Work Text:
The further and further they flew from the forest, the more dread bubbled up within Jake’s stomach. This was the wrong choice, he was suddenly so aware of that, this was the wrong choice. What the fuck was he thinking, letting Spider decide something like this?
That had been the deciding factor on leaving—Spider’s declaration to Jake months ago.
If anything happens, don’t come for me .
Jake should have fought against it more, should have grabbed the boy by the shoulders and refused his request, but it had come after a raid in which five Na’vi had been killed and a single human had been captured—a former soldier who had stayed behind all those years ago to stay with their scientist wife here on Eywa’eveng. It had been the first time a human had been captured and the possibility set everyone on edge until the dam had broken: the RDA had dumped their body on the edge of the forest and had been given no answers from them.
Still, despite the soldier’s resolve, the humans had made a vow to the Omatikaya—they would speak nothing and expected no rescue. They would rather die than give up the people, our people Norm had said resolutely at the time. That had been that, but, then, later, Spider had approached Jake. The idea was ridiculous, foolish as anything. He couldn’t just leave Spider behind. Couldn’t let him be tortured or killed; though Jake was sure the RDA wouldn’t do such a thing to a child. They were cruel, but Spider was a human child. They would have sympathy for him. It would be hard, but Jake was sure he could find a way to save Spider if it ever came to it.
“Jake, no ,” Spider had practically hissed out, his teeth bared, Na’vi in everything but body as he stared up at Jake. “I will not be the person who causes any Na’vi to be hurt. Promise me, Jake. Please. If anything happens, don’t come for me.”
Jake’s words had come out choked, as though some invisible force had gotten him in a vice grip as he answered, “okay, okay,” just to get the kid to shut up. The possibility of Spider getting caught was—he didn’t want to think it could ever happen. Besides, he couldn’t leave Spider behind. Not when he was like a—
The boy was represented in his songcord, same as Kiri. Same as all of his children.
That meant something.
Spider meant something.
But, Jake had agreed. He had said yes, okay, okay, and when the day finally came, that same gripping fear had overtaken him and he had taken the easy way out: he ran. He listened to Spider’s plea to be left behind and banked on the fact that he was just a kid. He was sixteen, only sixteen, just a boy. He was tough too. Jake had seen the kid fall out of trees and roughhouse with his kids plenty of times. He always got back up again. It would be mentally taxing to be taken prisoner, but Spider was human. He was a human. He was a child. He would be treated fairly.
Jake repeated these words over and over in his mind as his ikran weaved through the air, the creature seeking momentary comfort as it bumped its wings with Neytiri’s ikran. His wife glanced at him, teartracks on her face. They stared at one another for a long moment before Jake reached out his arm, his ikran Bob edging as close as he could to Neytiri. She reached out, their fingers a whisper of a breath away from each other before she was able to cling to his fingers.
There was nothing for them to say. Neither of them were alright with leaving; Neytiri couldn’t bear to leave the forest that raised her and Jake couldn’t reconcile with the fact that he left a sixteen year old boy in the hands of the RDA. With—whatever that resurrected verison of the man Jake knew as Quaritch was. Fuck.
Jake closed his eyes, letting himself feel nothing but the buffeting wind and Neytiri’s hand in his, then let go.
The children were acclimating well to their new environment.
The only one of the children who seemed the most out of place, despite how hard he tried not to, was Neteyam. He attended to his chores and learned with his siblings, but some days Jake would look at his son and see that same sadness in his eyes that Neytiri held. The four of them generally stuck together, but the few hiccups they had were—bad.
The stress of it all made Jake feel at his worst.
Tuk would wake him up in the middle of the night, crying, and trying her best to be as quiet as possible. Lo’ak was getting himself into trouble, what with fighting the Olo’eyktan’s son and swimming around with a banished Tulkun. And Kiri—he could see how hurt she was that Spider wasn’t around.
All he wanted was to keep them safe. He had no fucking clue if, out in the middle of the water, Quaritch would catch up with them. The man was a devil. He had no care for people or children. Besides, while it was clear he had orders to find Jake, his vendetta was personal. Jake didn’t know what this avatar version of Quaritch knew, but it had to be enough to have such a visceral reaction to him and Neytiri. He wouldn’t hesitate to hurt one of Jake’s children, to use them against him. He had already tried.
They had to keep low, keep their heads down, keep the peace.
Jake couldn’t have any more on his conscience. He just needed to keep what was left of his family safe.
It hurt that there was one person missing from them, but Jake had to have faith that Spider was alright. He’s tough , he reminded himself again and again as the days passed, he’s strong. It wasn’t the assurance he hoped it would be. Some days, Jake would sit by himself near the shore and pray to Eywa that She would keep Spider safe. That they would be reunited in some way. He prayed that him leaving the boy behind wasn’t a mistake, that his being ruled by fear hadn’t broken the boy. He would pray and pray until his knees became numb from the weight of his body, the familiar feeling becoming a self-imposed punishment.
He was a coward.
It was during one of those moments that his youngest daughter found him. His legs were nothing between him and the sand, his eyes closed as his lips moved in quiet prayer to the Great Mother. A small hand on his back startled him and Jake turned to see Tuktirey. She was wearing a new top that her brothers had made for her. Shining shells were woven into the top. When the boys had given it to her, Tuk had grinned and held it up towards the sun to see all the colors that emitted from it.
With her toothy smile and shining top, Tuk was too bright for Jake to look at while his sorrow took him over. His daughter tilted her head to the side, watching him for a long moment before settling herself in his lap. “It’s okay to be sad, Daddy,” Tuk said quietly as she soothed at his back. Her hand was so small and her words were a repetition, the very same he would tell her whenever he found her crying. A beat passed before Tuk, all big eyes and with a youngness that Jake never wanted to see taken away from her, asked, “Do you miss Spider, too?”
The answer was easy: “Yes,” Jake replied as all of his regret and fear and sadness clung to his heart. “Yes.”
“It’s okay,” Tuktirey quietly assured him. “Eywa will protect him.”
It was said with the certainty of a child who had never lost a sibling. Jake wasn’t insensitive enough to think his daughter had never lost anyone. No, he knew Tuk had lost people. There had been elders who she had trusted and seen as grandparents, animals she had bonded with and loved with her entire sweet little heart, and people like the boy Spikti who had died before he could complete his Iknimaya. His daughter had lost people she had cared about, but never a sibling. That loss was one both Jake and Neytiri knew intimately. And, fuck, was Jake afraid he had damned his children to knowing that loss as well.
Jake closed his eyes, pictured Spider’s happy grin, and nodded his head. “She will.”
In the end, when Jake saw Spider again, he could not embrace him in the way he had longed to for so many months. The boy, so young yet so responsible and mature in a way that made Jake choke up, helped drag Neteyam up and out of the ocean. Seafoam clung to his skin, the paint on his body was faded and his dreads were matted and—
Jake’s eyes passed over him. His hands clung onto his Neteyam, his boy, his son who had been so out of place, who bore such a heavy weight that Jake himself had pressed onto him, his boy who said the words he hadn’t been able to since they had left High Camp: I want to go home .
Back on Earth, the ocean had been a desolate thing. It was as polluted as the rest of the world was, not to mention hazardous from chemical dumps that tainted the water and destroyed the ecosystem. Wildlife was sparse. The last living whale—a Minke whale—had been beached when Jake was Spider’s age. It was a miserable looking thing, made even moreso when it exploded across the beach that was its final resting place. In all honesty, Jake had nearly forgotten that whole ordeal: the way the news showed it every half hour and Tommy’s loud rants on this and that and this world is ruined . It wasn’t until he had seen Ro’a, dead-eyed, that he had remembered it.
It had taken days for the wreckage of the battle to be cleaned; before the bodies of the dead could be laid to rest, the Metkayina had worked day and night to rid the water of the Sky People’s pollution.
Jake sat on the beach, the tide soft against his feet, as he stared out into the vastness of it. His Neteyam was at peace, he reminded himself. His son, his first baby, was with the Great Mother. There was no more pain, no more loss, only infinite warmth. Telling himself this didn’t take away the immense grief that pressed against his heart. Over all else, there was one thought that came back to him: Why hadn’t he hugged him more?
Movement caused his eye to twitch and, assuming it was Tuk, Jake glanced over his shoulder. Instead of his youngest daughter, it was Spider. The boy wore a pale green tewng, a gift from the kind-hearted daughter of the Olo’eyktan, and fresh blue stripes were painted along his body. Someone had taken the time to help untangle his matted dreads. His hair had been cut to his shoulders and was instead braided. There were beads and shells intwined into his braids. Spider’s eyes grew wide, but before he could open his mouth, Jake held out his hand, palm up, beckoning the boy to join him.
Spider’s steps were careful and measured.
Despite himself, Jake felt a smile tug at his lips. “Not used to the sand just yet, huh?”
The boy’s face twisted in distaste. “It’s coarse and gets everywhere .” Jake laughed lightly and Spider chuckled, glancing down at his bare feet before brushing away at the sand that clung to him. The soles of his feet were thick with callouses. Jake had been afraid of how the Metkayina would take to Spider, whose Sky Person features shadowed the fact that he was Omatikaya at heart, however it seemed he had little to worry about. Tsireya was vocally welcoming of Spider; it was a significant difference from the way the young girl would defer to her mother only weeks before. Experiencing such a traumatic death, Jake knew, could do that to a person.
“I’m sorry,” Spider rasped out, raw and rough, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, Jake.”
For a moment, Jake didn’t understand. The boy's words felt disconnected from the truth of the world. Since coming back to them, Spider had done so much. He had been part of the effort to clean the ocean. He had helped food preparers in the mornings and quickly learned how to make the Metkayina nets and other items that were needed in their time of crisis. Spider had done so much. There was no reason for the boy to apologize.
Then, as Jake looked over the boy, so young and small as he sat in the sand, his eyes shining and glancing out to the ocean beyond, Jake realized what Spider meant. Jake shook his head, his breath shallow in his chest as he placed his hand onto Spider’s shoulder. He had lost some weight when they had found each other again, thanks to the less nourishing food of the Sky People, but he had seemed to have gained it back now. When Jake had been able to see straight again, after it all, he had taken one look at the boy and given him as much food as he thought Spider could handle. “There is nothing for you to apologize for Spider. You hear me? Nothing.”
The boy gasped and shook his head. “But—”
“No.” Jake said firmly. He could feel, as though from a distance, as a cold tear trailed down his cheek. “You’re just a boy, Spider. It’s me who has to apologize.”
Spider’s face twisted in confusion, like look familiar as it would be on any other of Jake’s children. The first time Jake had seen that expression had been fifteen years ago, watching as the then-toddler had tried to make sense of the world around him. He thought of how Spider and Neteyam used to cling to each other, babbling in a mix of languages and discovering all of Ewya’eveng together. “Why would you have to apologize?”
Hearts are an easy thing to break. How many times had Jake experienced a pain so profound it broke him? Again and again it happened, a ribboning grief that he was never able to run from. Not even the most beautiful planet in all of space could take his grief away. Here, now, Jake found his already cracked heart form a new fissure as he took in Spider’s innocent expression. How badly had he failed Spider? How could the boy not see it?
“Spider,” Jake muttered carefully as he took the boy's hands into his own. They were so small, about the same size as Tuktirey's. “I’ve failed you.”
“No,” Spider said firmly as he shook his head, trying to speak over Jake as he repeated the word again. “You’ve never failed me. No.”
“I’ve failed you,” Jake said again, hoping to drown out Spider’s words. He needed for Spider to hear this, to understand. “I have, Spider, I have. Listen to me!” The boy hissed at him, but stopped speaking, his chest heaving as he glared up at Jake. There was a spark in him, something so strong it made Jake feel worse than ever. He should have protected Spider, been a better man, a better father. Because that has been what Jake had been hiding from for over a decade. Spider was his son. Not Quaritch’s or anyone from Hell’s Gate. His. But, he’d hidden from that truth when he should have embraced the boy. “You’re just a boy and I’m an adult. I’m someone who should have protected you against all odds, but I ran away. I hid. And I left you behind.”
It was a simple truth, yet Spider shook his head again.
“I didn’t want you to save me. It was my decision. I didn’t want—I didn’t want anyone to be hurt.” His words were broken, his cheeks glinting with tears. The mask on his face began to fog over. “Fuck.”
Despite himself, Jake chuckled. The kids loved swearing in English, something that Jake knew he shouldn’t allow or encourage, but did anyway. “Yeah, kid, but I still should have fought harder for you. Not just when they took you, but before that. I know—Look.” Jake slowly began to untie his songcord from his tewng, the beads clinking together in a soft chime as he did.
Along his songcord was a memory for his life, starting from the moment he lost his brother. It should be longer, but, really, nothing before Tommy’s death seemed to have mattered anymore. He pinched a dark blue bead between his fingers, inches away from the lock of Kiri’s hair, the small amount of blood inside shifting from side to side. “This is you, Spider.”
With careful, nearly reverent, fingers, Spider took the songcord into his palm. Another soft sob left his lips as he stared at it, the bead that had been twisted into his songcord, his life, for fourteen years. “I’ve—I’ve seen this my whole life,” he whispered absently as he traced a single finger over the bead. “I’m not—worthy of this.”
“Love, family, it isn’t about being worthy, Spider.” Jake replied firmly as he closed Spider’s hand over the songcord. “Besides, if anyone isn’t worthy of someone, it’s me. All your life I’ve left you behind. Don’t—I did, Spider. But, I’m done with that. I’m done denying who you are. You’re Omatikaya, a Na’vi, just like me. Better than me. It’s been my fear that’s held you back, but I’m done. I already lost one son, I couldn’t bear to lose another without saying this. I’m sorry, Spider. I’m sorry.”
The words lay bare in between them for a long moment. The soft waves and their quiet sniffles were the only noises to be heard. It was too much, so much, an entire world of emotions untouched for so long. Jake hoped it would be enough, that they could come forward from this. His chest hurt with the weight of all that had been said.
Then—
Spider’s words were a rasp as he spoke: “I pulled Quaritch out of the water.”
Processing the words Spider spoke was difficult. All Jake could hear was the ocean, the push and the pull, the quiet sounds of his Neteyam’s cries as the boy repeated I want to go home , the repeated tone of a voicemail message in his ear it’s your brother, jackass, give me a call . Jake pressed his hand to his chest, right above the place where his broken heart sat. He looked out at the sealine, watching the soft heads of ilu pop in and out as they played together.
“Tell me,” Jake muttered as he watched the creatures, thinking of footage of a dead whale carcass. “What happened. Tell me everything.”
The story was a simple one. Spider spoke in a quiet voice. When he cried, Jake reached out a hand to run it over his braided head. His touch seemed to bolster the boy to continue on. “I don’t know why I did it. I hate him. I hate him so much. I should have let him die.”
Jake smiled tightly and shook his head. The memory of something he long ago wished to bury hooked itself into his mouth, needed to be said. “When I was about a year older than you, my dad called me. He was crying, drunk out of his mind. I hated him. More than anyone or anything, I hated that bastard. He was the reason my mom was dead. The reason I was stuck with nowhere to go. I hated him, but I couldn’t leave him behind. So, he called me, crying, needing me, and I found him and took him home. Bathed him, held him while he threw up all over the goddamn place, hating him. He was so drunk, I thought he could just die. He could choke and die and I would be free. But I watched over him. Cleaned him. Kept him from hurting himself even further. I understand, Spider, hating your father, but feeling indebted to him.”
When he turned to look at the boy, he could see Spider’s surprise at his story. His eyes were shining, his fingers were still gripping Jake’s songcord. Speaking about his past was difficult. It was easier for Jake to leave everything behind him, but some things needed to be said. He wished he said more to Neteyam.
Jake gave Spider a smile. “Don’t worry, Spider. I told you. You’re just a boy. There’s nothing you need to apologize for.”