Covers by @cofies-of-ntymsluvr and @whos-nin1 respectively
Sully family x eldest daughter reader
An: Let AFAA begins
Part 53 > Part 54 < Part 55
They landed their ikrans still half running on the rush of the fight, both of them breathing hard as they slid from the saddles and hit the ground. Loâak barely had both feet under him before Neteyam caught him in a headlock and started ruffling his hair hard enough to make him stumble.
Neteyam only tightened his arm for another second, grinning, breathless from the flight, before finally shoving him away. Loâak wriggled free, laughing under his breath as he pushed his hair out of his face.
âIt was cool riding with you, bro,â he said, still smiling.
Neteyam lifted his hand for a high four.
Loâak went to slap it, then pulled away at the last second on purpose just to be a pain in the ass.
Neteyam sighed and rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite in it. He was still smiling when he looked around, taking in the floating mountains, the ikrans, the world that somehow looked exactly the same even though it wasnât.
He looked back at his brother.
âI gotta get back, bro,â Loâak said, and the sadness in his own voice surprised him.
Neteyamâs smile softened.
âLittle brother,â he said, âtell me one thing before you go. How did I die?â
Loâak swallowed. âWe couldâve escaped. We were supposed to. But I made us go back for Spider.â
âThen we had to go back,â Neteyam said. âThatâs not your fault.â
Loâak gave a short, humourless laugh. âTell that to Dad. Tell that to (Y/n). We werenât even supposed to be out there. I got us caught because I disobeyed orders.â
âThatâs just you, little bro,â Neteyam said, and punched him lightly in the chest like he was trying to make it less heavy, like this was still just them and not a brother speaking to a ghost.
Neteyam shrugged, like if he had the choice again he would still make it. Still go back. Still follow Loâak into the kind of trouble that got people killed.
Loâak stepped forward and hugged him before he could think too hard about it.
And that hurt more than anything.
Like his brother was still here and none of it had happened and if Loâak opened his eyes in the right way maybe they would just be back on the beach, back in the village, back before the ship and the blood and the look on Neteyamâs face when he said he wanted to go home.
âI love you, brother,â Loâak said. Because he had told him that he wasn't his brother. Oh how he wished he could take him all back, wish he could have told Neteyam that whenhe was still alive.Â
Neteyam huffed out a laugh against him. âSkawng.â
Then he stepped back, smiling, and there was so much love in it that Loâak almost couldnât look at him.
âAnd go easy on (Y/n),â Neteyam said.
Loâakâs face hardened at once.
Neteyam rested a hand on his shoulder. âSheâs mad, but she loves you. So do I.â
Because easy for Neteyam to say.
He wasnât the one having to walk back into that marui and feel (Y/n)âs glare land on him every five seconds like she was trying to burn a hole straight through his skull. He wasnât the one being looked at like the whole thing was because of him.
Loâak disconnected from the spirit tree and swam for the surface, taking a deep breath the second his head broke the water.
The air felt colder out here.
And with it came the weight of everything all over again.
No matter what Neteyam said, no matter how many times he tried to shrug it off or twist it or spread the blame around, that truth still sat there in his chest like a stone.
He had dragged Neteyam back into that ship.
Loâak punched at the water hard enough to send it splashing.
âGo easy on (Y/n),â he muttered bitterly.
He wasnât the one listening to her scream What the fuck did you do? in front of everyone.
He wasnât the one hearing All they had to do was leave over and over like there had been some simple, obvious path out of that mess and Loâak had been the only idiot too stupid to see it.
What did (Y/n) even have to be mad about?
She had chosen to jump onto that ship.
That had been her decision.
No one dragged her there.
She had made that call all on her own, and if she got trapped, if she nearly drowned, if she ended up coughing blood and glaring at him like he had shoved her under the water himself, that wasnât on him.
Loâak latched onto that thought and held it hard because the other one was worse.
The other one was Neteyam bleeding out on the rocks.
The other one was Dad looking at him like something had gone wrong too deep to name.
The other one was knowing that some part of him already agreed with her.
That he had pushed and pushed and pushed until someone else paid for it.
He could be angry at (Y/n) for acting like she was righteous when she was the one who had almost drowned.
He could be angry at her for making him the villain when she had launched herself straight into the same fight.
He could be angry at the way she got held and soothed and fussed over while he stood there with his brother dead and no one asking if he was okay.
He could be angry at the way she looked at him, like she knew exactly where the blame belonged and was just waiting for everyone else to catch up.
She didnât get to do that.
She didnât get to blame him for everything and then sit there like some tragic hero when she had made her own reckless choices too.
She didnât get to glare at him like it was all his fault.
Not when a part of him knew that already.
Spider watched Kiri hold (Y/n) while she coughed and cried.
He stood there for a second and did nothing because he did not know what to do with the guilt crawling all over him, inside him, under his skin, making it hard to stand still and somehow harder to move. It felt like something was chewing through his chest from the inside out.
He could still hear what she had screamed at Loâak on the rocks.
All they had to do was leave.
Neteyam and Loâak had gone back for him.
and Neteyam was dead because of it.
(Y/n) had almost died because of it too.
He looked at her now, folded over in Kiriâs arms, coughing so hard her whole body kept jerking with it, every breath wet and ragged and wrong. Kiri was holding her like if she loosened her grip even a little her sister might slip away, one hand rubbing her back, the other braced around her shoulders while Tuk cried somewhere nearby.
Because Loâak and Neteyam had chosen to rescue him instead of her.
And she had been trapped under that metal.
Drowning while they went for him.
He dragged a hand over his face and it came away wet.
He hadnât even realised he was crying.
All his life people had gotten hurt because of him.
Because he was with the Sullys.
When he and Kiri were younger and the other kids had picked at him, picked at her for being with him, (Y/n) had stepped in every time. She had always been the one to shove herself between them and whatever was coming, sharp-tongued and mean enough to make people back off, and if they didnât back off sheâd make them.
And Neteyam had died saving him.
And (Y/n) had nearly drowned because of it.
It pressed in on him from every side, thick and suffocating, like a massive boulder crushing him. His lungs felt like they couldnât pull in enough air no matter how hard he tried, each breath shallow and tight and useless. His ribs ached, like something inside him was trying to claw its way out.
His stomach twisted so hard it made him feel sick, a nauseating churn that wouldnât settle, that kept rising higher the more he thought about itâNeteyam, (Y/n), the sound of her coughing now.
His hands trembled at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he needed to grab onto something solid just to stay upright.
Guilt crawled under his skin, like it was burning through him from the inside. It made his throat tight, made his eyes sting.
He walked, arms going around (Y/n) from the other side while Kiri still held her. He hugged her carefully, like if he squeezed too hard she might break apart in his hands, and the second he touched her she coughed again, hard enough to make panic jump through him.
âIâm sorry,â he said, voice cracking. âIâm so sorry.â
The words sounded pathetic the second they left his mouth. Small. Useless. Not even close to enough.
(Y/n) bent forward with another rough coughing fit and Spider tightened his hold on while Kiri rubbed her back harder.
âIâm sorry,â he said again, tears streaming down his face now because he could not stop them. âBreathe. Please, just breathe.â
âSlow breaths,â Kiri said tightly, holding her sister. âBig sister, breathe.â
(Y/n) coughed and coughed and coughed until Spider thought she might actually choke.
And every second of it felt like punishment. Like he should have to sit there and listen to what almost dying sounded like because this was his fault. Because Neteyam had gone back for him. Because Loâak had chosen him. Because (Y/n) had been left under that metal while they pulled him out instead.Â
The fit finally started to ease.
Just enough that she could drag in a shaky breath and lift her head a little.
Her eyes were red and wet and exhausted when they found him.
âWhy,â she rasped, voice ruined from coughing, âare you apologising?â
âBecause Loâak said he and Neteyam went back to rescue me,â he said, the words tripping over each other in his rush to get them out. âAnd not you.â
More tears spilled down his face.
âIâm sorry,â he said again, and his chest hurt so badly he had to force the next words through it. âThe reason youâre like this is because of me. Iâm sorry. I wish theyâd gone back for you instead.â
He was admitting what part of him had already been thinking since the rocks.
That it should have been her. That if someone had to be left behind, it should have been him.
She just doubled over coughing again.
Spider and Kiri both caught her as her whole body jerked with it, Kiri mumbling softly under her breath while Spider held her upright and felt the guilt tear through him all over again.
Because he could say sorry until his throat gave out.
He could wish himself somewhere else, wish he had never been on that ship, wish Neteyam had ignored him, wish Loâak had left him there and gone back for his sister instead.
None of it changed what had happened.
(Y/n) was still coughing blood into her hands.
And Spider still had to live with the fact that both of those things had happened because they came back for him.
After the funeral, Jake carried (Y/n) home.
She did not argue when he lifted her.
Did not tell him she could walk.
She only curled weakly against him, one arm hanging around his shoulders while he held her carefully against his chest and walked back toward the marui with the rest of their children trailing behind them in silence. Kiri and Tuk stayed close. Loâak hung further back. Spider came too, quiet and pale and wrung out in a way Jake did not have the energy to look at for too long.
His daughter was in his arms and still not safe.
The family entered the marui one by one, all of them moving slower than usual, grief had settled into their bones and made each step heavier. Jake lowered (Y/n) near the hammocks while the others drifted to their own places.
Spider paused by Neteyamâs hammock.
Jake saw the boy stand there for half a second too long, staring at the woven edges and the place where Neteyam should have been, before finally climbing into it because there was nowhere else for him to go.
Something in Jakeâs chest twisted so sharply it almost stopped him where he stood.
And it wasn't his son filling it, but a boy as good as a son. .
Neytiri started gathering extra hides and pillows with hands that still trembled from the funeral, and Jake set (Y/n) down carefully on her side before the coughing could start again.
She was burning through what little strength she had left just staying upright during the funeral. Her cough was still wet, still deep, every fit sounding painful enough to drag straight through her ribs.
Her voice had gone hoarse from all the seawater and crying. Her skin felt chilled, which was a good sign, fever hadn't set in.
She looked exhausted in a way that went beyond tiredness, her body still fighting even though it had little to no energy left to keep that fight going.
She coughed into her hand and Jake saw the streak of blood in the mucus before she turned it away.
âHow you feeling, kid?â he asked, keeping his voice as steady as he could.
(Y/n) swallowed hard, eyes glassy with exhaustion. âSick.â
That one word came out rough. Hoarse.
She swallowed again and shut her eyes briefly like even that much talking had taken too much out of her.
âNauseous,â she whispered after a second. âHead hurts.â
Jakeâs heart ached for her.
She had swallowed half the ocean, been pinned in a sinking ship, drowned long enough that he had thought she was gone, and then buried her brother on top of it.
The nausea would be from all the seawater she had taken in.
The headache from oxygen loss, from crying, from everything her body had been dragged through in one night.
Neytiri brought over a bowl and another pillow. Jake shifted, placing the pillow over his lap before gently pulling (Y/n) back against it so she stayed on her side with her head supported. He wanted her propped up the way Ronal had said. Wanted her lungs to have every chance they could get.
The second he moved her, she coughed again.
A wet, painful fit that folded her forward.
Jake rubbed her back while she coughed into the bowl Neytiri held beneath her mouth, each sound making his whole body tense. He could feel the force of it through her ribs, through the way her shoulders jerked and her breath kept catching between each spasm.
Neytiri crouched in front of her and brushed damp hair back from her face.
âIâve got her,â Jake said quietly.
Neytiri looked up at him, eyes red and swollen, her own grief still sitting in every line of her face.
âI donât think Iâm getting much rest,â he said. "I've got her."
It came out rougher than he meant it to, but there was no real edge in it. Only the simple truth that there was no chance in hell he was sleeping while their daughter was like this.
Neytiri hesitated, then nodded once.
Tuk clung to her side the moment she stood, and Neytiri took their youngest with her into the hammock, settling her close while still keeping her gaze fixed on (Y/n) as though she could not bear to look away for long.
Jake looked back down at the girl in his lap.
âPumpkin,â he said softly, brushing a hand through her hair. âWhat were you thinking?â
(Y/n) shuddered and coughed again.
He saw it in the way her lips parted, in the stubborn little crease between her brows, but the breath she dragged in only triggered another coughing fit and Jake rubbed her back in slow steady circles until it passed.
âShh,â he murmured. âDonât speak. Just try and get some rest.â
He pulled a thin blanket over her after that, tucking it around her shoulders and down over her legs because Ronal had said to keep her warm. Even now she felt chilled beneath his hands, shivering every now and then despite the heat trapped in the marui.
Eventually the coughing eased enough for her eyes to drift shut.
Jake kept one hand in her hair, stroking it back from her face.
âItâs okay, pumpkin,â he whispered. âDadâs here.â
But the words did nothing for him.
He could not get the sound of her voice out of his head.
The way she had cried out for him in that ship.
The way her voice had gone small and scared when the water kept rising and she realised he could not get the metal off her. The look on her face while he held her head above the water and tried not to let her see how panicked he was, how helpless he was, how every second that passed felt like a countdown to losing another child right in front of him.
He could have lost his baby.
That knowledge sat in his chest like something alive and cruel.
He had seen her floating on the bottom of that ship.
She was limp in his arms.
That same awful stillness that had already become of Neteyam and thought, for one horrible moment, she was gone too.
His body remembered it even now.
The way his stomach had dropped so hard it felt like he might vomit.
The violent rush of cold through his arms and spine.
The pressure in his chest, like his ribs were being forced inward around his lungs until there was no room left to breathe.
The shaking in his hands.
The panic clawing up his throat.
Because there was nothing worse than failing a second kid.
And she still was not out of danger.
That was the part that would not let him settle.
The blood in what she coughed up.
The way her breathing still sounded wrong.
Jake blinked hard when tears started burning at the back of his eyes. He looked down at her chest rising and falling against the pillow on his lap and counted the breaths without meaning to.
He slid his hand to her forehead.
Not hot enough yet to call it a fever maybe, but warm enough that his heart gave a nasty, painful lurch anyway.
He was terrified of fever.
Always had been with her.
(Y/n) had never had a strong constitution, not the way some of the others did. Even when she was little she had always struggled more when sickness hit. Fevers clung to her. Infections lingered.
She pushed herself too hard and then paid for it in ways the others never seemed to.
Jake knew that. Had known it since she was small enough to curl against him while he sat awake through the night listening to her breathe and praying the rasp in her chest would ease by morning.
And now here they were again.
Only this time she had drowned first.
If she had not been so fragile, if her body had not already been struggling, he would have pulled her straight into his arms and held her there all night just to convince himself he could still shield her from something.
Instead he kept her propped on her side in his lap and watched.
She started coughing in her sleep not long after.
Little catches in her breathing.
Jake rubbed her back immediately, her brow furrowed and another cough jerked through her chest.
âShhh,â he murmured. âItâs okay.â
Violent enough to wake her.
Her eyes flew open and she gasped, clutching weakly at the pillow while Jake held the bowl under her mouth and rubbed her back, steady and careful and trying not to let his own panic show as she coughed herself half awake against his lap.
When it finally eased she sagged again, exhausted, and Jake kept his hand between her shoulder blades until her breathing settled back into something closer to normal.
Then he stayed exactly where he was.
Because every time the coughing stopped and she drifted back to sleep, his mind went straight to the worst place. To the possibility of the silence lasting too long. To the terror of glancing down and finding her too still. To the idea of her slipping away while he rested his eyes for one stupid second.
Rubbing her back when it caught.
Touching her forehead every so often.
Listening to every breath like it was the only thing holding him together.
And all the while the marui stayed quiet around him, his family grieving in their hammocks, his sonâs place occupied by someone else, his daughter asleep and coughing in his lap, and Jake sat there in the dark with fear coiled so tight inside him it felt like barbed wire wrapped around his ribs, knowing that even after burying one child today, the night still was not done asking things of him.
He leaned down then, pressing a trembling kiss into his daughterâs damp hair, his lips lingering there as his eyes squeezed shut.
âPlease,â he whispered, voice breaking . âDonât take her too. Not her. I canâtâ I canât lose my daughter too.â
The words came barely more than breath, a quiet plea to anything that might be listening.
âLet her get through this,â he begged softly, his hand tightening protectively in her hair. âPlease⌠Iâll stay awake all night if I have to. I wonât leave her. Justâjust let her staylive.â
Not while her breathing still sounded wrong.
Not while there was even the smallest chance she might slip away from him too.
Sometime in the night, (Y/n) jerked awake coughing.
Not the small coughing that had been dragging at her lungs on and off all evening.
It tore through her hard enough to wrench her half upright before she even knew where she was, panic hitting her before awareness did. Her hand clawed at the blanket while the other pressed uselessly to her chest, like she could force her lungs to work if she just held herself together hard enough. For one awful second, she was sure she was back thereâback in the dark belly of that ship, freezing water climbing up her body, metal trapping her in place, her wrists burning from where they had been bound. Her lungs seized with that same horrible certainty.
Her chest hitched, stuttering, dragging in shallow, broken gasps that never felt like enough.
Her eyes flew open, wide and unfocused, but it didnât matterâshe couldnât see anything past the panic clawing up her throat.
Turned into more coughing.
Her chest burned. Her throat felt like someone had shoved a knife down it. Every attempt to inhale only made it worse, like her body was betraying her, refusing to give her what she needed most.
âDad,â she choked out. âI canât breatheââ
The words shattered into another coughing fit.
Tears spilled down her face before she could stop them, frustration, pain and fear mixing together as she folded forward over Jakeâs lap. Her body shook with every cough, each one ripping through her chest and leaving her more desperate than the last. She could feel the mucus in her throat, thick and suffocating, and every time she tried to pull in air, her lungs only gave her scraps.
Her fingers clenched in the blanket. Her shoulders trembled. A broken sound slipped from her throat, something raw and helpless that she couldnât control.
It barely cut through the panic.
âHey, hey, I got you,â he murmured, his voice low and steady, and something in her latched onto it instantly. âCome on, pumpkin. Slow it down. I got you.â
She cried harder at that.
Because she wanted to believe him.
Because she needed to believe him.
Because if he said she was okay, then maybe she was.
Her hand found his wrist without thinking, fingers curling tight around it. He was real. He was here.
Not the ship. Not the water.
He kept rubbing her back, firm and steady, guiding her forward the way Ronal had shown him.
âThatâs it,â he said quietly. âLet it out. Donât fight it.â
But it hurt. Everything hurt. Her chest, her throat, her headâevery cough felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside. Still, she followed his voice as best she could, coughing into the bowl, her breath stuttering and uneven.
âI know,â he whispered. âI know, pumpkin. Youâre alright. Youâre home. I got you.â
The word echoed faintly in her mind.
The coughing didnât stop right away, but his voice gave her something to hold onto. Something stronger than the memory trying to drag her under again.
Piece by piece, she felt herself being pulled back.
The coughing began to ease.
Just enough that she could catch small, shaky breaths between each one. Enough that the room stopped spinning. Enough that the ship in her mind started to fade, losing its grip on her.
She was still crying, quieter now, her body trembling with the aftermath, but the panic wasnât suffocating her anymore.
But even as the panic loosened its grip on her lungs, something else took its place.
It settled deep in her chest, right where the coughing had been, but this didnât ease with breath. It didnât fade when she focused on her dadâs voice.
The thought slipped in quietly at first, almost drowned out by the sound of her own uneven breathing.
Why am I the one breathing?
Her fingers curled weakly into the blanket again, her chest tightening for a different reason now.
Neteyam shouldâve been here.
He shouldâve been the one lying here, safe, breathing, alive.
A fresh wave of tears slipped down her face.
He had been better than her in every wayâstronger, braver, kinder.Â
She had been the one who got caught.
The one who needed saving.
The one who almost diedâshould have died.Â
And somehow, she was still here.
Gone because he had gone after them.
Gone because he had tried to save them.
Gone because of her. Because she was foolish, because she got trapped under a piece of metal instead of making sure her brothers made it out.Â
Her stomach twisted violently, guilt clawing up her throat, sharper than anything the sickness had done to her.
It wouldâve been easier.
Easier than this ache that never left her chest.
Easier than waking up and remembering, over and over again, that he wasnât coming back.
Easier than breathing when every breath felt wrong without him in the world.
Because why was she breathing and he wasn't.Â
She swallowed hard, her lips trembling as another tear slipped free.
Iâd rather be dead than feel this.
Because thisâThis wasnât living.
This was just keeping on breathing.Â
And she didnât understand why she had to.
Why she was still here to feel it.
Why she had been the one spared.
Jake smoothed her hair back from her damp face.
âThere you go,â he said softly. âThatâs my girl. Breathe with me.â
Her breaths hitched and shook, uneven and fragile, but she tried to match him. In, out. In, out. Every time she faltered, his hand stayed there, steady and reassuring, guiding her through it.
Even now, when everything felt too much, she followed it like she had when she was littleâwhen she was hurt, when she was scared, when she needed him to tell her she was going to be okay.
âDad,â she rasped again, softer this time.
Jake leaned closer immediately. âIâm here.â
A sob slipped out before she could stop it as the last of the coughing faded into quiet, broken breaths.
âIt shouldâve been me,â she choked suddenly, the words spilling out raw and unfiltered. âI was thereâI almostâ I shouldâveâ not himââ
Her voice broke apart completely, guilt crashing over her harder than the coughing had. âHe was better than meâheâhe didnât deserveââ
âHey,â he cut in gently but firmly, pulling her closer, one hand coming up to rest on the top of her head. âDonâtâdonât think like that. Not right now.â
She shook her head weakly, tears soaking into his shoulder. âBut itâs trueââ
âNo,â Jake said, quieter now but no less certain. His thumb brushed her hair back, grounding, steady. âNo, itâs not. And weâre not doing that tonight.â
She let out a broken sound, still trying to speak, still trying to push the guilt out of her chest, but he didnât let her spiral.
âListen to me,â he murmured, pressing his forehead lightly against her temple. âYou just gotta breathe. You just gotta get better, alright? Thatâs all you gotta do right now.â
She didnât argue again.
She was too tired. Too overwhelmed.
So she just stayed there, crying quietly while he held her and kept his hand moving over her back in slow, steady strokes.
âItâs okay,â he whispered. âYouâre okay. Iâve got you.â
Eventually, the coughing faded completely, leaving behind only weak, shaky breaths and the exhaustion settling deep into her bones. She sagged back against the pillow in his lap, her body heavy and spent.
Jake wiped her face gently, his thumb brushing across her cheek again, softer this time.
Her eyes were already starting to close.
âThatâs it,â he murmured. âJust rest.â
She focused on that voice until it was the only thing left.
Not the ship. Not the water. Not the fear.
Just her dad, right there beside her, steady and real, his hand still moving over her back every time her breathing hitched.
The last thing she felt before sleep pulled her under again was his thumb brushing her cheek.
And the last thing she heardâ
âIâm right here, pumpkin and I always will be."
Enough to quiet the storm in her chest, enough to soften the sharp edges of grief and fear just for a little while. Her breathing evened out slowly, still fragile but no longer desperate, each inhale coming easier than the last.
She drifted, caught somewhere between waking and sleep.
Jake kept rubbing her back as she drifted off again.
Her breathing was still rough, still catching every now and then in small wet sounds that made his hand pause until he knew she was going to take the next breath, but she was asleep.
Her cheek rested against the pillow in his lap, lashes damp, one hand still curled weakly in the blanket like some part of her had not fully let go of the fear.
Jake brushed his fingers through her hair, slow and careful, watching the way her face twitched every now and then as if sleep itself was not giving her much peace. He wished he could get through that thick skull of hers. Wished he could carve the truth into it if he had to, because none of this was her fault.
She had done everything she could.
She had almost killed herself trying to get them out.
Hell, she had given Quaritch a run for his money before he got the upper hand, and when Jake thought back to it now, even through the terror, even through the memory of his daughter going toe to toe with the monster who had hunted them across the sea, something in him still tightened with pride. She had held her ground. She had hit hard. She had fought like the warrior she was.
The warrior he turned her into.Â
And it had scared the shit out of him.
But he had been proud too.
That was the thing about her that broke him sometimes.
She terrified him and made him proud in the same breath.
He looked down at her again, at the bruises, the damp hair, the exhaustion carved into her face, and his throat tightened.
Loved her so much it hurt.
Seeing her in this much pain, physically and somewhere deeper than that, hurt something in him too. Not the clean pain of a wound, but something that dug beneath his ribs and twisted until he almost could not breathe around it. He would have taken it from her if he could. From her. From Neteyam. From any of them. He would have split himself open and carried it all if it meant his children never had to feel a second of it.
He could only sit here and rub her back while she slept and hope her lungs kept working.
âItâs not your fault,â he whispered, though she could not hear him. âPoor kid.â
A tear slipped down his face before he could stop it.
It fell silently, landing somewhere near the blanket covering her shoulder.
His hand kept moving over her back.
Then something else washed over him.
It came in the small rise of her ribs beneath his palm, in the warmth of her body against his lap, in the fragile little breath that slipped out of her and proved she was still here.
Still here to stroke her hair.
Still here to worry over.
Still here to whisper to.
The feeling spread through his chest before he could stop it, sharp enough to hurt and warm enough to make his eyes burn all over again. He leaned over her slightly, just enough to see her face, and his thumb brushed carefully over her cheek.
His eldest wasnât dead.
He's glad his eldest wasn't dead.Â
A relief so strong it almost made him dizzy.
Jakeâs hand stilled on her back.
What kind of father thinks that?
His son was dead. Neteyam was dead.
His boy was gone, buried beneath the glowing reef, returned to Eywa while Jake sat here holding another child and feeling some awful, grateful thing clawing up inside him because at least it had not been her.
He was just relieved she survived. Any father would be relieved. Any father would sit here and thank Eywa for the child still breathing.
It didn't mean he loved Neteyam less.
Jake swallowed hard, but the thought did not move.
At least it wasnât her.
His hand pulled back from her like he had been burned, then hovered there uselessly . He looked down at his daughter and suddenly every gentle thing he had done that night seemed to glare back at him. Holding his daughter. Watching her breathe. Begging Eywa not to take her too. Refusing to sleep because he could not stand the thought of her slipping away while he looked somewhere else.
Neteyam had begged to go home.
Neteyam had looked at him with fear in his eyes and Jake had lied to him because he had nothing else to offer.
He had cleaned his sonâs blood from his skin with shaking hands.
And now he was here, still clinging to the child who had come back to him, feeling relief so sharp it had turned into shame.
A horrible realisation crept in slowly, and Jake did not want to look at it.
If one of them had to die...
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
He did not finish the thought.
But his body had already reacted before his mind could stop it. His chest had already loosened at the sight of (Y/n) breathing. His hands had already held her like losing her would have killed something in him too. Some hidden part of him had already whispered that if the world had taken one child tonight, at least it hadn't been his eldest
Jake dragged a hand down his face. .
Disgust crawled through him.
What kind of father was he?
What kind of father looked at one child dead and one child alive and felt relief sharpen around the living one like that? What kind of father let that thought exist for even half a second?
He looked toward the hammocks.
Spider in Neteyamâs place.
The thought made his chest tighten in a different way.
Jake kept rubbing her back as she drifted off again.
Jakeâs mind snagged on Neteyam , on the quiet steadiness of his eldest son, on the way he had always stood just a little straighter when Jake looked his way. Neteyam, who rarely asked for more than what was given. Neteyam, who had always made himself easy.
Had he felt it, that difference Jake was only now seeing? Or worseâhad he died thinking his father loved him less, when that wasnât true at all?
Jakeâs throat closed around the thought. He loved them all. Every single one of them. There had never been less.
But love didnât matter if his son hadnât felt it.
 Did his boy die not knowing? The idea hollowed him out, left him staring at nothing for a moment, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his heart.
Did he die thinking he came second?
The questions hit like a blade sliding between his ribs.
Neteyam could not have thought that.
Loved him so fiercely it still felt impossible that his son was not in the room, not breathing, not shifting in his hammock, not rolling his eyes at Loâak, not quietly checking on (Y/n) because he was worried too.
Jake knew he had always had been softer with her. Quicker with her. More frightened for her. More forgiving.
His eyes opened and found (Y/n) again, asleep against his lap.
The child who had made him a father before he knew what the hell he was doing.
The one who had always gotten under his skin in a way he could not explain, because she was reckless and smart and under all of it, because she had been hurt too young, because every time she bled he felt like the world had personally come for him, because she was a lot like him, a miniature version he didn't clash with but was his best friend.
But maybe loving her had gone too far.
Maybe favouring her had gone too far.
The thought made him want to pull her closer.
It also made him want to pull away.
Jake sat there frozen between both instincts, his hand hovering above her back, unable to touch her for a moment because suddenly every touch felt like proof of something rotten in him.
That he had played favorites.
And that it was so obvious his other children felt it.
She shifted in her sleep and gave a weak little cough.
His hand dropped back to her instantly.
He rubbed her back before he could stop himself.
Because she needed him. Because she was still sick. Because no amount of shame changed the fact that his daughter was lying in his lap with injured lungs and blood in her cough.
But the guilt did not let go.
It sat beside the love now.
Poisoning it. Making him question every breath he counted, every stroke of his hand, every silent prayer that she would make it through the night.
Jake bent his head, tears slipping down his face again, and looked at his daughter like she was both miracle and accusation.
And some awful, buried part of him had been grateful for the order of those truths.
That was the part he did not know how to forgive.
His gaze dragged itself away from her at last, heavy and reluctant, and lifted toward the rest of the marui.
Kiri, curled in on herself, too still.
Tuk, small and quiet, clinging to Neytiri.
Spider, in a place that wasnât his, filling a space that should have never been empty.
Jakeâs chest tightened.
What if Neteyam had known?
The realization settled in slow and suffocating.
His attention had always snapped back to her. His worry had always burned hotter for her. His patience had stretched further for her.
Jake swallowed hard, something cold creeping through him.
He couldnât undo what Neteyam had felt.
He couldnât go back and fix it.
But the others were still here.
His eyes flicked back down to (Y/n), to the fragile rise and fall of her chest, to the way his hand moved over her without thought.
He couldnât keep doing this.
Not like this. Not if it meant the others felt less. Not if it meant repeating the same mistake.
His hand slowed. Then stopped. It felt wrong immediately.
Everything in him screamed to keep comforting his daughter, to keep take solace in the proof that she was alive, that she was breathing, that she hadnât been taken too.
âSheâll be okay,â he whispered to himself, though it sounded more like a plea than a certainty.
Come morning, sheâd be better.
Because if he didnât, heâd never be able to step away.
Even if it felt like tearing something out of his chest. Even if every instinct in him screamed to stay right where he was.
Jake forced himself to sit back, putting space between them, even though his eyes never left her.
Heâd still watch. Still listen for every breath. Still be ready if she needed him.
Because the others needed him too.
And he couldnât afford to fail them again.
He wouldnât let his other children think they werenât loved too.
Her arms jerked upward on instinct, trying to move but they stopped hard above her head.
Pain shot through her shoulders as she pulled again, harder this time, wrists twisting against restraints. Her body thrashed, legs kicking weakly, back arching as she tried to wrench herself free from the cuffs holding her pinned.
Her throat closed around the sound and the missing scream clawed at her from inside her chest as her lungs seized.
Her mouth opened wide, dragging for air, but every inhale came short and shattered, catching in her chest before it could fill her. The more she tried, the less she got. Her fingers curled above her head, pulling, twisting, fighting against tge bindings while her shoulders shook from the strain.
Had to get her hands free.
Had to move before they came back.
She tried shoving herself backward, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere but the wall, dark walls closed in around her. Her chest hitched again and again, each breath thinner than the last, until a wet cough tore through her and folded her sideways.
Her eyes darted wildly around the darkness, unfocused, searching for a way out, a weapon, her father, anyone. Tears spilled down her temples as she yanked her arms again, so desperate to be free that she did not seem to feel the way her own body protested, the way her ribs screamed, the way her lungs burned.
Another cough broke through her.
Her body lurched with it, choking on air that would not settle, on something that kept dragging at the back of her throat. T
Tried to force the word up.
But all that escaped was a strangled, breathless sound as she fought.
Her wrists strained above her head.
Her whole body shook with the need to get loose.
For one second she did not know where she was.
Her head was resting in her fatherâs lap, the pillow warm beneath her cheek
 Her lungs seized before her mind caught up, and she came awake coughing so hard it dragged her half upright, fingers clawing at the blanket as mucus rose thick in her throat.
His hand was on her back before she could fall forward, patting firmly between her shoulders as she coughed and coughed, each fit tearing through her chest until she gagged and spat into the bowl he brought beneath her mouth.
âThatâs it,â he said quickly, voice low and steady despite the way his heart kicked. âLet it out, pumpkin. I got you.â
She coughed up more mucus, blood-streaked and thick, then dragged in a broken breath that shook on the way in.
Her eyes darted around the marui.
âDaddy?â she rasped, voice barely there, asking more than his name.
Asking if he was still there.
Jakeâs chest clenched. âYeah, pumpkin. Right here.â
She sat up with a weak, desperate motion and locked both arms around him, pressing her forehead hard against his shoulder. Jake caught her gently, one arm wrapping around her back while the other cradled the back of her head.
âAww, pumpkin,â he breathed, rubbing her back as she sniffled against him. âIâm here.â
She stayed like that for a moment, trembling, still trying to breathe right.
Then her voice came small against his shoulder.
âWhy didn't you get me out?â
She swallowed, and he felt the movement against him. âYou were right there⌠and then you were gone.â
His hand paused against her back.
She did not lift her head.
âDid you leave me down there?â she whispered.
âNo, pumpkin,â he said, voice breaking around it. âNo. I didnât leave you.â
Her arms tightened around him.
âI didnât have the fight in me to drag you out of there,â he admitted, the words scraping out of him. âI tried. I got you loose, but I lost consciousness before I could get us out.â
He could feel her thinking through it, trying to stitch together the broken pieces of what she wasn't conscious for.Â
âYour brother dragged me into an air pocket,â Jake said softly. âLoâak did. He didnât know you were alive.â
Her fingers curled tighter against his shoulder.
Jake held the back of her head, thumb brushing slowly into her hair. âWhat matters is youâre out. You got out. We both did.â
âYouâre safe now, pumpkin.â
She stayed quiet for a while after that, breathing unevenly against him.
Jake rubbed her back until the tremble in her shoulders eased a little.
âWhat did you dream about?â he asked carefully.
Her face pressed harder into his shoulder.
âThe RDA,â she sobbed.
Jake felt his chest tighten.
That old scar. That old wound buried under everything else, disturbed again by the feeling of not being able to breathe. Drowning had not just hurt her body. It had reached back into every place the RDA had already hurt her and dragged it all up with it.
Something inside his chest felt like it was breaking. It His heart pounded painfully, each beat echoing with the same relentless thought, this was because of him.Â
This scar would forever be carved into her mind, because he had failed to keep her safe. And now it lived inside her, festering, raising its ugly head whenever triggered her. He could never take this back or fix, no matter how tightly he held her.
The scars she carried were nothing but an accumulation of his failures to protect his children.
Neteyam was another failure now too.
His failure as the man who was meant to keep them alive.
He was failing all of them.
(Y/n) began to cry then, really cry, the sound muffled against his shoulder but sharp enough to break something in him all over again. For a second Jake did not see the warrior who had fought Quaritch, or the eldest daughter who had thrown herself into battle, or the person she had grown into over the years.Â
He saw his little girl holding onto him and crying. Needing her dad.Â
âIâm so sorry, Dad,â she sobbed. âIâm sorry about Neteyam. I wish it was me.â
âBut itâs true,â she cried, pulling back just enough to look at him. âI was meant to protect my siblings. Instead I got trapped on the ship while Neteyam got shot. Itâs all my fault.â
Jake grabbed her shoulders, firm enough to make her look at him.
âYou listen to me,â he said, voice low and shaking. âIt is not your fault.â
Tears slid down her face.
âBut it is,â she whispered. âIt should be Neteyam thatâs here. Not me.â
âNo.â Jake pulled her back into him as if holding her tight enough could force these thoughts out her head. Thoughts that were masking his heart twist like a wrung out cloth âNo, donât think that, baby girl. Donât think that.â
The fear hit him so hard it hollowed out his chest.
It was a deep, sick drop through his stomach, a tightening under his ribs, coupled with a sudden image of her limp in the water.
Like she was little again. Like she had woken from a nightmare and all he could do was hold on until her breathing matched his.
âYou did all you could,â he said, pressing his cheek to her hair. âNeteyamâs death was an accident.â
Even though some part of him did not believe that. Even though guilt sat in him like a stone.
He needed her to believe it.
âPumpkin, itâs not your fault. You did everything you could.â
She coughed weakly against him.
Jake let out something caught between a laugh and a sob. âWhen you pulled that dumb stunt and fought Quaritch, I didnât know if I was gonna have a heart attack or if I was proud of you.â
She gave a broken little breath against him.
âI am proud of you,â he said, voice thick. âSo proud of you, pumpkin. Neteyamâs death was out of your control. Thereâs nothing you couldâve done.â
âItâs not your fault,â he repeated. âHear me?â
After a long moment, she nodded.
Jake cupped the back of her head again. âYou are just as loved, (Y/n). Your mother and I wouldnât know what to do if we had to bury you too.â
"So please stop saying it. You're loved so much pumpkin."
âLove you, Dad,â she whispered.
Jake closed his eyes. âAnd I love you, pumpkin,â he said. âBut you gotta stop trying to be a martyr. Youâve got your whole life ahead of you and I don't wanna see it cut short."* I can't see it cut short. *
She stayed tucked against him, quiet now except for the occasional broken breath.
âI didnât raise you to die in battle for your siblings,â he said softly. âI raised you to be strong enough to defend them and yourself.â
His hand moved over her hair.
âItâs my job to protect you kids. Not yours.â
She nodded faintly against his shoulder.
âAnd I love you so much, pumpkin, that it breaks my heart you think it shouldâve been you.â
For a while neither of them said anything.
Then she mumbled, exhausted, âIâm tired, Dad. Iâm so, so tired.â
Her body sagged heavier against him.
âYou go back to sleep.â
âYouâll be here when I wake up?â she asked.
Jakeâs throat tightened. âYeah, kid,â he said. âI will be.â
She settled back down onto the pillow in his lap and Jake kept one hand in her hair until her eyes drifted shut again.
He watched the rise and fall of her chest. Watched the faint twitch of pain in her face even in sleep. âIâm sorry, pumpkin,â he whispered.
Because his daughter needed him.
And so did his other kids.
As much as it hurt to leave her like this, as much as every instinct in him still wanted to stay planted there and never move again, he knew he could not keep making the same mistake.
This blatant favouritism had to end.
Even if pulling back felt like abandoning her.
Even if she would wake and reach for him.
He had to be a father to all of them.
Not just the one his heart kept running to first.
No matter how much she needed him
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