"Well, that's a relief," he replied, "I knew a kid once who when you poked his belly, acid spit out of his mouth." The Legion was, well, colorful to say the least. Still, he supposed the man had a point. And, he supposed, with the man's origins, Spider-man made a certain amount of sense. Clark, himself, hadn't chosen his own codename. It had been thrust upon him, and in truth, the idea of being thought of as "super" still felt odd to him. Sure, he could do more, but that didn't make him any better.
When Peter pointed out the webs, his brows raised reaching for his cape and stretching it out before him seeing some of the stray remains of said webs. He half-wondered if the webs were a physical thing, but didn't have the nerve to ask where the webs came from. That felt...like a personal question if they, uh, came from Peter. Instead, he said: "Oh." He blinked. "Sorry?" he wasn't sure how to respond but sorry felt like the right response. "Thanks for the effort, though."