MCU: Spider-Man: Rise of Saint

Jerome grabbed his keys off the counter. The broken door handle lay on the floor where Franklin dropped it.

"He couldn't have gone far," Gloria said.

"I'll find him."

Jerome walked outside, checking places Franklin might go. The basketball court was empty, and the school parking lot was locked up. No one at the park.

He tried calling Franklin's phone, but it went straight to voicemail. Jerome kept walking, checking streets and corners as he went.

~~~~~~~~

Franklin pushed open the door to Dave's Corner Store. A bell rang above his head. Old magazines lined the walls, and dusty candy bars filled the display case.

The cashier watched basketball on a small TV behind the counter. Knicks losing again.

Franklin went to the cooler in back and grabbed a Pepsi. The bottle stuck to his hand for a second before he remembered to control it.

At the counter, he put down a five dollar bill.

The door bell rang. A guy in a dark hoodie walked in. Franklin's neck tingled - a weird feeling he'd been getting lately when something was wrong.

The guy bumped into a display case. Lighters clattered across the floor, plastic and metal bouncing on tile.

"Hey, watch it," the cashier said, leaning over to look at the mess.

While the cashier was distracted, the guy reached over the counter. The register drawer was still open from Franklin's purchase.

Franklin saw everything. Could have stopped it. One grab with his new strength - that's all it would take.

He didn't move.

The guy snatched bills from the drawer and ran.

"Hey!" The cashier ran to the door. "Somebody stop him!"

Franklin picked up his Pepsi.

"You just stood there?" The cashier turned on him. "You were right there. Could've done something."

Franklin walked out. The bell rang behind him.

"Not my problem," he muttered, opening his drink.

Jerome saw a guy in a dark hoodie run out of Dave's Corner Store. Cash spilled from his pockets as he collided with Jerome.

When the guy bent to grab the money, Jerome spotted a gun in his waistband. The cashier was yelling from the doorway about calling the police.

"Just give back what you took," Jerome said, holding up his hands.

The guy pulled out the gun. Jerome reached for it.

A shot echoed through the street.

Franklin heard it from down the block. When he turned, he saw Jerome on the ground in front of the store. The cashier was already on the phone with 911.

Franklin dropped his Pepsi and ran back. Jerome lay on the sidewalk, blood spreading across his shirt.

"Uncle Jerome?" Franklin knelt beside him, grabbing his hand.

Jerome tried to speak, but no words came. His grip on Franklin's hand weakened until it went slack.

Police cars surrounded them. An ambulance arrived. Paramedics covered Jerome with a sheet while an officer led Franklin to a patrol car.

The drive home felt long. Franklin sat in the back seat, watching streets pass through the window.

Gloria was in the kitchen when they arrived. The broken door handle still lay where Franklin had crushed it.

"Franklin? Where's Jerome?"

She saw the police officer behind him. Saw Franklin's face.

"No," Gloria whispered. "No."

The officer stepped forward to tell her what happened. Franklin went upstairs to his room.

Later that night, two detectives came to the house. They sat with Franklin in the living room, showing him a sketch of the shooter.

Franklin recognized him immediately - the same guy he'd watched rob the store. The guy he could have stopped.

The detectives left the sketch and their cards. Asked Franklin to call if he remembered anything else.

Franklin watched them drive away.

The Next Day

The school hallway was empty when Franklin pushed through the entrance doors during first period. His footsteps slowed as he passed a group of students at their lockers. Their conversation died instantly. They moved back, watching him walk by.

A janitor mopping the floor stopped and stepped aside. Franklin could feel eyes following him down the corridor. Each classroom door window showed lessons already in progress.

At Mr. Thompson's room, Franklin paused outside. Through the glass, the algebra lesson continued on the whiteboard. When he opened the door, every student turned to look. Mr. Thompson stopped writing mid-equation.

"Franklin," Mr. Thompson said, his voice unnaturally gentle. "Please, join us whenever you're ready."

The silence weighed heavy as Franklin walked to the only empty desk in the back corner. Mary Jane half-turned toward him but stopped herself. The student next to Franklin's desk shifted away, chair legs scraping against the floor.

Mr. Thompson tried returning to the lesson, but his teaching voice remained cautious, like speaking to someone ill. No student volunteered answers. No hands raised for questions. Only the sound of markers on whiteboard and pencils scratching paper filled the room.

Each class followed the same pattern. Different rooms, different teachers, but the same careful voices. The same averted eyes. The same empty seats appearing around wherever Franklin sat.

The hallways parted when he walked through between periods. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Students pressed against lockers until he passed, then huddled together whispering. A girl at her locker dropped her books when Franklin walked by. Her friend pulled her away before she could pick them up.

Outside the gymnasium, Coach Peterson stepped into Franklin's path. "Take whatever time you need from practice. The team understands." Franklin nodded without looking up, walking past the gym doors where he could hear the basketball team running drills.

The cafeteria fell silent when Franklin entered. Keith started toward their usual table but froze when Franklin met his eyes. Franklin found an empty corner table instead. The seats around him stayed vacant as other students chose to crowd together at distant tables.

The guidance counselor tried intercepting Franklin between classes. Her office door stood open, voice too sympathetic as she called out about being there to talk. Franklin walked past without slowing down.

Even the library offered no refuge. The librarian watched over her computer screen as Franklin entered. Students gathered their books and migrated to far tables, leaving an empty circle around wherever Franklin tried to sit.

In his final class, someone whispered, "His uncle was the one at the store." More whispers rippled through the room, but Franklin kept his eyes fixed on his textbook, reading the same paragraph repeatedly without processing the words.

When the last bell rang, Franklin avoided the crowds at the main exits and bus area. He took the side door past the gymnasium where the basketball team practiced. Yesterday's game felt like it happened years ago.

The walk home led past Dave's Corner Store. Yellow police tape still hung across the entrance. Jerome's final words echoed in Franklin's head as he walked:

"You got something special happening to you, Franklin. I see it. Great things are coming your way. But with that comes responsibility. You understand what I'm saying?"

back at the house, Franklin sat at his desk, typing into the search bar: "stark industries spider research." His fingers suddenly stuck to the keys. When he pulled back, several keys came with them, dangling from his fingertips.

He shook his hand, but the keys wouldn't fall off. Franklin had to carefully peel each one away, dropping them on his desk. Looking at his fingers, he flexed them, watching as they seemed to grip and release the air itself.

Opening a new tab, he tried typing again: "spider bite symptoms." More keys stuck. Franklin pulled his hand back. Half the keyboard came with it this time.

The computer screen filled with search results about spider bites and Stark's genetics program. Franklin clicked links one-handed, reading about the modified spiders and their abilities. His other hand was still picking keys off his fingers.

He looked at his hands, thinking about all the things that had been sticking to them since the bite. Franklin turned toward his bedroom wall, placing his palm flat against it. Nothing happened at first. Then he felt it - that same grippy sensation from the keyboard. Franklin pressed harder, then tried to pull away. His hand stayed put.

Taking a deep breath, he put his other hand on the wall. Then a foot, feeling the grip even through his sock. Another foot. Before he knew it, he was crawling horizontally across his wall.

"No way," he whispered.

Franklin looked at his window. The night was dark - perfect for testing what else he could do without being seen.

Ten minutes later, Franklin stood in an alley behind his building, wearing dark clothes and his basketball shoes. He looked up at the brick wall stretching above him.

"Alright," he muttered. "Here goes nothing."

Franklin placed his hands on the wall, then his feet. Slowly at first, he began to climb. Each movement came naturally, like his body already knew what to do. Halfway up, his confidence grew. He moved faster, scaling the wall like he'd been doing it his whole life.

At the top, Franklin pulled himself onto the roof. Looking down at the alley below, he laughed in disbelief. Then he saw the gap between buildings.

Franklin backed up a few steps. He bounced on his toes like before a big game. Then he ran and leaped.

The jump carried him easily across the gap. He landed in a crouch on the opposite roof, his body moving with perfect balance.

"WOOHOO!" Franklin yelled, his voice echoing across the rooftops. He was already running toward the next building.

Each jump got bigger. Each landing got smoother. Franklin flipped and spun through the air, his body responding to his thoughts before he could even finish them. He ran up walls, bounced between buildings, moved in ways that defied gravity.

Finally, Franklin perched on the edge of a tall building, looking out over the city. The streets spread out below him, cars moving like toys in the distance.

Franklin breathed in the night air, his mind racing with possibilities. A week ago, he'd been focused on nothing but basketball. Now he could do things he'd never dreamed of.

Franklin looked at his hands, thinking about everything that had happened since the spider bite. The strength. The reflexes. Now this.

It was too much to process. He needed time to figure it all out.

The next day, Franklin sat in the corner booth of Bean & Gone cafe, his untouched coffee getting cold. On his phone screen, a video played of a spider spinning its web. The spider moved with precise movements, pulling silk from its body and weaving it into perfect patterns.

That would be useful, he thought, watching the spider connect two points with a single strand. His own jumps between buildings last night had felt risky without any safety net.

"Your coffee's getting cold, tiger."

Franklin jumped. Mary Jane slid into the seat across from him, her own coffee steaming. He quickly closed the spider video.

"Didn't see you come in," he said.

"Obviously." MJ stirred her drink, studying his face. "You look tired. Rough night?"

Franklin shrugged, trying not to think about jumping between rooftops at midnight. "Just couldn't sleep."

"You weren't at school today."

"Yeah, my aunt said I could take some time." Franklin picked up his cold coffee, more for something to do with his hands than any desire to drink it. "Everyone looking at me like I might break down or something. Gets old fast."

"They're just worried about you."

"They don't need to be. I'm fine."

MJ raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because you've been staring at that coffee for twenty minutes without drinking it."

"You been watching me that long?"

"I saw you through the window on my way home. You looked like you could use some company."

Franklin hadn't realized she'd noticed him. He'd come to the cafe after leaving home, avoiding his Aunt Gloria's concerned looks and attempts to get him to talk about his feelings.

"It's quiet here," he said. "Nobody asking if I'm okay every five minutes."

"And is that what you need? Quiet?"

Franklin looked at MJ. She wasn't pushing like everyone else, just asking. The concern in her eyes didn't have that same suffocating pity he got from teachers and classmates.

"I don't know what I need," he admitted. "Everything's different now. School, basketball, home - nothing feels the same."

"Because of Jerome?"

"Because of everything." Franklin caught himself before saying more. He couldn't tell her about the powers, about testing them last night, about how his whole body felt different now.

MJ pulled out her sketchbook. "Remember when I first moved here? How everything felt wrong and different?"

Franklin nodded. She'd told him about leaving her old school, her old friends, starting over in a new place.

"You know what helped?" She opened the sketchbook to a drawing of the basketball team. Franklin recognized himself mid-shot. "Finding new normal. Not trying to make things like they were before, but finding what works now."

"This isn't the same thing."

"No, it's not." MJ flipped to a blank page, starting a new sketch. "But maybe the answer is. Figure out your new normal. Whatever that looks like."

Franklin watched her pencil move across the paper. She made it sound so simple. Find a new normal. But how do you do that when you can climb walls and jump between buildings?

"You coming back to school tomorrow?" MJ asked, not looking up from her drawing.

"Maybe. My aunt keeps saying I should take more time."

"The team misses you. Keith said practice isn't the same."

Franklin thought about basketball. About how easily he could dominate games. It wouldn't even be fair.

"Tell me something," MJ said, adding details to her sketch. "What do you want to do? Not what Gloria wants, or what the school counselor wants, or what anyone else thinks you should do. What do you want?"

Franklin looked down at his phone. The spider video was still paused on his screen.

"I want..." He stopped, trying to find the right words. "I want things to make sense again."

"Then maybe that's where you start." MJ turned her sketchbook around. She'd drawn him sitting at the cafe table, staring into his coffee with a lost expression. "Figure out what makes sense to you now. The rest will follow."

Franklin studied the drawing. She'd captured exactly how he felt - stuck between his old life and whatever came next.

"You're good at this," he said.

"The drawing or the advice?"

"Both."

MJ smiled. "Well, one of us has to be good at something besides basketball."

"Yeah, about that..." Franklin hesitated. "I'm not sure if I'm going back to the team."

"Because of what happened with Jerome?"

"Sort of. It's complicated."

"Life usually is." MJ closed her sketchbook. "But you don't have to figure it all out today."

She stood up, gathering her things. "I should head home. Mom's working late again."

"Thanks," Franklin said. "For not treating me like I'm broken."

"You're not broken, Franklin. You're just changing. Big difference." She shouldered her bag. "See you at school tomorrow? Or are you still finding your new normal?"

Franklin looked at his cold coffee, then at MJ. "Yeah, I'll be there."

"Good. The hallways are boring without you."

After she left, Franklin opened the spider video again. The spider had finished its web, a perfect geometric pattern suspended in space.

Finding what works now, he thought, remembering MJ's words. Maybe that's what he needed to do with these powers. Not try to be what he was before, but figure out what he could be now.

He just wished he knew where to start.