Finally something that really strays from the movie canon. Took me a while to get to this point, but I wanted to mould the story on a good foundation.
Anywho, R&R s'il te plait!
He knew she was there. He'd known before he'd even gotten all the way out of the bar. Her footsteps were heavy; they'd caught his attention because he thought that one of the cunts from the counter was coming after him. He couldn't smell her then...but when he heard the soft bags plunking gently into the bed of the truck, he knew.
He forced himself to let her get in. He'd confront her later, when he didn't have to worry about a couple of bastards coming out to...
To what? What could they possibly do?
Still, he thought sharply to himself. Better not to start that kind of shit with a kid involved. He'd find a gas station, drop her off, make sure she stayed out of his stuff...and with a plan in mind, he laid one heavy boot on the gas pedal, finally pulling out onto the road.
His keen eyes didn't catch the bartender glaring through the window as he went.
"Yeah, this J.?" An angry voice growled into the phone. "S'just a mutant in my bar. Wanna go huntin'? ...Yeah, s'dangerous. Won every fight tonight...Naw, J., cage fights. We don' do brawls like that, an' you knows it. A clean match don' bring the cops around." The man on the other end of the line said something, and the bartender named a few landmarks before he hung up. After tonight he'd never have to worry about wasting a bullet on that guy again.
He didn't know where the mutant had been, but with a little help the bartender would make sure he never got where he was going.
A few hours later Logan was still chugging along, now miles away from the bar. He was still brooding over the night's events. He'd decided to stay away from the place until he happened to drift into that part of the territory again, and then he'd let himself go back. They didn't want to see him, and he wasn't all that interested in forcing his company onto them either, but the only thing they could do to him was have him arrested. And it wasn't against the law to survive a gunshot wound.
Still, attempting suicide was a crime...
All of a sudden there was a wicked crash from behind. Wolverine just about jumped through the roof; he hadn't been in the bar half as long as needed to get used to noises like that. He stopped right there in the middle of the road.
Screw the gas station. She'd get out right here.
He got out to see what damage had been done. His motorcycle was lying sideways in the bed of the truck; it had fallen over on one of the road's turns, and it was obvious why. The kid had wedged her bags, and herself, between his cord of wood and the bike. The latter had been leaning on the former, but with three good-sized bundles in between the motorcycle hadn't been able to balance the way it was supposed to.
She was damn lucky that he hadn't left the tailgate open. If that bike had fallen out onto the road...
Logan walked up to the side of the truck's bed, throwing the tarp off and roughly depositing the girl's luggage on the ground. "What in hell do ya think you're doin'?" he growled, his cigar sticking out from between his teeth like an old bone.
She stammered a little under his glare, fumbling for some good words that she could use to explain the situation. Finally she gave up and settled for the truth. "Ah needed a rahde, and ah thought you maht help me..."
"Get out." His tone couldn't be any clearer: there was no help being offered here.
"What'm ah s'posed ta do?" she whined. Logan wondered if that Southern accent was real or fake, but he ended up ignoring it.
"I dunno," he growled back.
"You don' know or you don' care?" she asked, innocent sadness dripping like honey from her words.
"Pick one," he snapped. She was finally out. He stomped silently back to the cab, listening carefully as he started the engine to make sure she didn't try to get back in. She didn't.
But then another sound caught his attention.
Cursing, Wolverine shoved his door open again. The girl was still standing in the road, a crestfallen expression pasted on her face. He didn't even notice it as he yanked her bags away from her and dragged them roughly around to the other side of his truck. He had trouble opening the door, and when it did break loose it came with several years' worth of rust and squeaky hinges, but he grit his teeth against the noise and threw the bags in. "C'mon, kid!" he shouted as he jogged back to the driver's side. Goddamnit, what was she waiting for?
The girl gave a little jump of surprise and rushed around to the passenger seat, hopping in quickly and trying to settle herself on top of the mess without attracting his attention too much. She fumbled with some of the beer bottles on the floor, trying to get them out of the way of the door before she closed it, and Logan grit his teeth in frustration. She was wasting time.
"Jesus fucking Christ, kid, you think you can go any slower?" His snarl was anything but kind as he reached across her lap to yank the door shut. The bottles moved themselves out of the way, rolling back from the door as it slammed; one of them got stuck in the gap between the door and the floor, and the explosive sound made Logan flinch.
The kid jumped as the glass shattered and quietly shifted herself away from the carnage. She was halfway facing Logan now, and he felt like she was staring at him; his animalistic nature screamed for him to get her to look away. The conflict was pissing him off.
The kid broke the silence before he did, opening her mouth just as he stomped on the gas pedal. "Wha did ya change your mind?" she asked in a quiet voice.
"I just did," Logan said after a long pause, his voice just as quiet as hers but much, much sharper. He was tense, his ears and his mind watching the road behind him...he was keeping track of the bartender's voice, not the conversation.
Goddamnit, they were catching up!
"Why're we going soh fast?" the girl asked about fifteen minutes later. Logan glanced at her, tasted the air, and realized she was afraid; he was driving like a maniac, body crouched over the wheel, hands tense, eyes wide. Teeth bared ever so slightly. Jesus, she could see his teeth. Wolverine clamped his lips shut, hiding his long canines, and focused on relaxing. He sat back. Loosened his grip on the wheel. Took a breath.
"Them guys from the bar're followin' us," he replied shortly. Jesus, she probably wished she'd stayed in town. But her scent grew fearful again at his words, and he took it as an excuse to step on the gas, not considering that her fear might be of something else. She never asked how he knew what he'd told her, and he wouldn't have given away his secrets if she had.
But it didn't matter what he did. His old beater didn't stand a chance. In two corners the hunters had come into sight in the rearview mirror; in another two corners they were close enough to start shooting. Logan's rear tires went flat pretty quick with ten or so shots to each wheel. He had to admit, it was a smart move. He hadn't given them that much credit.
It also really pissed him off.
A string of curses erupted from his mouth, the words becoming more of a snarl than a sentence as he said them. He yanked the wheel over and spun the truck around right in the middle of the road. It had enough momentum to slide in a half-circle, but he couldn't go any further with his busted tires.
Fuck. This was really gonna hurt.
The hunters shouted and tried to swerve away, but there was no time. With a screech that made the forest howl, their SUV slammed headlong into the driver's side of Logan's truck, and the well-worn steel folded in over his body as if it wanted to drag him to Hell itself.