The Superzero.

It was as dreadful as I thought it would be. My parents, still managing to look cool and calm despite wearing skin tight costumes, searched the buses each time they arrived at the stop and I was told to act as 'look out'. In other words, keep out of the way until they really needed me. I wouldn't be needed if my Mum had two broken legs and my Dad was gasping for breath on the floor.

I moodily stared around the city center, envying all the normal people who got to go about their usual business on a Sunday afternoon. The light from the sun glinted from the tall buildings and I shivered a little as a breeze swept over me. It was near the end of October and the weather was freezing. Here I was, dressed in tights and a costume made of thin material, whilst everyone else milled about in heavy coats and scarves. They cast me sly smiles - smug smiles, actually - and shuffled past me with an air of amusement. Some of them knew who I was; the nuisance son of The Sandman and Vixen but others looked at my outfit choice as if I were insane. I tried to tell them with my eyes that it wasn't my idea.

As soon as the next bus rolled up, I knew something was up. The driver looked edgy behind the glass and eyed up my Dad's bulky figure - weighing his options, whether to run or fight it out. Evidently, he decided his face was fine the way it looked already and as soon as he pulled towards the kerb, bolted down the bus aisle and dived out of the fire exit doors at the back. I could hear the children crying and shouting and saw my Mum sprint into the bus. My Dad grabbed the man round his neck and dragged him back towards the commotion. Mum was ordering them out of the vehicle and followed them to the pavement, where they all bunched together in fear.

I half wondered why children were on a school bus on a Sunday anyway but then it struck me that they could be returning from a school trip. Whatever the reason, I hated them for it. It was their fault I was here, standing alone like a dork, instead of playing on my PlayStation at home...in the warmth...with a cup of tea. A yell broke me from my day dream.

Two more figures appeared in the bus and copied the previous guy, choosing the dash out the emergency doors instead of facing my Mum. Wise choice. I could see three others exit their cars and watched as they shouted to hurry up. My Dad drew back his fist and smashed it into the first mans face, rendering him limp and unconscious in my Dads arms. He quickly dropped him, his eyes set on his next victim.

I wanted to do something, I wanted to do anything. At that moment, a man went streaking past me and I hesitated for the briefest of seconds, not knowing how to stop him.

I took a deep, calming breath.

I could do this. I could totally do this. I glanced across at my Dad but he was still occupied with the same guy. I watched as the man tried to take flight but my Dad gave chase and jumped at him from behind, knocking him over and getting tangled with the guys legs. In the other direction, I saw my Mum muttering hurried words of comfort to the group of school children huddled around a bus before taking off to swing a fist into the face of a fleeing man.

I bolted to the side in a panic, managing to avoid a house brick that came whizzing past my ear. Where the hell did they get a house brick from in the middle of town? Staring about wildly for the culprit, I just about caught a glimpse of a shovel winging its way towards my face before I went flat on my back and everything became blurry.

It was tough being the son of superheroes. Exceeding expectations? God, I was barely meeting them.

***
I woke up with an agonising moan. My head throbbed badly and I blindly reached around for the paracetamol bottle I kept especially for these occasions. Groping for the glass of water on my bedside cabinet, I downed two of the pills and took a giant gulp of the water. I almost gagged - it was stagnant, no doubt left there over night by my Mum. I guess it was the thought that counts, though.

The ceiling was still dark and I checked the alarm clock next to my head. Six-thirty in the morning? God, this was too early to wake up for school. Damn headaches.

I slid my legs out of bed, wrapping the bed sheet around my body. My room was cold and all I had on were my boxers. I rolled my eyes, knowing my Mum or Dad must have helped me out of my outfit when we came home. I could have done it myself if I hadn't been dipping in and out of consciousness. Rubbing away the goosebumps on my arms, I stood up, swaying a little. Jesus. My head was really fucking killing me.

Shuffling to the adjoining bathroom, I switched on the light and squinted as it flickered bright above me. I counted to ten. Then I counted to twenty. I wasn't sure I wanted to see my reflection after getting hit right in the face with a freaking shovel. A shovel, of all things. With one last count to twenty-five, I quit stalling and looked up into the mirror.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

Holy freaking crap. I had a giant-ass black eye. It started off a dark purple but the further away it got from my actual eye, it had started to fade to a sort of blue/green bruise. By the time it reached my eyebrow, it had turned a rather nasty shade of yellow. To complete the look, there was a deep cut just under my eye and it travelled down across my cheek, stopping just near the corner of my mouth. As I stared, horrified and revolted, I realised there would be no way I could cover this beast of an injury up for school. Maybe Mum would let me have a few days off till it settled down a bit? I highly doubted it.

Throwing on a shirt and some trousers, I stumbled my way downstairs and into the kitchen. My Dad let out a low whistle when I plonked down in my seat. He admired my black eye from where he was stood near the kettle, not bothering to ask if I was feeling okay after getting hit. By a shovel. In.The.Face.

"That is one hell of a nasty shiner, kiddo."

I raised an eyebrow at him and winced from the pain of that movement. "Yeah, gee...you think so?"

Dragging the plate of toast he offered to me closer, I cracked my jaw and tore off a chunk of the crust. He always forgot I hated them. My Mum walked in, applying lipstick as she moved, and air kissed my Dad so she wouldn't leave a mark on his face. Then she turned to me and smiled. Not grimaced with horror. Smiled.

"Honey, that's really quite - "

I cut across her, speaking with my mouth full of toast. "Yeah, one hell of a shiner. I've been told."

She gave me a disapproving look and helped herself to a piece of toast from my plate. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Ben. It's not attractive. And eat your crusts, don't waste food."

Jeez. For a superhero, she sure liked to complain about the ordinary things in life a lot. I grumbled an apology and started chewing on the crust with disgust, throwing dirty looks at her when her back was turned. My Dad unfolded the newspaper and disappeared behind it as my Mum bustled around the kitchen, trying to find her car keys. In order to hold up the pretense of 'normality', she had a job in town at an office. Very normal...and very close to the action if anything happened.

My Dad was a manager of some firm or something. I never really asked and I didn't really want to know. I had no idea how they managed to keep up appearances; I was already stressed from the strain of homework and school and superhero duties.

"Right, well, I'm going now and I'll see you when you get back. If you find anything in the papers or on the news, let me know and I''ll sneak out of the office to join you two. Do you have your phone on you, Ben? Just in case?" she asked, clipping on some earrings.

I nodded stiffly. My mobile phone was in my pocket and it was there in case an emergency cropped up while I was at school. They would phone me and I would feign illness so I could go out and fight crime. I found it weird that my parents were actually encouraging me to skive off school. Surely my education was important to them? I needed qualifications to get a job in the real world.

Swallowing the last bit of toast, I grabbed my school bag from the floor (my hero outfit was tucked away safely in there) and bid goodbye to my parents for the day. I barely heard my Dad mumble back and my Mum gave me a quick hug as she dashed off ahead of me. I still had to think up an excuse for Mike as to why I looked like I'd been involved with a gang fight. Maybe I could tell him I was a professional cage fighter? I didn't think he'd believe it.

As I walked slowly to school, I wondered what it would be like to live like everyone else. I wouldn't have to lie consistently, I wouldn't have to turn up at school looking like I'd been beaten up everyday, I wouldn't have to deal with those God damn tights anymore. The school slowly came into view and I settled on the excuse that I was going to use. I walked into my door, that was all. Just a door. And had a major face collision.

I could see Mike waiting at the school gates for me, his familiar bleach-blonde hair sticking out from beneath a beanie hat. I immediately ducked my head as I approached him. I swung my bag awkwardly on my shoulder and muttered hello to him.

Mike greeted me and at first, didn't notice my appearance. He just started babbling about random stuff and I barely caught hold of what he was talking about.

"Hey, look - there's Bobby." Mike said, pointing towards the crowds of teenagers, their faces glum and discouraged.

I turned my head a little, still keeping my bruised face hidden from him. "Who?"

"Never mind." It was at that point he saw my face.

"Holy - " I heard him say. "Ben, what the...your face!"

I glanced up and he actually backed away. It probably looked worse when you get a full view of it.

I tried to ignore the whispers and dark looks from the other students as we walked through the school entrance. All the while, Mike was muttering in my ear, demanding to know what had happened.

"Ben, seriously. Was it Ethan Zane? Did he do something to you?"

"What? Ethan - hell no. No, I just -" I started but he interrupted me and pushed a year eight out of our way.

"Your parents then? Do they, you know..." he looked around and lowered his voice. "Do they abuse you at home?"

I shook my head violently. He'd really gotten the wrong end of the stick here - I had to set him straight. Or, um, as straight as I could get.

"Jesus, Mike. No. I just...I walked into my door last night and -"

"Walked? More like hurtled, I should say." Mike mumbled.

"- And that's it. It was just my door." I finished, following him into our tutor room and dropping my bag on our table. He didn't look too convinced but remained silent on the subject for the rest of the day.

After yesterdays events and all the pressure I had on my shoulders, I felt my eyes drift shut as I stifled a yawn.

The next thing I knew, Mike was shaking me awake and was telling me first period had begun.