Chapter Text
" Dad, there's something on my skin..."
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His mother cries at night. Horrible sounding gasps and wheezes and little whispers of:
Why Lo'ak ?
Why always Lo'ak?
She always breaks down during the night. She doesn't want him to know of the pain he is causing her. The humiliation.
"There's nothing we can do now," his father tells her. No 'it's okay', or 'it's going to be alright'. Because it's not okay, and nothing will ever be alright again.
She doesn't stop crying. His father is hugging her, hushing her. Lo'ak is crying too. He wonders if his father would hug him if he asked.
He doesn't.
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All Lo'ak has ever known is hate. Hate was fed to him like water, like milk from his mother's breasts. Hate is not a feeling anymore. It has somehow become a person, much like him. Holding his hand as he grew up, all wrong and broken. It's a blanket, wrapping around him like a hug; like loving hands, vowing to protect him, to care for him.
Love has not been good to Lo'ak. Love is treacherous. Love hurts; it tires him. It lifts him in her arms, cradles him close, rocking him to sleep just so she can drop him. He can't trust love. But hate? Hate has never let him down.
Hate for himself. Hate for his parents, mating with no regard to the consequences; creating him, a walking contradiction of a person. He hates that they made him, only to lock him up and hide him from the world the moment his skin started to bear their pasts for everyone to see. Hate for his brother who doesn't have to worry about any of this shit, who will never have to. Hate for his sister, who should know, more than anyone else how it feels like, but still sat there, with her back on him, not even acknowledging him anymore.
But most of all he hates the the markings on his skin. White and sickly and abnormal. No one can look at him anymore. He doesn't blame them. He doesn't like looking at himself either.
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It wasn't fair, how his father's gifts were divided between him and his brother. He should have seen it coming. He should have seen the signs. He knows better now. Eywa knows all. She blesses her children, keeps them close to her heart. But Lo'ak was not her child. And she never passed a chance to show him. The more he fought to reach her, the more she pushed him down. It's me, he wanted to scream to the heavens. It's me, your bastard child. Your monstrous creation. He used to think that if he reached high enough, screamed hard enough, he would earn a place among her children.
Now he knows he never even had a chance. Now when he looks up, the heavens are empty.
And it all started with how Eywa gave their father's gifts to each of them. But instead of striking a balance, making sure to even them out with each son, she used this as a chance to let Lo'ak know, just how much she despised him.
Neteyam had inherited their father's bravery. Lo'ak, his recklessness. Neteyam had his decisiveness, while Lo'ak had his stubbornness. Neteyam had the ability to inspire with his words, make people feel strong in their darkness hour. Lo'ak had a smart mouth and a sharp tongue that pushed people away. Neteyam had his father's best physical features, like the structure of his face, broad shoulders, a strong core. He carried himself like his father, like a warrior should.
And so undeniably Na'vi. A perfectly cut example of the ideal Omatikaya warrior. The grandson of Eytukan and Mo'at, a great leader and a respectable Tsahik. The son of Neytiri and Toruk Makto, the savior of Pandora, the mythical hero who led the Clans to victory, liberating their homeworld. He was the youngest warrior of his clan to complete his Uniltaron, and while Jake never confirmed it, a perfect candidate to become the next Olo'eyktan.
Whenever asked if he was considering it, Jake would say: we'll see. He had to, so he was not considered to be biased. As Olo'eyktan, it was his duty to consider every able warrior before making the decision as to who would replace him. But Lo'ak could see the look in his eye and he'd know the truth. There was no other choice.
He tries not to take it too hard. It wasn't personal. Some people just weren't cut out for greatness.
Look at you. He told himself. His reflection was all he needed to know. The evidence of his shortcomings was there, in his face, in his hands, mocking him.
Lo'ak looked the most like his father, but unlike Neteyam, it was not a good thing. Because he was a reflection of Jake's worst qualities, a distorted mirror of a great man. He can't remember a time when that wasn't the case. Maybe there wasn't. Maybe he was aware he was wrong from the moment he was born. Or maybe everyone else did. He was nothing but a reminder of Jake's worst part: his humanity. And with nothing else of value to balance it out.
Not Neteyam's abilities, Tuk's innocence, or even Kiri's connection with their Great Mother to redeem him.
"How is Neteyam?" people would ask his parents, and leave once Lo'ak was mentioned.
He wasn't barred from attending any ceremonies, or hunts but he also wasn't missed if he didn't. No one was outwardly hostile towards him, but no one was going out of their way to be nice. Approach him. Silence followed him wherever he went. Like when someone walks in at the end of a joke, ruining everyone else's happiness.
Somehow the indifference, the avoidance hurt more. His brother was loved by the clan. He wasn't. But he wasn't hated either. No. It was so much worse than that.
He was tolerated.
Somehow, it made him wish he was despised. At least then, he would feel important enough to invoke such strong feelings.
When the war started, he thought this might be his chance. After all his father was once as much of an outcast as he was. He was all Lo'ak was and worse. His father had once been fully human. He had once worked for the Sky People, betraying the Na'vi. But he rose through all that. He became a savior, righting his wrongs, saving his people.
Now his name was much revered amongst the Na'vi. Lo'ak didn't need to be a hero. He did not want to be a legend. He just wanted to be looked at like his father, his brother, his mother, and his sisters. He wanted to be one of them, The People, his family.
He failed. Crashed and burned time and time again.
No one was surprised.
Not one person.
Not even himself.
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The white spots appear like mold to food, rot to corpses. Suddenly and unexpectedly. And he feels just as helpless. He stares at the edges of his fingers, at his toes. And somehow he knows it's not going away. That it will spread and spread until it has consumed him.
Mold. Rot
You can cut the infected part, but the sickness is still there. Always there.
He keeps his mouth shut and doesn't tell anyone. No one really notices anyway. He spends most of his day in the water, always moving, never still. Never allowing anyone to really take a good look. The spots travel down his fingers and reach the knuckles of his hands and the ankles of his feet in the span of two weeks. He keeps said limps wrapped and no one questions it. The reef kids believe it to be a tree people thing and his parents buy the 'it helps me with swimming' excuse all too willingly.
Only Neteyam looks confused but Lo'ak manages to fool him too. He can be really good at pretending if he wants to. And for a bit, he was so good that he even fooled himself. It will go away, he tells himself. There is no way this is here to stay. There is no way Eywa would be so cruel. Because she isn't. Not to anyone.
(Expect from him)
Then in just three days, they have somehow reached his forearms and they are climbing up to his knees and it hits him. He won't be able to hide it anymore.
Please stop. He whispers in the dead of night, clutching his wrist and scratching his skin as if that will wipe them off. He rubs his feet together almost maniacally, praying that it will. Hoping against hope that he can peel his skin and find something normal under it. Something that won't make him even more of a freak than he already is. Please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop.
A hand touches his back. He recognizes it immediately as Neteyam's. Three fingers but too big to be his mother's or his sister's. His movements stop, (deer caught in headlights, Jake likes to call it) and he waits. He waits as if Neteyam will think he imagined Lo'ak's panic or that he was doing all this in his unconsciousness, in his sleep.
He's screaming at himself in his mind, that Neteyam isn't stupid and that he's such an idiot, such-
"Breathe" Neteyam whispers and Lo'ak realizes he hasn't in a while, even before the hand landed on his back. Air slips inside his lungs and they expand, as if all they needed was this reminder to work again, and it makes him dizzy. He sucks in a couple of deep breaths and his mind quiets down, just a bit.
If it had been a nightmare, he would have pushed Neteyam away at this point. Go away, I'm not a baby anymore. But it isn't a nightmare. It should be. His body is betraying him, molding, rotting, his skin feels tight and itchy and wrong and whatever sickness this is consumes him faster and faster every day. He's always been an outsider, never Na'vi enough. And now, he's afraid he never might be. It should be a nightmare. It should be a fucked up creation of his mind. Not his reality.
Tomorrow he will collect the courage and steel the strength to show his father. Then immediately regret it when he's met with anger, a raised voice, and heated questions instead of the understanding he lied to himself that he would get, the comfort that his heart craved.
Tonight, he reached for his brother and touches his fingers over Neteyam's. If he can see the white spots in the darkness he doesn't say anything. He rubs his nails with the pads of his fingers. Lo'ak falls asleep the moment his eyes flutter closed.
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"What is that?" Jake asks, loudly, loud enough that Lo'ak flinches and tries to take his hand back. He doesn't let him.
"I don't...I don't know" his father doesn't reply. He keeps turning his hand, pressing his fingers, his nails down on the white patches. Lo'ak has to hod his breath so as not to hiss in pain. His father keeps turning his hand. He turns it so far he thinks it'll break.
For a brief moment, he thinks it might.
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He looks down (always looking down these days he is), but he looks down on his hands, and his feet and his are just filled with white splashes now.
"What do you want from me?" He asked his body. And his body didn't reply. So he looks up to the sky instead. "What are you doing?" He asks Eywa because She was his last hope.
"I will do anything to make this stop" he says, and he opens his arms and he waits. "What do you want? What do I have to do?"
Silence.
"It's not fair. You are not fair. I'm your child too, you know? I just want to be your child. Why won't you let me be your child?"
Silence.
His eyes hurt. He hasn't been sleeping lately. The sun burns his irises. Maybe it's the tears. He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything anymore.
"It's not fair" he mumbles and he rubs his thumb over his nails but it's not like when Neteyam did it. "You are not fair. You have everything. You are worshipped by everyone. You create everything, control everything, know everything, hold and give everything. And I'm just a kid. Why do you always do this to me? You have everything and I have nothing. So why can't you just ignore me? Why must you keep reminding me of your hatred"
Silence.
Kung 'Eveng
Rotten Child.
The words echo in his mind in a low whisper. Chills run down his spine. He shivers.
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He drags his feet to his father, feet, and hands unwrapped for the first time in weeks and everything in him is pulling him back and his mind is telling him to run, but he doesn't. He doesn't because his heart is yearning. Because he has told himself every cruel thing he could ever be told and he just wants someone that is like him to tell him that none of these words are true.
He walks to his father like a rotten corpse, everything falling apart around him. And he wants to beg. Please see me, please love me. Even if I'm not right. Even if there's nothing in me worth loving anymore. If anyone else saw me right now, they'd run screaming. Demon. Alien. Rotten child. Please don't run. Please stay.
And we can pretend both we're good.
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His mother scratched and scratched with both the towel and her nails, pouring water here and there. She stares at his skin with hatred that Lo'ak has only ever seen directed at her enemies. To the people who burned the forest, killed her people, her father, her sister. He wonders if she sees them now, in him, on his skin. He wonders if he deserves that hatred too.
He feels the tug and the pull on his skin, feels the heat from all the friction. The pain is almost liberating, so he bites his tongue and watches his mother go, ignoring him every time he winces, ignoring the wetness in his eyes. Jake is standing over them, arms crossed and waiting. Waiting for a miracle to happen and for the whiteness to clean.
It doesn't happen.
What does happen is his skin breaks and blood comes out and he yelps and yanks his hand away, curling it against his chest. What happens is his mother covers her mouth in shock, as if only now she noticed just how rough she had been on him. What happens is his father groans and walks away from them. Leaving his mother breathing heavily across him, and him feeling tethered and humiliated.
"We need to take him to Ronal" Neytiri says between pants.
"No. We can't risk it. I'm calling Norm"
"Ma Jake, we don't know what this is. He could be sick, or, or dying. He has to see Tsahik"
His father turns to him, and Lo'ak's tail wraps around his body, self-consciously.
"You said it doesn't hurt you"
Lo'ak shakes his head.
"And you don't feel any different than you usually do?"
Lo'ak purses his lips. "It...itches sometimes"
Lo'ak feels the blood pooling under his fingers, and a single drop rolls down across them.
"We're waiting for Norm and Max to come" Jake says. "We don't know how Ronal will take this. You already know what she thinks of the kids. If he is sick, we won't be able to take much care of him if we're looking for a place to stay"
Neytiri sniffled, but she nodded. She didn't even spare him one last look when she got up and left. Jake took her place. They both sat in silence as Jake cleaned the cut. Lo'ak couldn't stop looking at his face. He had been so angry when he had seen him. But now all that was gone. There was nothing there, nothing in the eyes or the lines of his father's face that could indicate any clear feeling. He secured the bandage with a band-aid. A band-aid with a star pattern.
Lo'ak smiled despite himself. He used to sit on Jake's lap as his father would show him the stars. They used to do it almost every night. He doesn't remember why they stopped.
"I'm sorry" he says because he feels as if this is his fault too. Because this happened to him, like most bad things and even when he's not doing anything and he's trying his hardest to be good he's still bad and he doesn't know how to make it stop.
Jake doesn't answer. He runs his thumb over the band-aid once.
"Don't touch anything" he says, using his 'army voice' as Lo'ak has dubbed it. And it makes everything in him recoil, but he swallows and nods.
"I won't"
"Or your siblings. We don't know if this thing is contagious"
"Yes, sir"
"And stay put. Until we know more about this, don't go anywhere"
A droplet lands on the band-aid. And they both pretend it's not a tear.
"Yes, sir"
His throat feels clogged. Two fingers take his braids and tuck them behind his ear, before trailing down his jaw. Jake gets up. This is the last time anyone touches him for a week and a half. His siblings are forbidden from going anywhere near him, which they take too laterally. And he doesn't see them all day.
Except one. Except Neteyam. That night, his mat is pushed to the very far-off corner of the marui. That night, as he looks at the wall and lets the tears flow, wondering how the fuck he still has more to shed something falls next to his side. It's a rope and several meters away from him is Neteyam holding the other end.
Lo'ak dries his face and takes the rope and faces his brother as they both lay down. Neither of them talk. He doesn't remember who fell asleep first. They keep doing it, and their parents never find out. When he walks up to the shuttle Norm and Max have landed on the small, uninhabited island so that they can examine him, he thinks he wouldn't have made it this far without it.
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His father is the best and worst person in Lo'ak's life. This should not be possible. To hate and love someone so much. Loving Jake was like loving a knife. When you held it, you felt safe. The knife fed you. It gave you life. Until you found it stuck in your gut. Until it scarred your skin and drew your blood and slit your neck wide open, leaving you on the ground rotting and ugly and oh, so surprised the sharp blade could cut so deep.
When he thinks back to his childhood, he thinks of Jake. And he thinks of himself, always running after him.
"Look at me!" he would call. "Dad, look! Look what I can do! Look, look! Look at me!"
Look at me. See me. Please see me.
And Jake would, once. He would look at him, glowing with pride. He would cheer him on, celebrate with him. He would cup his face, relish him. Like he didn't care how unnatural he was. Like it didn't matter.
He could still be shaped then. He could still be molded and raised to be something good, something great. Back then he could still be all the things Jake was not. There was still hope.
He remembers his childhood. And he remembers how it ended when his father stopped looking at him. When he realized whatever hopes he might have had for Lo'ak, would never come to fruition.
Jake had looked at him, and he had seen himself. A chance to create a version of himself with only his best qualities. So he would take Lo'ak everywhere, talk to him for hours, teach him all that he could, give him all that he had. Lo'ak hadn't understood the purpose of all this. He went along because he loved Dad and Dad was spending time with him, so Dad must love him back. He never saw it for what it was. A chance to be the one to carry his father's legacy.
He didn't realize until it was too late. Until Jake found out Lo'ak was a combination of all he hated about himself, all he wanted to overcome.
All the good things lay with his oldest son. All the potential. So he stopped looking at Lo'ak and his eyes never left Neteyam. And when he did look at Lo'ak, when he did spare some time for his youngest son, it was never for the reasons Lo'ak wanted.
Now, he sat on the examination table, shivering at the cold, gloved hands that probed and pressed every inch of his arms and legs, following the trail of white spots covering his blue, stripped skin.
His parents were standing at the far corner of the room, holding each other close. Jake could not take his eyes off of him, for the first time in years. Lo'ak held his gaze, trapping him, forcing him to be a witness to his suffering.
"Vitiligo" Norm concluded, chuckling. "It's vitiligo"
No one other than Max knew what that was. Lo'ak waited for his parents to ask more questions. They didn't. They had turned around now, turning their backs on him, whispering at each other.
He sighed.
"What's that?" He asked, placing a hand over a particularly big patch of white skin on his forearm. It had been bothering him since he sat down, always at the edge of his eye. He felt a bit more secure once it was well hidden under his palm.
"It's a skin condition. Well, an autoimmune disorder is more likely, but it causes patches of skin to lose color. Humans get it sometimes. I didn't think Na'vi could get it..." He says thoughtfully, typing furiously at his screen.
Lo'ak wants to scoff. Yeah. He didn't know Na'vi could get it either. The Na'vi probably didn't know they could get it themselves. The truth lay in Max's words. Humans get it.
Humans, with their skins of every color other than blue, that descended from the skies and burned his home to the ground. And now, he would have to bear their likeness even more than before; a irredeeming amount. After all, you can shave eyebrows. You can amputate a finger or two. But who will take a knife and skin him?
Well, his mother definitely looks willing. Her golden eyes shine from the corner of the shuttle. He feels his skin burn under her gaze. He wonders if she'd do it were he to ask; beg. He wonders whether or not it would be enough.
"Is there any way we can make the vit...vil...that go away?" The edges of his father's eyes crinkle at the edges and his face pinches. "Or, stop it, at least"
He wants that too. Eyewa knows he does. He wants to swallow a nauseating pill or take an injection and for everything to go back to normal. He wants to stop wearing all the clothes and the handmade pieces of armor his brother gave him just to hide the white spots on his feet and hands and chest. He wants to be able to hug his siblings again. He wants them to look at him at least. He wants to be allowed outside.
But the way his father says it makes his skin crawl. And there's anger in his chest, hot and painful, and heat on his cheeks and the edges of his eyes and for a moment he feels like he can't breathe. Because he gets the impression that he is not talking just about his skin.
It makes him want to scream because he didn't ask for this shit. He didn't ask for the humanity forced upon him. If Jake wanted a normal Na'vi kid, maybe he should have asked Max and Norm to make him one in that lab of his. One full-blooded and perfect. Because the chance of 'normal' flew out the window once Jake entered the equation.
After all, it was his half that was causing all the problems. And it's then that he remembers his brother and his little sister and fuck. Maybe it isn't Jake. Maybe it really is him. Because two of the three biological children came out perfectly fine. And somehow it was just Lo'ak that came out defective.
Typical.
"There's nothing that we know of. At least not for humans"
Lo'ak's stomach drops. His eyes are burning and his vision grows blurry. He has to look down, but even through the tears collecting on his eyelashes, he can see the spots, decorating his hands like splattered blood. Blood that the people responsible for this thing have spilled. Blood that he will never be able to wash away.
His mother sobs and he wants to hug her. He wants to kiss her head, caress her braids, and sing to her like she used to do for him. He wants to tell her he will be okay. That he doesn't mind if she can't bring himself to look at him anymore. That he understands. I see you, ma'itan, she would always say. Even if people whispered and pointed and judged him from the moment he was born. I see you because his humanity was an echo of his father, but he was still hers. He was still hers. Until he wasn't. Until his humanity overtook what was theirs, what was the people's, what was Eywa's.
His father sighs. Disappointed. Lo'ak wants to kill him. And then himself.
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He hears Jake sigh as he enters the marui. Lo'ak sits on his sleeping mat, in his corner by the wall. He rubs his wrist. There are crescent marks on his wrist, from when Neteyam grabbed him, nails digging into his skin, biting his flesh. There had been blood there too (there's always blood when someone touches him now it seems) but he hadn't said anything.
Honestly, he wasn't sure what had happened. Perhaps Neteyam was finally entering some sort of teenage rebellion. Now, as to why he had chosen Lo'ak as the center of that rebellion, he wasn't sure. But it happened. It had felt so surreal when Jake took Neteyam out of there.
They were back in the village and back in the privacy of their home. Lo'ak had layed down, facing the same fucking wall he has been staring at for the past few weeks, slowly losing his sanity. He listens to his parents explain what is wrong with him to his siblings. Tuk is the one asking all the questions, her little voice excitedly jumping from one curiosity to the next as their parents struggle to keep up. He hears shuffling from somewhere behind him as Neteyam comes and sits close to him. Not close enough to touch, but Lo'ak can see his shadow and smell the seawater. And he doesn't do anything. He doesn't talk to him or try and touch him. Even if now they know it won't infect anyone (no one seems to care about that part). He just sits there, a couple of feet away from Lo'ak and despite everything, it feels sort of okay.
He doesn't turn around. He doesn't think he can. He loves Neteyam. Loves him to death. But he's scared. He's scared that if he turns around and sees him - right there next to him, looking so normal and so perfect, like he always does, wearing his Kekunan battle band, a sign of his belonging to the people, a belonging Lo'ak could only pray for before and that he might never achieve now, looking down at him so concerned- he might scream. Neteyam is the only one who still looks at him, still smiles and jokes. Even if Lo'ak won't laugh. He's the one who, while everyone else avoided him like the plague they thought he was carrying, would talk to him. He would sit on the other side of the room and talk for hours and hours while doing his chores. He would tell him of the world outside, describe the sun hitting the waves, the warm sand and the way it felt in his hands, funny stories of the shenanigans of the reef kids.
Lo'ak doesn't want to lose that. He doesn't want to lose him. Anger has been buzzing in his veins, fueling his heart. Everything that happened today has slowly been leading to his unraveling. And Neteyam could be his undoing. He doesn't want to risk it. He doesn't want to snap and say something he will regret. He doesn't want his brother's eyes to avoid him too.
"Neteyam, get away from there" Jake calls, voice harsh and demanding, an order from a superior officer, rather than a father. They can always tell who is who.
It's a tone Lo'ak is familiar with. And it's the thing that cuts through his silent anger, replacing it with something else. Something worse. Something that icy cold that wraps around his throat and his stomach. Shame.
Shame that cuts his breath. Shame, which has him turning around in an instant, all his instincts screaming at him to not have his back to the enemy. He doesn't try and wonder why his body has started to confuse 'enemy' with 'dad'. Neteyam has almost the same reaction as him. His body tenses and his eyes widen.
"Sir, I'm not even that close"
He's not. Lo'ak would have to reach over to touch him. He could...And for a moment he wants to. Just to prove to them he isn't dangerous. Because it's a skin condition, not a virus. It won't affect the rest. He knows that's what they are afraid of. And he foolishly thought that it was the only positive thing about his diagnosis. That his parents and his siblings could stop fearing him. They could touch him again. They could be in the same room as him without fear. They would no longer constrict him in a far-off corner, while they stayed together on the other side, without him, as far away as they could from him. But when he had reached his hand to them, his parents had jumped back. And when they got back home, he was still led to 'his corner' before his siblings were allowed in. He wonders if it's fear, or if they always wanted this. If this was all an excuse to finally stop having to tolerate him too. Or else why would Jake say:
"Still..." while looking at him with hesitant eyes, as if Lo'ak would lurch forward and try to...what? Why? Why was he looking at him like a rabid animal ready to pounce?
"I thought you said it's not contagious" Neteyam insisted, speaking the words that bounced around Lo'ak mind, surprising his younger brother. Lo'ak had subconsciously expected to hear a 'yes, sir' and his brother scurrying away in complete obedience. Defiance was not in the cards. Not for Neteyam. Stubbornness was supposed to be Lo'ak's curse to carry.
Jake too is surprised. His eyebrows twitch as he stares down at his oldest son. It's not backtalking, not the way Lo'ak does it. But Neteyam's eyes squint in determination that Lo'ak has never seen the carry before. Almost spiteful. Everything around them seems to have stopped. Lo'ak doesn't even notice Neteyam's hand reaching over until his fingers encircle his wrist. He feels goosebumps run across his body. He hasn't been touched for so long. Even Norm and Max, who had meticulously poked and probed and photographed every single white spot on his body had gloves on.
So long...
Skin to skin. Warmth to warmth.
A fearful gasp escaped Neytiri. Jake's ears twitched towards her, before stepping forward.
"Hey! Stop that!" He snapped, breaking Lo'ak from his trance. He has been witnessing the scene in front of him, completely dumbfounded, jaw hanging low and mouth open. It's then he tries to tag his hand free, but his brother's hold is relentless.
"No" Neteyam insists, voice low but sharp, almost like a hiss. And Lo'ak sits there, astounded by his sudden rebelliousness, to their dad of all people.
"Neteyam" he whispers, tagging his hand again when Jake crouches down in front of them. The way he looks at them makes chills run down Lo'ak's spine.
"Enough" he growls, not an ounce of anger concealed as it washed over them. Lo'ak shivered. Both the look and the sound of his father, his anger was familiar to him. Always to him. Never Neteyam. Yet, his older brother was not giving up. His hold had grown so tight that Lo'ak could feel his hand slowly going numb and both his brother and his father were staring each other down, waiting to see who would be the first to give.
"Ma'itan, please" Neytiri calls, voice wavering. Tears were running down her cheeks as she rubbed Tuk's back, who was sobbing quietly, face hidden in their mother's torso. Even Kiri was there, holding her hand, caressing her arm up and down in an attempt to comfort her.
His mother's distress seemed to be the thing to end Neteyam's outburst. The moment he let go, Jake grabbed him by the forearm, almost lifting him off the ground as he dragged him outside. Neytiri ran after them, calling his father's name.
"Come on. Let's go collect some seashells. That'll make Mama feel better" Kiri said, carrying a still sobbing Tuk out of the Marui. She doesn't ask if he wants to come. She doesn't even look at him.
His skin itches where his brother was touching him. He doesn't know why the thought crosses his mind, but he thinks of how a wounded animal might sometimes try to claw and bite something, anything to help it hold onto life just a little bit longer. Defiance. Desperation. He stares at the spot where his brother was sitting just moments before.
He's afraid.
And not for himself.
"Norm and Max are leaving tomorrow. Back to the forest" he hears Jake mention from behind him, nonchalantly, speaking for the first time since he came back. Neteyam nowhere to be seen Lo'ak swallows and runs his fingers over his legs. There's barely any blue left until his knees. "You've been missing it, haven't you?"
He stands up, eyes finally meeting his father's. Come on, Jake. Say it. Be a fucking man and look your son in the eyes while you send him away. At least that's what Lo'ak thinks, but his mouth remains wired shut. Jake will deny it. He would never outright say it. Lo'ak refuses to give him the satisfaction to do it himself. Not yet. He wants to see how far he'll take this. If he will actually get there at all.
"They talked about the possibility of finding something. Running tests. It's...you're the first to ever...have...that". He motions to him, as a whole and Lo'ak has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Real smooth, dad.
"I think you should let them, itan. They might be able to help you"
Yeah, because this is about helping me . It sure is convenient that my absence will help you fit in. Just say it, Jake. Say you want to get rid of me. Rip me out like a weed. Rotten child.
Lo'ak doesn't speak.
"They'll keep you safe. Norm promised me. And you can call whenever you want. We'll call too. I promise"
Back to the forest. Back to where he first was the black sheep. This time, with no one to hold his hand. No brother to defend him. No adopted sister to complain to, not a younger sister to cheer him up. No mother to sing to him while braiding his hair.
No father to...
No father.
"Your grandmother could use-"
"Will you help me pack?" he cuts Jake off, voice breaking at the end. The tears don't escape this time though and he thinks that's better. Almost crying in front of his dad and actually crying are two different things. Lately, he feels as if he has been doing nothing but cry. He keeps his eyes shut and takes deep breaths. Each one feels harder than the one that came before.
Something drapes over his shoulders and for a brief moment he thinks it's Jake. He thinks it's a hug. A hug. He hasn't been hugged for so long. His whole body gets goosebumps.
Fuck, he needs-
He needs to-
Maybe, just maybe, it will be okay. Maybe they will be okay. Maybe...
A cloak. It's a cloak. Warm, but lifeless. Put together by his mother, designed to hide. To conceal.
"I'll pack. You rest" his father says softly, almost lovingly, before walking away.
And it makes it so much worse.
Why? Why does he have to throw him away so lovingly? As if he cares. As if it hurts him. As if he isn't shuffling around just behind his back, throwing all of Lo'ak's things in a bag. As if he isn't in a hurry to do so.