Not a Soldier Yet |Ao'nung x Neteyam|

62. Return to Violence

Neteyem felt hopeless as he woke up one morning. For his family's sake, the young Omaticaya put on a brave face but his resolve broke whenever he was alone.

He mourned his dying self confidence and longed to be the person who he used to be before he came here, before the war took everything he knew from him. He was anxious and broken with no way of knowing if he was ever going to be alright again. He knew his family loved him, but his own mind hated him and allowed him no rest. Sometimes, when everyone was asleep, Neteyam allowed himself to silently cry until he could no longer stay awake.

Weeks passed, Ao'nung realized something was not right, but every time he brought it up, Neteyam made up some fairly convincing little lie - he was tired, he had a headache, he was simply not in the mood - but the forest na'vi never admitted to being sad. It felt like a weakness. It was perfectly alright to feel these things; Eywa forbid he told anyone.

Neteyam was fighting to make it through the day without breaking down in front of his family and friends but every small mistake he made during his chores brought him near tears.

Relief washed over him once night finally fell over the bright blue skies like a mysterious black cloak of sorrow. Neteyam bid Ao'nung goodbye for the day and hurried to a secluded place near the ocean. He tied his braids back like his brother normally would before sinking into the water, letting complete silence fill his ears and mind. The water cooled his flushed cheeks but did nothing to soothe the burning pain in his chest. Neteyam blinked his eyes rapidly, letting himself sink to the bottom of the ocean floor, stirring up the sand as he did so.

He stayed under until his lungs burned. Even then, he came up to the surface slowly, allowing the pain to fill his chest.

Neteyam kneeled in the water, letting the waves lap at his hips gently as he took his knife into his hands, inspecting it. He inhaled shakily and pressed the tip against his arm. Neteyam let the unforgiving coldness tear into his skin, blood bubbling to the surface. It dripped into the water, staining it red for the shortest time before washing away; the evidence of what he had just done stinging on his arm. All he felt was peace as he sank under, laying down on the ocean floor for a few minutes.

Eventually, the great big waters overwhelmed him and he wandered into the tropical forest, inspecting the new wound on his arm as he did so. The night was silent, completely muted. Neteyam pursed his lips, climbing up into a tall tree, hiding behind its large leaves. The forest na'vi fiddled with his knife until an insect of sorts landed on the hilt, stopping his movements. The creature had eight wings, completely see-through and extremely fragile. It was no larger than Neteyam's nose. Neteyam flattened his ears, weary that this insect was secretly more fierce and dangerous than it seemed.

A twig snapped on the ground; the insect flew away with a faint glow.

Neteyam peeked from behind the branches but saw no-one. The thin male prayed to Eywa for a smooth night, but he knew no animal here made such a noise. It had to be a na'vi. He sensed it before he heard the words.

"Are you sure about this, colonel?"

"I saw him come in here, Lyle," a familiar voice sounded. "We need to get to him. He's the least stable one. He should be easy to convince."

Lyle frowned, stepping into Neteyam's view. "Well, I can't see him anywhere, sir."

Quaritch snorted. "I believe that's intentional. The Sully boy is probably already aware we are here."

Neteyam rolled his eyes as the two stopped right under the tree he was perched on. The darkness and the large leaves helped conceal him. Neither recoms saw him.

Neteyam felt insane recklessness take over his rational mind. He pressed on his arm, drawing more blood before holding it out right above Lyle's form, watching as fat red droplets fell onto the male's cheek before he swiftly climber higher, out of sight.

"It is raining?" Lyle grunted, reaching up to pat his cheek dry before tensing, eyes landing on his red fingertips. "Colonel-"

Quaritch's eyes widened before he smirked. "Yes, that's him. Only his eldest would do such a thing."

Neteyam waited a moment until the two men were no longer looking up to jump and land on another tree, then another.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Lyle admitted, holding his gun up and turning around to check behind himself. "It's only us two, colonel. And you're injured."

"So is he," Quaritch replied. "Although I do think he did it to himself again."

"Shit," Lyle cursed. "I feel bad for him."

Quaritch hummed, almost sounding sympathetic to Neteyam's ears. The forest na'vi's tail swished behind him; he only had his knife with him and a couple of useless shells and beads.

"He doesn't seem to want a fight," Quaritch whispered to the other recom, moving slowly with his own gun at the ready.

Neteyam wondered how he knew.

Lyle followed after him. The two were walking in the opposite direction than where Neteyam was hiding. The forest na'vi frowned, reaching up to climb higher - footsteps silent. A strange sense of excitement filled him - a reckless game - and so Neteyam called out, making a short, sharp noise in the back of her throat much like his mother had done at home in the forest. The recoms stopped walking, turning around to face the sound.

"He's in the trees somewhere," Lyle whispered, cheek still tinted red with the young na'vi's blood. Quaritch nodded silently. He found no reason to try and sneak about, knowing their target had long since spotted them. So he walked, loud and clear with his gun pointed up to the trees. "Come down to us, little Sully boy. We just want to talk."

Neteyam frowned. He remembered these were the men who had saved him, however he did not trust them enough to reveal he had but a small knife with him. So he began climbing as he spoke to avoid being noticed. This far up, even he could no longer see his enemy; it was impossible for the recoms to spot him.

"I don't talk," Neteyam hissed out, baring his fangs as he jumped from one tree to the other. "Leave before I allert the people."

Quaritch scoffed. "After all I've done for you?"

"Do not play this game with me. You play it with my father-" Neteyam, heart pounding, was struggling to properly express himself in English.

"There is no game." Quaritch held his hands up in mock surrender. "I just want to collect a favour."

Neteyam stilled, brows furrowing.

"I still want your father-"

"You are in love with him?" Neteyam snorted, rolling his eyes. He sat down on the large branch he was hiding in and threw a bead as far as he could, distracting the two men as it let out a soft thud, hitting against a nearby tree. He threw another for good measure.

Neteyam heard Lyle laugh; Quaritch frowned, silenced by the unexpected retort.

"You think you're funny, kid?" The colonel hissed, tail swishing.

Neteyam shrugged, though no-one could see it. "I know I am funny. Much more than you are. You are just ah, you are... stupid."

"Kid, you can't even speak proper English and yet you insult my intellect."

"You don't have that," Neteyam mused, chucking a shell against a leaf far from himself, making it shake and draw attention away from where he was. "I mean the intellect."

By this point, Lyle was bending forward as he wheezed out a laugh, ignoring the glare he got from Quaritch.

"And I wonder, are you good for anything beyond letting that mate of yours fuck you."

Neteyam bared his fangs silently, climbing away from his spot. He had already risked being found by staying there too long. Neteyam aimed a shell directly at the colonel's forehead, laughing quietly as it hit him, leaving a red mark and angering the older man greatly.

Quaritch aimed his gun; Neteyam jumped away, landing silently on the next tree, the shower of bullets missing him completely.

The young Omaticaya was enjoying this game.