#since right now the gardens look more like an overgrown field of wildflowers than a manicured palace garden

[fandumb-thoughts]

I’m actually working on trying to finish chapters on things, look at me. (Now I just need to actually write follow up chapters…drat.) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Martha Kent had created quite a name for herself in the vigilante community. Not really the ones that were around in the present. She and her husband liked their little farm and sleepy town just fine without superheroes crashing in every few days or so–not including, of course, their son, their grandchildren, and their occasional guests. No, Martha Kent’s real name came from the time travellers. It became a mantra of sorts. “If you get sent anywhere in time, seek out Smallville. If it isn’t there yet, go to 38.19 N 100.13 W. You’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it.” Vigilantes murmured it to one another when it seemed magic could be involved, and yelled the coordinates across battlefields as sci-fi lasers began to fly, and mentioned it to every newbie that made an appearance. No one but those who actually needed them actually sought out the location for themselves, not after it had been vetted by some of the oldest and most experienced heroes. No one who needed them spoke of what they had seen there, because there was very little reason to other than to repeat the information everyone had heard a hundred times before. “38.19 N 100.13 W.” ~~~~~ When Martha and Jonathan Kent began to look into buying an old farmhouse and maybe a couple fields if they could afford it in the tail end of the seventies, they weren’t expecting to settle where they did. For one, the house was not nearly as derelict as Martha had expected it to be, nor were the chicken coop and garden shed. For another, there was a fully functional barn that only needed a few new boards and a fresh coat of paint before a couple of cows could be moved in. And the fields that it came with! Not that she didn’t want a large farm, but the three fields, the pasture, and the half-acre of yard space around the house seemed a bit much for their budget. “What’s the catch?” Jonathan had joked with the land owner, who had inherited it after his father passed. “I haven’t the faintest,” admitted the man. “My father had a might bit of trouble renting this place out after he bought it on auction back in ‘38. Lots of loonies come through here, and Dad was never quite able to find a buyer, and could only keep renters for a few years on average, if that.” Jonathan sent an appraising eye over the full view of the property. “Well, we might be just the people to get it off your hands. What’a’ya think, Martha?” “Hm,” she hummed, non committedly. The property was strange, and the last thing they needed after the debacle in Los Angeles was strange. One demon-infested apartment building was all the excitement she needed in the next few decades, if she had anything to say about it. Of course her husband, having only been her fiance at the time and living with a couple roommates a few blocks over, was none-the-wiser of the situation. She had thought it would have startled him too much, or that he wouldn’t have fully believed her. “Well, feel free to stop by the property a few more times this weekend to get a feel for the land. The house and barn will be locked up, of course, but you two are welcome everywhere else for the time being,” offered the owner. “That’s a great idea. What do you think of a walk and a picnic by that creek tomorrow, Martha?” “That sounds great,” she said, only partially lying. A nice day out in the countryside would be nice, after staying in Jonathan’s busted-up old junker’s backseat in search of properties for sale, or camping in the middle of nowhere in a ramshackle tent. Ever since the highs of her youth had passed, camping under the stars down an unfamiliar high road or sleeping in the car had really lost their appeal. “I’ll be in my office on Monday morning,” said the man. “Give me a call about how you’re feeling then.” ~~~~~ Saturday morning started alright enough. It had been a beautiful night, which meant a sky full of stars and no cramped backseat as rain forced them in, and they were both well rested. Jonathan had found a proper deli and made sandwiches, while Martha scrounged the corner store for some fresh-made donuts. The fields were a bit overgrown but promising. In their walk they saw a fawn nestled in a small grove of trees, and while darling, they quickly moved on as not to distress the mother who undoubtedly was nearby. There were wildflowers, and fresh air, and a nice breeze. The day was warm enough for the creek to be refreshing when they decided to go wading. And then the future-man appeared. Well, future-boy would be more accurate. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen. He came from the direction of the farmhouse, with an insane outfit that consisted of a red body-suit; black boots and gloves; a heavy-duty yellow belt and detailing at the front; a black domino-mask with white lenses over the eyes, like a horror-movie version of a masquerade costume; a black cape with a yellow underbelly; and, most bizarrely, what looked like black briefs over the pants. “Who are you,” Martha demanded. Despite being knee-deep in a creek and at a decline compared to the boy, she held herself confidently. The small handgun she always had tucked in her waistband finding its way to her hands certainly helped with that. Jonathan fell with a squawk into the water as he saw a) her gun and b) the boy she was aiming at. “I’m Robin,” the boy answered, hands held up in surrender. “I’m here for what’s under the shed.” Martha’s eyes narrowed. “And what on Earth would that be?” “Uh-fuck, am I really the first one to catch them unaware?” he muttered. “Stop with that mumbling, boy, and tell me what you’re here for.” The boy seemed to be having an internal struggle before he sighed. “Fuck it.” She shifted the gun to indicate her impatience. “I’m from the future. This farm has been an exit point back to the future for as long as we have documented history of it. Course, all these records only exist in my time, everything aside from a few weird things have been erased from the here-and-past. For as long as I’ve been in the hero-ing business this is the place the heroes have been told to go if they’re ever lost in time. It’s not the only way to get back, but it’s the easiest.” Jonathan, drenched and now standing slightly behind Martha, scoffed. “Likely story, kid. Look, take off the mask and we’ll drive you into town to sober up a-” “Prove it,” Martha said. Jonathan gaped. “Martha!” The boy–”Robin”–grinned. “Of course.” Jonathan fretted the entire way to the house, but Martha and Robin ignored him. She was intently listen to him ramble on, gun held much more loosely and with the safety on in her hand. “It’s always been here, and I once got sent back to 1843 and managed to get back, so it’s not like I really need your help with any of this. I just heard voices from down by the creek and thought I’d check in with you so I wouldn’t have to break and enter. I like you, well, future-you, so I didn’t mean no disrespect and I honestly expected you to have already known about this so it’s not fully my fault for being a bit messed up and letting the time-traveler business slip…” “How old are you?” Martha suddenly interrupted, midst a scattered recollection of the “alien robots” he had encountered that got him sent from the future. “Oh-I’m…probably not supposed to say. My…mentor will probably be upset…” “Just answer the question, kiddo.” “Fourteen.” “There’s a lot of kid’s fighting from when you’re from?” “Kind of? Look, usually us younger heroes are in teams, under the supervision of a couple of adults or with our own mentors, it’s not like-” “You say getting sent back isn’t all too uncommon?” Robin hesitated. “Well…no, not really.” Martha nodded, making up her mind just as they arrived back at the house, with the shed pushed far back at the edge of the yard. The shed was nondescript, hardly big enough for a wheelbarrow and a lawnmower to fit inside comfortably. The padlock on the door was attached to rotting wood, so it wasn’t hard in the slightest to pull it away. Jonathan held back while Martha followed Robin in. Nothing seemed wrong inside, per say, but the temperature was slightly too cool and the dirt floor was disturbed at the back. “How does this work?” she asked. “Here-” Robin knelt down without fear of the gun she still held at his back, brushing aside dirt to reveal an old blanket. He pulled it aside dislodging a solid layer of dirt. A metal sheet was lifted at it’s hinge, revealing something that was definitely from the future with the amount of blinking lights, lack of actual buttons, and glowy-ness. “I just gotta press a hand there-” he indicated a smooth glow-y bit, “and it’ll read my molecules and alert the people who can pull me back to when I belong, to tell them I’m in a position for an extraction.” “Go ahead, then.” ~~~~~ “Gone? Just like that?” Jonathan demanded. Martha shrugged. “Just like he said. However that machine in their works I don’t know, but it did whatever he expected him to and he vanished right before my eyes.” “How are you so calm!?” His voice rose shrilly at the end. Martha sighed. “Calm down, John. This is…actually, no, sorry, I was going to say this isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen but it definitly is.” He opened his mouth, undoubtedly to argue, but she put up her hand to cut him off. “But not by much. Remember that vampire in Oregon?” “I-he-he wasn’t a real vampire,” Jonathan insisted. Martha had to disagree. Supernatural things seemed to be drawn to her. Jonathan and her had been married for going on two years now, and dating for three before that, but he hadn’t seen nearly as much as she had. Things that couldn’t be anything but vampires, and werewolves, and ghosts, and demons. She wasn’t lying when she said that time travelling boys weren’t that far of a stretch. “We can’t buy this property.” “I thought you liked it?” Martha asked innocently, acting baffled by his declaration. “Martha,” he admonished. “Jonathan,” she challenged. He (slightly hysterically) attempted to stare her down. Attempted is the key word, as he had never managed to win a staring contest even when retaining all his sense. With an agitated exhale he threw up his hands, turning to pace a few feet. “Martha,” he pleaded. “It comes with three fields, a pasture, a barn–and it’s surrounded by a state-protected forest on three sides, with the closest neighbors owning so much property across the way that their buildings are all more than a mile away. It’s exactly the type of place we’ve been looking for. For really, really cheap.” “We weren’t looking for-for-for time travelers!” Martha gave him a look that never failed to convince men to give into her. It worked on her brother, her father, professors, cops, boyfriends and anyone in-between. “But-but-” “Jonathan, I’ll handle it if it ever does come up again. Trust me.” He struggled to protest, though he had seemingly suddenly lost his tongue. After a few minutes of floundering he buried his face in his hands and mumbled, “You’re crazy.” “I know, dear,” Martha positively beamed. She hoped that the distance from other people would at least allow her the leeway she needed if any sort of occult thing showed up. It wasn’t so bad that the list of occult things just had “time travelers” added to it.