Laughing Jack: How To Put A Jack In The Box Back In The Box (Laughing JackxOC)

Chapter 8: That Look In One's Eye

"Alright then, Dylan, it seems you should be able to resume your normal daily routine," Dr. Courter remarked, his fingers swiftly dancing across the keyboard as he recorded their discussion.

"Thank you, Dr. Courter," Dylan replied calmly, despite the persistent prodding of Laughing Jack, whose antics he chose to disregard. With an exasperated sigh, Laughing Jack hung upside down beside Dylan, an invisible companion that only he could perceive, perhaps for the best.

"Regarding your migraines, how are you finding the prescribed medications?" Dr. Courter inquired, adjusting their glasses and turning their attention back to Dylan.

"Well, they haven't been quite as effective as we had hoped," Dylan admitted, though he had long accepted their limited efficacy. Beyond the concussion, daily headaches plagued him, offering only temporary respite from the pills before intensifying.

"I see. Have you been actively avoiding stressful situations?" Dr. Courter queried, pen poised over the notepad as they resumed their professional demeanor.

"Of course, to the best of my ability," Dylan responded, though the reality of his stressful existence weighed heavily upon him. The doctor's words grated on his nerves, each admonition seeming to exacerbate the throbbing ache in his head. He tuned out the lecture on stress management, wishing the doctor would simply cease speaking. Every syllable uttered by them irked him, and he entertained fleeting fantasies of wiping the apologetic expression from their face to relieve the sharp pain in his skull.

"And have you been attending your therapy sessions regularly?" Dr. Courter pressed, snapping Dylan back to attention.

"They've been out of town," Dylan replied curtly. His therapist was one of the few things his father bothered to pay for, aside from child support, at least until Dylan turned 18 and discovered his mother had been diverting the funds to fuel her addiction or her boyfriend's vices. Since then, Dylan ensured any money sent his way went directly into his own bank account. Yet, the therapist sessions felt like a hollow gesture from his absentee father, a feeble attempt at parenting while preoccupied with his new family in another state. Dylan harbored a deep resentment towards these sessions; they offered him no solace, only dispensing trite advice he neither wanted nor needed. It grated on him, the pretense of care from those who claimed to want to help, their efforts only serving to exacerbate his frustration and sense of isolation.

Laughing Jack POV.

As Dylan droned on, discussing the intricate details of his medical condition with the doctor, Laughing Jack felt an insatiable itch crawl under his skin. The sterile smell of the hospital, the monotonous beeping of machines, and the endless chatter were like a slow torture for him. He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on the medical instruments, envisioning them in a much darker purpose.

"Come on, Dylan," he muttered under his breath, his patience wearing thin like a frayed thread. "When can we leave this dreary place?" Each passing second fueled his growing bloodlust, a primal urge clawing at his insides, demanding release.

His fingers tapped impatiently against his leg, craving the thrill of the hunt, but the cursed box held him captive, restricting his freedom to roam and satisfy his hunger for chaos. He longed to sink his claws into fresh flesh, to hear the sweet symphony of a child's screams echoing in his ears. As Dylan remained engrossed in conversation, oblivious to Jack's mounting frustration, the clown's mind wandered to darker fantasies. With a malicious grin, he swung himself upside down on the treatment bed, his eyes glinting with manic anticipation. The candy in his mouth tasted stale compared to the metallic tang of blood that teased his senses. In that moment, laughter turned to a chilling silence as Jack's boredom morphed into a thirst for violence. His fingers curled into claws, yearning to rend and tear, to paint the sterile walls crimson. Dylan's obliviousness only fueled Jack's rage, pushing him closer to the edge of sanity.

He glanced up at Dylan, who appeared outwardly calm but bore a hint of boredom that failed to mask an unsettling glint in his eyes. It was a look that stirred a chilling familiarity within Jack, one he had encountered in the presence of the Slender-Maner. It was the gaze of someone harboring a primal desire to inflict violence, to shatter bone and spill blood without remorse. A spark of recognition flickered in Jack's mind, sending a shiver of excitement down his spine. The realization sent a thrill coursing through him, a twisted delight at the prospect of witnessing such raw, unbridled aggression outside the realm of the Slender-Maner. His lips curled into a wicked grin, his amusement heightened by the rarity of encountering such darkness in the mundane world.

"How intriguing... Perhaps Little Mouse won't be as dull as I initially presumed," he mused, his gaze fixed on Dylan with newfound interest. Perhaps this human wouldn't be as dull as he initially presumed. The flicker of darkness in their eyes hinted at a potential for chaos, a tantalizing prospect that promised to alleviate his eternal boredom, at least for a while. It had been decades since he had encountered someone with such a captivating aura of latent violence, not since the days before he had unleashed his wrath upon poor Isaac.

As he contemplated the possibilities, a wicked grin tugged at the corners of his lips. How long, he wondered, would it take for that fragile façade of sanity to crumble? And when it did, oh, the exquisite pleasure of molding them into a creature of carnage, a willing puppet in his twisted theater of bloodshed.

The thought sent a thrill coursing through him, reigniting the flames of his insatiable bloodlust. He relished the idea of guiding Little Mouse down the dark path of depravity, of nurturing the dormant seeds of savagery until they blossomed into a beautiful symphony of chaos.

With a sinister chuckle, he leaned closer to Little Mouse, his eyes alight with manic anticipation. Oh yes, he thought, this was going to be delightful.

Authors Note: Isn't Laughing Jack Just the silliest lil guy ever? He's just a lil goober