Chapter Text
The forest was too quiet.
Jake noticed it first.
It was not silence, exactly. Pandora was never truly silent. There was always some layered rhythm beneath the canopy: the trill of insects, the creak of branches shifting under weight, the distant cry of some unseen creature, the whisper of leaves breathing in the wind.
But today, the forest seemed to be holding itself still.
Waiting.
Jake slowed.
Behind him, Neteyam stopped at once.
Lo’ak, who had been walking with his bow loose in one hand and a sour expression on his face, took two more steps before realizing he had walked ahead. He glanced back.
“What?” Lo’ak whispered.
Jake lifted one hand.
Lo’ak’s mouth shut immediately.
That alone told Jake his youngest son felt it too.
The three of them stood beneath the high canopy, blue bodies half-shadowed by the thick leaves overhead. Ahead, through curtains of vine and moss, the rusting remains of the old human outpost squatted in the forest like a wound that had never fully closed.
Metal walls, half-collapsed.
Broken windows dark with mildew.
A communications tower lying sideways across the ground, strangled by roots.
The forest had been eating it for years.
Good, Jake thought grimly.
Let it.
He hated these places. Hated the smell of old metal and old fear. Hated how being near them dragged memory out of him like barbs from flesh.
Earth.
The RDA.
His old body.
His chair.
The awful helplessness of seeing the world from too low down.
He pushed the thoughts away.
“Stay close,” Jake said softly.
Neteyam nodded, serious as ever. “Yes, sir.”
Lo’ak made a face. “We are close.”
Jake looked at him.
Lo’ak sighed. “Yes, sir.”
Jake would have smiled on any other day.
Not today.
They moved forward in a tight formation, Jake in front, Neteyam to the right, Lo’ak slightly behind and left. His sons were good. Both of them. Neteyam was careful, steady, always reading Jake’s movements before Jake had to say a word. Lo’ak was restless and impulsive, sure, but he saw things others missed. He felt the forest in his gut.
Right now, Jake could feel both boys watching him.
They knew something was wrong.
That made him proud.
It also made him afraid.
The outpost was supposed to be abandoned. They had swept it before. Nothing useful left inside except debris, mold, and ghosts. Still, there had been strange signs near the western ridge. Broken branches. Burned leaves. A smell like ozone in the air.
Not Na’vi.
Not animal.
Not normal.
Jake crouched near the edge of the clearing and touched two fingers to a blackened patch on a leaf.
The burn was fresh.
Lo’ak leaned over his shoulder. “Lightning?”
“No storm,” Neteyam murmured.
Jake rubbed the ash between his fingers.
It shimmered faintly green.
His ears pinned back.
“Back up,” he said.
Both boys obeyed instantly.
That was when the light came.
It cut through the trees in a flash so bright Jake saw the bones of his own hands through the glow.
Green.
Unnatural.
Silent.
For half a heartbeat, the whole forest was drowned in it.
Jake had just enough time to turn toward his sons.
“Move…”
Then the world dropped out from under him.
Pain did not come first.
Confusion did.
One moment Jake was standing, tall and balanced, tail countering his weight, feet gripping soil and root.
The next he hit the ground like a stone.
Hard.
Air burst from his lungs.
His head snapped against damp earth. For a second he could not understand why the impact felt wrong. Too sharp. Too heavy. Too much.
His ears were gone.
His tail was gone.
The forest roared above him, suddenly enormous.
Jake blinked.
Leaves wheeled overhead.
The trees were giants.
No.
No, no, no.
He lifted a hand.
Small fingers.
Five of them.
Pale skin smeared with dirt.
Human.
For one impossible second, Jake could only stare.
Then instinct took over.
He tried to sit up.
His arms trembled beneath him, weak in a way he had forgotten and never forgotten at all.
His legs did nothing.
Nothing.
Jake froze.
A cold, familiar terror cracked open in his chest.
He tried again, harder, teeth clenched.
Move.
Move, damn it.
His legs lay useless against the ground.
Dead weight.
Old weight.
His breath hitched.
And that was when his lungs noticed the air.
It burned.
Jake sucked in a breath and got almost nothing.
His throat seized. His chest clamped down so hard it felt like hands were crushing his ribs inward. He gasped again, sharp and shallow, but the air was wrong, poisonous, thin, scraping through him without feeding him.
Pandora’s atmosphere.
No mask.
Human body.
No legs.
No air.
“No,” Jake tried to say.
It came out as a broken rasp.
Above him, Neteyam stood frozen.
Not because he did not care.
Because he did.
Because the thing on the ground was impossible.
His father had vanished.
And in his place was a small, fragile, gasping human.
Neteyam’s bow slipped from his hand.
“Dad?”
Lo’ak moved first.
“Dad!”
He dropped so fast the ground shook under Jake’s shoulder. His huge hands hovered above him, trembling, fingers spread wide like he wanted to grab him and was terrified of crushing him.
Jake looked up at his son.
Up.
Lo’ak was enormous.
All long limbs and blue skin and golden eyes blown wide with panic. His braids fell forward over his shoulders, beads clicking softly together. Jake had carried that boy once. Had held him when he was small and furious and wailing into his neck.
Now Lo’ak looked like he could hold Jake in one arm.
Jake tried to speak.
Could not.
His mouth opened under another useless gasp.
“Dad?” Lo’ak’s voice cracked. “What do I do? What do I do?”
Jake lifted one shaking hand toward him.
That snapped something in Lo’ak. He reached down, careful but frantic, and scooped Jake off the ground.
Jake’s body folded helplessly into his son’s arms. The shame of it hit him almost as hard as the lack of air.
Small.
Weak.
Human.
His legs dragged uselessly until Lo’ak tucked him close against his chest, one arm beneath Jake’s back, the other under his knees. Jake felt the rapid hammer of Lo’ak’s heart through his ribs.
“Okay,” Lo’ak said, voice shaking badly. “Okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Dad. You’re okay.”
Jake wanted to say, No I’m not.
He wanted to say, Mask.
He wanted to say, Neteyam, take point. Lo’ak, move fast. Stay calm. Listen to me. Listen.
What came out was a choking sound.
Neteyam finally stumbled forward, horror twisting his face.
“Dad,” he whispered.
Jake forced his head toward him. His vision blurred at the edges.
“Mask,” Jake rasped.
Neteyam leaned closer. “What?”
Jake gripped Lo’ak’s chest covering weakly, fingers clenching in desperation.
“Mask,” he forced out. “Need… mask.”
Both boys understood at once.
Lo’ak’s pupils shrank.
Neteyam turned toward the outpost.
“There,” he said. “There might be one inside.”
Jake tried to nod.
The motion made the world tilt.
“Go,” Lo’ak shouted.
Neteyam ran.
Lo’ak followed, cradling Jake against him with both arms.
Every step jarred Jake’s body. He tried to swallow down panic, tried to control his breathing, but there was no controlling this. His lungs clawed for oxygen that wasn’t there. His chest hitched. His hands shook against Lo’aks chest.
“Stay awake,” Lo’ak pleaded, eyes moving between Jake and ahead. “Dad, stay awake. Please. Look at me. Just look at me.”
Jake dragged his eyes open. It took a whole lot of effort, but he managed it. Lo'aks face swam above him. Panicked and terrified.
Too young, Jake thought wildly.
He’s too young to look that scared.
“Lo’ak,” Jake breathed.
“I’m here. I’m here.”
“Listen…”
“No, don’t talk. Save your air.”
Jake almost laughed at that, but it became a cough that tore through him and left him shaking.
Lo’ak made a wounded noise.
“Don’t do that. Please don’t do that.”
Jake’s fingers twitched against him.
“Baby…boy…”
Lo’ak’s face crumpled.
“Dad.”
Jake wanted to comfort him. Wanted to reach up and cup the back of his head the way he used to when Lo’ak was little and pretending not to cry. But his arms felt weak. His hand barely rose before falling back.
Lo’ak caught it instantly and pressed it against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered fiercely. “You hear me? I’ve got you.”
Jake heard him.
Barely.
The world narrowed to Lo’ak’s heartbeat.
Then Neteyam’s voice echoed from inside the base.
“Here! This way!”
Lo’ak ducked through a broken doorway, turning sideways to avoid scraping Jake against the rusted frame. Even terrified, even half out of his mind, he was careful. So careful. He wasn’t going to let anything touch his Dad like this.
Jake noticed. The pride and love he felt almost made him forget his impending death. Almost.
The inside of the outpost smelled like mildew, metal, and rot.
Human smells.
Old ones.
Bad ones.
The walls were streaked with moss. Vines had pushed through cracks in the ceiling. Broken glass glittered beneath old leaves. A faded sign hung crooked on one wall, English letters warped by years of damp.
Jake’s vision blurred too badly to read it.
Neteyam was already tearing through the first room.
He yanked open cabinets so hard the hinges screamed. He threw empty containers behind him. He shoved aside chairs, crates, broken equipment. His breathing came harsh and fast.
“Where is it?” Neteyam snarled. “Where is it?”
Lo’ak sank to one knee, keeping Jake supported upright against his chest.
“Neteyam!”
“I’m looking!”
“Look faster!”
“I am!”
Jake tried to lift his head.
“Boys…”
Neither heard him.
Neteyam flipped a table.
It crashed against the wall.
Dust exploded into the air.
Jake coughed violently beneath the useless atmosphere, body curling as much as it could in Lo’ak’s arms.
Lo’ak panicked.
“No, no, no! Dad, breathe. Breathe!”
Jake clawed at nothing.
He could not breathe.
That was the problem.
His lungs spasmed. Black spots bloomed across his vision.
“DAD!”
Neteyam appeared in front of him suddenly, dropping to his knees.
“Dad. Dad, stay with us.”
Jake’s eyes rolled toward him.
Neteyam looked so much like Neytiri in that moment that Jake’s heart hurt. Fierce eyes. Fear hidden under command. A child trying desperately to look like a warrior.
“Stay with us,” Neteyam whispered. “Please. We’ve got you.”
Jake forced his mouth to move even as wild pained gasps forced their way out of him.
“Proud…”
Neteyam shook his head sharply. “No. No, do not say things like that.”
Jake would have smiled if he could. His sons were so much like him in the worst ways.
Stubborn.
Terrified of goodbyes.
Refusing to hear them even when they weren’t meant that way.
Lo’ak shifted him higher.
“Neteyam, go!”
Neteyam sprang up again and vanished into the hall.
Lo’ak followed, carrying Jake through the narrow corridor, shoulder slamming into walls because he refused to slow down. Jake’s head lolled against his arm.
“Talk to me,” Lo’ak begged. “Dad, say something. Anything. Yell at me. Tell me I’m reckless. Tell me I’m grounded. I don’t care. Just…just say something.”
Jake’s lips parted.
Nothing came.
Lo’ak’s breath hitched.
“No. No, no, no.”
He stopped abruptly in the hallway.
“Neteyam!” he screamed. “He’s not talking!”
A crash answered him from somewhere ahead.
Then Neteyam shouted, “Bring him here!”
Lo’ak ran.
They burst into another room. This one had lockers along the wall, most rusted shut. Neteyam had one ripped halfway off its hinges. His fingers bled where the metal had cut him.
He did not seem to notice.
“There was a medical station,” Neteyam said, frantic. “There has to be emergency gear.”
Jake heard that through a thick haze.
Medical station.
Good kid.
Smart kid.
Neteyam slammed his shoulder into another locker. It gave with a shriek.
Empty.
He roared in frustration and punched the metal door hard enough to dent it.
“Ne’ym,” Jake rasped.
Neteyam spun.
Jake barely managed to focus on him.
“H’nds,” Jake whispered.
Neteyam looked confused.
Jake’s gaze flicked to the blood on his fingers.
Even dying, Jake still sounded like a dad. “Car…ful.”
Neteyam’s face collapsed for half a second.
“You are telling me to be careful?”
Jake’s mouth twitched faintly under his panic.
“Always.” His eyes said.
Lo’ak let out something between a sob and a laugh.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Jake’s eyes slid closed.
That killed the laugh immediately.
“Dad?”
Neteyam turned back to the lockers, wild now. He grabbed the next handle and pulled with all his strength.
It did not budge.
He snarled and pulled again.
Nothing.
Lo’ak looked down at Jake, then at Neteyam.
“Move.”
Neteyam barely stepped aside before Lo’ak kicked the locker.
Once.
Twice.
The third kick caved the door inward.
Something fell from the top shelf and clattered to the floor.
A mask.
For one second, all three of them stared.
Then Neteyam dove for it.
“I’ve got it!”
Lo’ak dropped carefully to both knees, still holding Jake.
“Hurry!”
“I am!”
Neteyam turned it over in his hands, panicking at the straps, the seals, the unfamiliar human design.
“How does it work? How does it work?”
Jake tried to answer.
Couldn’t.
His body jerked with another failing breath.
Lo’ak’s voice rose. “Just put it on him!”
Neteyam leaned over Jake, hands shaking violently.
“I do not want to hurt him!”
“We’re going to lose him if you don’t!”
That did it.
Neteyam pressed the mask over Jake’s nose and mouth.
Too hard at first.
Jake flinched weakly.
Neteyam recoiled. “Sorry! Sorry!”
Jake grabbed his wrist with almost no strength.
“Do it,” he breathed.
Neteyam swallowed and secured the mask, pulling the straps around Jake’s head as gently as he could.
There was no air.
No hiss.
Nothing.
Lo’ak stared.
“Why isn’t it working?”
Neteyam fumbled along the side. “I don’t know!”
“Make it work!”
“I’m trying!”
Jake’s chest convulsed.
His vision went almost completely black.
For one terrible second, Lo’ak thought he had gone limp.
“Dad!”
Neteyam found the valve.
Twisted.
A sharp hiss burst through the mask.
Jake’s whole body arched as air flooded in.
He gasped.
Deep.
Ragged.
Alive.
Then he coughed so violently Lo’ak had to hold him tighter to keep him from folding in half.
“That’s it,” Lo’ak sobbed. “That’s it, breathe. Breathe, Dad. Please.”
Neteyam held the mask in place with both hands, as if afraid it would disappear.
Jake sucked down breath after breath, each one shaking through him. The oxygen felt cold and sharp, but it was oxygen. Real oxygen. His lungs dragged it in greedily.
The burning eased by degrees.
The blackness retreated.
Sound came back first.
Lo’ak crying.
Trying not to.
Failing.
Neteyam whispering, “Thank you, Great Mother. Thank you. Thank you.”
Jake opened his eyes.
Both boys were right above him.
Too close.
Terrified.
He lifted one trembling hand and touched Neteyam’s wrist.
“Hey,” Jake rasped behind the mask.
Neteyam went still.
Jake turned his head slightly toward Lo’ak.
“Hey.”
Lo’ak’s face twisted. “Don’t ‘hey’ me.”
Jake blinked.
Lo’ak glared down at him through wet eyes.
“You stopped breathing.”
Jake swallowed.
“Yeah.”
“You stopped breathing in my arms!”
Jake closed his eyes for half a second.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t get to sound calm about it!”
“I’m not calm.”
“You sound calm!”
Jake looked up at him, exhausted. “Training.”
Lo’ak let out a furious, frightened breath.
Neteyam lowered himself beside them, still pale.
“Is the mask working?” he asked.
Jake nodded slightly. “For now.”
“For now?” Lo’ak repeated sharply.
Jake wished he had not said that. But honesty was the best choice here if he wanted to survive. Lying to his boys for comfort would do none of them any good in the long run.
Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “How long will it last?”
Jake looked toward the mask’s small tank gauge.
Not great.
Not empty, either.
“Depends.”
“On what?” Neteyam asked.
Jake exhaled slowly. “How much I breathe. How good the seal is. If the filter’s shot. If the tank leaks.”
Lo’ak stared at him.
“That is too many ifs.”
“Yeah,” Jake said.
The room went quiet.
Not peaceful quiet.
The kind that came after surviving one disaster only to realize the next one was already waiting.
Jake shifted slightly, testing his body.
His arms were weak but responsive.
His torso hurt.
His head pounded.
His legs…
Nothing.
He looked down.
Human legs.
Thin compared to what he was used to.
Still.
Useless.
Neteyam followed his gaze.
His expression changed.
“Dad?”
Jake kept his voice level. “I can’t move my legs.”
Lo’ak’s arms tightened so suddenly Jake grunted.
“Careful, baby boy.”
Lo’ak loosened at once, horrified. “Sorry. Sorry.”
Jake shook his head. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.” Lo’ak looked down at Jake’s legs like they had betrayed him personally. “Why can’t you move them?”
Jake was quiet for a moment.
Because the answer was old.
Because the answer belonged to a version of himself he had buried and outgrown and still carried somewhere in his bones.
“My human body was injured,” he said finally. “Before Pandora. Spinal injury. I couldn’t walk. Paralyzed.”
Neteyam stared.
He knew the story in pieces. They all did. Toruk Makto had once been human. Their father had chosen the People. He had been reborn.
But knowing a story was not the same as seeing it breathing shallowly in your brother’s arms.
“You lived like this?” Neteyam asked softly.
Jake looked away.
“For a while.”
Lo’ak’s voice was small. “You never told us it was like this.”
Jake huffed faintly. “Didn’t think I’d need to.”
“That’s not funny,” Lo’ak snapped.
“No,” Jake admitted. “It’s not.”
Neteyam sat back on his heels, eyes darting around the room as if answers might appear in the moldy corners.
“We are days from home,” he whispered.
Jake nodded.
“We cannot call anyone from here,” Neteyam continued, voice tightening.
“Probably not.”
“You cannot walk.”
“No.”
“You cannot breathe without that.”
Jake’s silence was answer enough.
Lo’ak made a sound low in his throat.
“Stop listing it like that.”
“I am trying to understand,” Neteyam said, but his voice cracked on the last word.
Lo’ak clutched Jake closer. “Well stop understanding so loudly!”
“Lo’ak,” Jake said gently.
Lo’ak’s mouth snapped shut, but his breathing stayed fast.
Jake looked between them.
His sons.
His boys.
Neteyam kneeling in front of him with blood on his hands and command trying to settle over panic.
Lo’ak holding him like he was something precious and breakable and already half-lost.
Jake hated this.
Hated the body.
Hated the helplessness.
Hated that his sons had seen him collapse, seen him suffocate, seen him small.
But he was still their father.
That mattered more.
“Okay,” Jake said.
His voice was rough, but firmer now.
Both boys looked at him instantly.
“There we go,” Jake murmured. “Eyes on me.”
Lo’ak swallowed hard.
Neteyam leaned closer.
“We’re alive,” Jake said. “That’s step one.”
Lo’ak gave him an incredulous look. “Barely.”
Jake pointed weakly at him. “Mouth.”
Lo’ak blinked, offended despite everything. “You almost died and you’re still parenting me?”
“Especially then.”
Neteyam let out a shaky breath. It might have been the start of a laugh.
Jake seized on it.
“We found air,” he continued. “That’s step two. Now we find supplies. More masks, tanks, batteries, comms if we’re lucky.”
“And if we’re not?” Lo’ak asked.
Jake looked at him.
“Then we get creative.”
Lo’ak’s jaw trembled, glaring down.
“I don’t want creative.”
Jake’s expression softened.
“I know.”
Lo’ak looked away, angry tears bright in his eyes.
“I hate this.”
Jake’s chest hurt.
Not from the air this time.
“I know, baby boy.”
Lo’ak shook his head hard, embarrassed by the words as soon as they were out.
“I’m not…don’t call me that like I’m little.”
Jake reached up with effort and brushed his fingers against Lo’ak’s cheek.
Lo’ak froze.
Jake’s human hand looked impossibly small against his son’s face.
“You are little to me,” Jake said quietly. “Always gonna be.”
Lo’ak’s face crumpled again.
He bent forward, pressing his forehead very carefully to Jake’s.
“Don’t die,” he whispered.
Jake closed his eyes.
“I’m working on it.”
“That’s not a promise.”
Jake opened his eyes.
Lo’ak was staring at him desperately.
So was Neteyam.
Jake hated promises he couldn’t guarantee.
But sometimes children needed them anyway.
So he gave them the only one he could.
“I promise I’m not giving up.”
Neteyam nodded once, sharp and shaky.
“Good,” he said. “Because we are not either.”
Jake looked at him. “Never doubted it.”
Neteyam straightened, wiping his face quickly with the back of his wrist as if no one had seen the fear there. Even now, he was going to do his best as the oldest son. He couldn’t break down now.
“Lo’ak, keep him warm. Keep the mask sealed. I will search the rest.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you are staying with Dad.”
“I can carry him and search.”
“You will bump him into something.”
“I will not!”
“You hit three walls coming in!”
“I was running because Dad was dying!”
“Boys,” Jake said.
Both stopped.
Jake raised his eyebrows behind the mask.
They stared back.
“Love the enthusiasm,” Jake said dryly. “Hate the volume.”
Lo’ak’s ears flattened. “Sorry.”
Neteyam ducked his head. “Sorry.”
Jake nodded weakly. “Better.”
Lo’ak adjusted his hold and settled with his back against a wall, pulling Jake carefully into his lap. The difference in size was ridiculous. Jake knew it. Lo’ak knew it. Neither said it.
Jake was tucked against his son’s chest like a child.
Lo’ak wrapped both arms around him.
Protective.
Possessive.
Terrified.
Jake should have objected. Should have told him to loosen up, to focus, to keep one hand free.
Instead, he let his head rest against Lo’ak’s ribs for one second. Just one. It was comforting and warm and Jake was exhausted.
Lo’ak’s breath shuddered above him.
Neteyam stood and scanned the room.
“I’ll be right outside,” he said.
Lo’ak immediately snapped, “No.”
Neteyam looked back.
Lo’ak’s eyes were wide again. “Don’t go far.”
Neteyam’s face softened.
“I won’t.”
Jake lifted a hand toward him.
Neteyam crouched immediately.
“Yeah?” he asked.
Jake touched his son’s bloody fingers.
“Wrap those.”
Neteyam looked like he might argue.
Jake gave him the dad look.
Even human, apparently, it worked.
Neteyam grabbed a strip of fabric from an old pack and wrapped his hand clumsily.
Jake nodded. “Good boy.”
Neteyam froze.
Then his expression twisted with emotion so fast he had to look away.
Lo’ak noticed.
And couldn’t help but grin even now.
“Ha,” Lo’ak muttered weakly. “You got good boy’d.”
Neteyam glared at him. “You were called baby boy.”
Lo’ak’s ears went hot. “Shut up.”
Jake closed his eyes, relief and exhaustion pulling at him.
“There they are,” he murmured.
“What?” Lo’ak asked.
“My idiots.”
Neteyam huffed.
Lo’ak made a strangled sound. “Dad.”
“Affectionate,” Jake added.
“That makes it worse.”
“No,” Neteyam said softly from the doorway. “It makes it normal.”
The words settled over them.
Normal.
For a heartbeat, they could almost pretend.
Almost.
Then the mask hissed softly, reminding them all.
Neteyam’s face hardened.
“I will find more air,” he said.
He disappeared into the hall.
Lo’ak held Jake tighter.
Jake watched the doorway until Neteyam’s shadow moved in the next room.
“Lo’ak.”
“Yeah?”
“Breathe.”
Lo’ak looked down at him incredulously.
“You’re telling me to breathe?”
Jake’s mouth twitched. “Yeah.”
Lo’ak laughed once, broken and wet. “You are the worst patient.”
“Been told that.”
“By Mum?”
“Many times.”
Lo’ak’s eyes softened.
“She’s going to kill us.”
Jake nodded solemnly. “Mostly me.”
“No, definitely you.”
“Good. Means I made it back.”
Lo’ak’s arms tightened again, but gentler this time. Still, Jake could feel the faint tremors in his arms. His son was terrified, but he was doing his best not to show it.
“Don’t joke about not making it back.”
Jake looked up at him.
“I joke when I’m scared.”
Lo’ak went still.
Jake held his gaze.
There. Honesty. The kind that cost something.
Lo’ak swallowed.
“You’re scared?”
Jake breathed through the mask.
Slow in.
Slow out.
“Yeah,” he admitted with a grimace. “I am.”
Lo’ak’s face folded.
Jake reached weakly for his hand. Lo’ak gave it immediately, wrapping his much larger fingers around Jake’s.
“But I’ve been scared before,” Jake said. “Still here.”
Lo’ak looked down at their joined hands.
“Your hand is so small,” he whispered.
Jake snorted softly. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean…” Lo’ak shook his head, struggling. “I carried you. You weigh nothing.”
“Rude.”
“Dad.”
Jake softened. “I know.”
Lo’ak’s thumb moved carefully over the back of Jake’s hand.
“I thought you would feel like you,” he said quietly.
Jake’s throat tightened.
“I am me.”
“I know. I know, but…” Lo’ak looked ashamed. “You’re so different.”
Jake studied him.
“It’s okay to say that.”
Lo’ak shook his head.
“I don’t want you to think…”
“What?”
“That I think you’re weak.”
Jake was quiet.
Old pain stirred.
Not because of Lo’ak.
Never because of him.
Because Jake remembered rooms where people had looked at him and seen only the chair. Only what didn’t work. Only what had been lost.
He remembered hating them.
He remembered hating himself more.
Lo’ak saw the look on his face and flattened his ears in regret for what he just said. He had called his Dad weak. His powerful confident father who protected everyone else before himself, weak.
Lo’ak looked stricken. “Dad, I don’t. I swear, I didn’t mean…”
“I know,” Jake said gently. “I know, son.”
Lo’ak’s shoulders lowered a fraction.
Jake squeezed his hand as best he could.
“This body’s got limits,” Jake said. “Big ones. But it’s still me in here.”
Lo’ak nodded quickly. “I know.”
“And right now, this me needs you to keep your head.”
Lo’ak inhaled shakily.
“Can you do that?”
Lo’ak’s mouth pressed tight.
Then he nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I can.”
Jake smiled faintly.
“That’s my boy.”
Lo’ak bent over him again, forehead touching Jake’s hair.
For once, he did not complain about being called a boy.
From deeper in the base came another crash.
Lo’ak jerked.
“Neteyam!”
“I’m fine!” Neteyam shouted back.
Jake closed his eyes. “He is absolutely not fine.”
Lo’ak laughed despite himself, then immediately looked guilty for it.
Jake nudged him weakly.
“Laughing’s allowed.”
“Feels wrong.”
“Lots of things feel wrong right now.”
Lo’ak looked down.
Jake’s legs lay across his arm, unmoving.
“Yeah,” Lo’ak whispered.
A few moments later, Neteyam returned carrying an armful of supplies: two dust covered breathing masks, one small tank, a first-aid kit with a broken latch, several sealed silver packets, and something that looked like a battery unit.
He dropped them carefully beside Jake.
“I found these.”
Jake blinked. “Damn, son.”
Neteyam’s ears flicked.
“That is good?”
“That’s real good.”
Some of the tension in Neteyam’s face loosened.
He knelt and spread the supplies out. “I do not know what most of it does.”
Jake reached toward the tank.
Neteyam handed it to him before Jake could strain.
Jake checked the gauge.
A little air.
Not much.
But more than nothing.
“We can work with this,” Jake said.
Lo’ak leaned over. “Work with it how?”
“Conserve. Swap if needed. See if anything connects.”
Neteyam nodded. “And then?”
Jake did not answer quickly enough.
Neteyam’s eyes sharpened.
“And then?” he repeated.
Jake sighed.
“Then we find a way to send a signal or start moving home.”
Lo’ak stared. “Moving home? Like this?”
Jake looked up at him.
Lo’ak’s voice rose. “No. No, absolutely not. You cannot walk. You cannot breathe without that thing. We are not dragging you through the forest for days.”
“Not dragging,” Jake said.
Lo’ak’s glare intensified.
Jake glanced at the arms around him.
“Carrying, apparently.”
Lo’ak made a furious sound. “This is not funny!”
Jake sobered immediately.
“No. It’s not.”
Lo’ak’s anger collapsed into fear.
“I can carry you,” he said, too fast. “I can. I won’t get tired.”
“Yes, you will,” Neteyam said.
Lo’ak snarled at him.
Neteyam held up a hand. “I did not say we would not carry him. I said you will get tired. So will I. We take turns.”
“I don’t want to put him down.”
“You will have to.”
“No.”
“Lo’ak…”
“No!”
Jake lifted his voice as much as he could.
“Lo’ak.”
The command was thin.
Human.
But it cut through.
Lo’ak stopped, breathing hard.
Jake looked at him steadily.
“You will put me down when you need to. You will rest when Neteyam tells you. You will not run yourself into the ground trying to prove something to me.”
Lo’ak looked wounded. “I’m not…”
“Yes, you are.”
Lo’ak’s jaw clenched.
Jake softened his voice.
“You don’t have to earn loving me, kid.”
Lo’ak froze.
Neteyam looked down.
The words landed hard.
Lo’ak’s eyes filled again.
“I just don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.
Jake’s heart cracked open.
He lifted his hand, and Lo’ak bent close instantly so Jake could touch his face.
“I know,” Jake said. “I know, baby boy.”
Lo’ak shuddered.
Neteyam shifted closer on Jake’s other side.
“You will not lose him,” Neteyam said.
Lo’ak looked at him.
Neteyam’s voice shook, but he forced it steady. “We will not.”
Jake looked at his eldest.
Neteyam was holding himself together with both hands and pure stubbornness.
“Come here,” Jake said.
Neteyam hesitated.
Jake gave him a tired look. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Neteyam moved closer.
Jake reached for him too.
Neteyam carefully took Jake’s hand like it might shatter.
Jake tugged weakly.
Neteyam leaned down.
Jake rested his hand against the side of Neteyam’s neck.
“My strong boy,” Jake murmured.
Neteyam’s face broke.
He tried to turn away, but Jake held on.
Not strongly.
He couldn’t.
Neteyam stayed anyway.
“I was so slow,” Neteyam whispered. “I froze.”
Jake’s eyes sharpened.
“No.”
“I did. Lo’ak moved and I just stood there.”
“For one second.”
“It could have killed you.”
“Neteyam.”
His son shut his mouth. Watery eyes looking down at Jake, terrified.
Jake’s voice turned firm.
“You found the mask.”
Neteyam swallowed.
“You searched. You thought. You got me air.”
“But…”
“No but. You saved me.”
Neteyam’s breathing shook.
Jake squeezed his neck faintly.
“You hear me?”
Neteyam closed his eyes. Leaning into his dads small hand in comfort and relief.
“Yes, sir.”
“Not sir.”
Neteyam opened his eyes.
Jake looked at him gently.
“Dad. Right now, I’m Dad.”
Neteyam’s lips trembled.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Dad.”
Jake nodded.
“Good.”
Lo’ak sniffed loudly.
Neteyam glanced at him. “Are you crying?”
Lo’ak glared. “Are you?”
Neteyam wiped his face. “No.”
“Liar.”
“You are also crying.”
“Yeah, because Dad is tiny and dying. You are crying because he called you strong.”
Jake sighed. “Boys.”
Both looked down.
Jake shook his head faintly.
“Unbelievable.”
Lo’ak’s mouth twitched.
Neteyam breathed out something almost like a laugh.
The mask hissed.
The forest outside remained too still.
No rescue came.
No magic green light returned to fix what it had broken.
Jake remained human in his son’s arms.
His legs remained silent.
The air remained poison beyond the thin plastic shield strapped to his face.
But Neteyam was beside him.
Lo’ak was holding him.
And Jake Sully had survived impossible things before.
He looked at the supplies on the floor.
Then at his boys.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “We make camp here for now.”
Lo’ak immediately said, “I’m not sleeping.”
“Didn’t ask.”
“I’m not.”
Neteyam nodded. “Neither am I.”
Jake stared at them.
They stared back with identical stubborn expressions.
“Oh, great,” Jake muttered. “Two of them.”
Lo’ak blinked. “Two of what?”
“Me.”
Neteyam actually smiled a little.
Jake groaned. “Your mother is going to have words.”
Lo’ak adjusted him carefully, tucking Jake closer beneath his chin.
“She can yell after we get you home.”
Neteyam gathered the supplies, arranging them within reach. “Until then, we stay together.”
Jake let his head rest back against Lo’ak’s chest.
He should tell them to conserve energy.
He should order watches.
He should make a plan with fallback points and supply counts and emergency routes.
He would.
Soon.
For now, Lo’ak’s arms were locked around him like a promise.
Neteyam sat close enough that his knee pressed Jake’s side, one hand resting over the spare mask, guarding it as if it were sacred.
Jake closed his eyes.
“Hey,” Lo’ak said instantly. “No. Eyes open.”
Jake cracked one eye. “I’m resting.”
“No sleeping.”
“Bossy.”
“Learned from you.”
Jake huffed. “Fair.”
Neteyam leaned closer. “Are you in pain?”
Jake considered lying.
Both boys watched him too closely.
“A little.”
Lo’ak stiffened. “Where?”
“Chest. Head. Back. Pride.”
Lo’ak frowned. “Pride?”
“Yeah. Took a big hit.”
Neteyam groaned softly.
Lo’ak stared at him.
Then, unwillingly, he laughed.
It shook Jake gently where he was held.
The sound was wet and scared and not happy exactly.
But it was alive.
Jake smiled under the mask.
“There he is,” he murmured.
Lo’ak pressed his face into Jake’s hair.
“Don’t scare us like that again.”
Jake looked at Neteyam, then up at Lo’ak.
“I’ll do my best.”
Lo’ak whispered, “Not good enough.”
Jake’s heart ached.
“I know.”
Neteyam reached over and laid his hand carefully over Jake’s shoulder.
Lo’ak’s arms tightened around him.
Jake lifted one hand with effort and rested it over Neteyam’s fingers.
The other stayed curled weakly against Lo’ak’s chest.
They sat together in the broken human base, surrounded by rust, old ghosts, and not nearly enough air.
No answers.
Not yet.
Only three heartbeats.
One human.
Two Na’vi sons.
And a family clinging hard enough to hold the world together for one more night.