"So," Logan asked, turning his attention back to the road, and the empty, bumpy miles, "I hope you like camping." Then he offered, "You can sleep in the truck."
"Hah. You can sleep in the truck. You're the one with the short legs," Barton said, then amended, "Besides, it's your truck. I can sleep in the back." He nodded towards the pickup bed, then played with the radio, dialing through static on every channel, before frowning and turning the thing back off, a new crease in his brow. No meds, no music. Everything crumbling.
There was no home to go back to either, that wasn't crawling with Sentinels, loaded not only with mutant detection abilities, but a database of their allies. Logan didn't mind the road, and doubted Barton did, but New York and the various Avengers compounds had become important to him in a different way than Charles's school had to Logan. Not just a touchstone, but a real home. Barton didn't need an abandoned shed, he needed Steve Rogers, or--of all people--Tony Stark, and familiar surroundings. It had probably been a while since he hadn't had that.
That might explain the lack of meds. Barton had probably been in the habit of just taking a few days off here and there, confident in the security of home, and the knowledge that someone could cover for him. Logan doubted, all of a sudden, that he'd even had much of an emergency stock and had probably burned through it by now.
"We'll knock over a drugstore," Logan promised. "Keep your eyes open, next time we a town."
Barton snorted a laugh, but said, "Suppressants are going to be the first thing gone."
True, if it was a hard-hit town. Some place with a big mutant population, or a lot of sympathizers, but humans would still need to deal with heat and heat-effects, unless things were getting uglier out there than Logan had known, out in the backcountry, with very little news filtering in, and most of that a little stale, coming to him by word of mouth or infrequent contact with what passed for the X-men these days. It was possible the omega situation was heading south the way the mutant situation had. Who knew what people would turn on, if they ran out of targets.
"How much time are we looking at? We'll find some mutants." Logan had a pretty good idea where some of them were, and Remy could find anything, if he was in a helpful mood. Logan was pretty sure he'd respond to any feelers Logan put out. They'd met up for lunch a few months back, casual and civilized, Remy playing the smooth criminal even with them being hunted, comfortable with the underworld they were all sinking into. Already used to dodging and hiding and sneaking. Managing to find outdoor cafes where his sunglasses wouldn't be out of place, even though Logan had been, in his boots and jeans and unkempt in the way that was inevitable when one was avoiding people and living out of a truck.
Barton watched the scenery pass for a long moment, eyeing a crumbling barn as it came up, then fell away behind them. "I don't think they're going to supply a human," he said, sounding sure enough that it meant he had tried that route. "Can't convince anyone you're a friendly these days."
Which was a nicer way of saying that it didn't matter that Barton had sided with them. Or maybe just sided with Rogers, it was hard to tell with Barton, sometimes, when he would dig his heels in and when he'd shoot where he was pointed. Either way, they owed him something, even if was just two gel caps and half a glass of water.
"Fine," Logan said, and turned off the paved road onto one what was mostly rocks and packed earth. "Until we find someone willing to share, you stick with me."
Barton smiled and didn't argue. Just asked, "Can we find a CD player for the car?"
Re: A/B/O & On the Run - Clint/Logan
"Hah. You can sleep in the truck. You're the one with the short legs," Barton said, then amended, "Besides, it's your truck. I can sleep in the back." He nodded towards the pickup bed, then played with the radio, dialing through static on every channel, before frowning and turning the thing back off, a new crease in his brow. No meds, no music. Everything crumbling.
There was no home to go back to either, that wasn't crawling with Sentinels, loaded not only with mutant detection abilities, but a database of their allies. Logan didn't mind the road, and doubted Barton did, but New York and the various Avengers compounds had become important to him in a different way than Charles's school had to Logan. Not just a touchstone, but a real home. Barton didn't need an abandoned shed, he needed Steve Rogers, or--of all people--Tony Stark, and familiar surroundings. It had probably been a while since he hadn't had that.
That might explain the lack of meds. Barton had probably been in the habit of just taking a few days off here and there, confident in the security of home, and the knowledge that someone could cover for him. Logan doubted, all of a sudden, that he'd even had much of an emergency stock and had probably burned through it by now.
"We'll knock over a drugstore," Logan promised. "Keep your eyes open, next time we a town."
Barton snorted a laugh, but said, "Suppressants are going to be the first thing gone."
True, if it was a hard-hit town. Some place with a big mutant population, or a lot of sympathizers, but humans would still need to deal with heat and heat-effects, unless things were getting uglier out there than Logan had known, out in the backcountry, with very little news filtering in, and most of that a little stale, coming to him by word of mouth or infrequent contact with what passed for the X-men these days. It was possible the omega situation was heading south the way the mutant situation had. Who knew what people would turn on, if they ran out of targets.
"How much time are we looking at? We'll find some mutants." Logan had a pretty good idea where some of them were, and Remy could find anything, if he was in a helpful mood. Logan was pretty sure he'd respond to any feelers Logan put out. They'd met up for lunch a few months back, casual and civilized, Remy playing the smooth criminal even with them being hunted, comfortable with the underworld they were all sinking into. Already used to dodging and hiding and sneaking. Managing to find outdoor cafes where his sunglasses wouldn't be out of place, even though Logan had been, in his boots and jeans and unkempt in the way that was inevitable when one was avoiding people and living out of a truck.
Barton watched the scenery pass for a long moment, eyeing a crumbling barn as it came up, then fell away behind them. "I don't think they're going to supply a human," he said, sounding sure enough that it meant he had tried that route. "Can't convince anyone you're a friendly these days."
Which was a nicer way of saying that it didn't matter that Barton had sided with them. Or maybe just sided with Rogers, it was hard to tell with Barton, sometimes, when he would dig his heels in and when he'd shoot where he was pointed. Either way, they owed him something, even if was just two gel caps and half a glass of water.
"Fine," Logan said, and turned off the paved road onto one what was mostly rocks and packed earth. "Until we find someone willing to share, you stick with me."
Barton smiled and didn't argue. Just asked, "Can we find a CD player for the car?"