Chapter Text
It had now been three months since Neteyam had been shot. Under the watchful eye of his parents, he was now strong enough to take short walks down the beach, and get his feet wet in the sea. He could join his family at meal times. He was healing, slowly but surely.
Though he was grateful to his family who gave him strength, and to Ronal, who used her talented healing skills to save him, and to Eywa, who allowed him to survive and look after his family a little longer, it was the most miserable he had ever been in his life.
It was not just because he was mostly bedridden, only getting out of bed for meals, and short walks, which was an immense exertion in itself. Yes, he missed hunting and swimming and playing with his family, but it was more than that.
It was the way everyone had been treating him as if he were made of sea glass, prone to shatter at any given moment.
Several times he had woken up to his mother hovering over him, hand pressed to his chest. As if she were feeling his heartbeat, afraid something would happen to him if she did not check. Sometimes, she was praying, lips moving soundlessly. Or worse, weeping silently.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to wake you, my son,” She would say.
“I see you, Mom. I am okay,” He would reply. It was all he could give her.
Six weeks ago, when he had been stable enough to move back into his family’s pod, Tuk had climbed onto his pallett, accidentally jostling him in her excitement to see him. He hissed in pain, unable to help it.
“Tuk,” His mother had said, worry making her voice sound angry, though it was only fear.
Tuk quickly backed away, eyes filling with tears. Jake moved to check the stitches on Neteyam’s chest, his touch feather light and gentle, and Neteyam felt so weak, so useless.
“Dad, it is fine, I am not bleeding,” Neteyam said, gripping Jake’s wrist, squeezing.
“Yeah, you’re okay. You’re okay,” Jake said, reassuring himself as much as he was assuring Neteyam.
The way Tuk sniffled and began to cry hurt much worse than the brief pain she had accidentally caused.
“Tuk, it is okay, it was an accident. Come here,” Neteyam had said.
She walked back over to him and climbed onto the pallet next to his uninjured side, much slower this time. He tucked her against him, ignoring the way that his parents looked on, stricken.
“I’m sorry, Teyam, I’m sorry,” She cried, tears streaming down her cheeks, dampening the skin of his shoulder.
“Shhh, it is okay, it is okay,” He soothed, petting her hair for several minutes.
The stress of upsetting her had worn him out, and his eyelids had grown heavy. Against his will, he had fallen asleep. When he woke up, Tuk had been moved to her own pallet, their parents not trusting that another accident would not occur.
Worst of all though, had been Lo’ak.
Lo’ak, who had once treated Neteyam as if he were invincible, his mighty big brother, always there to protect him, to teach him, to laugh with him. He now looked at Neteyam with so much fear and guilt in his eyes, radiating shame whenever he was in his presence. Neteyam knew he blamed himself, and wished he could bear that burden for Lo’ak, too.
At first, he could hardly speak to Neteyam without being overcome with tears.
Once, Neteyam had tried to broach the subject.
“Lo’ak, it is not your fault, none of it. It was the Sky People.”
“I was selfish, I put you in danger! I almost killed you. You know it’s true, Neteyam,” Lo’ak said, the words quick, already on his tongue.
“No, never, Lo’ak. I am glad it was me and not you who was-”
“Don’t say that! Please, don’t…” Lo’ak had said, breaking down into tears.
Now, it was just those looks of intense sadness, and that soft voice he now spoke to him in, just like the one Jake used. It made Neteyam feel coddled, smothered. Useless.
Though he knew it was because they were worried, and fearful that something so terrible almost happened to him, his purpose had been taken away. What was a big brother who could no longer protect? What was a warrior who could not defend his family?
Surprisingly, ironically, it was Aonung who had been his lifeline.
Aonung never ceased his teasing, never stopped the way he would poke fun at him before his injury. His insults and sharp wit eased that smothered, anxious feeling that would overcome him.
At first, he only came with Tsireya. Neteyam’s parents told him that they both came everyday to check on him that first week he had been unconscious, put into a coma by Ronal so that he could heal.
“Oh, Neteyam,” Tsireya said, that first time they came to see him after he had woken.
“Forest boy, I did not think you would make it. Who knew someone so skinny could survive getting shot?” Aonung said.
Tsireya gasped, elbowing him, but it was the first time Neteyam had cracked a smile since his injury.
After that, Aonung to visit often, mostly alone. They would banter, bickering teasingly over who would be better at this, or that. When Neteyam was too exhausted to talk, Aonung would tell him about what was happening in the village, or his favorite, teach him the myths and legends of the Metkayina people.
Neteyam looked forward to these visits, never made to feel weak or pitied. He was just allowed to be.
That particular day, it was Aonung who was going to walk Neteyam down the beach rather than one of his parents. Neteyam had pleaded with his dad, who had reluctantly said yes, noticing the liveliness that Tonowari’s oldest brought back into his son.
“Ready, forest boy?” Aonung asked, leaning against the entrance of the Sully’s pod.
“Yes, I am ready. Bye, Dad,” Neteyam said, walking out to meet Aonung.
“Just down the beach and back, got it?” Jake said, looking at both of them meaningfully.
Aonung nodded, solemn.
“Yes, sir, I promise,” Neteyam said.
They left and Neteyam walked next to Aonung on the beach, enjoying the feeling of the salt water washing over his feet, and the sun soaking into his skin. He listened to Aonung tell him of the things he had done that week, spearfishing, sparring with his Rotxo.
“Rotxo won, I am guessing?” Neteyam smiled.
“Oh, you wish, Forest Boy, you wish.”
Neteyam laughed.
“We should go back,” Aonung said, stopping when they had reached the strip of empty beach, just past the majority of the pods.
“No, I want to keep going,” Neteyam said.
Aonung hesitated before nodding. They walked, soon out of sight of the village at all. Not that Neteyam paid much attention, enjoying his freedom too much.
After several minutes, however, he began to grow tired. The lean muscles he once had from hunting, riding, and climbing had now grown weak from months of inactivity during recovery. He had not walked this far in months, and his thighs burned. He ignored it at first, but soon he could not. Embarrassingly, he was out of breath, black spots beginning to form at the edges of his vision.
“Aonung.. I need to rest,” He said, cutting off the other boy's stream of chatter, gripping his arm so he would stop walking.
“Sit down, sit down,” Aonung urged him, helping him onto the soft sand.
Miserably, Neteyam sat. He was proving everyone right, he was fragile, breakable, unreliable, and he had blown his chance to prove otherwise. Now, he wouldn’t be allowed back out without his parents to watch over him. Panic, his new friend, clawed its way up his throat. Neteyam put his head between his knees, the way his dad had shown him.
Ever since his injury, he had been prone to spells of intense physical distress, heavy breathing, sweating, choking, feeling as if he may die. The slightest tightening of his chest, or hitch in his breath from something that he once would be able to shake off, would now remind of when his lungs had been full of blood, the weight of a thousand stones on his chest, and soon it would spiral out of control. No Na’vi words to describe the sensation, his dad taught him that these were called panic attacks, triggered from PTSD. Perfectly normal.
Well, Neteyam didn’t feel normal. In fact, he felt one coming now, dread settling in his stomach. But, then,
“Neteyam, what is it? Are you in pain?” Aonung asked, crouching next to him.
Not trusting his voice, he shook his head. Aonung nodded. It was not until later that Neteyam realized that Aonung had actually called him by his name.
“You are just tired, then. I should not have let us go so far,” Aonung said.
Neteyam shoved his palms in his eyes, trying to master himself; he would die if he cried in front of him.
“What has made you so upset?”Aonung prompted, when Neteyam did not answer.
“I am too tired to walk back,” Neteyam confessed miserably.
“That is-”
“No, Aonung, you do not understand. My father will have to come and carry me back, and I will not be allowed to leave again, and I cannot-”
“I will carry you,” Aonung said, cutting him off.
Removing his hands from his face, Neteyam blinked up at him in surprise.
“I will carry you. Did you think that I would not?” Aonung repeated.
“I… no,” Neteyam admitted, making Aonung laugh.
“You think so little of me, Mighty Neteyam. When we reach the village, I will put you down, and no one will know. You will be allowed to leave again.” Aonung said.
“Okay,” Neteyam nodded gratefully.
Aonung easily scooped him up, one arm under his legs, the other wrapped around his torso, holding him against his chest. Both of them were now sixteen, and Aonung had continued to grow stronger, and taller, his body filling out to look more like his father’s everyday.
“Besides, it is nothing. You are even thinner than before, Forest Boy. So skinny,” Aonung tutted.
Normally, Neteyam would have shot back a snarky reply, but in his vulnerable state, he said nothing, face burning. It was true, months of lying down had made him even thinner than Lo’ak. The other day as he bathed, he caught a glimpse of his reflection and cringed away. Always looking just like his mother, without his lean muscles and braids, he was as beautiful as a woman.
“It is not so bad,” Aonung said, softening.
He carried Neteyam to the village with little effort, and mercifully, no more teasing.
“I am going to put you down here so that no one will see. You can hold onto me until we reach your pod,” Aonung said, when they had reached the edge of the pods.
“Thank you,” Neteyam said, gripping Aonung’s upper arm when he set him down on his feet.
Aonung subtly wrapped his arm around his narrow waist, bearing most of Neteyam’s weight up until the entrance of his pod. They smoothly released each other, walking inside without touching.
“Ah, Neteyam,” His mother said in relief. She sat next to Jake, weaving a basket, and nodded at Aonung in acknowledgement.
“How’d it go?” Jake asked, looking up from where he was repairing a spear.
“It was nice,” Neteyam said, walking to sit next to them, holding himself with perfect poise.
“Mmm, yes. He is growing stronger everyday,” Aonung said, unable to resist poking fun at their little secret, making Neteyam grit his teeth.
“That’s good, that’s really good,” Jake nodded, cuffing Neteyam on the back of the neck affectionately.
“See you tomorrow, Forest Boy,” Aonung said, turning to go.
“See you tomorrow,” Neteyam replied, shaking his head.