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The wind howled up from the abyss.
It tore at loose strands of Spider's hair, rattled the air around them, and carried the fading echo of a body that had already vanished into the mist or swirling colours below. For a long moment after Quaritch disappeared, no one moved.
Spider didn’t blink.
He stood at the edge of the rock, bare feet planted against the cold stone, chest heaving. Something caught somewhere deep, like his lungs had forgotten how to work unless they were forced to.
The place where Quaritch had stood—where he’d chosen to lean back and just... jump, was all Spider could see.
Nothing else existed.
Not the shouting. Not Tuk crying somewhere behind him. Not Lo’ak swearing under his breath. Not Neytiri’s snarl still on her lips, and bow raised in her hands or Kiri's loud breathing. Not even the sound of Jake Sully struggling to stay upright as blood seeped down his leg.
Just empty air.
Everything was just... gone.
“Spider…”
Kiri’s voice, soft, trembling.
He didn’t respond.
Didn’t even seem to hear.
Jake noticed though.
Even through the pain—sharp, hot, pulsing up from his leg where the arrow had torn through muscle—his attention snagged on the boy in front of him. On the stillness that wasn’t calmness, but something brittle.
Wrong.
He was too quiet.
Too empty.
“Spider,” Lo’ak tried, stepping closer. “Hey, bro, you—”
Spider flinched.
Not away from Lo’ak—just… inward. Like the sound had hit something raw.
Jake sucked in a breath, jaw tightening. Everything had moved so fast before, with Spider suddenly making an appearance, and then later, having to jump towards Jake in midair and the relentless fight that had occurred after, falling and jumping from rock to rock until Spider had fallen right in front of them. He'd not had a chance to really take in the boy until now and his gaze swept over the kid properly for the first time.
And his stomach dropped.
Scratches—no, not scratches.
Gouges.
Angry red streaks and torn skin ran down Spider’s arms, across his chest, and over his ribs. Dirt and blood smeared together where he must’ve slid down the rock face. One shoulder was already swelling. His hands were scraped raw.
And then—
Jake’s eyes narrowed as the boy stood in front of him.
Along Spider’s spine, barely visible beneath grime and dried blood—
Rounded Bruises, precise marks.
Too clean to be from a fall.
Too deliberate.
Jake’s chest tightened.
What the hell did they do to you, kid?
Behind him, Neytiri stepped closer. “Ma Jake, you are bleeding,” she said sharply, reaching for him.
Jake caught her wrist, firm.
“I’m fine.”
“You are not—”
“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, then softened just as quickly. “Neytiri… wait.”
He nodded toward Spider.
Neytiri followed his gaze.
Her expression shifted—confusion, then something harder, more complicated. But she didn’t argue again.
Jake turned back.
“Spider,” he called, voice lower now. Controlled. Careful. “Kid, look at me.”
Nothing.
The wind roared in response.
And then Spider’s chest hitched.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
A sound tore out of him.
Raw. Broken. Too big for his body.
A wail.
It ripped through the air, cutting through every other noise like a blade. Spider doubled over with it, hands flying to his head as if was trying to physically hold himself together.
“NO!”
The word shattered halfway through, dissolving into sobs.
It wasn't quiet crying.
Not controlled.
It came out in ugly, choking, gasping breaths.
Jake moved before he could think.
Pain flared white-hot in his leg as he crossed the distance, but he barely registered it. He dropped heavily to one knee in front of Spider just as the kid staggered, like his legs might give out entirely.
“Hey—hey, I got you—”
Spider didn’t respond. Didn’t even seem to see him.
His whole body shook, breaths coming in ragged, uneven bursts.
"Spider," Jake started. "Hey-"
“He—he—” Spider tried, voice breaking apart. “He just—he—”
Jake didn’t let him finish.
He pulled him in.
One arm wrapped tight around Spider’s back, the other coming up to cradle the back of his head, pressing the boy firmly against his chest.
“I got you,” Jake murmured, voice low and steady despite the chaos around them. “I got you, baby. You’re alright.”
Spider made a strangled sound, fingers clutching at Jake’s straps, fisting the material like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“He—he’s—he’s—” The words wouldn’t come. “I—he—”
“I know,” Jake said softly, tightening his hold when Spider tried to pull away only to collapse back in. “I know. Easy. Breathe.”
“But he—” Spider sucked in a broken breath that turned into another sob. “He was—he—”
Jake closed his eyes briefly.
Yeah.
He knew.
It didn’t matter what Quaritch had been.
It didn’t matter what he’d done.
To Spider… Qauritch had been something else. Something other than just a bad guy.
“He shouldn’t have done that—” Spider choked. “He just—jumped! Why would he do that?!”
Jake pressed his chin lightly to the top of Spider’s head.
“Hey,” he murmured. “Hey, listen to me. You’re here. You’re safe.”
Spider shook his head violently, like the words didn’t make sense.
“I didn’t—I couldn’t—” His voice cracked completely. “I didn’t stop him—”
“That wasn’t your job.”
“I should’ve—!” Spider started. Jake could feel him shaking against him. "He saved me. He actually stopped trying to kill you to save me..." Jake felt the gasped, shaky breath before he heard it. "And I didn't even try to stop him!"
“No.” Jake’s tone sharpened, just for a second. Enough to cut through. “No, kid. That wasn’t on you.”
Spider went rigid.
Then sagged, like something inside him gave out.
The sobs didn’t stop—but they shifted. Less frantic. Still deep. Still tearing through him.
Jake adjusted his grip, one hand rubbing slow circles between Spider’s shoulder blades, careful to avoid the worst of the injuries.
“I got you,” he repeated quietly. “Just let it out. You’re okay.”
Behind them, the others had gone quiet.
Even Neytiri said nothing now.
They just watched.
And waited.
Time stretched.
Eventually, the sobs dulled into hiccuping breaths. Spider’s grip loosened slightly, though he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned more heavily into Jake, like his body had finally decided it was allowed to stop fighting.
Jake eased back just enough to look at him.
Spider’s face was a mess—tear-streaked, dirty streaks down his cheeks, eyes red and unfocused.
He looked younger like this.
Smaller.
Gone was the scrappy, defiant kid he knew, the tough exterior removed, leaving behind a scared and traumatised child.
Jake swallowed.
“Hey,” he said gently. “I need you to look at me for a sec, alright?”
It took a moment.
But Spider’s gaze eventually dragged up to meet his.
Distant.
Shaky.
But there.
“Good,” Jake murmured. “That’s it.”
He shifted slightly, wincing despite himself as his leg protested.
“I need to check you over, okay? You took a hell of a fall.”
Spider didn’t answer.
But he didn’t resist either, so Jake took that as permission.
Carefully, he turned Spider slightly, scanning the visible injuries. His jaw tightened further with every new mark he found.
“Jesus…”
“What is it?” Lo’ak asked from behind him.
Jake didn’t look up. “He’s torn up pretty bad.”
And then, quieter—
“Not just from the fall.”
He brushed some of the dirt away from Spider’s back, exposing the marks more clearly now.
Small punctures.
A line of them.
Precise along his spine.
Neytiri inhaled sharply, "Those are not from the battle."
Spider flinched at the touch, a soft, pained sound slipping out.
“Easy,” Jake said quickly. “I got you.”
Spider’s head tipped forward again, resting weakly against Jake’s shoulder.
“Hurts,” he mumbled.
“I know.”
Jake’s voice softened even more.
“Listen—we’re not staying here. We’re going to go back to High Camp. Norm and Max can patch us up.”
At the mention of them, Spider stirred faintly.
“Norm…” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “Norm’s there. You’re good.”
Spider didn’t fully respond—but some of the tension left his body.
Jake glanced up at Neytiri.
“We leave. Now.”
She nodded.
Neytiri took the lead again, guiding the ikran steadily through the air.
Spider sat between them.
This time, though—he didn’t hold himself upright or lean against Neytiri.
At first, he tried to sit up, and stay alert.
Tried to stay straight, tried to breathe normally—but every so often, his breath would hitch, a quiet aftershock of earlier sobs. His hands trembled where they rested.
Jake watched it happen.
Waited.
Then, gently—
“Lean back, kid.”
Spider hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then he did.
Slowly, carefully, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed.
He shifted back until his spine rested against Jake’s chest.
Jake immediately adjusted, one arm coming around to secure him, the other stroking at the boy's arm in what little comfort he could give.
“There you go,” he murmured.
Spider turned his face away at first, pressing it into Jake’s shoulder, breaths uneven.
Another hitch.
Another small, broken sound.
Jake tightened his hold.
“I got you,” he said again, softer this time.
That seemed to do it.
Gradually, Spider’s body started to loosen.
The rigid tension drained out of him, replaced by a heavy, exhausted slackness. His head tilted, resting more fully against Jake now.
His breathing slowed.
Not steady—not yet—but less frantic.
Jake felt it happen.
Felt the exact moment the kid stopped holding himself together.
Sleep came quickly after that.
Not peaceful.
But deep.
Spider’s weight settled more fully into him, head lolling slightly with the motion of the ikran. One hand still loosely clutched at the bottom of one of Jake’s straps, even in unconsciousness.
Jake adjusted his grip again, making sure he was secure.
Behind them, Tuk rode with Lo’ak, unusually quiet.
Kiri stayed close, eyes fixed on Spider the entire way.
No one spoke apart from Jake's soft murmurings towards the boy in his arms.
High Camp was already in motion when they arrived.
Medics rushed forward the moment they landed.
“Jake—!”
“You got hit?”
“We need to—”
“I’m fine,” Jake cut in immediately, already dismounting with Spider still in his arms.
“Ma Jake, you are not—” Neytiri begins.
“Later,” Jake snapped, then softer. “The Kid first.”
Spider stirred weakly as they moved him, disoriented.
His eyes snapped open as the rumble of voices, urgent, swam around them and hands — too many of them — tried to pull him away from Jake.
“No—!” he gasped, panic surging instantly. “No, don’t—don’t touch—!”
“Spider—hey—hey, it’s okay—”
But the med techs were already trying to guide him, to assess—
And Spider lost it.
“NO!” he screamed, thrashing, trying to pull away. “Get off—GET OFF!—”
His breath went ragged again.
“Hey—HEY—!”
Jake shoved past the others, ignoring the protests about his leg.
“Back off,” he barked. “All of you—just back off!”
They hesitated.
“Now!” he roared at them.
That did it.
They stepped away.
Spider was still struggling, half-curled in on himself on the med bed, eyes wild, chest heaving.
“Jake—” he choked. “Jake!”
“I’m here, baby," Jake said, climbing onto the bed without hesitation, pulling Spider upright and into his lap, one arm wrapping around him firmly. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”
Spider clung to him immediately, fingers digging in, breath shaking violently.
“Don’t let them—” he gasped. “Please—don’t let them—”
“I won’t,” Jake said, steady and certain. “Nobody’s touching you without you saying it’s okay. You hear me?”
Spider nodded frantically against him, humming in almost terror.
“Good boy.”
Jake looked up then, head gesturing at the group of medics.
“Norm and Max only. That’s it. Everyone else out.”
There was a pause.
Then Norm stepped forward carefully.
“We’ve got it,” he said quietly, nodding at the medics to go.
Max nodded.
The rest filtered out and the room instantly settled around them.
Quieter.
More contained.
Safer.
Jake looked back down.
“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s just us now, kid.”
Spider’s grip didn’t loosen—but his breathing started to slow again.
“Norm’s here,” Jake continued. “Max too. You trust them, right?”
A small nod.
“Okay,” Jake brushed some hair back from Spider’s face. “Think you can let them take a look? I’ll stay right here.”
Spider hesitated.
Then—barely—
“Okay…”
Jake stayed with Spider while Neytiri left to have Ronal's baby checked over before returning to the village to see Tonowari.
Norm moved slowly.
Deliberately.
Every step measured, every movement visible—hands kept where Spider could see them. Max did the same, exchanging a quick glance with Jake before approaching from the other side of the bed.
No sudden moves.
No crowding.
No pressure to do anything.
Spider stayed half-curled into Jake, one fist still clenched tightly in his strap. His breathing had steadied some, but every so often it would catch—like his body hadn’t quite remembered yet that it was safe.
Jake didn’t rush him.
He just kept one arm firm around him, the other resting lightly at the back of his head, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles into his hair, occasionally drifting to the back of his neck.
“You’re alright,” he murmured again, softer now. “They’re just gonna check you over.”
Spider swallowed.
His voice, when it came, was small. “No needles.”
Jake stilled slightly.
Norm hesitated too—but Jake answered first.
“Hey.” He tipped his head down just enough so Spider had to look at him. “We might need to, okay? Just to make sure you’re alright.”
Spider’s expression flickered—fear, sharp and immediate.
“No—no, they—” His breath hitched. “They already—too many—”
“I know.” Jake’s voice dropped lower, steady, grounding. “I know, kid. I’m not gonna let anyone do anything that will harm you. But we gotta make sure they didn’t mess you up worse than it looks.”
Spider’s jaw trembled.
Jake softened further, nudging his forehead lightly against the kid’s temple.
“I’m right here. You're not doing this alone. Not anymore.”
That did something.
Spider squeezed his eyes shut for a second, breathing through it.
Then—
“…okay,” he whispered.
Jake nodded once.
“That’s my boy.”
Norm stepped a little closer, still careful.
“Hey, buddy,” he said gently. “Can I check your arm first? No needles. Just looking.”
Spider didn’t answer—but he didn’t pull away either.
Jake took that as a yes.
“Go ahead,” he told Norm quietly.
The exam started small.
Norm checked Spider’s pulse first, fingers light at his wrist.
“Alright,” Norm murmured. “That’s okay. Fast —but not unexpected.”
Max crouched slightly to get a better look at Spider’s side.
“Can you lift your arm a bit for me, buddy?”
Spider tensed.
Jake adjusted his hold.
“Easy,” he said softly. “I got you. Just a little.”
Slowly—stiffly—Spider lifted his arm.
Max sucked in a quiet breath.
“Yeah… that’s all gonna need cleaning.”
"What about his shoulder?" Jake asked, nodding down to the slight swelling to the boy's left shoulder.
"Muscle strain mostly," Max shook his head. "Luckily it's not dislocated. We'll have to do a scan to be certain. My best bet was his arm was wrenched back at some point, beyond it's normal range of motion."
Jake felt his jaw twitch in tension.
"Typical recommendation is protection, rest, ice, compression, and elevation. We'll start him on naproxen for the pain and inflammation."
"And the rest?" Jake asked.
The skin along Spider’s ribs was scraped raw in places, embedded with dirt and small bits of rock. Some cuts were shallow. Others weren’t.
“We’ll take care of it,” Max added quickly, noticing the way Spider flinched at his tone.
Jake nodded slightly.
“Go on,” he muttered.
“Right,” Max said, voice gentling. “We’re just looking, Spider. You’re doing good.”
Spider’s fingers tightened again—but he held still.
Norm moved behind them slightly.
“Jake… I need to see his back.”
Jake’s jaw tightened.
“Yeah, one sec," He said, shifting carefully. “Hey, kid,” he murmured. “Gonna turn you a little, okay? Nice and slow.”
Spider made a small, uncertain sound.
Jake guided him anyway, keeping him close—never fully letting him go. Just enough to expose his back.
The moment the marks came fully into view, Norm went still.
Max swore under his breath.
Even Jake—who had already seen them—felt something cold settle deeper in his chest.
A line of punctures ran along Spider’s spine.
Some older. Some newer.
Bruising spread around them in uneven patterns—yellowing in places, deep purple in others.
They were clearly not accidental.
They were not from the fall.
They were controlled.
And done repeatedly.
“What the hell…” Max muttered.
Spider flinched.
Jake’s hand immediately came up to cradle the back of his head again.
“Hey, it's fine,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”
Norm’s voice was tight when he spoke again.
“Spider… do you remember what they did here?”
Spider went rigid.
For a moment, Jake thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then—
“…needles,” Spider murmured softly. "Long ones. In my back."
Jake swallowed hard.
“What kind of needles?” he asked gently. “Do you remember?”
Spider’s breath picked up again—not panicked yet, but close. He shook his head.
“They—uh—” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I couldn’t move. They said—said they needed more data—” His voice broke.
Jake felt his chest tighten painfully.
“Did they give you anything before?” Norm asked carefully. “Any drugs? Shots? Pills?”
Spider nodded weakly.
“Yeah… yeah, they—” He grimaced. “Made it… fuzzy. Then cold.”
Max exchanged a look with Norm.
“Sedatives maybe,” Max murmured.
“Or something worse,” Norm replied under his breath.
Jake didn’t miss that—but he didn’t let it show.
“Alright,” he said quietly, grounding again. “You’re doing good, kid. Real good.”
Spider sagged slightly back into him.
“Hurts again,” he mumbled.
“Okay, kid,” Jake nodded at him. "Thank you for telling us that."
Jake glanced up.
“What can you do for pain?”
Norm answered immediately. “We can give him something mild. Nothing heavy unless we know what’s already in his system.”
Spider tensed again at that.
Jake noticed.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Remember what we said? You’re in control. We don’t do anything without you saying it’s okay.”
Spider hesitated.
Then gave a tiny nod.
"I— trust you," Spider nodded up at him.
Cleaning the wounds was the hardest part.
Even with Jake holding him, with the mild sedative and local numbing agent they'd given him, even with Norm and Max working as gently as humanly possible—every touch made Spider flinch.
Every sting of antiseptic pulled a sharp breath from his lungs.
Every small and neat stitch Max did for the larger cuts caused his breath to catch and hold.
At one point, he grabbed onto Jake hard enough to hurt.
Jake didn’t pull away.
“Easy—easy,” he murmured, pressing his cheek briefly to Spider’s hair. “I know, I know. You’re alright. Just a little more.”
Spider shook his head weakly.
“Hurts—”
“I know. You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”
Max worked quickly but carefully, cleaning out the deeper abrasions before doing as little stitches as he could.
Norm focused on the puncture marks, his expression growing more concerned the longer he looked.
“They hit close to the lumbar region,” he said quietly. “We need to check for nerve damage.”
Jake’s grip tightened instinctively.
“…he gonna be okay with that?”
Norm glanced up.
“I don’t know yet, but the fact that he was walking and talking, and using his hands to fire weapons is a good sign.”
Spider made a small, distressed sound.
Jake immediately refocused on him.
“Hey—hey, don’t worry about that right now,” he said firmly. “We’re gonna take care of you.”
Spider didn’t look convinced—but he didn’t spiral either.
Not with Jake holding him like this.
Eventually, the worst of the cleaning and stitching was done.
Antiseptic cream and bandages went on next—light, careful, covering the worst of the damage.
Spider was shaking by the end of it.
Not violently.
Just… worn down and exhausted.
Jake could feel it in the way his weight leaned heavier, the way his grip had lost strength.
“Almost done,” Jake murmured.
Spider didn’t respond.
His eyes were half-lidded now, unfocused again—but not in the same way as before.
This was exhaustion.
Pain.
Aftershock.
Norm prepared a small injector, keeping it visible.
“Spider,” he said gently. “This is just a mild pain reliever. It’ll help take the edge off, help you rest.”
Spider stared at it.
Tense.
Jake adjusted his hold slightly.
“You want it?” he asked softly.
A pause.
Then—
“…tired,” Spider whispered. "Wanna sleep, but I don't know if I can."
Jake nodded.
“Yeah. I get that.”
He looked at Norm.
“Do it.”
Spider flinched when the injector pressed to his arm—but Jake held him steady, one hand bracing his head against his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I'm right here. I got you.”
The injection was quick.
Over in seconds.
Spider’s breathing stayed uneven for a minute after—but gradually, slowly, it began to settle.
His body followed after.
The tension eased out of him piece by piece.
Jake felt it happen.
Felt the exact moment the kid stopped fighting his own body.
“Yeah…” Jake murmured softly. “That’s it. Just rest now.”
Spider’s head slipped more heavily against him.
His hand, still loosely gripping Jake’s strap, slackened.
“Jake…” he mumbled faintly.
“I’m here.”
A small pause.
Then, barely audible—
“…don’t go.”
Jake’s chest tightened.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly.
Spider nodded—or maybe it was just the way his head shifted as sleep finally pulled him under.
Either way—
He didn’t wake again.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Jake just sat there, holding him.
Making sure he was really asleep.
Making sure the breathing stayed steady.
Only when he was certain did he finally look up.
Norm exhaled slowly.
“He’s gonna need monitoring,” he said. “Those spinal punctures… I don’t like the look of them.”
“Yeah,” Jake muttered. “Me neither.”
Max crossed his arms, frowning.
“We’ll run bloodwork. See what they had him on.”
Jake nodded once.
“Do it.”
He carefully shifted, easing Spider down onto the bed.
The kid barely stirred.
Jake adjusted the blanket over him, tucking it in without really thinking about it.
Then—
Only then—
He tried to stand.
And immediately nearly went down.
“Whoa—hey!” Max caught him. “Easy, tough guy.”
Jake swore under his breath, gripping the edge of the cot as pain flared hard through his leg.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “I’m good.”
“No, you’re not,” Norm said flatly. “Sit down. Neytiri will kill us if we let you die.”
Jake hesitated.
Looked back at Spider.
Still asleep.
Still breathing steady.
Finally—
“…fine.”
He let them guide him to the next bed.
“About damn time,” Max muttered as he started assessing the arrow wound.
Jake barely listened.
His gaze stayed on Spider the entire time.
Even as they worked.
Even as they cleaned, irrigating the wound with a strong antiseptic solution, that caused him to hiss and mutter "Fuck!" as the burn was felt deep inside his leg as Max explained "It will help prevent deep-tissue infection," before he stitched and wrapped the leg.
Every so often, Spider shifted slightly in his sleep.
Every time, Jake’s attention snapped back fully.
Just in case.
Just to be sure that he was still there.
The lab had settled into a quieter rhythm.
Spider slept on the bed nearest the wall, a light blanket pulled up over his chest, bandages stark against bruised skin. His breathing had evened out under the medication, though every so often a faint twitch would pass through him—residual and restless.
Jake noticed every single one.
Even as Max finished working on his leg and his other scratches and smaller cuts.
Even as Norm moved back and forth between stations, running scans, prepping samples, pulling up data on a flickering screen.
Jake’s eyes never stayed away from the kid for long.
Max finished securing the final wrap around Jake’s leg.
“There,” he said. “You better not take that off.”
Jake snorted faintly. “Wasn’t planning to.”
“Good,” Max muttered.
Norm stepped closer, tablet in hand, expression tight.
“I’ve got some preliminary results,” he said.
Jake looked up immediately.
“Go on.”
Norm hesitated—just a fraction—then glanced toward the entrance.
“Where’s Neytiri?”
“She’ll be back soon,” Jake said. “Just say it.”
Almost on cue, Neytiri stepped in, her presence quiet but unmistakable. Her eyes went first to Jake—quick, assessing—then to Spider.
"I have returned the child to their father," she said solemnly. "He has been informed of the Tsahìk's passing."
Jake dropped his head with a nod.
"How is Spider?" she asked.
Norm exhaled slowly.
"The Blood panel’s incomplete, but we’ve got enough to be concerned.”
Jake’s posture sharpened.
“What did they give him?”
“Sedatives, definitely,” Max said, crossing his arms. “Heavy ones. Not just for procedures—these were repeated doses.”
Norm nodded. “There are also traces of something else. Harder to identify without a full breakdown, but… it looks like neurological agents. Possibly to suppress motor function.”
Jake’s jaw tightened.
“He said he couldn’t move.”
“Yeah,” Max said quietly. “That tracks, but it could be that it wasn't strong or they gave small doses, otherwise the kid wouldn't have been moving when you found him. That or he just was running on adrenalin.”
Neytiri’s gaze darkened, flicking again to Spider’s back where the bandages covered the puncture marks.
“And those puncture marks?" she asked, voice low with anger and disgust. "What did they do to him?”
Norm hesitated again—but this time, he didn’t soften it.
“They performed multiple lumbar punctures,” he said. “Spinal taps.”
Jake’s eyes flicked briefly to Spider.
Then back.
“But why?”
Norm shifted the tablet, pulling up a scan.
“Spinal fluid contains a lot of information—neurological markers, immune responses, whether they knew about the mycelium, I can't tell you that … but given the frequency—” He paused, choosing his words carefully, before he bit his lip, looking away, obviously finding it hard to say it out loud.
Max picked up where he left off.
“They were studying him. Probably trying to understand human adaptability on Pandora at a deeper level. Maybe even looking for ways to replicate it.”
Jake’s expression hardened.
“Using a child.”
“Yeah,” Max nodded, startling a little when Norm threw the tablet across one of the tables beind them.
Silence settled heavy for a moment.
Then Norm added, quieter—
“There’s more, Jake.”
Jake didn’t like tone of the voice he heard.
“Tell me,” Jake ordered, jaw clenching, already knowing he wouldn't like what he heard.
Norm glanced once at Spider—still asleep, still unaware—then back at Jake.
“There are indicators they may have extracted bone marrow as well.”
Neytiri frowned in confusion.
Jake went still.
“…how can you tell?”
“Certain markers in his blood,” Norm said. “And the pattern of inflammation we’re seeing. It’s not definitive yet—but combined with the spinal access points…”
Max shook his head slightly.
“It fits.”
Jake dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly through his nose.
“Jesus,” Jake muttered. He glanced up to look at both of the men in front of him. "I take it they didn't do it humanely?"
Norm looked pained as he shook his head.
"They weren't gentle about it," he said. "Which is likely why the kid's back looks like it's gone through a few rounds of pinata and wack-a-mole."
Neytiri stepped closer now, eyes fixed on Spider—not with the same open hostility as before, but something more conflicted. Sharper. Searching.
"I do not know either of those terms," she said, "But I do know that they treated him like… an animal."
Norm didn’t argue.
Jake did.
“No, worse.”
Max nodded, hands wringing and un-wringing, in his own anger.
"Why?" Neytiri waves at the boy. "Why do they want this... bone marrow?" she said, testing the words.
Norm shrugs.
"Multiple reasons - to look for blood abnormalities or disorders, microscopic examination of his cells, cytogenetic analysis, which is likely the main reason they took Spider's marrow, which focuses on genetic studies on the cells to identify specific mutations."
Neytiri hissed, but the anger seemed directed at the people who's studied Spider, than Norm and Max or the boy that laid in the bed nearby them.
"They are monsters," Neytiri's voice is clear with anger.
Norm shifted again, bringing their focus back
“We’ve started him on some broad-spectrum antibiotics,” he said. “Given the state of those wounds, infection is a real risk.”
Max nodded. “We hope his current cellular state, with his mycelium, will help, but we don't know how his body is adapting to this, and especially with the fact that we don't actually know fully what they exposed him to. His immune system’s already under a lot of stress right now.”
Jake glanced at the IV line now running into Spider’s arm.
“Right. That's good.”
“There’s also the psychological side,” Max added carefully.
Jake’s gaze snapped back to him.
“What about it?”
Max hesitated.
Norm didn’t.
“What happened out there” he said. “On the rock.”
Jake leaned back slightly, jaw tightening.
“He watched Quaritch jump.”
Max winced faintly.
“…and that was hard for him to accept that, especially after Quaritch stopped fighting you to save him?”
“Yeah,” Jake said bluntly. “Yeah, it was.”
Norm nodded slowly.
“That makes sense.”
Neytiri’s eyes flicked toward Jake.
“He was the enemy,” she said.
Jake looked at her.
Held her gaze.
“For us,” he nodded. “It's more complicated than that for him.”
A beat.
Then, quieter—
“Quaritch was the closest thing he had to a father.”
Neytiri didn’t respond immediately.
But she didn’t argue either.
Max spoke again, more gently.
“What you saw—his reaction—that wasn’t just grief. That was cumulative trauma. Prolonged captivity, repeated procedures, loss of control… and then witnessing a parental figure die - even if he wasn't his actual biological one— it was violent, and sudden.”
Norm nodded.
“His nervous system’s shot. He’s stuck in survival mode. That panic response earlier? That’s not going away overnight.”
Jake’s expression didn’t change—but something in his posture did.
Subtle.
Protective.
“So what do you suggest?”
Norm answered without hesitation.
“Stability. Control. Familiar faces. No surprises.”
Max added, “And patience. A lot of it.”
Jake glanced at Spider again.
“…he’s got it.”
It was a couple of hours later when Spider woke.
At first, it was small.
A shift.
A tightening of fingers against the blanket.
Then his breathing changed—shallow, uneven.
Jake noticed immediately.
He was already moving before Spider’s eyes fully opened.
“Hey,” he said quietly, leaning forward slightly. “Easy.”
Spider’s eyes snapped open.
Wide.
Disoriented.
For a split second, he didn’t recognize anything.
The room.
The light.
The sounds.
His breathing spiked instantly.
“No—” he gasped, trying to sit up too fast. “No, where—”
“Hey—HEY!—”
Jake caught him before he could rip the IV line out, one hand bracing his shoulder, the other steadying his arm.
“Spider, look at me.”
Panic.
Pure, unfiltered panic flooded the kid’s face.
“They—no, I didn’t—don’t!—” His voice broke, breath coming too fast. “Don’t let them, please!”
“Spider!—”
Jake’s tone cut through—firm, grounded.
“Look at me.”
It took a second.
Two.
Then—
Spider’s gaze locked onto his.
Still wild.
Still terrified.
But focused.
On him
“There you go,” Jake said, softer now. “You’re okay.”
Spider shook his head weakly.
“No—no, they—”
“They’re gone.”
A pause.
“They’re not here,” Jake continued. “You’re at High Camp. You’re safe.”
Spider’s breathing stuttered.
His eyes flicked around the room again—slower this time.
Taking it in.
Norm.
Max.
Familiar.
No uniforms.
No restraints.
No cold metal tables.
No tubes down his throat or needles being pushed into his spine.
His shoulders dropped—just slightly.
But the panic didn’t fully leave.
“…Jake?” he said, voice smaller now.
“I’m right here.”
Spider swallowed.
Then—without warning—he grabbed onto Jake again.
Hard.
Jake didn’t hesitate.
He moved closer, letting Spider pull himself in, one arm wrapping around him again just like before.
“I got you,” he murmured.
Spider’s breathing was still uneven, but it wasn’t spiraling anymore.
Not with Jake anchoring him.
After a moment, he spoke again.
“…hurts,” he admitted softly.
“Yeah,” Jake said quietly. “I know. You can have something for the pain soon.”
Spider shifted slightly—and immediately winced.
“Easy,” Jake said. “You’re pretty banged up.”
“…they—did stuff,” Spider said, voice distant again.
Jake’s grip tightened just a fraction.
“I know.”
A pause.
Then, softer—
“Wanna tell me what you remember?”
Spider didn’t answer right away.
His fingers twisted slightly in Jake’s shirt.
“…I was cold,” he said finally. “Couldn’t move. They… talked like I wasn’t there. Pushed something down my throat. A camera?”
Jake’s jaw clenched.
Spider’s voice dropped even lower.
“…I tried to fight it.”
Jake pressed his chin lightly to the top of his head.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know you did.”
Silence stretched.
Then Spider said something that hit harder than anything else—
“…he was there.”
Jake stilled.
“Quaritch?”
A small nod.
“…he didn’t stop it this time, not straight away.”
Jake exhaled slowly.
“…no,” he said. “He didn’t. I'm sorry, baby.”
Spider’s grip tightened again—but this time, it wasn’t panic.
It was something else.
Something heavier.
Confused.
Hurt.
Jake didn’t try to untangle it for him.
Didn’t rush it.
Just stayed there.
Present. As solid as he could be.
After a while, Spider’s breathing evened out again.
He wasn't asleep, but he appeared calmer.
More grounded.
Jake pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him.
“You hungry?”
Spider blinked.
Like the question didn’t make sense.
Then—
“…maybe.”
Jake huffed a quiet, almost-smile.
“Good. That’s a start.”
Across the room, Neytiri watched.
Silent.
Unreadable.
But not distant.
Not anymore.
Spider didn’t let go of Jake right away.
Even after his breathing settled. Even after the panic dulled into something quieter, more manageable—he stayed close, fingers still loosely hooked in the straps f Jake’s To'a Guard, like letting go might undo something important.
Jake didn’t rush him.
Didn’t pull away.
He just shifted enough to make it easier for the kid to sit up without straining too much.
“Careful,” he murmured as Spider moved. “You’re stitched together right now.”
Spider huffed faintly at that—barely there, but real.
“…feel like it,” he muttered. Spider glanced down to Jake's leg. "Looks like you are too."
Jake almost smiled.
Max returned with water and something resembling food—soft, easy, not much effort required.
“Alright,” he said, setting it down nearby. “Let’s try small bites. No heroics.”
Spider eyed it like he wasn’t entirely convinced food was a real concept anymore.
Jake nudged him lightly. “Gotta eat, kid.”
A pause.
Then Spider reached for it.
Slow.
Careful.
Like everything hurt.
Which, Jake knew, it probably did.
He kept a steadying hand at Spider’s back as he took the first few bites. Watched for any signs of nausea, dizziness—anything that looked off.
Spider managed a few mouthfuls before stopping.
“I can't eat anymore,” he said, pushing it away.
“That’s fine,” Max said quickly. “We’ll try again later.”
Spider nodded faintly.
His energy was already dipping again.
Jake noticed.
Of course he did.
He sat half on the bed, using it to rest his leg on it, arm out in invitation to Spider.
The boy didn't hesitate, just leant into Jake's side, and let himself be held.
It was quiet for a bit after that.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… heavy.
Full of things unsaid.
Spider’s gaze drifted eventually—not to the door, not to the others—but to the corner of the wall.
Unfocused.
Jake followed it for a second.
Then looked back at him.
“You thinking about what happened?” he asked quietly.
Spider didn’t pretend not to understand.
“…yeah.”
Jake nodded once.
“Yeah,” he signed in agreement.
A long pause.
Then—
“…he looked at me,” Spider said. "Just for a second."
Jake stilled slightly.
“Before he jumped.”
Jake didn’t interrupt.
Spider swallowed.
“…like he was gonna say something.”
His voice wavered—but didn’t break this time.
“…but he didn’t.”
Jake exhaled slowly.
“He made his choice,” he said, steady. Not harsh—but not sugarcoated either.
Spider’s jaw tightened slightly.
“…he didn’t have to do that.”
“No,” Jake agreed. “He didn’t, but he probably thought he ran out of choices.”
That seemed to land harder than if he’d argued.
"He could have just — stopped?," Spider shrugged against him. "He stopped fighting you to help me. And it wasn't the first time. I just don't understand him. He didn't want me to die, but he didn't mind me being used as a lab rat or think that I might mind seeing him jumping off a rock to his death?"
Spider looked down at his hands.
“…I know he wasn't the good guy," Spider said softly. "I know that. I just, I still—” He stopped.
Jake waited.
“…I still cared though,” Spider finished quietly.
There it was.
Jake didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” he said.
Spider blinked, like he hadn’t expected that answer.
"I'm sorry," Spider said. He tried to look away but Jake snagged his chin and held his gaze.
“That doesn’t make you wrong,” he said. “Doesn’t make you weak either.”
Spider’s throat worked slightly.
“…he wasn’t all bad,” he said, almost like he was testing the words.
Jake didn’t fully agree.
But he didn’t shut it down either. There'd been moments when he questioned it himself, seen glimpses of Quaritch — the recom — hesitating and it was in those moments that Jake had remembered that this Quaritch - this version - hadn't been the true Quaritch he had originally known and he wondered, if Neytiri and the kids hadn't shown up when they had, would it had gone down the way it had, in aftermath of of both them uniting to save the child they both cared about.
“Yeah, I know. He saved you, didn't he," Jake murmured, pushing the kid's hair back and swiping at the tears that had wet his cheeks.
"He wasn’t all good either,” Spider continues. "I know that."
Jake hums next to him, pulling Spider tighter against him.
Across the room, Neytiri finally moved.
It wasn’t abrupt.
Or aggressive.
But it was deliberate.
Spider noticed immediately.
His shoulders tensed—subtle, but unmistakable.
Jake caught it.
“Easy,” he murmured under his breath.
Neytiri stopped a few steps away.
Close enough to speak.
But far away enough not to crowd.
Her gaze rested on Spider for a long moment.
Not soft.
Not yet.
But not the same as before either.
“You are awake,” she said.
Spider nodded once.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t look away—but didn’t relax either.
Neytiri’s eyes flicked briefly to the bandages, the visible injuries.
Then back to his face.
“You are… injured.”
It wasn’t a question.
Spider let out a faint, humorless breath.
“…yeah.”
Silence stretched.
Jake stayed still between them—not blocking, not intervening.
Just… present.
Neytiri’s jaw tightened slightly.
“I saw,” she said finally. “What they did.”
Spider’s fingers twitched faintly against the blanket.
He didn’t respond.
Didn’t seem to know how.
Neytiri’s voice lowered—still firm, but less sharp.
“They treated you like an amimal.”
Spider flinched.
"Like bait."
Jake turned to look at her in warning.
“Neytiri—”
“I am not wrong,” she said, cutting him off—but not raising her voice.
“No,” Jake said. “But he doesn’t need to hear this right now.”
A beat.
Neytiri’s gaze lingered on Spider again.
Something shifted.
Not fully.
But enough.
“I wanted to remind you,” she said. "That I see you."
The words were careful.
With meaning.
Spider blinked.
Like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.
“…I know,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t acceptance.
But it wasn’t fear either.
And for now—
That was something.
Neytiri stepped back after that.
Not retreating.
Just… giving space.
Jake exhaled slowly, tension easing just a fraction.
Spider leaned back into him again without thinking.
Jake let him.
Later, when Spider’s energy dipped again and his eyelids started to droop, Jake shifted slightly.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Lie back.”
Spider didn’t argue this time.
Jake helped guide him down carefully, adjusting the blanket again, making sure nothing pulled or strained.
Spider winced slightly as he settled.
Then relaxed.
His hand found Jake’s wrist before he could pull away.
Not gripping.
Just… there.
Jake paused and Looked down at it.
Then back at Spider.
“I’ll be right here,” he said softly.
Spider nodded faintly but didn’t let go.
Jake didn’t make him either.
Spider fell asleep like that.
Hand still loosely wrapped around Jake’s wrist.
Jake sitting beside him.
Not moving.
Not leaving.
And this time—
When the kid slept, he didn’t look quite as alone.
Night settled over High Camp in layers.
The noise faded first—voices dimming, footsteps thinning out, the constant motion of the day finally slowing to something quieter, and more fragile.
Then the light followed.
Softening and cooling until the lab was lit mostly by low, steady panels and the faint glow of monitors.
Inside, things were still.
Mostly.
Spider slept.
But not peacefully.
It started small.
A twitch in his fingers.
A shift of his shoulders.
Then his breathing changed—subtle at first, but uneven. Too shallow. Too fast.
Jake noticed immediately.
He hadn’t moved from his spot.
Not really.
Even when Norm had tried to convince him to rest properly, Jake had just shifted enough to ease the strain on his leg—but stayed close enough.
So when the kid’s breathing hitched— Jake was already there.
“Hey…” he murmured quietly, leaning in slightly. “Easy.”
Spider didn’t wake.
But his body tensed.
His head turned sharply against the pillow, brow furrowing, lips parting like he was trying to speak.
“No—” he whined softly.
Jake’s expression tightened.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I hear you, kid.”
Spider’s hand suddenly clenched around his wrist. Hard.
Despite the slightly painful grip, Jake didn’t pull away.
Instead, he shifted closer, placing a steady hand on Spider’s shoulder—careful of the injuries, but firm enough to ground.
“You’re alright,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
Spider’s breathing spiked.
“No—don’t—” His voice cracked even in sleep. “Can’t—move—”
Jake closed his eyes briefly, feeling his own internal pain and rage at the mere thought of what those monsters had done to a child.
His child.
“Hey,” he said, a little louder now—but still calm. “Spider. Wake up, kid.”
Spider’s head thrashed slightly.
“Stop!—”
Jake moved fast.
One hand came up to cradle the side of his face.
“Spider—wake up. It’s me.”
A sharp inhale—
Spider’s eyes snapped open.
Wild.
Disoriented.
Trapped somewhere between then and now.
“NO!—” he gasped, trying to jerk away—but his body didn’t cooperate fully, pain and exhaustion slowing him down.
Spider whimpered either from pain or fear, or maybe a mixture of both.
Jake held steady.
“Hey! Hey—look at me.”
Spider’s gaze flicked around frantically—
Then locked.
On Jake.
Eyes widening in the realness.
On the Present.
“…Jake?” His voice broke on the name.
“Yeah,” Jake said immediately. “I’m right here.”
Spider sucked in a shaky breath.
Then another.
The panic didn’t vanish—but it cracked.
Just enough.
“They—” he choked. “I couldn’t—move—”
“I know,” Jake said. “You’re not there anymore though. You're safe here, with me.”
Spider’s chest heaved.
His hands shook.
Jake didn’t hesitate.
He slid one arm carefully around Spider’s shoulders and pulled him upright just enough to lean against him—mindful of every bandage and every injury.
“I got you,” he murmured.
Spider clung to him
No hesitation.
No resistance.
He just curled into Jake's chest, his face pressed into Jake’s shoulder, breath uneven and hot against his neck.
“They kept—” he tried, voice falling apart. “They put a tube down my throat. I Couldn’t breathe."
Jake tightened his hold just slightly.
“They’re not touching you now,” he said firmly. “Nobody’s touching you.”
Spider shook against him.
It wasn’t full sobbing—not like before—but it was close. Sharp, broken breaths and small, involuntary sounds.
Jake stayed steady through it.
One hand moved slowly through Spider’s hair, untangling dirt and knots without really thinking about it.
“You’re alright,” he repeated quietly. “Just a bad dream. You’re here. And you're safe.”
It took time.
Longer than Jake liked.
But eventually, the tension started to drain again.
Spider’s grip loosened.
His breathing slowed.
“…don’t wanna go back to sleep,” Spider muttered weakly.
Jake huffed softly.
“Yeah. I get that.”
Spider shifted slightly, wincing as he settled back against the pillows—but didn’t fully pull away from Jake.
"But sometimes that's what your body needs to heal."
“Will you stay?” he asked, voice small.
Jake didn’t even pause.
“Sure thing, I'm not going anywhere, kid.”
Spider nodded faintly.
He didn’t fall back asleep right away.
Jake could feel that.
Every time Spider’s breathing started to even out, it would hitch again—like his body didn’t quite trust itself yet.
Didn’t trust the quiet or the safety it promised.
Jake didn’t push it.
Didn’t tell him to sleep.
He just stayed.
Promising to be solid and Present. Something that wouldn’t disappear.
Eventually, the exhaustion won.
Spider’s head tipped slightly against Jake’s shoulder again, breathing evening out into something deeper this time.
Jake stayed exactly where he was.
“Ma’Jake.”
Neytiri’s voice was quiet—but it carried.
Jake glanced up.
She stood near the doorway, half-shadowed in the low light.
Watching.
He carefully shifted, easing Spider fully back onto the bed without waking him.
The kid stirred—but didn’t wake.
Jake made sure the blanket stayed in place before he stood—favoring one leg slightly, but managing.
He moved toward Neytiri.
Far enough that their voices wouldn’t carry.
Close enough that he could still see Spider clearly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—
“He cries for the enemy,” Neytiri said quietly.
It wasn’t an accusation.
Not fully.
But it wasn’t neutral either.
Jake leaned back slightly against the wall, exhaling through his nose.
“He cries for the only father he knew.”
Neytiri’s jaw tightened.
“You are his father?”
Jake didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze flicked back to Spider.
Small and Injured but finally still.
He remembered the child who'd climbed trees and played chase with his own kids all those years ago, who let Kiri and Lo'ak paint his body in stripes, who looked up at him, seeking out Jake's approval.
And all that time Jake had wasted. Had failed the boy.
He remembered how Spider had been on his knees in front of him, face turned up to look at him, cheeks wet with tears, the words 'dad' and 'do you still love me?' still heavy in the air and his own response back 'with all my heart' still ringing in his ears.
“…yeah,” he said. "I guess I am."
It was simple but certain.
There was no hesitation.
Neytiri studied him.
“That is not a small thing you claim.”
“I’m not just claiming it,” Jake said. “I’m doing it.”
A beat.
Then, more quietly—
“The kid’s been through hell. He needs someone in his corner.”
Neytiri’s gaze shifted again to Spider.
Lingering.
Longer this time.
“He is not one of the People,” she said.
“No,” Jake agreed. “He’s not.”
Silence.
Then—
“He is human,” she added.
There was weight in that word.
History.
Pain.
Jake didn’t deny it.
“Yeah,” he said. “He is.”
Another pause.
Then Neytiri spoke again—quieter now.
“But he is… ours.”
Jake looked at her.
That wasn’t what he expected.
“…yeah,” he said again, softer this time.
Neytiri’s expression didn’t fully soften.
But it shifted.
Slightly.
Enough.
“He is broken,” she said.
Jake exhaled.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
“Not beyond fixing,” she added.
Jake considered that. A small grin forming on his lips, pulling Neytiri to him
"We'll help him," he murmured into her neck.
"We will," Neytiri agreed.
Jake glanced back at Spider again.
Still asleep.
Still breathing steady.
He pushed off the wall.
“I’m gonna sit with him,” he said.
Neytiri didn’t stop him.
Outside, the night deepened.
Inside—
Something held.
Fragile.
Uncertain.
But real.
Morning came quietly.
Soft light filtered into the lab. The air carried that early stillness—before voices rose, before movement picked up, before the day fully began.
Spider was still asleep.
His breathing had shifted again—lighter now, closer to waking. Every so often his fingers twitched faintly against the blanket, like his body was testing itself.
Jake noticed.
He’d dozed, at most.
Not really slept.
The moment Spider stirred—
His eyes opened.
“Hey,” Jake said quietly.
Spider blinked.
Slow.
Disoriented—but not panicked this time.
“Morning?” he mumbled.
Jake huffed softly. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Spider shifted slightly—
—and immediately sucked in a sharp breath.
“Ah—!”
Jake was already moving.
“Easy—easy—don’t rush it.”
Spider’s face tightened as pain flared through his ribs, his back, his shoulder—everywhere at once, it seemed.
“…everything hurts,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “You took a big stumble. scraped yourself raw.”
Spider let his head fall back against the pillow, breathing through it.
“…feels worse today.”
Jake gave a small nod.
“Probably is. Adrenaline wore off.”
Spider groaned faintly.
“Great.”
That earned the faintest hint of a smirk from Jake.
A few minutes passed before Spider tried again.
This time, slower.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows—
—and froze.
Not from pain.
From something else.
“…my legs,” he said.
Jake’s attention sharpened instantly.
“What about them?”
Spider swallowed.
“…they feel… weird.”
Jake didn’t like that.
Not one bit.
“Define weird.”
Spider shifted slightly, testing.
“…heavy,” he said. “Like… there not all the way there, like they're numb.”
Jake’s jaw tightened.
“Can you move them?”
Spider nodded faintly.
“…yeah.”
“Do it.”
Carefully, Spider bent one knee.
Then the other.
Slow.
Controlled.
Jake watched every inch of it.
“Again.”
Spider did.
This time, a little easier.
"Okay,” Jake muttered, more to himself than anything. "That's good."
Spider noticed anyway.
“Is that bad?”
Jake didn’t lie.
“It's not good,” he said. “But it's not worst-case either.”
Spider exhaled slowly.
“…cool. cool cool cool.”
Jake almost laughed at that—but didn’t.
Norm stepped in not long after, tablet already in hand.
“Morning,” he said quietly.
Spider glanced at him—tense for a second, then easing when recognition clicked.
“Hey, Norm.”
“Hey, buddy.”
Norm approached carefully, same as before.
“How are you feeling?”
Spider gave him a flat look.
“…like I got hit by a big rock.”
Norm nodded with a laugh. “That checks out.”
Jake cut in.
“His legs feel off.”
Norm’s expression shifted immediately.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s take a look.”
Spider stiffened slightly.
Jake noticed.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Same deal as before. Nothing happens without you saying it’s okay.”
Spider hesitated.
Then nodded.
“…okay.”
The exam was more focused this time.
Neurological.
Norm tested reflexes first—light taps, watching for a response.
Then pressure.
“Tell me if this feels the same on both sides,” he said.
Spider nodded, concentrating.
“…yeah… yeah… wait—” He frowned slightly. “That one’s… duller.”
Norm glanced at Jake.
Jake didn’t like that look.
“It's likely temporary,” Norm said quickly. “Most likely inflammation from the spinal taps. Your body’s been through a lot.”
Spider didn’t look entirely convinced.
"So it’ll go away?”
Norm met his eyes.
“We’re going to monitor it, but honestly, this is probably the best case scenario we're looking at here," Norm said, looking between Spider and Jake. "They could have paralysed him with he force they used. It's only to be expected that there will be some swelling and related numbness. You just need some time for it to all settle down.”
It wasn't a promise.
But it was close enough.
Max joined shortly after, checking bandages, IV, and vitals.
“Infection markers are stable so far,” he said. “Antibiotics are doing their job.”
Spider made a face.
“…hate those,” he grumbled.
“Yeah,” Max said. “but unfortunately it's not optional.”
A little later, the rest of the kids filtered in.
Quietly.
Not with their usual energy.
Tuk was the first to reach the bed.
“Spider?” she asked softly.
Spider looked at her—and something in his expression softened immediately.
“Hey, Tuk-Tuk.”
She climbed up carefully, mindful of the space, and hugged him—gentle, but tight.
“I was scared,” she said into his shoulder.
Spider huffed faintly, wincing slightly but not pulling away.
“Yeah. Me too.”
Lo’ak hovered nearby, hands held awkwardly at his sides.
“Dude,” he said. “You look like crap.”
Spider snorted.
“Thanks, man.”
Kiri didn’t speak right away.
She just stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on Spider’s arm.
“I’m glad you’re here, Monkey Boy,” she said quietly.
Spider nodded.
“Me too.”
It was… easier, with them there.
Things felt lighter.
Jake saw it.
The way Spider’s shoulders weren’t as tight.
The way his breathing stayed more even.
The way he didn’t look quite as lost.
Neytiri arrived a little while later. moved differently this time.
She approached the bed slowly, her gaze fixed on Spider—not with suspicion, but with something far more complex.
Assessing.
Deciding.
Then—
She stepped close. Closer than before.
Spider held still. Didn’t pull away. He didn’t lean in either.
Just… waited.
Neytiri looked down at him for a long moment.
Then, She reached out, placing her hand lightly against the side of his head.
It wasn't forceful or invasive. Just… there.
Spider froze.
Jake tensed slightly—
Neytiri spoke.
“You are hurt,” she said.
Spider blinked.
“…yeah.”
A pause.
Then—
“You are ours.”
The words landed heavy.
Clear.
Certain.
No hesitation.
Jake felt it hit before Spider even processed it.
Spider’s breath caught.
Neytiri’s gaze didn’t waver.
“You are under our protection,” she said. “You are of this family.”
It was reluctant.
It was claimed.
Fully.
Even though he had already heard his wife say those words before Jake’s chest still tightened in warmth.
There it is.
Spider stared at her.
Like he didn’t quite believe it.
“…even though I’m… human?” he asked quietly. "A pink skin?"
Neytiri’s expression shifted—just slightly.
Less guarded.
More certain.
“You are his son,” she said, nodding toward Jake.
Then, after a beat—
“You are mine also.”
Silence.
Spider’s eyes filled and he swallowed hard.
“Okay,” he said, voice rough.
It wasn’t big or dramatic.
But it meant everything.
Neytiri’s hand shifted slightly—brushing back some of Spider’s hair, careful of the injuries.
It was awkward.
Unpracticed.
But intentional.
Tuk beamed.
Lo’ak looked relieved.
Kiri caught Spider's eyes and grinned.
After a moment, Neytiri straightened.
But she didn’t step away completely.
She stayed close.
They were all part of the space now and not outside it.
Spider leaned back slightly into the pillows again.
He wasn't tense or guarded.
He was more anchored now, Jake thought.
Jake rested a hand briefly against his shoulder.
“You did good,” he said quietly.
Spider glanced at him.
“…didn’t do anything,” Spider frowned.
Jake shook his head, smiling, glancing between Spider and Neytiri.
“Yeah, you did.”
For the first time since the rock—
Spider didn’t look like he was about to fall apart.
Spider sat on the edge of the cot, shoulders slightly hunched, jaw tight with focus.
“Alright,” Norm said, crouched in front of him. “Slow and steady. Just stand.”
Spider nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, sounding unsure. "Okay. Yeah."
Jake stood close—close enough to catch him if needed, one hand hovering just behind his back.
“Take your time,” he said.
Spider planted his feet.
Pushed up—
—and stiffened as his weight settled through his legs.
A flicker of pain crossed his face.
But his legs didn't collapse from underneath him and he didn’t drop or falter.
Jake let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “You got it.”
Spider swallowed.
“It hurts a bit.”
Norm nodded. “That’s expected. It'll ease off.”
“Define expected,” Jake muttered.
Norm glanced up.
“Residual inflammation along the lumbar region,” he said. “Plus general trauma from the fall and all the the procedures he's been put through. His body’s still recovering.”
Spider shifted slightly.
"It feels like my back’s on fire.”
“Also expected,” Max added from behind the console. “It's annoying, but not dangerous.”
Spider huffed faintly.
“Cool. Love that for me.”
Jake almost smiled again.
“Alright,” Norm continued. “Take a step.”
Spider hesitated.
Jake spoke quietly.
“I’m right here.”
That was enough.
Spider lifted one foot.
Set it down.
Then the other.
Slow and stiff. But controlled. By Spider.
“Good,” Norm said. “Again.”
They repeated it—step by step, pace careful, deliberate.
Spider’s gait wasn’t smooth.
There was a slight hitch—especially on the right side.
But the numbness…
It was less.
Jake could see it.
“So?” Jake asked.
Norm stood, thoughtful.
“The numbness has improved?” he asked Spider.
Spider nodded.
“That’s a really good sign. Means we’re not looking at permanent nerve damage.”
Jake nodded once, giving Spider a reassuring smile.
“What about the pain?” he asked.
“It's probably going to linger for a bit,” Max said. “Inflammation, bruising, healing tissue… all stacked on top of each other.”
Spider stopped after a few more steps, exhaling.
“Everything’s stiff.”
Jake stepped in closer, steadying him lightly as he shifted his weight.
“Yeah,” he said. “You took a pretty big fall.”
Spider gave him a sideways look.
“Understatement of the year.”
They got him back to the bed after that.
Not because he couldn’t keep going—
But because Jake said so.
“That’s enough for now.”
Spider didn’t argue.
That alone told Jake how tired he really was.
Norm checked his back again afterward, more carefully this time.
The bandages were peeled back just enough to assess.
The puncture marks were still angry—but less swollen.
“That’s an improvement,” Norm said. “The Inflammation’s going down.”
Jake leaned over slightly to get a better look.
“Risk of infection?”
“Lower now,” Max said. “The antibiotics are doing their job.”
Spider shifted slightly as the bandages were replaced.
“Still hurts,” Spider whined, hissing as Norm tightened and fastened the bandges.
Norm gave a small, sympathetic nod.
“I know, bud. It will for a bit.”
Eventually, Norm and Max stepped away to update logs and run follow-up tests.
The lab quieted again with just Just Jake and Spider left behind.
Spider leaned back against the back of his bed instead of lying down, one leg stretched slightly, the other bent.
Jake sat nearby.
Watching. Waiting. Not pushing, seeing the troubled and questioning frown form on the boy's face.
It was Spider who eventually broke the silence.
"You hated him.”
Jake didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t hate him.”
Spider glanced at him.
“Really?”
Jake leaned back slightly in his chair.
“I hated what he did,” he said. “What he stood for. The things he was willing to do.”
A pause.
“Same difference,” Spider shrugged, picking at a lose thread on the blanket.
Jake shook his head.
“Not always.”
Spider frowned faintly.
Jake continued.
"You hated all those things to," Jake pointed out. "Did you hate him too?"
"Sometimes," Spider shrugged again. "Not always."
Jake nodded.
“He was a soldier,” he said. “Followed orders. Had to make difficult choices. I get that. Some of them were... bad ones.”
"You were a soldier too. You chose not to follow your orders."
"I guess that's where the difference was," Jake agreed. "I couldn't follow through on something that didn't sit right with me."
Spider nodded, returning to pick at the same thread, letting out a quiet breath.
“…He wasn’t like it all the time.”
Jake didn’t dismiss it.
“Yeah.”
Spider picked at a loose thread on the blanket.
“…He taught me stuff.”
Jake’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Like what?”
Spider shrugged one shoulder.
“…how to track. How to move more quietly. How to… survive a bit more than I was, I guess.”
Jake huffed faintly.
“Yeah. Sounds like him.”
A pause.
Then—
“…he called me ‘kid,’ a lot” Spider added.
Jake’s expression shifted—just slightly.
“…yeah.”
Spider swallowed.
“…no one else really…” He trailed off. "I know you're calling me that now, but you never did a lot before, you know. I don't know—" he shrugged again. "It was nice, is all."
"I'm sorry," Jake said.
Spider lifted his head, confusion marring his face.
"Why?"
"Because, I wasn't there, before, when i should have been. I didn't really see it before—" he paused, reaching out to snag Spider's hand, stilling his thread pulling. "But you were always my kid. Right there, from the beginning. When you were climbing those trees and you broke your arm falling out of one," he paused and smiled wetly when Spider snorts, eyes lighting up at the memory. He squeezed Spider's hand with his own. "When you were sat with us, painting your body, eating with us, choosing us, sleeping amongst my children like you were my own, protecting my kids like they were your own siblings. You were always mine, Spider. I just didn't see it straight away."
Spider nodded, squeezed Jake;s hand back.
"And I meant what I said before, baby. I love you with all my heart."
Spider's lip wobbled at the words, face crumpling.
"C'mere, kid—" Jake asked, arms out in invitation.
Spider didn't hesitate, as he launched himself into Jake's embrace.
"I'm thankful for one thing about Quaritch," Jake said, face pressed into the top of Spider's hair. "He cared enough to save you. More than once, enough to work with me for you. Meant that he still had a heart in him. You should remember that."
Silence stretched again.
But it wasn't empty this time.
Just… heavy and processing.
“I left him,” Spider said finally, words muffled against Jake.
Jake looked down at him.
"When?"
“After the ship, after 'Teyam", Spider admitted. “He asked me to go with him…I could’ve stayed, but i didn't.”
Jake didn’t sugarcoat it.
“Yeah,” he said. “You could have.”
Spider’s jaw tightened.
“…does that make me a bad person? That I rejected my own father.”
Jake answered immediately.
“No.”
Spider blinked.
Jake leaned forward slightly.
“You chose where you belong, where you wanted to be,” he said. “That’s not a bad thing.”
Spider looked down.
“He didn't seem to mind that I—”
Spider’s voice dropped.
“… I picked you over him.”
Jake exhaled slowly.
“I guess you did.”
Spider flinched.
Jake didn’t back off—but his tone stayed steady.
“And that was your call to make.”
A beat.
Spider didn’t respond.
"You don't have to make the same decisions as Quaritch just because he was your father."
"But he wasn't actually my dad - he just had the memories of the man who was supposed to be my dad."
"Does that change anything?" Jake asked, looking down at him.
"I don't know!" Spider shrugged voice bordering on frustration. "He didn't actually do all those things that my dad did to you and all those people all those years ago, but he had the memories of them, and I just wonder, you know — how much of it? Of him? You know? — was my dad? Or another version, that might not have been as bad, but was still bad - just not as bad—"
Jake could tell Spider was starting to spiral.
"Hey, now—" Jake started.
"I just want to know if he actually loved me," Spider finished.
Jake continued, quieter now.
“I'm sorry," Jake finally says, softly, tightening his hold on the boy. "It sucks and still hurts.”
That landed.
Spider’s shoulders dropped slightly.
“Yeah,” he said softly.
"But for what it's worth," Jake continued. "I think he did."
Jake shifted his weight, wincing faintly as his leg reminded him it still existed.
Spider noticed.
“…you should be lying down,” he said.
Jake snorted.
“Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you.”
Spider huffed faintly.
“…I am lying down.”
“Not convincingly.”
Another quiet stretch passed.
Then—
“You both really mean it?” Spider asked.
Jake glanced at him.
“Mean what?”
“…what Neytiri said.”
Jake didn’t need clarification.
“Yeah,” he said.
Spider searched his face.
“…I’m… part of it? Part of your family? Claimed?”
Jake held his gaze.
“You’ve been part of it,” he said. “We just didn’t know it yet.”
Spider’s throat worked slightly.
“Even before?”
Jake nodded once.
“Yeah, baby. From thee beginning,” he said again.
Spider leaned his head back against the wall.
Let out a slow breath.
“I really want that.”
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t break.
They just both… sat with it and let it sink in and settle.
Jake watched him for a moment longer.
Then reached out—brief, solid—and squeezed his shoulder.
Spider leaned into the touch.
Outside, the day carried on.
Inside—
Things were still healing.
Still raw.
Still complicated.
But steadier.
And for the first time—
Spider didn’t feel like he was standing between two worlds.
Once Norm and Max were happy with Spider's progress, the numbness slowly fading, and Jake's leg showed it was healing well, they were given the all clear to return home.
They didn’t rush the journey back.
The sky stretched wide and open above them, soft with the late afternoon light, the wind calmer than it had been the day before. The world felt… quieter. Like even Pandora itself was holding its breath after everything that had happened.
Jake rode at the rear.
Not because he had to.
Because he chose to.
Spider sat in front of him again—same as before—but different now.
There was no rigid tension in his spine, no forced independence. No pretending he didn’t need the support, no injuries that made him lax in his arms.
He leaned back into Jake because he wanted to.
Not heavily—but just enough to show that the boy was seeking the touch and presence of Jake.
Enough that Jake could feel it. The trust.
Spider’s head rested just slightly off to one side, occasionally dipping when the rhythm of the flight pulled at the lethargy that was still there. His body was still a little stiff, still sore—every movement careful, every breath measured—but he wasn’t fighting it anymore.
Jake kept one arm secure around him the entire time.
Every now and then, Spider’s hand would shift—lightly brushing Jake’s arm, or gripping briefly when a sharper jolt of pain hit.
Every time—
Jake tightened his hold, just a fraction.
No words were needed between them.
Ahead of them, Neytiri led.
Her posture was steady, unyielding—but there was a difference there too. Subtle and grounded.
Not just leading the way home.
Leading them as a family.
Tuk rode with Lo’ak, quieter than usual but still occasionally leaning forward to point at something below, whispering softly, sometimes calling out for Spider or Kiri to look too. Kiri stayed close, glancing back more often than not—checking, always checking that Spider was still there.
The coastline came into view slowly—wide waters stretching into the horizon, the familiar curve of the reefs, the distant forms of the Metkayina structures rising from the sea.
Home.
Or something close enough to it.
Spider lifted his head slightly when he saw it.
“We’re back?” he murmured.
Jake nodded behind him.
“Yeah, kid. We are.”
Spider didn’t say anything else.
They were spotted before they even landed.
Movement rippled through the village—figures gathering along the shallows and shoreline, voices carrying faintly over the water.
Concern.
Curiosity.
Recognition.
Jake hit the sand heavier than he would’ve liked, biting back the flare of pain in his leg as he dismounted. He didn’t let go of Spider immediately—steadying him first as the boy slid down carefully.
Spider staggered slightly when his feet hit the ground.
Jake caught him.
“Easy.”
“…I’m good,” Spider muttered—but he didn’t pull away .
The Metkayina gathered quickly.
Among them, Tonowari stepped forward, his presence commanding but calm.
His gaze went first to Jake.
The bandaged leg.
The strain in his posture.
Then—
To Spider.
And he paused.
Really looked.
At the cuts.
The stiffness.
The exhaustion etched into every line of the boy’s body.
Something in his expression shifted.
“The boy is injured,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Jake nodded.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
Then Tonowari’s gaze sharpened with a frown.
“He was with the enemy?”
The tone was not accusing.
The air around them tightened just a fraction.
Spider felt it.
Jake felt him feel it.
His hand settled more firmly at the kid’s shoulder.
Grounding him
Claiming him.
"Not by choice."
He stepped forward.
Just enough.
Tonowari held his gaze.
Jake didn’t waver.
“He’s been claimed,” Jake said, voice steady, carrying just enough for those closest to hear. He gestured back to Neytiri, who offered a nod back in acknowledgement. "By both of us."
A ripple moved through the gathered Metkayina.
Jake didn’t stop there.
“He is of the Sully's now. He’s family.”
It sounded so simple, but meant so much, not just to Spider, but to the whole of the Metkayina village.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
Tonowari gave a single, slow nod of acceptance.
For now—
That was enough.
The tension broke, enough for movement to resume—for space to open—for the family to pass through without resistance, Spider pulled into Jake's side, his arm around the boy.
Neytiri didn’t look back.
She didn’t need to.
Her place was clear, on Spider's opposite side, hand resting on his shoulder as they walked, the children following behind.
By the time night fell, the world had softened again.
The sounds of the village quieted, replaced by the steady rhythm of water and wind. Bio-luminescent light shimmered faintly along the edges of the structures, casting everything in soft blues and greens.
Inside their shared space, things were… still..
Finally peaceful.
As though everything had slotted right into place.
They settled close as they prepared for bed.
Closer than usual.
Not by demands or soft reprimands.
By instinct.
Tuk curled up first, tucked securely between Kiri and Neytiri, already half-asleep before she even stopped talking. Lo’ak stretched out nearby, one arm thrown over his eyes—but still angled toward the rest of the family.
Kiri stayed upright a little longer, watching Spider quietly until she was satistified with whatever she had seen, curling into her side and tugging Tuk a little closer.
Spider sat at first.
Back against one of the woven supports, legs stretched carefully in front of him.
He was tired. Bone tired in a good way.
But with it came that deep, bone-heavy exhaustion that no amount of rest seemed to touch right away.
But he wasn’t alone in it.
Jake settled down beside him with a quiet grunt, stretching his injured leg out carefully.
“Feel better?” he asked.
Spider shrugged slightly.
“My body is... less on fire?”
Jake snorted.
“I’ll take that.”
There was a pause.
It was soft and comfortable.
Then—
Spider spoke.
“…you really meant it, right?”
Jake glanced at him.
“Which part?”
“…what you said out there.”
Jake looked at him with a soft, sad smile .
“Yeah,” he said. "I meant every word."
Spider picked lightly at the edge of the woven blanket beneath them.
“…even if I’m not—” He hesitated. “You know.”
“Not what?”
He waved at him “…not… like you guys.”
Jake leaned back slightly, considering him. Spider felt Jake snake his arm around him, tugging him into his warm side.
“Family isn’t about looking the same.”
Spider glanced at him.
Jake continued.
“It’s not even about blood, most of the time.”
A beat.
“It’s about who shows up.”
Spider stilled slightly.
Jake’s voice softened—but didn’t lose its weight.
“And who stays.”
Spider swallowed.
“…even if they mess up?” Spider asks. "Or have a really evil dad who tried to kill you a bunch of times.
Jake laughed, head tilted back.
“Especially then,” Jake snorts, tugging Spider closer to plant a kiss on top of Spider's, now freshly cleaned, hair.
Spider let that sit.
“…I hate him,” he said again, quieter this time.
Jake lifted Spider's chin up with his hand and didn’t look away.
“I know,” Jake told him. "And that's okay."
Spider’s voice dropped.
“…and I still miss him.”
Jake nodded once.
“Yeah. and that's okay too.”
A pause.
Then—
“You can miss someone,” Jake said, “and still know they weren’t completely good for you.”
Spider’s brow furrowed slightly.
“That’s… complicated.”
Jake smirked faintly.
“Most families are."
That earned a small, tired laugh.
Barely there, but real.
After a while, Spider shifted—carefully lowering himself down, wincing slightly as he settled.
This time—
He didn’t hesitate. Initiated it instead of Jake.
He ended up close, not quite tucked against Jake—but near enough that the contact was easy and natural.
Jake adjusted immediately, as he too shifted to lay down, one arm resting lightly nearby—not pulling him in, but not leaving space either. Ready to make contact if he needed or receive it if Spider decided to lean into it.
Across from them, Neytiri watched.
For a long moment.
Then—
She reached out.
Not to Jake.
Not to the other children.
To Spider.
Her hand rested lightly against his ankle.
A quiet, grounding touch.
Spider stilled.
Then relaxed into it.
The space settled around them.
Their breathing slowed.
The weight of the day—of everything—finally began to ease.
And for the first time since the battle—
Since the rock.
Since the fall—
Spider slept.
Not from exhaustion alone.
Not from sedation.
But from something else.
Something steadier.
Belonging.
Jake didn’t move.
He didn’t sleep right away.
He just sat there for a while—feeling the quiet, the closeness, the fragile rightness of it.
Family.
It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't even simple.
But it was real.
And that was enough.