Work Text:
The people say that when you touch steel, its poison seeps into your heart.
…
Lo’ak’s heart has been poisoned since the first time he ever touched a gun.
Nothing good has ever come from him yielding a gun in his hands. His ugly, four-fingered alien hands – hands that are just like his father’s; his father that cannot even accept him. Nobody can accept him.
Why should they?
Why should anyone accept him when all he ever does is fuck everything up? Why should anyone love him, when all he has done is allow for the ones he loved to get hurt, stolen, killed? Why should anyone feel the need to come looking for him, as he collapses to his knees on this forsaken sand mound that is soon to be covered in his blood, soon to reek of death and sound of gunfire?
He knows the answer.
Nobody should.
He takes a deep, trembling breath before shoving the tip of the barrel underneath his chin. A thousand emotions, none of them positive, rush through his brain. He wonders what being shot feels like.
His fingers move to the trigger.
“Easy, easy, bud…”
The soft rustle of wind through the tall trees of the forest, the faint sound of animals chirping and calling – it all seemed to fade away until the only thing Lo’ak could focus on was the gun in his hands and his father’s voice as his large hands guided Lo’ak’s smaller fingers to the trigger, and helped to aim the gun itself at a target that Jake had made – just an assortment of leaves attached to a tree with a flower in the middle to act as a target.
“Now, look through the scope and adjust until that flower’s right in the middle. Take your time.. You got it, boy. Just line it right up with the front sight, and shoot when you're ready.”
Lo’ak got his vision lined up until everything met up perfectly, and he took a deep breath, preparing to shoot.
He faltered a bit.
“Dad, it’s just a flower, why do I have to shoot it? It hasn’t done anything.” Lo’ak didn’t want to harm the nature made by the Great Mother. She might be furious with him if he blasted a hole through plants made by her.
“Lo’ak.. Kid,” Jake sighed, before grunting and thinking for a second how to explain this, “kid, you know the sky people are back, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And the sky people aren’t nice.”
“But Uncle Norm and Uncle Max are really nice, and they’re sky people. And you’re nice and you were a sky person once. And- and Spider is a sky person, and I know Mother doesn’t like him much but he’s my best friend and he’s really nice. And what do sky people even have to do with this?”
Jake sighed, “Jesus, kid.”
“What’s Jesus?”
“Long story. Anyway, the thing is, I need you to know how to shoot a gun, to defend yourself if I’m not there to defend you.”
“But I have my bow, and my knife. And you know Mother doesn’t like guns, and I’m scared to shoot this.”
Jake adjusted in his crouch, bringing a hand up to Lo’ak’s bony shoulder. “Sometimes… sometimes a bow and a knife isn’t enough to combat the sky people. I know your mother hates it, but I feel safer and could sleep easier knowing my children can defend themselves.”
Lo’ak’s brows furrowed, the twelve-year-old seemingly thinking this over. He looked into Jake’s eyes, the ones so much like his own – for a second, Jake almost felt like he was staring at exactly what he himself would have looked like at that age if he was born and grew up in this body of his – well, more his brother’s body.
“Does Neteyam know how to use a gun, Dad?”
“Yeah, yeah he does, bud.”
“Oh… well, maybe I should learn too, then, if he knows.” Lo’ak tried to sound strong saying that, but the slight shake in his voice gave him away.
Jake looked away for a second before turning back to Lo’ak and helping him adjust the gun again. “Alright, let’s do it then.” And Lo’ak nodded determinedly and focused back on the flower with the gun raised.
“But hey.”
Lo’ak turned to his father.
“You aren’t your brother, alright? You don’t gotta push yourself or act anything other than what you are just because Neteyam knows how to do it,” Jake smiled softly, patting his son’s shoulder, “you’re Lo’ak. And that’s all you ever have to be for me to love you, got it?” Lo’ak nodded softly, eyes slightly shining. Jake swallowed and patted his shoulder again.
“Now, just focus real hard on the target…”
Funny.
It seems like all his father ever wants him to be now is Neteyam.
Be responsible like Neteyam.
Be strong like Neteyam.
Be caring like Neteyam.
Be a warrior like Neteyam.
Be. Like. Neteyam.
Lo’ak tries. He tries and tries and all he can ever seem to do is be the exact opposite of Neteyam. He tries and all that happens is someone gets hurt. He tried… and got his big brother killed.
He can’t be Neteyam. He will never be him, or be like him – and if all he needs is to be Lo’ak for his father to love him, then why doesn’t he love him?
Why does it seem that the only emotion Jake Sully can feel towards his son is hatred? Why does Lo’ak even try anymore if he knows that every attempt at pleasing his father will just end in harsh words and harsher consequences because inevitably, every time, Lo’ak fucks it up?
A sob escapes his mouth as he adjusts his position, moving the gun further up and digging into his chin.
Am I really about to do this?
Something in him falters.
Is he?
He thinks of his mother. Losing two sons in the span of a few weeks would break her until there was nothing left. But would she really miss him that much? Would anyone miss him that much?
He thinks of Tuktirey. His little Tuk – his baby sister that has only ever believed in him, that has slept in his arms every night since Neteyam died, that entrusts him with her entire life – has multiple times before. He thinks of Tuk and something in him just collapses and shatters.
He yelled and threw the gun away from him, panting and crying and falling forward onto his elbows as he cried.
No, no… he can’t leave.
After all, he is the big brother now.
And the big brother’s job is to protect.
...
I killed my brother. No matter what happens, I have to live with that for the rest of my life.