LOG: Jay, Sam, and Clint - Fightin' Words
Jan. 5th, 2024 05:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsJay tries to bait Sam into fighting him, Clint restrains Jay, then Sam and Clint have a serious talk about carrying too much.Backdated to jan 5
"Answer yer damn phone," Jay said irritability as he tossed Sam's phone onto the couch. "It's been ringing off the hook and Mama's calling you. Why you got her in your phone as 'Lucinda' anyways?"
He was trying not to be angry, he really was but it was like that was all he could feel lately, spark fire or empty vase. It didn't help that Sam's old man was coming over. He didn't want to be picking a fight. He was anyways.
Sam absently picked up his phone and pressed ‘ignore call,’ setting the device back down on the cushion beside him. He adjusted how he was sitting to be able to turn to look at Jay. “On account of that’s her name. Oh also you’re Welcome to hang out in here with me’n’Clint, we’re just watchin’ Mystery Science Theater - I think maybe we settled on Manos the Hands of Fate but I’d have to check our texts to be sure.”
Jay reached over the back of the couch to hit Sam in the shoulder, hard, when Sam pressed ignore call. "You call her back right now, or at least tell her you can't talk."
Under his breath he muttered a disbelieving, "Lucinda!" like Sam had put a curse on her name and shook his head.
“No?” Sam said, shaking his head gently as he opened his phone to figure out which specific episode of MST3K he and Clint had agreed on. “I told her not to call. I ain’t gotta answer her and I ain’t gonna. She and I ain’t on speakin terms right now.”
"The hell you mean you ain't taking Mama's calls!" Jay said, voice rising, shoving Sam a little before punching the same spot in his arm. "She's your mama!" He didn't even realize how loud he was getting. He hadn't been soft spoken in the first place.
Sam didn't get to not talk to their mother, that wasn't something he could just decide.
The absolute nerve of his brother!
“You’re really still takin’ her side?” Sam said evenly, barely even wincing when Jay punched him again. “I’m twenty-six if I don’t wanna take a phone call I ain’t gotta and I don’t gotta explain myself to nobody. I ain’t gonna talk to her until she puts an apology in writin’ or I gotta for one of the kids’ sake.”
Sam tried to settle back against the couch and muttered under his breath. “She ain’t hardly been my Mama since I was bout ten anyhow.”
This wasn't just picking a fight because he couldn't help it now- this was an anger born out of something he couldn't identify. (It couldn't be jealousy. That wouldn't make any sense to be feeling.) "What's you mean, still taking her side? Once she's in the grave you'll be wishin' you talked to her more!" He shoved Sam again, with true heat behind it this time. Even with the good walls in the mansion he was sure to be able to be heard from the hallway. "You can't jus' do that! You don't get to do that! You know mama needs someone and-" Here he stopped for a moment before glossing over what he and Sam both knew- Jay'd be no good to her right now. (She'd cast him out, she should have been calling him).
"That Clint a'yours put you up to this?" He slammed his fist into Sam's arm.
Sam squared his shoulders but didn’t dare hit Jay back. He’d been trained in fighting now, and he’d only just gotten Jay’s blood scrubbed out of his fingernails.Nevermind that each time he washed his hands or bathed he still saw himself covered in his baby brother’s blood.
“Why the hell would Clint put me up to anythin’? I decided to stop talkin’ to Lucinda on my own. I ain’t interested in anythin’ she has to say that ain’t an apology. Clint found out I weren’t talkin’ to her only when I told him. You leave him outta this. And for fuck’s sake Joshua, I ain’t hittin’ ya so can you stop it?”
"Why won't you jus' hit me back and be done with it?" Jay said, going to wrestle Sam into the arm of the couch, his wings giving him the leverage to get over the back of the couch easily. "Why won't you hit me back?" He asked angrily, one hand grabbing at Sam's shirt.
Clint had knocked before he opened the door. Twice. It wasn't his fault Guthrie the Second was yelling so loud neither he nor Sam could hear it. So Clint frowned and opened the door, only to see Jay grappling Sam on the couch. Sam wasn't fighting back, from what Clint could see -- his body language was all wrong for that -- but given the microexpressions he was picking up from the younger Guthrie, he knew that one was about to make some life choices that Clint definitely didn't agree with or support. Nevermind that both of them would probably tell him it was a family matter and he should stay out of it. Calling violence 'domestic' didn't make it any better or prettier or more tolerable.
Without conscious thought, Clint read the angles in the room, the trajectory and velocity of Jay's movements, and for just a moment it was like the world slowed down as he let his mutation calculate all the steps, leaps, and movements he'd need to complete in what order at what speed to put an end to what was going on before it could get worse. Then his brain clicked all the appropriate equations and answers into place and Clint set himself in motion.
Taking one step and then a leap to clear more distance, Clint braced his arm on the kitchenette's island countertop and vaulted himself over it and the chairs on the other side that made the island into an eating area. Next he parkoured over the side chair and table, perfectly avoiding the lamp, and landed right between the couch and the coffee table. He gripped Jay's wrist where it clutched at Sam's shirt hard enough to make his fingers release without actually injuring the teen, then gripped him by the back of his neck even as he braced himself and thrust the coffee table backward so he'd have space for what came next.
Clint used his grip on Jay's wrist and his neck to forcefully lift him off of Sam, avoided the young man's wings, and had him on his front on the ground with one knee pressed into his lower back. Because of all the jostling, one of the pillows had fallen to the ground before Clint's entrance, so Jay's face was twisted sideways on that and the archer made sure that, despite their flapping, the younger Guthrie wasn't doing himself any harm. "I dunno what you were yelling about, but I'm gonna tell you right now -- you don't lay hands on your brother unless you're sparring while being observed. I get your whole 'sibling' schtick. I've got two brothers. But there's that and then whatever the hell I just walked into. Do you understand?"
Trying to twist out of Clint's grip was instinctual, and opposed to the clear talent and experience behind what Clint was doing. Jay's hand loosened on Sam's shirt due to Clint's grip on him. He couldn't hit at Clint to let go of him with his hands, but he had two other limbs, but it was wild, trapped animal panic at being held down by something he couldn't see more than anything else. Of a hand on his neck. How dare this man who didn't know them, knew nothing about the two of them step in and try to get in the middle of a family spat- lay his hands on him, even! He wasn't gonna be pinned down and take this, he wasn't going to take bein' kept still and captive. (His skull hitting the pavement, the glint of a gun, the anger and grief...)
"Git offa me-!"
But then, the hands on his wrist and neck weren't there to harm. Even the knee on his back was shy of his oil gland. This was more like someone stepping in to stop an assault than trying to get anyone hurt. Jay had the realization that maybe Sam had been telling the whole truth about Clint being one of them superhero types. And not just because of how casually he had restrained him either- and Jay'd never heard of someone stopping a fight so cleanly. But he's stepped in because he must have thought Jay would seriously hurt Sam.
He tried to pull himself out of Clint's grip again again while he turned to face Sam, but more so he could face Sam like a man than anything else.
"You really ain't gonna fight me back, Sam?" Jay asked, the anger already burning out of his system, leaving just a sense of tired confusion behind.
Sam jumped when Clint knocked Jay off of him, muscles primed for a fight. “Clint!” He yelled. “Get offa’ him! Git yer hands offa’ him!”
But he felt frozen, like he couldn’t move- all he could see was Jay’s blood all over Bobby John Cabot- but no. There was no blood here. Clint was holding Jay firmly but gently, in the right places to not cause any harm. There was even a pillow under his brother’s head. But Sam’s blood still ran cold at the image of his brother restrained on the ground.
His hands were shaking he realized, and he looked at them hopelessly before looking towards his brother, tears welling up in his eyes. “I can’t have yer blood on my hands again Joshie- I won’t do it. For fuck’s sake, Clint, just let him up. Stop- just- please let him up.”
"Babe," Clint said, keeping his voice very calm as he looked back over his shoulder toward Sam. Goddammit, there were tears in his eyes. Now all he wanted to do was give Sam a hug. "I'm gonna let him go once he acknowledges what I've said. I'm not hurting him and I won't. I'd never hurt anybody in your family. What I walked in on wasn't okay, though. So if we need to talk about this or you want me to leave once I release him, I'll respect that. But I need both of you to understand that nobody's, putting their hands on you like that if I can help it.
"Being brothers and roughhousing is one thing. He was gonna keep going, I could see it in every line of his body, and you hadn't raised a hand to defend yourself." Fucking dammit, Clint could not catch a break -- they were gonna have to have a conversation about that whole 'blood on my hands' comment and if Sam was pulling a freaking Lady Macbeth, he was gonna hijack his own therapist and make Sam talk to that man until he stopped blaming himself for things he couldn't have kept from happening anyway.
Just. Everybody in this goddamn mansion needed so much therapy. So much.
"So - do you understand me, Joshua?" Clint's question was for the Guthrie on the floor, but his expression -- both resolved and concerned -- was for Sam alone.
Sam was crying. Jay hadn't seen Sam cry since their daddy died. He hadn't even seen Sam cry when he was in the hospital, or in the past few days. He slumped, slack against Clint's hold. He hadn't paid much attention to anything Clint said because his big brother was crying and it was all his fault. (How much had Sam been hiding tears from him lately?)
He didn't want to really hurt Sam, not ever, not even when he was boiling angry at him for leaving. Fight with him some to get it all cleared out, sure, but he never actually wanted to hurt him.
"I ain't gonna hurt him, I won't fight him none if he really won't fight back. Lemme up," he said, a slight plead in his voice. He needed to hug his brother, do something at all to fix the wrong he caused.
"Yeah, alright," Clint agreed, releasing Jay and rising to his feet and taking a few steps away from the younger man. He kept his hands out to his sides and his posture nonthreatening. He was taller and more muscled than both the Guthries in the room and after what he'd just done, he had no interest in making either one of them think he intended to use that against either of them. He'd come over to watch a freaking movie. What even was his life these days?
Sam still couldn’t move, but his hands stopped shaking the moment Jay was released. Weakly he reached towards his brother, trying to get a good look at him through the wetness clinging to his eyelashes. “Y’alright Joshie? God- I hope- fuck ‘m sorry - all I could think when I saw ya on the ground was-”
Sam stopped himself, he could already tell that both Clint and Jay were worried about his crying. He’d only cry harder if he spoke aloud what had happened on the asphalt at Julia’s funeral. He hated crying, it made people fuss over him. He wasn’t used to getting fussed over anymore. When was the last time he’d been fussed over? It had to have been before Daddy’s funeral at least.
He studied Jay for another moment before finally feeling like he could look Clint in the eye. “Clint, you don’t gotta go.” He swallowed hard, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. “Please don’t go.”
Jay moved to tackle Sam again, but this time it was in a hug, throwing his arms around him and cradling him to him like Sam was the baby brother. He shushed him and rocked him. He'd caused this, it was his fault Sam cried. Sam never cried- hell, Sam never backed down from a fight. Most of the time, Sam was the one starting the fights. "I'm alright, Sammy, 'm alright, I ain't really mad, I'm sorry I hit at ya." He was a terrible brother, to make Sam cry.He'd already been so selfish and here he was, being more selfish and not even being able to know his own brother enough to recognize he weren't going to take the bait.
He didn't deserve Sam. Sam didn't deserve a brother so ate-up by hisself.
He turned to give Clint a warning look- telling him for all he didn't like Clint now that if he did anything other than stay with Sam begging him to, it would be more than just dislike.
Sam wrapped his arms around his brother tightly, being careful to mind his wings. “‘S okay.” He whispered. “‘M okay. You didn’t hurt me, it’s okay, you ain't’ gotta be sorry, ‘s all okay. We’re okay.”
Sam breathed deeply, visibly relaxing as he began to process that his brother was okay, that he was warm and alive in his arms where Sam could keep him safe, where Sam could feel that he was safe and know it to be true.
He looked up at Clint again and repeated. “‘S all okay. We’re okay.”
Clint inclined his head to acknowledge Sam's request as well as his assurance that they were fine. He also read Jay's expression and nodded to him, too.
Jay spoke more to Sam than to Clint. "I'm think I'll be layin' down, if'n you're alright with that." All of a sudden he was exhausted again, as exhausted as he'd been at the hospital. Maybe it was the thought of the scene at Julia's funeral hainting him. (Maybe he needed some paint for the porch here...) "Let you two... do whatever s'long as it's safe." He finally moved to glance at Clint. It was a familiar line, but normally one for Mel or Joelle and their beaus. He felt out of it enough he hardly remembered Sam was the older brother here.
“Yeah, course that’s okay.” Sam said gently. “Course it is, text me if we’ve got the movie on too loud for ya, okay? You go rest.”
Sam watched Jay get up and move to his room and then looked up at Clint. When he was fussing over Jay he was strong, had to be, couldn’t be anything but- his brother needed him. But looking at Clint….he felt fragile, like he might shake apart. He realized he was scared, not of Clint but of the conversation he knew was coming. And in some way…he was scared of being taken care of.
He took a slow deep breath, just how Clint had coached him over the phone, before speaking. Weakly he tried to convince himself as much as the older man. “I’m okay….’m okay now……sorry I yelled at you……do you still wanna watch the movie with me?”
"Yeah," Clint answered, taking a step forward and reaching out to slip his hand into Sam's. "Yeah, of course I wanna watch the movie." He gave Sam's hand a tug, pulling him in closer. "And... I mean. We do need to have that talk. We don't... have to do it now, though I'd prefer to. But if you wanna wait until tomorrow, we can do that, instead."
Sam leaned heavy against Clint and felt himself relax a little bit. Clint wasn't mad at him. That was a good start. He didn't want to have the conversation, the very idea of havin' it bout made his hands start shakin' all over again. But he knew that if he put it off, he'd never stop running from it. Maybe it was time to try being strong for Sam and not just for his siblings- he'd already stopped taking Lucinda's calls...he could probably do this. He might also put his foot in his mouth bad enough that Clint might decide he's too much of a mess to talk to again, but he could at least do the talking part. He was good at talking, he just...wasn't too good at the sayin' things part.
"They were gonna kill him." He whispered. "The Cabots. Smashed his head into the asphalt till I heard it crack....they had a gun....they were gonna kill 'im. An' I saw you on top of him, and I just.....I knew you wasn't gonna hurt him, I knew that but- but all I saw was Bobby-John on top of him and I couldn't move......"
More tears were falling down his cheeks and he took a moment to breathe, squeezing Clint's hand tighter. "I carried him outta that fight and had his blood all o'er me and then he- he- a knife in his chest Clint, and I had to carry him outta the house and then I didn't even get to go the hospital and I just....Jay weren't really gonna hurt me, he'd'a hit me once and realized I wasn't hittin' back and stopped. I swear he woulda I ain't just sayin' that so you won't be mad at 'im. I can count on about one hand the number o' times he's even started a fight with me ever I just....sometimes I look at my hands an' still see his blood all o'er me an' I don't know how to get it off anymore...."
Wrapping his free arm around Sam's waist, Clint pulled him in closer and tucked his chin over the other man's shoulder. That was a little different from what he'd thought Sam meant when he talked about Jay's blood on his hands earlier, but it fit the general picture he'd painted for himself about Sam as a person. Literal blood, metaphorical blood... it didn't seem to matter. Sam'd assume the responsibility for it and see it on his own skin regardless of where the blame actually lay. He said softly, "I'm sorry you had to do that, I'm sorry the Cabots are asshole morons who can't seem to learn when to back off, and I'm sorry you were alone, that you couldn't visit Jay in the hospital, that it's been weighing you down this whole time."
Clint took a slow breath then, hand rising to smooth up Sam's back until it sat between his shoulder blades, palm flat and fingers spread wide. "But you're here now, you're safe and so is your brother. You can keep an eye on him and you're not alone, okay? This isn't something you have to carry by yourself." Shifting so he could brush a gentle kiss against Sam's temple, Clint quietly finished, "Okay? I'm here, Alani's here - you've got real friends to rely on. And Paige."
Sam clung to him tightly. "I think..." He said after a moment, voice weak. "I think it's worse now 'cause I know it never shoulda been my weight to carry. Lucinda shoulda taken care of him....of all of 'em.....and she cast him out. He needed her and he's never once blamed her for nothin' and she cast 'im out."
The tears were gone, as was the shame that came with getting fussed over. He didn't even feel angry, even though he knew he should be angry at his Mama...why did he even still think of her like that when she only used that against him anymore? All he felt was tired. "I know I need to talk to someone." He whispered. "Paigey done talked me into it. Promise I'll do it." Who was he trying to convince? Himself or Clint?
"I've... I've been seeing therapists since I was eleven," Clint offered. "Comes from the whole... everybody but my brother dying and then running away to the circus to live with sorta abusive carnies thing," he continued. "I'm not saying you have to see the guy I see, but he's in the know about the mansion and mutations and things. And he's not affiliated with the mansion, though they've probably got some really good people they can recommend, if you wanna ask the MedLab or Haller for suggestions. Once he's back on his feet, I mean. Might be a good idea to get some suggestions from him for Jay, too. If you think he'd be open to that."
“Hey,” Sam said softly, kissing Clint’s shoulder. “Ain’t no shame in it, all that matters to me is that you’re safe now……. But Jay….. that’ll be a conversation for Paige…. He’s always responded better to her……”
He fought back a yawn as he relaxed some against Clint. “Can we talk more later an’ just cuddle and watch the movie now? If that’s okay?”
"Yeah, that's alright," Clint agreed. They'd discussed the most important parts for the moment, at least. Which meant he felt okay about moving the two of them over to the couch and sorting out the movie. Then he wedged himself backward and sideways and tugged Sam down halfway on top of him. It didn't take long for them to get comfortable, Clint finally turning sideways and bending one knee against the back couch cushion and his other foot touching the floor. Sam'd wound up with his face pressed mostly into the side of Clint's neck, exhaling against his collarbones while the movie played in the background.
The two of them fell asleep at some point, the movie playing in the background, Clint's arms keeping Sam secure where he'd mostly curled up, and the archer wasn't even worried about the younger Guthrie finding them like this. He'd deal with that, if it became an issue, at some later date.
"Answer yer damn phone," Jay said irritability as he tossed Sam's phone onto the couch. "It's been ringing off the hook and Mama's calling you. Why you got her in your phone as 'Lucinda' anyways?"
He was trying not to be angry, he really was but it was like that was all he could feel lately, spark fire or empty vase. It didn't help that Sam's old man was coming over. He didn't want to be picking a fight. He was anyways.
Sam absently picked up his phone and pressed ‘ignore call,’ setting the device back down on the cushion beside him. He adjusted how he was sitting to be able to turn to look at Jay. “On account of that’s her name. Oh also you’re Welcome to hang out in here with me’n’Clint, we’re just watchin’ Mystery Science Theater - I think maybe we settled on Manos the Hands of Fate but I’d have to check our texts to be sure.”
Jay reached over the back of the couch to hit Sam in the shoulder, hard, when Sam pressed ignore call. "You call her back right now, or at least tell her you can't talk."
Under his breath he muttered a disbelieving, "Lucinda!" like Sam had put a curse on her name and shook his head.
“No?” Sam said, shaking his head gently as he opened his phone to figure out which specific episode of MST3K he and Clint had agreed on. “I told her not to call. I ain’t gotta answer her and I ain’t gonna. She and I ain’t on speakin terms right now.”
"The hell you mean you ain't taking Mama's calls!" Jay said, voice rising, shoving Sam a little before punching the same spot in his arm. "She's your mama!" He didn't even realize how loud he was getting. He hadn't been soft spoken in the first place.
Sam didn't get to not talk to their mother, that wasn't something he could just decide.
The absolute nerve of his brother!
“You’re really still takin’ her side?” Sam said evenly, barely even wincing when Jay punched him again. “I’m twenty-six if I don’t wanna take a phone call I ain’t gotta and I don’t gotta explain myself to nobody. I ain’t gonna talk to her until she puts an apology in writin’ or I gotta for one of the kids’ sake.”
Sam tried to settle back against the couch and muttered under his breath. “She ain’t hardly been my Mama since I was bout ten anyhow.”
This wasn't just picking a fight because he couldn't help it now- this was an anger born out of something he couldn't identify. (It couldn't be jealousy. That wouldn't make any sense to be feeling.) "What's you mean, still taking her side? Once she's in the grave you'll be wishin' you talked to her more!" He shoved Sam again, with true heat behind it this time. Even with the good walls in the mansion he was sure to be able to be heard from the hallway. "You can't jus' do that! You don't get to do that! You know mama needs someone and-" Here he stopped for a moment before glossing over what he and Sam both knew- Jay'd be no good to her right now. (She'd cast him out, she should have been calling him).
"That Clint a'yours put you up to this?" He slammed his fist into Sam's arm.
Sam squared his shoulders but didn’t dare hit Jay back. He’d been trained in fighting now, and he’d only just gotten Jay’s blood scrubbed out of his fingernails.
“Why the hell would Clint put me up to anythin’? I decided to stop talkin’ to Lucinda on my own. I ain’t interested in anythin’ she has to say that ain’t an apology. Clint found out I weren’t talkin’ to her only when I told him. You leave him outta this. And for fuck’s sake Joshua, I ain’t hittin’ ya so can you stop it?”
"Why won't you jus' hit me back and be done with it?" Jay said, going to wrestle Sam into the arm of the couch, his wings giving him the leverage to get over the back of the couch easily. "Why won't you hit me back?" He asked angrily, one hand grabbing at Sam's shirt.
Clint had knocked before he opened the door. Twice. It wasn't his fault Guthrie the Second was yelling so loud neither he nor Sam could hear it. So Clint frowned and opened the door, only to see Jay grappling Sam on the couch. Sam wasn't fighting back, from what Clint could see -- his body language was all wrong for that -- but given the microexpressions he was picking up from the younger Guthrie, he knew that one was about to make some life choices that Clint definitely didn't agree with or support. Nevermind that both of them would probably tell him it was a family matter and he should stay out of it. Calling violence 'domestic' didn't make it any better or prettier or more tolerable.
Without conscious thought, Clint read the angles in the room, the trajectory and velocity of Jay's movements, and for just a moment it was like the world slowed down as he let his mutation calculate all the steps, leaps, and movements he'd need to complete in what order at what speed to put an end to what was going on before it could get worse. Then his brain clicked all the appropriate equations and answers into place and Clint set himself in motion.
Taking one step and then a leap to clear more distance, Clint braced his arm on the kitchenette's island countertop and vaulted himself over it and the chairs on the other side that made the island into an eating area. Next he parkoured over the side chair and table, perfectly avoiding the lamp, and landed right between the couch and the coffee table. He gripped Jay's wrist where it clutched at Sam's shirt hard enough to make his fingers release without actually injuring the teen, then gripped him by the back of his neck even as he braced himself and thrust the coffee table backward so he'd have space for what came next.
Clint used his grip on Jay's wrist and his neck to forcefully lift him off of Sam, avoided the young man's wings, and had him on his front on the ground with one knee pressed into his lower back. Because of all the jostling, one of the pillows had fallen to the ground before Clint's entrance, so Jay's face was twisted sideways on that and the archer made sure that, despite their flapping, the younger Guthrie wasn't doing himself any harm. "I dunno what you were yelling about, but I'm gonna tell you right now -- you don't lay hands on your brother unless you're sparring while being observed. I get your whole 'sibling' schtick. I've got two brothers. But there's that and then whatever the hell I just walked into. Do you understand?"
Trying to twist out of Clint's grip was instinctual, and opposed to the clear talent and experience behind what Clint was doing. Jay's hand loosened on Sam's shirt due to Clint's grip on him. He couldn't hit at Clint to let go of him with his hands, but he had two other limbs, but it was wild, trapped animal panic at being held down by something he couldn't see more than anything else. Of a hand on his neck. How dare this man who didn't know them, knew nothing about the two of them step in and try to get in the middle of a family spat- lay his hands on him, even! He wasn't gonna be pinned down and take this, he wasn't going to take bein' kept still and captive. (His skull hitting the pavement, the glint of a gun, the anger and grief...)
"Git offa me-!"
But then, the hands on his wrist and neck weren't there to harm. Even the knee on his back was shy of his oil gland. This was more like someone stepping in to stop an assault than trying to get anyone hurt. Jay had the realization that maybe Sam had been telling the whole truth about Clint being one of them superhero types. And not just because of how casually he had restrained him either- and Jay'd never heard of someone stopping a fight so cleanly. But he's stepped in because he must have thought Jay would seriously hurt Sam.
He tried to pull himself out of Clint's grip again again while he turned to face Sam, but more so he could face Sam like a man than anything else.
"You really ain't gonna fight me back, Sam?" Jay asked, the anger already burning out of his system, leaving just a sense of tired confusion behind.
Sam jumped when Clint knocked Jay off of him, muscles primed for a fight. “Clint!” He yelled. “Get offa’ him! Git yer hands offa’ him!”
But he felt frozen, like he couldn’t move- all he could see was Jay’s blood all over Bobby John Cabot- but no. There was no blood here. Clint was holding Jay firmly but gently, in the right places to not cause any harm. There was even a pillow under his brother’s head. But Sam’s blood still ran cold at the image of his brother restrained on the ground.
His hands were shaking he realized, and he looked at them hopelessly before looking towards his brother, tears welling up in his eyes. “I can’t have yer blood on my hands again Joshie- I won’t do it. For fuck’s sake, Clint, just let him up. Stop- just- please let him up.”
"Babe," Clint said, keeping his voice very calm as he looked back over his shoulder toward Sam. Goddammit, there were tears in his eyes. Now all he wanted to do was give Sam a hug. "I'm gonna let him go once he acknowledges what I've said. I'm not hurting him and I won't. I'd never hurt anybody in your family. What I walked in on wasn't okay, though. So if we need to talk about this or you want me to leave once I release him, I'll respect that. But I need both of you to understand that nobody's, putting their hands on you like that if I can help it.
"Being brothers and roughhousing is one thing. He was gonna keep going, I could see it in every line of his body, and you hadn't raised a hand to defend yourself." Fucking dammit, Clint could not catch a break -- they were gonna have to have a conversation about that whole 'blood on my hands' comment and if Sam was pulling a freaking Lady Macbeth, he was gonna hijack his own therapist and make Sam talk to that man until he stopped blaming himself for things he couldn't have kept from happening anyway.
Just. Everybody in this goddamn mansion needed so much therapy. So much.
"So - do you understand me, Joshua?" Clint's question was for the Guthrie on the floor, but his expression -- both resolved and concerned -- was for Sam alone.
Sam was crying. Jay hadn't seen Sam cry since their daddy died. He hadn't even seen Sam cry when he was in the hospital, or in the past few days. He slumped, slack against Clint's hold. He hadn't paid much attention to anything Clint said because his big brother was crying and it was all his fault. (How much had Sam been hiding tears from him lately?)
He didn't want to really hurt Sam, not ever, not even when he was boiling angry at him for leaving. Fight with him some to get it all cleared out, sure, but he never actually wanted to hurt him.
"I ain't gonna hurt him, I won't fight him none if he really won't fight back. Lemme up," he said, a slight plead in his voice. He needed to hug his brother, do something at all to fix the wrong he caused.
"Yeah, alright," Clint agreed, releasing Jay and rising to his feet and taking a few steps away from the younger man. He kept his hands out to his sides and his posture nonthreatening. He was taller and more muscled than both the Guthries in the room and after what he'd just done, he had no interest in making either one of them think he intended to use that against either of them. He'd come over to watch a freaking movie. What even was his life these days?
Sam still couldn’t move, but his hands stopped shaking the moment Jay was released. Weakly he reached towards his brother, trying to get a good look at him through the wetness clinging to his eyelashes. “Y’alright Joshie? God- I hope- fuck ‘m sorry - all I could think when I saw ya on the ground was-”
Sam stopped himself, he could already tell that both Clint and Jay were worried about his crying. He’d only cry harder if he spoke aloud what had happened on the asphalt at Julia’s funeral. He hated crying, it made people fuss over him. He wasn’t used to getting fussed over anymore. When was the last time he’d been fussed over? It had to have been before Daddy’s funeral at least.
He studied Jay for another moment before finally feeling like he could look Clint in the eye. “Clint, you don’t gotta go.” He swallowed hard, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. “Please don’t go.”
Jay moved to tackle Sam again, but this time it was in a hug, throwing his arms around him and cradling him to him like Sam was the baby brother. He shushed him and rocked him. He'd caused this, it was his fault Sam cried. Sam never cried- hell, Sam never backed down from a fight. Most of the time, Sam was the one starting the fights. "I'm alright, Sammy, 'm alright, I ain't really mad, I'm sorry I hit at ya." He was a terrible brother, to make Sam cry.He'd already been so selfish and here he was, being more selfish and not even being able to know his own brother enough to recognize he weren't going to take the bait.
He didn't deserve Sam. Sam didn't deserve a brother so ate-up by hisself.
He turned to give Clint a warning look- telling him for all he didn't like Clint now that if he did anything other than stay with Sam begging him to, it would be more than just dislike.
Sam wrapped his arms around his brother tightly, being careful to mind his wings. “‘S okay.” He whispered. “‘M okay. You didn’t hurt me, it’s okay, you ain't’ gotta be sorry, ‘s all okay. We’re okay.”
Sam breathed deeply, visibly relaxing as he began to process that his brother was okay, that he was warm and alive in his arms where Sam could keep him safe, where Sam could feel that he was safe and know it to be true.
He looked up at Clint again and repeated. “‘S all okay. We’re okay.”
Clint inclined his head to acknowledge Sam's request as well as his assurance that they were fine. He also read Jay's expression and nodded to him, too.
Jay spoke more to Sam than to Clint. "I'm think I'll be layin' down, if'n you're alright with that." All of a sudden he was exhausted again, as exhausted as he'd been at the hospital. Maybe it was the thought of the scene at Julia's funeral hainting him. (Maybe he needed some paint for the porch here...) "Let you two... do whatever s'long as it's safe." He finally moved to glance at Clint. It was a familiar line, but normally one for Mel or Joelle and their beaus. He felt out of it enough he hardly remembered Sam was the older brother here.
“Yeah, course that’s okay.” Sam said gently. “Course it is, text me if we’ve got the movie on too loud for ya, okay? You go rest.”
Sam watched Jay get up and move to his room and then looked up at Clint. When he was fussing over Jay he was strong, had to be, couldn’t be anything but- his brother needed him. But looking at Clint….he felt fragile, like he might shake apart. He realized he was scared, not of Clint but of the conversation he knew was coming. And in some way…he was scared of being taken care of.
He took a slow deep breath, just how Clint had coached him over the phone, before speaking. Weakly he tried to convince himself as much as the older man. “I’m okay….’m okay now……sorry I yelled at you……do you still wanna watch the movie with me?”
"Yeah," Clint answered, taking a step forward and reaching out to slip his hand into Sam's. "Yeah, of course I wanna watch the movie." He gave Sam's hand a tug, pulling him in closer. "And... I mean. We do need to have that talk. We don't... have to do it now, though I'd prefer to. But if you wanna wait until tomorrow, we can do that, instead."
Sam leaned heavy against Clint and felt himself relax a little bit. Clint wasn't mad at him. That was a good start. He didn't want to have the conversation, the very idea of havin' it bout made his hands start shakin' all over again. But he knew that if he put it off, he'd never stop running from it. Maybe it was time to try being strong for Sam and not just for his siblings- he'd already stopped taking Lucinda's calls...he could probably do this. He might also put his foot in his mouth bad enough that Clint might decide he's too much of a mess to talk to again, but he could at least do the talking part. He was good at talking, he just...wasn't too good at the sayin' things part.
"They were gonna kill him." He whispered. "The Cabots. Smashed his head into the asphalt till I heard it crack....they had a gun....they were gonna kill 'im. An' I saw you on top of him, and I just.....I knew you wasn't gonna hurt him, I knew that but- but all I saw was Bobby-John on top of him and I couldn't move......"
More tears were falling down his cheeks and he took a moment to breathe, squeezing Clint's hand tighter. "I carried him outta that fight and had his blood all o'er me and then he- he- a knife in his chest Clint, and I had to carry him outta the house and then I didn't even get to go the hospital and I just....Jay weren't really gonna hurt me, he'd'a hit me once and realized I wasn't hittin' back and stopped. I swear he woulda I ain't just sayin' that so you won't be mad at 'im. I can count on about one hand the number o' times he's even started a fight with me ever I just....sometimes I look at my hands an' still see his blood all o'er me an' I don't know how to get it off anymore...."
Wrapping his free arm around Sam's waist, Clint pulled him in closer and tucked his chin over the other man's shoulder. That was a little different from what he'd thought Sam meant when he talked about Jay's blood on his hands earlier, but it fit the general picture he'd painted for himself about Sam as a person. Literal blood, metaphorical blood... it didn't seem to matter. Sam'd assume the responsibility for it and see it on his own skin regardless of where the blame actually lay. He said softly, "I'm sorry you had to do that, I'm sorry the Cabots are asshole morons who can't seem to learn when to back off, and I'm sorry you were alone, that you couldn't visit Jay in the hospital, that it's been weighing you down this whole time."
Clint took a slow breath then, hand rising to smooth up Sam's back until it sat between his shoulder blades, palm flat and fingers spread wide. "But you're here now, you're safe and so is your brother. You can keep an eye on him and you're not alone, okay? This isn't something you have to carry by yourself." Shifting so he could brush a gentle kiss against Sam's temple, Clint quietly finished, "Okay? I'm here, Alani's here - you've got real friends to rely on. And Paige."
Sam clung to him tightly. "I think..." He said after a moment, voice weak. "I think it's worse now 'cause I know it never shoulda been my weight to carry. Lucinda shoulda taken care of him....of all of 'em.....and she cast him out. He needed her and he's never once blamed her for nothin' and she cast 'im out."
The tears were gone, as was the shame that came with getting fussed over. He didn't even feel angry, even though he knew he should be angry at his Mama...why did he even still think of her like that when she only used that against him anymore? All he felt was tired. "I know I need to talk to someone." He whispered. "Paigey done talked me into it. Promise I'll do it." Who was he trying to convince? Himself or Clint?
"I've... I've been seeing therapists since I was eleven," Clint offered. "Comes from the whole... everybody but my brother dying and then running away to the circus to live with sorta abusive carnies thing," he continued. "I'm not saying you have to see the guy I see, but he's in the know about the mansion and mutations and things. And he's not affiliated with the mansion, though they've probably got some really good people they can recommend, if you wanna ask the MedLab or Haller for suggestions. Once he's back on his feet, I mean. Might be a good idea to get some suggestions from him for Jay, too. If you think he'd be open to that."
“Hey,” Sam said softly, kissing Clint’s shoulder. “Ain’t no shame in it, all that matters to me is that you’re safe now……. But Jay….. that’ll be a conversation for Paige…. He’s always responded better to her……”
He fought back a yawn as he relaxed some against Clint. “Can we talk more later an’ just cuddle and watch the movie now? If that’s okay?”
"Yeah, that's alright," Clint agreed. They'd discussed the most important parts for the moment, at least. Which meant he felt okay about moving the two of them over to the couch and sorting out the movie. Then he wedged himself backward and sideways and tugged Sam down halfway on top of him. It didn't take long for them to get comfortable, Clint finally turning sideways and bending one knee against the back couch cushion and his other foot touching the floor. Sam'd wound up with his face pressed mostly into the side of Clint's neck, exhaling against his collarbones while the movie played in the background.
The two of them fell asleep at some point, the movie playing in the background, Clint's arms keeping Sam secure where he'd mostly curled up, and the archer wasn't even worried about the younger Guthrie finding them like this. He'd deal with that, if it became an issue, at some later date.
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Date: 2024-01-08 03:02 am (UTC)(Mari already knows but my live response was "Oh, okay, alright, this is happening, wait, no, Clint, do not. Clint no! Oh no, Guthries, please god someone protect them (and make Lucinda a better mother), so they can work things out and live long happy lives")