Chapter Text
Spider’s eyes snapped open.
This wasn’t the first nightmare that had jolted him awake, heart pounding uncomfortably against his ribcage. Still, they always managed to disorient him for a few seconds as his eyes darted around the marui, desperately reminding himself it was just a dream.
Sometimes, it was RDA strapping him into that machine again, the pain searing his skull like it was being ripped in half. Sometimes it was Jake slitting his throat with a knife. Sometimes Neytiri. Other times it was Quaritch and his group torturing innocent Metekayina while on their search for Jake. Sometimes it was watching Neteyam die all over again, gasping and choking in a pool of his own blood.
Sometimes it was a combination of everything. Blurring and twisting out of order like intertwining streams. Those nights were the worst.
A lump had formed in his throat, not exactly helping his labored breathing. His eyes scanned the other hammocks, instinctively checking that his family was safe.
Jake and Neytiri were pressed together in their woven bed, her face nuzzled into his neck. Kiri slept with her body curling on itself, muttering a quiet string of nonsense before sighing and going silent. Tuk was sprawled out in her own hammock, one leg hanging out and her limbs twisted and tangled unnaturally. Lo’ak’s hammock was at the far end.
Sitting beside the one that used to belong to Neteyam.
Both Neytiri and Lo’ak had refused to get rid of it after he died. When Jake suggested taking it down, Neytiri had snapped that it was like erasing his memory from their home. Lo’ak quietly murmured something about still feeling his presence there at night. Jake didn’t press any further.
Spider swallowed past the lump in his throat, a pang of something uncomfortable striking him in the chest. He tried to blink away the unpleasant images forming in his head, the sounds from both nightmares and memories echoing sharply.
Just then, Spider heard a quiet whimper from the other side of the marui. He froze, straining his human ears for another sound, scanning each hammock and doorway for the source. Then came another one, followed by the sound of shallow breathing and someone twisting and turning in their bed.
He squinted through the dark, gaze trained in the direction of the sound. And sure enough, Lo’ak’s hammock rocked and bounced as he shifted repeatedly. Spider frowned in concern.
He wasn’t the only one that had nightmares, especially not in a family that had survived a war. But he’d never seen Lo’ak jolt awake like he or Tuk sometimes would. Never watched him get up and sit quietly by the door like Kiri. He didn’t ever mention anything over breakfast like the rest of the family. He’d hoped that his brother was spared from being haunted in his dreams.
That hope was destroyed just a moment later when Lo’ak suddenly jumped upright. His hammock swung with the motion, gently knocking into the painfully empty bed beside it. His familiar yellow eyes glowed in the darkness, wide and glazed over with fear and confusion.
Spider stayed quiet and still, watching. Part of him wanted to ask his brother if he was okay, to go and comfort him like Neteyam or Jake would do. But the other part of him was afraid of startling him, knowing he would just be another demon face in the haze of a nightmare.
So he stayed put, observing. Lo’ak seemed to have re-oriented himself, swinging his legs over the edge of the hammock. For a moment he just sat there, breaths shaky, but slow and intentional.
His gaze trailed to the empty woven bed. Spider’s breath hitched as Lo’ak reached out, brushing the soft, expertly crafted material. His hand paused, and Spider immediately recognized the look that crossed his face.
It was the same one Neytiri wore when Neteyam was lowered into the Cove of the Ancestors. The one Jake tried to hide when Tuk, babbling about her day, turned to brag to her brother and was met with empty space.
Grief. Pure and raw and overwhelming. Spider had to avert his eyes from his brother’s broken expression, clenching his jaw against the pain that stabbed his heart. There was a creak as Lo’ak’s hammock suddenly shifted, and Spider brought his gaze back. Lo’ak stood, sharp and sudden and crossed the room. He was out the marui before the human boy could blink.
Spider stared after him for a long moment. He considered just waiting until Lo’ak came back, giving him some time alone. But the older brother part of him quickly won that battle. Eywa knew what was lurking out there, and Lo’ak wasn’t exactly one for caution.
Following his brother was what Neteyam would have done.
Spider pushed himself up, climbing out of his hammock clumsily. His bare feet hit the ground with a thwack that felt too loud in the quiet, echoing in his ears. He froze, holding his breath as his eyes flitted to each of the Sully’s, bracing for someone to wake.
No one moved.
He exhaled, muscles relaxing as he all but sprinted for the exit. The night air hit his face, cooler than inside the marui and carrying an extra seawater tang. The ocean was louder too, rolling and lapping gently at the walkway.
Spider squinted, scanning the horizon. The moons hanging in the sky illuminated the walking path in patches, other marui casting long shadows. The huge trees of which the village was built on sprawled far above his head.
Lo’ak had only left a few minutes earlier, but being a couple heads taller made him faster. A lot faster. He could cover twice the distance walking that Spider could.
So he did the only logical thing that came to mind. He ran.
He’d always loved running, ever since he was a kid. He’d loved pushing himself as fast as possible, until it felt like his legs were flying beneath him. Norm and the others would always joke about how he could never stay still, how when he was in the forest he was a Na’vi born in human skin.
But now he could feel like that was actually true. Without a mask pressed against his face, he could close his eyes and pretend he was true Na’vi. Could feel the wind rushing across his face, taste the ocean scent flowing into his open mouth, feel the warm presence of Eywa all around him. For what might’ve been the hundredth time, Spider silently thanked the Great Mother for her gift.
His bare feet slapped the damp ground, hair flapping wildly against his face. Each breath pulled sharp and clear into his lungs, something he still wasn’t used to. For a few moments, he almost forgot why he was running. It felt good. Free.
He finally slowed as he reached the edge of the village, where the marui pods thinned and the treeroot walkway disappeared into sand. Water pooled in his eyes, dry from the wind, and he rubbed at them with his fist roughly.
As his vision cleared, he caught sight of a familiar silhouette across the dunes. Lo’ak sat at the edge of the water, knees pulled tightly against his chest. His braids fell in a loose curtain around his head, shielding his face.
Spider paused at the edge of the sand, still catching his breath. His chest rose and fell quickly, reminding him once again of the lack of filtered, sterile air. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should be doing this. If maybe trying to fill Neteyam’s role of older brother was something he shouldn’t do. Maybe he should just head back to the marui and let Lo’ak sort things out on his own.
Skxawng! The voice is so startlingly like Neteyam’s that his breath hitches for a moment, even though he’s aware it’s just in his head. So against his better judgement, he moved to cross the beach, stumbling a little as his feet sunk into the sand. The grains were soft against his exposed, leathery skin. The ocean tang intensified, filling his mouth and nose until the air was thick with it.
He cleared his throat as he came up behind Lo’ak, causing the Na’vi boy to flinch. He didn't look up however, so Spider sat beside him, legs stretched out so the water lapped at his calves. “Hey bro.”
His brother didn’t answer. Instead he just nodded in recognition, carving patterns into the sand with his finger and wiping them away. His eyes didn’t move from the sand, distant but betraying no emotion.
After a moment, Lo’ak cleared his throat quietly. “How much did you see?”
Spider shrugged, opening his mouth and then closing it again. “All of it,” he admitted after a moment, trying to keep his tone light.
“Oh. Great,” Lo’ak sighed, jaw clenching as he buried his chin back in his knees. His skin looked silvery-purple in the moonlight, pale blue freckles glowing like tiny stars.
“Nightmare?” He asked quietly, albeit a bit awkward.
Lo’ak didn’t answer, fingers resuming their pattern in the sand, staying stubbornly silent. He sighed, reaching into the silence as if Eywa would tell him what to say, but emerging with nothing.
Though Spider was older than the Sully kids, he didn’t feel like it. He was never given the kind of responsibility that the other boys his age had, although he recognized why. He was human.
Neteyam was always the leader of their group. The level-headed protector. The one who could always mediate spats between his siblings or get the older kids to stop picking on Spider. He would have known how to reach their brother.
What would he say?
Spider could still picture the way Neteyam would sit between him and Lo’ak whenever they argued, one hand on each of their shoulders, smiling in affectionate exasperation. How calm and warm his voice would be as he talked sense into their thick skulls. He’d never seemed unsure.
Spider was unsure all the fucking time.
“Do you…wanna tell me about it?” His voice cracked in the middle, the attempt at a Neteyam-esque voice failing miserably.
His brother pointedly looked away, stubborn as always. Exasperated, he rolled his eyes, leaning back as he propped himself on his hands. “Come on bro. Don’t be a skxawng.”
“Then stop,” Lo’ak retorted, scowling as his tail lashed behind him.
“Stop what?”
“Pushing!” His brother snapped, finally lifting his head to meet Spider’s gaze. His golden eyes blazed with anger and something else unreadable. “Acting like you understand! You don’t!”
He scowled at the younger Na’vi, back straightening as he met Lo’ak’s gaze. “Who says I don’t understand? Why do you think I was awake in the middle of the night?”
Lo’ak clenched his jaw, defiance and something like fear swimming in his gaze. “We’re not the same, Spider.”
He flinched, the words piercing his chest even though he knew his brother wasn’t referring to their difference in species. “And how do you know that?” he retorted, voice sharp with hurt.
Lo’ak stood, explosive and sudden, hands balled into fists at his sides. “Because you didn’t try to put a bullet through your head!”
Spider froze, icy cold shock spreading through his veins. The world seemed to tilt sideways, the words stabbing him in the ribs. For a second, he couldn’t breathe. A bullet through his head. Lo’ak. The two thoughts refused to fit together.
Lo’ak’s eyes widened with regret, fists loosening in defeat. His whole body tensed like he was bracing for a palulukan attack. Neither of them moved or spoke.
He swallowed, an old memory dragging itself to the surface as an unfamiliar word echoed against his skull.
Suicide.
One of the guys at Hell’s Gate died unexpectedly. Spider was nine. Norm had explained in a quiet, sad voice that sometimes humans had sicknesses in their heads that turned their own emotions and thoughts against them. That sometimes humans would choose to end their own lives.
Humans. But Lo’ak wasn’t human.
His pulse was roaring in his ears, drowning out the hum of the ocean as he tried to wrap his head around Lo’ak’s words. Suicide is not something the Na’vi do. Even the idea of attempting to throw away the life Eywa has given you would be unthinkable. Let alone try to do it with a human weapon.
But Lo’ak…
His brother looked sick. Not angry anymore, just pale with regret as he sunk back onto the sand. “Look, I didn’t mean…” His voice trailed off and his eyes moved back to the ground, shimmering with shame.
Spider knew his own pained horror was clear in his expression. It was like his head understood the words, understood that it was real. But the rest of him refused to accept it. Wouldn’t accept the fact that he’d almost lost his only remaining brother, and had no idea. That Lo’ak had almost died.
He swallowed past the thick lump in his throat, stomach rolling and knotting painfully. “When?” he forced out, voice cracking.
His brother looked away, shame eating even more viciously at his features. His jaw was stubbornly clenched, as Spider lowered himself to the Na’vi’s level, kneeling as he faced the other boy. “Lo’ak, when,” he repeated, more forcefully this time.
“After they exiled Payakan.” His voice was a quiet and pained mumble, like he could hardly force the words out. “Dad got angry. He told me it was my fault that Netey—” the name died in his throat, a grief-filled noise escaping in its place. His shoulders curled inward, fingers clenching around the soft sand as his tail lashed sharply.
“And he’s right. I made us go back for you when I should’ve waited for Dad, or stayed with him, or got him out of the way and taken the fucking bullet—”
He broke off again, resting his chin on his knees. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly against the tears that shone in his eyes. Still, a few managed to streak his face. “I took one of Dad’s guns. Kiri and Tsireya found me before I pulled the trigger. They buried it.”
Spider huffed a shaky breath, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his own tears at bay. “Does Jake know? Or Neytiri?”
Lo’ak’s eyes were distant, almost empty as he stared out at the ocean. The tears fell freely now, slowly sliding down his face like raindrops. He huffed a bitter laugh, but it came out wrong, humourless and broken. “No.”
His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought that neither Jake nor Neytiri knew how close they had come to losing their other son. He felt like someone had looped a vine around his ribs and pulled.
Lo’ak exhaled, breath uneven, and scrubbed a hand across his face like he was annoyed the tears had fallen. “You can’t tell anyone,” he said suddenly, an urgency lacing his voice that startled Spider. “Promise you won’t tell anyone.”
“Bro…” Spider said slowly. “You need to tell Jake or Neytiri—”
“No!” The word ripped from Lo’ak’s throat before he could finish. His voice shook, like he was trying to control it and failing. “You know my Dad! Steel poisons the heart. And I tried to use it on myself. You know he’d only get angry. Just—”
His voice broke, a strangled sound leaving his mouth. “You can’t tell them. I was angry and stupid and I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m not gonna do it again, I swear on Eywa. Kiri—she already promised.”
Spider’s face twisted into a conflicted expression. He dragged a hand across his face, every instinct in him screaming that their parents needed to know. That it wasn’t something he should agree to keep.
But the urgency and fear on his brother’s face tugged at his heart. He’d always been easily swayed by his siblings’ emotions, ever since they were kids. He could name plenty of times one of them had done something stupid or dangerous, and he’d kept the secret. The thought of breaking Lo’ak’s trust now made his stomach twist.
“Fine,” he muttered reluctantly. “For now.”
Relief washed over his brother’s features like a river. His shoulders sagged, breath leaving his body in a slow exhale. “Thanks bro.” His tail brushed against Spider’s leg before settling in the sand, a quiet gesture of appreciation.
“Yeah, well…” he sighed, finally slowing the churn in his gut. “Don’t make me regret it.”
He elbowed his brother affectionately, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t get to leave me too you skxawng.”
Lo’ak’s mouth twitched, relief and affection mixing in the expression. “Since when are you so wise?”
Spider snorted, shaking his head. “Since you decided to dramatically run off in the middle of the night.” He felt himself slump in relief at the way the air loosened around them with the return to their familiar teasing.
Lo’ak rolled his eyes with familiar fond annoyance. “Yeah, yeah.” He bumped Spider’s shoulder with his own, smile warm with gratitude.
Spider’s chest tightened again, although this time it was from the warmth that bloomed in his chest at the gesture. He pushed himself up from the ground, grinning before he even registered it. “Come on,” he huffed warmly. “We should get back before someone decides we’ve been kidnapped. Again.”
The other boy snorted quietly, standing. “I don’t want a repeat of last time I came home late. Mom threatened to tie me to a tree.”
“You know she wouldn’t actually do that.”
“I don’t wanna test it.”
They walked the rest of the way home in relative silence, save for an ilu’s high-pitched squeal and a fkio’s gentle chirp in the distance. The root path was smooth beneath Spider’s feet, illuminated by the calm moonlight. He glanced at Lo’ak, noticing how the muscles in his body had finally relaxed. Spider sighed contentedly, feeling the last of the tension seep from his body as they turned the corner.
Then, a voice cut through the stillness. “Where the hell have you two been?”