Who: Marsh and Clint When: afternoon, Thursday, July 19th Where: vet's office, car, the O'Reilly place Status: complete
It had been kind of weird waking up in Elodie’s bed, though Clint had slept very soundly with the pills she’d given him. He’d also slept a long time, and she hadn’t even been there when he’d finally woken up. It wasn’t the first time Clint had snuck out of a girl’s apartment to avoid her parental figures, but he kind of hoped it would be the last one.
Elodie had put some doubts into his head about Ruby’s motivations for sending him to the O’Reillys for help with his nightmares, but they had faded pretty fast after another few more rough, sleepless nights. His anxiety about the dark man had flooded back into him as soon as he tried to sleep alone. He was kind of scared to go out there alone, he’d never talked to any of them and just driving up to someone’s property who obviously wasn’t very social to knock on their door seemed like a stupid thing to do. Clint wasn’t eager to get shot ... or have witches put warts on his dick, like Elodie suggested.
The only person he could think of to ask to keep him company was his brother. Marsh wasn’t some crazy-protective older brother, but he’d always taken care of Clint when he’d been around, and he had this professional air about him that made people trust him. Was bedside manner a thing for veterinarians? Marsh had it, at least. Plus he’d been to like, Africa, so maybe his survival instincts were better than Clint’s.
Those were the nervous swirling thoughts in his head as he pulled up to the vet’s clinic and parked. His brother’s vehicle was there, thankfully. Clint thought belatedly that he should’ve called or texted ahead, but that just went to show how well he was thinking lately. The exhausted brain-fog was real. But he was there now, and if Marsh couldn’t help him out today, maybe he would at least let him crash at his place for a night, for the security of company. Clint looked tired and disheveled as he walked in and glanced around for his brother.
The clinic was technically closed but Marsh rarely locked the doors until he either left or felt it was late enough. Sometimes people dropped by to buy specialized food and he appreciated every sale he made. Roxy had just left and he was still busy, chatting on the phone with the owner of one Lady Marmalade, a senior kitty with some special needs. He heard the bell on the door chime and stuck his head out to see who it was, waving when he spotted his little brother. Can you wait? he mouthed and gestured to the couches in the waiting room, then gave Clint a thumbs up and disappeared into his office again. This wasn't really a phone call he could really rush so he left poor Clint waiting for upwards of ten minutes and was glad to see he was still there when he finally joined him again.
"Hey, sorry about that! Good to see you." He hesitated and looked Clint over. "Or not... You look like shit." It was lighthearted but it was true, there was also a taste in the air that he wasn't used to around his brother, no happy feelings there, that was for sure.
Clint didn’t mind waiting, but he didn’t sit down lest he pass out right there in Marsh’s waiting room. He slowly ambled around, looking at the informational posters on the walls and the bland art Marsh had picked for other walls, and the selection of stuff to buy. Maybe he ought to get a dog. Could a dog warn him of impending supernatural dangers? They always seemed to know what was up in the movies ... Clint’s mind was wandering when Marsh emerged, and he blinked at him a little before he gave a sheepish huff and smile. “I feel like shit,” he agreed. Clint nodded toward Marsh’s office door. “Can I talk to you in there?” He didn’t want anyone walking in on him sounding like a lunatic to his brother.
"Yeah, of course," Marsh said and gestured at Clint to follow him inside, curiosity turning into concern. "You in trouble?" he asked since this Clint was obviously not just dropping by to say hi. He needed something and while it wouldn't be the first time Marsh got him out of trouble, it did seem like this was something a little more serious than getting a ride from a party without waking mom and dad. Marsh wasn't really piecing together what the taste was telling him, it was faint and Clint looked so tired that it was probably muted too. Even then, he didn't have nearly enough experience to recognize most emotions, let alone the reasons they were there.
Was he in trouble? Yes, but probably not in the way his brother was thinking. This wasn’t a ‘too drunk to drive’ situation ... though Clint probably shouldn’t be driving himself anywhere now either, considering how sleep deprived he was. He plopped down in the chair in front of Marsh’s desk and heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I ... I need a ride somewhere. And maybe just like ... your help.” He knew that wasn’t much to go on, and Marsh’s expression was getting more concerned and more like their dad’s, but it was still taking Clint a moment to gather his words. “I need to tell you something, but you can’t think I’m crazy, okay? ‘Cause it’s not just me, I’ve got witnesses.”
Marsh tilted his ass on his desk and folded his arms, frowning softly at the statement. Would he think his brother was crazy? He was more likely to think it was a dumb prank, Clint wasn't the smartest guy around but he was pretty solid in the mental health department. He definitely didn't look like he was pulling a prank now, he just looked exhausted. "Whatever it is sounds serious so I won't think you're crazy," he promised. "What happened?" This was how a lot of stories started in Point Pleasant. Most of them had faded from his memory, stopped mattering somehow - maybe his brain just wasn't equipped to deal with too much weirdness at a time. He was still reminded of the general feeling though, just with those words being so familiar. Had Clint gone to a haunted house? Seen a ghost on the beach? It was weird to believe in those things and yet not believe in them at the same time.
It was the answer he’d been hoping for, but part of Clint was still hesitant. He had the same strange cognitive dissonance between everything he’d heard growing up, and what he kind of had to believe about the ‘real’ world. Marsh was an animal doctor, presumably a man of science ... he was willing to hear Clint out, but would he believe any of it? It wasn’t like Clint had much of a choice, he didn’t want to go into Blackwater Woods alone to search for some witches who might actually just take revenge on him for cheating instead of helping. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, then started to haltingly tell the story. He started with seeing the Dark Man with Ruby that night months before, then described the recent nightmare that had left his whole body dotted with puncture wounds from various implements -- Clint pulled up his sleeves to show Marsh the healing evidence of that horrible night. “And then I saw Ruby at a bonfire a few days back, and she’d had a dream about him and woke up hurt too,” Clint said, a hint of defensiveness already in his voice. “But she went to some witches out in Blackwater -- the O’Reillys, do you know them? And they did something to protect her dreams. And I like ... I need that, I think.”
Marsh found himself wishing Clint had just gotten some girl pregnant or tried drugs or whatever else normal teenage boy situation he might have found himself in. This sounded life threatening and by the time Clint was done telling him everything, his expression was grim and a little tired looking as well. "Witches?" he asked quietly. "As in, like the six?"
Marsh knew about as much about witches as the next average joe living in Point Pleasant. There were rumors, there was history and a lot of cultural things in their community to commemorate that history but that was about it for him. He couldn't say he didn't believe in them though, he could taste emotions, his boyfriend had turned invisible in front of him a few times now, it was terribly hard to be skeptical of things when his life was full of weirdness. The only thing he wasn't so sure about was whether people who claimed to be this or that were lying or not.
Marsh already didn’t look very happy about this, but Clint couldn’t blame him. It was all very unhappy-making. They’d had a normal family and a normal upbringing, but all of that seemed to be crumbling. For Clint, anyway, his brother’s life was probably fine and dandy like it had always seemed to be. He nodded a bit, his brow furrowed and pained. “Direct descendants even, right? The O’Reillys?” he murmured. Most everybody who grew up here knew the names, knew that those families were still around, entrenched in this long weird history that he’d always taken with a grain of salt before. Seems like he’d been wrong, he just hoped they could help him.
Marsh did remember a teacher talking about the six and what their names had used to be but that there were still descendants in town but he couldn't remember any of the names, past or present. It was history and he had no interest in history, especially back then. "Yeah you said," he muttered a bit distractedly as he tried to remember, then stopped because he knew it wasn't going to magically come back to him. At least he knew one name now, if they were the real deal. O'Reilly. It wasn't like Marsh had any other solutions for a problem that big and strange so... witches? "You trust Ruby?" he asked and he'd never gotten to meet the girl, he just knew they'd dated and broken up. Maybe it had been amicable and she wanted the best for Clint, but what if she didn't?
The same sense of paranoid fear as when Elodie had pretty much asked him basically the same thing washed over Clint. Did he trust Ruby? He’d done her dirty and they’d broken up because of it, but had it been so dirty that she was out for some kind of revenge? “I don’t know,” he mumbled, looking at his brother with a mixture of exhausted helplessness and fear. “She seemed like she meant to help when she was telling me, but ... I did cheat on her. Do you think she’s sending me there so they can like, chop my balls off or something?” Elodie had said dick warts, but since then Clint’s mind had spiraled in all kinds of awful directions. That was probably part of why he was coming to Marsh for help -- his big brother would protect him, wouldn’t he?
That was not ideal and Marsh gave him a 'yikes' face before he could stop himself. "There must be some... witches' ethics board," he muttered but what the hell did he know? "She had the same thing happen to her and she showed you the evidence so... I think it's fair to assume she's telling the truth. Unless she's some kind of a psychopath, she probably doesn't want you to get physically hurt just because she's mad at you." And they'd been talking in the first place, that had to be a good sign. Marsh almost asked why the hell Clint had cheated on her in the first place but he stopped himself. Clint looked way too tired to get bombarded with guilt, he was here for help and Marsh would help him. "She's not a psycho, is she?"
Clint sincerely doubted there was some ethics committee in the world of witches, but he knew just as much about it as Marsh did -- jack shit. It made him feel a little better to hear Marsh say that Ruby was probably telling the truth, and he shook his head immediately at the question. “No ... I mean, she never seemed like a psycho, at least,” he answered. Psychopaths were supposed to be good at hiding though, weren’t they? Clint didn’t want to overthink it, or he would drive himself crazy. “And I think ... I think she said somebody else went with her too. Who was having the same problem. So like ... that’s probably a good sign?” He couldn’t even remember who it had been, his brain felt like it was full of holes at the moment. Not only that, his guard was so far down it was on the floor, and Clint felt some unwanted emotion start to clog his throat and nose. “I dunno what else to do,” he added, his voice wavering.
That sounded like the opposite of a good sign to Marsh. Were a bunch of people getting hurt in their dreams? It all sounded terrifying and he couldn't help but wonder if he knew of any of them. He wanted to dismiss it as a coincidence but the wounds on Clint's body didn't look like bug bites or anything he could have done to himself in his sleep so it was hard to deny it when he could see it for himself. He took Clint's hand and took a better look at his arm, frowning softly in concentration as he tried to view it with skeptical eyes and failed. "Okay, I'll take you to see those witches, that's a start at least. Have you ever actually met a witch before?" Did Paul count as a witch? His strange British buddy had called himself a shaman but he hadn't really done any magic that Marsh could recall. It had all been more of a spiritual guidance kind of crap.
Clint gnawed on his bottom lip as he looked at his brother looking at his arm, then his shoulders sagged with relief when Marsh said he would go. He was so tired, he wanted to cry and hug Marsh’s waist like a little kid. Clint managed to swallow it down and shook his head a bit. “Not that I know about, anyway,” he muttered. Would he know a witch if he saw one? He knew there was that spice shop downtown that had a hippie-witchy vibe, but were they real witches? Clint didn’t fucking know. Could just any normal-ass looking person be a witch? “When can we go?” he asked Marsh. He both wanted it to be soon and never, the fear of going warring with his need for all this to be over so he could sleep.
"We can go now, if you want," Marsh told him and it sounded urgent. What if Clint went to sleep tonight and got hurt again - or worse? "We only have about three hours until sunset so the sooner we go the better." He watched Clint with that same concerned frown. It wasn't hard to see how upset he was and Marsh couldn't blame him. "Do you need to call them first or something? Or should we just show up and throw cash at them?" He gave Clint a faint smile, hoping to cheer him up a little but he already knew that wasn't going to happen. The only way to fix this was to find a solution and if that meant going out into the woods then so be it.
God, Clint hadn’t even thought about payment. Ruby hadn’t said anything about it, but did he really expect total strangers to help him out for free? He wasn’t broke or anything, but did they need to go pick up cash first? Fuck, what was the protocol here? Clint agreed that getting it out of the way fast was the best course of action. He really needed to sleep, and now he had his big brother helping him out, which was a great relief. “I dunno, she didn’t say,” he answered, and tried not to let that dismay him further. “I wouldn’t even know who to call, so I guess we just ... go out there and see? Worst they can do is tell us to fuck off, right?” Clint tried to sound vaguely hopeful, but wasn’t sure how it came out. Goddamn he was tired.
"Do you at least know where they are?" Marsh asked as he got up to start turning off the lights and machines so they could get the hell out of there. He supposed they could stop by and ask Ruby if they had to - if she was fucking with Clint she might be less inclined to do so if his big brother was with him. He knew some of the homesteads around Point Pleasant thanks to his work but not nearly all of them and something told him they wouldn't find the O'Reilly house on Google maps. He was less than eager to go into the woods blind, GPS or not. He would for Clint, but he really would rather not.
“Yeah, Ruby sent me directions,” Clint said, his hand dipping into his pocket to pull his phone out. She’d offered to take him out there, but that had just sounded painfully awkward to him, and more than he wanted to ask of her. Instead she’d texted him some directions and a hand-drawn map like she’d promised. It was a little crude, not as good as GPS, but there were some landmarks that she’d pointed out that would be helpful. Who knew if you could even find a witch’s house with GPS anyway. He realized they didn’t need the map quite yet and looked up at his brother again. “Should we stop by somewhere to get some money, just in case?” God, he really hoped they wanted to be paid in cash instead of pieces of his soul or something.
"Some gold, maybe," Marsh said. "In case they're medieval witches." It wasn't nice to poke fun, but he couldn't help himself. They were - hopefully - not going out to some witch's hut with actual cauldrons and things. Like Clint he hoped they accepted cash instead of promises of first borns like in a Grimms fairy tale. "Yeah, let's get cash," he added. "Good thinking." He ushered Clint out of the office, turning off lights as they went and today people would just have to be disappointed if they dropped in after hours, he wanted to get this over with before dark. "It's crazy to think anyone lives out in those woods," he said as he got his coat. "They always gave me the creeps."
It was a relief to have someone else take charge and tell him what to do, and Clint felt himself slip into the familiar role of the little brother. He’d always looked up to Marsh, even when they were squabbling, and he couldn’t describe how grateful he was that he was going to accompany him. Marsh was smart and mature, and he wasn’t stupidly sleep-deprived. Marsh would protect him, Clint felt sure. He walked out of the building with his brother, squinting for a second against the afternoon sun. It made his eyes hurt, being this tired made them more sensitive and it sucked. “I guess creepy people are into that,” he replied a bit flatly. The woods had always been creepy to him too, but that seemed like a reasonable place for witches to live, being creepy themselves.
"Let's hope they're not actually creepy," Marsh said as he led the way to the car, clicking the fob to unlock it with a little beep. Even if Clint wasn't so damn tired he couldn't blame him for coming to him for a ride, his car was far better suited for an out of town driving than Clint's and he honestly loved the damn thing. It was spacious and comfortable and sturdy as hell. "I need to put gas on the car on the way out there," he told Clint once they were inside. "And we'll stop at an ATM. Do you have money? How much do you think you'll need?"
Clint climbed into Marsh’s vehicle, his body relieved to be sitting down again. He could only remember feeling this drained and tired when he’d been really sick with the flu. It fucking sucked. He really hoped these people would help him, he really needed to sleep. “I don’t know,” he answered, his brow furrowed. He’d never done anything like this before, how was he supposed to know? Ruby hadn’t said anything about a cost, but it could be a completely different story for him, he didn’t fucking know. “A few hundred, maybe? I got it. And if that’s not enough ... maybe they’ll take it as a down payment or something,” he muttered. Clint slouched a bit deeper into the seat and let his head thump backward.
Marsh had often wondered how he'd react if he found himself in some random movie situations, like everyone else, probably. It was a normal thing to do and in a fantasy world he always handled it as well as the protagonists did but he knew that in real life he was just some guy. Thankfully being just some guy meant he was less likely to find himself staring down dangerous criminals but this witch thing made him wonder if they'd legit get into some kind of insane trouble. "Bring what you can and we'll sort it out," he said with all the confidence of a man who absolutely knew how to sort things out because while he might not be that guy, he could pretend for his anxious little brother. He kept trying to remember if he knew any O'Reillys from school or work, mutual friends. He kept coming up short but he really hoped that once they got out to their place there'd be a shining moment of oh THOSE O'Reillys and it'd all be good. Did witches even go to school? Shit, he was out of his depth here.
Clint just grunted his agreement that he would do that, and fell into being the passenger while Marsh took them to get gas and to swing by an ATM. In a daze, he pulled out four hundred dollars from his bank account and folded it to shove in one pocket. Even witches needed money, right? And Clint was lucky that his dad kept that account up with a good rolling balance for him. He earned some of it through work, but he doubted he would be getting the same money if he was just some dude punching a clock. Being the owner’s son did him lots of favors. It was worth spending it on this though, if it meant he could finally get some sleep. Clint crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head against the window as Marsh started driving toward Witcham, and before too long he’d fallen into an uneasy doze. He just wanted to be there and have all of this over with.
When Marsh noticed Clint was asleep he finally felt the impact of everything his brother had told him, like he could drop the confident mask while Clint wasn't looking and feel that very real fear for himself. He took a deep breath and tried not to think of the very real chance his brother could have died in his sleep in such a way that the police would be involved and everyone would have thought there was a killer out there. But it'd have been some god damned monster, the call would have been coming from inside the house. God he hoped the witches could help, that they were real witches and not just some little wiccan things that would send Clint home with sage and crystals. Marsh tried to remember what little he knew about the supernatural but it was all pop culture references and while those were probably based on some folklore a lot of it was bound to just be made up for the plot. The only way to snap himself out of his doom thoughts was to nudge Clint awake and he did so as soon as he realized Clint might legit get attacked in his car if he was sleeping. "Hey, you got the map," he murmured, giving him a sidelong glance and a slightly apologetic smile.
He gave a little snort of surprise as he woke up, and Clint looked genuinely lost and confused for a handful of seconds. All of this sleep deprivation made every tiny nap he got into a disorienting event. It took him an extra moment to register Marsh’s words and what they actually meant, and he mumbled some vague agreement. He did have the map, and he probably shouldn’t be sleeping yet. If the Dark Man came for him in his brother’s passenger seat ... Clint didn’t even want to think about it. He pulled his phone out and rubbed at his bleary eyes with one hand, pulling up the information Ruby had given him. “It’s a ways out,” he told Marsh, glancing around at where they were now. He read off the landmarks for his brother to look for, and tried to help look for them himself to stay awake.
Marsh did his best to keep Clint awake for the rest of the drive, though it was a challenge more often than not. It was probably the most uncomfortable drive he'd ever been on and that was saying a lot. He was just relieved when they actually found the house they were looking for, hidden away at the end of a long path off the main road and far bigger than he'd been expecting. Then again, he knew what he'd been mentally picturing was unrealistic as hell, based on fairytales and not a likely scenario for modern time people - witches or not. The witches themselves - were they all witches? - weren't scary at all. He recognized the one who performed the ritual from around town, one of those local faces that he hadn't thought much about in the past and now knew belonged to a witch. This was entirely too surreal.
Clint felt like he was in a very weird dream as they arrived and were greeted by a sour-looking guy who took them to a petite blonde lady. All of them looked young -- older than Clint, but still young like his brother was still fairly young -- and they definitely weren’t what Clint had been expecting. He stumbled through his explanation of why he was there, but the woman seemed to already know what he needed, and she led him deeper into the house. Clint barely caught what she said about the ritual she would perform and what it would do, he was just glad that Marsh followed them and he was in the room the whole time.
Once it was all said and done, the blonde lady told Clint he would be protected now. She refused the payment he clumsily tried to offer her, and ushered them both out of the house in a manner that was just on the edge of rude, like she wanted them gone. It all seemed so perfunctory and rote, it was hard to feel like anything had actually happened once he was standing outside with his brother again. Clint blinked rapidly, looking between Marsh and the front door of the O’Reilly house. “That’s ... you think that’s it?” he asked in a hushed voice. “I’m fixed?”
"You didn't feel that?" Marsh asked because he had definitely felt something in that room. He was well aware that charlatans had ways of heightening emotions and doing parlor tricks that felt like the real thing but whatever had happened during the ritual didn't feel like it was fake. There had been no cheap tricks like candles getting blown out or things breaking, just a strong emotion that washed over him like a wave when the petite blond did her thing. Maybe he was a gullible idiot, but he believed the magic in that room had been real. "I think you're fixed," he added with a nod. "Definitely." That he wasn't as sure of but maybe if Clint believed in whatever magic was there it might get stronger. "I don't think those people are fucking around." Refusing payment was another big thing. What kind of fraud didn't want money? Maybe if they showed up later with some expensive scheme... But no, Marsh didn't think they would.
Clint looked even more dismayed for a few seconds -- Marsh had felt the magic but he hadn’t? Was there something extra wrong with him? But he was terribly sleep deprived and emotionally exhausted, so maybe that had made him not as sensitive to it or ... something. Marsh seemed confident that something had happened, and Ruby had been confident it had worked, and nobody here had tried to do anything bad to his dick for revenge for his cheating. At least not as far as Clint was aware yet, everything felt normal. Whether this meant he would be able to sleep without dying remained to be seen, but Clint felt a flicker of hope. He meant to say something useful, but instead his expression crumpled into a sudden bout of tears that he had zero control over. Clint covered his face with his hands, his back hitching for a moment as he tried to smother it.
Marsh hadn't seen his little brother cry in years and it was almost jarring to see him suddenly break down - but understandable given the circumstances. He looked impossibly small at the moment, so tired that Marsh wanted to just pick him up, put him in a warm bed and tuck him in like a child. "Hey," he said softly, reaching out to grab Clint's arm to give it a reassuring squeeze. "You're gonna be just fine." He thought better of it and ended up pulling him into a hug. "You wanna go home? Or wanna crash at my place? I can watch over you if you want, wake you up if anything happens." His home could become a sanctuary for traumatized guys, he was starting to feel like a pro at handling it at this point.
He certainly felt like an overtired child that needed to be tucked in. The hug was more than welcome and Clint’s arms locked around his brother. When was the last time they’d embraced like this, beyond a bro hug that only lasted a few seconds? Clint tucked his face in against Marsh’s shoulder and tried not to sob like a big dumb baby. It was all supposedly fixed now, he had nothing to cry about. He was just so tired and this had all been so fucking stressful. Marsh’s offer made him feel so grateful and loved and embarrassed all at once. “Your place,” he answered, strained and sniffly. Clint made himself pull back because he couldn’t just stand there and cry in his big brother’s arms in the O’Reillys’ driveway, they needed to leave. He wiped roughly at his eyes. “Let’s get outta here.”
It suddenly struck Marsh as weird that they were standing outside, surrounded by the Blackwater Woods, and he didn't feel afraid. He usually felt uneasy this close to the forest but the treeline didn't seem all that spooky at the moment. Maybe the witches had some heavy protective magic going or something, that made sense. Still, realizing this made his logical mind yell at him to go, it wasn't fully dark yet but those woods always seemed dark anyway. "Hey, you can safely snooze on the way back," he said almost cheerfully as he headed for the driver's side and that was a good thing, Clint looked about ready to keel over. "Do you wanna stop for takeout or order something?" He had meant to cook but that was before he knew he was driving all the way out here and now it was getting late and he really didn't feel like doing shit other than watching TV and letting his little brother sleep.
Clint climbed back into the passenger seat, a little relieved at that reminder. He could nap on the drive back into town, nap through picking up food, then go pass out on Marsh’s couch. It was also a relief to have somebody in his family know what was going on with him, even if it had taken him this long to confess it all to his brother. “Let’s stop for takeout,” he answered tiredly as he settled into the seat. It would be faster than waiting for a delivery. All Clint wanted to do was stuff his face and go to sleep. “I don’t care where.” He could find something to eat at every place in Point Pleasant. He leaned the seat back as Marsh started the engine up again. That nervous feeling that had been plaguing him everytime he tried to sleep was still there, but Clint thought that might take a little while to fade. He just hoped this magic worked and he truly had no reason to be nervous anymore.