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Neteyam was only twelve years old, but he was a grown up now. He was practically a warrior and would be one in a few years time. His father looked at him like he was one of the adults and it made him feel special, even if he sometimes wished he could still play with his little siblings like he used to.
But he had responsibilities now. Well, he always used to but they were more serious now.
In the early mornings, he and his father would go out and train with his new bow. He used to hunt simple fish but Dad said he needed a harder target, so he'd graduated to hunting hexapede. Neteyam hated himself when he failed to meet his father's expectations. It was humiliating. The disappointed shimmer in his stern eyes made his belly feel strange.
After his morning lessons, he was tasked with helping his mother prepare breakfast. She didn't let them eat meat in the mornings so their meal was usually Yoten eggs and a variety of fruits. Since Lo'ak didn't like Yoten eggs, Neteyam made sure to scavenge for his favourite fruits to make up for it.
Breakfast was usually a chaotic affair. Tuk was still a baby so she cried a lot in the mornings like a cute little grump. Kiri enjoyed mornings because it meant she got to spend time with Grandmother and learn how to make many healing remedies. Her excitement to see their grandmother resulted in her inability to sit still during breakfast. And Lo'ak— well, he was always a rowdy boy.
Following breakfast, Neteyam would be sent to help out some of the elders and anyone else who needed help around camp.
It was during midday that Neteyam would be entrusted with his siblings' care while his parents went about their duties. Dad was Olo'eyktan so he had many things to deal with, both within their clan and between others. As his mate, Mother typically stood by his side and assisted him. They would get quite busy, which meant they didn't always have time to take care of his siblings.
Neteyam had mastered the art of caring for them when he was a young boy. Just like he did now, he remembered being six years old and carrying baby Tuk around in a sling across his chest. Tuk always made him feel special because she absolutely adored him. Of course, Neteyam adored her just as much, if not more. She was an effortless child to take care of and could be soothed very easily.
The same could not be said for his other siblings. Lo'ak and Kiri were naughty little ones— a dangerous duo, if he had to say so himself. Kiri was only a month younger than him, and Lo'ak was a year younger, but they were not yet mature like Dad said he was. Kiri was sassier than he thought possible, always teasing Lo'ak and getting him angry on purpose. She rolled her eyes more than Mother cared for and had an attitude the size of an 'angtsìk. Lo'ak was quick to anger and tantrums, disliking when things did not go his way. He thought more with his thick skull than his brain.
But for all the grievances his siblings afforded him, he still loved them more than life itself.
Before he'd reached his father's waist in height, he used to be very close with his siblings. Kiri and Lo'ak were his friends. His only friends. But then Dad started the lessons and more responsibilities were placed on his shoulders, and he no longer had time to be with them.
He felt guilty for feeling a sting of hurt whenever he passed by the two having fun without him. He would be busy repairing the strings of his bow on the floor of their marui and Lo'ak would run past, squealing as Kiri chased him with a bug in her hand. Or he would be cutting vegetables for his mother and his siblings would be deep in conversation a few feet away, heads huddled together.
Sharing secrets he was no longer allowed the honour of keeping.
It was unfair of him to feel hurt. Lo'ak and Kiri were still children and they needed to enjoy their childhoods. Sure, Kiri was his age but Dad was protective of her, so she was able to stay a child. She deserved that. His sister deserved all the happiness in the world. So did his brother.
Neteyam would gladly take away all their pains and worries if it meant they could be carefree and happy. Dad did not have to expect that from him in order for him to do it. He was the older brother. It was his duty.
"Come here, boy," his father called for him.
Neteyam quickly abandoned the necklace he'd been weaving and headed over to where his dad was cracking open the shells of a basket of fruits. He was handed one.
"If you're not busy, you make yourself busy," Dad scolded lightly.
Neteyam's ears pinned back in shame. He had gotten so focused on his necklace that he'd failed to check if anyone needed his help. "I'm sorry, sir."
His dad didn't reply, already returning his attention to the fruit. Neteyam gathered his share and began cracking open the shells. These would probably be distributed to the other villagers. They worked in silence as they usually did.
He didn't glance up when Kiri walked inside but knew from her heavy footsteps that she was upset about something. From the corner of his eye, he could see his father immediately place down his knife and the fruit.
"What's the matter, baby girl?" came the soft inquiry.
Neteyam's chest tightened strangely. It always did whenever he heard his father call Kiri loving names like that. They were sky person titles. He wondered what it would sound like to hear those names directed towards him, but he couldn't even imagine it. Dad would never speak to him like that.
He was simply 'boy.'
"Lo'ak won't share with me," Kiri huffed, letting herself be pulled down into their father's lap.
Neteyam couldn't remember the last time he sat in his lap.
Lo'ak entered the marui next, a ticked off expression on his small face. "That's because I don't want to, dummy!"
"Hey!" Dad chided sternly, making Lo'ak's ears droop and his shoulders rise up to his ears. "Don't call your sister names, boy."
Lo'ak was 'boy' too.
Neteyam's heart clenched when he saw the way his little brother's bottom lip quivered and eyes blinked rapidly. He was upset. Dad didn't notice. Or he didn't care.
"Share your toys, Lo'ak. They're not just for you," Dad lectured.
Lo'ak's little fists clenched by his sides. "Yes, they are! Tarsem made my ikran for me!" he replied stubbornly. It was true. Tarsem was a few years older than Neteyam and treated their family kindly.
"He said I can play with it too!" Kiri retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Lo'ak." Dad's lip curled.
Mother said parents did not have favourites.
"Whatever!" Lo'ak shouted angrily before throwing the toy ikran onto the floor and running out of the marui.
"Penis face," Kiri muttered under her breath. Dad quickly scolded her, not letting that slide.
Neteyam's heart stayed painfully clenched in his chest as he stared after his brother. He turned back down to the fruits and quickly finished his task before turning to their father.
"I'm finished, sir," he stated quietly.
Dad only nodded, leaning forward to pick up the toy and hand it over to Kiri.
A bitter taste danced on Neteyam's tongue. "Can I be excused, please?"
He was gone the moment he got half of an affirming glance.
The sounds of quiet sniffles guided him to where his little brother was sat atop a high branch a few huts down from their home. Lo'ak looked tiny with his knees pulled up to his chest and his lanky arms around his bony legs. His short braids managed to hide his face from view.
Neteyam didn't hesitate to take a seat beside him and tuck those loose braids behind his ear.
They sat together for a few moments; the silence only broken occasionally by Lo'ak's snotty sniffles.
Below them, the village was hard at work as they usually were. Little children ran around, playing and squealing happily. They'd mischievously hurry out of arm's reach whenever their mothers scolded them for playing too closely to the fire.
"I wish Mama never fell in love with him."
Neteyam turned shocked eyes to his sullen brother.
"Lo'ak..," he breathed out, like the very thought of their mother being with anybody other than their father was a horror tale.
"Whatever," his brother scoffed. His new favourite word. "I don't actually mean that. Duh. Everything's just— so stupid."
Neteyam's heart clenched, tail flicking unsurely behind him. He knew Lo'ak would never truly want such a thing, but for him to even utter those words meant that he'd been hurt enough to think them. And judging by the wetness in his brother's eyes that he attempted to hide, he was right.
Their father used to be more loving towards them— gentler. Neteyam recalled squealing and trying to run away from splashes of water. His skin still remembered the way those strong hands would lift him into the air like he was a little ikran and fly him around the marui. Or the sounds of deep laughter and the feeling of a rumbling chest against his cheek.
He could not pinpoint where it all went wrong.
"That was my toy," Lo'ak weakly hissed, voice trembling. "Tarsem made it for me."
It was a repetition of what he'd already said to their father.
"I know," Neteyam murmured.
He no longer sought out the comforting touch of his family in the ways Tuk often did whenever she rubbed her cheek against their mother's neck or nuzzled her face against their father's shoulder. But right now, he found himself fighting the instinctual urge to pull his little brother to his chest and nuzzle his hair.
Perhaps he got that from Mother. She always pulled her children towards herself and marked them with her loving, protective scent. The last time his father did that to him was almost twelve moons ago. He was pathetic for keeping count.
He wondered how long it had been since Lo'ak received that touch from their father.
Lo'ak glared down at his lap, the fine hairs above his eyes furrowed. "He's nicer to Spider and Spider's not even—"
Neteyam watched as Lo'ak bit his lip, interrupting himself as if feeling guilty for almost insinuating that the human boy was not a part of their family. Even if he had, Neteyam would not have scolded him. As a child, he had fun with Spider but he was never as close to him as his siblings were (a bond he often felt jealous of). Perhaps it was due to his new responsibilities or perhaps he just took after his mother in that respect.
But Neteyam also noticed their father's treatment of Spider compared to Lo'ak. He was soft with Spider, not like how he was with Kiri but better than how he was with Lo'ak. Smiles came easily for the human boy. A small part of even Neteyam was jealous and a bitter part of him thought that maybe their father's treatment of Spider reflected his longing for a child that looked like a version of himself that no longer existed.
"I just— It's not fair," Lo'ak whispered shakily, yearning.
Neteyam's chest squeezed, pained for his little brother. He could not, could never, bare to see his siblings hurting, whether that be emotionally or physically.
"Dad loves you, Lo'ak. I know it." As soon as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.
Lo'ak turned fiery eyes on him, upper lip curling into an expression so similar to their father's that it almost made him breathless. "If he really loved me, he wouldn't treat me like I'm a screw-up! But he doesn't because I am! I am a screw-up! I'm useless and he knows that! I can't even hunt a stupid fish!"
Neteyam's heart broke at the self-deprecating words, eyes widening. He immediately reached out, grabbing his little brother (who looked even littler in that moment) by his shoulders. "No, Lo'ak! Do not say that about yourself! You are not useless or a screw-up!"
Lo'ak shoved him off, angry tears beginning to stream down his flushed cheeks. "Yes, I am! He looks at me like he's ashamed of me every time I mess up!" His voice breaks.
"Oh, Lo'ak," Neteyam whimpers, tears filling his eyes. It felt like he was being stabbed in the chest. How could his precious, beautiful baby brother believe such horrible things about himself? Had Neteyam failed him that badly?
"I can't take it," Lo'ak cried, frustratedly wiping at his face. "It hurts."
Neteyam scooped him into his arms, tucking his head under his chin. He held him until he stopped trying to escape and finally sagged against his chest. His skin prickled from the tears pooling at his collarbones.
"I am here, Lo'ak. Your big brother is here," he whispered soothingly, willing his voice not to quiver. He had to be strong.
"I just want to be his baby too," Lo'ak hiccupped.
That was what broke Neteyam.
He choked on a sob, pressing his wet face into Lo'ak's hair as they clung desperately to each other like baby palulukan. No words had ever cut him so deeply.
He sniffed hard, blinking rapidly to rid away his tears. Strong. Be strong. Gently, he pulled Lo'ak away from his chest and raised a hand to cradle his cheek. That small, sullen face almost made him waver again. Oh, how he wished he could protect his brother forever.
"You are my baby," Neteyam said resolutely— a promise; a hand over his heart while not breaking eye contact with his brother.
It was true. All his siblings were his babies but Lo'ak was special. Kiri was Neteyam's age so she hit milestones at the same time as him, but Lo'ak was his first actual younger sibling. It was blurry but he could just almost picture a chubby little face blinking up at him from where he was cradled in their mother's arms. That face, barely even a month old, gazed at him like he was already his hero.
Even now, Lo'ak stared up at him with so much innocent trust, chest heaving as he listened to his big brother.
"I see you, Lo'ak," Neteyam whispered, pressing their foreheads together.
His brother let out a strangled whimper before launching himself at him, sobbing into the crook of his neck. Lo'ak never liked letting others see him cry.
Neteyam only held him tighter.
"...You promise?" came the small mumble.
Ignoring the sharp sting in his eyes, Neteyam nodded and pressed a kiss to Lo'ak's braids. "I promise, baby boy."
He heard Lo'ak giggle shakily before he watched him pull away, embarrassed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Neteyam blushed, unsure himself where the name came from. It had just... slipped out. Almost naturally.
He shrugged, cheeks aflame. "Well... Dad always calls Kiri and Tuk baby girl. And they are girls. So you would be baby boy, I guess..."
Lo'ak looked down at his lap, face red but a huge smile on his face. He was practically preening. Still, he managed to save face by grumbling and swatting Neteyam's hand away from his hair. "Yeah, yeah... Whatever."
Neteyam giggled, leaning forward to poke his brother's cheek. "Aww, are you embarrassed that you are your big brother's baby boy?"
"Bro!" Lo'ak squawked, laughing and pushing himself to his feet. The tears on his face had dried and he wore a rare happy glow.
Neteyam grabbed his tail when he made to run, smiling brightly. That action started a game of catch the tail— a game he always used to play as a child, a game that Lo'ak still played with the others. When it was Lo'ak's turn to catch him, Neteyam found himself squealing and laughing in a way he hadn't in a long time.