arachnophile

In the past, my only relation to danger had been knowing Peter, getting caught up in the midst of Avengers threats and Spider-Man’s enemies; and while that’s how this situation had begun, it was different now. 

I was no longer in jeopardy just for knowing Spider-Man, just for knowing Peter Parker. If Strange’s theories were correct, then I was in danger just for existing. 

And while I knew that Peter would go to the ends of the Earth to save me—all three of them—I refused to stand around and wait. Going to the Sanctum alone had taught me something crucial, a lesson that I hoped would serve us well as we continued this fight. 

I was capable. 

“It’s really not that big of a deal.” 

“Not that big of a deal?” 

Anger reverberated through his body, fists clenched at his sides as he paced along the edge of the rug that lined the living room floor. He was furious, the kind of overwhelming rage that had your face turning red and left a pounding in your temples. 

In my opinion, telling him about my little day trip to the Sanctum Sanctorum had been a complete and utter mistake. What Peter didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, especially since I had managed to come out unscathed. 

But Parker refused to lie to the others about my whereabouts, no matter how hard I tried to convince him to see things my way. He was firm on his stance, stating that he wanted there to be a sense of trust between all of us, one that most certainly would be broken if the others found out he was hiding things on my behalf. 

Ultimately, though, I found him to be quite the hypocrite on this. For someone who claimed to be so against dishonesty, he certainly hadn’t divulged any details from the last part of our trip to the Sanctum. 

If it weren’t for the fact that I wasn’t any more willing than him to tell Peter that we had kissed, then I would have called him out on it. 

“So let me get this straight,” he halted his rapid movements for a moment, shooting a glare in my direction as he began his speech, “you lied to us, went out completely unprotected, convinced Ned to go along with your insane plan, and then went into a basement filled with people that could—and probably want to—kill you, all because you wanted to have some stupid conversation with a guy that could literally electrocute you.” 

“She also lied to the wizard.” Parker chimed in, a futile comment that did little other than agitate me, only adding more fuel to an already raging fire. I turned my head to glance at him as he sat on the couch beside me, urging him to keep his mouth shut. “What?” He shrugged, entirely unphased by the look I was giving him. “You did, didn’t you?” 

I shifted my attention back to Peter, eyes rolling in my head at Parker. “Okay, so yes, I did! But it’s fine, alright? I mean, I’m alive aren’t I?” I motioned to myself, entirely unharmed. “Everything worked out.” 

Peter snorted at my comment. “And what if it hadn’t? Then what?” 

The possibilities ran through his head, every could’ve been that I had luckily avoided. A sudden tautness set upon his stomach, feeling as if his gut was twisting relentlessly as his subconscious forced him to picture all of the horrific ways things could have gone. I had been lucky this time, and for that he was thankful, but he couldn’t help but be terrified by the thought of what would happen when that luck ran out. 

I still didn’t regret my decision to go to the Sanctum. Whether Peter liked it or not, Electro had answers that I needed in order to start finding my own peace. I needed to know about the lives I’d lived out of this universe, needed to learn about the choices I’d made in them. 

If I was going to try and beat destiny—beat the entire multiverse—then I needed to learn from my past selves. I needed to be prepared, a luxury that the other versions of me hadn’t been granted. 

Yet, despite my obvious lack of regret, I still felt uneasy about the decision I had made. I knew that my actions had ultimately made me a bad friend to him, especially considering everything he had gone through lately. I hadn’t taken into account how it would affect Peter, and whether I meant to or not, I had succeeded in heightening his already insurmountable level of anxiety. 

I couldn’t blame him for being upset with me. I couldn’t blame him for being absolutely infuriated. Because I knew that all of it stemmed from one very simple fear; losing another person he loves. 

“You should’ve told one of us.” He continued to reprimand me, my teeth sinking into my cheek as I attempted to fight against my own growing irritation with his attitude. “One of us could’ve went with you! What if something had happened, y/n? Did you even think about that?” A rhetorical question, of course. “You’re totally defenseless against someone like him! What if the cell had failed? What if he found a way to hurt you?” 

These were all possibilities that I had already considered before even so much as sharing the plan with Ned, although I saw little reason to discuss my thought process with Peter. 

After all, he wasn’t speaking from a place of logic and reason right now, too blinded by trauma to care about anything else. If he had been more level-headed then he would have realized himself that the Sanctum was one of the safest places I could be, a statement that even he himself had made in the past. 

“If I had asked you,” I began cautiously, “would you have gone with me?” 

There was no anger in my tone, unlike his own. There wasn’t even the smallest hint of condescension as I worked to ensure I remained as even as possible. I didn’t wanna fight with him, something I only hoped would be made clear by my calm demeanor, but I did plan on making a clear point. 

“Of course.” 

It was a blatant lie, and all three of us knew it instantly. His stare remained fixed to the floor below him, his muscles tightening as he cursed himself for being unable to deliver the answer in a more convincing way. I didn’t even have to speak in order for him to decide to admit to his falsehood. 

“Maybe not-”  he quickly picked back up his pacing, distracting himself as he watched one foot fall in front of the other, having already armed himself with an excuse for his answer, “but you heard all the stuff Dr. Strange said! One of the villains already has it out for you, alright? We can’t just risk the rest of them deciding to chase after you too!” 

“I get it.” 

A painfully simple response, one that left his eyes growing wide, almost stumbling over his own feet as they clicked in his head. He assumed that I would be frustrated with him, be incredibly angry at the fact that he wouldn’t have let me go to the Sanctum. Or, perhaps, I wouldn’t have said anything at all, only allowing a silent resentment to fester. 

He would have been okay with that. Peter could live with the thought of me hating him if that meant I would be safe. But, of all the possible outcomes he had considered, he hadn’t once imagined that I would settle on understanding his point of view. 

“I know that it’s scary.” I confessed to him and Parker both, sharing with them the smallest fraction I could of the fear that had been consuming me lately. “I’ve been terrified ever since we talked to Strange. It’s weird, ya know? To know that in all of these other worlds I’m just… gone.” 

Neither of them spoke, Peter once again slowing his erratic motion, coming to a full stop as he focused on my words. 

“It changes everything. I mean, I don’t even know who or what I am anymore.” Strange’s words once against echoed through my mind, the possibility of me being something more, something unknown. “I knew that it was risky, but I needed to at least try and talk to him. And I know the odds aren’t exactly in our favor, but I have to try. To learn from them, to figure out what not to do.” I paused, trying to connect the stream of thoughts coursing through my mind. “I just–I don’t know, it’s stupid–but, I think I need to know who I was in order to find out who I am.” 

Parker shifted beside, his pinky ever-so-slightly brushing against the side of my hand as it was pressed against the cushion. It was a small gesture, one that appeared simple and meaningless, and yet when my eyes met his I could see the significance behind it. While he didn’t like that I went out on my own, he understood. 

Peter, on the other hand, remained still. His whole body went rigid, frozen in place as something deep inside of him suddenly altered. He had grown accustomed to the feeling that haunted him, the red hot fury that had coursed through his veins for so long now—since Mr. Stark, since Aunt May. He had learned to live with it, but now it felt different. 

All at once, that fire transformed, cooling until all of a sudden he felt cold as ice. He had no rage to hide behind, nothing to mask his pain, and he was left with nothing but pure unbridled fear. 

His dark eyes turned glossy, his voice strangled as he struggled to choke his words out. “I don’t want you to die.” 

The desperate admission had my chest tightening. Peter had been completely spent. He didn’t have the strength to do it again, not yet, not so soon, possibly not ever. He was so tired of grieving, drained from being forced to witness those he loved take their last breath. 

He couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand the thought of being forced to watch as another person left him behind. If he had to do it all again, had to experience losing me, too, then he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to recover from it this time. 

“I know.” 

I didn’t know what else to say, if there was anything I could say that would potentially ease the hurt he felt. I wanted to hold him, wanted to erase the pain that began to consume him. I even wanted to apologize for going to the Sanctum, for contributing to his feelings right now, even if I knew I wouldn’t mean it. 

“I don’t want to either,” And god, I meant it, “but I can’t let that fear stop me from living right now.” 

Peter blinked a couple times, willing away the tears that threatened to spill over. He didn’t wanna cry, not here, especially not in front of Parker. 

“Okay.” Straightforward, the best indication he could give that he understood my words. Understood what I was asking, even if I hadn’t outright said it. Some semblance of freedom, of trust. “But promise me you won’t do anything stupid again without running it by one of us.” 

I tried not to take offense at his statement, especially considering the fact that maybe it had been a tad stupid. 

“Deal.” I promised him, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “So are we good?” 

Peter nodded his head, his body now more relaxed than before. “We’re good.” He confirmed. 

It felt so nice to be able to talk to Peter, to have him finally offer me the slightest inkling of the thoughts residing in his mind, the fears he was trying to face alone. It felt so nice, in fact, that I opted to not tell him that I had already begun thinking of my next move, having been inspired by my own newfound refusal to sit idly by. 

After all, he said that I had to tell one of them if I had planned something stupid, not that I had to tell him. 

Parker and his strict moral code on lying (with a notable exception being for when it worked in his favor, it seems) had already stricken him from the running, although I likely wouldn’t have picked him even if he had been willing to hide my new idea from Peter. 

A major line had been crossed that day in the Sanctum when Parker decided to kiss me, and neither of us seemed quite certain of how we were supposed to exist in the aftermath of our secret encounter. 

Occasionally, things would feel as natural as they’d always been. The two of us would engage in our usual banter, each of us armed with our own special breed of sarcasm, relentlessly teasing the other. Other times, however, it felt as if we were approaching that line again, perhaps on purpose—as if both of us were toying with the idea of stepping over it again, at least once more. 

Fortunately, both of us seemed to have found the will-power we lacked down in the Sanctum. We couldn’t act on it, couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t think about it—because in keeping with all the other occurrences lately, it was just too complicated. Because of this, spending time together had become a delicate dance, one in which neither of us knew the right steps. And so, in a desperate attempt to avoid complicating it further, we were left with no choice but to try and steer clear of each other. 

This meant there was only one Peter Parker I could trust, only one that wouldn’t run off and spill my plan to Peter, only one that would let me avoid the constant will he, won’t he? that had consumed Parker and I. 

And all I had to do was convince him to come along. 

“C’mon.” I whined, glancing up at the blue-eyed Peter Parker. I had made a whole show of it, putting my desperation on full display as I knelt down on my knees in front of him, hands clasped in front of my chest as I pleaded with him. “It’s not even dangerous! We just pop by the Sanctum again, get Strange’s help, and then boom!” Pete flinched a bit as I shouted the word, “Done! Easy peasy.” 

His nose wrinkled slightly, an uncertain expression settling across his features. “I don’t know if easy peasy really applies to using some weird device to pry around inside your mind.” 

My head tilted slightly, considering the likely possibility that he was right. Until Dr. Strange had mentioned it that day when he oh so kindly pointed out that I shouldn’t exist, I had no clue that memory probes were even a thing, which meant that my knowledge on how they worked was drastically limited. 

For all I knew, there were a slew of risks that came with utilizing the device. Unfortunately, though, we couldn’t afford to waste time figuring that out; not when the need for it had begun to outweigh the risks. 

“I know that this isn’t really an ideal situation,” I began cautiously, hoping my delivery would come across more as a gentle reminder rather than an offensive jab at their inability to find the Goblin, “but you’ve gotta admit that we’ve hit a wall. You guys have looked everywhere for him, and we’re still no closer to finding him or figuring out his plan.” 

He knew that I was right, his agreement indicated by a subtle nod at the statement. The three of them were doing their best—but the Goblin had managed to stay a step ahead of us, sticking to the shadows ever since the night at my apartment. He had gone silent, too silent, and at this point we were just sitting ducks. 

Pete shifted in his chair, hands moving to rub roughly at his face, a sort of frustrated noise escaping his lips. “And if it doesn’t work?” I did my best not to smile at the question, ignoring the spark of hope that came from him at least considering my idea. “What if you can’t just—I don’t know—pick what memories you wanna see?” 

My shoulders lifted into a shrug. “We’ll figure it out. Strange has used it before, so I doubt it's that difficult.” 

He looked up from his palms, brows furrowing at the implication that my skill level somehow might match that of a sorcerer. “When he looked into your mind he said he saw everything.” Pete reminded me, and I wasn’t sure if he was attempting to sway my opinion on the matter or if he was speaking from genuine concern. “Every memory, from every universe. What if you can’t navigate that?” 

“Then we’ll just cut our losses and leave.” I assured him. “I told you: easy peasy.” 

His eyes rolled back at the childish saying, already having convinced himself that this would be anything but. Still, he couldn’t deny that the plan had merit. We were running out of options, and as much as he hated it, he knew it would be foolish not to use one of the most promising resources we had left. 

The y/n from his world. 

He had said it himself before; that she had a different kind of relationship with Dr. Osborn. They had fostered a bond that went beyond the one Pete had shared with him, and it wasn’t a stretch to assume that she would have a better idea of where he was hiding than Pete would. 

Still, there was something unsettling about it to him. The idea of me picking through her memories, searching for answers inside a mind that was mine but also not. 

He huffed, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt a familiar throbbing in his temples. This world seemed to have a nasty habit of giving him headaches, a feeling he was very quickly growing tired of. “Fine.” I grinned. “But if Peter finds out I’m not gonna be the one to take the blame, alright?” 

We both knew he was lying. 

“You know, one of these days I’m going to hear a knock on this door, come to open it, and not be met with your face.” 

Nervous laughter spilled from my mouth, although I was fairly certain that he hadn’t meant it as a joke. I quickly stiffened, falling silent as I found myself feeling unusually small under the weight of his frustrated stare. 

As that familiar feeling of intimidation that came about whenever he was around began to sneak up on me, I forced the words out of my mouth at record speed, desperate to get it over with. 

“I need your help.” 

Dr. Strange sighed, likely considering shutting the door in our faces. I couldn’t blame him given the fact that all any of us had done so far was create more problems from him to help us solve. Luckily, though, he decided to at least entertain my request. “What do you want?” 

I hesitantly motioned the foyer behind him, “Can we come in?” 

“No.” He stated plainly, his eyes narrowing. “First, you can tell me what you’re wanting from me, and whether or not I wish to be involved will determine if that answer changes.” 

I bit my cheek, glancing to my side where Pete stood silently next to me. He was glowering at Dr. Strange, likely choking back several remarks about Dr. Strange’s incredible hospitality. “I have an idea on how to catch the Goblin.” I finally spoke, forcing myself to take a deep breath as I turned my attention back to Strange. 

“Great.” His curt response was accompanied by a tight-lipped smile. “Go and get him then.” 

“We will.” I told him, matching his sharpness for a moment, only to quickly dial it back when his expression hardened further. “It’s just–we need… access, to something, in order for it to work.” 

At the very least, Strange seemed vaguely intrigued. 

“Access to what?” 

“My memories.” I spoke, determining how to properly detail my request. “The ones that aren’t… mine, I guess.” 

In an instant, his brows shot up, exaggerating the thin lines across his forehead. The door opened a few more inches as he took a step past the threshold, moving in closer. “You do realize there are a couple hundred-thousand lifetimes bouncing around in there-” he stuck a finger out, pointing at my head, “don’t you?” 

“Yep.” I nodded, mentally cursing myself for popping the p, ignoring the hushed laugh that Pete failed at holding in because of it. 

“And so you’ve considered just how taxing that process would be, right?” From the way he spoke, I could tell that he already assumed I hadn’t; and while I still wasn’t sure what all a memory probe would entail, I refused to give any indication that I wasn’t prepared for it, maintaining a blank expression. 

“Mhm.” 

“That it could require literally hours of combing through dozens of memories, but several universes?” 

“Yes.” 

“And that if you stumble into the wrong memory you might end up forcing yourself to live through your own often tragic death?” 

“Yeah, no, I actually already thought about that, too.” I assured him, offering an awkward smile as I once again motioned to the foyer. “So–can we come in or not?” 

Dr. Strange inhaled sharply, lips pursed as he looked me over from head-to-toe. “You’ve got guts.” He eventually stated, taking a step back and pushing the door open wider for us to get past him. If I didn't know any better, I would’ve thought he was impressed. “I’ll give you that.” 

Pete made a little noise, something similar to a snort, but didn’t make any other comment. I didn’t pay any mind to him, focusing on Strange as I moved into the space, Pete trailing behind me. 

I couldn’t help but think back to what Dr. Strange had said that day when he had gathered us all together, the fact that he had actually considered the possibility that I wasn’t good, that there was a chance I would turn on them all. 

“I just wanna help.” I told him honestly, hoping the words would register with him. 

He didn’t give any indication on whether or not it influenced his opinion, though, breezing past the declaration entirely as he set-off in a direction, clearly expecting us to follow. “This man—Norman Osborn—he’s from your world, correct?” 

The question had clearly been aimed at Pete, and I acknowledged the way he scowled as Strange spoke to him, ever the one to hold a grudge over quite literally anything. My lips twitched into a smile at the sight, aware that the typical reason for his irritation with others was in an effort to defend me. 

“Yeah.” He answered pointedly. “He is.” 

“Good.” Strange assented as he shoved open another door, leading us into that familiar space with all the odd artifacts and pieces of technology that the sorcerors had compiled over the past several decades. “You can act as a guide.” 

Pete paused, hanging back by the door as I followed Strange into the space. “A guide?” 

“Well, we know that for some reason y/n’s mind contains all of the memories of her others, even if she doesn’t have full access to them without the use of a tool. But she has no connection to this man; not in this universe, at least.” Dr. Strange began to explain to him, stepping behind a bookshelf as he rummaged through its contents. “There’s nothing to tie her to him, no clear-cut path that she can take in order to access any memories with him. But you knew him, yes?” 

“Yeah,” Pete confirmed, his eyes darkening just a touch, averting his gaze to the dusty floorboards, “I did.” 

“So you’ll act as her guide.” Dr. Strange repeated his past statement, coming back around the corner of the shelf. “It’s simple.” He continued, as if he could sense the nerves radiating off of Pete. “All you have to do is talk to her, help her get a picture of him in her mind. Tell her about the places she spent the most time with him, things they might have talked about, anything that might be useful. After that, her brain will do the rest.” 

I didn’t look back at Pete again, unaware of the anxiety that was now coursing through him, too focused on the object in Dr. Strange’s hands. It was smaller than I would have thought and made of some type of dark steel. “Is there anything I need to do?” 

“Keep your mind clear.” Dr. Strange instructed me, using his head to gesture towards a chair that was off to the side, encouraging me to sit. I obliged, keeping my focus locked onto him as he approached me with the device. “It’s difficult enough to navigate a normal mind, let alone one containing infinite memories. You just need to focus on his words, let them push you in the right direction. If you go off course—start thinking about something else—there’s no telling where you’ll end up.” 

A knot started to form in my stomach, and I swallowed roughly while attempting to push past the dull pain it caused. “Okay.” I worked to keep a steady tone, not wanting Pete to sense any of my discomfort. “Sounds easy enough.” 

“Far from it, actually.” Strange offered me a dismissive smile, and despite the slight cruelty of his words, it seemed as if he was actually trying to distract me from any feelings of nervousness. “But you’ll figure it out.” 

Carefully, he placed the device on my head, my muscles tensing at the sensation of the cool metal pressing against my temples. At some point Pete had moved further into the room, now standing by my side and cautiously eyeing the device. “Close your eyes, clear your mind.” Dr. Strange directed me before looking at Pete. “Start talking, lover boy.” 

If I hadn’t already closed my eyes, I was sure I would’ve started laughing at the way Pete most certainly glared at Dr. Strange for the statement. I knew it made him uncomfortable, knowing that Strange had seen into his mind, had felt the feelings he held towards the me he knew. But he ignored it, pushed past the comment and did as he was told. 

“I guess, uh, try to think of Oscorp.” He started, his discomfort quite apparent. 

“Might need to be a bit more descriptive than that.” I snickered teasingly. It was a bit difficult to imagine something when it didn’t exist in my world. 

I couldn’t tell if Pete found any amusement in what I said, though I thought there was a tinge of a smile present in his voice when he spoke again. “Well, it’s just this really big building, pretty much like every other place in the city. It was kind of special, though, or at least you thought it was. Once you actually told me that Oscorp was like your Disney Land; just this huge place filled with scientists and cutting edge tech, all the things you loved, ya know?” 

There was a pause, an inhale of breath. “That’s where you spent most of your time with Dr. Osborn.” He told me, sounding a little more relaxed as he started to find something to talk about. “You actually spent all your time there in general. Locked away, drowning yourself in research.” 

I squeezed my eyes shut a little tighter, doing my best to focus on his words, trying to do whatever I could to place myself there; to get in touch with the me he knew. 

“Most people would probably think that it was miserable, but not you. I think that’s why Dr. Osborn liked you so much, ya know? You weren’t in it for the money or a title, you were just so passionate about your work. It was everything to you.” 

He chuckled a bit, though it was weak and disheartened. It was still hard on him to talk about her, to talk about me. “We used to try our hardest to keep it from totally consuming your life, though. Harry and I both would always sneak into the building, trying to convince you to tear yourself away from all the data and research, at least for a bit. Dr. Osborn actually tried to get Harry and I banned from the building once,” I could practically hear the smile in his voice, even amidst the sadness that consumed it, “he said we were distracting you from your bright and promising future.” 

Harry Osborn, a name that always piqued my interest. Another person that seemed to make a regular appearance in my past lives, a name that seemed to send Parker into a spiral. His name hadn’t mattered much in Pete’s story, given that in his world, Harry was nothing more than a friend of mine. 

But, unbeknownst to either of us, uttering his name even in passing had been a mistake. His voice became more faint, slowly fading until it was nothing more than an inaudible hum in the background, the memory probe aiding me into entering a memory of an Osborn man—just not the right one; not the right world. 

“You’re distracting me.” 

The voice was foreign to me, even as it spoke similar words to the ones that Pete had just muttered. Still, the stranger’s presence seemed to spur something inside of me; the knot that had formed in my stomach seemingly untying itself in their presence. 

I attempted to take in my surroundings—taking note of the lavish decor. The walls appeared to be some sort of emerald marble, the floors dark in color and sporting a sort of geometric design. I glanced down at my own lap, realizing that my outfit was different than before as I rested against a plush black cushion, reclining on a couch with wooden accents. 

There wasn’t a single part of me that recognized this place, and while I knew that should make me feel panicked, I couldn’t help but feel surprisingly at ease. 

“I can’t be distracting you.” The sound of my own voice left me stunned, escaping without permission, as if my entire body were on autopilot and I had been trapped inside of it. “I’m literally just sitting here.” I spoke again. “I can’t distract you if I’m not even doing anything.” 

“Mmm, that’s the problem, doll.” The unknown voice hummed, footsteps sounding out as they crossed the room, making their way to where I was sitting. “You don’t have to do anything when just your presence is enough to drive me crazy.” 

My eyes flicked up to meet the stranger as he stopped in front of me. Same as the room that surrounded us, there was nothing about him that felt familiar, and yet I still found my heart fluttering at the sight of him; another reaction that was out of my control. 

“Hm,” I matched his tone, humming the way he had as my lips quirked into a smirk, “then maybe I should leave? Heaven knows the board is always looking for new opportunities to jump down your throat–can’t have them finding out that you’re spending your time flirting with your employees instead of running Oscorp.” 

Fuck. 

“Eh, who gives a shit what those old shits think?” He stated as he mirrored my teasing expression. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

I shifted in my spot, rising to my feet and placing a hand against the boy's chest, gently smoothing out his suit coat. He watched me, tentative and utterly captivated. “Well, technically, you should probably care.” I told him matter-of-factly. “Seeing as though they’re trying to push you out of your own company.” 

I knew that I had messed up, knew that I had accidentally done exactly what Dr. Strange had warned me of. I hadn’t kept my head clear; I had let myself get sidetracked by the mention of Harry’s name, gotten lost in the stories I’d been told about the Harry Osborn  from Parker’s world. And now, being in this moment with whom I could only assume was Harry himself, I couldn’t help but think of what Parker had said about him.

You were his entire world.

“I’d like to see them try.” He grinned down at me, taller by at least a few inches. His hand raised to lovingly stroke my cheek, and I found myself leaning into his touch. “Besides” he carried on, “even if they did, I’d still be the richest man in New York.” 

I laughed, nuzzling against his hand. “You can never pass-up an opportunity to mention being a millionaire, can you?” 

“Billionaire.” He chided sarcastically, his thumb lightly brushing against my bottom lip, his eyes glued to them. “But I actually wasn’t talking about money. They can have it—all of it, if they want. As long as I have you, I’ll have everything I'll ever need.” 

Warmth crept up my neck and spread across my cheeks. “God,” I drug the word out, unable to fight against the smile tugging at my lips, “I never would’ve pinned you as such a softy, Harry.” 

His other hand moved to my face as well, cupping it in his palms as he leaned in closer, “Only for you.” 

It felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of my mind racing as he moved in towards my lips. But, just before they touched, my eyes closed and I no longer felt the comforting touch of his soft hands against my skin. 

When they opened again, things had changed. I was still in the same room, noting the same marble walls and geometric floors, but it was different now. I had just walked through the doors into what I now felt comfortable assuming was Harry Osborn’s office at Oscorp, and I no longer felt that sense of safety, of relaxation. 

I was angry. 

My fists were clenched at my sides, the sound of my heels clicking against the floor as I stomped over to Harry’s desk, my entire body practically shaking with rage. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure that anger was a good description of how I felt. I was absolutely infuriated.

“I just wanna talk!” 

This time I recognized the voice that was calling out after me, the sound of their footsteps falling close behind my own as they struggled to keep up with my quick pace. It was Parker. 

I spun on my heel, less than an inch or two in-between us as he had been hot on my trail, and without a single thought I reached out and slapped him across the face. “Fuck you, Peter!” 

Shock coursed through me, and I couldn’t tell if it was my own emotion this time or if I was feeling hers; if she too was shocked by her actions. 

Parker only blinked, a hand rising to rub the now sore skin. “Okay, I deserved that.” 

I scoffed. “You think?” 

“But you’ve gotta give me a chance to explain-” 

“Actually I don’t.” I cut him off, clearly unwilling to hear whatever excuse he was about to spout out. “You shouldn’t even be here right now, Pete. He doesn’t want to see you, and honestly?” I paused for a moment, barely a second as I seemed to consider what I would say next. “Neither do I.” 

It had hurt him to hear it, his lip quivering the smallest bit, an unintentional display of an emotion he wanted to hide. I couldn’t help but feel bad for him, couldn’t help but wonder why I was so mad at him in the first place. 

“I’m not gonna apologize-” 

“Fucking great.” An exasperated breath, my head shaking as I tried to look anywhere but at him. “Then you really shouldn’t be here.” 

“I just want to explain-” 

“Oh my god, can you just listen to me?” I cut him off once again, yelling loud enough that I was certain anyone else in the building could hear every word perfectly. “I don’t want you to explain, Peter! I want you to leave me alone so I can at least try to salvage what’s left of my relationship, okay? He’s already going through enough right now, the last thing he needs is to find out that we are even speaking!” 

There was a small flash of guilt in his eyes. “You know that I would help him if I could.” 

I remembered what he had told me in my apartment that day, about the disease that was killing Harry, the same one that had claimed his fathers life. And, with that knowledge, I wanted to believe what he was saying. But, for some reason, this version of me didn’t seem convinced. 

“Would you?” I asked him, taking another step forward, closing the already miniscule gap between us as if I were challenging him. I stared up at him, my gaze icy and filled with rage. “You didn’t even offer to try, Peter. If you gave a shit about Harry then you’d be here every fucking day.” I motioned towards the hall, likely referring to the labs I knew were housed in the building. “We could be studying your blood. Testing it. Trying to create a cure, trying to save his life instead of just telling him no.” 

Parker didn’t respond, his breath caught in his throat as he watched me. From the look on his face, I assumed he had never seen me so angry before, and his silence only added more fuel to the fire. 

“Do you know how that feels, Pete?” I questioned him, tears beginning to well-up as I spoke. “To have to look the man I love in the eyes and just tell him no? Not to have to tell him that I can’t save his life—but that I won’t.” Nothing but silence. I bit my cheek, taking a step back and turning back towards Harry’s desk. “And then you just had to go and make it worse, didn’t you?” 

As I stepped towards the desk I felt Parker reach out and grip my wrist, a firm yet tender touch. My neck snapped to the side, looking over my shoulder at him while yanking my hand away from him. He hesitated, the rejection seemingly having an effect on him. “I wasn’t trying to make it worse.” He finally admitted, breaking the silence that had fallen over him. “But it’s just-” another pause as he ran his fingers through his hair, the same way he had several times since I met him, pulling roughly at it, “You needed to know how I felt, okay? I’m sorry that it hurt him, but I don’t regret kissing you.” 

My stomach dropped. I’d had this argument before, or one very similar, at least. 

I stiffened. “No.” 

He frowned, brows creasing as he stared back at me. 

“I didn’t need to know.” I clarified. “You’re too late, alright? You made your choice a long time ago, and you chose to be with Gwen. Not me. And I’m finally happy, Peter. After everything you put me through, after all the back-and-forth; it was finally my turn to be happy.” 

Another deep inhale, another moment of hesitation. I could feel all of the emotions that didn’t belong to me; feel the fear, the anxiety, the overwhelming sense of exhaustion. 

“And now I’m gonna lose that.” I could feel myself shaking again, although this time it wasn’t because of rage, it wasn't because I couldn’t contain the ill-feelings I had towards Parker. I was crying now, and all I felt was pure terror. “So I need you to leave, alright? I need you to go.” 

And when I looked back towards Harry’s desk this time, Parker didn’t stop me, finally listening to me as he turned to leave Oscorp. 

Things changed again, the same old office but with an entirely new aura about it. That terror remained though, the unbridled fear that turned my blood ice cold. It was dark, save for a single light on Harry’s desk, dimly illuminating the space. 

I glanced down to my lap, just as I had in the first memory I stumbled into, but this time I wasn’t on the couch. I was in his desk chair, my hands tightly bound behind my back with some sort of thin rope. On the floor were dozens of little orange spheres, and I felt myself get sick at the sight. 

Unlike the other memories, I knew this one. I recognized it as the story Electro had told me. 

This was the night I died. 

I expected the terror to grow at that realization, but for some reason it didn’t, instead morphing into a chilling sense of calm. I continued staring at the orange spheres—pumpkin bombs, I think—and I felt my head cock to the side. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

It was that same voice; the one that was once foreign to me, the one I now knew was Harry Osborn. My head snapped up, tearing my sights away from the grenades and to the door of the office where he stood. 

He didn’t look the same, though. His dark hair had changed in hue, his skin now sickly with purple veins peaking through. Yet, despite the change in his appearance and the particular threatening situation I was in, I didn’t seem scared. Not of him. 

“I know.” I told him softly, my voice on the verge of breaking. “They’re not live, are they? They’re the inert grenades from the lab?” 

A gruff noise escaped his throat, confirming my suspicion. They were essentially just test grenades, hollowed out and capable of doing nothing more than making a near deafening pop when detonated. “Why are you doing this, Har?” 

He began walking towards me, slowly at first, but then picking up his pace when he noticed that I didn’t seem to have an adverse reaction to his rather sickening appearance. “Because-” he knelt down in front of me once he reached the chair I was tied to, “he wanted to take you from me. He was gonna let me die, y/n.” 

I didn’t speak, remaining utterly silent as I looked down at him; but I seemed to agree with his words on some level, even if I wouldn’t say it aloud. 

“I’m not gonna let him get away with that. Someone’s gotta punish him for it.” 

“Isn’t he already being punished?” I suddenly asked, his head tilting slightly as he waited for me to continue, “He’s already lost, Harry. I told you after he kissed me that it didn’t change anything, okay? I’m yours, not his!” 

His mouth twitched as I spoke, though whatever feelings the words stirred up clearly weren’t enough to change his mind. “It’s not enough.” My heart lurched. “He needs to know how it feels. To have nothing. To know what it’s like to have someone take something from you—take someone from you.” He paused, a pale greenish-hued finger brushing against my cheek, just as he did in that first memory I saw. 

And, in-spite of all of this, I still found myself leaning into his touch. 

“You said you weren’t gonna hurt me.” I reiterated, trying to comprehend his plan. 

“I’m not.” He reassured me, and for a brief moment, his cerulean eyes glimmered the way they had before; filled with such love, such unrelenting adoration. “But I need him to think I’m going to.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he’s in love with you.” Harry stated, his touch falling away as he rose to his feet again, eyes once again turning dark. “You’re the one he’s going to wanna save, and when he goes after you—and he will go after you—I’m gonna take the only person he has left.” 

Gwen. 

My teeth dug into my lip, tears slipping down my cheeks. “Harry, no-” 

“I know she’s your friend.” Harry interrupted me, a genuine look of regret flashing across his face, the closest thing to an apology I’d get. “But he’s the one who did this.” 

“No, Harry, you don’t have to hurt her-” He didn’t listen to me, though, turning towards the desk and placing a hologram receptor on it. He was going to make Peter watch, force him to pick between the two of us, just as Electro had said. “Please!” 

I had never heard myself sound so desperate before, the sound of my own cries sending chills through my body. I tugged at my restraints, as if I thought I could reach out to Harry, hold him back and convince him to change his mind. I couldn’t. 

He didn’t so much as spare another look in my direction, and perhaps he too was ashamed of his choices, recognized how deranged it was. If he did, he didn’t show it, though. “Things will be okay after this.” Harry promised once he reached the door, although I wasn’t sure if I was the one he was trying to convince. “You’ll see.” 

I didn’t respond to him, not with any coherent words, screaming and crying as I continued to jerk against the rope that bound me as he left the room, closing the door on me. 

That anger was still there, the sense of pure rage that I felt towards Parker. I knew that a part of me blamed him for it, for the way things had gone. It was as if I believed he was at fault for this, that he was the one who tipped Harry over the edge. And, truthfully, maybe I had been right in that assumption. 

But Gwen didn’t deserve to pay for what he had done. 

She wasn’t responsible for the mistakes Parker had made, nor was I willing to let her suffer at Harry’s hands. And so, I made quick work of beginning to loosen the restraints in any way that I could, aware that my time was limited—pulling against them, jerking at them, trying to work my wrists out of them. I didn’t care about untying my feet, aware that as long as I could get my hands out, I would be able to do something. 

I looked to his desk, my eyes falling on the small glimmering object amongst a stack of paperwork. 

A letter opener. 

I knew now that Harry had never intended on killing me, but I still found myself coming to terms with my death, accepting that my blood would be on my own hands, now. 

For Gwen.

a/n - not gonna lie, this chapter made me feel really bad for even writing it lol but i felt it was important to the plot, especially since Peter gets a lot of heat for the way he acts/what he's done! it serves as a reminder that we don't know everything that happened in Parker and Pete's universes/their mistakes. as the summary has always stated, they're each looking for a second chance, and we are finally able to start learning what they did to even need a second chance!

plus you guys know i love dane dehaan so i had to write my bb in here somewhere lol

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You do your best to quell yourself as you listen to Ao’nung recite the same story, near verbatim, that he told you and Neteyam to your father. It’s no easier to hear the second time, and with every minute that passes you can only think about Lo’ak. Alone, cold, scared for his life; praying to the great mother that he is still alive.  

Your ears flutter; a threat to press back against your skull. Fear is so familiar to you that you nearly welcome it like you would an old friend. But this time it is different, like an acquaintance who you do your best to avoid in crowds. It’s different because it is not for you alone, not for your own peace of mind or with your own life on the line. It enrages you, scalds you–burns at you as you yearn for the safety of one you hold dear. 

This fear has you bubbling over, rattling the lid off of the pot you use to vigorously contain all the ugly, unrefined pieces of you. Like stew left unattended on the stove. 

Once Ao’nung is through, Jake doesn’t say a word. He simply stands up and reaches for a flashlight from his bag (which has you hiding the one Neteyam snatched earlier behind your back, as a second thought) along with his sheath, then turns to walk out. It’s only now that Neteyam releases his grip on Ao’nung, gives him one final steely glare before he goes to follow his father. Your body pivots to do the same, but you falter. 

In any other situation, at any other time, you might have been able to bite your tongue. If this had been directed at you, if it was you lost out at sea–even despite your irrational grievances–you think you might have found it within yourself to just brush past it. Forced yourself into the practiced philosophy of out of sight, out of mind, for the greater good of your father’s ataraxis. 

But you were not the target of this, your brother was. And if Jake wants to preach your family’s maxim so much, then maybe you can be so inclined to partake in a bit of malicious compliance in its stead. 

You deem now is the perfect time to do so.

“If they bring him back dead,” you address, turn your head to make direct eye contact with Ao’nung. You want him to know you mean it, that it is direct and equitable. “I will kill you myself. That is pänu.” [ “A promise.” ]

His expression cracks, the mask he’s plastered on slips, in just the slightest way that is noticeable. And you see it, the twinge of emotion that incites a tremor in his cheek, stings at his eyes. He gulps the smallest of lumps down his throat, and you know. He’s scared–for something, anything, you aren’t sure and you don’t care. You just want him to feel a fraction of what you’re feeling in this very moment, just a smidgen of something other than thinly veiled neutrality. 

You take in his reaction and you heed to it before you finally focus your attention back on following the trail your father and Neteyam had taken. Finding where they went is easy; all you have to do is follow the shouts coming from the shoreline, the glow of torches and lanterns burning brighter with each pad of your feet against the netting. A crowd is already formed, people standing on and around the docks speaking among themselves. You catch a glimpse of Neteyam through a break in the sea of people, his sapphire skin sparkling against a backdrop of teal, and you begin pushing your way through.

Just as you reach him, your father and a few Metkayina men are already taking off into the water. They are the search party, you deduce, based on the murmurs of those around you. You try to drown them out, pretend you don’t hear how some of them are already putting the blame onto your brother; as if they even have a clue.

Your fingers brush against Neteyam’s wrist–out of instinct, yen, you aren’t sure it matters–but at the slightest bit of contact he’s already grappling for it. Blindly, before he’s even turned his head. Like he can tell by just the ridges of your fingertips that it is you. His hand molds around yours, the warmth of his palm embedding itself to the lines crafted in your own. And now, only now, does he look to you.

“They are going to the Three Brothers Islands to find him,” Neteyam tells you, and his voice comes out just as level as it always does. Just as composed. “They should all be back soon.”

Any other person would miss it, any other person wouldn’t pick up on such a thing. But you are not them. Neteyam has seemed to have put so much effort into concealing his emotions earlier that he’s caused a misstep, a flux. His voice is level, yes. And his eyes are steadfast, sure. His tone rings true to the promise that he believes his brother will return safe and sound, but –stray doubt has slithered in and soiled the pristine veils of that covenant. 

Yes, any other person would miss it, but you pick up on the slightest quiver in the tip of his tail as it brushes against you. You take note of how his left ear twitches once, twice, three times; a nervous tell he’s had since you were merely children. You lock your gaze on the fang that hooks the edge of his lip, biting down, just barely. You detect it all, and you feel the vex.

He does his best to look strong and put on an unbothered show as the rest of your family runs up, asks what’s going on– Where is Lo’ak? What is happening? –and what the meaning of this is. You simply allow him to do so, let him step into his role as the pillar of the family oh so seamlessly, just like always. Squeezing the hand he has failed to retract as a comfort, a response to the plight, you shudder out a breath.

And the waiting game begins. 

It takes forever–at least, it feels like it does. The time spent waiting for the return of the convoy feels perilous, daunting. Excruciating, in a longing sense. Neytiri spends the time pacing, cursing below her breath at the situation, her son, the distinction isn’t clear. Neteyam is not far off, he gets a lot of his mannerisms from his mother. He nearly drives you crazy with each pass he does beside you, but you find distraction in taking care of Tuk with Kiri. She has always been so empathetic with others, with Lo’ak especially, and her whines for when he will return have you silencing your own anxieties until you finally convince her to just go to bed. 

After some time, though, you hear it. The shouts in the distance as they come within sight. The horns they blow as the search party comes back into view. The sigh that wracks out of you is near violent as you see your brother’s silhouette seated behind one of the Metkayina men. 

You rush to the ledge just as Lo’ak is stepping onto it and you can see it in his eyes. There’s fire behind them, raging, and it’s aimed directly at Ao’nung. But before he gets even more than a step in, Jake is stopping him, holding him in place. Safety precautions, you assume, an attempt to keep things from escalating. 

You for one think that Lo’ak deserves to throw at least one cheap shot at him, maybe even waterboard him for a few minutes. An eye for an eye sort of thing. 

“Let’s have a look at you,” your father says, does a walk around of Lo’ak to look for any real injuries. He won’t find any, you can tell, and you know he knows that too. “He’s fine, he’s fine. Just a few scratches.”

Neytiri brushes past you, now. Jumps down to the lower dock and grabs her son to run her eyes over him herself. But the relief painting her features is fleeting, and you bite the inside of your cheek at the shift in her gaze seconds later. 

“I pray for the strength that I will not pluck the eyeballs out of my youngest son,” she hisses as she claws her hand in front of his face. Lo’ak looks unbothered, unperturbed–would probably be embarrassed at such a sentence in any other circumstance, knowing him. 

“No,” Tonowari speaks up to your left, and your gaze snaps to him. His rebuttal is not something you were expecting, not something you had anticipated. “My son knows better than to take him outside the reef.” And as if his speaking up didn’t catch you off guard enough, he places his hand on Ao’nung’s shoulder and makes him lower into a kneel. “The blame is his.”

Everyone is tense, high strung; not wanting to do anything to tip this boat in either direction and send all of you plunging into an unforgiving sea. You understand that’s the consensus of their thoughts, truly, but the only abstraction playing in your mind is that you think you like Ao’nung better when he’s forced to be on his knees and silent.

“Okay,” Jake mutters out in a breath, grabs at Lo’ak’s arm to pull him along. “Let’s go.”

But it appears that Lo’ak holds a grudge against anything being as easy as this, so true to his fashion he yanks his arm out of his father’s grasp.

“No,” he shakes his head, and you have half a mind to shake him senseless. You wonder what the hell he’s thinking, why he’s doing this. “This is not Ao’nung’s fault. This was my idea, Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it. Really.”

Your father simply regains his grip on his youngest son, Neytiri shoving him along as well as he spews out a quiet apology. Lo’ak’s eyes meet Ao’nung’s just as he’s being drug past him, and you realize in that moment, it was more than just trying to please those he feels the pressure to impress.

Jake shares a hushed understanding with Tonowari as he passes him, tells him he’ll handle this. You hear the chief and his mate begin chastising their son as you fall into line to follow your family further and further away from the dock. 

You’re just out of earshot of the locals when Lo’ak turns to look at his father, already pleading his case. “Dad, you told me to make friends with these kids. That’s all I was trying–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jake cuts him off, tone dripping in disappointment, indignation. He fixes Lo’ak with a stern look. “You brought shame to this family.”

The statement causes a pause, a delay. It was not even directed at you and it has your stomach tightening into knots, nausea blooming in the pits of it. To say such a thing to him when it wasn’t even him who did anything wrong feels malevolent; it doesn’t strike you as fair. 

In fact, nothing seems all that fair lately. 

“Can I go now?” Lo’ak speaks up after the beat of silence.

Jake sighs, haughty. “Any more trouble, I jerk a knot in your tail. You read me?”

“Yes sir,” your brother responds immediately. “Lima Charlie.”

Your father nods his head with a grunt, and Lo’ak wastes no time in turning on his heel and stalking off. Part of you wants to run after him–you still aren’t fully settled from this incident after all, and you’d really like to give your brother a hug and let him know you’re glad he’s alright–but Neytiri is whipping around to face the three of you that remain as soon as Lo’ak is gone. 

“Where were you?” She asks, directed entirely to Neteyam.

“Yeah,” Jake chimes in, and that same tone he was using on Lo’ak is plaguing his voice now. It’s watered down, of course, but even diluted you know that it still tastes like straight poison to swallow. “What happened to keep an eye on your brother?”

Neteyam, not missing a single beat, dips his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

So inculcated with obedience, so willing to drop it all just to fall into line. You’ve always seen it, acknowledged it, but now it shines in a new light for you. Neteyam never strays, never complains, never voices against anything when it comes from a station of command. He’s deemed himself a soldier, a leader, his siblings’ keeper; a patron to service everyone else and admonish himself.

And you just don’t take too well to that right now.

“It’s actually my fault, sir,” you step in, do your best to ignore the heat of the gazes that switch from him to you. “I’m the reason Lo’ak wasn’t looked after.”

There’s a sharp inhale behind you, and out of your peripheral you see Neteyam’s head snap back up. You aren’t sure to which parent you should be looking, so you keep your eyes fixed forward, and wait.

“What were you doing?” Jake questions, and it all feels so unfamiliar. You are not immune to discipline from either of them, it has been administered to you many times over the years, but something about this moment feels heavier. 

Your body tenses up in a weak attempt to control the flinch that it so desperately wants to convey as Neytiri steps into your line of sight. Saying you are scared of the only mother figure you have ever known is not something you’d be open to readily admit, but if you were ever asked if she made you a bit wary when she was angry, you think you’d have to agree to that statement. 

“ Why? ” It’s all she presses, a ghost of a hiss trailing on the end as if to dot the curve of punctuation.

“I was struggling with some things that Tsireya has been teaching us,” is what you settle on saying, and it isn’t particularly a lie, but deep down you still feel the slightest bit culpable for it. “I asked Neteyam for help even though I knew he was busy. I shouldn’t have distracted him, it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no place for distractions, ” Neytiri bites, snaps her teeth. This time you do flinch. Not because you’re afraid her actions might harm you, but because her words do. Like the implication that you are a distraction is something she expected; a burden easy to predict. “Do not let this happen again.”

“I won’t,” you whisper, try to focus on the flame of a nearby torch to will the burning behind your eyes to stop. “ I won’t. ”

Nothing else is said before Neytiri turns on her heel to walk away, Jake trailing close behind. A hand brushes against your arm; Kiri offers you a sympathetic, odd tilt of a smile as she steps away too. Which only leaves you and Neteyam, and you can already tell you aren’t going to like what he has to say about all of this, so you do what any person wanting to avoid confrontation would.

You clear your throat and go off in the complete opposite direction. 

“Hey,” he calls after you the very next second, already scrambling to match your fast pace. “Hey, wait!”

But you ignore him, pretend you don’t hear him. Because why should you stick around and listen to what he has to say if you are already well aware of the very words that are going to be leaving his mouth? You think it benign; that he should save his breath. You keep walking, and to your chagrin, Neteyam keeps following. 

“ Agh, Ma (Y/n).” And you know that timbre, know it only wavers as such when he has grown frustrated. Something inside you takes a little pride in that, and in turn you think you need to be checked in the head because of it.

The sand under your feet grows more and more moist, colder on the soles as you keep padding off. You had no intentional path when you started walking–just the goal of getting away from Neteyam–but with a few more strides it seems that you find yourself in the very same spot you and him had been earlier. Perhaps just by tendency, it being one of the only places you are semi-familiar with, or maybe something else. Regardless of which, you do not let it blindside you as you are still on a mission.

“Why are you so stubborn?” Neteyam groans, pinched and drawn out. A smile nearly tempts your lips at that, a laugh just about rolls off your tongue. That is, until you feel it. 

The tug on your tail is swift; has you jutting to a stop in your tracks instantly. It is not playful, or fun spirited–which leaves an odd taste in your mouth. Sand tunnels up in the skid marks your feet leave and you whip around to yank your own tail out of Neteyam’s calloused grasp. Your mouth is propped open, gaping. You wouldn’t be able to conceal your disbelief if you tried because did he really just do that?

“I am not a child,” you reprimand, holding your tail close to you like you’re scared he might try to grab at it again. Then again, there is the chance that he might. “You do not drag me back by my tail like one.”

You expect him to bubble out an apology forthright, but instead he closes the gap between the two of you with a pointed gaze. 

“I am not a child either.” He mirrors your tone, like an echo in a lower octave. “I do not need you to take blame for me.”

A standstill, an impasse. You and Neteyam stare at each other for a few baited moments. His leer is heavy, disparate. Whatever is swirling behind those honeyed irises has you transfixed, but it doesn’t mean you are willing to back down. It’s like you’re backpedaling on a conversation you’ve just had, but then again you suppose you are, aren’t you? 

“You shouldn’t be given blame yourself,” you tell him, unequivocally. Because it is what you believe, what you harbor in your heart. And Neteyam seems to always pull anything he wishes out of your heart. “I know you think you have to be responsible for everyone, but you don’t.”

“That is rich, coming from you.”

That takes you back a moment, has the gears inside your head stuttering in their tread. He’s thrown your own words back in your face twice now, like a rag that’s already been used and soiled. It’s as if he’s dead set on hammering you out, knocking you straight no matter how many blows it takes.

It unnerves you.

“I am the oldest.” A statement, a fact; you say it because you know that one cannot argue with the flat truth. “That is my job.”

It has always been your job. 

“Then you should understand–”

“No, I don’t understand, Neteyam,” you interject, brows furrowing up at him. “You are their older brother, I understand that. You want to stand up for those you care about, I understand that, too. But there is a difference between taking their side and taking their blame. And you don’t seem to get that. ”

“If you are so against such a thing, then why did you do it just now?” He asks, brisk and unfiltered in a way he rarely gets. There’s a cinch between his brows, a dip in the lines of his lips. It isn’t angry, or mean–it’s simply achingly curious. “Why take my blame when you are not the one at fault?”

“Maybe I am just tired of seeing you get in trouble for things you don’t do.”

It comes out quieter than you intended it to, like all the fight seeps out of you with each word that tumbles from your lips. A decrescendo of what was once a building dispute; a come apart. Your eyes flit away from Neteyam’s, your hands ring around your tail that you’ve failed to drop thus far. 

“It just seems like you’re carrying everyone else’s problems around with you constantly. Protecting them nìftxavang,” [ “with all your heart” ] you shrug sheepishly, tip your head as you force yourself to meet his gaze once again. “If I am able to take just a portion of the weight off your shoulders, then all I ask is that you let me.”

He’s quiet, reticent. Each passing beat of locked eyes has you feeling more and more foolish. Perhaps you have crossed a line, said something you should not have. Maybe, this went over the boundaries of whatever the two of you were now, ventured into unmarked territory that you do not have permission to claim just yet.

You’re still so unsure of what this is, at all. 

Neteyam’s eyes cut away from you, dip down to some spot towards your feet. He reaches a hand up to fiddle with the necklace hanging from his neck; the one you made for him just a few hours ago. His thumb presses to the shell on it, his teeth pull his lips in. Then, he nods.

“Only the light weight,” he cracks, lifting his head just enough to look at you through the braids that seem to always have a way of falling into his face. “You are not built to carry anything ku’up.” [ “Heavy.” ]

You shove at his chest as the smile finally carves into his cheeks, roll your eyes at him and grumble under your breath. “I’m stronger than you, you skxawng.”

“Ah, whatever helps you sleep at night,” he chuckles, grabs your hands to pull you with him as he stumbles a few steps back from your faux assault. 

But he drops one, lets the grin lessen a little as he reaches behind you. It’s hard not to jerk when you feel his fingers brush against your tail again (considering it has been pulled on more than twice today already, neither instance with your permission), and yet you control it because this time it’s gentle, loose. His grip is hollow as he skims his fingertips along your tail. A shudder runs through you as he gets to the end of it, in the very same place where he had grabbed onto earlier. Heat pools into your cheeks as he brushes against it with his thumb–tender, demure. 

“I’m sorry. For pulling on your tail. That was.. rude.” It’s devout, vehement. His touch conveys every word he utters in a tenfold manner. It’s nearly overwhelming. “Ngaytxoa, Ma (Y/n)?” [ “Forgive me?” ]

Part of you wants to say no out of spite, make him squirm or tug his tail in retaliation, but the way he’s looking at you now has you tongue tied. As priorly stated, you harbor the ability to read Neteyam like an open book in your native tongue, and more often than not that is a skill you find joy in.

Now, though, you think you’d prefer to be struck dumb, because his gaze is dripping in such potent lovelorn infatuation that the side effects of that apparently include a fluttering in your gut that teeters on frenzied. 

You can’t seem to get any words out so you nod, bite the edge of your lip as you glance down to where Neteyam has taken to playing with the frays of your tail. You wonder if he even realizes what he’s doing, if he knows how all of this is affecting you; or if his gestures just ring true to his presumed inexperience.

You suppose that’s something the two of you have in common when it all comes down to this: inexperience.

A breathy sort of chortle thumps out of him at your mute response. He’s so close you swear you can almost feel the vibrations of it. The question crosses your mind whether it would be odd to request to place your hand over his heart, like you did when he was helping you before. You just want to feel it, become more acquainted with the rhythmic thump. Your mouth parts to ask, but.

“What are you guys doing?” Kiri’s voice carries from a few yards away, startling you into a step back. The action causes Neteyam to lose grip of your tail, the contact and closeness between the two of you waved away like a tepid vapor. 

“Nothing,” you reply straight away, because you think doing so might make you feel a little less awkward about this in the long run. (However after the words leave your mouth, you’re pretty sure they’ve caused the opposite effect). “We were just..”

“Talking over training for tomorrow,” Neteyam chimes in when he sees you struggling, finishing your sentence off like it’s the easiest thing in the world. A culpable air of confidence about him to get away with such things, you think. “We were just setting aside times to fit it all in.”

“Right,” your sister drawls, studying the pair of you for a moment before she continues. “Well, there’s only a few hours of night left. Dad sent me to come find you so that you would get some sleep.”

“Okay. Coming.” And you curse yourself for the hitch in your deliverance as you say it. But it seems she doesn’t catch it, or doesn’t care enough to react, because she’s already turning around to walk back the way she came.

You’re taking steps to follow her without hesitation, fully expecting Neteyam to just fall in line and do the same. However, instead of matching your steps when he skirts his way into your peripheral vision, he’s brushing past you. It’s peculiar, for him to do such a thing. But as you eye him in his parting you notice how his ears are pressed abnormally flat to his skull and you have to fight the urge to giggle. 

Apparently even the strapping former heir gets embarrassed. 

“I’m not blind, you know,” Kiri states after Neteyam has disappeared far enough ahead and you catch up to her languid pace. 

The tips of your ears feel like they’re being lit by a match and you curse yourself for what feels like the near instant karma of internally making fun of Neteyam just a second earlier. 

“I never said you were.”

“Hm.” She hums, sends you a side eye glance. “I see my brother has a new necklace. And since you and I both know how absolutely atrocious his beading skills are, I know he didn’t make it.”

“You noticed?” You don’t understand why you’re so shy now. It’s not like you haven’t made your fair share of jewelry for others in the past. Hell, you’ve made Kiri countless pieces since you first learned how to. 

“Of course I did,” she rolls her eyes. Blunt, curt, the pair of you have always been that way with one another. So you can easily tell she’s getting annoyed with you beating around the bush now. “But I will say that you should’ve made him give you the first courting gift. Would’ve been funny to see him on pins and needles when giving it to you.”

That nearly has you tripping over your own feet, your eyes shooting as wide as saucers. You sputter over her words, tumble through a poor attempt at correction. 

“That wasn’t–The necklace isn’t a courting gift,” you defend, desperation littering itself in your pledge. 

Kiri merely turns to you, pauses in her steps for just a moment, and gives you a look so knowing that it has you questioning everything you thought you were certain of. 

“Isn’t it, though?”

Before you even have the chance to ramble off anything else, she’s continuing into the string of maruis, like she’s well aware you cannot talk past this point for the risk of awakening those sleeping in their homes. You feel choked up, leg locked like you’ve been caught in a slip of netting. Convincing yourself is trivial, pointless, but you try to do so anyway. 

You made the necklace as a thank you, a symbol of gratitude; an offering. It was innocent in nature and two dimensional in creation. There was no chance that this simple necklace could be seen as something as pivotal as a courting gift. Could be interpreted as anything that holds so much weight. 

At least that’s what you keep repeating to yourself, as you do your best not to have another restless night sleeping on a mat that’s laid next to the very man who has single handedly redefined the meaning of family for you. 

———————————————————————————

The next day, eagerness is buzzing in everyone’s chests.

You aren’t sure you’ve ever seen Kiri wake up so early without having to literally be dragged out of bed by the ankles. And it’s even more a surprise to you when Tuk doesn’t whine and cry at being disturbed from her slumber hours before she normally would. Then again, it feels near impossible not to be keyed up–jittery–because there is something you’re all dying to know.

Sitting in a circle on a group of rocks just as the sunrise is peeking over the horizon, each of you listen intently as Lo’ak recalls what happened last night–even Ao’nung has joined you, and you hate to admit it but he’s acting slightly less insufferable than usual as he pays mind to your brother’s story. You’re seated between him and Neteyam, trying to pretend you don’t see how the latter keeps fiddling with the necklace he dons, acting like every time you catch a glimpse of it Kiri’s words aren’t ringing in your ears.

It is harder than one would think.

Lo’ak is just wrapping up his recollection, explaining how he told the tulkun that saved his life to swim away and that was the last he saw of him before he was picked up by the search party. It seems so surreal, a miraculous sort of thing. You’re left stunned by the time he quits talking.  

“I wish I’d been there,” Kiri muses, eyes lit up in awe; wonder. Her smile is so bright that it makes you wish she could have been there, too. Divine occurrences have always been so special to her. “The ocean blessed you with a gift, brother.”

You’re inclined to agree, voice your own opinion on that, but Ao’nung is speaking up before you get the chance.

“The tulkun have not returned yet.” It sounds matter-of-fact when he says it, like he’s bordering on a disputing scoff, but even you can tell he’s merely questioning it because that is what he knows. “And anyway, no tulkun is ever alone.”

“Well, this one was,” Lo’ak counters. His hand waves to his side, over his arm in a sort of vague demonstration. “He had a, uhm–a missing fin. Like a stump on the left side.”

Tuk mumbles an empathetic reply to that and in your heart you hold the same sentiment. A tulkun without a fin sounds so cruel, so pitiable. It strikes the question of how something like that could even happen, how a tulkun could become so mutilated in such a way. You look across from you to Tsireya with full intentions to ask, but her eyes widening has you wavering.

“That’s Payakan,” she whispers, then turns to Ao’nung and Rotxo and raises the volume of her proclamation. “It’s Payakan.”

Kiri tips her head. “Who’s Payakan?” 

“And why do you say his name like that?” You add, not failing to pick up on the ill filter of her tone as she recited it. It has your stomach feeling heavy, your mind alert. 

“He’s a young bull who went rogue,” Rotxo explains, catching your attention. His expression holds nothing but offhand confusion. “He’s outcast. Alone. And he has a missing fin.”

“They say he is a killer,” Tsireya presses, hand reaching out for Lo’ak’s arm like she’s trying to make him feel the seriousness of this implication. 

You lurch at that. “A killer?” Your brother was left alone in the open ocean with a killer?

“No.” Lo’ak shakes his head. “ No. ”

“He killed Na’vi,” Ao’nung expounds. His tone is more sincerely serious than you think you’ve ever heard it, which is doing absolutely nothing to console you. “And other tulkun. Not here, but far to the south.”

“No, he’s no killer!” Lo’ak continues to refuse the idea, push it as far off as he can. Your concerns are in multitude, of course, but he seems so sure about his standpoint on this that it has you questioning which side you should be agreeing with here. 

“Lo’ak,” Tsireya breathes, giving his arm a squeeze. “You are lucky to be alive.”

“I’m telling you guys, he saved my life.” His voice is laced solely in sincerity. It’s like he’s desperate for someone, anyone, to just believe what he’s saying. To just listen to him. “He’s my friend.”

There’s a sliver of silence that follows–a fleeting moment where it is obvious that no one is entirely sure on what to say next–and Neteyam, who has not spoken up yet once during the duration of this, stands up. 

“My baby bro, the mighty warrior,” he smiles, leaning over Lo’ak to grip onto his shoulders and give them a lighthearted, teasing shake. “Who faced the killer tulkun and lived to tell about it.”

You can see the frustration on Lo’ak’s face before he voices it. He shoves Neteyam off with a dry hiss and stands up from the circle. “You guys aren’t listening,” he sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat before he turns to walk away.

“ Lo’ak, ” you drone, an indirect request for him to stop walking away as your sisters do the same. When you realize he isn’t turning around, you smack Neteyam (who still hasn’t sat back down) on the thigh with the back of your hand and glare up at him. “Did you really have to do that?”

“What?” he huffs, showing his own palms like he didn’t do a single thing wrong. 

Ignoring him, you turn your eyes back to your brother, who keeps stalking off until he’s out of sight headed to where the ilu gear is kept. You consider the possibilities of where he’s going, what he’s thinking, but if you’re being truthful with yourself you already know full and well the destination he has in mind.

Worry is something you feel far too often–the threat of blowing a blood vessel is always so damn prevalent in this family–but now you do your best to swallow it whole. Whatever Lo’ak is doing, he’s doing because he thinks it to be right.

And you refuse to be the one who gets in the middle of that.

——————————————————————————

The only regret you have for not chasing after Lo’ak yourself once he stormed off is that you feel a bit bad about what he’s going to be missing. Tsireya and Rotxo are taking you to their direct connection with Eywa today. 

The journey isn’t far, but it is more than just a swim around the reef, so Tuk hitches a ride on the back of Kiri’s ilu instead of riding her own. You’re positioned on the back of Neteyam’s–because even though you have been getting better about the whole being underwater thing, you haven’t quite reached the point of feeling comfortable riding one of your own–but he doesn’t seem to mind your presence there; it’s almost as if he welcomes it.

You find delight in that prospect.

It’s getting late, the time table of the day closing down, when your group breaks out of the water for the final time. Tsireya flashes you all a smile, dimple dipping into her cheek as you glide under a low hanging rock. She announces your arrival, looks over her shoulder to clock all of your reactions once you’re underneath the rock no longer and can really see where it is she has brought you.

The only word you can find to describe it is beautiful, but even that doesn’t feel like it does it any true justice. Your eyes flit all around, taking it all in, letting yourself record mental logs of what will now be your replacement for a physical contact with the great mother. Rocks are floating like they’re laced with helium, arches are carved like they’re meant to hold the sphere of your planet’s entirety in their sheath. Something draws at you, like a string wrapped around your heart chords.

Like a childhood friend, pulling at your hand to come play.  

“This is the Cove of the Ancestors. Our most sacred place. Eclipse is the best time of day to be here,” Tsireya continues as the last sliver of daylight fades out, and you are listening, but you find yourself getting lost in the feeling of it all, too. Then, she stops, and the luminescence below you tells you where you are before she even has the chance to. “This is it. This is the Spirit Tree.” 

If the cove is beautiful, then there must be a word out there that surpasses it that one can only use to describe this. It’s so captivating that it nearly feels like a trance–slipping off Neteyam’s ilu and sucking in a breath easier than it has ever been before. More willing, more inclined; the pressure of the water doesn’t even cross your mind as you follow behind Tsireya to the heart of the tree. 

Something’s tugging.

The Spirit Tree holds such a striking resemblance to the Tree of Souls that you find your hands nearly trembling as you swim. Everything has felt so foreign, so new, since coming here. Having something like this–even if these limbs float upwards towards the surface of the water instead of blowing freely below in the wind–feels like having a piece of home.

Familiarity fabricated in fallace.

You wait until Tsireya gives you the signal, the okay to connect to the tree with a supportive smile, before you swim up to any specific limb. It’s only when you have it directly in front of you, when you reach back and hold your queue in your hand, that it hits you that this will be your first time connecting to Eywa in such an extended period of time.

Anxiety isn’t what you would define it as, but something starts prickling at the back of your neck, scratching at the base of your spine. You curse yourself for having such a feeling right now of all times, when you were just fine a moment before. But it’s only normal, you think, in a time like this. You contemplate opting out, just swimming to the surface to clear your head. 

Then Neteyam swims up to the limb beside you, sends you a bemused quirk of his lips as he holds his own queue in his hand, and it’s like the sight of him alone makes that all go away. So with a practiced sense of composure, you lift your neural queue to the projection–allow the tendrils to spread along the surface–and you connect with the slow flutter shut of your eyelids. 

The Great Mother’s power has always been different for you.

Connecting to a spiritual hub is a unique experience for everyone, granted. It can be a gateway to the past, or serve as a reunion with loved ones young and old who you hold dear. Most see family members that have already gone on to meet the Great Mother, people they have lost along the way of their lives or even before it. For instance, when Kiri shifts through she sees Grace, gets to talk to her biological mother even though they never had the chance to bodily meet in the proper sense. You’ve heard Jake speak of how he talks with Tsu’tey, his brother, and others in his family.

But you– you have no one to really meet. You do not know your birth parents and though you are well aware Eywa must obtain that information, she has yet to share even a glimpse of them with you in all your nineteen years of life. You used to try bargaining, begging, for just one meeting with them; you wouldn’t even need a conversation, just a single glance at their face. But Eywa has never obliged to your request, never given in, so what you settle on reliving is the memories.

Memories are like medicine; they either heal the ailments of your body and soul or turn you into a dependent addict. You think you might be a novice addict half healed. 

It’s foggy at first, as the pictures begin to flash behind your eyelids. Like readjusting your sight to the sun, you have to blink through your mind for the memory to come into focus. (An odd sensation, if you are not used to it). When it does, it’s almost like watching a movie filmed by a camera in your pupil–your perspective alone, like you’re reenacting it in real time.

“ Come on! ” Lo’ak shouts as he runs past you, bumping against you with Spider in tow. His voice nearly resembles an echo, like it isn’t fully clear. Almost as if he’s yelling from the end of a canal.

They’re young, here; giggling as they splash through a creek. They can’t be more than four and six, which would set you as the same. Kiri runs up next to you and smiles, hair stuck to her forehead in wet strings. Childhood exudes well on her, on all of them. Something feels tight on your face as you smile back.

“ Where are we going? ” you ask, voice just as hollow as Lo’ak’s from before even if it’s littered with laughter as you rush to follow after them. Your feet slip on some of the rocks and you hurry to catch yourself. Glancing down you see the moss covering them, coating them in slick tissue. It makes you pause, for just a moment.

But a moment is all you get. You are not granted much leeway here. Your body moves forward before you will it to, like you are not the one operating it. However, you suppose that is partially true. The thing with memories shown to you by Eywa is that you’re only allowed as much variance as she wishes you to have; nothing more and nothing less.

You let yourself be pulled along. 

The creek gets deeper as you race with your siblings, less rocks protruding to step on and more water lapping at your ankles. Before you know it you’re going around a bend, losing sight of Lo’ak and Spider for just a moment as the creek rises all the way up to the middle of your small shins. By the time you make it past the curvature, they’re already climbing up a rocky embankment.

Their hands don’t even grip onto anything solid, just the lush vines that drape over the bluff’s surface. There’s a sinking in your gut, like those moss covered stones have found their way in and decided to weigh you down. You rush towards them, start to climb up yourself to stop them.

“ Get down. Get down! ” You call, desperate, and you just can’t seem to remember why. This is your memory, something you have already lived through, but it’s like you’re seeing it all for the very first time. This is not something you are used to, the unfamiliarity is destabilizing.

They don’t listen to you, don’t obey your request. They simply persist to laugh, continuing climbing up the unsecured vines. Spider even lets go to hold on with just one hand as he turns to look down at you. “ Catch us if you can! ”

And something just doesn’t feel right. It’s like listening to a ghost story knowing the riveting is creeping up right behind you, like it’s breathing down your neck. You’re growing frantic, panicked. You keep climbing.

“ Stop it! ” You shout once more, and this time your voice cracks. “ You’re gonna get in trouble. You’re gonna– ”

Your hand slips, the rock crumbles under your fingertips. Falling backwards like the monster of your bedtime fears has you in its grasp now to drag you down. The weight in your gut turns featherlight as your gravity shifts. You land hard, not fully on your side but tilted just enough that your temple is what ricochets against the riverbed. 

There’s shrill shrieks of your name–from Lo’ak, Spider, Kiri who rushes to your side, screaming for Jake, Neytiri, Neteyam, anyone to come and help–and suddenly you’re gasping. Your young hands fly up to your face, your little palms flash into your vision frantically, and it’s like the sheet of unawareness lifts in an instant.

Because the fingertips that search for your face don’t quite reach it with direct contact, and they are not the shade of dusty blue that they are now. The tightness from before that smushed against your smile was not apprehension, but an O2 mask tightened with protocol security. And each gasp you suck in is not due to the wind being knocked out of you, no. Rather it’s by the crack in the perspex that is not only letting in the toxicities of the Pandoran air but also the water of the creek in which you have fallen. You know this memory all too well, despite how you do your best to pretend it doesn’t exist.

You’re drowning, in every aspect one is able to.

It becomes too much, too real for you to relive, and you fight your hardest to break off the connection with Eywa abruptly. The gasping nearly translates, almost conveying through your body in real time as you jerk your neural queue back from the branch to which you connected it. You can’t even take a breath to calm yourself down, still stuck underwater and meters from the surface. Movements fraught, you reach for anything to root yourself, to catch a single calming moment.

And it’s Neteyam, who you come in contact with first. Your hand grips onto his arm; hold tight and unrelenting. His palm is covering yours in an instant, breaking from his own queue in without a single hesitation. The look on his face is questioning, concerned, as he does his best to silently search for what is wrong. You shudder, try to stop the trembling of your body the best you can with no ounce of succeeding. Why would Eywa show you such a memory? Why now?

Neteyam’s hold on your hand tightens as he pries it off his arm. Unsure of what he is doing, worried he is going to let go, you watch intently (fearfully) as he moves it. But his actions wave that away promptly as he takes your hand and places it to his chest. 

Directly over his heart.

He nods his head at you, reaches forward to put his free palm on your chest too. Like a way of saying you can do this, you’ve done this. Allow yourself to calm down and listen to my heartbeat and we can settle this together . 

Because it’s always together, isn’t it?

Neteyam keeps his palm to your chest until he feels it slow back to its near resting pace. But even then, he does not pull away for a few more moments, a few more steady beats–like he needs to be truly sure that you are alright, now. He’s tentative when he retracts his touch, pulls his hands away to go back to keeping himself afloat in the water, and you let the memory fade from you.

But not before remembering one final detail of it.

You’re about to raise your own hands to gesture him a thank you, mimic a sign that Tsireya taught you when you were first learning–you feel like all you’re conveying to Neteyam lately is some form of appreciation; he better not be getting a big head about it–but before you can, the branches all around you begin flickering. Flashing and blinking in the most erratic way. Your heads whip around for the source, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt the blood drain from your fingers as fast as it does now when you spot it.

Kiri is convulsing, body rigid and tight. You and Neteyam swim to her instantly, Tsireya reaching over and disconnecting her from the Spirit Tree and pushing her body upward. Neteyam takes over once he gets to her, holds her close and swims to the surface as quickly as possible. 

Everything feels like it’s moving too fast and too slow at the same time as you break through the surface and Neteyam drags Kiri over to his ilu. You and Rotxo help him push her up onto it, and feeling her body like this–limp, lifeless–has tears welling in your wet eyes. 

“What is wrong? What is it?” Tuk calls, whines out as you’re doing your best to get Kiri adjusted briskly. 

“It was a seizure,” Neteyam huffs before bending down to give her instant mouth to mouth.

“Watch her head,” you voice, hands shaking as you help hold it in place so he can breathe life into your faint sister again. You pray to Eywa, to anyone , that this will not be where your sister enters eternal sleep. “Kiri, please. ”

“Is she breathing?” Rotxo questions, and he sounds just as concerned as you do, just as rushed even as he repeats himself. 

Then, in a beat that has you shuddering out a ragged sigh, Kiri lets out a puff of a breath. Relief floods your bones but only in fragments. She’s breathing, yes, but for how long? When will another seizure come on? When will this turn awry again? Urgency stays rooted in your chest as you push back from Neteyam’s ilu. 

“Get her to the village,” Tsireya orders, already pulling Tuk onto her ilu with her. “Hurry!”

Neteyam does not need to be told twice. He is sending his ilu forward within the next second, one hand secure on Kiri and the other holding on to his animal. Someone starts to pull at your arm; Rotxo, hauling you to his ilu and advising you to climb on behind him. You do, without question. 

Your tremor plagued hands latch around his midsection as you try to swallow the worry for your sister–an impossible feat. Rotxo senses it, notices it, and places a hand over yours in a gesture you can’t decipher from reassuring or comforting. Though when it all boils down to it, you suppose it doesn’t matter. 

Because you’re indebted to it regardless. 

——————————————————————————

Kiri is brought to your family’s marui the second your convoy reaches the island, and you refuse to leave her side for anything. You sit beside her, holding her hand and watching as her chest rises and falls with every breath she takes. Maybe it’s a bit irrational, but it almost feels like if you look away she’ll stop–like your attention is the only thing keeping the rhythm going. So you stay in place and keep your focus, for Kiri’s sake and your own. 

Jake called in Norm and Max without much thought at all. Perhaps it's the human still in him, but seizures are in a pretty well known territory for the scientists from Earth. You can’t say you blame him for it–you’d call in anyone it takes to figure out what’s wrong with your sister and see her wake up–but it does make the passing thought cross your mind of how it makes the Metkayina people feel to have skypeople on their land. 

Maybe that makes you a hypocrite.

The beeping of machines is becoming melodic, everything they have hooked up to Kiri to check her vitals and look for occurrences scattered around on the floor. Norm and Max have been running scans and tests since they first walked in, and they’ve still found nothing. It’s making you aggravated. 

“There’s no bleed. There’s no fracture. No effects of hypoxia,” Max states as he studies his tablet screen. He shrugs, seemingly dumbfounded. “Brain looks good.”

It’s obviously not good, is what you want to mouth off. Something clearly is wrong for her to have a seizure in the middle of a spiritual connection like that. She has no record of it before, no signs leading to something like this happening. There is something going on with your sister, and if they can’t seem to figure it out then you would prefer them to just leave–family friends trying their hardest or not. 

Ronal’s voice is the first thing that has you even slightly veering your attention away from Kiri beside you for the first time in hours. “I see that I am not needed here,” she grumbles, gripes, and you can’t say you blame her. Your family has brought in people that overstep her role; you think you would feel pushed away too. She goes to walk back out but Neytiri is quick to grab her. 

“You are tsahìk,” she hisses, and you think she’s brave for doing so at Ronal, now of all times. But something flickers across the woman’s face, and she bites her tongue instead of throwing back a hiss to your mother like you expected. 

“Remove these things,” she orders, voice level, but Neytiri does not convey that when she turns to the scientists beside you.

“ Out! ” She snaps, already shoving at them like they should have been out of the way before she even requested it. Then again, maybe they should’ve. “You have done nothing!”

Jake speaks nervously to Max and Norm at the order, rushing to get their things out and gone. Fearing an angry Neytiri seems to be a universal concurrence among your family and those surrounding. Rightfully so, you believe, so you shove the cuffs and plugs off of Kiri as well, tossing them haphazardly to Norm as he scrambles to get all the equipment. 

They are out in less than a minute, their things shoved just outside the entrance of the hut. Jake follows them out, leaving to speak with Max and Norm about what they think the cause is, you’re sure. But you are over paying any mind to them and you are not given the opportunity to listen in anyways because Ronal is handing you an incense-esque bowl a moment later.

You cradle it as she begins her ritual–for cleansing, healing–and do your best to keep steady hands while doing so. She presses the wood along Kiri’s skin in a line, a practiced pattern as she mumbles sacred words to herself. Over and over again this continues. You pass the holder to Tuk when it is time to turn Kiri onto her side, so that you can assist Ronal to hold her there. You’re willing to do everything needed for this to work, willing to offer whatever help you can. 

Kiri’s on her back once again, Tuk cradling her head in her lap as you rub your thumb over her knuckles. Ronal breathes in against her stomach–once, twice–then leans up to funnel the air out. Once more, she repeats this, and just as she leans up to exhale it all again, Kiri’s eyes flutter.

She blinks hazily into consciousness, eyes disoriented as she regrasps reality in the moment. You allow it now, the feeling of relief to blanket you fully. Your sister is breathing and awake; she is okay, even if that means just for this segment of time. 

“Kiri,” Tuk sighs, watery eyes threatening to overflow. “You’re awake.”

It starts with a quiver of her lips, a crinkle of her eyes; a cry wracks out of Kiri’s lips as she fully wakes up. You tighten your grip on her hand, lean forward to cup her face and wipe away the tears that begin to stream down as Neytiri whispers sweet comforts to her. You allow the relief to flow through you, but you find that it does nothing to stop the cracking of your heart at seeing your sister in such a state.

Nevertheless, you turn to Ronal, who is now collecting her things back on the tray she carried them in on. She kneels near you to reach for a certain container and you drop Kiri’s hand for a single moment, just to touch her arm. Her gaze snaps to you instantly, caught off guard, and you offer up a wobbly smile. 

“Thank you.” It’s all you say, all you can get out, before you release your grip and pick up your sister’s hand again. Ronal nods to you, commiserating, and stands to give your family a moment of privacy. 

As your attention falls back onto Kiri, you mumble another string of gratitude under your breath. Just in passing, merely minor. You may be at slight odds with Eywa right now for her own personal showcases towards you, but you find the need to thank her for the protection of your sister despite that. So that is what you do.

——————————————————————————

You can’t sleep. Something that has seemingly become a rather normal occurrence for you within the passing weeks, but especially now. 

Every time you cave into slumber, you’re jolting awake just mere minutes later. Whether it’s from the fear that you need to check and make sure your sister is still breathing next to you, nightmares about whatever the hell could be happening to your brother, or that unfair memory the Great Mother decided to plant in your mind again–any scenario has you unable to get any sufficient means of rest. 

Hence you find yourself where you are now. Sitting on the edge of the netting outside of your family’s marui, legs dangling over the edge as you stare down at the very water which chooses to beset your nightmares. It’s funny how something so crucial to one’s life can cause such a hindrance in yours.

The netting beside you dips and for once it doesn’t cause you to jump. Probably the sleep deprivation making your nerves shot, if you gave a half-assed guess on the matter. Neteyam, is who you expect it to be, though you’re not sure why he’s the first person to surge through your mind as a possibility. You suppose you can add that to the list of things that are keeping you up at night. 

But when you turn to greet who has joined you at this late hour, you find that it is not Neteyam after all; but Jake. He looks at you with a soft expression, a contented sort of diction. You don’t miss the hairline crease between his brows though, even in the dark. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, babygirl?” He queries, and you fight the urge to bubble out a laugh. Because of course he picks up on it and of course he comes right out with it instead of trying to sugar coat his way in. 

Jake is a good father at every baseline margin, even if there are some things he can work on. He’s known to be a little too harsh (with Lo’ak and Neteyam especially), or a tad too overlooking (according to Tuk and Kiri), but it is all done in the name of family preservation; a safety net to catch everyone in case they fall. He has his quirks, like any parent does, but he is doing his finest in the only way he knows how. 

To you, that has always translated more explicitly. 

Truth be told, you think he is so forthcoming with you because your origins are one in the same. His other children are hybrids, so he sincerely tries his hardest to empathize with the trials they face from that. But when it comes to you; he knows. He knows exactly what it feels like, having your soul transferred into a body of an entirely different species. Exactly what it feels like, to now share the same skin but not the same heritage. To face the things you do, the glares you receive, the distrust you are bestowed. 

He believes he understands all too well what it is like to live a life like yours, so he conveys that to you the best he can. And yet he does not truly get it himself, you surmise. 

Because even he–Jake Sully, the great Toruk Macto–was eventually accepted with open arms into the hearts of the Na’vi, and the closest thing you’ve ever received to favorable reception was tight lipped smiles paired with the halfhearted decency to at least not call you a pariah to your face and instead whisper it behind your back. 

But you choose not to worry with formalities such as that. Or at least pretend you don’t, anyways, for the sake of your momentary sanity. 

“Nothing,” you respond with a shrug, a shake of your head. Adding more onto your father’s plate is not in your interest. You’ve already caused enough trouble, you do not wish to stir up alarm along with it. “Just not tired.”

Your body must have a vendetta against you–probably retaliation from depriving it of sleep–because as soon as you say it a yawn is cracking your jaw open. You try to stifle it, but it’s no use. There’s no hiding it and you don’t even really have it in you to attempt such a feat.

“That so?” He’s smiling; even though you aren’t looking at him you can hear the amusement in his voice. But his tone takes a pivotal dip directly afterwards, turns somber in a wink. “Seriously, tell me what’s going on. Is it your brother?” 

Yes , you want to confirm, agree with his assumption–but that’s not really the true root of the problem, is it? Spider is only one of the variables, a singular plot point on the declining graph of your stability, but he isn’t the sole cause of the drop. 

Your fingers fiddle with each other, five to five as you try to stave off the attention. 

“(Y/n), c’mon.” He’s pressing, keen. His heavy hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you cannot help but lean into the comfort of the accustomed touch. “We stick together, remember? How can I help you if you won’t tell me what’s eatin’ you?”

You suppose he has a point. This family is always so driven for solidarity, so determined to do things hand in hand. Maybe, you stave off on that too much. Maybe, you do not live up to your found family’s staple ideal enough. Perhaps you can give in, open up, just ever so slightly. Just this once. 

“I’m.. scared.” 

It’s vague, open-ended enough that you think it to be something easy to pass. But even so, it is the truth. There is no falsity in your statement, no fray in the cords that bind it together. You are scared; and that fact alone should do well enough to quell your father. 

“Alright,” Jake sighs through his nose, squeezes your shoulder in a way only a parental figure does. He pauses for a moment, like he’s contemplating how he wants to go from here. “Is something gettin’ to you specifically, or..?”

You shake your head in response, try not to blow out a cynical chuckle at the implication. Of course there are things getting to you specifically –that much should be blatantly obvious. But you do not feel like adding onto that at this stage, and you think that comfort for generality would do just as well as comfort for specificity, so you are more than willing to settle for the former. 

“Okay,” he nods, shifts over to pull you closer to him, into the warmth of his side. He leans his cheek to the top of your head, turns just enough to press a faint kiss there before settling back against your crown. “You don’t have to be scared of anything. I’ll always be right here. Don’t forget that, babygirl.”

And even if it might seem trivial later on, even if it becomes insignificant, his words hold just enough weight right now that you allow yourself to relax. Eyelids fluttering shut, you rest against your stand-in father as he rubs soothing circles into your shoulder. 

You aren’t sure when it is that you finally drift off to sleep, or how you get back into your cot, but that night is the first night you get more than a blink of rest in a while. 

And you don’t feel the smallest inkling of scared, even if it’s for just one single, peaceful moment. 

——————————————————————————

Kiri has–understandably–not quite been herself since the incident.

Well actually, it isn’t particularly out of character for her to become a little moody or withdrawn every now and again. She has her days (which normally you’re always keyed into right along with her), but it’s different now. The awe sourced light that is usually shining behind her crystal irises has dimmed. Her liveliness has diminished. 

Like she’s becoming a shell of herself, so she doesn’t have to feel anything at all. 

Aching becomes a common sensation, a near habitual feeling the more you stay around her–but you just can’t bring yourself to leave her side. If she is going to close herself off, then you are going to put your foot in the door; create a crack to break the bridge between her and impending isolation.

You’re placed beside her even now, as your family stands around within your marui tidying things up. By the rules, everyone is supposed to deal with their own belongings and if someone wants to help once done with their own, then they can. Those rules seem nugatory; trifling, now.

Kiri has been making work of tying up her sleeping mat for a good five minutes straight now, but in reality she’s only been fiddling with the string tied around it for the past three. Be that as it may, you choose to pick up her slack instead of drawing attention to her lack of productivity. 

Being sloppy is not in your nature when it comes to things like this (perhaps you have a slim case of post traumatic stress from Neytiri’s scolding for doing things messily as a child) so you find it hard to rush through doing double the work. Near stressful, it would be, yet it doesn’t get the chance to progress to such a stage because a hand is reaching down to grab up your mat while you’re focused on regrouping some of Kiri’s belongings. 

Neteyam presses his lips together in a tight smile–a passing of a deliberate glance–and begins rolling your mat up in the exact way you like it to be done. You try to tell yourself that it’s nothing but expected that he’s aware you prefer to double knot the binding instead of single after all these years of knowing one another–it’s not like you aren’t also aware of how he favors the order of his effects in his pack to be–and even still, it has a butterfly hatching in your stomach as you take note of it.

You’re just about through with the remainder of Kiri’s and your’s things when you hear the first one. A horn, being blown out to sound the arrival of.. what? It has all of your heads turning–well, except for Kiri, who doesn’t even offer up a tip of her head, let alone a full turn–to the entrance of your hut.

“What was that?” Tuk pipes up as she drops her mat (very poorly rolled up, you’ll fix it later when she isn’t looking) to go and see what the fuss is about. 

“What’s going on?” Lo’ak builds onto the inquiry as everyone of your family apart from you and your sister venture towards the netted pathway. 

“The tulkun have returned!” It’s Tsireya, you recognize the faint trill of her voice as it passes by in a sweep. She’s probably on her ilu, sent by her parents to make the announcement to everyone if you had to assume. “Everybody, our brothers and sisters have returned!”

One by one, Lo’ak of course making his beeline first, each member of your family dips out of your home and away from sight as they go to investigate further. The tulkun have returned, they have completed a migration cycle and come back home to their Metkayina family, and you want to go see, but..

Your gaze flickers to Kiri, who has yet to move even an inch, despite the fact that you know she heard Tsireya’s bulletin. A few weeks ago, she would have been the first to run out of here, the first to see their grand homecoming. You try to think of something to say, a way to suggest maybe going to look that your sister would actually be inclined to accept.

However, your youngest sister is bouncing back in before you can even come up with one good solution. “Kiri! (Y/n)! Come on, come on!” Tuk bounds, running over to the two of you and grabbing each of your hands in her own. 

“Tuk, leave me alone,” Kiri huffs, tries to pull her hand back from Tuk’s hold but it’s no use. She’s already heaving the pair of you to your feet. Exasperated, a groan drags out of Kiri’s chest. “ What? What do you want?”

“Look!”

As soon as you’re hauled out of your marui and blinking in the sunlit view, you’re hit with a wave of amazement so compelling that you wonder for a second whether you need to sit back down to regain yourself. The tulkun are all banking in, calling for their Na’vi counterparts, like they’re harmonizing a welcome home melody.

It’s nothing short of magnificent.

“Come on,” Tuk beams, “Let’s go meet them!”

As you let Tuk drag you along, you turn your head to catch Kiri’s gaze, and the sight you’re greeted with nearly has the stunning reunion before you paling in comparison. A smile, stretched wide and dimpled into her svelte cheeks, is on full display. No more cinched brows, no more pursed lips.

Just pure, unadulterated joy. Radiating like a gleaming sun.

Your expression mirrors it; you wouldn’t be able to stop the grin even if you tried. The ache grows dull, faint between your ribcage. You release Tuk’s hand so she can drag Kiri towards her ilu as you get to the shore, finally feeling secure enough to let her go. To see her thrive, again.

Flitting your eyes across the span of shoreline and aquatic celebration ahead, you pause at the sight of someone specific still standing on dry land. It catches you off guard, has curiosity rolling to the tip of your tongue; because why is he not already in the water, embracing such a momentous occasion with everyone else?

“Why are you still here?” You nudge Neteyam slightly, breaking his attention from the show in front of him and focusing it all entirely on you, instead.

“I was waiting for you,” he says, candidly, like it should be obvious. Like there is no other possible reason he’d still be stuck on shore with his ilu drifting nearby. You try not to blunder.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I’ll always wait for you,” he adheres as he wades into the shallows to climb onto his companion. His hand is reaching out for yours promptly, a proposition to join him, and you take it with no more than a sliver of hesitation. 

Biting back grins is apparently not a strong suit of yours today, because the tilt of your lips gives way easily. You walk through the water, letting the cool waves lap at your shins, and mount right behind him. He drops your hand only when you go to hold onto him; a ghost of reluctance shadowing his face. The obscurity flickers away in a blink, though, and he’s tossing you one more smile over his shoulder before taking off–heading to the heart of the celebration.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything quite so moving.

Metkayinas young and old–some merely babies–swim and float amongst the water to meet with their spirit brothers and sisters. Witnessing relationships between bonded pairs is one of the most transcendent honors one can bestow in their lifetime; that is what Neytiri used to tell each of you when watching your siblings create their first affixion. You never doubted that sentiment, but now it rings truer than you thought it ever could.

A tulkun breaches out of the water to your left, their Na’vi pair doing the same; a mimic of each other, a mirror of souls. It is not deliberate, of course, yet its fin edges dangerously close as it begins to descend back to the waves it’s created. You suck in a breath–solely out of surprise–but you are thankful you have done so a moment later because Neteyam is sending his ilu into a dive. Quick thinking, he has, to weave the pair of you out of the way in just the knick of time. He’s rising out of the water as soon as it’s clear, turning back to you before you can even draw a proper inhale in.

“Sorry I didn’t give any warning. I should’ve told you before I just–”

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” you reassure through a chuckle at his rushing, wiping at your eyes. “I’m fine. Can we do it again?”

He loosens up, relaxes in a way that you can feel his back become more pliable against you as he nods. You regain your grip on him around his abdomen, lock your hands so you’re better prepared this time. A boyish grin is what he flashes to you after which he sucks in a gust of air–which you copy–before he’s sending his ilu forward at a downward angle once again.

Captivating is the view of the tulkun’s homecoming from above, but bewitching is it once you are blanketed in oceanic blue.

Children–Na’vi and tulkun alike–are being introduced for the very first time. Families are reuniting. They are swimming in sync, like their hearts beat as one. You wonder, by chance, if they do. It would not surprise you, would not startle you one bit. Something as special as this must hold well in the sight of Eywa. Must put forth the most profound of links.

You make out Kiri and Tuk, holding onto a tulkun’s fin as it swims through the water, Rotxo hanging onto the bottom of the same one. Still beaming, still light. Such a beautiful sight to be graced with. Too beautiful, maybe. 

Perhaps you should have better bearings on yourself–perhaps, you should not let yourself be swayed so easily by the things around you–because in all your pursuing in the magnificent, you let your mind stray from the focus of holding onto Neteyam tight enough.

By the time you feel your grip loosening it’s too late. Your heart skips a beat, your throat constricts in a faux gasp. Right out of your fingers (in the most literal sense) you feel Neteyam begin to slip from you. It’s plummeting, has your mind already plateauing directly to watery graves.

Yet you don’t get any closer to drifting backwards than that. Before you can so much as shift a few inches away, Neteyam’s already reaching back for you. His palm lands on your thigh; circles his grip around the back of it and pulls you back in contact with him. Chest to back, skin to skin. You fully expect him to let go once you loop your arms around him again, but he doesn’t. If anything, it’s almost as if he’s holding you tighter.

And you, well. 

Maybe you’re a little bit tired of trying to bury all the sprouts of affection that want so desperately to bloom out of you. You think you might be well past trying to swallow down the saccharine syrup that longs so desperately to drip off your tongue. So you do not protest, you do not nudge his hand away. You simply cling onto him securely and let your head rest on his shoulder as you take in the show of pure, virtuous love all around you. And you feel your own, blossom in real time.

You’re content, surprisingly at peace, under the water as reconnecting life bustles every which way. Everyone seems so joyous–and who would have a reason not to be? Tsireya is the next familiar face you spot, and she is quite a bit away so you can’t be too sure, but you are near positive she is telling her spirit sister about Lo’ak by the gestures her hands convey. You know your brother would be giddy at the sight of it–even if he would try to act gruff to hide it–so you lift your head to look for him. 

He isn’t far (as if he would put too much distance between him and Tsireya, that fact should be obvious), just floating near the surface with his face a smidgen below the waves to peer beneath him. But it is not the lighthearted, love-struck expression you thought you were going to find outlining his features as he watches them. If you had to choose a single word to describe it, you think you’d have to go with yearning. And somehow, you know it is not romantic in nature.

Nor is it directed towards the chief’s daughter. 

——————————————————————————

Following Lo’ak without him knowing is concerningly easy.

After alerting Neteyam of your hunches, he’s all too willing to send a little party forward to see just what his little brother is getting up to. The pair of you–along with Tsireya, Ao’nung, and Rotxo–follow him to the Three Brothers island chain, which only confirms your suspicions as true. And if the location was not sufficient enough, diving and finding him face to face with the fabled Payakan would have certainly concluded your hypothesis.

Observing him speak to the tulkun is easy enough (though you’d be lying if the whole “killer” title didn’t still leave an off putting churn in your gut), but it is when Payakan opens his mouth that you decide this is not a good idea after all. 

Lo’ak has always been so trusting, so unquestioning when it comes to things he’s already set his mind on being true. And now, as he swims forward without even a single falter of uncertainty into the whale’s open mouth, you find this case is no different. 

You were fine to watch him converse. You were fine to see him swim forward (stupidly). But as soon as Payakan closes his mouth around your brother, you are no longer fine at all. 

Surging forward, your only thought is to save him; which must be an ideal you and Neteyam share because his movements are the same. However, before either of you can get any more than a foot ahead, the chief’s children are grabbing at you. You send a glare back at Ao’nung, a question of concern for why he would still you. He simply signs for you to stop–wait.

There is nothing you can do now except bide the time until Payakan–hopefully–spits your brother back out of his immense jaws. It feels like hours but you know it is no more than a few minutes when your internal turmoil comes to a close as the sight of your brother begins to peek out of the monstrous tulkun before you. When he emerges there is something different about him, something despondent. It’s nearly palpable, the energy radiating as he swims back up to the surface.

He’s created a bond. But, simultaneously, he’s created a fissure. And you are not too enticed with the premise of how it will break.

Returning to the mainland, you find yourself drifting protectively towards Lo’ak as Tsireya goes to alert her parents of what has occurred. Tonowari and Ronal do not speak as they lead your group–minus Rotxo, who was gifted the unfair pleasure of slipping away from whatever is to become of this–to their marui. Ronal waits for everyone, stands to the side to make sure all of you fall in before she trails behind you.

The tension is nearly tangible.

“You allowed this,” she huffs at her children as she stalks into the hut. But then, her focus shifts, lines up directly with Tsireya as she points an accusing finger to your brother. “You allowed him to bond with the outcast!”

Tonowari is circling in too, honing in on her. It’s like watching ikrans pick off a defenseless fan lizard; how could one even fight back to such an obtuse threat? It has your tongue feeling heavy in the bed of your mouth, like a lead slate. 

“Tsireya,” the chief addresses. Tone solemn, grim. “You disappoint me, daughter.” He’s turning to Lo’ak directly after, the same timbre used, the same expression carved into his strong features. “And you. Son of a great warrior. Who has been taught better. ”

“Payakan saved my life, sir,” Lo’ak responds immediately, diligently. It’s almost deja vu to when he was explaining Payakan for the first time to all of you. You remember the lilt in his speech so prominently. Recall the sentiment behind it all. “You don’t know him.”

“No, Lo’ak,” Tsireya hearkens; to save face, to stop another disagreement. To keep peace, is the bottom line. You understand her need to do such, but for some reason you hesitate to get behind it.

Your parents are here, now. Jake and Neytiri stand at the edge of the hut, just inside. Maybe that’s where Rotxo went–to inform them of this meeting that was sure to happen. That falls into line with him, you think, but a piece of you wishes they had not been told. Their presence looming behind you feels formidable. Much like Tonowari’s gaze as he studies each of you.

“Sit,” he utters once, as he begins to lower himself. “Sit,” he orders again, to which Lo’ak is the only one to obey his request. Then, he grows aggravated, demanding. “ Sit down! ” he raises his voice, and you have never taken a seat faster in your life.

You toss a glance to Tsireya, who has been near tears this entire time. Her self control is admirable, her strength is not one to be overlooked, because even though the tears well to the brink of overflow, not a single one falls. Your stomach twists as you shift focus back to Tonowari, contempt carving into the base of your skull.

“Hear my words, boy.” His voice is softer now, not as sharp, but it still holds authoritative weight. Commanding of respect, attention. “In the days of the first songs, tulkun fought amongst themselves. For territory, and for revenge. But they came to believe that killing–no matter how justified–only brings more killing. So killing was forbidden. This is the tulkun way.” It’s blunt, honest. This story has been told before, one can tell. But the last bit of information has not, and that you are well aware of. “Payakan is a killer. So, he is outcast.”

It is easy to notice how no one expects there to be room for discussion now. How they believe this will be the end and your brother will simply agree and settle for his slap on the wrist. But you know Lo’ak far better than that, so it comes as no surprise to you when he’s shaking his head beside you before Tonowari can even get his final words out fully.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re wrong.” 

And there it is: the discrepancy.

It was different, before when he was just telling your young family and friends about his beliefs and they admonished him and brushed him to the side. He wanted to be heard but he settled on being muted for the sake of complacency. He wanted people to listen but was fine with being drowned out. Storming off, ignoring your calls; he did so to put a stake in the matter and leave it dead and hanging.

But now, there’s a glint in his eye. A quiver in his brow. He was fine with being rebuked before, but now?

“ Lo’ak, ” Neytiri jeers at her son. And that unnerves you. “You speak to Olo’eyktan.”

He doesn’t budge. “I know–”

“That’s enough,” Jake cuts in–something he seems to always be so damn good at.

It causes Lo’ak to falter, bite his tongue for just a moment. Tsireya shakes her head at him, telling him to fall back. And you get it, truly, but it’s just so.. Aggravating. 

How can they so blatantly disregard him? How can they muffle his screams of wanting to be heard like a bind around the mouth without a single shred of guilt? Why can they not just listen?

On a last stitch effort to be taken into account, Lo’ak lets go of his tongue. He shrugs his shoulders and puffs out a condescending breath. “I know what I know.”

“That's enough, ” Jake reiterates, crouching down to Lo’ak’s level to give him a stony glare. “I’ll deal with this one,” he converses to Tonowari, before his hand is circling your brother’s bicep and tugging him up and out of the tent.

It leaves you feeling irate, in the most raw form, because this whole situation is just so demoralizing. Anger knows nothing but to simmer or scorch, to bubble or burn, and right now your pot is overflowing. And perhaps your hands have grown clumsy, because instead of pulling it off the burner, you twist the dial to high heat.

“My brother is no liar.” The words leave your mouth before you even think them and you’re rising to your feet. Part of you expects your knees to feel wobbly, buckling, but they do not. “If he says Payakan is no killer, then he isn’t.”

Ronal steps in immediately. “Your brother is ignorant. He knows nothing. Maybe, if he were true of his kind, he would not be so witless.”

Oh, and that? That strikes a nerve in you. Avoiding trouble, remaining quiet and content and compliant to save your family the strife; that all drains out of you now. Like a switch has been flipped. You have had enough.

“He knows more than you will ever– ”

“You watch your tongue,” Neytiri hisses as she yanks you back by the wrist. She does nothing more than send the tsahìk a heated glance before she’s pulling you out of the marui just like Lo’ak had been dragged out before.

She doesn’t even get far before she’s whipping around to fix you with a venomous glare, her grip still not releasing. It must be near bruising now. You strain against it but there is no use; you’d have a better chance breaking free from the claws of a feral mountain banshee than that of Neytiri. You know that and you give in, but it doesn’t mean you’re willing to back down from your credence.

“What are you thinking? ” It’s a question, but she isn’t really asking. “That is the Olo’eyktan. The tsahìk. You show them leioae only. Only. ” [ “respect.” ]

“They did not show it to Lo’ak,” you spit back, and you’re treading some dangerous waters here, truthfully. But why stop paddling if you’ve already lost sight of land? “They did not even listen to what he had to say. That is your son, he wants to be heard–”

“My son speaks foolishly.” There is no hesitation in her deliverance, no pause to think about it. Yet you must admit you can also detect no malice. “And so do you. No thinking before you talk. Disgrace.”

It’s suddenly hard to swallow because her statement is so dense. Her grip feels numbing now but not because it is tight. Disgrace, she says. And it makes you sick how easily it rolls off the tongue. You wonder if she even caught onto what Ronal was inferring in her last statement. If she even realized she was scorning his identity–more specifically one half of it; condemning it. 

If she even cared how that made you feel.

“I–”

“Do not speak.”

Someone has pulled the plug on the oven. Someone has doused water on the stove top. Your simmering has cooled to a misty vapor. Your petulance has been frozen to icy shards. Neytiri tells you not to speak so you sew your mouth shut, let nothing slip past the seam.

“You do nothing like this again.” A decree, an injunction. “Distractions, disrespect. It is too much. One more misstep, and..” She trails off, like she can’t even find the words for the threat she’s about to make past her disappointment. You think it meaningless anyways; you have already heard enough.

“Okay.” You say it to save yourself from whatever she could possibly spit out. “I will do nothing like this again.”

It’s bitter, tart. But then again lies have never tasted too well on your tongue. It does not need to bode well with you, merely just enough to get Neytiri to give in. After a few bated breaths of her staring at you, it seems to do the trick. She releases your wrist (the blood pumping once again) and departs without another word. 

However, you should know better than to get ahead of yourself and think you are off the hook of scolding–because no more than a few seconds after Neytiri is drifting from your sight, her first born is stepping into it. 

“No,” you shake your head, turn on your heel to trudge off in the opposite direction. “Not doing this.”

“Stop,” Neteyam says, announces, and his voice is not sweet. It is not warm and light and reassuring in the way that you adore. It is imposing, lofty. It is the voice of an heir in command. “Do not walk away from me.”

“I am not dealing with you right now, Neteyam.” 

Being lectured once is bad enough. Being lectured twice by a man who holds the same bleeding heart as his mother is a fate worse than death. (Partially an exaggeration, you must admit, but it does not feel like one now).

“I said, stop. ” It’s uncharacteristically harsh; his tone, his diction. You would not call it violent, but perhaps would dip your toe into the pool of aggressive. Not in a way that frightens you, or harms you, but in a way that twinges. In a way that pangs. 

In a way that has you hissing as your tail is yanked back far more forceful than it has ever been before.

“You do not pull my tail,” you shriek, shove at his chest and tug it out of his grasp. Being scolded is one thing. Being disrespected is another. “I have told you already–”

“If you would listen to me, I would not have to,” he fires back, tips his head at you. “How could you say such a thing to the tsahìk? Do you have no regard?”

“ Me? ” You gape, cinch your brows at him. “She is the one with none. They do not care for us. Ronal speaks of Lo’ak like he is a blot in Na’vi existence. How does that deserve any respect from me?”

“It does not matter how she speaks of him,” he dismisses. “She is the chief’s mate. She helped save Kiri. You would not dare speak to Mo’at that way.”

“Your grandmother had enough respect for me that she did not deface my identity.” Hissing at Neteyam is not something you would like to do, but it comes out easily now. He is not getting it, not grasping your standpoint. “I don’t expect you to understand the way I feel, but I ask that you do not dismiss it.”

“You think I don’t understand?” He rags, stares at you incredulously. “I understand very well how it feels to be an outcast. To be a freak. ”

“But you don’t, Neteyam!” 

You’re tipping, losing control of yourself. Arguing solves nothing, confrontation only leads to more, but it has apparently become your theme today. You run your hands down your face. You’re exasperated, fed up. Nobody seems to get it.

“Why do you think you’ve been the one with the least amount of problems since coming here, hm? ” You question him, try not to shy back from the heat buzzing between the two of you. “Do you think Ao’nung backs off when you tell him to just because you’re the oldest? Because he feels some connection to you since you used to be next in line of our clan?”

You’re going too far, you’re being too mean. But you cannot stop now. It’s like you have no control over yourself anymore, like even if you try to lock your jaw to keep the words in they’ll simply crack open your mandible to escape. 

“How come when Lo’ak, Kiri, and I were all being poked and prodded like animals, were you not lumped into that?” It’s vile, how the words translate amongst your tastebuds. But even the tough pills need to be swallowed. “They show you respect because you don’t look like some freak lab experiment. If they were not told, they would not know you were not a full-blooded one of them. They see you as true Na’vi, above the rest of us.”

Neteyam says nothing, simply holds your gaze. You take note of him now; his lack of hairlined brows, his wide set eyes, his thick digits that clench at his sides with one less finger than your own on each hand. It’s a privilege, an exemption. A justifiable right to be a little zealous. 

Yet, guilt sprinkles in, litters itself along the hems of your mind. You resign it with a hello.

“I do not say this to belittle what you go through. And it hurts my heart to know you feel like you do,” you state. Lower, with less edge. Your head drops, your gaze drifts to your feet in the sand beneath you. “It’s just.. Different. Lo’ak does not feel as accepted here as you do. I do not feel as accepted anywhere as Lo’ak.”

The origin of your outburst, the cause of your conniption. It has all boiled down to this. Funny, how the words seemed to flow so easily before when they were full of vexation, but now that they’re coated in vulnerability they string along as stubbornly as molasses. 

“It is hard. Knowing no matter where you go, you never truly belong there.” You’re muttering so quietly you’re not sure if he can even hear you. But maybe if he can’t, maybe if this falls on deaf ears, that is even for the better. “It’s like.. no one ever really views you as a person because they are too busy picking your existence apart. Or even worse, ignoring it. Like no one even sees you, at all.”

You debate laughing it all off as soon as you finish talking. Brushing it away with a shrug of your shoulders and offering up an apology to Neteyam for your harsh words. That’s what would be right to do–what the you before you let yourself become a mess would deem acceptable. You really have made such a muddled up disarray of everything, haven’t you? How foolish of you. Neytiri was right.

Neteyam’s hands raise and you flinch; back to being jumpy, to being resigned. Like trying to scoop up soup with cupped palms–a futile attempt to pretend you never spilt it in the first place when the spices always stick to your fingertips.

You are not sure what you are expecting from him, but his hands reaching for your face isn’t it. They cup your cheeks gently, with great care, as he tips your head back up to meet his gaze. The hostile air from before is gone, the assertive undertone of his grip has vanished to nothing. He cradles your face with such tenderness; like you’re made of glass, like he is scared to break you.

His eyes are searching, analyzing. Or are they? There’s something swirling in them as pink begins to color one side of his face a delicate lilac from the setting sun. Under his scrutiny, you fight the urge to shrivel. Neteyam has always made you comfortable, put you at ease. But lately he has been dangling you over the ledge of.. what?

Your throat bobs with a swallow. Neteyam takes note of it, letting his eyes skirt over your troubled features. His thumb brushes past the apple of your cheek and as it sweeps across your temple it catches the edge of your eyebrow. He doesn’t shy from it, doesn’t pull his hand back in dismay. You aren’t sure why you half expect him to. 

Then, he’s leaning in. Pressing so close you can feel the necklace you made him hit against your chest at the proximity, can feel the middle shell against your sternum. He lifts one hand to turn in front of you, dragging the knuckle of his index finger along the bridge of your nose. Less flat, more humanistic than his own. He gets to the tip then drags his finger back up, skimming across your skin, over the silk of your brow and expanse of your striped forehead before it settles back onto your cheek. Like it’s meant to be there, like it was molded by Eywa herself just for you to slot into.

“ I see you, Ma (Y/n),” he speaks with certainty, conviction. Your breath hitches and your heart lurches within your ribcage. “Oel ngati kameie. Frakrr. ” [ “Always.” ]

And it feels almost inane, frivolous, how you catch yourself reacting. This is not the first time you and Neteyam have said these words to each other, but it feels different, somehow. The days of childish appreciation have gone, become stone walled by adult conflicts and mature contest. Neteyam waits for you, adheres to you, and you find yourself entrapped in his guise. 

You place your hand on top of his, lean into his touch and allow yourself this solace. Your eyes slip shut as he closes in, presses his lips to your forehead before resting his own against it in a show of affection so genuine it nearly causes your stomach to turn.

Apologies will be delivered later–to Neteyam, for diminishing his grievances; to Ronal, for speaking against her even though you still believe yourself to be right–but for now, this is enough. You let yourself indulge in this bit of selfishness, in this sliver of greed. Allowing yourself to be a mess mid-mending for this one portion of your life, in the only hands you trust to put the pieces of you back together.