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

Fresh Start

M/n's freshly painted nails tapped against the surface of the counter rhythmically as he watched the seconds tick by slowly. He finished liquidating the last of his assets earlier that day, hiding the money under an obviously pulled up floor tile in his kitchen for his dad to find later. He knew it was pointless to fret but as five a.m. crept closer all the thoughts he'd been having for the past four months were coming back to him.

   Would one of them have to identify his body? Which one would volunteer? Could he have convinced James to do it instead? No, fuck James, James sucks. Would his brother be notified? His retrial was coming up, would him knowing interrupt the process?

   The bells above the double doors rang, it felt more deafening than usual but he recognized it as his own paranoia heightening everything.

   "Hey there big guy, holding up okay?" Sally asked as she walked up to the register, the only time since she's met him that she forgoed grabbing snacks. Instead she immediately plopped down after noticing the spaced out look on his face. "Ooh, nice nailth! What polish ith that?" She cocked her head to the side and inspected the messy application.

   "Sally Hanson's lavish lilac, borrowed it from an ex." He used the term 'borrow,' liberally and held his hand out, fingers bent into an awkward paw shape while she ogled at them. "Thought it'd contrast nicely with my brains later." He spoke a bit forlornly, the absurdity of his statement falling flat with his tone of voice.

   "Aww, M/n, I'm thorry." She tried to shoot him an apologetic look but he seemed to struggle with meeting her gaze.

   A quiet minute passed before he finally asked, "does it hurt?" In a gentle voice.

   "I think it depends." She answered honestly. "I wath viola— well, I think you already know." A small nod confirmed her suspicion and she continued. "Of course mine hurt. Ben says hith didn't, but he overdosed on sedatives before drowning in a bathtub. I think the sedatives did a lot of heavy lifting." She shrugged. "Jack's hurt, I know it did."

   "The party clown?."

   She shook her head. "There's two Jacks."

   "You're kidding..." He spoke with half assed sarcastic exasperation.

   "Don't act too thocked." She snickered. "He'th nice, or, well, nicer than clown Jack. He died during a sacrificial cult ceremony a few yearth ago and came back all gray and animalistic."

   M/n hummed. "Sounds familiar."

   "It was brutal." She continued. "Turned him into a pseudo cannibal."

   "Pseudo cannibal? Actually I don't want to know."

   "It's probably for the best, you should think happy thoughts like..." she paused, clicking her tongue a few times in quick succession. "Like..."

   "Like?" M/n egged her on.

   "I don't know, what do gay people like? Rue Paul?"

   He stared at her in disbelief before scoffing. "Are you serious?" A small nod of her head elicited a deep sigh. "I'm offended, actually."

   She waved him off with a small roll of her eyes. "You'll live." A pointed glare shot in her direction made her rethink her choice of euphemisms. "Figuratively, I mean."  She kept herself from laughing at him as she brushed dirty brown locks from her face.

   "You wouldn't bully me if I got stuck haunting a gas station forever, would you?" M/n had asked in earnest.

   "Yes, I would." She grinned and scooted off the barstool.