~~~Superstes~~~UNDERGOING MAJOR EDITING

Rough seas.

Neteyam's eyes fluttered open to the blinding light of the ceiling light above him. He breathed in and put, in and out, before his eyes adjusted to the piercing light that was illuminating the unfamiliar room he was in. As he was breathing, he picked up the sharp scent of medicine and disinfectant, but it wasn't the kind of herbs or potions his grandmother used on any of her patients. 

He saw himself lying in a white bed with railing on either side and tubes flowing out of his body that were attached to strange, beeping machines. His wrists were covered in white papery bands, and he was completely stripped naked of his decorative Omaticaya jewelry except for his loincloth. He also noticed there was a strange plastic stuck over his chest--particularly where the bullet went through. 

Through his blurry and unfocused vision came Jake, his frame almost glitching according to Neteyam's oddly terrible sight, before his father leaned over the bed railing and placed his hand on his son's forehead.

 Neteyam grimaced at the touch of his father. He felt as if he were melting into the sheets he was lying across. His mind was off in a distant place, and somehow, his whole body felt cold as ice. He was unable to stop himself from shivering and the cool temperature of Jake's hand sent freezing waves through his bones. 

"Hey, Norm's coming, just relax." Jake reassured. When he wanted to, Jake really could be a gentle father, but most of the time he was blinded by worry and expectations for his sons that a forgiving nature and easiness didn't come naturally to him. However, even during his lethargic state of mind, Neteyam recognized this tenderness wasn't going to last forever, so he soaked up the kindness while he could. 

"What happened?" he whispered, too tired to bring his voice to full volume. He vaguely recalled the perilous events of last night that ultimately led to him falling unconscious, but he didn't remember being transported here or anything close to that. He didn't remember how he got into this bed, either. 

"Your lung collapsed, and you've got a pretty nasty infection." He explained the situation calmly but something in Jake's eyes told Neteyam he was only repeating this conversation. "You've woken up a couple times before this--you think you can stay awake so Norm can do a couple tests?" 

Neteyam nodded and closed his eyes, letting himself drift a little, but making sure he didn't lose his lucidness. There was a sheet on sweat covering his body that made him feel considerably filthy, and that caused him to be greatly uncomfortable with this whole predicament. He despised everything about how he felt right now--sure, he'd dealt with fevers before, but nothing similar to this one. 

Eventually, Norm came in the room. He spoke in hushed whispers to Jake before messing with a few things, and then he peeled Neteyam's eyelids open and shone a flashlight in them, his expression daunting. Then, he put the flashlight down and stuck something solid under Neteyam's armpit. He huffed at the weird sensation against his skin, but he didn't complain. After a couple awkward moments, the object beeped loudly, and Norm brought it up to his face to look at it. 

"What is it?" Jake asked, his tone urgent.   

"It's...bad," Norm stated dryly. He looked at Jake and shook his head, "If we can't get him to shake this fever, or this infection, he's going to go septic." 

Neteyam was completely oblivious to the serious words of the older men. He knew what they were saying, but his brain just wouldn't register the information. Eventually, the stillness of his mind took over the rest of his body and he found himself dozing off. He was too bleary to pay attention or even care about what they were talking about. 

Maybe he was dying.     

"Neteyam, don't go to sleep." There was a soft graze across his cheek, rough knuckles meeting his skin. It was his father's voice again, cutting through the darkness like a blade and carving into his mind, but still failing to pull him out of his feverish haze. The illness pulsed through him in waves, sending flushes of hot-and-cold clamminess throughout his body. His joints ached violently, making it next to impossible to lay comfortable, but he couldn't move in order to try. 

"Dad?" Neteyam gasped, taking in big gulps of air. It was as if he'd forgotten his father was already standing beside the bed-frame, the man's hand laying across his forehead. But his mind kept slipping away from him like a butterfly he couldn't catch—he was desperately seeking a source of comfort and familiarity, not entirely by choice. 

"I'm right here, kid." Jake rubbed reassuring circles with his thumb across his son's head, casting a worried glance down at the teenager. The boy's parlor was terribly sickly and drained, with his watercolor looking stripes that were always so vibrant now muted and deathly pale—his glazed over eyes, a stark contrast to his typical amber stare, and he wore a never-fading frown, evidence of his increasing discomfort. 

"I can try to give him another steroid injection to make him feel better, but I'm not sure it would do much at this point." Norm moved swiftly and leaned over the fifteen-year-old, his avatar's ears rotating with caution as he did so. With one hand, he used his slender blue fingers to peel open Neteyam's upper lip, revealing his teeth—to which he was offended by, but lacked the strength to move the scientist's hand away, and could only react by shifting his head to the side a bit. Norm then pulled down his lower lip, but quickly retreated from the task.

"His gums are super pale." Norm turned to face Jake, and Neteyam forced his heavy eyes to open just to see the two men looking at each other, a determined worry in Norm's eyes and a fearful, but resilient expression on his father's worn features. Neteyam himself knew what pale gums meant—he didn't have enough iron and blood cells or something. But, no matter the details of his condition, the ultimate outcome was that he was quickly declining. 

He was declining quicker than he thought, too. 

In the flash of a second, the beeping machines Neteyam was attached to began picking up speed rapidly, mirroring the frantic, wild beating of his heart. But before he himself was aware of what was happening, his back arched and his brain fell into a void of darkness and chaos at the same time—his limbs contracting into violent, jerking movements on top of the sheets. His head pulsed with static swells of pain as his eyes rolled into the back of their sockets, and he convulsed on a foamy substance that erupted from his throat, his entire body shaking.

Before long, the fitting gradually came to a stop. Neteyam opened his eyes briefly to see he was staring at the white tiled floor, where he was being leaned over the side of the bed, his head being  supported by his father's giant hands. The  foamy liquid was dripping out of his mouth onto the floor, where there was already a small puddle of it. His arms, legs, and torso felt weighed down as if filled with lead, and his mind was clouded with another layer of confusion. 

 Neteyam choked out a jumble of words, and he assumed they were related to his mother in some way. His vision was blurring with tears as he imagined her warm, delicate hands holding him against her. But he couldn't speak properly and he felt like his tongue was completely numb, like a dead weight inside his mouth. 

"Just breathe, Neteyam, breathe." His dad instructed sternly, his frame ridged with a certain fear that even Neteyam could feel crackling off of him. Norm grabbed the boy's arms and assisted him back into a straight position, stuffing pillows against either side of his head, his brow furrowed in concentration. The heart monitor and the machines still continued to beep like crazy, reflecting Neteyam's frantic pulse, and the air seemed to get thicker with an unspoken tension. 

"Mama," Neteyam managed to cry out, his facial features contorting into a grimace of internal and physical distress. Hot tears slipped down his cheeks, and Jake's eyes flickered with pity and sorrow. He rubbed his son's arm, up and down, in comforting, but grounding strokes. He nodded, his ears turning backward. "We'll get Mama, I know. She's gonna come real soon."