I took another of my steak. Around me, people were panicking, crowding around the window.

I took another sip of my beer.

"Dear God, man, people are dying and you're here, eating steak!" Some guy said to me. I nodded.

"Yep."

"Why are you so calm with other burning to death?!"

I shrugged. "Not my problem."

He was flabbergasted. "Not your – you sick old man! To be so apathetic!"

I took another bite of my steak.

"What do you want me to do? I'm no hero."

"At least pretend to care!"

I sighed and finished off my drink.

"Fine. I don't like that people die, but they do at some point and some time." I pointed to the burning building. "That's their time."

I ate the last bite of my steak and focused on what people were saying.

"Hope they… cousin is in… dad said this… happens 'cause of… woman and her family, being cooked alive!"

I stopped at that. My fingers squeezed the necklace around my neck as I stood. MJ was already dead. I wouldn't let that happen to another kid. No more would Benji go to live with his father.

I shrugged off my coat, revealing my jacket. People gasped as they saw the emblem on my chest.

"I thought you said you weren't a hero?" The guy from before asked.

"I'm no hero." I repeated. "I'm Spider-Man."

My legs carried out of the restaurant and across the street.

I returned home at ten p.m. Benji was on the couch, watching a show. His green eyes locked onto me as I closed the door.

"Hey, Dad." He greeted me. I threw the keys onto the table.

"Hey, Benji. I see you're still up." He nodded slowly.

"Yep. Found something interesting while you were out." I grunted, running my tongue over a tooth.

"What's that?" He held up my old suit.

"Found out you were the ol' Web-Head." I froze. He chuckled bitterly. "Also found out I could climb the walls. And then it suddenly clicked into place as to why I could lift somebody twice my size with no effort."

I sat down next to him on the couch, still unsure of what to say. My sixteen-year-old son knew my worst secret.

"I'm… not blaming you for not telling me about it. I just… I'm not sure what to do." Benji let out a strained sigh. "I mean, what can I do? I am the son of Spider-Man. I can bench cars, jump stories…"

I ran a hand down my face. "Yeah."

It was all I could say. What did he expect of me? Training? An apology? A suit?

"Did Mom know?" I blinked.

"Yes. Mom knew."

Benji sighed again. "How long?"

"When we were fifteen, she spied on me and found out. It was the very first time I was Spider-Man."

I sank back into the worn couch, eyes on the TV. After a few minutes, Ben spoke up again.

"Are you going to teach me how to fight?" I looked at him.

"No." Then I corrected myself. "Not yet, at least. Not until you're, say, eighteen. Train yourself as much as you want until then, but your official training begins hen you become of age."

I stood up and pointed a stern finger at my son. "You do not tell anybody – especially not a girlfriend – and you do not go out at night, trying to be me."

Benji snorted. "Yeah, having my ass handed to me in spandex sounds like my idea of fun."

"Hey, when you're forty-two and been kicking ass for years, it'll become your idea of a hobby."

He looked at me again, this time much softer.

"…Thanks, Dad."

I clapped his shoulder.

"Anytime, Ben."