This chapter gave me problems. I don't mean for it to sound slow, if it does-I can never judge my work properly-but it is really supposed to happen quite fast. Most of the actions and reactions I see in my head only take a fraction of a second to run their course. I sincerely hope I've conveyed that.
Being the compulsive person that I am, I'll probably be back editing this a week from now, feeling disgusted with the whole thing. Oh well.
Thanks for reading, and please toss me a review!
The impact was like a fire that ripped its way along Logan's ribs. He snarled at the pain, his metal-plated bones absorbing the impact easily and forcing the pressure to push itself through somewhere else. The bumper dug into his stomach with about as much grace as a chainsaw, and everything else disappeared for a moment as his senses converged on the pain.
He couldn't even have the good luck to pass out.
His head exploded in agony as the other truck continued to crumple on him, the sharp edges of the shattered windshield digging into his scalp with about as much kindness as a meat grinder before it was sidetracked by the adamantium on his skull; still, it found enough energy to slide sideways across his forehead for several inches before gravity pulled it away. His ears shrieked in protest at all the sensory overload that car crashes afford; Logan shrieked with them, a roar of pain at that first impact which cut off quickly behind clenched teeth. A swell of sickening dizziness surged up Wolverine's throat as both cars ground sideways across the road, and in that one reaction a hundred jolts of pain shot through his wrecked innards. Why, oh why, could it not just have severed his spine?
It was over almost as soon as it had begun. Logan just lay there, his body forced into an awkward fetal position from his seat collapsing on him, and let out a weak, throaty moan. He didn't need to do a mental check to make sure he was okay; there was no doubt he'd survive this. It made him mad as hell.
The first coherent thoughts he could manage were angled at the girl.
He wondered if she was awake. He knew she was alive; he could hear her heartbeat, though it had taken him a few seconds to find it through the pain-induced fog. That was more than he could say about the men from the bar. His body must have shielded the girl from the impact; that was the only way she could still be alive.
He was now hazily wondering if he could use his claws or not. He didn't want to, and for Logan the reason was petty: it would hurt. He could feel the dull, throbbing ache in his head where the skin on his face was healing over, among other things, and he wasn't eager to add to the pain. But he wouldn't be able to move unless he could do some good, old-fashioned hacking...and he wasn't willing to do that unless he knew the girl wouldn't see.
He didn't want her to see. He didn't want to feel her blood on his hands if he accidentally stabbed her, and a small part of him didn't want to smell her fear if she saw. But his instincts were the strongest factor when it came to his claws, and he sure as hell didn't want her to know what he could do. The healing...well, that couldn't be helped. But he wasn't gonna show off for her in some half-assed attempt to gain her trust or admiration, of all things. It was better to hide your advantages in iany/i circumstance, no matter how weak you thought your companion was.
He groaned again when he heard a stifled sobbing coming from somewhere to his right. His head was turned sideways, facing the direction the other truck had hit, which was why he hadn't seen her good health for himself. But the fact that she could cry meant that she was awake...and he couldn't catch the scent of very much blood. Dammit, he cursed silently; but then, he'd never had such good luck.
It looked like he was gonna have to do this the hard way.
He wondered what to move first, and finally decided that it'd have to be his arms. His left hand was already twisted behind him, conveniently positioned where he could push the seat back, and he tried his best...but there wasn't enough leverage. Groaning, Logan pulled his other arm back from over his head and elbowed the cushion until it fell into its usual place; Wolverine grit his teeth against the fire that roared in his gut at the sudden movement.
There was a quiet gasp from the passenger seat.
Logan's arms were almost completely healed by now. His head was fine, and his right leg was, too, but his left leg was pinned awkwardly against something long and sharp and he knew he'd have to move before the gash could heal all the way.
He had no idea how to deal with the metal in his gut.
He rolled his head over to look at the girl. She was fine with no major injuries that he could see. Glass, sure, and a few scrapes from other things, but Logan didn't think she'd so much as bumped her head. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't even know her name. "Whattya called, kid?" he slurred at her, but she didn't respond; her eyes were still as big as saucers.
Oh well. Maybe she could tell him later.
He figured he might as well get it over with. Taking a deep breath, he took hold of the bumper and pushed.
The metal groaned and Logan shuddered, the pain making his head spin, but it was easier to move the metal away than he would have expected. He pushed with all the strength in his body and was finally left gasping, sitting sideways in his seat with a huge chunk of steel in his hands. A few minutes later, after his stomach had healed and he'd gotten his legs out of the tangle, he glanced over at the girl to really see what kind of a state she was in.
She had fainted, and Logan was sure her face wasn't supposed to be that green. She might have been dead...but no. He could hear her breathing.
He didn't mind that she'd passed out at all. She was being quiet, staying still and she wouldn't need watching while he changed out of his bloody clothes; not watching not because he was afraid she'd run away, but because he liked his privacy.
He went around to her side of the truck and cut the door off with one adamantium blade, watching her still form warily as he did. The frame of the cab was somewhat bent on the passenger side but mostly intact; it seemed like he'd taken a bigger hit than the truck itself. Logan honestly couldn't understand why he had such shitty luck...it wasn't like he'd done anything bad enough to deserve it.
With a grimace, he corrected himself. Nothing bad enough that he remembered. The gaping hole in his life where his past should have been had never filled itself in, and though he could ignore it most of the time it was in moments like these where he felt like his own body was cheating him. Telling him, it's not fair what you can do. So I'm holding your history for ransom until you give your powers back.
It really pissed him off.
Logan yanked off all that was left of his clothes and scrubbed the blood off his skin with handfuls of snow. The ice pushed the tender remnants of pain away and woke him up from his half-awake, just-deal-with-this-shit mood. His clothes were clean and dry as he pulled them out from under the passenger seat, and he yanked the jeans and wifebeater on quickly. He'd salvaged his boots and belt from the crash, though they both had some ugly-looking stains on them now; his leather jacket was history. He pulled on his two remaining lumberjack shirts, saving them the only way he could think of...you never knew what you were gonna need way out here.
The girl was still out cold when he'd finished. He looked at her limp form awkwardly, unsure what he was supposed to do with it, and decided quickly that he wasn't going to carry her all the way to town. So he dragged her out of the truck and piled cold snow on her forehead until she woke up.
Marie awoke with a shock as someone slapped something cold onto her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a minute all she could see was the icy blue sky.
Then a dark shape stepped ominously into her line of vision. Marie's head spun as she tried to recall the origin of her fear. "Get up," the man barked at her, obviously not patient enough to wait for her to understand; but then she had it. She took a sharp breath and pushed herself into a sitting position like she'd been struck by lightning, adrenaline pounding through her veins. He shouldn't be alive!
He jerked back from her sudden motion and his eyes narrowed; again, Marie could have sworn that he'd heard her heartbeat. But he spun away and was stalking off down the road before she could utter a word.
"Where ya goin'?" she asked after a shocked pause, doing her best to hide the quiver of fear in her voice. She'd just watched a man get crushed by a truck, impaled, and practically ripped to shreds, and now he was walking away like nothing had happened. Granted, she'd passed out after he'd asked her for her name, but she'd seen enough to wonder who she had been stupid enough to hitch a ride with. Could her skin even stop him, if he wanted to hurt her?
"'M goin' ta town," he replied shortly. "You c'n come or stay here 'n pray fer a miracle." Marie knew what he meant by that; a miracle was the only way to get picked up on a road like this. She'd learned that quicker than anything else when she'd left Toronto for the wilderness farther north.
"But...don't yah think it would be ah good adeah tuh check on the othah drahvers...or at least cahll the puhlice...maybe?" she persisted in a louder voice as he got farther away. Wouldn't he care enough to do that, at least? And how was he so sure that the people in the other truck had been from the saloon?
"Kid, that's th' stupidest thing I've heard in years." His statement wasn't an exaggeration.
She hesitated, choosing between safety and convenience as quickly as she could. He was a dangerous man; Marie had seen undeniable evidence of that all night long. But it was definitely not safe for her to stay with the truck, for many reasons...and so, choosing the lesser of two evils, she ran to catch up. She slowed to a skipping walk when she reached him, her small steps barely matching his enormous stride, but he didn't slow down to accommodate her. "Whah's it ah bahd ideah?" she asked him in a breathy voice. She kept her distance, not brave enough to bridge the wide gap between them, and the thoughts that kept her away made her heart race. But he didn't make any effort to get closer himself-he didn't even look at her. His eyes were locked on the road ahead.
"You don' think th' cops'll be wonderin' why we ain't hurt, kid? Why we c'n jes walk away when them fuckers're wiped all over the damn highway? They ain't idiots." He still didn't look at her, but there was a cold edge to his voice, and his expression was furious.
Marie was surprised by the Wolverine's reaction. Though it fit the mould, she couldn't think of a reason for him to be angry with the police unless he was a criminal; and that was certainly an option, if she was any judge of character. He was probably still upset over his truck, or didn't want to walk all the way to town...at least, those were the excuses Marie chose to believe. If she'd had any idea what really fueled his anger, she would have realized just how much she owed him. He had saved her life just by giving her a ride, and here she was questioning that generous decision. The two of them were in the same boat, whether they knew it or not, and the police would more likely arrest them for being what they were than trust their unbelievable reports of the event.
"Ahr you a mutant?" she asked suddenly, her voice quiet but still clear in the cool night air. The confused memory of his mangled body starkly contrasted with what she saw now, and though she was worried about how he might react to her curiosity, she couldn't avoid the question any longer.
He looked sharply at her, his amber eyes wolfish in the moonlight, and she again felt pinned by his unwavering gaze. But he looked away quickly, refocusing on the highway with a bitter expression.
"What's it ta you?" he growled finally. Marie noticed that this time he made no effort to hide his teeth.
She stared at her feet hard, her thoughts passing across her face in innocently obvious shifts. She wanted so badly to tell him, to reveal what she was to someone that might not want to kill her for it, but she was afraid a confidence like that might cross some barrier and he'd kill her anyway. She argued with herself for what felt like a long time, unable to decide what she wanted, but just as the moment was about to pass, she blurted it out.
"Ah'm ah muhtant," Marie admitted softly. She almost added 'too', but stopped herself before she could say something she'd regret. She kept her eyes on the road, ashamed of herself, but she couldn't avoid glancing at him out of the corner of her eye every few seconds. The silence was killing her. What would he do?
The Wolverine never stopped walking. He never even looked at her, as far as she could tell. But when he finally spoke, she could have sworn his voice was softer.
"Ya don' lookit," he pointed out, and then he was looking at her, his golden eyes finally losing their piercing edge. He looked...old. Like a stuffed toy that had been left out in the rain for too long. Marie's fear slowly drained away as she watched his golden eyes; she was an emphatic person, and his weariness easily crossed the gap between them. She wasn't scared anymore...just very, very tired.
"I dunno what I am, kid," he said in a quiet, almost resigned voice. Marie felt like it was something he hadn't really meant to say out loud, or something she wasn't supposed to hear.
And then the mask was back. "What's yer name?" He barked, and she answered automatically. "Marie."
"Where ya from?" So her accent was just as heavy as she'd feared.
"Mississippi."
"That's a long mile south of here ta come all th' way up north, don't ya think?" Marie wasn't sure if the question was rhetorical or not, but she nodded awkwardly just in case. "Where're you from?" she asked him.
"Around." His voice was suddenly cold again, and she didn't question him further.
He was the one to break the silence. "How old are ya, kid?"
"Fihfteen. 'N you?" He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow warningly.
So that was another closed topic.
"How far ta town?" she asked instead.
"I dunno," he replied as if the distance made no difference to him, and knowing the distance didn't help him much, either. Marie supposed that his attitude, though painfully careless, was probably the more sensible one to have anyways; she found herself wondering why she wanted to know the answer to her question so badly in the first place.
It was silent for a few minutes, Marie turning over a new question in her mind and Wolverine looking on down the road. Finally she got up the courage to ask him what she wanted to know. "Can ya hear my heartbeat?" she blurted awkwardly, and an instant later she regretted it. Hadn't he made it clear he didn't want to talk about things like that?
His jaw clenched angrily, and Marie couldn't help but flinch. "Mebbe I can, mebbe I can't," he growled.
He glared at her, and she looked away quickly, her eyes back on her feet.
"Ah'm sawry-ah just thought...it wahs a stupid guess, ah'm sawry," she stammered, feeling his eyes still boring into her, even after she'd gone back to contemplating the snow.
"That's one helluva guess," he growled sourly a few long seconds later. Marie couldn't tell if it was a confirmation or not.
Finally he did pause, stopping so suddenly that she kept walking for several steps before she realized that he was no longer striding along next to her. She stopped too and looked back at him, her eyes questioning him silently.
He stood motionless and tense, his weight pressed forwards as if he was preparing to run. His head was tilted slightly, his expression colder than any time she'd seen it so far. Calculating. Listening, too...and following his silent cues, Marie started listening too.
But she couldn't hear a thing.
Finally he started walking again, but his pace was slower, more hesitant, and he obviously wasn't completely relaxed.
"What is it?" Marie asked finally, worried by his wariness. What made a man who could survive being hit by a truck worry?
He hesitated before he responded, his frown deepening in confusion as he spoke. His voice was distracted. "I dunno...but it ain't a helicopter, and that's what's fucked up about it. It's a jet."