It was late afternoon on Wednesday, after the schoolkids were out, and after Dick was off his shift. There were only a few teenagers in the street, some simply heading home, and some looking for mischief. The after-school rush was over, though, and so Dick went to the gas station in search of something other than store-bought waffle mix for his post-shift hunger.

He held the door for some kids he assumed were on the same journey as he was. Like always, Spence was on duty at the register, bored and tired, holding his head in one hand and a soda in the other. It wasn’t unusual to Dick that Spence would be working after-school--there were three other kids helping each other stock shelves just across from him--but he was working in the middle of the night, too, like he was just yesterday. 

Dick whistled at him when he walked past. “Still tired, eh?” he said, leaning on the counter. “Try scheduling your shift when you aren’t supposed to be sleeping. It really helps.”

“I don’t have that kind of time like you do, old man,” Spence said, his voice muffled by his sleeve as he laid his head in his arms. 

“I’m…not old, and besides, I work at Waffle House around the clock, honey. I’ve fought eight starving, horny, sleep-deprived individuals at two in the morning. Don’t you go to school?”

“No.”

Dick pulled back in surprise. “You don’t? I mean, you look like a very tall 12-year-old, but maybe I’m wrong…?”

“I’m 17, dipshit. I dropped out. If anyone here has a baby face, it’s you, ‘Simmons. I was at your graduation last year so I know you’re a legal adult flirting with a minor.”

Spence smirked, trying to show Dick he was joking, but Dick’s face went red as if he’d taken it seriously. “I’m not flirting with you!...we’re only one year apart anyway. Why would you drop out of school? And…why were you at my graduation?”

“I’m with the band. Like…I played clarinet. And I almost had an asthma attack playing Pomp and Circumstance while your slow ass took seven years to pick up your diploma.”

“It wasn’t my actual diploma. It was just a prop. And would you get back to my question, jackass? Let me guess, you never learned how to read or something?”

Spence sighed, and looked away. “I pay for my own apartment. I don’t have time to go to school with a bunch of racist hillbillies, because this job pays next to nothing.”

“Maybe you should’ve stayed in school so you could get a better one.”

“Do you need something? You know you can pay for gas at the pump, right?”

“I didn’t get gas. Just trying to be friendly. Geez.”

Spence glared at him, and for a moment he actually looked like he was showing a negative emotion, rather than none at all like Dick was used to. 

“Keep riding my ass and I’ll show you ‘friendly,’” Spence said. Dick held his palms up in surrender, and Spence let out a long sigh as he hunched over again, laying on the counter.

“Alright. God,” Dick sighed as well. As he was heading to the heaters for the pre-packaged chicken strips they served, two other men entered the building. Dick glanced over at them, until he realized it was the Sheriff and Deputy--two men he had lots of encounters with (not all of which were positive ones)--and his heart dropped. Sheriff Decoy Sterling wasn’t the friendliest person, despite what his curly caramel hair, bright wide eyes, and pale freckled skin would suggest. He wore a tattered cowboy hat, whose rim fit like a dark halo around his head, that should’ve made him look silly but just made him more intimidating. His silver Sheriff badge was the only thing prized about him, because his wardrobe consisted solely of dirty flannel shirts and patched-up jeans. Dick had never seen the Sheriff smile once in his whole life. 

Deputy John Doe, on the other hand, was a lot less serious about his job. Conversely, he wore a suit and tie every day, shined his shoes on the weekends and tried to stay out of the dust and mud (which was difficult considering the rural-born Sterling was his partner). The only exception was lunch, in which the Deputy would go through hell and high water for a single slice of ham. But during Jeff Fitzsimmons’ lifetime, John Doe was sympathetic towards Dick, and so he treated him a lot kinder than Sheriff Sterling did. He seemed to place Dick apart from his serial killer ascendant, while Sheriff Sterling seemed not to tell the difference between the two.

As was usual for them, Sheriff Sterling went right up to the cashier with his notepad and pen, his serious expression unwavering; Deputy Doe glanced around, searching for any packages that might catch his eye. Dick, who had been in that exact room stealing and starting fights the night before, dropped to his knees behind the kiosk, hiding from the authorities.

As Dick listened in on their conversation with Spence, he couldn’t help but notice the three other teenagers stocking shelves, who were right in front of him, placing bags of chips on the lower shelf. They were all staring at him like he was crazy--and, well, maybe he was. 

“Shapiro, sweetheart, we’ve been getting reports of large, horned creatures roaming around town last night. See anything?” the Sheriff asked. Deputy Doe left the counter, looking for something, which Spence assumed was something to eat. Once the Deputy was out of the way, Spence looked towards where he last saw Dick, but he was gone. In his place were his three coworkers, peeking above the kiosk in confusion. When the Sheriff saw Spence looking at something else, he turned around too, in which the three kids ducked back down one by one. Dick put a finger to his lips, then drew a line across his neck as he gestured behind him to the Sheriff.

“Yeah, I saw a little red guy with a spiky tail and a pitchfork. Of course I didn’t see anything. Who called it in? You gotta look at people’s eyes when they’re telling you something like that, Sheriff. It’s silly cigarette season,” Spence replied. Dick let out a sigh of relief.

“Just say weed.”

“Think critically about it for a second: someone reported some ‘horned creature’ stalking around town in the middle of the night on a Tuesday. Think about it.”

“It wasn’t just one person, Shapiro. And tell your auntie to smack some sense into you, or something. I’ve had enough of your sass and any more lip from you and I’ll help you into Skid Row.”

The Deputy’s clicking footsteps were starting to approach the kiosk. As he neared, the three teenagers stood tall for him and smiled. Seeing their strategy to please the Deputy, Dick stood too, pretending he was working as well. “Good afternoon, sir. Can I get you anything?” one of the kids said. The Deputy beamed back at her.

“I’m fine, thank you. I hope you don’t mind…” 

The Deputy knelt down and lifted one of the boxes that was still filled with chips. He took it to the counter for Spence to ring up for him, and all of the kids cocked their heads, including Dick. Sheriff Sterling glared at him, but he fished out cash from his wallet and pretended not to notice. Once the Sheriff’s head was turned, Dick sat back down to avoid further questioning.

“Keep an eye out tonight, okay? If you see anything strange, give us a call,” the Sheriff told him.

“Tell your manager to order more of these, by the way,” the Deputy added. Spence merely blinked at the two as they collected themselves and left the store. Once they were out of the parking lot, Spence went to the kiosk where Dick was hiding. He held a hand out to him to help him up.

“You’re welcome,” Spence said to him. 

“Thanks.” Dick dusted himself off. “What could you have told them, anyway? That I was fighting off the evil demon that was trying to…kill you, or something?”

“I could have told them you tried to rob the store, held a knife to my neck, and didn’t even say thank you for the free medical treatment I kindly afforded to you.”

Dick scoffed at Spence’s cocky smile. “Oh, please. What ‘medical treatment?’ Don’t act like a doctor when all you did was slap water on it and call it a night. I smiled at you and that’s thanks enough.”

“Yeah, right. It’s gonna take more than ten dollars to pay the expense of cleaning your blood off of the floor at one in the morning, blondie.”

Dick shoved his hands into his pockets, searching for his wallet. “Fine! Since you…were soooo kind…” he muttered angrily, fishing cash out of the folds. Spence was smiling, not at the money, but at the fact that he had efficiently made Dick upset. “Take all my goddamn money. Buy yourself something pretty, will you? But I am taking these…” 

Dick started to shovel boxes of cheese-stuffed breadsticks and chicken into his pockets after he’d emptied them of his money. Spence counted the bills as Dick tried to steady himself and his snacks. “And I’m leaving forever,” he said. 

Spence watched him leave the store. “Forever?”

“Forever!”

Spence put the cash in his pocket, shrugging the experience off as his coworkers watched on in confusion and, honestly, horror.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s just a friend,” Spence told them after catching just a glance of their expressions.