Hello loyal readership.
I know I've been gone for a while, and you all thought I must have died or something, but that was due to my vacation lasting several weeks longer than I had planned it. I will be updating regularly now that I am back. To make it up to you, I've written this very long chapter. Oh, alright. I originally wrote this to be a one-shot, and a completely seperate story, but since y'all went so long without a chapter, I decided that you deserved it more.
It's sort of the precursor to 'What's in a Name'. When Superman is saying how Batman went to the Farm once, and had called him "Clark" ever since. Well, this was just going deeper into exactly what went on during that time. I really hope you guys actually care to read this.
The challenge may be a bit difficult, as I hadn't intended this to be a chapter, but here goes: Part of a quote is included in one of Ma or Pa Kent's lines of dialogue. What is the full quote and/or who wrote it? The hint- the quote is exactly one sentence.
Hope you all like this chapter,
Downward helical motion. Hazy vision. Ears ringing. Flashing red alert light. 'Slight concussion, temporary tinnitus, and primary engine failure, all caused by impact.' Batman went through his mental checklist as he switched the jet to the secondary engine and pulled the Batwing up before it could become acquainted with the ground. Hopefully, the damage to his plane had given Superman the opening that he needed. He glanced out the cockpit window to see a green blur through his night-vision lenses, approximately 300 meters off.
"Superman," he called over the communicator, "have you neutralized the threat? Over."
"'Roger, Wilco' Batman. Elipsis isn't going to be causing anymore trouble. Not anytime soon, at least. Just give me a second to fly him to Stonegate. ... ... Over."
"Copy. Out." While Superman was busy mocking Voice Procedure, Batman checked over his plane's diagnostics. ''Engine 1: 0%. Engine 2: 100%. Fuel Tank 1: 5%. Fuel Tank 2: N/A''... N/A? He frowned. He'd expected his primary engine to be destroyed when he rammed the plane into Elipsis, but he hadn't thought his fuel tank would be damaged.
"Batman," the communicator suddenly rang out, and Batman turned to see Superman hovering a few feet away, "Stonegate says they'll be able to hold Elipsis, so we won't have to worry about him. How are you holding up? Your plane looks pretty bad."
Batman shook his head and decided that protocol was useless where the alien was concerned. "My reserve fuel tank is not responding, and my primary fuel tank is almost empty."
"Anything I can do?"
"Not unless you can find somewhere for me to repair the Batwing within a 40 mile radius."
He was surprised when Superman replied, "Actually, I know just the place."
Batman frowned again, "We're at an unknown position somewhere in the Midwest, at 4 AM, with nothing but the occasional farm for miles."
"We're in Kansas, 53 miles south-southwest of Smallville. 29 miles from Hickory Lane."
345 Hickory Lane, Smallville, KS. That was the residence listed on Clark Kent's adoption papers. He'd done basic background checks on the city, residents, records, but they were all easily capable of having been altered. The idea that Superman might actually have lived there seem almost novel, but Superman was suppose to be all about truth, justice, and the American way, and It didn't get much more 'American way' than Kansas.
"Move quickly." He commanded. It would be getting light within an hour, people would be waking up. The increased activity and visibility that came with morning would make the Batwing infinitely easier to spot- An option he was not willing to allow.
"Just stay behind me."
He steered the plane into position and started to follow Superman. He had an odd feeling of apprehension. It wasn't necessarily suspicion, but there was an unease he got when he was forced into a situation he wasn't prepared for. Being unprepared was something that could get him killed, so he made a mental run through of all the possible scenarios.
The farm, as he'd read it was, could be a front. Kal-El could have acquired the land whenever he first arrived on Earth, and used it for various purposes. It could be a functioning farm with him having befriended the actual owners, or the original owners passing on with him keeping the abandon land, taking their surname as part of an alias. There was the possibility that all the paperwork and documentation was forged, and it wasn't even a farm at all. And it was also possible that the simplest answer was the truth; that he'd been adopted by the Kents as an infant, and the farm was his childhood home.
How much of that was true, he wasn't sure, and though most of them seemed unlikely, they were still possibilities. It was times like this that he wished he'd investigated more thoroughly. 'I need to use this to my advantage,' Batman thought, ' turn this into an opportunity to gather information.'
He deactivated his night-vision goggles as the sky turned gray with morning light. As they drew closer, he could see a white and yellow house. Huge red barn behind it, with smaller, white stables next to that. Windmill on the opposite side of the house, and a large metal silo farther back. There seemed to be 200 acres of what looked like wheat, and a pasture with a herd of cattle grazing in it. It certainly seemed like a functioning farm.
"Try to land in front of the barn," Superman said over the radio, "I'll get it in from there."
He pulled the Batwing down and set it down within ten feet of the barn, and warily stepped out. The barn was several times taller that his plane, but only a few feet wider on either side. The doors were the full length of the barn, but unless the building was for show, there would be tools and farm equipment inside.
Superman landed next to him, "Just give me a minute," he said, his voice no longer marred by the radio static.
He unlatched the doors and pulled them open, then flew inside and lifted a tractor up, carrying it out and setting it between the barn and the stable. He went back in and brought out another large machine, a plow, it looked like. He headed back, presumably to continue emptying the barn.
"Hang on," he called out after a moment, "The mower's stuck and I don't want to break the chain... now where's that key?"
Batman stood uneasily next to his plane. The small house somewhat shielded him from view, but in every other direction there was flat nothing for miles. Being out in the open like this, so easy to see or attack, it made him nervous.
Then he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, crunching on the grass, maybe twenty feet away.
"Turn around," a voice said, "nice an' slow."
Slowly, Batman turned to face that voice. Caucasian male, glasses, mid-fifties, tall for his age, graying hair. He was wearing boots, jeans, and a plaid pull over shirt, and he carried a shotgun at his side. Matched the picture of one Jonathan Kent that had come up during his research of Superman. Most likely, he'd heard all the commotion and come out to find the cause of it. He was surprisingly unfazed by Batman's appearance.
"How about you tell me what you're doing on my property, son?" he said evenly. Strangely enough, it didn't sound like a threat. More like a genuine offer. Offering to hear a stranger out before jumping to any conclusions.
He seemed reasonable, kind. Batman inched his hand towards his belt anyway, just in case. Superman came back out of the barn at that moment.
"The mower's out, so I think the 'wing should be able to... Huh? What's going on?"
"Oh... Ah, Superman." he was also a terrible liar. "What brings you to-"
"It's alright, Pa. This is Batman, he knows my name," The familiarity was obvious in his tone. Batman had spent years studying body language, and one of the things he had learned was that it was almost impossible to fake familiarity with someone you didn't know or like. Superman's body language- perfectly normal, even though an alien should have had non-human mannerisms- showed that he was extremely comfortable around this person. "But what are you doing out already? Did I wake you up?" And concerned for him as well, it seemed.
"It's alright, son." At this, the man walked over to the two of them, now perfectly at ease. The tone of that 'son' was vastly different than earlier. "Your mother heard some noises outside and thought it might be those boys trying to tip the cows again."
... 'Your mother' ...
It was getting much brighter. The flat, Kansan landscape left nothing to obstruct the sun as it came over the horizon. Batman glanced around the green and golden farmlands, and then to his striking black jet, smack in the middle of it. Their little pleasantries had gone on long enough.
"Kent," he said, "my plane."
Superman and his 'Pa' paused in their conversation. Superman grinned apologetically. "Sorry, Pa. His plane is broken and I offered the barn as a temporary garage." He went and picked up the Batwing like it was a ten inch model, loaded it into the cleared out barn, and shut the doors.
"Sorry it's already light out already, but that means you probably won't be able to leave until tonight. You should come inside."
Bruce reluctantly followed the others towards the house. It was white and yellow. There was a picket fence, and a porch swing. It was... homey.
The inside similarly inviting. Pictures on the mantle, burgundy sofas, earth-toned swag curtains. The stairs were near the back, and half hidden in the pale light coming through the kitchen windows. The two rooms were open, the only separation was a short wall, and inside was a wooden table set with four chairs. There was lots of wood in the house- the stairs, the cabinets, the chairs, the table- and it didn't look mass produced. Home made?
The elder Kent went to the counter and started up the coffee machine, then made his way up the steps to the second floor.
"So," Superman laughed, "what do you think? It's not a cliff-side mansion in New York, but it's home." He pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.
Batman remained standing, "That was your father?"
"Yep," Kent was surprisingly... relaxed, "He'll be telling Ma not to worry and to go back to bed." He suddenly grinned, "She just told him to can it. She's going to come down. You'll get to meet her."
Ma...? Get to meet...? Was Superman even listening to what he was saying? He was suppose to be the last of a superpowered alien race, not some John Boy double.
Maybe it was the strangeness, but he was taking nothing for granted, "This is your parent's house?"
"Unless they retired to Florida in the last minute and a half."
There were soft taps above as someone walked near the top of the stairs. He could hear muffled laughter.
"Honestly, Jonathan. You're worse than a mother hen."
"Me? Martha, you're stubborn as a mule."
"I love you too, Dear."
And not moments later Mr. Kent came back down the stairs, trailed by a sleepy woman in a blue robe, mid forties- early fifties. She smiled as she stepped into the kitchen. Her space, he noted, as her presence reminded him uncannily of Alfred's in the Manor kitchen.
They poured their coffee, Mr. Kent pulled out a chair and opened a newspaper, but Mrs. Kent turned to him, "What about you, Dear? Would you like a cup?"
Batman wasn't sure- he was beginning to think that earlier concussion was making him delusional- but it seemed like Superman's mother had just offered him coffee. He was unprepared for that. People were suppose to be afraid of Batman- they were suppose to cower and run, not ask 'one sugar or two?'.
He was prompted, by a very Alfred-esque voice in the back of his mind, to answer, and to do so politely, "No- thank you- Mrs. Kent."
Superman watched his awkward response, seemingly torn between confusion and amusement, then turned to his father, "So someone's been out here causing trouble for you, Pa?"
"Just those Johnson boys from town," Jonathan said.
Kent's expression darkened, "The same ones who spray painted all over the silo last month?"
"Now, Clark," his mother admonished, "we don't know for sure if those boys did that or not. And shame on you, Jonathan, encouraging it."
They both looked down, "I know, Ma." "Sorry, Martha."
Batman observed the exchange with interest. The irony was that Kent had this conversation with him all the time. Now he knew where that sense of innocent-until-proven-guilty came from.
"Hmm."
Everyone turned to Jonathan.
"What is it, Pa?"
Jonathan stood up and pointed out the kitchen window to several black clouds moving quickly in the distance, "Looks like rain soon. The cows'll have to be brought in before it hits."
Kent nodded and got up to help him, "We'll have to cover the machines, too. Just give me a second to change." There was a red blur up the stairs, immediately followed by another blur down, and Clark Kent was standing by the door, blue jeans, white tee-shirt, boots, and glasses on, "Alright, let's go," and they were out the door.
There were few times he could have attacked Superman with a chunk of kryptonite and felt perfectly justified. There was the time he referred to him as 'not that bad of a guy' in an interview. There was the time that he decided to 'help out' and knocked Bane unconscious before he could be trailed to his newest stash of Venom. And there was now, when he abandon him in a country kitchen with his mother. He was Batman. He didn't chat. He didn't play house guest. He didn't-
Mrs. Kent walked over with her coffee, "So you're Clark's friend, from Gotham, is that right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She smiled, "Well it's wonderful to meet you, Dear."
"... You too, Mrs. Kent."
"Oh," she waved him off, "call me Martha."
He couldn't.
"Now what would you say to a tour?"
"I- ... That would be- nice, Mrs. Kent."
She brightened, "Wonderful, Dear. I suppose you've already seen the kitchen. Did you know Jonathan made this dining room set for me one Christmas? He spent months holed up in that barn of his working on it. Nearly caught pneumonia, staying out there in the cold. And over here in the siting room-"
She led him over to a portrait hanging on the far wall. It was the three of them, her, her husband, their son. The subjects were nothing alike, but he was still immediately reminded of another portrait hanging in the study of his own home.
"Clark had this done when he left." She turned to him and smiled, "He said that way he'd never be far from home. Such a sweetheart, my Clark."
She continued her tour, showing him her home and telling him all about it. Little stories about where she got this, or who gave them that. Her home was simple, humble. He hadn't been expecting that. And then she led him to another room. When he looked inside, he realized he hadn't expected it either.
"All these years, but Clark never gets rid of anything," she laughed "He just keeps collecting things, like a squirrel storing up for winter!"
A squirrel was not what came to his mind... There was a framed newspaper on the desk. The Smallville Gazette, with a picture of a highschool football team, and 'Clark Kent' in the byline. An Edward R. Murrow Award. Next to it was a highschool diploma, a valedictorian's certificate of achievement, college degrees in Journalism and English, a page of the Daily Planet, all framed. Several picture frames sat on the bedside table. Clark with a red headed girl and a grinning boy. Clark and a group of other teenagers, all holding copies of the Smallville High's Torch. On the dresser were little model planes. Some had been hand painted, others hand carved. He picked one up to examine it. The craftsmanship was incredible.
"Clark made that himself," Martha said fondly, "Gets it from his father."
At that, Bruce stared. How did one inherit a skill from someone they were not genetically related to? This woman- she talked like Superman was her actual baby. 'Gets it from his father'. But then...
"Mrs. Kent..." And he was once again struck with a sudden discomfort. This elderly woman created a unease in him that the most intimidating criminal could never match. Trying to voice his thoughts was like trying to speak with rocks in his mouth, and trying to treat her like any other civilian was like trying to treat Alfred like another member of the staff.
"What is it, Dear?"
"Kent-... -Clark- ... he's your adopted son..." It didn't come out at all the way he had intended.
Martha Kent may have been a simple homemaker and a farmer's wife, but first and foremost, she was a mother. She knew instinctively when a child was upset, when they needed something, and more often than not, what they needed. When little Clark was a baby, there were nights she would wake up seconds before he did. When he cried she would know if he was hungry, or tired, or sick, or just afraid of the big new world he'd woken up to.
That mother's intuition had served her well when raising her son, and it still did now, as she watched the boy in front of her try to make some sense. Martha knew she probably shouldn't think of him as a boy- he must've been as old as Clark- but what she saw in him was a child trying to understand something difficult and confusing.
Now, Clark had talked about him often enough. She had been told he was curt, determined, angry at times, saved his words for when he needed them, and not easy to get along with, but that he was a man her son respected. Another thing Clark had mentioned was his incredible intelligence. Martha may not have been a genius, but she knew that someone even half as smart as Batman was suppose to be wouldn't get confused the way he was. That let her know it wasn't a matter of not knowing Clark was her son. It was a matter of not knowing what that should mean.
She smiled understandingly, "We brought Clark home when he was just a few months old. Jonathan wanted to name him 'Joseph', after some ball player, but I liked 'Clark'. My maiden name. He was such a small thing back then. "
She walked forward and picked up one of the framed pictures on the desk, "He got a lot of things from his father. A love of the land, of growing things. Working with his hands. His patience, and sense of justice. Jonathan could never stand to see a man wronged, and Clark picked that right up. They even have the same nervous habit- fidgeting with those glasses."
"Now, the books, Clark picked up from me. I read to him every night," she laughed, "It wasn't long before he was making up his own stories to read to me. He'd write them down in a little notebook and carry it around everywhere we went. My Clark, what a card."
Bruce listened in silence, each word she spoke in the guise of fond memory was clearly for his benefit. Not patronizing, or condescending, or pitying. Just explaining, pure and simple. Examples of her child's life. Things families were suppose to do, things parents were suppose to teach you. There was no convincing tone in her voice, there was only fact, undisguised expectance that her words would be accepted as truth because they were the truth- just like that.
And like her son, he found it was easy and natural to believe her. Like Alfred, or a small child- she was someone who had no reason to speak anything but the truth. That... and Bruce never could bring himself to think of mothers with anything but respect.
This one... Martha... magnified that effect tenfold.
"I understand, Mrs. Kent."
To his surprise, she turned to face him, looked right in his eyes and said, softly, "No."
He wasn't sure what to say, or if he could say anything if he'd wanted to. She continued, "You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. My husband and I didn't raise Superman, we raised Clark, and that makes all the difference."
He didn't reply this time, going over her words in his mind. The downstairs door hitched as it opened and chatter immediately filled the quiet house.
Martha turned to him and smiled, waving him to follow her down. Jonathan and Clark were in the living room, dripping wet, and Batman suddenly noted the thunder cracking, the torrents of rain beating against the windowpanes.
"You two are soaked. Clark, off of that carpet! Oh, now look at all the mud. What am I going to do with you?"
He laughed, "It's not mud, Ma, it's water... But I'll clean it, anyway?"
"You most certainly will."
"Ma."
Batman made an effort to fade into the kitchen wall, the bright light fixture doing it's best to undermine him, and Kent completely dashing his hopes of disappearing when he decided to be social.
"Heck of a storm out there, huh?"
He made a point of slowly looking out the window, unsurprised that he couldn't see more than a few feet, and replied with obvious sarcasm, "I hadn't noticed."
But Clark smiled, probably thought he was making a joke, "All of that noise, no one will be outside, and the rain and clouds make it impossible to see."
He had to admit, he wasn't quite sure where this was suppose to be going, and he gave Clark a look to convey as much.
Kent's smile grew, "In this weather, no one would notice if, say a plane took off." Oh.
"If we head out to the barn now, we can have your jet fixed before the storm lets out."
Bruce nodded, "Let's go."
The two of them headed to the door, only to be stopped by Mrs. Kent.
"You boys are going out in this rain?" she asked in concern.
"Ma, we'll be fine, but we have to get that plane fixed."
"I do wish you'd wait for some better weather."
"He's right, Mrs. Kent. I need to be back in Gotham. Work to do,"
He knew if Alfred were here, he would thank the Kents for their hospitality, compliment their home, exchange pleasantries and then graciously take his leave, but instead he found himself giving a quick nod to each of them. He expected them to find it rude, but Mr. Kent returned his nod, and Mrs. Kent smiled broadly, telling him "You be careful out there."
They ran quickly through the downpour and the wind to the shelter of the barn. Once inside, Batman looked around briefly, noting hay bales and tools. So this was what a typical barn looked like from the inside. But there were more pressing matters, he reminded himself.
"Can you do an X-ray?"
"Sure. What am I looking for?"
"Unconnected wires, jagged metal, any reason that fuel tank in the back wouldn't be responding."
"Right."
He checked the plane's exterior while Superman looked at the inner workings. He doubted he would find anything new, but he couldn't stand the thought of doing nothing. The nose was dented badly, and the left wing had seen better days, but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed back at the cave, and it would hold up until he could get home.
Home... he really should have thought to call the manor. It must have been nearly 7. Alfred would have expected him back around dawn, and it was now mid-morning. Not to mention Dick would be awake soon, and he'd been begging to go to the Gotham Zoo for weeks now.
"Hey, Bruce. I think I may have something here."
Batman strode over to the other side of the plane near Kent, "What's it look like?"
"There's a wire going right here," he traced a line across the side of the jet as he talked, "and it's come lose right there."
Batman nodded, "Is it red or grey?"
"Grey."
"Good. It's fixable." He hauled himself up inside the cockpit and turned on the on-board computer. The grey wire was connected to the main system receiver. Since it came unconnected, the computer didn't register the fuel tank. By simply rerouting the server, he could get the signal through a different wire and... ''Fuel Tank 2: 100%''
Kent looked up at him when the electronic voice droned out the planes new system status, "Wow, easy as that."
He nodded.
"Sure you don't want to stick around any longer? Ma seemed to like having the company."
He shook his head, "Can't. Alfred will have a heart attack if I'm not back soon, and I have an 11 year old to take to the zoo."
He smiled, "Well, feel free to come by any time, Bruce."
"Maybe." They both knew he wouldn't. Bruce closed the cockpit as Kent opened the barn doors and lifted the plane out. He carried it up above the storm clouds and flew it for a distance to substitute the lack of a runway. With the jet finally flying on it's own power, and a course set for Gotham, Bruce made to get his communicator and contact Alfred. Just before he did, though, something caught his attention.
In his jeans and tee-shirt, hovering 20,000 ft. above the ground, Superman was waving at him.
He smiled in spite of himself, rolled his eyes, and replied knowing he could still be heard.
"Goodbye, Clark."
You know the little review button down there? Well, it keeps changing colors. It use to be purple, then green, (or was it green then purple?) and now it's blue. Why? I mean, is there any color button that has been scientifically proven to get more reviews? Can we find out? 'Why, yes! Yes we can!'
All that is needed is for you to click the little green/purple/blue button, and write something in the magical box that will then appear. It is really quite fun. Statistics show that reviewing will increase your life span, cure disease, help with your love life, and make you rich- in most cases.