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“Your Pa…he tells me he can’t help it. This is why I should never leave my Mush alone.” Ma gestured at the four rowdy goat kids bucking against Pa Kent.
“He bottle feeds them, three times a day. He’s lucky I like the tractor so much, or nothing would get done in the fields.”
Clark smiled, visualizing his sixty six year old Ma wrestling the tractor in and out of gear.
“We’re doing no till this year, leaving all the stalks to cover the dirt. Pa read an article on how it helps the soil. I just like that it’s less work for me and Chandler.”
Chandler was their teenage farmhand who Ma and Pa had almost adopted. He was very enthusiastic, but Ma noted somewhat ruefully to Clark that he didn’t know a hoe from a rake.
Clark watched his Pa with the goat kids, gently curling his fingers through their fur, picking bits of straw off, coaxing them to eat the grass in the meadow they shared with the dairy cows. He glanced at Ma, who was smiling softly. Her matter of fact, sensible expression falling off as she watched Pa. She caught Clark staring and flapped her hand.
“Clark, don’t stare, it’s not polite.”
Clark smiled, his dimples deepening. “I’m glad I’m here for the harvest, Ma.”
“Aw, you’re as mushy as Pa.” But Ma was smiling, and Clark pulled her into a side hug.
“I’m glad you’re here too, Clark. With Pa planting those darn cover crops we got the best harvest in thirty years. All our neighbors fields got drowned with the rain, but I guess those cover plants held all the water in.”
Her voice tinged with a bit of worry. “We need all the help we can get pulling the harvest in time.”
Clark smiled, looking at Ma, then at his Pa. “I think I can help with that.”
-
Clark had to bribe them with Ma’s cooking to get them to the farm. Pa was very excited to have three other metahumans to fawn over, and he was especially excited when Mr. Terrific started to fix the cultivator. He ran into the house to get his toolbox, and Clark knew he was going to explain the importance of non-electric screwdrivers whether Mr. Terrific wanted to hear it or not.
“Got damn, haven’t heard of a blade sharpener huh?” he mumbled from under the cultivator. Clark crouched down, craning his neck to study the blades. Mr. Terrific’s spheres circling lazily, scanning the old cultivator. Clark blushed a little, noticing how dull and rusty the blades were.
“That’s not the main problem, Michael. Pa can’t even—“
“Get the damn thing to move cause the clutch is broken. I know.”
Clark stood, knowing that his friend did a lot better mumbling to himself than having to explain himself. Guy, Hawkgirl, and Metamorpho were milling around in the barn, Guy looking especially out of place standing in the sawdust.
Soon, Pa brought out lemonades, his toolbox slapping against his thigh as he shuffled over to Mr. Terrific. Ma was behind him, holding Joey in her arms without the slightest bit of squeamishness for the alien baby. Metamorpho smiled, going over to Ma and fawning over his child as Ma remarked how smart Joey was. Clark watched out of the corner of his eye as Ma burped the boy, a plume of blue fire erupting out of his mouth. Ma calmly handed Joey to his dad, patting the hair that had caught with fire, and motioning for Metamorpho to give Joey right back. Metamorpho obliged, somewhat dubiously.
“Batman isn’t coming, right?” Guy asked Clark after securing his lemonade. Clark shrugged.
“I invited him, but who knows if he’ll show up.”
Guy spit out his drink. “Dude!”
Hawkgirl glanced at the two of them, rolled her eyes, and scaled the old climbing rope up into the hay loft. Clark heard the telltale sound of her flopping into the hay, nestling in like a barn owl. Clark smiled to himself. Or like a hawk.
Guy narrowed his eyes, and Clark quickly straightened his expression.
“Why is it wrong to invite him?”
Guy looked at Clark. “He’s not one of the gang, Supes. He brings a really dark vibe, and he’s not even for Metropolis. He’s freakin’ Gotham, man.”
Clark felt his ears burning a little, and he tried to calm himself down. “Just because someone’s ‘Gotham’ doesn’t mean—“
“Oh my god, Clark. Calm down. I don’t know why you insist on inviting a guy who doesn’t tell us his identity, and literally kills the bad guys. Isn’t that totally against your philosophy, Red Undies?”
Clark made himself breathe, remembering why he didn’t hang out with Guy off duty. “He needs people, Guy. He just sits in a bat cave brooding, maybe it’d be good for him to feel some fresh farm air.”
Guy scoffed, mussing his hair with a smug expression on his face. “Oh I get it, you want to fix the Bat.” Guy slapped Clark on the back, pretending not to wince at Clark’s rock solid back muscles. “Good luck reforming him, buddy.”
And Guy left, jogging up to Mr. Terrific and Pa, ready to be no help whatsoever.
Clark gave the barn a once over, then left, off to the fields to start up the combine harvester. He’d been harvesting their wheat since before he could talk, and it was no help sitting idle and chatting. If he was lucky, he’d be a third of the way through before the rest joined him. Ma would scold, but just because he beat her to it.
“Hey.”
Clark turned, and there was Batman, in full get up, his dark cape blowing in the light breeze coming from the north. Clark beamed.
“Holy moly! You got my letter?”
Batman’s expression was unreadable under the mask, but Clark imagined he was rolling his eyes.
“Yeah. Considering you’re one of the only people who still sends letters.”
“Great! We’ve got some snacks inside, and Ma’s cooking up some supper for after the harvest—“
“Yeah, I’m not staying. Green Lantern gives me a headache.”
“Oh.” Clark’s shoulders fell, and he pressed his lips together in disappointment.
Batman pulled out a briefcase from under of his cape, handing it to Clark. “I wanted to give your parents this, though. Tell them it’s an investment in their environmentally conscious farm.”
Then, with a swish of his cape, he was gone. Clark kneeled in the grass, unlatching the latches on the silver briefcase. He almost fainted when he saw what was inside.
Stacks of hundred dollar bills, it had to be some hundred thousand dollars, at least. Clark sat back in the grass, knowing only one person with that much money in Gotham.
Bruce Wayne.
-
It was Ma who remembered they didn’t even need the cultivator since Pa decided on no till, but that Michael Holt boy and Pa were having too much fun for Ma to interrupt now. Maybe once they fixed it up Ma could sell it to a neighbor and stave off the foreclosure looming over the farm. She couldn’t tell Clark, he’d worry his little head over it and work himself into a frenzy. No, Ma would manage, as she always had.
Ma looked over the barn, realizing Clark had stolen away in the rush. She handed little Joey to his Dad, sorry to see the bright little alien start to pout for her. She mumbled something about checking on the corn casserole and slipped out of the barn.
There, in the grass, Clark kneeled over something. Ma rushed to her boy, her heart beating strangely. Clark turned, and he was alright, but he looked stricken.
“Clark?”
“Ma—“ Clark started, but Ma saw what he was kneeling over. It was a briefcase, filled to the brim with neat, crisp stacks of hundred dollar bills. Clark stood quickly, ready to steady his Ma. But she wasn’t that type of girl, instead, Ma took a breath.
“Now where did that come from, Clark?”
Clark scratched the back of his head. Ma knew her son was honest to a fault, but he seemed to be wavering over something.
“Clark?”
“Bruce Wayne,” Clark exhaled in a huff. Ma knew she was about thirty years behind pop culture, but even she knew about that billionaire. And one thing she really knew about him was that he wouldn’t know the Kents.
Unless a Kent knew him.
“He said he wanted to…support the farm.” Clark sounded about as exasperated as he could without raising his voice. Ma let it rest, it was a gift, plain and simple.
“Well, I’ll send a thank you to him and a thank you up to God. Now, do you want to get started on this harvest, Clark?”
Clark looked at the money, then at Ma. “I hardly know him, Ma.”
Ma leaned over and latched the briefcase, tucking it under her arm. It was heavier than she expected.
“Kindness leads to kindness, Clark. Haven’t me and Pa taught you at least that?”
Clark threw up his hands. “That’s the thing, Ma! I haven’t done anything to deserve such a kindness!”
“Well, if you feel like that, then pay it forward. No harm in that.” When Clark got like this, Ma knew she had to be rational with her boy, or else he’ll melt into a puddle of mush just like his Pa. That’s why she was glad for that Lois Lane, her boys needed tough woman to hold some sense in their big hearts.
Clark nodded, but Ma noticed his eyes going glassy. He must’ve know more than he let on about the farm situation. Ma smiled sadly, forgetting how easily her boy could turn her to mush.
“C’mon hon, give your old mother a hug.”
Clark readily obliged, wrapping his arms around her. And in that moment, Ma knew he’d already paid any amount of money forward with his hug, sweet and gentle, just like when he was young.
Ma melted into the hug, letting Clark squeeze her into a sappy mush, if only for a moment.