I think someone once said something about this scenario happening, but I can't remember who and no way am I about to look through the reviews (which by the by, thanks for those y'all:) so to whoever you are, thank you.

For Creed, think more Wolverine: Origins version.

Edit: 8/19/2011

Since potatoes are too short to actually hide a chihauha in, let alone Wade and Anna, it's now all been changed to corn. Because the state can grown

"I hate Idaho," Wade declared.

"You hate Idaho?" Anna asked.

"Is what I said, Sunshine, and it ain't gonna change."

"What's so bad about Idaho?"

"Do you want the alphabetical, numerical, or random list?"

"Do the both of you want to stop talkin'?" Logan more said than asked.

"Well, golly, Daddy Logan, what the heck else are supposed to do? Count the corn stalks?" Wade sulked in the back seat of the truck next to Anna.

The noon day sun shone downs on rows and rows and rows of corn and other vegetables Wade couldn't identify unless they were fried zoomed past. Far as the eye could see, the green harvest swayed like a verdant ocean, blown more by their rapid passing than a wind. Brown and tall electrical poles blurred past the window ever faster and faster.

"Dude, you're totally speeding."

"Shut up."

"But Daddy, we're bored," his daughter whined.

At thirteen, she was too old to be whining, but it wasn't often that she did. Her father was so grateful for that. He'd have no choice but to love her anyway, but he really could not stand brats. Somehow, Anna had managed to avoid that, maybe by something he'd done. The heck if he knew what. It never occurred to him to give a crumb of credit to the girl's mother. He rather preferred not thinking of the woman at all.

"And just what do you want me to do, darlin'? Pull over and start juggling?"

Anna giggled at the thought. Logan couldn't juggle to save his life.

"Please don't," Wade said. "Because if you do, I'll be forced to drive the truck once the Jeepers Creepers bat monster pops out of the corn and steals your head, then we'll be stopped by some random, hick cop who will also be killed – probably by me when I resist arrest – then we'll get stuck here when the truck explodes or pops a tire and have to kill the monster too."

Anna poked him in the side, and he squirmed away.

"I thought you said that movie didn't scare you, Uncle Wade."

"It didn't. It just gave me another reason to not like Idaho, aside from all of the tickets I didn't pay here. They put out warrants for your arrest when you don't pay those, but I'd have to be here in order to do that, and the entire reason I was speeding was so I could get the heck out of here as quickly as Ford Mustang-ly possible."

When Wade had started to ramble, Logan quickly tuned him out by focusing on music coming from the radio. He paid very little attention to the words, letting the melody and guitar-plucking drown out the madman that he just couldn't get rid of. And he'd tried several times, planning to use the tried and true explanation of 'He wandered away' to Anna, but he kept coming back. Like cancer or something.

The long trips, when he was trapped in the same vehicle for hours unable to get away, were always the worst. While Anna didn't mind, even seemed to like all the chatter, it was all he could do not to rip the man's tongue out.

He wouldn't even be headed to California now if it weren't for Anna. She wanted to visit Tony and Pepper over the summer, and he really couldn't deny her much of anything.

"You like Florida though, right?"

"It's okay. Paraguay's more my speed though, mainly 'cause I like saying it."

"But you liked Disney."

"It's not the places, honey, so much as the people. Unless the times when it's the people rather than the places…Look, it just varies, okay? Take my word for it. Idaho sucks. It doesn't have places or people."

Logan looked in his rearview as Wade brought his bottle of orange soda to his mouth. He didn't bother telling the man that the nearest gas station – and bathroom – wasn't for miles. If he had to go – which he would. The man had the bladder of a two year old at most inconvenient times – he'd have to suck it up and go into the stalks of corn he hated so much.

The radio switched suddenly to static, and everything happened very quickly after that.

The road curved up ahead, and the stalks of vegetables served to hide the man standing in the middle of the road as the truck barreled at him, upwards of seventy miles an hour.

And just when Anna said, "Well, maybe you should give it a chance," Logan was slamming on the vehicle's breaks, causing Anna and Wade to lurch forward. Her seatbelt caught her securely, but Wade hadn't been wearing his and slammed into the seat in front of him. As the truck screeched and continued forward at a speed that would easily kill the man, the racket stopped as the man suddenly raised his hands into the air, as well as the truck at least ten feet.

The engine died as the truck tilted, turning vertically in the air, pointing towards the ground, and a strange, white current could be seen through the glass, running across the truck, a low hum coming from it. Armed men in black with armor with stylized X's across the front came out of the fields they'd been hiding in. As a unit, they pointed assault rifles at the truck, dozens of red targeting beams dotting through the glass not only on Logan but Rogue and Wade as well.

One particularly hulking figure that stood head and shoulders above the rest strutted past them to stand next to the man who was levitating the truck. He bared his teeth and waved one massively clawed hand at them.

"Victor," Logan growled.

The blades in his hands edged out nearly involuntarily, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to bury them in the other man's stomach. Blinding fury at the man's mere presence broke over him, but a quiet, whimpered, "Daddy?" brought him back.

"It'll be fine, Anna. I won't let them hurt you."

Victor gestured to the man who was holding up the truck, and he raised it higher.

"Son of a – Anna, hold on to your seat, honey, real tight."

"What are they –"

"Do it!"

Anna shakily turned in her seat, the belt still wrapped around her, and managed to grip the seat, even with gravity pulling her down towards the front. Wade had moved into a similar position, but with his back braced against the passenger seat and his feet on the window. He'd pulled pistols from nowhere and quickly checked the clips and chambers of each.

"I told you. Idaho sucks."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the white current vanished from the truck, and it dropped.

Next time: Let me go or I'll lick you! - or something like that.