Little Brother (n.s., l.s.)
(gif not mine)
Pairing: none, just some brotherly love
Word Count: 1,548
Summary: Through Lo'ak's connection to the spirit tree, Neteyam sees the pain Lo'ak is in.
Warnings: AFAA SPOILERS, sewer-slide reference, guns, weapons, brotherly angst (a lot), brotherly fluff, finally some justice for Lo'ak i guess?
A/N: I was kind of wondering ... a lot... what would happen if Neteyam found out what Lo'ak had tried to do to himself. This is the birth child of those tears. Enter at your own risk, and please don't hate me LOL
Last time I saw my brother was the last time I saw the sun.
When Lo’ak connects his kuru to the spirit tree, Neteyam is there.
Neteyam is always there.
The last time Lo’ak connected to the tree, they flew through the skies, diving and swirling through the air as if they were one with the wind. As if they could never be caught, or convinced to come down from the clouds.
Brother with brother, banshee with banshee.
Last time, the air was electric with happiness. Breathless, they pushed their ikrans to see how far they could fly, how fast they could dive.
Last time, when they finally caught their breath, Neteyam told him it wasn’t his fault. And Lo’ak tried - he really tried to believe him. Neteyam was the only one who’d ever stuck up for him. The only one to stand in the way of the firing line when Lo’ak constantly had a target on his back. The only one who would stand up to their father for him.
But Lo’ak had a thick skull, and the message didn’t take.
This time, when Lo’ak connects to the tree, Neteyam can immediately sense something is wrong.
Lo’ak is quieter than normal. Too quiet. He pads through the forest at Neteyam’s side, his pace slow, his steps loud and uneven. Clumsy.
They reach a small clearing, with a creek that flows into a crystal clear pond. Water trickles over stones, and Neteyam smiles, breathing in the clean air of the high mountains. They used to come here all the time as young teens. When their ikran would get tired, they’d leave them to rest in the mountains, and they’d scale through the forest to this hiding spot. Their sacred place. They could be alone here; they could wrestle if they wanted, or splash in the water to cool off, or simply do nothing at all.
But Lo’ak doesn’t seem to register the sanctity of the memory. He just plops down at the pond’s edge, his shoulders sagging, and sinks his legs into the water.
Neteyam eases down by his side, and nudges him with his shoulder.
“What is wrong, little brother?” Neteyam asks.
Lo’ak lets loose a heavy, shaking breath.
“It’s too much without you, bro. Too heavy. I don’t…I couldn’t bear it.”
Couldn’t.
The word hangs heavy in the air. Neteyam gently wraps his hand around his little brother’s neck, like he used to.
“What happened?”
Lo’ak, blinking back tears, grabs Neteyam’s free hand and closes his eyes. Neteyam does the same, following his lead, and through Lo’ak’s bond to the tree, Neteyam feels his energy snap forward. There’s a tug in his stomach, and for a moment, he’s spinning, screaming, grasping for purchase at vines that aren’t there.
And then he’s blinking, and his vision clears, and he becomes a witness.
Neteyam realizes, with caught breath, that he’s seeing through Lo’ak’s eyes into a memory.
The memory is fractured, like the ends of a spinning thread. Piece after piece jolts into his mind. It’s painful, burning at his skin, but he adjusts. And when he comes to, the memory nearly crushes him, splintering his ribs right into his heart.
Lo’ak trudges through the sand, the heavy weight of the rifle bearing down on his right arm, the ocean spread out before him. The memory splinters, and the gun presses against his chin. The metal is cold against his skin, but his finger is hot against the trigger. The memory flashes again, and he throws the gun into the sand with a fractured, broken scream.
Neteyam watches, helpless, as his little brother, the one person he was born and died to protect, collapses to his knees. He feels Lo’ak’s heart shatter like glass as if it were his own. He feels the weight of life pressing down on Lo’ak’s shoulders, the distress crawling beneath his skin, the pressure of their father’s words spinning through his skull.
“If you hadn’t gone to him in the first place, if you hadn’t disobeyed orders then your brother would still be–”
Even Jake thinks it’s his fault.
Neteyam is furious.
He doesn’t get angry very often, if at all. He’s the quiet one, the soft-spoken brother, whereas Lo’ak carries the anger and impulsiveness of their father. But seeing what their father has reduced him to…for a moment, Neteyam wishes this was his dad’s memory, if only so he could smack him like his mother would.
Kiri and Tsireya appear at the edges of Lo’ak’s blurred vision. They hold him while he cries until he can’t anymore, and Tsireya reminds Lo’ak of the strength he carries from within. That he is enough on his own. That even a broken bow, seemingly shattered beyond repair, can be fixed. Neteyam only wishes he had been there to agree.
The memories spin freely, as if Lo’ak has released the ocean upon them, and Neteyam sees everything. Sees his father accept his brother for who he is, sees them finally work together to save their mother and little sister.
Another tug at the base of his spine, and Neteyam is hurtling forward, back into the sacred, peaceful clearing.
His little brother, his best friend, is shaking next to him. And for a horrible, paralyzing moment, Neteyam thinks Lo’ak has never looked smaller.
The tears spill freely, and Neteyam pulls his brother into his chest. They stay that way as long as they need to, until the sobs turn to sniffles, until Lo’ak rights himself, and Neteyam uses his thumb to brush the last tear from his brother’s cheek. He does not take the time to wipe away his own.
Neteyam holds Lo’ak there, and stares into his brother’s eyes. He makes sure Lo’ak is listening, really listening, before he says it.
“It wasn’t your fault, little brother.”
Lo’ak tries to pull away, but Neteyam tightens his grip.
“I mean it. You should not be responsible for carrying all you do on your shoulders. And you cannot carry it all on your own.”
Lo’ak sniffles again.
“But how…I…I don’t know how to live without you.”
“Yes you do,” Neteyam says, smiling as wide as he can. The tension eases from Lo’ak’s shoulders, and the corners of his mouth curl upwards for a split second. “You’ve already figured it out. You fixed Mother’s bow. You brought justice to the sky people. You convinced the tulkun to fight. You did that, little brother.”
“Not on my own,” Lo’ak sighs. “I had Tsireya’s help.”
“True,” Neteyam nods. “But she merely guided you where I could not. The truth, the strength, the power of our ancestors, of our father, was in you all along. It just needed the right time.”
Neteyam can tell by the wrinkle between Lo’ak’s brows that the message is starting to sink in.
“But…Dad…,” Lo’ak whispers.
“Dad was being a skxawng. As always. But you saw it yourself. Even Dad does not truly believe the words said in a moment of anger, of grief. And neither should you.”
Lo’ak sighs shakily, nodding, before he crushes Neteyam into a hug.
“Ow,” Neteyam gasps with a breathy chuckle. “Alright, little bro, can’t breathe.”
“Sorry,” Lo’ak says, with a small smile, the first Neteyam has seen in a long time.
The sun dips lower along the horizon, casting bright orange beams across the clearing. The wind shifts, blowing through his braids, and Neteyam knows his time with his little brother is coming to an end.
“I’ve got to go,” Lo’ak says, and as they stand, Neteyam pulls him back into an embrace, squeezing Lo’ak tightly.
“Be strong, little brother,” Neteyam says softly. “The strength of the ancestors is with you, and so am I.”
Lo’ak returns the embrace, and the bond with the tree shudders. It’s time.
“I will, bro. I will.”
His vision blurs, and for a moment, Lo’ak is in a deep black abyss. His eyes blink open, slowly, and he swallows down the lump in his throat. He does not call for Payakan; he takes his time swimming to the surface. When he finally breaks through the water and takes his first breath, he watches the last wisps of sunlight disappear behind the large, great eye, and the world becomes illuminated in the quiet, purple colors of night.
Lo’ak swims slowly, and heaves himself onto the nearest bridge of Awa’atlu. His breath is still in his throat, and he can still feel the ghost of Neteyam’s arms wrapped around him as he walks towards his family’s marui.
When he finally reaches the hut, it’s just his dad, fanning the flames of the fire beneath the hearth.
Jake hears him coming, his ears twitching, and as he stands, his eyes flickering with curiosity, Lo’ak barrels forward and wraps his arms around his father’s waist.
Lo’ak doesn’t think he had any more tears to cry, but they spill slowly from his eyes, and for a moment, Jake doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. A terrifying beat passes between them, and then…
Jake wraps one…two…arms around his son.
“I love you, Dad,” Lo’ak whispers. His grip tightens.
Jake’s own embrace tightens in return, and he rests his head on Lo’ak’s, cradling his son in his arms. The unspoken pallor of forgiveness passes between them, and Jake sighs.
“I love you too, Son.”
