A/N: Welcome to How Far We've Strayed. A sort of headcanon fanfiction for the whole creepypasta lot, told from the perspective of Jeff the Killer as the newest Pasta. The idea evolved from the idea of wanting to do a rewrite of Jeff's story, and it sort of grew a mind of its own. o.o All creepypastas, other characters, personalities and franchises belong to their rightful owners and not me. I am just a fan sharing my ideas. :3 No material wealth to be gained.
Heavy breathing rang through the air of the foggy, half dead forest as Jeff in ran through with the hood of his white, blood-stained hoodie up, clutching to his shoulder. He looked behind him, watching as if he was expecting to see someone following him. Seeing that he could no longer spot the street lights, he slowed down. He dodged around a tree and leaned on it, letting out a sigh of relief as he pulled the hood down revealing messy caramel brown hair that fell past his shoulders and brushed against the blotchy, leathery skin of his face and the Glasgow smile that was carved across his cheeks. He stood there panting for a second before letting himself collapse to the ground. He held his head in his hand as the sounds of screaming and a gunshot rang through his head. He finally passed out from exhaustion.
Moments later, Masky and Hoodie emerged from the darkness from the same direction Jeff came from. As they passed by, Masky turned to Jeff and stopped. He reached out to his friend, keeping his eyes on Jeff, "Yo. Brian. There's someone passed out over here."
Hoodie kept walking, waving back, "Wh-why should I give a fuck? Let Master t-t-take care of him."
Masky squatted in front of Jeff and pulled his mask up, revealing his blue eyes, "I think he might be... you know, one of us." He reached out to touch Jeff's scars. "He's got these weird Joker scars on his face." Pulling his hand away, a small scab stuck to his finger and the area on Jeff's mouth he had been touching began to bleed. "Fresh cuts, too."
Hoodie came marching back, "Oh for f-f-fuck's sake, Tim! J-just let him be! If he's one of us, then Master will b-bring him back to the mansion himself! If not, one less i-i-idiot in the world."
Masky moved his hand over to Jeff's shoulder, who was still clasping to the wound even though he was unconscious. "I think he's been shot."
"G-g-good for him!" Hoodie leaned over his friend to get a better look, shoving his hands into the pockets of his orange-yellow hoodie.
Masky put his mask back on and turned around, hoisting Jeff onto his back, "I'm sorry, I can't just leave him out here. I'm bringing him back with us."
Hoodie moaned, "Wh-whatever. If he t-t-turns out to be a civilian though, Master's gonna yell at you, not me. I want n-no part of this."
xxx
Earlier that evening...
Jeff woke up lying on the living room floor, coughing and grasping to his head. Looking down, he saw that his white hoodie was stained red with splattered blood. Looking at his hands they were also stained with blood. He gagged a little as he pushed himself to his feet. He screamed as he nearly tripped over his father's corpse. The body was covered in blood with multiple stab wounds in the torso. Jeff's eyes filled with tears as he stumbled into the kitchen and found his mother on the floor in much the same fashion.
"Liu!" Jeff cried out in a gravelly baritone voice as he ran to the bedrooms. Finding no one else in the house, he fell to the hallway floor and let out a loud wail.
xxx
Back to the present...
Crrrack!
Jeff woke up to the sound of rhythmic cracking. Rubbing his eyes, he found he was in a large bed with white sheets and his clothes had been changed to a set of silk pajamas. The room was almost completely black except for some light trickling in from under the doorway to the side across from him.
Crrrack!
That cracking sound again. Jeff felt around for a light or something, but since his eyes hadn't adjusted, he just knocked something that sounded metallic and hollow to the hardwood floor. He shielded his eyes as a light suddenly came on. The light was a small lamp on a table across the room, revealing that the room was lined with dark purple wallpapers and the bed was made of a dark wood and had a canopy, the drapes of were also purple. Sitting in a dark yellow Victorian-era couch next to the lamp was Ticci-Toby, his mask and orange steampunk goggles covering his face.
Toby pulled his hand away from the lamp, and pushed the side of his head, creating the cracking sound again. "Who are you?" He asked. His voice was a little nasally and had an ever so slight German accent to it.
Jeff clasped his hands together tightly and bit his lip, leaning forward to try and stop himself from shaking. Even moving his hands behind his head and pushing down.
Toby glared, cracking one of his fingers and twitching, "Look, I've... been sitting here for hours. I'm losing patience. Tell... me who you are."
Unable to stop the shaking, Jeff jumped up and came at Toby with his arms extended, aiming for his neck. He stopped in his tracks as Toby pulled out and held a hatchet up erect, pointing the the blade at Jeff's face. Jeff checked for his pocket, but then remembered he wasn't wearing his own clothes. He slumped to the floor.
"We.. took your weapon away to keep you harmless until we could... identify you. We also took the liberty of washing your clothes. Stay... here." Toby twitched as he left and walked out into the hall.
At the end of the hall he reached a sitting room where Masky and Hoodie were sitting at a chess table, half playing, but more interested in digging into the scotch bottle that had been left out at the bar. Masky had his mask on top of his dark hair and was smoking a cigarette. A third boy was in the room, sitting on the couch and reading a book. He had shaggy rust-colored hair that draped over the arm of the couch and was wearing a half disassembled clown outfit with parts of it hanging on the back of the couch.
Toby cracked his head again, this time by rolling it around, "He's awake. He... won't talk, but he's awake."
The clown looked up from his book, "Who?"
"S-s-some lost puppy Tim insisted on b-bringing home with us." Hoodie growled, swirling the ice in his drink around with his finger.
"He had been shot!" Masky blew smoke into Hoodie's face and took a sip from his drink.
Hoodie downed the contents of his drink. "So? EJ patched it up just fine."
The clown jumped up, sinking his thumbs into his belt loops, turning to Toby. "Can I see him?"
"Sure," Toby motioned the clown to follow him. "He's a little... violent. But harmless without a weapon."
The two of them entered the room to find Jeff still kneeling on the floor, staring straight down and shaking. When the clown saw Jeff's face, he clasped his fingers over his mouth and began breathing heavily, "Oh no. Not him, too."
Toby cracked another finger, "You know him?"
The clown let out a heavy sigh as he took a couple steps closer to Jeff and reached his hand down towards his head, but not actually touching him. "Yeah. His name is Jeff. Like Ben, he's an old childhood friend of mine. Not surprising he can't talk. He's always had the worst strain of social anxiety I'd ever seen. Ben and I would sometimes go an entire week and then realize he hadn't said... anything. What happened to him?"
"You... mean you don't know?" Toby twitched again.
The clown shook his head, "No. We haven't been in contact for... I guess it's been about a year now. Not since Jack possessed me."
"Alex?" Jeff said weakly in in a hushed whisper. It almost sounded like whimpering.
The clown, Alex, knelt down, "Yes, it's me. What happened? Do you feel okay to talk?"
Jeff laughed weakly, "Where would you like me to start...? It's been a long night, and I'm still trying to piece it together myself."
"Let's start with those scars." Alex reached out to touch them, but Jeff jerked away. "How did you get those?"
"I..." Jeff thought for a moment then clasped his head.
xxx
Earlier...
Jeff had sat in the hallway, crying for several minutes. He felt something in the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a long carving knife, covered in blood. He held the knife over him, the tip pointed at the base of his neck just above the clavicle and just held it there for several seconds, ready to drive it in. He then slowly let his hands fall to his sides and let out a low chuckle. He looked at his wrist, there was no watch on it, but he looked at it as if there were anyway. He stood and walked back down the stairs to the kitchen and picked up his mother's body, carrying her bridal style to the living room. He brought her to the couch and set her up to sit upright; fixing her curls back into her casual updo, straightening her lilac blouse best he could. He then went to his father and fixed him into the chair, even handing him the newspaper. He went over to the side bar and fixed a screwdriver and a scotch on the rocks, setting the scotch in front of his father, and the other in front of his mother.
He took the knife and carved smiles into his faces, muttering out things like "See? We're a happy family." under his breath. Stepping back to survey his work, he let out a weak laugh as he took the knife to his own mouth and dragged it across his own cheeks as tears began welling up in his eyes again, but he didn't wipe them nor the blood that was beginning to drip off his chin and down his neck. "See? Aren't we a beautiful family?"
He hugged his mother. "Don't worry, mother. You don't have to get up. I'll make dinner tonight."
He went into the kitchen and pulled out ingredients to make ham sandwiches, using the same carving knife to spread all the condiments and cut the sandwiches in half. Pulling out a bag of chips from the cupboard, he added handfuls to the plates and brought them out, setting them on his parents' laps, then joined his mother on the couch and ate his own sandwich.