Chapter Text
Pandora’s air burned.
Not immediately. Not dramatically. Just enough that Spider felt it in the back of his throat the moment his mask seal slipped a fraction too loose.
He fixed it without thinking, fingers moving on muscle memory as he crossed the Metkayina platform. The filter hissed softly as it corrected, oxygen flooding back into his lungs.
He didn’t slow.
He didn’t look around.
He didn’t want anyone to notice.
Spider had learned, after Quaritch, that being noticed was dangerous.
The village moved around him in bright, living color — Na’vi voices rising and falling, the reef breathing beneath the platforms, children darting between adults like schools of fish. It was beautiful.
It wasn’t his.
He stayed to the edges. Stayed useful. Stayed quiet.
Jake Sully noticed anyway.
He always did.
Jake stood near the central platform, broad shoulders tense beneath his gear, speaking with Tonowari. From a distance, Spider could see the way Jake’s posture shifted — leader first, warrior second, father always somewhere underneath.
Jake laughed at something Tonowari said.
It was brief. Soft.
Spider flinched anyway.
That laugh didn’t belong to him.
Spider turned away before Jake’s gaze could land on him.
He didn’t want to be seen today.
It had been three weeks since Quaritch.
Three weeks since metal walls and restraints and a voice that knew exactly where to cut.
Three weeks since Spider had come back thinner, quieter, and hollowed out in places he didn’t have names for.
They hadn’t talked about it.
No one had.
Spider preferred it that way.
He slept alone now, in a smaller hut near the edge of the village — a compromise that let everyone pretend he was fine.
He woke from nightmares choking on air, mask screaming alarms until he slapped it silent.
He didn’t scream anymore.
That had only happened once.
Jake had heard it.
Jake found him that night without asking.
Spider woke to a shadow filling the doorway, massive and unmistakable. Jake had crouched to fit inside the hut, shoulders nearly brushing the woven ceiling.
“You screamed,” Jake said quietly.
Spider shook his head. “No.”
Jake didn’t argue.
He just watched Spider with that infuriating stillness, like he was waiting for Spider to bolt.
Spider pulled his knees closer to his chest. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Jake’s eyes sharpened. “Why.”
Spider swallowed. “Because you don’t need to worry about me.”
Jake leaned one elbow against the frame. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
Spider laughed under his breath, brittle. “You didn’t worry when they took me.”
The words slipped out sharp and ugly.
Jake went very still.
“I know,” Jake said.
Spider stared at him, chest tight. “No you don’t.”
Jake’s jaw flexed. “I do.”
Spider wanted to scream.
Instead, he curled inward.
Jake stepped inside fully, blocking the doorway behind him — not trapping Spider, but making a point.
“You’re not sleeping alone anymore,” Jake said.
Spider’s heart slammed. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Jake’s voice stayed calm. “I do.”
Spider shook his head. “I don’t belong—”
“Stop,” Jake cut in, firm. “You’re not expendable.”
Spider laughed, hollow. “You sure?”
Jake looked at him like the question hurt.
“You came back,” Jake said. “That means something.”
Spider whispered, “I always come back.”
Jake’s eyes darkened. “Not like this.”
Silence stretched.
Then Jake added, quieter, “Pack your things.”
Spider stared. “What.”
“You’re sleeping in my hut,” Jake said. “Where I can hear you.”
Spider’s throat burned. “Why.”
Jake didn’t soften it. “Because I’m not losing another kid.”
Spider didn’t argue.
He didn’t trust himself to.
---
Living in Jake Sully’s hut was worse than being alone.
Because Jake’s family loved each other openly.
Jake touched his kids constantly — a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder, fingers tugging Kiri close, murmuring “babygirl” without thinking. Neytiri brushed past him and Jake’s hand found her hip automatically, familiar and intimate.
Spider watched from his mat and told himself it didn’t matter.
He wasn’t jealous.
He was just… aware.
Jake didn’t touch him like that.
Jake gave him rules instead.
Eat.
Rest.
Stay where I can see you.
Wear your mask properly.
Spider followed every one.
He didn’t complain.
He didn’t argue.
He didn’t ask questions.
Jake noticed that too.
“You’re grounded,” Jake said one morning, voice even.
Spider stiffened. “From what.”
“Being alone,” Jake replied.
Spider laughed, sharp. “That’s not grounding. That’s control.”
Jake met his gaze. “Call it what you want.”
The rules stacked up quickly.
No skiffs.
No reef edge.
No leaving the village without permission.
Jake enforced them publicly, calmly, without apology.
Spider hated it.
Because every rule felt like a reminder:
You don’t trust me.
You’re afraid I’ll mess this up.
I’m temporary.
He didn’t say any of that.
He just followed the rules harder.
That afternoon, Jake corrected a Metkayina woman who questioned Spider’s presence.
“He’s under my protection,” Jake said, loud enough for others to hear.
Spider’s face burned.
Later, Tonowari asked gently if Jake was certain.
Jake answered, without hesitation, “Yes.”
Ronal challenged him openly.
Jake stood his ground.
Spider stood behind him, shaking.
That night, Neytiri accused Jake of choosing Spider over their grief.
Jake didn’t raise his voice.
“He’s a child,” Jake said. “And he’s staying.”
Spider lay on his mat listening, heart in his throat, certain this was the moment it would end.
It didn’t.
Jake came back inside and said only, “You’re not in trouble.”
Spider whispered, “For now.”
Jake looked at him sharply. “For always.”
Spider didn’t believe him.
Not yet.