MCU: Spider-Man: Rise of Saint

October 10th, 1996 wasn't a special day for most people in Los Angeles. The sun rose over South Central like it always did, burning off the morning haze to reveal palm trees and power lines. But in Saint Francis Medical Center, Lisa Fitzpatrick Saint was about to give birth to a boy who would change everything.

Her husband Marcus paced the delivery room, his construction worker hands fidgeting with his collar. The doctors had said something about complications. Words like "breech position" and "fetal distress" floated through the air like bad omens.

"Push, Mrs. Saint!" the doctor called out. "Just a little more!"

Lisa screamed, gripping the bed rails until her knuckles went white. She'd been in labor for sixteen hours. Sweat dripped down her face, her dark curls plastered to her forehead.

Marcus moved to her side, letting her squeeze his hand. He'd never seen his wife in so much pain. "You got this, baby. You got this."

The heart monitor beeped faster. Nurses rushed around, their shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. One of them whispered something to the doctor, who nodded grimly.

"Mrs. Saint, we need you to push one more time. As hard as you can."

Lisa closed her eyes, gathered what strength she had left, and pushed. The pain was like fire, spreading through her body. Then, suddenly, it was over.

Franklin Fitzpatrick Saint entered the world with a strong cry that filled the delivery room. The doctor cleaned him up, checked his vitals, and handed him to Lisa with a smile.

"He's perfect," the doctor said. "Congratulations."

Lisa cradled her son, tears streaming down her face. Franklin's skin was lighter than both his parents, taking after Lisa's side of the family. Her thoughts drifted briefly to her younger sister Mary, wondering if she'd ever get to meet her nephew. They hadn't spoken in years - not since Lisa left New York for Los Angeles.

Marcus kissed Lisa's forehead, then touched his son's tiny hand. "Strong grip," he said with a proud smile. "That's my boy."

The nurse came over with paperwork. "Franklin Fitzpatrick Saint," Lisa said firmly. She'd chosen to give him her maiden name as his middle name, a piece of her family history he could carry with him.

The next few days in the hospital passed in a constant stream of tests, visits from friends and family, and the general chaos that comes with a new baby. Jerome, Marcus's older brother, came by with his wife Gloria, bringing a teddy bear bigger than Franklin.

"This kid's gonna be something special," Jerome said, watching Franklin sleep in his hospital crib. "I can feel it."

A week later, they brought Franklin home to their small house in South Central. It wasn't much - three bedrooms, a patch of yard more dirt than grass, bars on the windows like every other house in the neighborhood. But it was home.

That first night, as Franklin slept in his crib, his parents sat in the living room, talking in low voices.

"Maybe we should try reaching out to your sister," Marcus suggested. "Let her know she's got a nephew."

Lisa shook her head. "Mary made her choice when she married Richard Parker. She wanted that fancy science life, wanted to pretend she came from money. She wouldn't want anything to do with us."

Marcus didn't push it. He knew the story - how the Fitzpatrick sisters had gone different ways after their parents died. Mary chasing her career with Richard Parker, Lisa staying in Los Angeles with Marcus.

"Well, her loss," Marcus said, pulling his wife close. "She's missing out on one amazing nephew."

In his crib, Franklin slept peacefully, unaware of the complicated family history he was born into. Unaware that somewhere in New York, he had an aunt and uncle he might never meet. Unaware that in a few years, his cousin Peter would be born.

And completely unaware that one day, years from now, a spider bite would change everything.

But that was all in the future. For now, he was just Franklin Fitzpatrick Saint, a baby in South Central Los Angeles, born to parents who loved him more than anything in the world.

The next morning, Lisa stood at Franklin's crib, watching him sleep. She traced her finger along his cheek, marveling at how perfect he was.

"You're going to do great things," she whispered. "I just know it."

4 years later

Franklin pressed his face against the living room window, watching his uncle's black Cadillac pull up to the curb. At four years old, he wasn't tall enough to see properly, so he stood on his tiptoes, hands leaving smudges on the glass.

"Franklin, get back from that window," his mother called from the kitchen. "You're getting fingerprints everywhere."

But Franklin couldn't help it. Uncle Jerome was coming. Uncle Jerome, who always brought the best presents, told the best stories, and let Franklin sit on his shoulders even when Mom said it wasn't safe.

The car door opened, and Jerome stepped out, all six-foot-three of him unfolding from the driver's seat. He wore a sharp suit that probably cost more than everything in Franklin's closet combined. Aunt Gloria got out from the passenger side, her red dress bright against the gray sidewalk.

Franklin bolted to the front door before his parents could stop him.

"Uncle Jerome!" he shouted, yanking the door open.

Jerome's deep laugh filled the yard. "There's my favorite nephew!" He scooped Franklin up like he weighed nothing, spinning him around until Franklin squealed with joy.

"Jerome, you're gonna make him dizzy," Aunt Gloria said, but she was smiling too.

Marcus and Lisa came out to greet them, and soon the whole family was inside. The house filled with the sounds of conversation and laughter, the smell of Lisa's cooking drifting from the kitchen.

"You got big since Christmas," Jerome said, studying Franklin. "What they feeding you, little man?"

"Mom says I'm growing like a weed," Franklin replied proudly.

"More like growing out of all his clothes," Lisa called from the kitchen. "Can't keep up with him."

Jerome reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small box wrapped in silver paper. "Speaking of clothes..."

Franklin's eyes lit up. He looked at his mom for permission.

"Go ahead," Lisa sighed. "But remember to say thank you."

Franklin tore into the paper. Inside was a New York Yankees cap, dark blue with the famous NY logo in white.

"Got to get you representing the right team," Jerome said with a wink. "Since we're moving to New York soon."

Franklin put the cap on immediately, even though it was a little big and slipped down over his eyes. "When are you moving?"

"Next month," Gloria answered. "Jerome got a new job out there. Good opportunity."

Franklin pushed the cap up so he could see. "That's far away."

"Sure is," Jerome said. "But hey, maybe you can come visit sometime. See the big city."

Marcus and Lisa exchanged a look that Franklin didn't understand. Grown-ups were always doing that - having whole conversations without saying anything.

"Actually," Jerome continued, "that's part of why we came to visit. Want to talk to your folks about some things."

Franklin knew that tone. It meant grown-up talk was coming, the kind he wasn't supposed to hear.

"Franklin, why don't you show Aunt Gloria your new toys?" his mother suggested.

"But-"

"Go on now," Jerome said gently. "We'll hang out more later, promise."

Franklin trudged to his room, Aunt Gloria following behind. He showed her his action figures, his toy cars, his prized collection of comic books that Uncle Jerome had started him on. But he kept one ear turned toward the living room, trying to catch pieces of the adult conversation.

He heard words like "opportunity" and "fresh start" and "better schools." Then his father's voice got louder - not quite yelling, but close.

"We can't just pick up and leave, Jerome. Our whole life is here."

"That's what I'm saying, little brother. What kind of life? You really want Franklin growing up around here?"

Franklin pressed closer to his bedroom door, straining to hear more.

"Baby," Gloria called softly. "Come away from there. Let them talk."

But Franklin had already heard enough to know something big was happening. Something that made his stomach feel funny.

Later, after dinner, the adults were still talking in the kitchen. Franklin sat on the front porch steps with Jerome, both of them wearing their Yankees caps.

"You scared of New York?" Franklin asked.

Jerome looked surprised. "Nah, little man. New York's just another place. Bigger buildings, more people, but people are people everywhere you go."

"Mom says it's dangerous."

"Everywhere's dangerous if you don't know how to handle yourself." Jerome turned to face Franklin. "But you know what's more dangerous? Staying stuck in one place when you got the chance to do better."

Franklin didn't really understand, but he nodded anyway.

"Listen up," Jerome said, his voice getting serious like it did when he was about to say something important. "World's bigger than this neighborhood. Bigger than Los Angeles. Sometimes you got to take chances to see how big it really is."

"Like moving to New York?"

"Exactly like that." Jerome adjusted Franklin's cap. "And hey, maybe someday you'll end up there too. Never know how life's gonna turn out."

"Tell me about New York," Franklin said, adjusting his Yankees cap.

Jerome smiled. "Picture buildings so tall they touch the clouds. Streets full of people. Lights everywhere you look. And wait till I tell you about the pizza..."

Franklin listened to his uncle's stories until his mom called them in for dinner.