Chapter 1202

The sunshine duration in Kansas made the spring breeze here even warmer. Under the blowing of the breeze, the wheat waves surging in the wheat fields were like the footsteps of the goddess of spring.

On the country path, the fine rain of early summer brought the moist scent of green grass. After stepping on the mud and walking a few more steps, one could see the shadow of the small town on the skyline.

Smallville is located in the south of Kansas. This is also an obscure small town, so obscure that the time it received the most attention was when a meteorite fell here more than twenty years ago, triggering a discussion that wasn't that shocking.

More than twenty years passed, and most people had already forgotten that accident, and also forgotten their excitement when they were enthusiastically discussing in the only tavern in the small town whether there were alien-carved characters on the meteorite.

But whenever that period of time was mentioned, the faces of every Smallville person were filled with proud smiles. That was the moment when this ordinary small town received the most attention from everyone.

The floral curtains were blown by the breeze. A pair of somewhat rough hands used equally rough hemp rope to tie up the curtains. The brown-haired middle-aged man turned back and said: "... Yes, that night, I was at the scene. You would never imagine how close I was to that meteorite. The dust almost flew past the tip of my nose."

"After the reporters came, they all had to ask me first if I was injured. They thought that if such a big stone fell on my head, I could still be alive. If you ask me, this group of reporters is also a bit too exaggerated..."

"Hey, Joe, stop talking. Don't forget, our dear little Clark is now also a glorious reporter. You will make him sad." A gentle female voice came from the kitchen next door.

The back busy in the kitchen had beautiful brown-red curly hair. She was wearing a red plaid apron around her waist and holding a long soup spoon, stirring the soup bubbling in the pot.

The aroma came from the kitchen. Clark, sitting on the sofa, was like having nails on his butt. Every few dozen seconds, he would straighten his body and stretch his neck to look back.

After he performed this action for about the twentieth time, Bruce beside him finally couldn't bear it anymore. He grabbed Clark's arm, looked at him, and said: "Your gaze won't make the pea soup ready any faster. Can you sit quietly for a while?"

"I'm just speculating what Martha will make that's delicious. Before the meal, I will bet with Little B, but it guesses more accurately than me every time, as if Martha is its mother... Ah, of course, now she is too. It is a member of our family." Clark said while stretching his head to look back.

"Yes, we all like Little B very much. Originally, I wanted to raise a hound, but Martha is a bit allergic to animal fur. Fortunately, Little B doesn't shed much... Do you know? Clark, when I heard that your friend and Little B have the same name, I was really surprised. Did you name Little B after his name?"

"Of course not, Dad. Little B has its own ideas. I think cats have much more of their own opinions than dogs." Clark turned his head to another direction again, looking back at the man tying the curtains and said.

"Don't mind it, Bruce. You know what's up with him." Clark lowered his voice and said: "Jonathan sometimes makes some inappropriate jokes. His sense of humor is a bit strange. I hope you don't mind."

Bruce pressed one finger against his temple and sighed lightly. He didn't expect that the first problem he had to solve after coming to Clark's hometown, Smallville, Kansas, was that another Bruce had arrived earlier than him and had occupied his name.

"Meow—"

A low and hoarse cat meow came from the corner of the stairs. Bruce turned his head and saw a black cat hanging its front paws on a blanket, stretching. Its two black paws scratched hard on the carpet, and it kicked its hind legs. The fur all over its body exploded like it had been electrocuted, and then returned to calm.

"Oh, no! Little B, you can't scratch the carpet! Bad kitty!" Clark's father, Jonathan, rushed up in one step, picked up the Bat-Cat from the ground. The Bat-Cat darted onto his shoulder with flexible movements and jumped to the other shoulder around his neck.

Jonathan was like dancing, stretching his arms and scratching around his head. Clark stood up somewhat helplessly, grabbed the Bat-Cat by the scruff of its neck, and held it in his arms.

"How long does this guy plan to stay here?" The Bat-Cat's vertical pupils stared at Bruce, looking a bit vigilant. It sniffed lightly, then lowered its voice and said to Clark: "He has the smell of blood on him. He must not have done anything good."

"Don't say that, Little B. He is injured, and his mental state is also very worrying. He came here to recuperate. It is estimated that he will stay for a few months until his mental state gets better."

"Don't be silly, his mental state won't get better." The Bat-Cat ground its claws on Clark's arm and bared its teeth again, saying: "Otherwise he wouldn't be Batman."

"He wasn't Batman in the first place, but Bruce Wayne, my friend, a mentally ill patient who needs care and attention. Remember, Little B, you have to give way to him. We have to care for the old, weak, sick, and disabled."

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

"You are." Clark looked at him and said very firmly: "You have three broken ribs, a lung injury, a shoulder injury, a knife wound on your stomach, and a knife wound on your neck. If this isn't old, weak, sick, or disabled, then who is? It wouldn't be me, right?"

Bruce was speechless, but a scream came from the kitchen door. Clark turned his head and asked: "What's wrong? Mom?"

Clark's mom, Martha, walked over as fast as she could, touched her earlobe lightly, and said: "Did I hear that right? What injury did you just say he had? He was stabbed?"

"More than one stab." Clark put his hands on his hips, stretched out one hand to point at Bruce, and said: "He was stabbed at least four or five times in a week, and one knife cut his artery."

Jonathan beside him also rushed over. The family of three plus a cat stood behind the sofa, all staring at Bruce with wide eyes, as if looking at an alien.

Martha was the first to tie back the apron she had already untied, rushed back to the kitchen as fast as she could, bypassing the dining table and chairs. While setting up the pot again, she said: "My God, before I said one appetizer, two main courses, soup, and dessert should be enough, but that's for normal people. Patients must supplement nutrition. Let me see, first make some fish filling, then a roasted chicken..."

"Clark, why didn't you tell me earlier? I thought Bruce was just visiting. You should have told me earlier that he was so seriously injured, so I could have prepared a nutritious and rich feast in advance, instead of the home-cooked meal like today."

"... My God, where did the fish in the refrigerator go?" Martha screamed again, but the next second she raised her voice and shouted: "Little B! Little B! Bruce... Sorry, I'm not calling you, I'm calling our cat. Little B! Did you steal the fish again?!"

Clark immediately pried open the Bat-Cat's mouth, took a look, and said: "I'm afraid so, Mom, and the crime happened last night."

Martha dropped her arms, sighed, and said somewhat sadly: "It's always like this. Whenever I want to do something, I'm always missing this or that..."

"Stop complaining, Martha. We still have a son. Clark, drive to make up for your dear mother's regret." Jonathan waved his hand and said: "By the way, put the cat down. I hope the fish can survive until it goes into the pot."

Clark took the car keys from Jonathan's hand while holding the Bat-Cat and said: "I will watch it. Let me take it with me."

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

"My God!"

"My God!"

"Jesus above!"

Three exclamations sounded in unison. Bruce was stunned in place, not knowing what he said wrong.

Jonathan pressed his shoulder, pushed him back onto the sofa, and then said: "Stop talking nonsense, child. You are covered in wounds. Now you tell me you want to take a car to buy things four miles away? That will cost lives!"

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

"Because only the town has a place that sells fish." Clark shrugged and said: "This is a farm in the suburbs. Four miles is close enough. If we lived by the dairy farm, it might be ten miles."

"I just want to go out for some air." Bruce seemed very uncomfortable with the atmosphere here, as if he wanted to run away at any time.

Clark scratched his head and said: "But then again, I heard Dr. Well say before that patients should get more sun and breathe more fresh air. This road is still quite smooth, so let's go together."

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. Before Clark could react, he was already outside the door. Clark looked at him somewhat puzzled and said: "Why are you in such a hurry? I still have to get the shopping bags and hats."

"You go ahead." Bruce stood outside the door, showing no intention of going in at all.

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

"I'm not," Bruce denied.

"You are. I'm also Batman."

Clark pinched the Bat-Cat's mouth, gave Bruce a fake smile, and then flew into the house to get the hats.

After a while, he brought out two sun hats, both woven straw hats. Bruce measured them on his head and found they blocked his vision a bit, so he handed the hat back to Clark and said: "Forget it, you wear it."

Clark widened his eyes slightly and said: "Are you sure?"

Bruce nodded nonchalantly. Clark thought about it and didn't force him, but put the huge hat on the Bat-Cat's head, covering the whole cat inside.

The two and one cat came to the garage together. Bruce could be said to be dumbfounded looking at the old pickup truck in the garage whose age and brand he couldn't even judge with modern mechanical knowledge.

Bruce pursed his lips, swallowed, looked at Clark, and said: "Do you want to drive this thing to buy groceries?"

"Yeah," Clark pulled open the car door and sat into the driver's seat.

Bruce hesitated. He really didn't know how much force to use to pull open the car door so that the door of this pickup truck, which might be older than Alfred, wouldn't fall off.

Unexpectedly, Clark had already turned sideways, stretched out his arm, pushed open the door on the other side, and gave Bruce a warm smile, saying: "I know you can't lift your arms. Come, I'll pull you up."

Looking at Clark's arm reaching over, Bruce hesitated, but still leaned on the edge of the car door frame and climbed into the passenger seat with somewhat slow movements. Just after climbing up, he heard the Bat-Cat squatting in the back seat let out a cold laugh that sounded like both a cat meow and a human laugh.

Bruce wanted to turn his head to look at it, but at this moment, Clark twisted the car key twice, sighed, waved at Bruce, and said: "It won't start. Get out of the car."

Bruce stared at Clark in a daze. Clark shrugged and said: "You can't expect this pickup truck my grandfather bought to work smoothly every day. We are unlucky today; the old guy might be a bit tired."

After finishing, Clark got out of the car. Bruce wanted to get out of the car with slow movements again, but Clark hugged his waist directly and brought him to the ground, just like moving a bag of straw.

Before Bruce could react from the confusion of suddenly changing positions, Clark had already strode toward another garage.

After Bruce followed, Clark rubbed his hands and said: "Fortunately, we have a backup option, otherwise we really wouldn't be able to eat fish today."

"Backup opt..."

Before Bruce finished his sentence, the garage door slowly opened.

And parked in the garage was a tall, mighty, brilliantly painted, full of modern industrial mechanical aesthetic... tractor.