's front door.

Then Faith looked at Logan. "How's it going, tough-guy?"

Logan's throat was healing, but he still couldn't talk. So he just shrugged. All the while, he didn't allow himself to be distracted from Buffy.

With her boot heels clicking on the wooden floor of the now silent bar, Faith walked across the room and then stepped between Buffy and Logan.

"I can't stop both of you," Faith said, her dark eyes lit with a strange combination of determination and amusement. "But I can make sure that this fight is one hell of an unpredictable mess. And I'm pretty sure neither of you really want to hurt me."

Buffy and Logan uneasily remained where they were.

"I'll vouch for him," Faith told Buffy as she inclined her head towards Logan.

Buffy nodded warily.

Then Faith glanced at Logan.

"What's it going to be, sweetie?" she asked him with a lopsided smile.

"I'm listening," Logan said indistinctly. His throat was still only half-healed.

The devil was now definitely dancing in Faith's eyes as she looked back and forth between them and said, "You realize that I'm never, ever going to let either of you forget that I was the voice of reason here, right?"

Buffy and Logan both winced.

The Private Eyes

Kenzie was on the couch, watching TV in the dark. In the flickering light from the screen, Logan could see the look of firm disapproval on her face. He could also see that she was sporting a black eye and a split lip.

Bo was holding Logan's hand as she lead him out of her bedroom. All she was wearing was a wisp of silk that didn't really conceal much of anything.

The fight between Bo and Logan had been a nasty one. And Bo was losing pretty badly right up until she used her succubus power on him. She damn near drained the life out of Logan - and then realized to her horror that Logan tasted all wrong. He definitely wasn't undead.

Shaking from blood loss, Bo barely managed to bring Logan back from the brink. On the floor of a filthy alleyway, laying in a mingled pool of each other's blood, they kissed for the first time.

And then one thing led to another.

"You sure you're okay?" Logan asked gently.

Bo smiled at Logan - almost shyly. "I'm fine, but if you want, we can go back to bed and make sure that I'm absolutely, completely, healed."

From the couch, there came an unhappy sound that both Bo and Logan decided to ignore.

Logan smiled at Bo. Dear God, that was a tempting offer, but there was that business with the Wendigo up north...

"I gotta go," Logan said regretfully.

They kissed goodbye. Then Logan hefted his travel bag over his shoulder and left.

"I don't like him," Kenzie said very sincerely. "He broke my sword." Her eyes were still resolutely glued to the TV screen.

Kenzie's wakizashi - her Japanese short sword - was laying in four neatly severed pieces on the kitchen table. She'd tried to run Logan through, but Logan's parry had left Kenzie with only the pommel and an inch of blade in her hands.

"We'll get you another sword," Bo promised as she crawled onto the couch next to Kenzie.

Kenzie snorted as she wrapped her arms around Bo and leaned her head against the taller woman's shoulder.

A week later, Kenzie got a package in the mail. The wakizashi it contained was over three hundred years old and had been specifically forged for a female samurai.

There was a note in the package. It read, "Keep watching Bo's back. This might help."

The Hunters

Dean dropped to his knees and leaned back - barely avoiding the slash of Logan's claws - and then double-tapped a pair of .45 slugs into Logan's face. One of the slugs glanced off Logan's right cheekbone. The other hit him square in the forehead. His head snapped backwards and he was left staggering and off-balance.

That was actually just to keep Logan occupied. It was hard to sneak up on Logan, but Dean had been doing his best to keep Logan busy so Sam could get closer.

It worked.

Sam leaned around Logan and thrust the knife up underneath his ribcage. The enchantments on the knife were backed up by a healthy coating of dead-man's blood. That should be enough to kill any form of undead.

Instead of dying, Logan hooked an arm around Sam's upper body and spun him around - throwing him into his brother. Sam and Dean landed in a tangle of limbs, but then expertly disengaged from each other and scrambled to their feet - making sure that they kept enough distance between each other so that Logan would have to split his attention two ways.

Both hunters' eyes narrowed as they suddenly realized that their target was still alive.

Logan painfully pulled the knife out of his side.

"Lose something?" he asked, holding the knife up in his right hand as he glared at the two hunters.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. If Logan was undead, that should have destroyed him...

"Oh, crap," Dean said as he realized that they'd made a mistake.

Logan flipped the knife in a high arc towards Sam. Sam caught it in mid-air.

Logan stared at the two men as he held his knife wound closed. Something about the blade was slowing down his regenerative ability. So the knife was magical. That figured.

Actually, a distant part of Logan's mind admired the well-executed precision of the attack. These two guys didn't have any special powers that he could detect. They were just tough, smart, and fast. They knew what they were doing.

Hmm.

"You aren't gonna believe this, but I sometimes teach school," Logan continued stiffly.

He was right, Sam and Dean didn't buy that. And they were obviously still ready for a fight.

"I'm thinking a two week course," Logan continued implacably. "We'll call it 'Introduction to Monster Hunting'. Name your fee. And before you say no, remember that you just tried to murder me. You owe me a favor."

The Knights

Oh, hell.

Oh, hell!

Two Knights of the Sword?! Two?!

The fight was not going at all well for Logan. The tall black Knight with the Russian accent had put at least a half-dozen AK-47 rounds in or through Logan's body. And the smaller Knight was packing something that looked like a freaking lightsaber. Logan wasn't sure what would happen if he actually got hit by that blade, but he was willing to bet that it would be bad.

Logan skittered away from another slash from the lightsaber. The Knight wielding it was not much to look at, but he was grimly determined and had an idea what he was doing. And so far he was managing to keep pace with Logan. Logan thought he could take him in a one-on-one fight, but this wasn't a one-on-one fight.

The Knights had Logan trapped between them on a narrow railraod bridge. And he was being chewed to pieces. Only the fact that they were fighting in a snowstorm was working in Logan's favor. The Knights were having a problem seeing him.

Then, off in the distance, Logan spotted a flare of distinctly magical light. It was something like two or three blocks away, on the side of the bridge that the Russian was occupying. Logan could sense a buildup of magical energies. To what purpose, he wasn't sure.

Maybe that was the Dresden guy that Logan had heard about. Maybe that was the Winter Court Lady who used to work for Dresden. Or maybe it was someone else entirely. In any case, it was too damned much. Logan was now officially in way over his head.

Logan had to change the game. So he vaulted over the bridge railing. Below him, the river was a broken landscape of silvery, moonlit, ice and forbiddingly black water.

"This is getting really old!" Logan shouted to nobody in particular as he fell.

The Cops

Portland was a beautiful city.

And so far, the Portland cops were being reasonably polite.

The detective who did most of the talking was named Nick. His partner, a burly black guy, was named Hank. They and a pair of uniformed officers had pulled Logan out of his dockside motel room and taken him downtown. Logan wasn't in cuffs and nobody had made the big mistake of getting physical with him. So Logan was willing to play ball - until they gave him good reason not to.

They weren't in an interrogation room, which was a good sign. Instead they were just sitting at Nick's desk. One of the younger cops had even given Logan a cup of coffee. However, judging from the taste of the coffee, than might not have been too friendly of a gesture.

"You're a school teacher," Nick said thoughtfully. The disbelief in his voice was obvious.

"I'm the headmaster of the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning," Logan replied evenly. "We're accredited with the New York State Department of Education and have a website if you want to know the details about our facilities and curriculum. You can call them and talk to either Ororo Munroe or Kitty Pryde - they're in charge when I'm not around. They'll confirm who I am."

"What subjects do you teach?" Hank asked curiously. He was just as skeptical as Nick. Logan really couldn't blame them. Nobody was more surprised that he was now a teacher than Logan himself.

"History and hand-to-hand combat," Logan answered truthfully.

"That seems like an odd mix," Nick suggested after a brief pause.

"I'm an odd guy," Logan said with a wintery smile. "Now isn't it about time you guys told me what you're charging me with?"

Most people would have missed it, but Logan noticed that Hank started to glance in Nick's direction - and then stopped himself. Hank didn't know why Logan had been brought in. He was just following Nick's lead.

"You're not under arrest," Nick replied. "Your description matches someone we're looking for. We just want to talk."

An Asian police officer walked over, gave Logan yet another of the many skeptical looks he was attracting today, and put a clipboard on the desk in front of Nick.

Nick gave the paperwork on the clipboard a very cursory glance. Offhand, Logan was sure he wasn't really paying attention to it. What Nick was doing was staring right at Logan in a manner that even he found disconcerting. It was like Nick was looking for something in Logan. But what?

"Your story checks out, Mr. Logan," Nick said calmly, his eyes still locked on Logan's face. "Thank you for your cooperation and we're sorry for any inconvenience. Can I give you a ride back to your motel?"

Logan paused for a moment, then nodded his head. It wouldn't hurt to be polite. "Sure, kid. I'd like that."

Out in the police-station parking lot, Nick walked Logan to his car.

But there was apparently one more test that Logan had to pass.

Not too far from Nick's car, a classic VW bug was parked out on the street. A tall, lanky guy with dark hair and a scruffy beard was leaning against it. Logan caught his scent and knew immediately that the tall guy wasn't human. In fact, the scent was both very wolfish and very dangerous.

Logan froze in midstride... and barely stopped himself from popping his claws and snarling out a challenge.

The guy leaning against the Volkswagen carefully stood all the way up, shifting into a more balanced stance. He was obviously ready for trouble. And he was staring at Logan. It suddenly seemed to Logan that he could see a reddish-orange glint in the other man's eyes.

"Mr. Logan," Nick said quietly.

Logan looked away from the VW guy. Nick was on the other side of his car, near the driver's door. It wasn't obvious since the car was blocking his view, but Logan could tell that Nick had his hand on a gun.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Logan?" Nick asked neutrally, as if nothing odd was going on, but Logan knew that Nick was just as dangerous as the guy out on the street.

"It's okay on my end, Nick," Logan answered. "How's it going with you and your friend?"

Nick hesitated. Then he said, "It's fine."

"Look, Nick, I don't know what you're looking for, but I'm not it. And I get the feeling that a fight between us would be a bad time for everyone involved."

Nick thought that over, then he asked, "How long were you planning on staying in town?"

"I'm just passing through. The only reason I'm still here is because you picked me up. The sooner you get me to my room, the sooner I'll be gone."

Nick nodded. "Then let's get going."

Everyone relaxed.

Afterwards

Kitty spent a few hours trying to figure out how to explain her internet-based "Logan is not an undead monstrosity" campaign to Logan. Then she gave up and reduced it to two words.

"It's working," she told him.

Logan nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's been something like two weeks since any of the monster-hunter crowd jumped me. Thanks, Kitty."

Kitty gave Logan a quick peck on the cheek and left his office. She had a class coming up that she had to get ready for.

Logan got out of his chair and began wandering the school's hallways. It never hurt to personally see how things were going.

Ororo caught up with him in the lobby.

"How are the visiting professors working out?" Logan asked. He'd put her in charge of that particular program. He had high hopes for it.

Ororo thought it over and then gave him a quick report.

"Everyone has been through the introductory monster-hunting class. Sam's seminars on monster identification and internet research are packed. Dean's marksmanship classes are also very popular - particularly with the foreign students. Buffy's physical fitness course is apparently somewhat extreme, but everyone likes her and is doing their best to keep up - and she did mention to me that she would tone it down. Derek's outdoor survival workshop is being taken by every female student in the school. Sanya's comparative religion class had a rocky start since he is having to teach it online, but Kitty is sure we have finally worked out the technical kinks. That will help when Nick starts his police procedure class. Oh, and Waldo said he is interested in starting what he calls a pre-pre-med program. He and Hank have talked it over and they are both very excited."

As they talked, Faith walked by. She had Quentin Quire firmly by the arm as she marched him to her office. Faith nodded politely to the headmaster and the headmistress. Judging from the expression on Quire's face, he would rather have been going to face a firing squad.

"And disciplinary problems are down by sixty percent ever since Faith accepted the Provost position," Ororo added.

Logan's smile bordered on evil. "Well, Faith does know everything there is to know about delinquency. Hey, is Jubes still wearing the t-shirt that says, 'Do Not Kill' on it?"

Ororo rolled her eyes. "No, she finally stopped that. Now she has one that says, 'In Case of Emergency, Stake Here' and there is a big red X over her heart. Buffy signed it."

Logan grunted. "Well, at least Jubes is rolling with the situation. Anything else?"

Ororo suddenly gave Logan a wry look. "Bo called. As incredible as it sounds, she said that Kenzie is actually talking about going back to school. And she wants to come here."

"Faith versus Kenzie - a clash of titans," Logan said thoughtfully. He wasn't sure if he should be amused or terrified by the possibilities.

Ororo glanced around. There was nobody else nearby. "Bo also asked us to come up and visit her again," she said quietly.

Logan let out a long breath before replying. "You know, I'm not sure that I'm man enough for the two of you."

"So far, we have no complaints," Ororo said with a tiny smile.

"We're still gonna need a safe word."

"Agreed."