Chapter Text
To say Jake Sully was angry was an understatement. He was beyond furious. Disappointed, even. Neteyam, his eldest son, is about to be an adult in about a month (or is it two? Jake always gets mixed up with his children's birthdays). Neteyam should know better and get home on time. Heck, Jake would expect this from Lo'ak or even Kiri before deeming it to be Neteyam. It was just so out of character.
His kids are growing up, and he's getting too old to be chasing their impetuous asses whenever they wouldn't listen. Jake didn't want them to discover the harsh realities the world had to offer the hard way.
Jake sat on a chair on the front porch. He held his third warm cup of coffee in his right hand. The man refused to go to bed until Neteyam finally showed up, not wishing to waste a second. His blood sugar was probably through the roof.
The time turned from one-thirty to two to two-fifteen before worry laced with annoyance settled in the pit of his stomach. He had called Neteyam and obtained silence in return. That kid was going to get chewed when he arrived.
Two-fifteen to two-twenty to two-thirty. Jake's eyelids shortly fluttered shut. He posed straighter, feeling satisfied as his back popped (a sound gradually becoming typical).
Jake mentally wandered through the fields of apprehension, only stopping to sniff the nostalgic flowers.
His phone buzzed in the pocket of his puffy jacket. Jake prayed that it was Neteyam. To his dismay, it wasn't. It was his irksome coworker, Steve, instead. Jake's thin lips curled downwards. Didn't Steve know that Jake had clocked out hours before, reaching home at his standard time? Should he respond and possibly endure hours of Steve's stupid rants, or should he pretend not to notice the call and lie to him on Monday?
The American sighed, deciding to suck it up and deal with it. Sitting outside was getting cold and dull. Reluctantly, Jake clicked the green answer button and held the frigid phone to his ear. Goosebumps erupted over his skin as he involuntarily shivered.
"Yes, Steve?" Jake demanded. "What is it you so desperately need to tell me?"
"There's a car crash on 180th Street; me and the rest of the team are on our way. That’s close to where you live, right?" Steve reported. "Bystanders think there’s one survivor, but there could be more,"
Jake soughed heavily, expelling a puff of cold smoke. "Are you sure you can't handle this without me?"
"...Yeah."
Jake exhaled again, regretting the decision to pick up the phone. He concluded the call promptly before Steve could get the chance to prattle. Steve would've just bothered someone else instead. He slowly got up, his knees and ankles cracking loudly as he steered inside. Jake lazily slid his wallet into his jacket pocket and fastened his police badge. Even in the dark, its golden and pristine glimmer shone, courtesy of Jake's wont to keep it unstained.
The man entered the room where his wife, Neytiri, was fast asleep. She was negligibly stricter than Jake was with the kids and determined she would have a heart-to-heart conversation with Neteyam the subsequent day. Jake bent down and lightly kissed Neytiri's soft, dark cheek.
"I need to head out for work. I'll be back soon," Jake whispered. Neytiri groggily mumbled, "Okay, darling," and shifted in her half-conscious state. Even after eighteen years together, their love still went strong.
Jake strolled out of their room, through the messy living room (perhaps Neteyam's punishment would be tending to it, along with the bathrooms. Oh, the horror, since Tuktiery recently had a science project for her second-grade class. Many tears were shed during the experiment, along with putrid smells that Jake preferred not to get into details about. He would never look at Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereals the same way again, that's for sure), and made outside from the front door. He smiled presently when he saw a sticker on the car door boasting, “My child made it into an IVY League college!”
Jake begrudgingly plopped into the driver's seat and angled the car mirror. It creaked. The car was falling apart, but its memories were too precious to let go. They had brought all the children home from the hospital after their arrival into the world.
The car ride was slow, as it usually was at this hour. Jake turned down the radio, feeling a headache begin to creep inside. In a few minutes, he pulled up.
That was fast, Jake thought, slightly worried about just how close the incident had occurred near his house. The world is a small place, after all.
"Alright. I'm here," Jake announced his presence while slamming the car door loudly. Red and blue flashing lights illuminated the darkness, as the sun hadn't even initiated the process of reaching its zenith.
He was met with a gruesome scene; two cars appeared to have brutally collided. Shattered glass and metal parts were everywhere—a hazard. Jake's eyes narrowed as he stared at the silver Ford momentarily, feeling familiarity overtaking him. The car plate was too damaged to inspect. The roads have already been closed off with the assistance of neon orange traffic cones and police cars.
"Jesus, what happened?" Jake questioned brusquely. His fellow police officers shifted on their feet, no one looking him directly in the eye. Had something else ensued before he arrived? He didn't get paid enough.
"What?" Jake hissed at his coworkers.
Anahera, a broad and burly woman who had always treated Jake respectfully, ambled forward, looking anxious and...tragic?
" Mr. Sully," she formally greeted. Jake nodded in response, feeling impatient. "Let me show you the people."
The pair ventured forward through the wreckage. They went to the first car, which was a once-sleek-looking black Dodge. Crushed bottles of alcohol scattered around the bloodied man, who was currently being pulled out by a few other officers. His chest faintly rose up and down, barely noticeable. Upon further inspection, Jake realized this man was one of his old coworkers back from when he used to work for the RDA military. The man's name was...Larry? No, wait. Lyle. Yeah, that was the guy. His shiny, bald head (though looking cracked; Jake was pretty sure he saw something pink) only added to the conclusion.
Lyle was never a team player and never knew when to stop. He was like a maniac in the bar and a killing machine put on the battlefield. Honestly, Jake thought he had died a long time ago. Hadn't he gotten crushed under a bulldozer or something?
Jake grimaced at the sight and scrunched his nose. "Drunk driving?" he asked with displeasure, already knowing the answer. Anahera nodded solemnly as she led him to the other car.
"We weren't sure if you knew these people," Anahera pursed her lips, taking a deep breath. "You showed us some pictures of them a few times."
Jake looked at her in confusion. Why was she so cryptic? People he knew? Jake was already so done with today and wanted to return home as soon as possible. He assumed Anahera was just as fatigued as he was.
Slowly, they moved the broken door away to expose not one but two bodies hanging upside down. Jake's heart hammered in curiosity. Anahera averted her gaze.
Jake gasped.
Tonowari's sole son, Ao'nung, hung dead. His tan skin was swathed in red, and the corners of his mouth were dripping with vomit. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils large, and the outer layer covered in a thin white mask, fogging up what had once been a vibrant shade of light blue. Blood trickled from the side of his crushed skull. His lengthy ringlets were choppy and dry, an uncommon sight since the Polynesian boy was known for maintaining his hair in perfect condition. Jake sometimes overhears Neteyam questioning his boyfriend on his hair products, only to be let down playfully with no information.
It was safe to say his legs were ruined. Jake swallowed thickly, closing his eyes, recalling his past and how he was stuck in a wheelchair due to a spinal injury that led to paralysis from the waist down. Even almost two decades later, Jake would have nightmares that he would never walk again. A small part of him was alleviated that Ao'nung wouldn't have to experience that.
Ao'nung was supposed to bring Neteyam home...
"No." Jake's breath hitched as his eyes snapped open. He staggered to the other flank of the car and tugged at the broken handle. The glass window was too cloudy with cracks to figure out the figure inside.
"No, no, no, no, Eywa, please," Jake whispered repeatedly under his strained breath. His heart began to beat faster and echo in his ears.
"GODDAMMIT OPEN! " Jake screamed at the door. Anahera and another officer rushed to his side and pulled. After a few minutes, the metal creaked and snapped as the group flung the door off its hinges.
" No! " Jake howled. In front of him was his eldest son, whom he had just been reprimanding over the phone only a few mere hours before. Jake gagged at the decaying stench but lunged toward the hanging corpse, nevertheless without taking in the details first.
His body seemed to act faster than his mind.
The man cradled Neteyam's head as he unbuckled the seatbelt, causing the mangled corpse to crash down with the harsh reality of gravity. Jake's eyes darted at the boy's whole body, his hands cupping Neteyam's cold cheeks. Jake had seen enough mangled bodies in past wars not instantly to gag and heave.
His sight blurred, merging the dark hues together as one.
Oh.
He was crying.
His throat felt raw and itchy, and his eyes burned. It felt wrong to allow tears to cascade down his face. Just like everyone else, Anahera was not used to seeing Jake cry. She put a hand on his shoulder and dipped her head down solemnly as if she were already at his son's funeral, bearing her respects.
…Dead?
His bleary sight cleared up. Jake's hand on Neteyam's left cheek instantly recoiled as he realized he was touching bare facial muscles. The left side of his face was utterly militated and disfigured, letting all the facial muscles and tissues inside—usually responsible for the expressions Neteyam would never make again—get a fresh breath of air. The blood in his hair was matted down, leaving the boy's skull out in the open in multiple areas.
Jake laid his eldest son to the ground and began chest compressions 1...2...3...4... Jake continued, not caring that slimy organs were forcefully being pushed out and escaping with wet plops. Ribs cracked under the extra pressure applied, but the cage refused to revive the heart trapped inside. There was no more passion left within.
Jake held up Neteyam's torso. He buried his face in the crook of Neteyam's neck, staining his bloodied shirt with salty tears. His cries were suppressed and quiet, ultimately dying down after only a few minutes. His breath was hot against the cold body. Neteyam was never this cold; he always had a naturally higher warm skin temperature that had always annoyed Lo’ak beyond the end. Neteyam’s dull skin rubbed against him in all the wrong ways.
His beautiful, beautiful boy, the one who had given him the title of being a father, who had made him a dad, had left without a goodbye. A death so sudden not even the spiritual guides could have predicted it.
The same boy whom he would once carry around and mimic airplanes with, the same boy who
would run around his feet, the same boy who was forced to grow up too early and still managed to make Jake so proud every single day. Perhaps he should've said that more, reminding Neteyam that he was outstanding. Neteyam had been more mature in the span of his short life than Jake ever was. Maybe if Jake had told them to come home sooner, or even not at all...
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Two ambulances finally arrived; what was the point if everyone was dead? Everyone except…
“You bastard! ” Jake scrambled away from the corpse he was holding up and pounced on Lyle. The medics shouted something, but Jake couldn't hear them behind the static in his brain as it short-circuited. His fist collided with the already-ruined face of the drunkard.
He punched the man in the face, again, again, again—
Crimson red stained his knuckles as they delivered retribution. Jake wasn't sure whose bones cracked the most; Anahera attempted to pull Jake back but was roughly shrugged away.
"Mr. Sully! Calm down before I have to restrain you!"
Jake snarled something unintelligible and persisted in throwing harmful punches. Lyle groaned in pain, further fueling Jake’s fury and giving him the satisfaction that the latter was hurting. How much pain was Neteyam in, huh? How would it feel to have half of your face pulverized? Your skin ripped open like a zipper? To have your organs squished and shredded? That sort of pain was incomparable to the strikes Jake was bestowing.
His throat hurt, and he wasn’t sure whether he had uttered those words audibly. He didn’t care.
Jake’s upper back muscles unanticipatedly spasmed. His breath seized in his throat, and his shoulders tensed up. Anahera forcefully yanked Jake back. Dazed, Jake realized he'd been tased. His tongue felt hot and heavy in his mouth.
The electrical shock left him disoriented, and he desperately tried to regain his senses. Anahera’s firm grip on him prevented any more spontaneous outbursts. A few paramedics attended to Lyle’s sprawled figure, whose face now bore new injuries. It took Jake a few deep breaths and some moments to realize he was violently trembling, and it wasn't just from the taser.
He faintly witnessed the corpse of his fallen son get picked up by a few medics. He wanted to reach out, but invisible and melancholic chains held him down.
Jake wanted to go home.
❣✧☾✧❣
What makes a house a home? The pillows that were found on sale only stated their resting places on couches and armchairs as home. Wine bottle’s packaging would say relaxation was home and casually beguile whomever thirsted for a stained reality. A considerable and fancy box of smooth chocolate pieces would call home in the mouth of anybody it lay in moments before being gulped down like an opiate.
They were gifted all those diverse items during their housewarming, but which one really conveyed the truth?
Their new place to stay is on the islands far away. Though there was a lack of their usual canopy of trees, the surrounding waters did well in washing away phantom, heart-wrenching pleas.
Jake only wanted the best for his family. Running away wasn't exactly ideal, but perhaps the change in scenery would do them good. A battlefield wasn't safe for an eleven-year-old older brother prone to act as a third parent. The battlefield wasn't a safe place to raise an autistic ten-year-old girl whose heart was entranced by nature and destroyed by the demolition. The battlefield definitely wasn't a place for a nine-year-old (“Nine and a half!” Lo’ak would retort in his squeaky voice) boy who was so, so curious and stubborn with what the cruel world has to offer. The battlefield wasn't even a place a two-year-old girl should be near, her innocence too pure with a whole life ahead.
New wooden floors under small, bare feet. Enchanted and large golden eyes. His hands were sore and pruned; in them, he held a pierced, dead fish.
“Dad! Mom took me fishing!” Eleven-year-old Neteyam exclaimed cheerfully. Jake put his rusted screwdriver on the nearest shelf (he had been attempting to install a few failed shelves) and crouched down.
“Wow. That's a big one,” Jake whispered in an exaggerated awe. Neteyam's thin lips quirked upwards as he emitted a giggle. Neteyam was what they called a “late bloomer" since his front two teeth were non-existent, having to have fallen only after he bit an apple (Neteyam loved drinking through straws. All too many times, he had almost choked).
“It was by the rocks! Right where you said they’d be,” Neteyam held up the fish closer to Jake's face—much closer than he preferred—for him to distinctly see the arrow cleanly cut through the body. The smell was pungent, but the aroma of happiness stayed strong. Jake gingerly grabbed the fish with one hand and the arrow with another. He pulled the two apart, careful not to snap the arrow.
Jake handed the arrow back. ‘’There you go, bud,”
“Why're you crying?” Neteyam asked worriedly as he took the arrow.
Huh?
Jake put a hand to his eyes and quickly wiped the tears away. Nostalgia tinged his healing soul, tantalizing it with tranquility and confusion. His eyes were a little wet, that's all.
“I guess I'm just really happy to see you, boy,” Jake chuckled, ruffling his son's braids. Neteyam grinned.
“I'm happy to see you, too.”
❣✧☾✧❣
The coroner's van was quiet. The blares outside were muffled by the metal white walls adorned with body bags, first aid supplies, and documentation items. Neteyam's body had been securely strapped against a rack to ensure safe transportation. Jake wasn't supposed to be here, but exceptions were made. Jake drank all the details of Neteyam that he could, not wanting to forget anything .
(What did Neteyam sound like again?)
The man brought out his phone (which had received new cracks and dents after Jake had thrown it across the road in fury and distress) and held it to his ear.
“Neytiri? Yeah, it's me, Jake,” the man began.
“Neteyam's not home yet?” He parroted, already knowing the reason. For a moment, he glanced at the corpse. It jostled ever so slightly with every swerve and speed bump. His empty stomach churned—he had vomited a while ago.
“Neteyam’s not coming home tonight.”
❣✧☾✧❣
Everyone wore red and white; one would think it was a celebration of Valentine's Day or even Christmas—woe to their innocent souls.
Lo'ak was broken. His last conversation with Neteyam had been about how his friend Payakan was more of a brother than Neteyam was. He would never forget how Neteyam's face fell.
“He's my brother! I'm going,” Lo'ak spat. Neteyam's hand recoiled from his younger brother's head. His braids swung dramatically as he frustratedly contemplated his emotions.
“Oh, he's your brother?” Neteyam grabbed Lo'ak's arm and jabbed a finger at himself. “No. I'm your brother.”
Lo'ak took it back.
He acted as if Neteyam was titanium, where, in cruel reality, he was nothing more than a human. Just like everyone else, except for now, he's dead and gone. He really didn't have a brother anymore.
Tsireya's eyes were red and brimmed with tears. She mourned for both her brother and best friend. No one liked it when she was sad. She's such an angel, but she kind of wished she were dead.
Kiri's fingers traced over a silver jeweled brooch of a beetle that Neteyam had gifted her a few years prior. Her eyes were glassy, but no tears trickled down. Like a numb little bug. She clutched onto Miles’—Spider’s—arm, and he held onto her tight.
Tuk held hands with her mother and father. She was confused, but deep down, she knew that she would never get to climb trees with her eldest brother. In her hair were a few red and white beads. Neytiri had dolefully put them in this morning, telling Tuk that they were extras. (Before Neteyam left to be with Ao'nung, he had requested that his braids be redone since they were growing out. Neytiri had cleverly snuck in a few red and white beads as she teased him of young love).
Ronal and Tonowari timidly stood by, eyes glued to the floor. Ronal's hands were adorned with bandages. Tonowari had said that she threw a glass vase at a wall. Their hearts bled with the reopened wound of losing another child.
They buried Neteyam and Ao'nung under a large oak tree, knowing they'd be happy to nurture something even after dying. The faint carved letters N and A were permanently etched by the two lovers who had thought they had a lifetime ahead of them.
“Make the most of your life, while it is rife. While it is light”