Log: Spider-Girl & Spider-Man WHO: Benjy & Peter Parker WHAT: Benjy has been going out all summer and superheroing, all while trying to keep it hidden from her parents. Dad finally catches up with her.
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She still thinks that she’s hiding it from them.
Her gear is hidden in a box under her bed. The suit, the gadgets, the extra vials of web fluid. All of it fits into a beat-up backpack and she keeps her room so messy that no one’s going to notice.
Most nights, Dad goes out and Mom would goes to bed. Once the house is quiet, Benjy dons the suit. Straps the webshooters and utility cuffs to her wrists. Gathers up her hair into a ponytail and tugs on the mask.
Early on, she psychs herself up in the mirror, hopping from foot to foot. She practices poses, catchphrases. Comes up with quippy one-liners to remember for later, or how to give the best thumbs-up for cell phone cameras.
As the summer wears on, she uses the mirror to check the state of bruises on her body, to make sure nothing’s swelling up, to check for unflattering tears in her costume. Last night she used it to stitch up a gash in her side, which had been pretty out of her league.
It still hurts now, pretty much every time she moves. She grits her teeth and slaps her cheeks to try and focus. She gives the mirror a dazzling smile (all that orthodontic work paid off) and she jumps out the window.
* * *
Honestly, she feels bad. The sneaking around, the lying. Sometimes when she’s sitting at the dinner table and they’re all munching on pasta, she thinks they know. They’re just not saying anything. They’re waiting for her to confess, like a good girl.
Benjy doesn’t say anything.
It’s a big city with a lot of costumed yahoos trying to make a name for themselves. There are the famous ones, like the Avengers, and then there are the ones that slip under the radar. Guys with stupid knockoff names like Bug-Man and Sergeant Patriot. The ones without branding skills or any kind of legacy behind them. It’s enough for most heroes to slip under the radar, known only to their neighborhoods.
Super Buzz! is on the little 1980s TV in the kitchen. There’s a list of the “Top 25 New Heroes to Watch.”
Spider-Girl is number 16.
Benjy looks away from the television and finds both her parents looking at her. She makes a face.
“You should get that trademarked,” she says.
* * *
It’s been a long night.
The sky’s turning pink with sunrise. Queens is still a long way away and Benjy doesn’t have it in her right now to swing back. She’s exhausted. The idea of raising her arm to shoot a web and swinging her way through the city seems impossible. Her dad makes it look effortless and cool, but man. Control. Core strength. She needs to do some Pilates or something. Even people with “proportional strength of a spider” get tired.
She considers the subway, but she didn’t pack her MetroCard in her suit. Only badguys hop turnstiles.
Besides, she just … needs … a break. She’s aching in places she didn’t know she could ache. She might have a cracked rib (thanks, mugger with a stone fist, that was a fun surprise). This rooftop is safe enough; she closes her eyes and slumps back to lie down, feet still dangling over the building’s edge.
When she opens her eyes again, she’s face-to-face with Spider-Man’s mask.
“Dad.”
Spider-Man is getting on a bit, but he’s still kicking. High kicks, even, usually while he’s still in the air. He’s a little slower than he used to be, he tires a little faster, but (and maybe it’s in his super shiny spider-powers) he’s aged so well that he’s still running with heroes in their prime. It’s kind of a joke, really. Haha, you got taken down by Old Spidey. Haha, Old Spidey is still smarter than you are.
Haha, Old Spidey knows that you sneak out of the house at night. Hilarious.
Peter’s crouched, and when she says ‘face-to-face’, she really means face-to-face, the big white eyes of the mask taking up most of Benjy’s vision. “You know, when I was your age, I made sure I had an alibi for why I couldn’t come home until three in the morning. Is that out of fashion or...?”
Benjy grimaces. Her mask is different from her dad’s, showing off her hair and the lower part of her face. Same big white eyes, though. The family resemblance is stunning. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to swing out for Chinese?”
“On Halloween, maybe. …It’s not Halloween, FYI.”
“Crap, I must be off on my calendar.” Is it obvious that she’s in pain? She tries to stretch out and look casual. Something in her left side twinges and she hisses anyway. Not casual.
Peter flinches. “How bad is it, kiddo?”
Benjy waves him off. “No biggie, nothing a first aid kit can’t fi---hiiix...” She tries to sit up. The pain’s so bad she sees stars. She’ll have to make note later about how adrenaline makes you forget stuff like pain, but pain sneaks back in when the adrenaline is gone.
“You’re gonna hate me for this, but we’re calling you a doctor. You’re not bleeding everywhere, but that just means dying slower.” It’s matter of fact and flippant all at once. Sorry, Benjy. “And then we need to talk.”
There’s a little bit of blood on her suit. It’s like the stone-fist guy knew exactly where to punch her to bust some badly-stitched stitches. “I’m good,” she insists. She rolls over onto her right side----ow----and then onto her knees----ow----and then to stand----owwww. She wobbles a bit and keeps one hand over her injured side. Why do people do that, anyway? It’s like putting a big flashing X on the weak spot. “I’m up, Dad, geez, I’m not dying. I got punched by a guy with rocks for a fist.”
“Deal with it, kiddo.” Maybe Benjy’s lucky. Maybe it’s nothing more than a bruise. Peter had been fortunate enough to go through his teenage years without bleeding internally and dying in his sleep, but he doesn’t have so much faith in luck that he’ll let up on Benjy.
Benjy slumps and lets herself rest against her dad. “Oh, God, good, because I think I broke something. I could use a professional.”
* * *
The Night Nurse isn’t too glad to see them. Two annoying Spider-People for the price of one, it’s like a comedy show she didn’t have to pay to see. She grills Spider-Man on who the hell is Spider-Girl and she looks twelve and there needs to be a legal age, twenty-one and blahblahblah, Benjy stops paying attention because the Night Nurse is too busy performing medieval torture tricks on her side.
She and her dad are left alone when the Night Nurse goes to deal with some guy in acid green who’s impaled on a samurai sword.
Benjy grits her teeth and tries to smile. “Surprise?”
Peter leans back in his chair and responds to her with lackluster jazz hands. “Surprise. Except that it isn’t. You really thought I didn’t know?”
Benjy peels off her mask. “Wishful thinking. I thought maybe if I just wished hard enough a magical fairy would come in and … I don’t know, distract you with fairy dust, I don’t know what fairies do.”
“I was hoping you’d tell me yourself, but that’s just me being old, teenagers never tell anyone anything.” But it’s clear that he’s hurt. Like any parent, Peter thought his daughter was somehow more special and communicative than everyone else’s.
“And get grounded forever?” Benjy rolls her eyes. “No, thanks. It’s not like you didn’t start this when you were fifteen.”
“Because making me find out on my own definitely won’t get you grounded. You’re right, you’re totally brilliant, why didn’t I think of that? Call the papers. My kid’s a genius.”
Normally, Benjy has a smartass thing to say right back. If her mom was here, this would be the point where she quietly left the room and left Peter and Benjy to out-sarcasm each other.
Instead, she doesn’t say anything, and her attention drifts off to count cracks in the ceiling.
Peter waits for a response, but he’s not that good with silence. He sits back in his chair, crosses his arms, and says, “First, you’re super grounded. Not for putting on a costume, but for lying to me about it. Besides, you need the break. And second, I wouldn’t have made you stop if you’d said something.”
“I’m sorry,” Benjy says quietly. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” The guilt hurts almost as much as the pain in her side. She trusts her dad. She loves him. How many times has she been told the story about how Peter’s lies about his intentions and careless actions got Uncle Ben killed? Or how his lying upset Aunt May so much? She should know better. She does know better.
Peter nods. “Just don’t do it again,” he replies, gentler this time. “I know how this works, remember? If you feel like you need to do this, no one can talk you out of it. I get that. But tell me so I can help you. I didn’t know everything when I was fifteen. You could learn something from me, and I want to keep an eye on you. Going it alone just because is... well, it’s stupid.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid,” Benjy admits. “The sneaking around is harder than actually doing it, I mean, I stitched up a cut last night and the angle was like, so wrong, and it’s not like I’m good at sewing.” She doesn’t even realize how badass it is to stitch up her own wounds. Or how gross it is.
“Yeah, don’t... don’t do that.” Peter makes a face, which Benjy can appreciate now that his mask is off. “I mean, if you’re really stuck on being able to do that... don’t they teach you kids stuff like that at Xavier’s? Take some lessons. I’ll cringe on your behalf.”
“Apparently pink thread is uncool?”
“I think the crooked stitches were what did it.”
Benjy reaches out, wiggling her fingers. Come on, Dad, hold her hand. “I’m okay,” she says. “This isn’t nearly as bad as what happened at the school. I mean, did you see that? I pretty much died. I lost an eye. These visors? When they get crushed, like... straight in the eye.”
Peter took Benjy’s hand and squeezed. “God, I know. I wore sunglasses so often for a while there people thought I had an abusive boyfriend.”
“Todd Foley’s a keeper, by the way. He regrew the eye I lost and then fixed the other eye so my vision wasn’t jacked up. That’s... pretty cool.” God, she’s tired. She holds on to her dad’s hand like she needs the lifeline.
“This is what I want to do with my life, Dad.”
“I wish it wasn’t, but...” Peter sighs. “I’m glad I wasn’t wrong, though, you know if you weren’t my kid I’d have to kick your ass for stealing the name.”
Benjy laughs quietly. “Seriously, though. Trademark. Ask for royalties on merch.” Her smile fades and she looks down at their gloved hands. Her dad’s not the biggest guy, but she’s tiny compared to him. “I’ve got all this power. It’d be wrong to not use it. And I think it’s okay. I think it’s okay to want to devote my life to other people.”
It takes Peter a while to respond, mostly because it seems like he’s going to cry. “It’s definitely okay,” he says eventually.
Benjy’s eyes are stinging, too. She hates it when her dad cries, it always makes her cry, and then they awkwardly brush away their tears and pretend they aren’t crying. “So... we’re cool?”
“Yeah, we’re totally cool. Super cool. Ice cold.” And he’s definitely not crying. Seriously.