Chapter Text
I can see the end in the beginning of everything
- Janie, Ethel Cain
He realises something is wrong before he opens his eyes.
It’s a skill he’s had carved into his very bones, long before he was a soldier, or a father or a husband. Back when he was just one half of a pair, when his twin was all he had worth living for.
The memory of Tommy is always something that never fails to wrap a hand around his heart and squeeze, but having seen his own tragedy replayed by his sons, of watching Neteyam die, his blood staining Lo’ak’s too-small hands-
Jake’s eyes snap open and he lurches up with a gasp, tears stinging his eyes.
“Woah!” A voice both familiar and strange. “Careful, you’re gonna give yourself whiplash doing that.”
The reply is automatic, falling from his lips before he can think: “Shut up, Tom-Tom.”
He’s had dreams like this for as long as he can remember, and for a moment he doesn’t want to look up, to break the illusion. His heart can’t take it, but his head is moving on instinct, face pulling into a disgruntled frown that he's aimed in his brother’s direction more times than he can count.
His mind catches up with his surroundings, a moment later, and he can’t stop his mouth falling open in slack-jawed surprise. The rough blanket and the lumpy pillow, paper-thin walls and the metal rails of the bunk bed in their shared room, his wheelchair and meds, Tommy’s conspiracy board filled with research papers and documents, and the one photo of their dad they have left on the windowsill, right next to the cremation urn they’d spent all their savings on.
And, perhaps best of all, there’s Tommy.
Tommy, standing in front of the half-opened door, a heatless glare on his face as he says, “Don’t call me that.”
He looks just as Jake remembers, with his shoulder-length hair that he’d cut for the trip to Pandora, the heavy bags under his eyes from dealing with Jake’s bullshit alongside his own job, the shirt that’s this side of too-loose from too few meals because Tommy’s memkory is piss-poor when it comes to remembering to tai ring caring of himself.
Jake watches, frozen in time, as Tommy’s face morphs into a concerned expression, as he steps into the room and sits on the foot of Jake’s bed, and asks, “Hey, you good?”
Tommy rests his hand over Jake’s and it’s warm and gentle and alive, alive, alive.
Jake bursts into tears, a half-feral sound ripping from his throat as he pulls his brother into his arms and swears he’s never going to let go.
“Woah!” Tommy yelps, arms coming up to hug him back. “What the fuck-okay, okay, so we’re doing this. Hey, hey, it’s okay, we’re okay-”
“Tommy.” Jake rasps, hugging his brother tighter. “Tommy.”
“I’m here.” His twin says, gentle and soft and just as Jake remembers. There’s a note of confusion in his tone, but he hugs Jake the same way he always has. “I’m here.”
I’m dead, Jake realises, with a sinking in his gut. His mind immediately goes to Neytiri, to his kids who’ve just survived losing their brother and two battles that never should have been theirs to fight, who Jake’s made suffer under the loss of a father. And Neytiri, oh Neytiri. He thinks of the heart-wrenching agony of losing Neteyam and curses himself for leaving her to deal with it all alone, alongside the death of her husband. And after all she and Spider had done to save him from the RDA.
“<How are you here?>” Jake asks, pulling away so he can cup Tommy’s face in his hands - huh, he has human hands now - and commit his face to memory again. “<Where’s Neteyam?>”
Tommy’s eyes are wide. “Jake…” Then he pauses, eyes squinting. A glint of something lights in his eyes as he asks, “<Who is Neteyam?>”
Jake doesn’t hear him, looking around his shitty apartment for a glimpse of his boy. He has to introduce Neteyam to his uncle, Eywa, he just knows Tommy’s gonna love the kid so much. They were always so alike, the two of them, so much so that sometimes Jake could just close his eyes and imagine the two of them together, a perfect dream that Jake wished was his reality.
“<You can’t tell him about the dumb shit I did as a kid though,>” Jake tells him, shifting and pulling his legs to the side so he can transfer himself into his wheelchair and look for Neteyam if he doesn’t show up soon.
“<Well, that is a promise I am never making.>”
And Tommy’s accent sounds strange, which is weird to think about because Jake can’t actually remember what Tommy’s accent in lìfya leNa’vi was like. It had all sounded like a bunch of mambo-jumbo when he’d first heard Tommy rattle off in the strange consonants and vowels that he’d been more than happy to call ‘alien-sounding’. There’s a part of him impressed with Tommy’s fluency, strange accent and intonations aside; no wonder Grace had been pissed when she wanted Tommy on her team and got Jake instead.
“<But, Jake.>” Tommy says, taking Jake’s hand in his, his eyes all serious and firm. “<Can you explain to me what’s going on?>”
Jake’s brows furrow for a moment as he wonders what his twin means but then it hits him: Tommy probably doesn’t know they’re in Eywa’s embrace. He’d never gotten the chance to go to Pandora, after all, let alone commune with Her in the Tree of Voices.
“Oh, Tommy,” He breathes, squeezing his brother’s hand tight. “<We’re-we’re dead, Tommy, but it’s okay, it’s okay, I promise it ain’t as bad as you think->”
“Okay, okay,” Tommy says quickly, like he doesn’t believe Jake one bit. “<So where are we?>”
“<Ewya’s embrace.>” Jake says.
“Okay.” Tommy breathes, after a beat of silence. “Okay, okay.” He rubs his hand over his face. “Fuck.”
“<It’s gonna be fine, man,>” Jake says, “<I promise, Ewya’s nicer than the RDA had us believe, really-”
“Jake, we’re not dead.” Tommy grabs Jake by the shoulders and his nails dig into Jake’s skin and it hurts. “Jake, I need you to understand that we’re not dead.”
“<Denial has never looked good on you->”
“<When did you learn lìfya leNa’vi?>” Tommy asks.
Jake rolls his eyes. “<Look, I know I’m a skxawng, but even I’d pick up the language after fifteen years->”
“Fifteen years.” Tommy repeats, like a madman. His eyes narrow, suspicious. “<Jake. I’m gonna ask you a question and you’re gonna answer honestly, do you hear me?>”
Slowly, Jake nods.
“<How old are we?>”
“<Well, you never got past twenty-one.>” Jake’s heart clenches, involuntarily. “<And I’m like, forty-seven? Well, forty if you don’t take into account->”
“<The years spent in cryosleep.>" Tommy finishes, eyes wide. He leans back on his hands, not even trying to hide the shock on his face. “You’ve fucking time-travelled.”
Jake waits for elaboration. He does not receive any.
“<What?>” He asks, then, when he doesn't get a response, “What?”
Tommy’s on his feet now, hands running through his hair, and, wow, Jake has not seen Tommy so stressed in years. Still got that little brother charm.
“My little brother’s time travelled from the future.” Tommy’s muttering, sounding half-insane as he shoots Jake a wide-eyed stare. “Fucking time-travel, I didn’t take physics for a fucking reason and I still get caught up in this bullshit-” He stops. Pauses, as whatever thought has passed through his mind is thoroughly dissected. “You looked at me, and thought we were dead. But you went to Pandora.”
Jake winces, looking away in a familiar shame.
“I never make it past twenty one.” Tommy murmurs, so quiet it’s as though he didn’t mean to let the words slip. Jake can’t read the tumultuous emotions flickering across his features - guilt squirms in his chest at the thought. Sure, he'd spent fifteen years without Tommy, but he'd also spent two decades with him - how could he forget how to read his own twin’s expressions? “I never make it to Pandora, do I?”
Jake bites his tongue and offers a single shake of his head. He hears Tommy sigh, shaky and wet, the bed creaking as he sits down by Jake again.
He ducks his head to look at Jake, eyes gentle as he asks, “How?”
“<Knife wound.>” Jake bites out, after a moment to find his voice. “<You’d bled out in an alley ‘cause some dipshit wanted your wallet.>”
I was getting pissed drunk, Jake doesn’t say. You got murdered and I wasn’t even there to die with you.
Tommy’s got a look of consternation on his face. “Do you…remember the date? Or vaguely when it was?”
The question surprises him, even if the answer’s always been burned into his memory. “June 26, 2148.”
“Ah.” Tommy says, as though he’s expected it and now it’s Jake’s turn to look at his brother in confusion.
“<Why? What does that date mean?>” When Jake doesn’t get an answer, he grabs Tommy’s arm, twists until he is looking Tommy in the eyes. “<Tommy. What the fuck does the date mean?>”
“<Did you really think I would leave the fucking planet without you?>” Tommy asks, in response, eyes as fond as they are sad. He flicks Jake on the forehead. “<You really are a skxawng.>”
“<Don’t avoid the question.>” Jake warns, just as he would with his boys.
“<I have savings from over the years.>” Tommy winces. “<Quite a lot. Scientists make a lot these days. One of my old classmates works on making Avatars and she was the one assigned to make mine. I might have->” Tommy winces.
“<Might have?>”
“<I paid her to meddle with my Avatar.>” Tommy admits, voice hushed. “<To see if she could split it into twins.>”
To open a space on the trip that only Jake could fill.
“I’ve been taking money out for a few months now.” Tommy explains, unaware of the dawning horror that sinks Jake’s stomach. “Didn’t want the digital footprint to be traced back to us. June 26? That’s the date I promised to pay her the last deposit by.”
“You died ‘cause of me.” Jake chokes out.
Tommy’s eyes widen, as though the idea never occurred to him and he grabs Jake by the shoulders and shakes him, frantic. “What? No, what the fuck, Jake? You’re not the one who fucking stabbed me-”
“You wouldn't have been there if I hadn’t-”
“You didn’t stab me, Jake.” Tommy’s fingers dig hard enough to bruise. “I’d have done this anyway, regardless of the way things turned out-”
“And then I took your Avatar and the life you should have lived and-and-” Jake’s voice breaks.
Tommy pulls him into an embrace, arms so tight around him as though he could love Jake’s broken pieces back together.
“Jake, Jake, Jake,” Tommy murmurs in his ear. “Jake, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.” He pulls back, wiping away the tears on Jake’s face. “Besides, I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” Jake breathes out, shaky, pulling Tommy back into the hug. “Second chance.”
“Let’s make the best of it, eh?”
Neytiri wakes in a tiny body, in a too-large swaynivi, takes one look at her tiny hands and says, “What.”
She then spends the morning crying in the safety of her father’s embrace, his strong arms so safe and warm and perfect in a way she hasn’t felt in the living world in so, so long. It is only a few months after Sìlwanìn’s murder, so her tears are not much questioned, and she is glad, because she doesn’t quite understand how to put the decades of memories into words.
How does one go about telling her parents that she was actually from the future, with a mate and children of her own, the former of whom is a warrior from the very people they hate? Her parents would think her insane with grief.
But.
Perhaps, there is someone who will be willing to believe her.
Tsu’tey is still in that strange, despondent haze that had consumed him following Sìlwanìn’s murder, and she cannot bear to add to the burdens upon his shoulders, but she doesn’t know who else she can tell. He is her best friend, her closest and most dearly beloved. Who else does she tell instead of him?
In the end, the choice is taken from her hands.
Tsu’tey invites her to collect herbs for the healers, an event Neytiri knows did not happen in her past life. Tsu’tey had not broken from his numb grief until Tarsem - orphaned by their ongoing war with the humans - came into his life, bringing a new light into his world.
Her mother encourages her to go with him, to get out of their swaynivi. Neytiri thinks that Mo’at is as worried for Tsu’tey as she is, and is praying that this invitation is a sign of his healing, little as it may be.
Neytiri, who can see the narrowing of Tsu’tey’s eyes, believes the reasons differ.
“What is wrong with you?” Tsu’tey asks without much preamble, the moment he helps her off of Rakan’s back.
Neytiri tries to play her bluff, to save him the trouble of whatever curse she is carrying. “Nothing is going on-”
“Do not,” Tsu’tey intones, warning as he looms over her. “Lie to me.”
Neytiri rolls her eyes at the display, even as her heart thunders in her chest. “You will not believe me, even if I did tell the truth.”
“Oh?” Tsu’tey asks. He sits down, legs crossed, glaring at her until she does the same. “Go ahead.”
“Tsu’tey-”
“Neytiri.” He says, and it is the softening of his voice that silences hers. When she forces herself to look at him, she finds his eyes bright with worry and tears alike, and her heart cannot bear the knowledge that it is her hands that have caused him grief.
“Neytiri, I am worried. I cannot say why, but something has happened to you, something has hurt you. I am your friend.” He wraps an arm around her shoulders, tugs her close. “We are friends and friends share their burdens. Please. Let me share yours.”
“You will not believe me.” She repeats, voice wet as tears slide down her cheeks. “I do not believe half of it and I have lived it.”
“I will.” He promises. “I will, no matter how strange. Trust me, Neytiri.”
Neytiri searches his gaze and, finding nothing but the same warm affection and true sincerity, sighs heavily. She begins her tale.
She doesn’t know how long she talks, but her throat aches by the end of it, and the sky’s brilliant blues are bruising with purple and bleeding with red. Tsu’tey lets her speak her words, interrupts only every so often to clarify or to let her cry. He cannot hide his surprise nor sparks of disbelief when she speaks of her children, but something in her words must change his opinion quickly because he holds her tight, rocking them back and forth when she tells him about Neteyam.
“My sweet boy,” She gasps wetly, burying her face in Tsu’tey’s chest. The words sound strange in her young, high-pitched voice, but the grief is a familiar companion. “They killed him, Tsu’tey, they killed my baby-”
Tsu’tey hugs her tighter, his own tears falling down on the crown of her head.
Disgust warps his face when she tells him about the tulkun and the Mangkwan, about the humans poisoning their home, burning their forests. Pride wars with grief when he hears of Tarsem becoming Olo’eyktan, brave and strong and mighty, despite every challenge held against him.
“He looks just like you, sometimes,” She says, smiling slightly. She remembers waking up in the humans’ healing room, remembers looking at the young Olo’eyktan and seeing the ghost of her dearest friend in his face. “You would be so proud.”
He smiles, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes.
He is quiet, at the end of her tale, of her tragedy. There’s undoubtedly much she has missed, but without her songcord to help her, she doesn’t know how to remember every event in the sixteen years of life she has spent without Tsu’tey by her side.
“So?” She prompts, legs tucked to her chest and chin on her knees. “Do you think I am insane yet?”
“You have always been insane.” Tsu’tey retorts. He buries his face in his hands, groaning. “Fuck. Oh, Neytiri, what are we going to do?”
Her ears flick up, hesitantly. “‘We’?” She echoes. “You mean…you believe me?”
Tsu’tey looks up at her and his whole being seems to soften. It’s not a difficult decision to run into his embrace when he opens his arms, pressing her face into his neck and hiding her tears there.
“Of course.” He tells her. “I promised, did I not?”
“I love you.” She says in response, because what else is she to say in the face of such affection, of a faith that transcends time itself? “I love you so, so much, Tsu’tey.”
His arms tighten around her. “I love you too.” He pulls back, cups her face in his hands. “Oel ngati kameie, ma Neytiri.”
“Oel ngati kameie, ma Tsu’tey.” She says back, pressing their foreheads together.
When they eventually separate, and begin to gather what little herbs and plants they had managed to get, he places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes tightly.
“We will do this together.” He promises, and Neytiri knows this is a promise he would sooner die than break.
“Six years.” She says. She looks up at the sky, eyes drawn to the star she knows is Earth, where she knows her Jake is. She hopes he is on his way here, even if part of her feels guilty for wishing his brother dead. But she cannot imagine a world without her Jake, and in this, perhaps, she is willing to be selfish. “It is not long at all.”
“Then we best begin changing fate.” Tsu’tey says easily and with him by her side, it just might be.
When his kids were younger, Jake used to tell them stories about Tommy. They hadn’t quite understood why they weren’t able to meet their father’s twin brother the way they met their aunt or grandfather, or even Tsu’tey. They knew, of course, that Jake had once been human, but it had been in that distant way that children often understood things.
Stories about Tommy were the only way Jake was able to keep his brother’s memory alive.
If he’s honest with himself, he’s somewhat deified his brother in his stories, but in his defence it is rather difficult not to when Tommy has been Jake’s entire world for nearly as long as he can remember. Having lost his parents young - his mother at five and his father at ten - Jake’s memories of them are hazy at best to nonexistent. What does stay consistent, however, is Tommy.
Whether they're in the orphanage or at school, whether he’s up past curfew to finish writing his letters to Tommy at the military academy or he’s crashing at Tommy’s tiny apartment during leave, Tommy’s a fixture in his life that he’s always had.
Until he didn’t, of course, but that is neither here nor there. Jake isn’t losing his brother a second time, not if he can help it.
But having an extra two decades of memories and experiences has changed his perspective somewhat, lets him see things from a new angle.
There’s plenty of early twenty year olds in the Omatikaya, and they’re very much like human young adults when one looks at the core of them: a little naive and still finding their footing in the world, but much more capable that someone on their later teen years. They loved pulling off bullshit ideas that would send their parents into a frenzy and there was always one idiot during the hunts that Jake had to keep a close eye on. As much as he wishes he could deny it, his boys probably would have been in that latter category.
Looking at Tommy, however, Jake struggles to find that same carefree and bright youth.
His twin has always taken his role as the older brother seriously - just like Neteyam - even if the difference was only ten minutes. And Jake had realised, even in his past life, that Tommy was more responsible and mature than most their age. But it’s one thing to realise it and then to see it.
“You know breaks are a thing, right?” Jake asks him, only half-joking when he finds Tommy staying up late again. A quick glance at the letters show that they are from his correspondent from the Avatar Program and Jake's stomach sinks with familiar shame.
Tommy laughs, not noticing Jake's souring expression. “Just for a few weeks. I’ll rest once we’re on Pandora.”
Jake disagrees but he swallows the complaints - the last thing he needs is to make an enemy of his brother. Again.
He pushes away the memories of his last days on earth before, the arguments and the yelling that had shaken their walls. Tommy, pale and cold and face slack in a way it never was in life before he was consumed by flames. The weight of his twin’s urn in his hands, too heavy and surprisingly light at the same time.
He just makes them two cups of hot chocolate - Tommy’s piled high with chocolate shavings and his filled with marshmallows - and prays Tommy will find peace on Pandora the same way he did.
“What the fuck?” Jake’s voice is trembling as he reads the letter, tracing a shaky finger across the printed words. “How’d you do it so quickly?”
Tommy shrugs and doesn’t answer. “Big brother charm, I guess.” He grins. “So am I the best brother ever, or what?”
He’s trying to get Jake to smile, he knows, but Jake puts the letter down next to Tommy’s and pulls his brother into his arms.
“The best.” He says. “Thank you, Tommy.”
Tommy pats his back, gentle and fond. “Don’t thank me, not for this.”
“Wow, that hair suits you.” Jake snickers when Tommy gets out of the bathroom a few days before their trip to Pandora. “Now you look just like a coconut.”
Tommy rolls his eyes and slaps Jake up the head. “It’ll grow back.”
“You’ll have more hair in your avatar.” Jake says. “I had hair to the middle of my back.”
Tommy raises a brow. “Was that including your kuru?”
“That went to my ass.”
“Of course, it did.”
“<Last chance to back out, Tommy.>” Jake says in the waiting room. Just a few more minutes and one last signature and then they’ll be on their way to Pandora.
But Tommy’s eyes are wide and so, so excited so Jake knows that there’s no backing out on his end.
“<And miss out on meeting my brother’s wife?> Tommy rolls his eyes. “<I have to see the woman that's willing to put up with your dumb ass.>”
“<Hey, you never know,>” Jake grins. “<Maybe you’ll find someone willing to put up with yours.>”
Tommy rolls his eyes, pointing a finger in Jake’s face. “<You better not start playing matchmaker once we get up there.>” At Jake’s widening grin, Tommy’s eyes narrow. “<Jake.>”
“Sully, Thomas?”
They both look up to the doctor standing at the door, a small smile on her face.
Tommy stands to go and Jake grabs his hand. Tommy looks back, raising a brow; his expression softens when Jake squeezes his hand tight.
“<I’ll be fine.>” He says, able to read into the fear Jake’s pride never allows him to voice. “<See you in six years.>”
Jake laughs, and lets his brother go, eyes stuck to the door that closes behind his twin’s back long after he’s gone.
Great Mother please, he finds himself praying. Please, grant us kindness, grant us peace.
SIX YEARS LATER
“Ma Neytiri?”
She looks up, ears flicking up at the strange expression on Tsu’tey’s face. She places her weaving down, shuffling over so he can sit beside her.
“What is wrong?” She asks. “Did you see something on patrol?”
“I found Kìreysì,” Tsu’tey admits, which explains the myriad of emotions he fails to hide in his eyes.
Neytiri’s heart pangs at the sight, tight and uncomfortable. Sometimes, with the perspective her added decade and a half of life offers her, she wonders why such heavy burdens are placed on such a young soul. Future Olo’eyktan he may be, but he should have been allowed to enjoy his youth without fear of war and carnage - like Neteyam should have.
“She was angry.” He says, pondering, saving her from the spiral of thoughts that always threatened to drown her.
Neytiri’s nose scrunches up, tail flicking in confusion. “Why? Has something happened?”
“She was angry with the other sawtute.” Tsu’tey says, lowering his voice as he adds. “With the warrior sawtute.”
Neytiri’s heart stutters, eyes widening. She’d known the time was coming, had been impatiently waiting for so, so long for any mention of her beloved. Could it be-?
Tsu’tey huffs, smiling even as he rolls his eyes. “You are excited and I have not even finished.” He ducks easily under the slap she aims for his head. “Kìreysì is angry that the other sawtute are letting a warrior become an unìltìranyu. She did not wish to agree, but I think she was forced into it.”
“That is him.” Neytiri breathes, eyes wide. “That’s him, ma Tsu’tey, it has to be.”
“It seems so.” Tsu’tey agrees, though he still seems conflicted. He hasn’t entirely come to terms with the fact that her husband is an unìltìranyu - he had sooner accepted that she was the mate of Toruk Makto before he could wrap his mind around the idea that Jake used to be human.
“We will have to be careful.” He reminds her. “We do not know if his memories remain.”
“He is still my Jake.” Neytiri rebukes, even as her stomach sinks at the idea. She looks out, in the direction where she knows the sawtute keep their home. Then, she tilts her head to the sun–brigh sky, imagining where amongst that great expanse she would find Jake. Perhaps he is not even there - perhaps he is already here, waiting for her, searching for her.
“I hope you are right about this, ma Neytiri.” Tsu’tey sighs after he takes a long, lingering look at the joy on her face. He too tilts his head to the heavens, suspicion writ across his features. “I do not wish to see you hurt.”
“I know I am right about this.” She places her hand on his shoulder, squeezes tight. “I know it.”