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Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Based on this song: [link]
Please watch the youtube link before reading to better understand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Panting, the clown stared into the mirror as he tried to ignore the painful urge that had gradually been growing inside him for years. His eyes narrowed, and his fingers twitched as he tightened his hold on the edge of the sink. Calm. He just had to keep calm, and ignore it. He'd done so this long, surely he could last a while longer. He'd already beaten his record from all the years past. Still, it was maddening. Maddening in a way that made his insanity so much harder to deal with. He tightened his grip further, not realizing that he was digging his claws into the porcelain surface of the sink. Chunks of it broke away from the cracking area to fall towards the drain. The sound it made was disturbing- it sounded as if someone were slowly breaking sheets of glass with the weight of their body. Still, he paid it no mind. In fact, he didn't even hear it. He was too lost in the nagging desire that burned within his being.

His grip continued to tighten, to the point that he'd started to break off two large chunks of the bathroom sink. The sharp edges of it cut into his fingers and palms, but he remained unaware of what was happening. Too strong. The feeling was getting to be too much for him to handle. His pants grew heavier as he continued to stare into the reflection of his eyes. He wasn't calming down. Rather, it seemed as if holding eye contact with himself was only making things worse. The eyes are the windows to the soul after all. The key to the heart, and the mind. The longer he stared into them, the further he looked into himself. What he saw, both frightened and enraged him. His grip tightened to the point that the porcelain he held crumbled in his hands, and he began to shake. Not from the pain, but from the sheer force it now took to control himself. He closed his eyes, desperate to escape from what he saw in them. Desperate to avoid what he sensed would soon happen.

A horrific screech burst from his lips, and like a savage animal he lashed out. His bleeding hands met the mirror he'd been peering into. He shattered it to well over a thousand pieces in his attempt to destroy his own reflection, and the painful reality it held. Even after the glass was gone, he continued to lash out. He clawed at the walls, staining them with the blood from his wounded hands. The shattered glass cut into his feet as he stomped upon it, and yet he still remained unaware of whatever pain that should have brought him. Again and again, he attacked the wall. He clawed at it. Punched it until it seemed his fingers might break. He screamed and kicked and thrashed, and he did not stop until exhaustion hit him. He fell to his knees, now aware of the pain that hit him. The glass dug in to his legs as he fell still, save for the heaves of his chest as he attempted to better compose himself.

This wasn't him. He wasn't a mindless, corrupt, murderer. Or, at least that's what he wanted to convince himself. The fact remained that he was, in fact, a killer. That his sanity was far from there, and his ability to control himself easily slipped away. The fact also remained, that not one of his "Friends" were able to live out their full life span. Something always happened. They always- always- died. Not by natural cause, either. He bit his lip and clenched his fists to focus on the pain rather than the memories. Now was not the time for this. He had friends. He had a lover. He was not going to sit by and allow anything to happen to any of them. Ignoring the tears he felt rolling down his cheeks, he forced himself to his feet so that he could leave the bathroom. Not before Slenderman could find him, though. Of course, the faceless being was well aware of his predicament. He was also unable to do anything to help him.

All he could do was find and patch up the clown whenever he broke down. That, was exactly what he did after finding Laughing Jack in the bathroom. He took him to a secluded location in the mansion, and personally tended to his self inflicted injuries. The glass was carefully removed from his flesh. The cuts and gashes were treated to prevent infection, and he was sent on his way sporting a few more bandages than usual. After that, the clown did his best to act as if nothing had happened. Since he always wore bandages, no on really noticed when there was extra, especially since they were only visible on his hands. His socks hid the bandages on his legs. The only ones to comment on the extra wrappings were Masky and Hoodie- and, that was namely because like their master, they were aware of what was wrong with him. He couldn't deny that the look they gave him when pointing out the extra bandages, were that of sadness.

Tragedy was close. He could deny and fight as much as he wished, but it was the bitter truth he'd lived for eons. They knew it, and he knew it. The only ones who didn't know, were the ones who'd likely take part in the tragic events that were to come. The following days were difficult for him. He continued to deal with his internal struggle, but not in solitude. He had to do so in front of those he cared for. Those he knew he'd likely lose as end result of what was happening. Slenderman had the bathroom fixed in private. No one in the house was allowed there, namely because they'd recognize the damage and start to piece things together. Yes, the danger was real- but it was something that couldn't be stopped. Separating Laughing Jack from the others would only prolong the inevitable, and then the end result would be far worse. For sake of lessening the blow, and making everything faster for everyone, things had to continue on as close to normal as possible.

Eventually, they day he'd feared coming arrived. Night was there. He and Jeff were alone, in their room. The horrific urge growing within him had grown so much stronger since his tantrum in the bathroom, and now he was at his breaking point. The killer had been talking to him, but his voice had grown so hard to hear through the turmoil in his mind. Eventually, all around him fell silent. He remembered looking to Jeff, who wore a confused look on his face. The clown could sense that he'd said something, but he held no recollection of what. Then, red.He seemed to fall into a world of crimson for what felt like an eternity, and when he came too, Jeff was gone. Not gone as in no longer in the room. Gone, as in no longer of the living. He knew it, and the others would know it without a doubt. Yet, there was that part of him that refused to accept it. He wasn't able to believe it. Jeff wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

He was just sleeping. He'd just forgotten to put on his eye mask. The red on his clothing wasn't his blood. He'd just forgotten to change clothes and take a shower when he came home. He was just sleeping. He just hadn't cleaned up after a kill. He wasn't dead. He was fine. He wasn't dead. He was just sleeping. He was just, sleeping. Tears welled in his eyes as a pained smile forced itself upon his lips, and he pulled the now stiff body into his lap. Sounds came from on the other side of the door, but he didn't pay attention to them. He just ran his fingers through Jeff's hair. He started talking, but he couldn't tell if it was about Jeff being messy or about him having sweet dreams. A flash of white hit the room, and from his perspective if was the light of the angels as they came to fix him. In reality, it was his remaining friends breaking down his bedroom door. He remained unaware of them, to lost in his self induced illusions.

A sharp pain erupted from his head. Looks like the angels were there to fix their mistake. His vision blurred and he watched as a familiar color dripped from his forehead and on to Jeff's sleeping face. He tried to wipe it away, and accidentally cut his cheek. He didn't seem to stir. His vision darkened to the point where he knew it was too late to keep from fading. So, he succumbed to the darkness. He dove in to it with eager arms. No more. That was it. He was gone. Jeff was safe. He'd be with his friends again, in a place where he could never be separated from them again...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Startled, Laughing Jack sat straight up in his bed and covered the top of his head with one hand. Wide eyed and fearful, his gaze snapped to his side, and relief flooded his system. Jeff was there, beside him. Perfectly fine, and sound asleep under the covers. He even seemed to snore a bit here and there. Shaken, the clown pulled his hand from his head to look at it. No blood, but he had a headache. He'd likely bumped it on the wall in his sleep. A tear rolled down his cheek as he smiled down at the sleeping killer. He was still there. He still had him at his side. He was alive. He hadn't killed him... Yet. The dreams were just there to warn him to cling to the good times while he could, because eventually, history would repeat itself again. Just like it had with everyone else. Fighting the urge to cry, he slipped back into a comfortable position and pulled Jeff closer to him so they could cuddle.

He'd savor what time he had now, because there was no telling how soon the darkness would take him. It could be tomorrow, or the following week. Maybe it wouldn't happen until Jeff was old and feeble. He didn't know, and that gave him all the more reason to take advantage of the present. Sighing, he closed his eyes and nuzzled the top of Jeff's head as he waited for sleep to take him. Hopefully that would be the last nightmare of the night..

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Based on this song: [link]
Please watch the youtube link before reading to better understand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Panting, the clown stared into the mirror as he tried to ignore the painful urge that had gradually been growing inside him for years. His eyes narrowed, and his fingers twitched as he tightened his hold on the edge of the sink. Calm. He just had to keep calm, and ignore it. He'd done so this long, surely he could last a while longer. He'd already beaten his record from all the years past. Still, it was maddening. Maddening in a way that made his insanity so much harder to deal with. He tightened his grip further, not realizing that he was digging his claws into the porcelain surface of the sink. Chunks of it broke away from the cracking area to fall towards the drain. The sound it made was disturbing- it sounded as if someone were slowly breaking sheets of glass with the weight of their body. Still, he paid it no mind. In fact, he didn't even hear it. He was too lost in the nagging desire that burned within his being.

His grip continued to tighten, to the point that he'd started to break off two large chunks of the bathroom sink. The sharp edges of it cut into his fingers and palms, but he remained unaware of what was happening. Too strong. The feeling was getting to be too much for him to handle. His pants grew heavier as he continued to stare into the reflection of his eyes. He wasn't calming down. Rather, it seemed as if holding eye contact with himself was only making things worse. The eyes are the windows to the soul after all. The key to the heart, and the mind. The longer he stared into them, the further he looked into himself. What he saw, both frightened and enraged him. His grip tightened to the point that the porcelain he held crumbled in his hands, and he began to shake. Not from the pain, but from the sheer force it now took to control himself. He closed his eyes, desperate to escape from what he saw in them. Desperate to avoid what he sensed would soon happen.

A horrific screech burst from his lips, and like a savage animal he lashed out. His bleeding hands met the mirror he'd been peering into. He shattered it to well over a thousand pieces in his attempt to destroy his own reflection, and the painful reality it held. Even after the glass was gone, he continued to lash out. He clawed at the walls, staining them with the blood from his wounded hands. The shattered glass cut into his feet as he stomped upon it, and yet he still remained unaware of whatever pain that should have brought him. Again and again, he attacked the wall. He clawed at it. Punched it until it seemed his fingers might break. He screamed and kicked and thrashed, and he did not stop until exhaustion hit him. He fell to his knees, now aware of the pain that hit him. The glass dug in to his legs as he fell still, save for the heaves of his chest as he attempted to better compose himself.

This wasn't him. He wasn't a mindless, corrupt, murderer. Or, at least that's what he wanted to convince himself. The fact remained that he was, in fact, a killer. That his sanity was far from there, and his ability to control himself easily slipped away. The fact also remained, that not one of his "Friends" were able to live out their full life span. Something always happened. They always- always- died. Not by natural cause, either. He bit his lip and clenched his fists to focus on the pain rather than the memories. Now was not the time for this. He had friends. He had a lover. He was not going to sit by and allow anything to happen to any of them. Ignoring the tears he felt rolling down his cheeks, he forced himself to his feet so that he could leave the bathroom. Not before Slenderman could find him, though. Of course, the faceless being was well aware of his predicament. He was also unable to do anything to help him.

All he could do was find and patch up the clown whenever he broke down. That, was exactly what he did after finding Laughing Jack in the bathroom. He took him to a secluded location in the mansion, and personally tended to his self inflicted injuries. The glass was carefully removed from his flesh. The cuts and gashes were treated to prevent infection, and he was sent on his way sporting a few more bandages than usual. After that, the clown did his best to act as if nothing had happened. Since he always wore bandages, no on really noticed when there was extra, especially since they were only visible on his hands. His socks hid the bandages on his legs. The only ones to comment on the extra wrappings were Masky and Hoodie- and, that was namely because like their master, they were aware of what was wrong with him. He couldn't deny that the look they gave him when pointing out the extra bandages, were that of sadness.

Tragedy was close. He could deny and fight as much as he wished, but it was the bitter truth he'd lived for eons. They knew it, and he knew it. The only ones who didn't know, were the ones who'd likely take part in the tragic events that were to come. The following days were difficult for him. He continued to deal with his internal struggle, but not in solitude. He had to do so in front of those he cared for. Those he knew he'd likely lose as end result of what was happening. Slenderman had the bathroom fixed in private. No one in the house was allowed there, namely because they'd recognize the damage and start to piece things together. Yes, the danger was real- but it was something that couldn't be stopped. Separating Laughing Jack from the others would only prolong the inevitable, and then the end result would be far worse. For sake of lessening the blow, and making everything faster for everyone, things had to continue on as close to normal as possible.

Eventually, they day he'd feared coming arrived. Night was there. He and Jeff were alone, in their room. The horrific urge growing within him had grown so much stronger since his tantrum in the bathroom, and now he was at his breaking point. The killer had been talking to him, but his voice had grown so hard to hear through the turmoil in his mind. Eventually, all around him fell silent. He remembered looking to Jeff, who wore a confused look on his face. The clown could sense that he'd said something, but he held no recollection of what. Then, red.He seemed to fall into a world of crimson for what felt like an eternity, and when he came too, Jeff was gone. Not gone as in no longer in the room. Gone, as in no longer of the living. He knew it, and the others would know it without a doubt. Yet, there was that part of him that refused to accept it. He wasn't able to believe it. Jeff wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

He was just sleeping. He'd just forgotten to put on his eye mask. The red on his clothing wasn't his blood. He'd just forgotten to change clothes and take a shower when he came home. He was just sleeping. He just hadn't cleaned up after a kill. He wasn't dead. He was fine. He wasn't dead. He was just sleeping. He was just, sleeping. Tears welled in his eyes as a pained smile forced itself upon his lips, and he pulled the now stiff body into his lap. Sounds came from on the other side of the door, but he didn't pay attention to them. He just ran his fingers through Jeff's hair. He started talking, but he couldn't tell if it was about Jeff being messy or about him having sweet dreams. A flash of white hit the room, and from his perspective if was the light of the angels as they came to fix him. In reality, it was his remaining friends breaking down his bedroom door. He remained unaware of them, to lost in his self induced illusions.

A sharp pain erupted from his head. Looks like the angels were there to fix their mistake. His vision blurred and he watched as a familiar color dripped from his forehead and on to Jeff's sleeping face. He tried to wipe it away, and accidentally cut his cheek. He didn't seem to stir. His vision darkened to the point where he knew it was too late to keep from fading. So, he succumbed to the darkness. He dove in to it with eager arms. No more. That was it. He was gone. Jeff was safe. He'd be with his friends again, in a place where he could never be separated from them again...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Startled, Laughing Jack sat straight up in his bed and covered the top of his head with one hand. Wide eyed and fearful, his gaze snapped to his side, and relief flooded his system. Jeff was there, beside him. Perfectly fine, and sound asleep under the covers. He even seemed to snore a bit here and there. Shaken, the clown pulled his hand from his head to look at it. No blood, but he had a headache. He'd likely bumped it on the wall in his sleep. A tear rolled down his cheek as he smiled down at the sleeping killer. He was still there. He still had him at his side. He was alive. He hadn't killed him... Yet. The dreams were just there to warn him to cling to the good times while he could, because eventually, history would repeat itself again. Just like it had with everyone else. Fighting the urge to cry, he slipped back into a comfortable position and pulled Jeff closer to him so they could cuddle.

He'd savor what time he had now, because there was no telling how soon the darkness would take him. It could be tomorrow, or the following week. Maybe it wouldn't happen until Jeff was old and feeble. He didn't know, and that gave him all the more reason to take advantage of the present. Sighing, he closed his eyes and nuzzled the top of Jeff's head as he waited for sleep to take him. Hopefully that would be the last nightmare of the night..