Chapter Text
New York City had never been kind.
Not in 1933, with the depression.
The streets were crowded with people looking for work, looking for food, looking for any reason to believe tomorrow might be better than today.
And some people?
Some people were invisible.
Ben Reilly had spent years looking for criminals hiding in shadows.
He had chased thieves through alleyways, exposed murderers hiding behind expensive suits, and uncovered secrets powerful men had paid fortunes to bury.
But lately...
He had started noticing something else.
The people everyone else ignored.
The ones nobody bothered investigating.
The ones who didn't have names.
The ones who didn't have anyone looking for them.
Like Frankie.
At first, Ben had thought he was just another street kid.
Another thief.
Another hungry kid trying to survive however he could.
The first time they met, Frankie had tried to pick his pocket.
Badly.
Ben had caught his hand before the kid even realized he had failed.
"You know," Ben had said, looking down at him, "most criminals try to be subtle."
Frankie had glared.
"Most criminals aren't starving."
That answer had stuck with him.
Because Ben knew that look.
Not the exact circumstances.
But the feeling.
The feeling of being trapped.
Of having the world decide what you were before you ever had a chance to decide for yourself.
---
At first, Frankie avoided him.
Which was understandable.
The boy had learned that adults usually wanted something.
A favor.
A job.
A confession.
Nobody helped without expecting payment.
But Ben kept appearing.
A meal left on a doorstep.
A coat when the weather turned cold.
A few coins slipped into his hand with the warning:
"Don't spend it on anything stupid."
Frankie always responded the same way.
"I wasn't going to."
"You were."
"No, I wasn't."
"You were thinking about it."
Frankie never answered that because he had been.
---
Ben told himself he was just making sure the boy didn't end up dead in an alley.
That was all.
A detective's responsibility.
Nothing more.
Except Ben wasn't stupid.
He knew himself too well.
He knew why Frankie bothered him.
Because every time he saw that kid sleeping under bridges and running from people who looked right through him...
Ben saw himself, an orphan, but Ben was luckier than Frankie, he had an aunt an uncle that took him in.
---
Before the war...
Before the experiments.
Before the bite.
Before he became something that belonged halfway between man and monster...
Peter Parker had imagined a different life.
A small house.
A family.
A wife who loved him.
Children running around the yard.
A normal life.
A human life.
Then the war happened.
Then the experiments happened.
Then Peter Parker became something else.
Something unnatural.
Something that had to hide.
Something that couldn't let anyone get too close.
Because what if they saw what he really was? What if his child inherited it? What if he passed the curse on?
---
When Ruby had asked him about children, he remembered how quickly he answered.
Too quickly. "No."
She had looked surprised. "Never?"
Ben had looked away. "Never." He didn't explain. How could he?
How could he tell her he was afraid?
Afraid that any child of his would inherit his nightmare. That they would wake up one day and discover they weren't normal.
That they would spend their whole lives hiding.
Like him.
Ruby deserved better than that.
And then...
Ruby died.
And Ben wasn't fast enough.
No matter how strong he was.
No matter how quick.
No matter how many lives he saved.
He couldn't save hers.
---
Ben sat alone in his office, staring at nothing.
He groaned.
"Why am I thinking about this?"
Then he remembered.
Frankie.
Of course.
The kid.
The street rat who had tried to rob him.
The kid who now somehow had Ben checking the weather before leaving the office because he worried Frankie didn't have a proper coat.
The kid who somehow became someone Ben worried about.
Like a stray cat that wandered into your life.
A stray cat you pretended you didn't care about.
A stray cat you still checked on every day.
Ben sighed.
"I'm getting too old for this."
The thought lasted exactly three seconds.
Then he remembered what Robbie called him.
A private dick. Ben hated that phrase.
Mostly because Robbie found it hilarious.
But he was still a detective and detectives investigated.
So he did what he did best. He investigated.
Not a paying client.
Not a missing person case.
Not a murder.
Frankie.
Who was he?
Where did he come from?
Who had failed him?
Who had hurt him?
And more importantly...
How could Ben help him?
And how could he help him if Frankie didn't want help?
Because Ben understood that too.
Sometimes people who were hurt didn't want to be saved.
Sometimes they only knew how to survive.
---
The first time Frankie saw The Spider, he thought he was being kidnapped.
Which was a reasonable assumption considering a masked vigilante had just dropped from a rooftop.
"Don't move."
Frankie froze. Then immediately reached for a knife.
Ben sighed. "Really?"
"You said don't move."
"I meant don't attack me."
"You should have been more specific."
Despite himself, Ben almost laughed.
Almost.
Then he noticed something.
Frankie's hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From exhaustion.
The kid hadn't eaten properly in days.
Ben crouched. "Come here."
Frankie narrowed his eyes. "No."
"Frankie."
The boy froze. "You know my name?" His eyes narrowed.
Ben realized his mistake. "...I know things."
"That's creepy, spider sir."
"Yes."
Frankie stared. "You're weird, mr."
"That is unfortunately accurate." Then Ben did something Frankie never expected.
He turned around. "Get on."
Frankie blinked.
"What?"
"My back."
"Why?"
"Because I'm carrying you."
"I can walk."
"You can barely stand."
"I can."
"You can't."
Frankie opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then slowly climbed onto his back and as an added thought shot some web to make sure Frankie stayed on.
The Spider moved through the city.
Across rooftops.
Between buildings.
Carrying the boy through the night.
And strangely enough...
It reminded Ben of something.
Certain spiders carried their young on their backs.
A whole generation depending on one creature to keep them safe.
Ben almost laughed at the irony.
The world called him a monster.
A creature.
A thing.
But here he was.
Carrying a child through the city.
Protecting him.
Exactly like any other living thing would.
---
Frankie rested his head against his shoulder, exhausted. "You always help people?"
Ben looked ahead. "No."
Frankie frowned. "No?"
"No."
"Then why me?"
Ben was quiet.
Because he didn't have a good answer.
Not one he wanted to say. "Because someone helped me when I had no one left."
Frankie didn't respond.
But he held on a little tighter.
And Ben Reilly… The Spider...
The thing he thought was too broken to ever have a family...
Kept walking.
Because maybe he wasn't meant to have the life he imagined.
Maybe he wasn't meant to be normal.
But maybe...
Maybe he could still be something good.
Even if he was something the world didn't understand.
—-----
Frankie fell asleep.
Ben realized it only when the boy's grip loosened.
His breathing became slow.
Even.
Peaceful.
Ben glanced over one shoulder.
The kid was out cold.
"...Huh."
He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone fall asleep so quickly.
Then again...
People who lived on the streets learned to sleep whenever they could.
Ben slowed his pace, making sure each leap landed softly.
He had carried injured people before.
Victims.
Witnesses.
Even the occasional criminal after a particularly unfortunate encounter with gravity.
But this was different.
Frankie wasn't unconscious.
He simply felt... safe enough to sleep.
The realization sat strangely in Ben's chest.
---
Instead of taking him back to the alley where he'd found him, Ben carried Frankie to a small church in Hell's Kitchen.
The old priest, Father Paul Lantom, looked up from sweeping the front steps as the Spider landed silently beside him.
"You again."
Ben nodded. "I have a favor."
The priest looked at the sleeping boy. "Another one?"
"...Yes."
Father Lantom smiled sadly. "You always bring me the ones no one else notices."
Ben looked away. "They're easier to find."
"No." The old priest rested the broom against the wall.
"They're easier for you to notice."
"I suppose."
The priest opened the side door. "We have soup left."
"Good."
"And a cot."
"Better."
"And before you ask..." Ben frowned. "I wasn't going to."
"Yes, you were." Ben replied.
Father Lantom chuckled. "I won't ask questions."
Ben relaxed. "Thank you."
---
Frankie woke several hours later.
He bolted upright.
For one terrifying second he thought someone had finally arrested him.
Instead...
He smelled fresh bread.
Soup.
Coffee.
The church.
He frowned.
"...What?"
Father Lantom smiled from across the room.
"Good morning."
Frankie blinked. "It isn't morning."
"No."
"...You're confusing, father."
"I've been told." The priest placed a bowl of soup in front of him.
"The Spider dropped you off."
Frankie's eyes widened. "He... what?"
"Said you needed a proper meal."
Frankie stared at the bowl. "...Why?"
The priest smiled knowingly.
"You'll have to ask him, it's not my story to tell."
---
Ben tried very hard not to ask Father Lantom about Frankie the next day.
He lasted almost six hours.
By late afternoon he found himself standing outside the church again.
The priest was already waiting. "I wondered how long it would take."
"I happened to be nearby."
"You crossed half of Manhattan."
"...Coincidence."
Father Lantom laughed. "You were never very good at lying."
Ben frowned. "I wasn't lying."
"You absolutely were."
"...Possibly."
The priest folded his arms. "He's still here."
Ben's shoulders relaxed before he realized they had tensed.
"Good."
"He refuses to stay permanently."
"I expected that."
"He says he doesn't trust adults."
"...Reasonable."
"He also says you're weird."
Ben nodded.
"Also reasonable."
---
For the next several weeks, a pattern emerged.
Ben never announced himself.
He simply appeared.
Sometimes Frankie found a sandwich wrapped in brown paper.
Sometimes a pair of gloves.
Sometimes new socks.
Once… A book.
Frankie held it up. "...A dictionary?"
"You should expand your vocabulary."
"I know words."
"You know twelve."
"I know at least twenty."
Ben shrugged. "My mistake."
Frankie rolled his eyes. "Mr, you're impossible."
"So I've been told."
---
Robbie noticed before anyone else.
"You've been disappearing during lunch."
Ben looked up from his paperwork. "I have errands."
"You hate errands."
"I tolerate them."
"Barely."
Ben kept writing.
Robbie leaned against the desk. "Its the kid, isn't it?"
Ben stopped writing. "...What kid?"
"The one you've accidentally adopted."
Ben looked horrified. "I have not adopted anyone."
"You've started carrying food instead of cigarettes."
"I quit."
"You've started buying children's books."
"They were educational."
"You spent twenty minutes arguing with the clerk over which one had the better illustrations."
"They're important."
Robbie grinned. "Oh my goodness."
"What?"
"You like the kid."
"I tolerate him."
"You care about him."
"I find him... difficult to ignore."
Robbie burst into laughter.
"Ben."
"What?"
"That's the nicest thing I've ever heard you say about another human being."
Ben muttered something under his breath.
"What was that?"
"I said he's irritating."
"There it is."
---
A few days later, Ben found Frankie sitting on the edge of a rooftop overlooking the city.
"You'll catch cold."
Frankie shrugged. "Probably."
Ben sat beside him.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Finally Frankie asked quietly, "Were you a soldier, mr?"
Ben looked over. "...Who told you that?"
"You walk like one."
Ben blinked. "I knew soldiers." He half lied.
Frankie stared out across Manhattan. "They walk like they're waiting for something."
Ben looked away. "...That's... surprisingly observant."
Frankie shrugged again. "I notice stuff."
"I've noticed."
Silence settled between them.
Then Frankie asked the question Ben had been dreading.
"Do you have kids?"
Ben's heart stopped.
"...No."
"You ever want any?" He asked.
The city seemed impossibly quiet.
Ben thought of the war.
Of laboratories.
Of Ruby.
Of everything he had lost before he'd ever had the chance to build it.
"...Once."
Frankie nodded. "What happened?"
Ben watched the lights flicker on across Manhattan.
"I thought the world had made me into someone who shouldn't."
Frankie frowned. "I don't get it."
Ben smiled sadly. "I know."
And for the first time in years...
He realized maybe he didn't entirely believe those words anymore.
Not while a stubborn street kid sat beside him asking questions no detective could solve.
Not while he kept finding himself showing up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Maybe family wasn't always something you were born with.
Sometimes...
It was simply the people you couldn't stop worrying about.