Who doesn't like a van ride?
Head pounding, Wolverine grinded his teeth against the frigidity of the van’s interior. He was making a conscious effort to still have his noggin rested on the leather headrest, as when he first got in his head wouldn’t stop rhythmically thudding against the window due to how difficult it was to keep it balanced. Another shiver wracked through him, and he tightly wrapped his arms around himself.
“Are you cold?” the driver asked, nervously glancing over.
“M’fine,” Wolverine murmured, slightly loosening his arms “Jus’ a lil’ chilly, is all.”
The driver’s left hand hovered over the temperature knob on the dashboard - it faltered. Wolverine squinted at the red LED numbers, which read:
25℃
“...I think yer’ heatin’s broken, bub.” Wolverine said, closing his eyes against the pounding in his skull.
“That shouldn’t be pos-possible - this truck is rather new, my husband got it just a few-”
Wolverine opened his mouth to interrupt, but the words froze on his tongue as his muscles constricted and he instinctively curled inward, bringing his knees slightly up to his chest, teeth chattering.
“Do you want me to drop you off at a hospital?”
“N-N-N-No-No,” he gargled, jerking his head up and glaring out of the almost-black side window, where highway blurred into highway and the only lightsource was dingy lampposts and the glowing eyes of cars “...how flamin’ far are we from...how far are we from New York, I can tell you whereta’ drop me off, from-from there. I can tell you whereta’ drop me off from there.”
“About...half an hour?”
‘Fuck.’ Wolverine screwed his eyes shut again ‘Fuckity-fuck.’
“...aight’-” he said after a pause, forcing his voice to be clearer so the driver could hear him “-so, where you need to go is…”
“Are you sure that...this is where you want me to leave you?”
Wolverine turned the van door handle, leant against it, and fell out of the van in one motion, landing with a ‘THUMP’ onto the cold asphalt just outside. The driver sat in shock for a few moments, before reaching for the buckle on his seatbelt.
“...M’fine…!” Wolverine groaned from outside “...I...I can walk from ‘ere…”
The driver watched as his passenger shakily stood, turning to face him, breathing a little too heavily.
“Pay...back…? Cheque.” he said, shuddering “By next...month, by next month, you’ll get a cheque. You’ll know who it’s from. Thanks - a cheque, from me. Next month. You’ll know.”
He got a slow nod in response. Good enough. Wolverine slammed the door shut, and stared at the van as it sped off down the wood-surrounded road and into the night.
Shivering profusely, and suddenly feeling very nauseous, he turned around, and began to stagger down the road to the X-Mansion.