Chapter Text
The way of water has no beginning and no end. The sea is around you and in you. The sea is your home before your birth and after your death. The sea gives and it takes. Water connects all things. Life to death, darkness to light.
The words reverberated through Lo'ak's head as he was laying on Payakan's back, somewhere in the vast sea, trusting his soul animal completely, to keep him safe.
Lo'ak didn't feel like himself anymore. Grief clouded his thoughts, making it hard to breathe and do the simplest of tasks.
His parents were going easy on him, not grounding him as much anymore, letting him get out of doing chores so he could be with Payakan more.
It somehow made it all worse, even though he truly didn't think he could master the energy to do anything productive these days.
He layed curled up on the Tulkun's soft back, letting the sun burn his skin, not caring about anything just saying the word's he learned from Tsireya, over and over again until his head started to throb and his vision became blurry.
Payakan shared his grief, as they shared all their emotions and experiences now. His friend was worried about him, Lo'ak knew that.
But he couldn't help himself. He couldn't be better.
You've done enough. Jake had said. Lo'ak felt his father was right, now more than ever before.
There was no way to bring Neteyam back. He was with The Greta Mother now.
The vivid memory of his brother's body let down to the depths of the sea haunted Lo'ak every night, every time he closed his eyes.
He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat, his stomach a tight knot, never easing, sealing his pain.
"Let's go back. You're shivering," Payakan pleaded through their shared bond.
Lo'ak signed 'all right', but found, he didn't have it in himself to care whether he ever got back home or not.
That's why he wasn't fazed by an unexpectedly sharp coral tearing through his arm either, forming a deep wound, bleeding heavily by the time he got back to the village.
---
"Lo'ak," Neytiri shouted once she had eyes on her son, slowly approaching their shared family hut.
"Where were you?" Jake demanded, eyes roaming through his kid, gaze pausing on his bleeding arm, and tensing.
That was one ugly wound.
Neytiri was already rummaging through her leather bag holding all their medicine.
Jake gently put a hand onto the back of Lo'ak's neck, and led him to sit down on one of the mats.
"Can I help?" Kiri asked her mother, her voice trembling from worry.
"Maite, go to the other hut, all three of you," Neytiri instructed, forcing her tone to remain calm. "Sempu and I need to talk with Lo'ak alone."
Once the other kids left the hut and Lo'ak's wound had been treated, the boy stood up abruptly and wrapped an arm around himself, clearly self-conscious and uncomfortable with the situation.
"Son, you can't just disappear like this anymore. You were gone for almost two days. We were sick with worry," Jake said, disapprovingly, but when Lo'ak carefully glanced up to meet his father's eyes, he found that they were surprisingly gentle, and had an unexpected softness to them.
"Have you even eaten anything?" Neytiri asked, pacing the hut, agitated.
"No," Lo'ak admitted, shame coloring the tip of his ears a soft pink.
"Skxawng," Neytiri hissed at him as Jake started to grab the leftovers from today's dinner to give to Lo'ak.
"You could have fainted and fallen into the sea. What were you thinking?" Jake asked, evident in his tone, how disappointed he was in the boy.
Lo'ak couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm not your perfect son. So why would you even care?" he mumbled looking down at the ground.
"Hey, hey," Jake said, "what is that supposed to mean?"
"It doesn't matter what happens to me either way," Lo'ak muttered, almost too softly to catch, but Jake heard him loud and clear.
"Lo'ak, that isn't true," he said, so much hurt in his eyes, Lo'ak had to avert his gaze, unable to hold his dad's pain next to his own.
"I'm sorry," Lo'ak whimpered, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he fell down on his knees. "I don't know if I can keep on going like this." "I'm not strong mom," he whispered, as Neytiri pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.
"You are my son," Neytiri growled. "You are strong," she said with so much conviction in her voice, Lo'ak found himself almost believing her.
He shut his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, barely noticing his dad sitting down next to his other side, taking his hand and putting it over his heart. This was a gesture meant to soothe small children, to let them know that their parents were there for them, that they could count on them. They they weren't alone.
"Oh baby boy," Jake murmured, his heart aching. He pulled Lo'ak to sit down on his and Neytiri's sleeping mat instead of the cold floor.
"You will rest here," he said as he noticed Lo'ak's confusion. "I don't want you out of my sight right now," Jake grumbled, protectively putting a hand over Lo'ak's chest as the boy slowly lowered himself onto the mat.
Silent tears fell from Lo'ak's eyes, coming out of nowhere.
That happened a lot lately. He never used to cry easily, but after Neteyam's passing he could tear up any minute of the day, unprompted.
"I'm tired sem'pu," he admitted, like he was a small child again, who couldn't take care of themselves, needing their parents for the simplest things, like falling asleep.
"It's okay. It's all going to be okay," Jake murmured, his voice rumbling, easing the tightness in Lo'ak's chest.
Neytiri started brushing her hand through his son's hair, so gently, Lo'ak could feel his throat close up from the sheer nostalgia of it.
"I want him back," he choked out. "I can't live without him," the confession heavy on his lips, he felt himself tremble with the force of it.
Jake felt his heart start hammering in his chest, his breathing picking up.
He couldn't lose another son.
He couldn't lose Lo'ak.
"My son, maitan," he started, a tremble in his voice betraying the dread he suddenly felt.
"Sa'nu and I can't lose you. This family can't lose you. We love you so much you can't even imagine."
Neytiri's hand paused in his hair, and she leaned down to put a kiss on his forehead.
"Eywa sees and knows all. She knows your pain. And so does mom and dad. You're not alone."
There was weight behind her words, she spoke in a way Jake could never convey, something holy and mystical in her voice, which always left Jake in awe.
Lo'ak shuddered under Jake's touch, but his cries quieted. He turned to his side his back now facing Jake, pressing close to him, seeking warmth and reassurance. He wrapped his tail around his dad's thigh, the gesture telling more than words could right now.
He closed his eyes and let himself drift away like this, held by both of his parents, slipping into a rare sleep, free from nightmares.