Cashiering isn't so bad [Creepypasta/Marble Hornets x Male reader]

Three's A Crowd

Two days had passed without any incident. M/n was tired, from staying up late, from spending hours tiptoeing around his own house, from watching out for intruders that weren't even there. At any second he felt like he would be attacked again. He was jumpy, and sick, and exhausted. He just wished he could escape, only for a few days, but if anyone found out he'd be in deeper shit with his "coworkers," than he already was. It's not like his life hadn't been threatened before. It's just the one place he felt safe in, his house, had never been compromised before. And now he was looking over his shoulder, triple checking the locks on every window, and doing a one over before exiting every room.

   At work he found comfort in talking to Sally again but as the hours ticked by and Tim and Brian still didn't show, some deep seeded feeling of disappointment buried itself within him. At that point he accepted the fact that the two probably considered him a lost cause, or at least failed finding him an alternative and couldn't face him knowing he'd turn up dead in the following weeks. He expected it, it just didn't make it hurt any less.

   The clock hit five as M/n finished restocking the store, Sally hot on his tail as she ranted on and on about how ungrateful and creepy this "Jack," guy was. M/n stopped counting how many names had popped up in conversation at this point. Sure, he was still curious, but it sounds like they had an entire building's worth of these people at this point. Soon he'd figure out how right he was but for the time being he'd focus on which chip bag goes where and what to do about the jammed register before Vic showed up for the morning shift. The timing couldn't have been more perfect as he slipped back behind the counter just as the door opened and another customer walked in.

   He didn't find him very out of place but as the clearly younger looking guy shared a look with Sally he realized it was yet another forest dweller. This guy seemed just as normal looking at Tim and Brian, maybe a little sicker and somehow a little more tired looking. He was so pale, so thin, and the bags under his eyes were so big they could've carried more than my grandma's purse.

   "What the hell are you doing here?" Sally asked. "I thought you were under 'houthe arrest,'?"

    "Yyyyy- yeah, cause of- cause of Tim and Brian." He scoffed. "Doesn't count if- if they aren't home to imm- im- implement it." 

   "Touché." Sally accepted his answer before turning back to M/n. "M/n, this is Toby! Toby, M/n."

   "Hey." M/n nodded in his general direction.

   "You know, Tim and Brian rrrr- really weren't lying when- when they said you were hot." Toby grinned, the white square bandage on his right cheek crinkling as his lips stretched.

   "Aha, okay. I'm leaving." Without another word, which didn't matter anyways since the disgusted look on her face spoke volumes, Sally plopped M/n's cash tip down on the counter top and ran off. The signature sound of her bare feet rapidly plapping against the floor. M/n couldn't bear to look at her as she retreated, scared he might crack up while she was still in earshot.

   Once she was finally gone, the two broke out into quiet snickers. Eventually escalating into a chuckle-fit before trying to catch their breaths. Toby stole the stool Sally was using, pulling it out farther from the counter than she had it so he wasn't all up in M/n's business. M/n watched with a small smile as he sat down, leaning against the cash register as he observed how he'd occasionally flinch and twitch.

   "So they think I'm hot?"

   Toby snickered through his nose, a quick exhale as he adjusted himself on the stool. "Brian called- called you cute, Tim said- he said you weren't ugly. I'm just paraphrasing."

   "Well now I'm just offended."

   "That's just how Tim iiii-is. I think- I think you're ho- hot. If it's any consolation."

   M/n turned a little pink as he smiled bashfully, looking off to the side. "Thanks, dude."

   "Nnn- no problemo. Anyways what's your shh- sht- shtick?"

   "What?"

   "Www- well, you're the talk of the town. Figuratively speak- speaking. Our little community has heard a lot about you, I just- I just wanted to knnn- know what the hype was about."

   "Are my charming good looks not enough?" He asked.

   "Apparently not. Other than sell shhh- shitty coffee, what do you do?"

   "Blame my stock provider, not me." He shook his head with a breathy scoff and went back to fiddling with the cash register. "I don't know what you plan on getting out of me, I'm not exactly interesting."

   "I thinnn- nk anyone able to coexist inside the oooop- operators territory without getting their bo- body turned into a morbid Chris- Chris- Christmas tree ornament is pretty interesting." Toby fixed him with a scrutinizing glare, only faltering when his head would twitch.

   M/n spared him a small glance before shaking his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

   "Ooo- oh, I think you do- ooo. According to Ssss- Sally, you do your research."

   M/n's twisting of the screwdriver in his good hand stopped once he mentioned 'research,'. He set the tool down and leaned against the counter using his hand to prop him up, slowly looking him in the eyes only to find their faces only inches apart. Toby didn't seem to care about personal space anymore.

   "Listen, Rogers, if you're here to learn the history of our bosses' shared affairs then you might want to go somewhere else. I don't manage the paperwork, I just do the signatures."

   "You *did* thhh- the signatures, Big guy. La- ast I checked you're nothing but a brrr- oken printer, desss- tend for the scrapyard." He smiled. "I do mmm- my research too."

   "I'm sure, you don't seem like you're built for much else." M/n didn't seem too phased by the jab at his lacking longevity. Toby didn't like that.

   "Yyyy- your shifts' almost up. Don- n't you have a mmm- mom to disappoint?"

   "Don't you?"

   The air around them got thick enough to cut with a knife, it was almost suffocating. Keyword; almost. The fact that Toby looked like he was relishing in it made things less tense for M/n.

   "I think- I think I get it now. You rrrr- really are a different breed of weir- weirdo."

   "I—" exasperated, M/n leaned back to gesture wildly to Toby. "Says you! You just got off to an argument, that you lost. You fucking masochistic." He grumbled the last part to himself. Toby still overheard and he could only offer him a shrug in response.

   "I wasss- n't the one who shhhh- rugged off a poltergeist encounter, or mmmm- made fun of a wanted serial killer, or invited him over for- for breakfast with my mmm- mother, or willingly housed him for the night. Listen, the llll- list goes on." He counted off on his fingers, the simple habit reminding M/n of brian. "Yyyy-you can make fun of- of me all you wannn- nt, but it wonn- n't change your weird nonnn- nonchalance. Even if it's poorly mannn- anaged."

   "... have you always been a smartass? Or was this just acquired at some point?"

   Toby shrugged. "I thinn- nk it's genetic. Anyways," he scratched the back of his neck and blew a piece of hair from his face. "Iiii- I'll see- I'll see you around, M/n."

   M/n watched him leave as he sighed, waiting till he opened the door before speaking. "Yeah, Rogers, you too." His hand rubbed the sleep and irritation from his eyes before he ran his fingers through his hair. He supposed he wouldn't be telling Tim or Brian about this encounter. I mean that is if he even ever sees them again.

   M/n was exhausted, he almost fell asleep in the elevator as he rode it up to his floor and he couldn't help but feel like an actual slug as he clumsily made his way to his door. He slipped in his key card and like muscle memory he slipped off his shoes and kicked them against the wall and out of the way as soon as his door opened. He was just about to toss down his keys when he saw him, and any trace of exhaustion evaporated from his body.

   Sitting on his living room couch was a very familiar brunette and in that moment M/n felt genuine terror for the first time in years.