Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lo’ak stands with Neteyam pressing onto his side and Spider on the other, all of them huddling together behind a pillar on the slowly sinking ship. The gunshots ricochet just a few feet away from them and as his eyes land on Neteyam blindly shooting at the space where the bullets are coming from, the gravity of the situation dawns on him.

His dad isn’t here to miraculously save them. Not this time. And somewhere from the depth of his mind, his father’s voice echoes the same phrase over and over again.

You almost got your brother killed.

And now he finally understands what that truly means. This whole venture was his idea and with imminent death around the corner, being on the battlefield doesn't seem as exciting anymore. No, it isn’t what he thought it would be. Lo’ak has been told he’s hot-headed and too reckless. He is still not mature enough, always trying to grab at the gun but once his fingers graze the trigger, he hesitates. Like a child learning to take his first steps, unsteady and messy.

But at this moment, as metal against metal screeches over his eardrums, he can’t hesitate. The worried expression on his normally calm and collected brother does nothing to ease the overall bad feeling that only grows the more they stay cornered.

It’s the three of them, a single gun with limited ammunition and the mental prayers he’s sending to Eywa to please get them all out safe and sound.

Neteyam turns to him and rushes the commands out with practiced ease. “I need you to listen to me.” However, there’s a faint tremble in his hands, in his voice, and Lo’ak knows that he’s just as scared as he is. “At my signal, you both are going to dive, okay?”

“I’m not leaving without you,” Lo’ak hisses, teeth bared and tail lashing. Angry and panicked as the entire situation slips out of control and the threat comes knocking right at his door.

“We don’t have time for this.” Neteyam turns back and fires a few times. The responding attack is closer compared to the last one. “I’ll be right behind.”

Yet, as impulsive as Lo’ak tends to be, he is anything but stupid. They share the same blood, the same purpose. Through the shower of noise and fire, he can see that the only way for them to get out is by buying time. His brother won’t be right behind.

Lo’ak knows what he has to do.

“GO, GO, GO!” Neteyam shouts and Lo’ak pushes Spider closer to the railing but instead of following him into the pool, he stays right beside Neteyam. Neteyam, who is too busy swinging the weapon in a wide arc to keep the sky-people and recombinants far from them, doesn’t realize Lo’ak didn’t escape.

Exactly how he planned it.

Neteyam has given him distance and now it’s Lo’ak’s turn to give him time.

After all, Lo’ak has to step up, has to protect his family. Because he has always been big talk, brave heart and full of good intentions. He is mistakes over mistakes and living under the shadow of someone much bigger than him. He is wanting and failing. He is trying to be better and hurting everyone around him in the process.

For once, he begs for the Great Mother to listen to his pleas, to give him the strength to fight and keep everyone safe. Because as much as he messes things up, he’s also dauntless. He has this fearlessness in him that won’t stop nagging at the back of his head, viciously whispering about the need to prove to his family –to his dad– that he can be better; that he’s ready to be a warrior even if the weapons he wields still feel awkward in his hands.

In this little corner of a doomed boat, there is no weapon. Only his faith and the fierce conviction that this is what he must do to repay for every wrong, to protect those he loves.

Lo’ak breathes in deeply in an attempt to calm his racing heart, to stop the conflicting emotions and not drown in the frustration and guilt of ‘It’s my fault. It’s my fault if they get hurt. If they die it’ll be because of me.’ He can’t let it get to him, so he clenches his jaw and waits for an opening.

It comes sooner than expected. The gunshots stop for a second and Neteyam throws the weapon, leaping toward the water. Lo’ak is faster, running just behind his brother with a maneuver timed so precisely that he’s the first target the sky-people see. As his father always said, hitting two targets was harder than putting all of your attention on one, on the most vulnerable.

For a glorious second, it works. All of the enemy scopes focus on the more visible target and Neteyam safely escapes. The problem lies in the fact that while covering for his brother, the distance between him and the exit has grown. But war is a heartless battlefield, and compassion doesn’t run through the veins of the selfish people invading and killing his home.

Lo’ak turns back to the railing, running and moving to avoid getting hit by one of the thousand bullets flying at him, like foreign and deadly rain that wheezes past his ears and scrapes his arms. But war waits for no one, and just as Lo’ak jumps towards the ocean he gasps as the tangible proof of that realization slams into his shoulder, stinging all the way through.

I’ve been shot.

Adrenaline is what drives him to swim to the other side. He'll get out even if the ocean makes the burning worse; even if with each stroke the entirety of his arm becomes number and number; even if the metallic aftertaste of blood invades all of his senses, settling at the back of his throat and stealing the little breath left in his lungs.

Finally, he's breaking through the surface, his vision clouded by the slapping waves and the salty water the furthest thing from home. With no strength in his limbs he pushes for one last chance, one last effort, one last ray of hope.

Simply one last cry for help as he screams to the endless ocean, "I'm shot!"

Chapter Text

“Where is Lo’ak?”

That's the first thing that comes out of Neteyam's mouth as he resurfaces. It's second nature to him, that continuous urge of having to know where his siblings are; counting the number of people around him at all times; being able to distinguish their breathing patterns, and through the intensity simply know how his family is fairing.

Instinctively, and as certain as the blue of the depths, he knows something is wrong before even locking eyes with Spider.

"I- he was right behind me,” Spider gasps out, “but I lost sight of him after diving."

Neteyam's heart drops to his stomach, a stone-cold weight punching right through his guts. This can’t be happening, he didn’t just leave Lo’ak behind, did he?

There's a splash, and Tsireya emerges right at the source of the sound. “C’mon, get on!” She’s gesturing to the Ilu, bringing it closer to them but Lo’ak is nowhere to be seen.

Where is my little brother?

Neteyam turns around, ears flickering and eyes searching for any abnormal ripple in the water that indicates Lo'ak's position. Just as fear threatens to seize him, there's a gasp, a choked plight, an "I'm shot!"

What greets him is worse than a ripple. And fear is not a threat but a reality as it takes him by the throat, clinging to his airways and freezing him in place.

They've been lifetime friends. Neteyam and fear sometimes felt like one single entity. It was ever-present, an eternal companion, not always visible but always hiding inside his ribs. It drove him to be better, be more alert, be the big brother his siblings needed. Somehow, fear has never felt like this. Never so damn intense and tinged with such hopelessness. Fear had been about survival and strength, about having the courage to win when all odds were against him. It hadn't been about watching his brother struggle to draw a breath and doubting if he'll be able to take the next one.

The beauty of this friendship lies in its contradiction, in the intrinsic need to act and be useful because that's what being on the battlefield entails. It's unexpected casualties and doing everything in his power to reduce the number, it's detaching himself from the situation even if his brother (his baby brother, oh Eywa) is the one about to add one more digit to the death toll.

It's now, now, now. He has to act now.

In an instant, Neteyam is by Lo’ak’s side, arms coming around his brother to keep him afloat. Spider and Tsireya help too, rapidly positioning and placing Lo’ak on the Ilu as Neteyam comes up behind him. He looks around, making sure Lo’ak is as comfortable as he can be, and can’t help but falter for a millisecond. The strength in his movements washes away with the blue of the sea, replaced by cerise rivers of blood –so much blood– painting their surroundings a deep crimson.

Unable to keep looking at the grim picture of such pain and destruction, he tightens his grip and turns to the open ocean.

I got this, I have to.

“Let’s go,” he shouts to Spider and Tsireya, willing the Ilu to speed up and take them away from that demon ship, hence, closer to safety.

“They’ve got Tuk and Kiri,” Tsireya says and Neteyam wants to scream in frustration.

“We can’t go back,” he replies, the words like a dagger to the heart. The metallic smell and the warmth dripping down his front are enough to clue him in on the importance of getting Lo’ak treatment or he’ll bleed out soon.

Neteyam takes a deep breath, so stable and steady in comparison to Lo’ak’s wheezing and whimpering. He swallows, worry sneaking to the forefront of his messy thoughts as he starts talking to keep Lo’ak awake.

“How are you holding up?” It comes out sounding much more soothing than expected, quite the contrast to his frazzled nerves. Still, detachment can only work for so long.

“It hurts,” Lo’ak sobs, voice breaking and trembling. “I want to see dad.”

“I know. I know, baby bro.” Me too. I want him here, too. “We’re almost there, yeah?”

It’s a lie. A beautiful one at that. It’s a lie he longs to believe, a lie he’d give his life for. And yet, there’s no such bargain, not a high enough price to pay for unbridled hope. But not everything is lost, not everything relies on hope and Neteyam still has a lot of perseverance in him.

The nod Lo’ak gives him as a response is more felt than seen, his braids skimming over Neteyam’s shoulder with the movement. A wave of nostalgia hits him with the image of a tiny Lo’ak coming to him for comfort after some stupid kids couldn’t keep their mouths shut. He remembers the fond head pats, the proud smiles, and the thousand fights. He doesn’t want those memories to be the last ones he has of his brother. He yearns to make new ones, a collection that isn’t stained red or marked by the stench of death and guilt.

To achieve that, Neteyam needs to focus. He needs to keep efficiently riding the currents and his heart beating at a regular rhythm to not disturb Lo’ak. I got this, I got this, I got this.

It feels like forever, reaching Awa'atlu seeming an impossible task when suddenly he sees his dad in the distance. The relief is so strong, he has to blink the tears away to prevent a full-blown breakdown.

“Dad, help us!” He calls out, “it’s Lo’ak!”

It’s a blur from then on. A lot of moving and shifting, a lot of shouted orders and “be careful with his head, watch his head!” until Lo’ak is situated safely onto the rock. Or as safely as he can be with an open bullet hole right through the shoulder and Neteyam pressing over it to stop the bleeding.

Neteyam examines his father’s face, the sight so unfamiliar he doesn’t recognize the expression at first glance. Then it clicks. It’s barely concealed terror. That’s the emotion painted over his features for the world to see. Neteyam wants to reach out, but there are no words of comfort when his hands are slick, dripping scarlet; not a single reassurance when his brother is recoiling from his touch, mouth open and no sound coming out because the agonizing pain has left him speechless.

Hold on, please hold on for a little longer.

His dad kneels by Lo’aks head, fingers reaching out to caress his brow in comfort. The fingers are unsteady though, and Neteyam doesn’t distinguish if those are unshed tears in his father’s eyes or if it’s a trick of the light. Maybe it’s his own blurry vision; maybe it’s the sob rising in his chest; maybe it isn’t even about his father. Maybe, just maybe, it’s fear stabbing him in the back, laughing at his failure.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Lo’ak chokes out as soon as he realizes that his dad has entered his field of vision. “I’m sorry.”

Neteyam’s heart breaks at the words and it seems as though his dad’s breaks, too.

“No, don’t say that baby boy,” his dad says, breath catching. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Lo’ak clumsily shakes his head, the movement is panicked, defeated; his chest heaving. His hand searches for Neteyam’s forearm and holds onto it.

“Did they get you?” Lo’ak mumbles, words slurred and weak. Neteyam can also tell he’s more than a little delirious now, eyelids fluttering and pupils unfocused, but it’s clear his brother is talking to him.

“No, skxawng.” Neteyam laughs, a little hysterically, a little out of his mind as the tears roll down his cheeks. “I’m fine.”

And you aren’t, he aches to say, I’m the one who is sorry. I failed to protect you. But the words are stuck in his throat, so he stays silent.

What hurts the most is the way Lo’ak smiles at that. All airy and broken, all brave and selfless, like nothing will deter his spirit. It is as though the light inside him is so boundless, that the constellations he has for freckles couldn’t have been brighter.

He wishes to take the pain away, to give Lo’ak his innocence back, and to shelter him from a war he shouldn't have to be a part of. Instead, all he can do is push harder against the wound and watch as his baby brother falls unconscious.

And it’s so cruel because Neteyam has never felt duller.

Chapter Text

Jake Sully has felt many emotions throughout his life.

Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he’s gone through peaceful times, through discovering Pandora and falling in love with nature, with the Omatikaya people, with the woman of his dreams. Perhaps it’s related to him having also gone through war, the other end of the spectrum. A much darker era, one that usually transforms the spirit into a more obscure version of the would’ve been.

He’s embraced surprise, breathed in the forest and mastered the skies, conquered the weight of leading his people to victory.

He’s experienced joy in its absolute and unfiltered splendor, in the way his children would play and smile, careless and free.

He’s met the suffocating tendrils of anger, scalding hot at the unfairness of the world, at the greediness of humanity, at losing a home before ever truly inhabiting it.

He’s tasted disgust, swallowed the bitterness of being a traitor, of being a disappointment, of being confined to a body that fit him but would never be his.

He’s succumbed to fear, has trained his mind to block it out, has trained himself to forget what being paralyzed from the waist down had done to him.

He’s held sadness in all of its forms and variations, has made it his shadow, and traveled with it across the universe. Has carried it through all of his battles and now, kneeling on the ground in front of his unconscious son, it presses right over his shoulders, sinks into his soul, and shatters his resolve.

Jake has failed once again. He has failed in protecting his family. Running away was never the answer. And he hopes it isn’t too late to redeem himself.

Not my baby boy, not like this.

Jake grits his teeth, allowing the tears to pool in his eyes but not letting them fall. He’s got to be strong, and keep it together while Lo’ak can still be saved. There’s so much he has to say, so many apologies he's been too blind to give.

Making a quick scan he sees that the bullet landed on Lo’ak’s shoulder, not near his heart as it had first appeared. It's a small reprieve. Except that Lo'ak's eyes are shut, he is deathly quiet, limbs sprawled over and features relaxed.

It's wrong.

Lo'ak and subdual don’t go together. He's a mirror image of Jake himself, all chaotic energy and righteous defiance; full of conviction and strong will; so stubborn and uncontainable but so easy to love. So damn easy to cherish and hold close to his chest, flaws and all.

It's wrong because it shouldn't have come to this. His children shouldn’t have to carry his burden.

"Neytiri," he calls through the comms. The voice that comes out, he doesn't recognize. But he needs that void. The aloofness in his heart is what will keep him fighting while his faith plummets to the ground.

Why? Why him?

"Ma Jake?" She answers, voice static and charged with something heavy. It's evident, she suspects he won't be giving any good news.

“Lo’ak is injured I-” he pauses. He has to. If only for an instant, solely to clench his fists and power through the rest of the impossible sentence. “He’s been shot.”

Silence.

Static over static, Neteyam’s quiet sobs and Lo’ak’s unmoving form.

He’s still breathing, he’s still with me.

The air ripples all around the rock and Neytiri is there, tenacious and relentless with her Ikran towering over them. But as she steps closer, something in the golden expanse of her eyes dims.

It’s pain, pain, pain. It’s losing her family and leaving her clan, it’s the betrayal of a lover, it’s the never-ending screams of her ancestors. He has seen it before and has unwillingly been the cause of it. Jake never thought he’d witness that expression again, yet it’s much worse than all those times combined.

She cries out, lowering herself beside Lo'ak, unable to tear her gaze away from the blood coating Neteyam's hands, Lo'ak's torso, and the rocky surface.

"No, no, no, no," she whispers, craning her neck up to the sky as though in a prayer. Her face is all scrunched up, nostrils flaring and hands trembling, anxious to do anything, longing to touch yet afraid of doing so. Jake starts speaking before she truly spirals.

"We've got to take him back to the village," he says as he moves his hand right over Lo’ak’s wrist, checking for a pulse just to ground himself. It’s faint, but there.

Neytiri nods frantically. No one moves. It’s a frozen picture. It’s such a gruesome sight that even time has stopped in horror; his child bathed in red seas and apologizing for something so beyond his reach.

“Dad.” Neteyam breaks the trance, rising to his feet in a swift move. “I’ll carry him.”

Jake shakes his head, patting Neteyam’s shoulder softly. “It’s okay, I’ve got him.” And he does. Having Lo’ak in his arms, cradling his face right over his heart, serves as a self-soothing gesture due to it being exactly what he needs. It’s the breaths –winded and quick– hitting over his neck; it’s the small twitches that go through his son’s muscles; the warmth of his skin. It’s about all the signs pointing out to alive, alive, alive; to Jake having the privilege of clasping the fragility of life so close.

He doesn’t want to let go, it's like the thread to his sanity will snap if he does. Because being alive has never been a guarantee of survival but, for this once, he has to make sure it is.

Of course, before Jake can truly take action and call his Skimwing, everything goes to hell.

"It didn't have to be like this.” Quaritch's smug voice reverberates in Jake's ears, dripping vengeance. “Your boy didn’t have to die."

Lo’ak isn’t dead, he wants to scream. Although there's this shadow lurking over his fortitude, coating it in oxide and whispering about how he's about to lose his son. Maybe he already has. It’s a psychological game and Jake is fucking tired of treading through manipulative riddles with only his flesh as armor. Lo’ak isn’t dead, he can't be.

"I've got your daughters," Quaritch chuckles, and Jake's entire body tenses. "So what will it be? It's the same exchange as before, your daughters for you."

This could easily be a trick. Jake has to make sure he’s not falling into a trap, he has to— "where are your sisters?" The question comes out sharply, at the edge of despair. “Where are they?!”

His eldest son recoils, ears lowered and lips pursed. Neteyam’s reaction is enough of an answer.

“They’re on the boat,” Tsireya confirms, gaze downcast and suspiciously wet, "they're tied to the boat."

Jake hisses in frustration. Spider is talking to him, reaching out as though to pull him away, wanting to guide him over the rocks to his daughters’ location. But Jake has to release Lo’ak first.

“Time is ticking, son.” The demon warns, the click of a trigger getting through the background. “Tell me something, or there’ll be consequences.”

Without much of a choice he briefly tightens his hold on Lo’ak, nuzzles his cheek, memorizes the scent of amber and dewdrops, of sand and the sea, blocking out the way it's tainted by the metallic tang of blood. He leaves one last peck on the crown of Lo’ak’s head and with an ‘I love you’ at the tip of his tongue he hands him over to Neteyam.

“I heard you,” Jake snarls, gathering the familiar anger, shaking its hands to seal the pact as his blood boils.

He watches Neytiri press a delicate kiss right on Lo’ak’s forehead, sweet and nostalgic and not a goodbye, never a goodbye. She whispers something to Neteyam and takes a deep breath. When they lock gazes, grief and rage pour out of her in torrents. Strong heart.

“Let’s go get our daughters.”

As Jake turns back to check on his sons for the final time, a loud wail shakes the sea. The sound reverberates, forming wave after wave. Payakan breaks through the surface, the clicking and whistling getting louder and sadder. Something about his song spells melancholic, the timbre piercing and marred; the magnitude of the ocean mediocre in comparison to such melodious agony.

Neteyam’s and Lo’ak’s figures look minuscule atop the Tulkun, like the kids they truly are. But Jake knows they’re safe now, and can rest assured after witnessing how Ewya has heard them once again.

Please, keep them safe.

Chapter Text

Waves lapping gently against the shore is what Lo’ak first comes to. Soft splashes and sea-salt breeze swirling over roots and fabric, whistling past what his muddled thoughts point to as the Maruis.

It’s calm, serene. Perhaps a little too much.

He starts by cataloging all of his limbs when opening his eyes strikes him as a futile feat, they feel too heavy and uncooperative. Experimentally, he twitches his toes, tenses the muscles of his thighs and right as his lungs expand in a big breath, the fingers in his left hand curling up, he screams.

It hits him out of nowhere and the scream rips from his throat as fast as the pain assaults his senses, white and blinding. It’s like being lit up in flames with the starting point as his shoulders, like a dagger of molten fire snapping all of his tendons apart, like being turned inside out and left to hang in the blazing sun with a still beating heart.

And oh, it beats. It beats because he’s alive and he wants this to stop now, wants the cloudiness and nothingness back. Death surely isn’t this cruel.

“It’s okay buddy, it’s okay.” His dad, that’s his dad, speaking to him.

Lo’ak wants to see him, wishes for the old days when he could cry freely and be pulled against his chest, away from harm. But no one can protect him from this pain, from his own body turning against him as it spams out of control.

He forces his eyes to open until it stings yet his efforts are in vain. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.” He doesn’t recognize that the cracked mantra is coming from him until his father responds to the pleas.

“I know, baby.” He threads his fingers through his braids, firmly and reassuringly. “We’ll get you something for the pain in a minute but I need you to breathe.”

I don't know how. I can't do it.

The pain has taken everything away from him, all rational thought and the simplest of tasks are suddenly unmountable, intimidating, and alien. No air, no air, no air. Only pain and suffering and his cries on repeat. The cadence is much more frantic now.

"C'mon Lo'ak." His dad takes his hand, all five fingers covering his own and placing it over his chest. He feels the slow movement of it as his dad counts down the seconds, guiding every inhale and exhale. Unconsciously, Lo'ak begins to mimic the rhythm. "That's it, you're doing so well."

Through the haze, a little voice whispers about how it’s the first time he’s done something well in a long time. The pain not only doubles but resonates with the pit of sorrow between his ribs, like another slash to his being, clumsy but made to leave a scar. He needs to open his eyes, to see for himself that his dad isn’t disappointed, that the pain is real and this isn’t just a rite of passage to be with Ewya forever. But he can’t. He can’t do more than breathe as his nerve endings continue to flare in alarm and Ewya it feels real, it has to be.

Even though darkness envelops most of his senses, pushes past his throat, invades his sight, and coats his insides black and hopeless; Lo’ak can still hear. There’s a gift given to parents and their children, the power to protect and feel safe.

"I'm here, buddy.” His dad says, the words a ray of light. “I'm not leaving, okay?"

And Lo’ak has never felt safer than when his dad is beside him.

The tiredness seeps in, and he knows he’ll shut down just let me see them one more time, let me say goodbye.

~~~~

The next time Lo’ak wakes up is definitely an improvement from the last experience. There’s pain again, it never truly goes away, akin to an ever-burning pyre. But as he traces the stitching patterns of the Marui walls with his gaze, the discomfort is muted, a distant twinge and tiredness burrowed in the marrow of his bones that only flares into agonizing when he moves his shoulder. That he can withstand.

I’m alive.

“Lo’ak,” a figure whispers from the entry. His father rushes to him, quick on his feet and a fragile smile on his lips. “You’re awake.”

It’s the tears that Lo’ak focuses on, the glistening and crystalizing edge to his dad’s usually stone front as it gradually disintegrates.

The unfamiliar has always been enticing to Lo’ak. A synonym for adventure and opportunities to prove his worth, measure his skills and work on improving whatever he was lacking, which tended to be everything. The unfamiliar was equivalent to a fugacious home for the mere reason that it was unknown, full of danger, and as close as it could be to an ‘outcast’.

He has never associated unfamiliar with intolerable. However, unfamiliarity has transformed into his dad looking at him like he'll disappear at any second and not wishing it’d become true, as though his loss –or even entertaining the possibility of it– hurt. Lo’ak frowns, not comprehending why he would feel that way.

“Why are you crying?” Lo’ak asks, barely above a whisper.

His dad rests his fingers just over Lo’ak’s heart, his ears perking up at the strong thumps he feels. “I thought I had lost you.”

The pit right over his chest tears further apart. Ultimately, the ache is embedded deeper than any bullet could ever reach, emotions much stronger than physical sensations. Lo’ak is overwhelmed, the need for comfort poking at his insides, bristling and crying to be tended to as soon as possible. He guesses it’s his turn to collapse under the weight.

He looks into his father's eyes, begging him to understand, to see the facade crumbling, and to love him despite all the broken pieces displayed. “I was so scared,” he admits, shame and honesty clinging to every word.

“Oh, my boy,” his dad shushes, pulling him into a tight embrace but being mindful of his shoulder. “All great warriors have something they fear.”

“But I’m not a great warrior,” Lo’ak mumbles, the cracks expanding and bleeding. “I’m no warrior at all, not in your eyes.”

“Lo’ak, no. Look at me.” His dad turns him around but Lo’ak refuses to meet his stare. “Why would you think that?”

“I mess things up. That’s what I do, that’s what I’m good at.” He hisses, all anger and being cut open for too long, all gruesome, and prepared to fight back. “You don’t have to pretend to be proud just because I almost died. I understand, you know? You don’t have to hide the truth I already know—”

“What?”

“—I’m a disappointment and I want you to see me, but not like this, not because of pity or, or—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Hands under his chin, thumbs wiping the tear tracks off his face and his dad goes “my son, my baby boy, you got it all wrong.”

He’s stunned speechless. Wrong?

“You…” A sigh, a forehead against his as his father looks right at all of Lo’ak’s suffering, at the invisible wounds that now are glaringly obvious. “I’m sorry for letting it get to the point of you doubting how proud I am to call you my son. Mine, like the five fingers of your hand and the eyebrows you like to frown so much. Mine, like stubborn and headstrong and a rebel with so much to give.”

Lo’ak never thought one could cry so much, so he has to close his eyes to let the words sink in, let them act as a balm to his scraped emotions.

“And I’m scared of ever losing you because your spirit is so similar to mine. That maybe someday your good intentions won’t be enough to save you and I won't be there to be your armor.” A pause, as though his dad needs to compose himself before continuing, “I hear you, I see you, your pain and your faults, and that you are more than them. So much more than them.”

Hearing the truth has never felt this liberating. Lo’ak can only wail like the roaring storm over his ears, whimpering and sobbing as he allows himself to cleanse all of the anxiety and the misery; instead holding onto his father and tattooing the words in each of his veins, an everflowing reminder of his worth.

“We’ll be alright, son.” His dad murmurs, a new mantra for him to incessantly repeat, just like a promise. “I’m here. Everything will be alright.”

And Lo’ak believes him.

Chapter Text

War is about sacrifices. It's saying goodbye to the forest, relinquishing the beauty of its mountains, and accepting that he can’t call it home anymore. War is renouncing to be the next Olo'eyktan; it's watching his people weep as they leave and knowing that it's for the best.

War is about sacrifices and Neteyam was prepared to lose everything. Everything but his family. He was fine with gambling his life if it meant they would be safe. Somehow he allowed the childish fantasy of hope to sneak into his mind and gripped it tight, firmly believing they would all come out unscathed.

War is about sacrifices, he knows that.

So why is he having so much trouble accepting the possibility of Lo'ak ever becoming one?

It's a son for a son. One for another. Life for death in exchange. Give and take to restore the balance.

He knows, he knows, he knows. But hope is a scary thing.

Lo’ak is not dead.

Neteyam has to continuously remind himself, but it's difficult when his vision and his dreams are plagued with the image of blood over his palms, all warm and slippery. All Lo'ak's. His life force quickly drained and the song of a Tulkun not being enough to make the terror in his veins any better. Nightmare after nightmare, flashes of Neteyam not arriving on time, Lo’ak cold and lifeless in his arms.

What if the bullet had actually gone through his brother’s heart? He should’ve been faster, more attentive, and much more skilled with a gun. Perhaps then, his brother wouldn’t have taken the brunt of it, never would’ve felt the need to protect him. It’s baffling, he thinks, that it took a near-death experience for Neteyam to see how similar they both are.

And he hates it as much as he treasures him. There will never be a limit when it comes to family, to be able to defend them and be recognized as capable. Not for them. And that’s when they come head to head, subconsciously competing for a glory that shines so bright they sometimes forget it isn’t real. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s important when the ultimate goal is so distant.

Funny, how the ultimate goal wasn’t ultimate in the long run. So ironic that at the end of the day, they ended up racing to a finish line that would determine who would save the other, and who would take the bullet. It’s obvious that it can’t be labeled a competition when his rival is more important than the tournament itself, when Neteyam would rather die than see his baby brother hurt.

This is the reason why he’s the first of the siblings to sneak into the Marui Lo’ak has been resting in ever since that traumatic day. He has to see for himself that his brother is alright, then the guilt may stop suffocating him.

Neteyam waits for the perfect chance, hidden through the spaces between the fabric and readying his ears for any sign of his parents leaving the Marui. It’s been days since he last saw his brother and, finally, his parents decide that for the night it’ll be fine to give Lo’ak his space, taking the opportunity to sleep more than a few hours now that their son is awake and stable.

It’s late, the stars bright in the night sky, when Neteyam initially enters the space after deeming it empty of any eavesdroppers. This is something he has to do by himself, something that pertains to them only. The stretchy and somewhat sturdy floor creaks and through the dark he sees the small figure curled up in one of the corners jerk at the sound.

“Dad?” Lo’ak murmurs. The question comes out raspy and invaded with sleepiness.

Neteyam’s lips twitch in amusement. Lo’ak has always loved his naps and rest hours. “Good to know you see me as someone that mighty, baby bro,” he jokes, trying to lighten the atmosphere before the gloom of the conversation he’s been avoiding takes the reins.

“Neteyam?” Lo’ak asks with a little more clarity, eyes crinkling at the corners and excitement evident in every move as he turns himself to face him. Then, Neteyam sees the exact moment Lo’ak processes his last statement and, “hey! I was half-asleep, you skxawng. Your ego doesn’t need more of a boost.”

He hears himself laugh but it quickly dies out as he takes in the sight of his brother. Lo’ak is pale, bags under his eyes and shivers continuously wracking through his body. And not to talk about the bandages over his shoulder that serve as a reminder of the nasty injury. Still, even battered and bruised, “it’s good to see you.”

“Why the sour face, then?” Naturally, Lo’ak picks up on Neteyam’s lack of enthusiasm. How couldn’t he? When he feels like no matter where he steps, the ground will give out under him. It’s probably the first time Lo’ak has seen him hesitate.

“I just—” He has the chance now, to say what he couldn’t back on that rock. He’d be an idiot not to take it. “I’m sorry.”

Lo’ak frowns. “Why?”

The words are so hard to say, stuck at the back of his throat as pride holds them back. But pride doesn’t compare to the fear of his brother never forgiving him. “I’m sorry for failing to protect you. For not being the assured big brother I’m supposed to be and—”

“Don’t.” Lo’ak interrupts. “Please don’t do that. Don’t take my choices away nor take responsibility for them. I’m proud of what I did back there on that boat and you must understand that I wouldn’t have stayed back if I didn’t want to.” He’s serious and even though his words are opening wounds Neteyam doesn’t want to revisit, there’s a strange catharsis in what he’s being told. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself. Let me have this, let me save you too.”

Neteyam shatters and comes back together all at once. A blooming warmth resting over his heart at the fact that his brother has offered to shield him from the world, offered a helping hand, an ‘I understand and I’m here’. Yet, that’s his younger brother, he shouldn’t be worrying over war, or be forced to grow up so fast.

So Neteyam says, “but I choose to protect you, always.”

“Then we’re both fools, don’t you think?” Lo’ak whispers back, gaze wide and knowing.

Like that, the charged atmosphere evaporates and they both chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. Lo’ak will always be his baby brother and controlling him will never be an option. However, he’s finally seeing how they’ve been trapped in the same cycle for so long; how striving for golden crowns only left them open and bleeding.

They can heal now, together.

“I’ll leave the title of stupidity to you,” Neteyam replies, hand ruffling his brother’s braids, a habit he’ll never break. “I’m the mighty warrior, I can’t tarnish my reputation with such accusations.”

This time, the smile Lo’ak gifts him with is wide and full of life. All rebellious and wild, all radiant and pleased.

Neteyam can’t help the grin he gives back, giddy with his own happiness. The joy bubbles through him, so grand and imposing that it spills out.

Yes, I think we’ll be fine.