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Three metal claws slid from Logan's fist. Two were already embedded deep in the pillar, pinning the man against it. The third, middle claw extended slowly, its razor-sharp tip coming to rest gently against the man's throat.
With the slightest push, Logan could end his life.
"Logan! Don't!" Clark cried out, startled by the sudden violence.
His super-senses were only just beginning to return, and his X-ray vision was still gone. He had no way of knowing that Logan was far from an ordinary man.
A sharp click cut through the tension.
The tavern owner, who had been behind the bar, now stood with a shotgun aimed squarely at Logan's head.
"Get out of here, you monster," he snarled.
Seeing this, Clark quickly stepped forward to intervene. "I'm sorry, sir. Logan was a bit impulsive, but that man started it—"
Before Clark could finish, the owner yelled, "Get back! Don't make me shoot you, too, you little freak-lover!" He shifted the barrel slightly towards Clark, who flinched and took a step back. Without his powers, a shotgun blast would tear him apart.
In that instant, Logan moved.
He retracted the claws pinning the man and spun around. With a single, fluid motion, his other hand shot out, and the adamantium claws sliced the shotgun cleanly in half.
"What!"
The owner stared at his ruined weapon as gunpowder spilled onto the floorboards. His confidence had vanished with his gun, and he instinctively threw his hands up in surrender.
The man Logan had pinned to the pillar slid to the floor, gasping for breath. He could feel the cold, murderous intent rolling off the monster before him; this was a man who had killed before and wouldn't hesitate to do so again. Overwhelmed with relief, he simply lay there, greedily breathing in the air, grateful to be alive.
"Old man," Logan growled, stalking over to the owner and grabbing him by the collar, his claws glinting inches from the man's face. "Going after monsters is one thing," he snarled, his eyes burning with rage. "But pointing a gun at a kid? Even monsters have standards."
Although he had only known Clark for half a day, the instinct to protect a child was absolute. The owner's willingness to threaten a child had infuriated him.
"Okay, Logan, let's go..."
Just as the owner braced for a blow, Clark stepped in again. His calm voice managed to defuse Logan's anger.
"Let's go," Logan repeated, shoving the owner away. He stormed out of the tavern, and Clark, after giving the frightened patrons an apologetic look, hurried after him.
Neither of them noticed a shadowy figure, wrapped tightly in dark clothing, slip out of the tavern moments after they did.
Back in the RV, Clark climbed into the passenger seat while Logan silently started the engine, which roared to life.
"You're not scared, kid?" Logan asked suddenly as they pulled away. "Trusting a stranger is one thing, but trusting a mutant… that's rare these days."
Thanks to government smear campaigns and a few high-profile incidents, the public's perception of mutants was at an all-time low.
"Scared of what? Of you, Logan?"
"I mean of mutants," Logan clarified.
But Clark's expression didn't change. "Why would I be? First of all, you're Logan, and you're a kind person who helped me. Right? And as for being a mutant… well, everyone's got something that makes them different."
Clark was well aware of mutants. Unlike most families, his parents, Benjamin and May, had taught him to be cautious but also reminded him that mutants were just people, and not all of them were bad. Besides, Clark had his own powers, so he felt a natural kinship rather than fear.
Today's events, however, had shown him just how hostile the world could be. That man had clearly started the fight, and Logan hadn't even hurt him, yet the owner had immediately pulled a gun. This injustice gave Clark a glimpse into the difficult lives mutants were forced to live.
"I gotta say, kid, you continue to surprise me," Logan said with a rare, small smile. He never thought he'd find a kindred spirit in a boy barely ten years old. "Alright, head to the back and get some sleep. We're driving through the night."
Clark nodded and went into the main cabin of the RV. With a faint smile still on his face, Logan put the vehicle in gear and headed for New York. Exhausted from the battle that had drained his powers, Clark fell into a deep sleep, lulled by the steady rumble of the engine.
Sunlight was streaming through the windows when the RV came to a stop, waking Clark.
"Where are we?" he asked, but got no reply. Logan was already outside, and Clark could hear him talking to someone.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm sorry, I just needed a ride…"
Clark climbed down from the RV to see Logan confronting a girl who looked about sixteen or seventeen.
"Logan, what's going on?" Clark asked.
Logan's tense expression softened slightly when he saw Clark. He couldn't believe it; this girl had somehow snuck onto his RV, and he hadn't noticed her all night.
"Nothing. Just a hitchhiker," Logan grumbled. "Problem's solved. Let's go." He tossed the girl's bag onto the dusty ground and turned back toward the RV.
"Please," the girl pleaded. "I just need to get to the nearest town. I really need your help."
"Sorry," Logan said flatly. "Not my problem."
Logan always kept strangers at a distance, but Clark, who had been on the receiving end of his kindness, knew it was just an act. Beneath the gruff exterior, Logan was a good person.
"Logan, the town can't be that far," Clark said, trying to persuade him. "Please, let's help her."
Logan let out a heavy sigh. He couldn't just leave a teenage girl stranded in the middle of nowhere, not with Clark watching.
"Fine," he grumbled. "You're all the good guys, and I'm the bad guy, is that it? Get in the car, kid. Go take a rest."