Chapter Text
Lo’ak had visited the Spirit Tree a whopping 2 times since Neteyam’s death.
The first, was just a day after the funeral. Paint still so fresh it halfway washed off in the water. When he connected that time he stayed maybe an hour. In this visage, he and Neteyam were back at home, in the forest. It was that lovely cusp between the day and the edging eclipse where their freckles saw the frontier of illumination and diurnal animals slowly gave way to the night ones.
They were maybe 15 feet off the ground lingering on a branch of a Fortune’s Fruit tree, having managed to snag two prepubescent fruits, (the only kind that grew this semi low down.)
But then again Neteyam was not as patient as he liked to come off as.
It stayed mostly silent in essence of new material to discuss, the conversation they ran through being the exact same as it had been that day. Tapering off slowly when Kiri’s voice reverberated, signaling she had managed to track them down in the forest. For a brief moment Lo’ak had successfully convinced Neteyam to hide in the shrouds of the canopy, before she threatened to call mom which had them scrambling down the tree, laughing, then running back home for dinner.
The second (and final,) time was about a week ago now. It was a bit ironic, what played that time. Put enough of a bitter taste in his mouth that he hasn’t bothered to go back since then.
That day, he had gone out in the early morning. Snuck off before he’d be dragged under with chores and stiflingly awkward family meals that were missing something. Not in a numb way, in a very loud, very painful way. When he slipped under water he stayed about another 15 feet away from the Spirit Tree, staring, internally counting the moments it took without air until his lungs burned. One Mississippi, was the first one. Lo’ak wasn’t sure what Mississippi was, but Jake had taught them young how to keep track of what grew in the space between time, just in case.
When he felt light headed enough, like he might just burst if he stayed too long, he pushed himself forward towards the tree, making Tsaheylu. This time, when his mind honed in on something stable, the date was a few months ago. He was sitting crosslegged by a river, legs dipped in and smelling heavy floral, damp wood, and earthy vegetation. It was fresh. It was nostalgic. More than that, it was home.
Neteyam was sitting behind him and he had tufts of hair obscuring his vision, wincing and scowling in faux anger when his big brother tugged on his hair too hard as he worked to braid it.
It wasn’t damp, though the two of them had washed off their hair in the river before ending up trying to see who could make it up a solid tree first. When Neteyam won (by an inch, Lo’ak dares to add,) he was challenged a multitude of other times before Lo’ak called it a draw and sat down by the river edge.
‘You sure, little bro? Think I won.’
He remembered the words distantly.
‘Alright. Whatever you say.’
A comfortable silence rained as Neteyam braided his hair for a few hours, only managing a few sentences. Not all their instants were full of silence, though being as close as they were, if there was something to know, they told each other immediately.
When Neteyam was done Lo’ak insisted on trying to braid the elders' hair. Sadly, his very tender-headed brother refused to let anyone but Neytiri touch it.
By the time memory was done, and Lo’ak was swimming back to the surface for air and he could distantly acknowledge that his hair needed to be rebraided. It was frizzy now and too grown out at the roots, the shaved side of his head bubbling with new growth as well. He didn’t feel like maintaining it. Nor could he bring himself to ask his grieving mother to braid his hair for him. It could wait longer.
Of course, the main reason he did not rebraid his hair was he knew the ones he had in now were the last braids Neteyam would ever do for him.
Today, Lo’ak took to lingering in the water, near Payakan. His spirit brother brought enough comfort for him to keep him afloat when he thought about how long it would take to drown in the water encasing them. Though he tried his best to stifle the thoughts whenever he made Tsaheylu with Payakan, not wanting to inflict the sharp pain and curdling beads it left in his stomach and throat on the other.
He’d been trying to work to make it home on time, really he had, but the sheer fear caused him to stay out too late everyday. He couldn’t bear to be around his parents anymore. His mother, suffocating in her own sadness, did not often speak, nor did she look at him. His father on the other hand seemed to neglect acknowledging Lo’ak with his eyes for a much different reason— it was his fault. A silent acknowledgment between the two of them per Jake’s constant criticisms which only served to grow harsher in time.
‘His fault’ meaning Neteyam's death. Since the incident it seemed that his father could look at him, forehead maybe, often enough to reprimand him but Lo’ak found it difficult to capture his eyes. Even then, Lo’ak often kept his head down when getting scolded; and Jake didn’t dare to look at him for much else, the shame overpowering. He was used to it enough, this routine, that he didn’t try to fix it he figured his father needed a way to vent his frustrations out anyways.
So he waited in the water, listening to Payakan’s low groans and hums until a quarter past the eclipse, bidding farewell to his brother then standing, feet damp and collecting sand (disgustingly,) as he made his way to their marui which stood just on the precipice of the outskirts of the village.
Distantly he could see his father standing outside once he was close enough, arms crossed over his chest. Even in the darkness he was sure he could make out the lines of frustration creasing his fathers face, or the way his anger pulled at the corner of his mouth.
Once closer, he could hear his sister's voices and his mothers silence. Spider too. He hadn’t been around the boy too much since Neteyam died. He didn’t even really want to. Usually he and Kiri were off doing… whatever. Lo’ak was sure he’d caught them close enough to kiss quite a few times. They seemed so happy. He wondered how.
Not in the way he wanted to replicate that feeling, just a curiosity in how they could feel so light in the wake of this sepulture.
Jake hadn’t been tying his hair recently, Lo’ak had noticed a day or so ago before finally acknowledging it as he felt his father’s biting grip on his arm.
He could see his father lip back his words as he dragged Lo’ak a few feet away from their marui.
“Where the hell have you been, boy? Every night! Every damn night you’re doing this! You know how worried it makes us?”
“M’ sorry sir.” He mumbled, eyes flickering down to the sand. “Won’t happen again.”
Jake let out an audible breath “Yeah? Won’t happen again? That’s what you say every time. You’re already grounded!” He spat. “Do I need to chain you to the damn table? Huh?” He jerked Loak's arm lightly. “Didn’t even answer my question.”
“You asked a few questions.” He hummed lightly, head titling imperceptibly.
“Don’t—” He cut himself off, voice daring to raise too loud in the quiet as he shot a hasty glance around, landing back on Lo’ak, now lowering considerably as he leaned towards Lo’ak. “Don’t be a smartass kid. Where were you.”
Lo’ak took less than a second to weigh the options. Admit he was with Payakan, who was still outcast (and inevitably cause more stress to his parents,) or, lie.
“I was with Tsireya sir. She wanted my help weaving.” His eyes flickered up now. “Wanted to finish the net before I came back. Last time. I promise.” His word didn’t mean very much. Given the option, even he wouldn’t take it.
Jake’s eyes met his for a fraction of a second before glancing to the side, jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. Conflict swam in his gaze a moment before his grip tightened, then released. Decided to take the excuse.
Lo’ak was sure he heard a muttered, ‘What the hell am I going to do with you.’ before his father spoke.
“Last. Time. You’re still grounded. Not letting you leave tomorrow.” Eyes searching all over Lo’ak’s face before surely landed on the space between his eyes. “Did your chores today?”
Lo’ak nodded silently. Jake's ear twitched.
“All of em’? You know that we gotta pull our weight around here. The Metkayina have accepted us, can’t be wasting—”
“Yes sir. I completed them.” He dared the interruption, glancing at Jake almost challengingly, hoping he’d be chastised. Punished for rebelling. For the rebellion that got Neteyam killed. His father seemingly didn’t notice it. Didn’t linger on his face long enough to.
His arm raised and motioned in a rather general direction, finger pointed. “Inside now boy. Your mothers worried half to death you’ll apologize. “
He gave another brief nod, staying still until he was sure it was okay to move, signified by Jake’s shifting, he followed him in.
Lo’ak did intend to apologize to his Neytiri, but by the time they walked in she was fast asleep, and Kiri, and Tuk had fallen asleep too, near the entrance of the marui, Kiri had been spending time pointing out different stars to Tuk recently.
Spider was asleep distantly, in one of the hammocks. Neteyam’s hammock.
Lo’ak did not care that Spider was here, nor that the boy slept in a hammock. It was just that it was his hammock. Spider could've— no, should've. Should've slept anywhere but there.
He understood that they only had so much space but hell, Lo’ak would prefer if Spider slept even with him rather than there. Neteyam’s already wavering scent was starting to be replaced with something much different, and Lo’ak hated it.
In the far and few times the marui was empty, Lo’ak often found himself crawling into Neteyam's old hammock and simply being. Then, it was easy to pretend like he was waiting for his big brother to walk through the entrance and tease him for being childish. He’d shoot back that Neteyam’s was just bigger. Big enough to share even; and the next moment they’d both be asleep there.
Though as the days wore on, he could no longer pretend that Neteyam was just absent for a while and that he'd been home soon— no, it was a truth screaming at him: Neteyam was dead. And Spider had taken his place, and that was much more uncomfortable than Neteyam simply being gone forever.
Someone was replacing him, and Kiri and Tuk and Jake even seemed content with letting it happen.
When he was snapped out of his thoughts and bothered to look up, Jake shot him a glare that said ‘this isn’t over.’ Then the both of them took to quietly cleaning up the dishes and from dinner.
Lo’ak wasn’t apparently very good at lying because when Jake asked him if he had eaten something for dinner, Lo’aks’ yes was not sufficient enough and he ended up stuffing down a few pieces of fish until Jake decided it was enough.
Then they finished cleaning. The fish was good but minimally flavored and lukewarm now, leaning towards the cold side. Lo’ak liked the smooth texture of it.
What Lo’ak did not like however, was Jake’s constant gaze which seemed to weigh quite heavily on him. It was humiliating enough to be berated by the man, but to then get caught lying and watched while he ate made him sick.
Besides just that, there was a little voice in the back of his head constantly weeping in injustice; about the fact his brother was dead and it wouldn’t have happened if not for him.
The feeling was quite odd, the turmoil it created in his stomach at the thought he didn’t deserve the food at all, curdling into embarrassment.
The last thing Lo’ak did not like about the fish was the heavy aftertaste it left coating his mouth even a few minutes after eating it, his sore tongue unconsciously running over the sticky covered grooves of his mouth, more leaden than his breath.
Jake was the next to fall asleep after picking up both Kiri and Tuk, making a small grunt of effort before seamlessly lifting the two girls and bringing them over to Kiri’s hammock to lay them in. Once they were settled, he did not actually drift off until he was fully assured that Lo’ak was in bed and asleep as well.
While Lo’ak would’ve liked to argue that he couldn’t sleep at night for the multitude of reasons that included the haunting memories of Neeteyam’s last breath or his lax weight in his arms, Lo’ak could in fact sleep; and when he did, he did not dream. He did not see the loop of Neteyam’s passing or the sound of Tsireya’s worried cries while they were tied on that ship. He did not see his mothers sadness when they had to leave the forest all those months ago for something that was his fault as well.
‘His fault’ and ‘My fault’ seemed to be the words Lo’ak heard most often nowadays. Since he turned 13, maybe. Or even his whole life. Could even add a your to the beginning. Your fault.
He did not see a single one of those moments when he fell asleep each night. He saw nothing at all in fact, and if he had seen something he hadn’t the slightest hint of what it was.
He knew he probably should’ve, there were plenty of nights where he forced his dropping eyelids open over and over again, fighting off the weight of sleep no matter how desperately he wanted it or how easy it came. In those moments, where he was not sure if what he witnessed took place when he was truly lucid or in the odd limbo he kept himself in, he’d hear his dad’s small pants when he woke up from a particularly bad dream, or his mom’s muffled sobs.
They were both discreet with it, the terror hiding in the folds of their brains. So he was never sure if he heard it right. Though whenever Tuk had a bad dream, she’d wake up crying loud enough to jolt everyone awake which was followed by the process of everyone taking terms to meticulously comfort and coax her back to sleep.
In those times, it felt hard to breathe. Lo’ak did not know how to fix that for his sister. How to take away all the suffering she was much too young to have endured, but he wished with everything in him that he could’ve.
Lo’ak had forced his eyes open for the 15th time tonight. His heart was beating oddly in his chest and no matter how easy sleep came to him, he was sure he was just staying awake until it felt better.
The patterns of their woven ceiling bled lightly when the corners of his eyes began to bleed black, which speaking of, Lo’ak wondered if that's what it felt like to sleep with your eyes open.
He also noted the sound of waves crashing and the distinct creaking coming from Kiri and Tuk’s hammock. This was not home, and home was not a place he was sure he'd ever have again.
Lo’ak, a bit more dizzy now, let his eyes drop closed. This was the 15th time if he was counting right and he could note the sound of the wind shaking distant leaves and isolated pitter patter rhythmically hitting any surface in its wake.
It was distinctly home, where it rained almost every week, to keep everything fresh.