Chapter 1210: The Farm of Justice (1) (Patreon)

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The long sunshine in Kansas made the spring breeze even warmer, and the wheat fields under the gentle wind looked like the footsteps of the goddess of spring.

On the rural path, the fine rain of early summer brought the fragrance of wet green grass, and after walking a few steps, you could see the shadow of the small town on the horizon.

Smoville, located in southern Kansas, was a small town that was not well-known, even to the point of being forgotten. The most notable time for this town was about twenty years ago, when a meteorite fell here, causing a stir that was not too surprising.

More than twenty years had passed, and most people had already forgotten the accident, as well as the excitement of discussing whether there were alien inscriptions on the meteorite in the town's only tavern.

But every time they mentioned that period, every Smoville resident's face would be filled with a proud smile, which was the most notable moment for this ordinary small town.

The curtains with floral patterns were blown by the gentle wind, and a pair of rough hands used a rough rope to tie them up. A middle-aged man with brown hair turned around and said, "Yes, I was at the scene that night. You wouldn't believe how close I was to the meteorite. The dust almost brushed against my nose."

"When the journalists came, they all asked if I was injured. They thought that such a large stone falling on my head would have killed me. I think those journalists were a bit too exaggerated..."

"Hey, Joe, stop talking. Don't forget, our dear little Clark is now a proud journalist. You'll hurt his feelings." A gentle female voice came from the kitchen.

The figure busy in the kitchen had beautiful, curly brown hair, and was wearing a red-checked apron. She was holding a long spoon, stirring the pot of soup that was bubbling away.

The aroma from the kitchen was enticing, and Clark, sitting on the sofa, was like a nail on a chair, straightening his body every few seconds to look back.

After he did this for about the twentieth time, Bruce finally couldn't bear it anymore. He grabbed Clark's arm and said, "Your gaze won't make the pea soup cook any faster. Can you sit still for a while?"

"I'm just guessing what Martha will cook. Before dinner, I'll bet with little Bu, but he always guesses more accurately than me. It's as if Martha is his mother... Ah, of course, he's now a member of our family." Clark said, stretching his neck to look back.

"Yes, we all love little Bu. Originally, I wanted to raise a hunting dog, but Martha is a bit allergic to animal hair. Fortunately, little Bu doesn't shed much... You know? Clark, when I heard that your friend had the same name as little Bu, I was really surprised. Did you name little Bu after him?"

"Of course not, Dad. Little Bu has his own ideas. I think cats are more independent than dogs." Clark turned his head to look at the man tying the curtains.

"Don't mind, Bruce. You know how he is." Clark lowered his voice and said, "Jonathan sometimes makes inappropriate jokes. His sense of humor is a bit strange, so I hope you won't mind."

Bruce touched his forehead with his finger and let out a soft sigh. He didn't expect that the first problem he would face when he came to Clark's hometown, Smoville, Kansas, would be that there was another Bruce who had arrived earlier and had taken his name.

"Mew—"

A low, hoarse meow came from the staircase, and Bruce turned his head to see a black cat stretching its front paws on the blanket, its two black claws grasping the carpet, and its fur standing on end like it had been electrocuted. Then it calmed down again.

"Oh no, little Bu, don't scratch the carpet Bad cat!" Clark's father, Jonathan, rushed over and picked up the cat, which jumped onto his shoulder and then to the other shoulder.

Jonathan was like a dancer, stretching out his arms and randomly scratching his head. Clark stood up, feeling a bit helpless, and captured the cat's neck, holding it in his arms.

"How long is this guy going to stay?" The cat's upright pupils stared at Bruce, looking a bit wary. It sniffed lightly and said in a low voice to Clark, "He smells of blood. He must have done something bad."

"Don't say that, little Bu. He's injured and his mental state is also a concern. He's here to recover and will probably stay for several months until his mental state improves."

"Don't be silly. His mental state won't improve." The cat rubbed its claws on Clark's arm and said, "Otherwise, he wouldn't be Batman."

"He's not Batman, but Bruce Wayne, my friend, a mentally ill person who needs care and attention. Remember, little Bu, you need to be considerate of him. We need to care for the old, weak, sick, and disabled."

Bruce covered his forehead and said, "I'm not old, weak, sick, or disabled."

"You are." Clark looked at him very confidently and said, "You broke three ribs, injured your lungs, hurt your shoulder, got stabbed in the stomach, and got stabbed in the neck. Isn't that old, weak, sick, or disabled? Who is it if not you?"

Bruce was speechless, but a sharp cry came from the kitchen door. Clark turned around and asked, "What's wrong, Mom?"

Clark's mother, Martha, rushed over at the fastest speed, lightly touching her earlobe and saying, "Did I hear that right? You just said he was injured? He got stabbed?"

"Not just once." Clark stood with his hands on his hips, pointing to Bruce with one hand and saying, "He got stabbed at least four or five times in a week, and one of the stabs was on an artery."

The family of three, plus the cat, stood behind the sofa, staring at Bruce as if he were an alien.

Martha quickly tied her apron again and rushed back to the kitchen, saying, "God, I previously thought that one appetizer, two main courses, soup, and dessert would be enough, but that's for normal people. Patients need to supplement their nutrition. Let me see... I'll make some fish paste first, and then a roasted chicken..."

"Clark, why didn't you tell me earlier? I thought Bruce was just visiting. You should have told me he was so seriously injured, so I could have prepared a nutritious and rich meal in advance, not just a simple family dinner like today."

"… Oh my god, where did the fish in the refrigerator go?" Martha exclaimed, but the next second she raised her voice and shouted, "Little Bu Little Bu Bruce... Sorry, I'm not calling you. I'm calling our cat, little Bu Did you steal the fish again?"

Clark immediately opened Bat Cat's mouth, took a look, and said, "I'm afraid so, Mom, and the incident happened last night."

Martha let out a sigh, her voice tinged with sadness, "It's always like this, whenever I want to do something, I'm always missing this or that..."

"Don't complain, Martha, we still have a son, Clark, drive to make it up to your dear mom," Jonathan said, waving his hand. "By the way, put the cat down, I hope the fish can make it to the pot."

Clark took the car keys from Jonathan's hand while holding Bat Cat and said, "I'll take good care of it, let me bring it along."

Bruce stood up from the sofa and said, "I'll go too."

"Oh my god!"

"God!"

"Jesus Christ!"

The three exclamations of surprise rang out in unison, and Bruce was stunned, unsure what he had said wrong.

Jonathan patted him on the shoulder, pushed him back onto the sofa, and said, "Stop talking nonsense, kids, you're covered in injuries, and now you want to take a car ride four miles away to buy things? That's suicidal!"

"Four miles? Why so far?" Bruce asked.

"Because the only place that sells fish is in town," Clark shrugged. "We're in a rural area, four miles is already close enough, if we lived on a dairy farm, it would be a ten-mile drive."

"I just want to get some fresh air," Bruce said, looking very uncomfortable in this environment, as if he wanted to escape at any moment.

Clark scratched his head and said, "But it's also true, I heard Dr. Wells say that patients should get more sunlight and fresh air, and this road is relatively flat, so let's go together."

Bruce let out a sigh, and before Clark could react, he was already standing outside the door, Clark looking at him with some confusion, saying, "What's the hurry? I still need to get the shopping bag and hat."

"You go," Bruce said, standing outside, showing no intention of going back in.

"He's shy," Bat Cat in Clark's arms said.

"I'm not," Bruce denied.

"You are, and so am I, Batman," Clark said, pinching Bat Cat's mouth and giving Bruce a fake smile before quickly rushing back into the house to get the hat.

After a while, he took out two straw hats, which were woven, Bruce tried one on, found it a bit too big, and handed it back to Clark, saying, "Forget it, you wear it."

Clark raised an eyebrow and said, "Are you sure?"

Bruce nodded nonchalantly, Clark thought for a moment, didn't force him, and instead put the huge hat on Bat Cat's head, covering the entire cat.

The two, plus one cat, arrived at the garage, and Bruce was stunned, looking at the old pickup truck in the garage, which he couldn't even identify the brand or model with his modern mechanical knowledge.

Bruce pursed his lips, swallowed hard, and looked at Clark, saying, "You want to drive this thing to buy vegetables?"

"That's right," Clark opened the car door and sat down in the driver's seat.

Bruce hesitated, unsure how much force to use to open the car door without breaking it, considering the truck might be older than Alfred.

Unexpectedly, Clark had already turned around, stretched out his arm, and pushed open the other door, giving Bruce a warm smile, saying, "I know you can't lift your arm, come, I'll pull you up."

Looking at Clark's outstretched arm, Bruce hesitated, still holding onto the car door frame, and slowly climbed into the passenger seat, just as Bat Cat on the back seat let out a cold, mocking laugh that sounded like a mix of a cat's meow and human laughter.

Bruce wanted to turn his head to look at it, but Clark had already turned the key twice, sighed, and waved at Bruce, saying, "It won't start, let's get out."

Bruce stared at Clark, confused, Clark shrugged, saying, "You can't expect this old pickup my grandfather bought to work smoothly every day, today we're just out of luck, maybe it's just tired."

After saying that, Clark got out of the car, Bruce tried to get out slowly, but Clark directly hugged his waist and carried him down to the ground, like carrying a bag of straw.

Bruce was still dazed from the sudden change in position, Clark had already taken big strides towards another garage.

Bruce followed him, and Clark rubbed his hands together, saying, "Good thing we have a backup choice, or we wouldn't have had fish for dinner today."

"Backup choice..."

Before Bruce could finish his sentence, the garage door slowly opened.

And parked in the garage was a tall, powerful, beautifully painted, modern industrial-style... tractor.

[Read at www.patreon.com/shanefreak, and thanks for the invaluable support!]

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 1211: The Farm of Justice (Part 2)