Chapter Text
The sun beat down against Neteyam’s face, warmth spreading over sun-kissed skin. Tendrils of light caught over the length of his lashes as the air caresses his hair, rolling off in waves over his braids. His eyes flutter open to drink in the sight of brick-laden homes zipping by in a blur. The smell is familiar, a cocktail of burnt rubber, ozone and the sour bite of street food frying in probably reused oil. The buildings loom over them, like giants reaching up into the sky without a care in the world, skyline bristling with crooked antennas, flickering neon signs flickering to their own beat like dying fireflies in the dying light of the sun.
The city is bathed in a soft hue of purple and orange, a patchwork of hues. Highlighting the grime and graffiti lining dark red bricks, rusted metal walls and mirrored glass. Steam curled from manholes over concrete, kids running around carelessly, his age with their skateboards stuck beneath their arms. Neteyam’s lips curve into a small smile, pressing his cheek against the curve of his arm.
The sounds of a bustling city fill the car, mingling with the muffled sound of a pop song he didn’t care or recognise. In the back of his mind he notes they need to repair that goddamn radio again. It sounded too muddled, too mechanical to be anything but good even with its volume turned to the highest setting. The city around them ceaselessly drones on, with the screaming of vendors, children, parents and anyone who had chosen that the outside was a better place to be. Neteyam’s eyes track each and every corner, crevices. He counts the cracks over asphalt they drive by in a hurry. There’s too many to count, too many to care about. Yet it seemed to be the only thing that dulled the ache behind his eyes and in his chest.
The van jolts as they ride over a deep pothole, beside him Lo’ak barely moves. Though he hears a disgruntled “mm” or something to that effect. Lo’ak had never been much for roadtrips, much less one so permanent as this. He tucks his head against his shoulder, crossing his arms over his chest in a sad attempt at defiance. Neteyam doesn’t have to look at him to know how red his eyes must be, rimmed with dark circles from the lack of sleep. His jaw is set, eyes screwed shut as if sleep could somehow make the incessant ache go away.
Music blasts through Lo’ak’s earphones, something slow and totally far from Neteyam’s taste. The car seems too quiet, the ache in his chest becomes too tight to ignore. So he decides now would be a great time to bother his younger brother. He nudges his knee against his brother’s thigh which earns him a sharp kick to his ankle.
“Ow! You dickhead.”
Neteyam hisses quietly, slapping a hand over Lo’ak’s shoulder.
“Bro, what the fuck do you want?”
Lo’ak responds in kind, shoving at Neteyam’s arm as if it had personally offended him. Lo’ak looks at Neteyam with a narrowed gaze, lips rolled beneath his teeth in a soft hiss that earns him an eye roll from his older brother. Lo’ak frowns further, the corners of his mouth lowering further, his nose scrunches in distaste and sometimes Neteyam thinks that this is the default setting. Perpetually pissed.
“What’re you listening to?”
Neteyam asks, though he doesn’t really care for the answer. He needs something to distract him, anything. Lo’ak sighs deeply, shoulders relaxing into a lazy slump. He mumbles something incoherent, Neteyam doesn’t bother to catch it. Lo’ak pushes himself up, scoots closer to Neteyam and rips off one earbud, it hangs over his fingers, twirling with the motion of the car.
The beat is slower, more r&b than Neteyam expects from Lo’ak. He takes the earbud gratefully, scoots even closer to his brother as he pushes the earbud into his ear. The music is smooth, it provides a good beat.
“I wish that we were laying in the same sheets.”
“But lately you’ve been acting like you hardly know me.”
Neteyam bops his head to the steady beat, he finds he likes the song more than he cares to admit.
“‘S good right?”
Lo’ak mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans against Neteyam’s taller frame, tapping his foot against the cracked leather seats.
The car ride is longer than Neteyam expected, his bones and muscles had begun to ache. The dull ache behind his eyes worsen and the jolt every now and then sends his stomach lurching. He hates feeling this cramped in an already spacious van, his legs outstretched with Lo’ak fast asleep against his shoulder. He’s pretty sure the idiot’s drooling on him now with the way he feels something damp clinging to his shoulder.
Kiri is in the middle row, sprawled out lazily over the entire section. She’s pressed against the leather on her stomach, legs kicking behind her in lazy zigzag motions. She fingers the pages of her journal, scribbled notes, magazine cut outs plastered on the page and pictures of them decorate the white space. Neteyam peers over, though he doesn’t need to crane his neck too much given his height.
There’s a crudely cut picture of Kiri and what looks to be Spider, posing together with the familiarity only years of hardship could form. Spider looks happy, smiling like the sun wouldn’t set. His hair an array of blonde curls, a deep dimple on his right cheek and a splatter of freckles all over that Neteyam swears Kiri has counted like constellations. Monkey Boy she called him affectionately, a nickname earned for his agile nature and silly attitude when it came to life. Adopted son, a stray Jake Sully would harbour each time he showed up at their door, covered in motor oil and soot, hair matted with sweat. He was every bit the opposite of the Sully’s yet he had carved himself a spot within their fold.
Memories hit Neteyam unbidden, of late night escapades bathed in hues of purple and neon pink. Running over rooftops, shoes splashing in puddles and grimes as they ran across cemented roofs taking a headstart before jumping over modified hover boards soaring through blackened skies cutting a line through the busy city skyline. It was the most free Neteyam had ever felt, wind tousling his hair in a gentle caress like a lover might. The adrenaline rush when he feels weightless, soaring through the skies, zipping past buildings, lamp posts and trees. Anywhere their boards managed to take them.
His eyes narrow fractionally at the worn image of Spider. He inhales sharply, a little too sharp than he intended. Kiri, ever the observant one between the siblings, turns slightly, craning her head towards the edge of her backseat to see Neteyam’s golden hazel eyes observing her with poorly concealed interest.
“Only good picture I got of him.”
She says turning her attention back to the photograph, running a finger over the worn photo material with reverence. Her lips tremble for a moment before she rolls them between her lips and sucks. Neteyam doesn’t say much.
Spider had been a hole the siblings tried to fill the last few days. An incessant abscess that gnawed at the edges of their mind when they gave the lack of his infectious presence too much thought. Spider had disappeared just a few days prior. No warning, no note saying goodbye. Just the sound of the door slamming shut behind him after Jake had forbade him to go out past curfew.
It wasn’t like him at all. To just up and leave but something about him was different, unhinged almost. It had started a few months back when Spider began to complain of constant headaches, hearing noises from nowhere, babbling on in a strange tongue none of them understood. He would wake up in sweats screaming about falling, about huge dinosaur like creatures that flew high in the air. He called them Ikrans or something like that.
Neteyam noticed how perturbed his parents were, how their eyes never seemed to hide the raw concern, fear and maybe even grief when Jake would hold Spider steady in his arms after his fits. Jake would tell him that he was okay, that he was just dreaming. But Spider wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t heed Jake’s stern advice. It had become increasingly difficult to ignore that he needed help. Spider looked at them like he was seeing through them, seeing through the skin and hollow bones of their bodies. He gripped at Lo’ak’s arms and begged him to believe him. Something was wrong.
Then the next thing Neteyam knew, Spider was gone. No trace, nothing to indicate where he had gone and so were they a few days after. With their bags all packed and stuffed into the van with haste. Leaving everything behind as if it meant nothing to Jake. The city was all they’ve ever known.
“We’re going on a trip.”
Jake provided nothing more. No reasons, no excuses, nothing but this one empty statement. Neytiri said nothing, though her eyes betrayed her stoic demeanor. Kiri was the first to stomp her feet, digging her heels into the ground as if it could stop their father from hoisting her over his shoulder like she had weighed nothing. She had screamed and cried and thrashed around, yelling for someone to look for Spider. Her protests died soon after her voice had gone hoarse, her eyes bloodshot and red.
Neteyam and Lo’ak didn’t cry, they didn’t have the luxuries for such things under Jake’s parenting. Yet in the quiet moments succeeding Spider’s disappearance they grieved, in their own silent ways. They didn’t really understand, not that they understood much of Jake’s strict authoritarian parenting style to begin with. The sequence of events were just too suspicious to ignore but none of them said a word.
Spider was gone, a fact that seemed to land like a soft gust of air to Jake’s resolve when he crammed them all in their van and said they were going to visit some old friends. He gave what little grace he could muster to comfort his adoptive daughter.
“I miss him.”
Kiri mutters softly, rubbing her nose in a hurried fashion as a sniffle slips through. Neteyam only nods, lets his eyes flit away from the journal.
“Me too.”
Neteyam’s eyes flit upwards, feeling a pull towards the small overhanging mirror where his eyes catch his father’s. Stern, hardened by grief and something Neteyam couldn’t understand. Jake was never one to talk about his feelings or how his children felt about things, he was cold, stern and sometimes a little too much like a soldier than a father. Yet in his eyes Neteyam saw the same pain reflected back at him. Jake’s lips press into a thin line, breaking contact first to stare at the road ahead.
He didn’t need to say anything, Neteyam understood.
—
Neteyam’s half asleep when he feels the van come to a slowing halt. He hears the radio much softer now, the sounds of seagulls screeching overhead pulling him from the lull of his sleep. He blinks once, then twice. The sun feels harsher on his skin, fracturing from the window where his head is pressed against. His muscles start to ache, he’s already forgotten how long they’ve been on the road. When he pushes himself up, he groans slightly as the spearing pain crawls up from his spine. Lo’ak is already grabbing at his bag begrudgingly, the side door sweeps open with a pneumatic sigh. Kiri groans and pulls herself up from where she had been laying on her stomach, collecting her things. The air around them fills with the smell of salt water and fruit. A stark tropical comparison to their concrete jungle of a home.
“Come on, we gotta get going.”
Jake is already at the door, hauling their youngest out of the car. Tuk with her small teddy bear tucked under her arm whines softly but says nothing for their new destination. The air is warmer, more humid than the Sully kids are used to. It doesn’t take long for the uncomfortable sticky feeling to settle onto Neteyam’s skin, like a jacket he couldn’t shed. His shirt sticks to his back annoyingly so as he hauls his things out of the trunk, shoving Lo’ak’s backpack towards him with an irritated sigh. Lo’ak grumbles something underneath his breath, an insult maybe – Neteyam barely cares to know. He doesn’t want to be here, that much is obvious.
The scene in front of them unfolds in a slow, lazy panorama of white sand beaches and rolling blue waves that glint beneath the sunlight’s embrace. They’ve stopped at a beaten dirt path surrounded by sand and patches of green that peak through the grain. A family is there, waiting by a wooden house painted a slight shade of aquamarine. It looks weathered and lived in, the poles supporting its porch creaking under the weight. The sound of wind chimes fill the air, circles made of shells clink against one another, hung by twine by one of the open windows. Rattan weaved into a school of fish hung by the door as a welcome.
The family that comes to greet them seems just the type to own such a house. A man tall, burly and strong, tendrils of black ink adorning his deep sun-kissed skin. His eyes are kind, downturned ever so slightly, a striking blue that threatened to drown anyone who stared too long. His smile is already plastered on his face, Neteyam thinks it might be fake given the way the corners don’t seem to meet his eyes. His hair is an array of black curls tied in a half up half down fashion, sporting a white tank top and board shorts that screamed effortless casualty. Neteyam wasn’t used to such laid back fashions, especially not from their parts of the city. The woman beside him looks far more displeased with their presence, her discerning eyes casting low glances at all of them as if she were inspecting filth, a deep scowl plastered over her lips in displeasure she does little to hide. She’s tall, taller than Neteyam and Lo’ak, broad shoulders and lithe with a growing belly swollen with child.
Jake greets them first, a customary bow Neteyam has never seen before, two fingers pressed against his forehead before pointing them in an upwards tilt towards the man and then woman. He speaks a greeting in a language Neteyam doesn’t know yet.
“I see you, Tonowari, Ronal.”
Jake’s voice is gravelly, weary from the long travel. There’s humility in his tone, one Neteyam has never quite heard before. Even Neytiri, as fiery as she was bows the same, offers the same greeting with a flicker of something resembling embarrassment passing over her face.
Tonowari’s smile deepens as he takes a deep inhale, his chest puffs out with some sort of pride, opening his arms wide in greeting.
“Jake, Neytiri. It is a pleasure to have you here with us.”
Tonowari has an accent, definitely a local one with a certain twang to his words. It’s warm and rich and almost inviting. Ronal offers only a soft huff and maybe a grumble, Jake isn’t too sure what to make of it but the look on his face tells Neteyam all he needs to know. They’re grovelling, at these strangers feet for sanctuary.
Lo’ak shifts his weight uncomfortably, an earbud still lodged in his ear. Kiri looks around in both bewilderment and disdain, conflicted with this new setting so far removed from all they knew. Ronal looks over them, her eyes assessing them one by one. Her eyes rake over Kiri first, observing the way she looks so different from Jake and Neytiri. Kiri’s complexion is far lighter than that of her parents and that of her siblings, freckles adorning peach hued skin. Her hair is cropped short in blunt cropped edges, a mix of orange and strawberry blond locks, braided and adorned with beads at the ends. Ronal then lands on Lo’ak, all lanky and disheveled. The sides of his head are shaved, leaving a slight fade that tapers into a mohawk of sorts, his long hair braided and tied off into a tight ponytail. Lo’ak avoids her eyes directly, electing to stare down at his cuffed shoes instead. Lips pressed into a thin line, trying not to bop his head to the music clearly blasting in his ear.
Neteyam is the last to be judged after Tuk. He feels his skin crawl in an uncomfortable manner and not just because sweat has started to trickle down his back more frequently. Ronal barely spares him more than a quick glance, clicking her tongue in disapproval.
“You will not fit in.”
She states matter of factly, crossing her arms over the swell of her belly. Tonowari’s brows knit together, lips downturned in a small apologetic frown. She was right by all means her observation was astute. The Sully’s stuck out like a sore thumb with a growing infection no medicine could cure. They reeked of the city, from their stench to their stance. The way they held themselves with some sort of unearned pride. Ronal knew they would not fit in so easily, not in this small coastal village where everyone knew one another. They were the village elders after all, they have a reputation to uphold, an image to uphold and Eywa help them if taking the Sully’s in wasn’t a horrible idea.
They could not fish, they could not swim, she assumes and rightly so they would not adjust to the slower pace of coastal life compared to the hustle and bustle of the city they were so used to. If not for those reasons then for the main and most concerning reason there was:
They reeked of trouble. Plain and simple, grovelling at their doorstep for sanctuary. Ronal was not stupid, she knew exactly why they were here and exactly who it was they were running from. Like a story told over and over, she knew how this would end and yet here they were, repeating the same mistakes over and over as if that would change the outcome. They had promised no repeats, no resurgence of the past they had worked hard to bury and leave behind. But the annoying thing about brittle promises was how easily they would break and crumble with just a bit of force.
Neytiri nearly hisses, breathing deeply through her nose. She opens her mouth to say something biting but Jake intervenes before she can press on any further. He understands her apprehension, much more than he likes to let on. There is embarrassment and humility swimming in his eyes, as if begging wordlessly for compliance. He knows Ronal well enough to know she will not accept this willingly. But there was no other choice, no other place for them to go. So Jake swallows his pride, like a heavy stone that settles in his stomach.
“We can.”
He interjects.
“We will. Isn’t that right?”
He says a little too eagerly, looking back towards Neytiri and then the children who offer him varying degrees of begrudging approval. Tonowari’s lips turn up into a small and awkward smile, clapping a hand against Jake’s shoulder as if to break the tension. He gestures towards their belongings and cocks his head towards the door in invitation.
The house is a lot bigger than it looks on the outside, warm coloured walls covered in fishing nets, woven baskets, rattan fish and other crafts clearly made from materials found from the sea. Their new home looks lived in, papers scattered and strewn about on the table that looks all too small for a family of four, vials of liquids and specimens probably scavenged from deep dives. The walls are painted, crude and almost childlike, scribbles and murals. The fan hanging over the living room rotates and whirs mechanically, sputtering every now and then. In the middle of the room two figures are sprawled, a girl laying against the couch cushions, legs propped up on a pillow, fingers clutching at a worn book with the cover creased and torn in some areas. She looks the striking image of her father, strong features and striking blue eyes, sharp jawline yet with a softness that offsets the sharper edges. Her hair tumbles past her shoulders, brushing against her thighs the way she’s propped up. She looks up from what she’s reading to regard them and Neteyam notices the dimple in her cheek, the skin sinking deep as she smiles in greeting. She’s quick to put her book down, almost too eager.
By the looks of her she’s not so far off from their age, maybe a year or two younger? She’s tall and lithe, she moves gracefully from her spot like gliding over water with ease. She sidles up towards them with an infectious smile that catches Lo’ak off guard, mouth half open in a greeting that never quite makes it out of his mouth. He pulls his earbud out from his ear, finding this is worth his attention. The girl smiles and extends her hand out to Lo’ak first, her voice follows after like a soft melody.
“Hi, I’m Tsireya. You guys must be the Sully’s. My father has told me so much about you all.”
She says in greeting, casting her eyes towards the group with interest. She shakes Lo’ak’s hand firmly, politely smiling and nodding as she’s introduced. She’s friendly and sweet and almost the embodiment of warmth like her father and from where Neteyam is standing, he can tell Lo’ak is pretty smitten by her already. Tuk fawns over her hair, reaching up to touch her soft curls, Kiri complimenting her shell necklace, falling into an easy rapport with the only other girl her age in this new household.
Neteyam’s eyes fall to the side, tilting his head over at the figure who had yet to rise from his position on the floor, carving a spear with a small pocket knife. The boy looks to be about his age, lithe and broad shouldered, corded muscles under sun-kissed skin. He’s shirtless, Neteyam observes though he isn’t exactly sure why that’s one of the first things his mind zeroes in on. The boy has the same sharp features as his sister, all edge and no softness, only cool calm and calculating with piercing blue eyes and long black lashes that catch the soft glint of sunlight peeking through the slats of the shutters. He looks wholly uninterested, whittling away at the spear tip as if this was more interesting than a bunch of city folk invading their personal space.
“Ao’nung. You must greet our guests. Do not be rude.”
Tonowari’s voice booms, commanding and firm. His brows knit together and his lip juts out in disapproval. Ao’nung only regards him with a silent glare, huffing in disagreement before setting his things down. He pushes himself up from the ground and Neteyam realises with alarming speed just how tall Ao’nung is compared to them. He towers over them with ease, imposing in both size and stature, his curls brushing lazily against the small of his back, the skin of his forearms covered in swirls of tribal ink. He regards them with a nod, a coy smirk that borders more towards contempt. He says nothing at first, sizing them up. Tonowari clears his throat, a gruff sound that sounds like gravel.
Ao’nung concedes and bows his head,
“Welcome. We’re so glad to have you. I’m Ao’nung.”
His voice is monotone, mechanical even in his delivery. He makes a show of emphasizing his displeasure in acknowledging these strangers. His eyes rake over them once more, lazily cataloguing each one to stow in some deep part of his mind to be discarded once they leave as he assumed they inevitably will. Ao’nung’s eyes land on Neteyam once more, holding his gaze with an intensity Neteyam isn’t so used to.
Ao’nung can admit that as much as he hates change and having his daily routine uprooted by a bunch of city kids that didn’t know their way around a reef, he could appreciate that at least one of them had any semblance of being interesting. They didn’t get much new faces around this part of the island, having grown up with most of the kids here, there wasn’t anything new or refreshing. Sure Ao’nung could name a few locals he found somewhat attractive or even interesting but this…this was entirely different.
Unlike most boys Ao’nung has met, Neteyam drowns in baggy clothing, ill fitting at best. He’s tall and he’s lanky and he looks like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin, as if it were something merely borrowed. Neteyam’s eyes, golden brown like flecks of sunlight swimming in a pool of honey. Long lashes that curl upwards, emphasizing his large almost doe like eyes. Neteyam shifts under Ao’nung’s observations, as if he knew Ao’nung was cataloging every bit and piece of him to memory. Not to be stowed away in some dark crevice of his mind, not him.
Jake and Neytiri take to having soft conversations with Ronal and Tonowari in the dining area, Tuk and Kiri given permission to explore around their new abode whilst Lo’ak follows Tsireya to the gardens to get a better view of the beach. A thinly veiled excuse to have some semblance of privacy with a girl he clearly found to be pretty. Which leaves Neteyam awkwardly standing there, with their belongings being scrutinized by Ao’nung who at this point has yet to say anything more to Neteyam.
“You got a name city boy?”
Ao’nung finally breaks the tentative silence, that perpetual smirk plastered over his face. He tilts his head at Neteyam and chuckles lowly when he sees he can easily get a reaction out of the other.
“Neteyam, and I ain’t no city boy.”
He responds coolly, though he can’t help the way his nose scrunches up slightly at the nickname or maybe because he smells a faint whiff of mangoes and vanilla. Ao’nung laughs and rolls his eyes, steps closer just for good measure, though he isn’t threatening, at the very least not yet. A jolt of electricity passes through Neteyam, as if the world tilted ever so slightly at their proximity, the heat of his bare skin radiating warmth and something so familiar that Neteyam can’t quite name just yet.
“No? Then what are you? You’re from the city no? Maybe…a sewer rat then. Is that better?”
Ao’nung goads him on, clearly intent on getting a rise out of Neteyam as if it was his personal mission to make his integration and first day there a living hell. Ao’nung was a rude, infuriatingly cocky bastard who not only looked like the gods had sculpted him but smelled intoxicating too. Neteyam shouldn’t be salivating in his mouth right now, schooling his irritated expression with forced indifference. Neteyam wants to say something scathing, maybe even punch the boy’s albeit very pretty face. But he feels a pair of eyes on him, heavy like weights on his shoulders, he already knows his father is watching. Silently warning him to behave and act accordingly. He was afforded no luxuries of relaxation, he was the eldest and as the eldest he needed to learn to control his own emotions.
So, Neteyam forces a smile though the twitch of his eye betrays him ever so slightly.
“You’re not very original are you fish lips?”
Ao’nung is taken aback, mouth agape with a response that dies on his tongue at the reply he receives. He had expected more, something more scathing or physical. An excuse to get Neteyam into trouble so that they might be out of there sooner. Or maybe just because Ao’nung found it amusing, cute even the way he reacts so openly. He can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from within him, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle the rest, shaking his head.
Neteyam’s lips purse, in pride or irritation maybe or maybe a mixture of both. His eyes narrowing just a fraction. Something about Ao’nung’s jabs feel familiar, like a ghost of something clawing its way up his throat settling in the space between his ribs.
“What’re you laughing at?”
Neteyam presses, his fingers curling into tight fists. He feels his knuckles whitening with the effort not to reach out and deck Ao’nung square in the face.
“You’re cute when you’re riled up.”