Chapter Text
The first thing Pure Vanilla realized was just how much pain he was in. His dough felt brittle and hollow, every breath was laborious, his stomach was rolling, and his head was pounding.
The second thing he realized was he shouldn't have been feeling any of it.
He was a healer, he knew what he’d been doing, so why was he..?
The Fount.
Of course.
The third thing he realized was he was no longer in the bathroom. He could feel their soft bedding under his fingers, and the light weight of the comforter pressing on his whole body.
Opening his eyes was a struggle, they didn't want to stay open, and while his vision was just plain bad, it was somehow even worse right now. He could make out the dark sky canopy above the bed, the light filtering through the windows, but not much else.
His head fell to the side, dragging with it a wave of nausea. Pure Vanilla couldn't even groan, his throat was too dry to make sound, and the pressure on his lungs made his breath a little harder to catch. He blinked his eyes slowly, timing how long it took for his nausea to settle even though time seemed irrelevant right now.
Eventually his vision and his stomach settled, and Pure Vanilla blinked slowly as the blurry visage of The Fount registered beside him.
He looked about as awful as Pure Vanilla felt. His starlit hair was a mess, and he could see a few bestial eyes (though they were small) peeking through the messy strands. His face was tear stained and his nose and cheeks were flushed a dark indigo. And his body, well, Pure Vanilla couldn't see it under the blanket, but what he could see looked exhausted, sagging, labored, twitchy.
The eyes in The Fount’s hair were focused on him and they blinked out of existence as soon as he tried to get a better look at them.
The Fount’s own gold and blue eyes opened, “Nilla?” He croaked.
Pure Vanilla sniffled. He tried to say something, anything back, but tears that came from out of nowhere choked any sound out before he could even form the words.
The Fount pulled himself closer, and Pure Vanilla realized that his arms were already wrapped around him. Pure Vanilla was shocked to hear The Fount sobbing. He was squeezed (painfully) tight and could feel The Fount trembling.
“My starlight,” He sobbed, “Please, please, please, don't ever scare me like that again!”
Pure Vanilla was still a little dazed.
“Please,” The Fount pulled back and cradled his head in his hands, “please, tell me what pains you. Tell me so that I may help you.” Pure Vanilla was starting to worry that if The Fount kept crying he’d crumble his beautiful face. Not to mention those pesky milkcrowns kept blooming on their bed. They’d have to fix that later.
Right now, Pure Vanilla was tired. He had his Fount back, so he smiled and closed his eyes.
Mercifully, he rested and did not dream.
When he woke again, it was dark outside. The Fount was still sniffling and carding a hand through Pure Vanilla’s hair. Every now and then he heard a quiet, tearful, “please, please please…please, little one…”
Stiff and sore, Pure Vanilla tried to stretch, but his body would not cooperate. The Fount trembled and held him as if he were fragile and might crumble, “little cookie?”
Then he heard other voices, ones he couldn't quite place, “You need to let him go, Blue.” And slowly, The Fount uncurled himself from around Pure Vanilla.
He immediately missed the warmth his Fount provided and began to weakly cry. He didn't want his Fount to leave him, not again, please, no — it wasn't fair. He didn't even have the energy to reach out to him.
“No, please, he needs me.” The Fount’s hands found his face and gently rubbed his thumbs over his cheeks.
“Blue…for Pure Vanilla’s sake.”
Pure Vanilla could feel his Fount’s reluctance as he pressed a tearful kiss to his forehead and pulled away.
Exhaustion settled on his dough once more and he sank back into a tearful sleep.
The Fount watched as Shimmering Salt wiped the bedspread off and the milkcrowns that had blossomed there withered and turned into salt. Then, he brushed the bed off again and White Lily took his place in the bed.
“She will keep him company so he is not alone when he wakes.” Shimmering Salt put a hand on The Fount’s shoulder.
The Fount allowed Shimmering Salt to pull him away. He kept looking over his shoulder. He wanted to stay with his Pure Vanilla, but he knew Shimmering Salt was right.
He usually was.
Benefit of being The Witches favorite nowadays, he supposed.
Shimmering Salt guided him to another room, the Spire was gentle and led them to the smaller library. He sat The Fount down on one of the couches and immediately sat beside him.
"Now, in detail, my love," Shimmering Salt's voice was surprisingly gentle, "what happened?"
The Fount had been desperate when he'd called upon The Saint for help. Pure Vanilla just wouldn't stay awake. It had been days, nearly a week, of Pure Vanilla opening his eyes, trying to move, and falling back asleep. He knew if he didn't go to The Saint for help, then The Saint would come to him for neglecting his duties.
So, The Fount explained everything: the self harm, the experiments, their last conversation, the Spire's feelings, finding Pure Vanilla half crumbled in the bathroom, the desperate (unanswered) prayers to the Witches, all of it.
By the end, The Fount was sobbing onto The Saint's shoulder. The Saint wrapped an arm around him and rubbed comforting circles on his back.
He hated him.
Hated this.
He should've been back in his room with his Pure Vanilla.
"His body needs time to heal, Blue, you know this." Shimmering Salt was so gentle with him.
"But it's been days," The Fount buried his head in his hands, "I am the origin of all magic, I healed him perfectly!" It wasn't fair.
"Blue," Shimmering Salt sighed, "Not only does his body need to heal, but his mind does as well." He gently pulled The Fount's hands away from his face and cradled his face in his hands. "Something within Pure Vanilla is broken, and it just needs time to heal, that's all."
"But for how long?" The Fount was growing desperate. "A-and I still don't even know what is wrong with him!" He grabbed Shimmering Salt's wrists as his face began to burn. "H-how am I meant to help him if I don't know what's wrong?!"
"Please, Blue," Shimmering Salt brushed away his tears and chuckled, "You'll crumble your pretty little face if you keep crying."
The Fount ignored his words.
Poison.
His mind kept screaming the reminder.
They were all poison.
Shimmering Salt took his silence to add, "When Pure Vanilla is able, he will wake." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to The Fount's forehead, "I promise."
The Fount hated him.
Back in their room, White Lily brushed Pure Vanilla's hair out of his face.
"Pure Vanilla..." She frowned, "Why didn't you tell us..?"
Her friend looked deathly pale, despite The Fount's healing and how many days it had been, it still looked as if he'd lost all his jam and was but a husk of himself. The only thing that reassured her that he was alive was the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
She'd suspected ever since he'd accepted The Light of Truth that something was up with Pure Vanilla.
He often got far away looks on his face when he thought no one was watching, he'd never use his healing on himself, and once she swore he hurt himself on Golden Cheese’s spear on purpose. She knew Dark Cacao suspected something, too, but they'd never been able to prove it. And they certainly didn't want to accuse their friend of something so...distressing.
She'd never felt more scared than when she'd received The Fount's letter. Well, maybe one other time she felt more scared, but this was up there with that! At the time, she couldn't believe what she'd been reading, and she knew The Fount had once been the Beast of Deceit, so after the shock of what he'd written had worn off, she took the letter straight to The Saint. The Saint had been acting...odd ever since.
When he'd first read the letter, the flames on his helm deepened to a darker shade of violet. Then, as he reread the letter, the flames had calmed down. He prayed, and then he finally informed White Lily that they were leaving for the Spire effective immediately. He'd sent another disciple to halt all construction and they left.
White Lily sighed. It wasn't fair.
Pure Vanilla was so sweet, so loving and generous, he didn't need to shoulder the burdens he carried. But...that was just the kind of cookie he was, carrying the weights no one else wanted, making the sacrifices most others would run from.
"What troubles you, friend?" White Lily whispered, "Why did you feel the need to hide this from us?"
Pure Vanilla just breathed gently. In and out.
"We love you, Pure Vanilla." She spoke for herself and their friends, and she even decided to include The Fount in her words, "So please, let us help you."
The following two days were...awkward.
White Lily stayed in Pure Vanilla and The Fount's room, taking care of Pure Vanilla by offering him broth and water in the few moments he would be roused from sleep. She didn't know where The Fount or The Saint went during the night, sometimes The Fount would come and stand in the room and just watch, but The Saint did not.
The Saint was able to convince The Fount to go back to work, and went out to help him. They were never gone for more than half the day. One of The Fount's disciples, a cookie by the name of Black Sapphire, came by and offered his help when it became clear that The Saint would be staying for the foreseeable future.
White Lily was...surprised. From her first impression of The Fount, she assumed the cookies of his realm would be weary and terrified of him. But Black Sapphire, and several other cookies, came by to offer aid and comfort once the news got out that something terrible had happened to Pure Vanilla. Seeing how they treated The Fount, and how he treated them in turn...it made her wonder why The Saint would have painted such a brutal picture of him in the first place.
"Make no mistake," The Saint said when she voiced her thoughts to him, "The Fount of Knowledge is a kind and caring cookie. Nurturing cookies is in his dough, but," they both turned and watched The Fount ruffle the white hair of a little cookie. “Shadow Milk,” The Beast, “is temperamental. The world is his stage and cookies are but stage pieces for him to move as he pleases. It has become harder and harder to distinguish the line between the two.”
White Lily frowned. Something else was still nagging at her, “Saint Salt, sir?”
He turned and looked down at her.
“Why do you treat The Fount with such tenderness if he is still such a beast in your eyes?” She asked bluntly. She’d learned long ago that The Saint preferred when cookies were upfront, “You do not even treat his majesty with such…gentleness.” She still enjoyed having her head attached to her neck, so she wasn't going to outright accuse The Saint of anything.
The Saint was silent for a long moment, he turned back to watch The Fount as he knelt in the middle of the road and began to show the children gathered around him something on the ground. It was strange to White Lily, seeing The Saint without his helmet. He always wore it back in his realm, so to see all the microexpressions on his face was…startling.
“Elder Faerie is kind…and caring,” The Saint’s voice was quiet, “but he knows he cannot replace that which I have rightfully lost. Nor do I wish for him to try…and he understands that.”
White Lily’s own heart ached.
“Pure Vanilla is a very lucky cookie.” The Saint’s voice actually cracked and White Lily looked at him in shock.
By the third day, Pure Vanilla was starting to croak out words (or attempting to croak out words, most of them died in his throat before a full syllable could form) and he most often asked White Lily for The Fount.
The Saint had asked her to keep the pair separated until Pure Vanilla was recovered enough to speak coherently.
Poor Pure Vanilla cried himself to sleep every time White Lily had to tell him, “No, my friend, he cannot be here right now.”
When The Fount had found out his little cookie had been asking for him, White Lily found herself barricading herself and Pure Vanilla in their room. The Spire trembled and rattled as Shadow Milk and The Saint fought it out.
By the sixth day of their stay, the fighting had finally stopped. She saw neither The Fount, nor The Saint anywhere in the Spire (though she could never be sure she’d actually looked everywhere, it seemed like everything was constantly shifting). And when she asked Black Sapphire if he’d seen either Virtue, he shook his head.
“Not for several days now, Miss Lily.” He frowned. “The people are worried, but confident that once Pure Vanilla recovers everything will go back to normal.”
“I hope so.” White Lily thanked him and bade him goodbye.
A week into their stay, Pure Vanilla was finally able to stay awake for more than a few seconds. He frequently seemed dazed and confused, and he continued to ask for The Fount, and White Lily continued to refuse him.
Being able to stay awake longer meant White Lily was able to get more fluids into his stomach. Hearty broths, water, anything to kick start his dough back into shape. And Pure Vanilla was an easy patient.
He’d wake up, ask for The Fount, cry when he was denied, sip whatever it was White Lily pressed to his lips, and drift back to sleep.
White Lily herself was growing exhausted from constantly being on edge any time she left the room.
By the eighth day, Pure Vanilla was able to wheeze out more than a few words. He’d thank White Lily for her company and for her helping him. He continued to ask for The Fount, but he no longer cried when she explained to him why she couldn't allow that. But he refused to answer her questions.
It hurt to get the silent treatment from him, but deep down she understood.
By the tenth day, The Fount and The Saint finally reemerged from wherever they had been hiding. Unfortunately, The Fount happened to catch Pure Vanilla while he was still asleep, so he just stared at them for a long stretch of time.
“M-may I stay?” The Fount asked timidly.
White Lily was about to refuse him, but she noticed The Saint behind him. He nodded.
White Lily sat down the book she’d been reading (it had been tucked in Pure Vanilla’s nightstand and was in braille, and she was much slower at reading braille than she used to be, so she hadn't read very far) and bowed to The Fount as she exited the room.
She looked up at The Saint as the door closed, “Where were you?” She asked.
The Saint just stared back at her silently.
“Is he alright?” She wasn't sure if she meant Pure Vanilla or The Fount.
The Saint blinked slowly and turned away, “He will be.”
White Lily looked back at the door. She wished she could be inside and watching. She knew The Fount wouldn't hurt Pure Vanilla, but she wanted to be sure that Pure Vanilla was okay.
Pure Vanilla was more than okay. He woke up when the door clicked shut and his eyes slowly widened as he realized the normal blur he recognized as White Lily was gone and replaced by the familiar blur of his Fount.
“F-fount!” His tongue was still like lead in his mouth. He stretched his arms out and The Fount immediately threw himself onto their bed and wrapped his arms around Pure Vanilla.
“My Pure Vanilla.” The Fount’s body shook with overwhelming relief. “My starlight,” He pulled back and began peppering kisses on his forehead with each new name, “My love — my heart — my Nilly,” Pure Vanilla couldn’t help but smile, even as sobs began to push out of his lungs and throat.
“M-my Fount, I — I’m so sorry —!” Pure Vanilla was cut off as The Fount sealed his lips over his.
Pure Vanilla melted, but The Fount quickly pulled away and cradled his face in his hands.
“Whatever is wrong,” The Fount swallowed hard, “please, just…tell me what I must do so I don’t lose you again.”
Pure Vanilla couldn’t believe he was still alive. He couldn’t believe The Fount had called on The Saint of all cookies to come to his aid. He must’ve been truly wrecked by his actions.
He felt awful…
“You must promise me something.” Pure Vanilla said meekly, almost scared.
“Anything!” The Fount clung to him, “Anything, my little cookie, ask and it is yours!”
“Do not blame yourself for what I must say.” Pure Vanilla whispered.
The Fount frowned, puzzled.
Pure Vanilla looked at The Fount, “It has to deal with…the Light of Truth.”
The Fount didn’t outwardly react, which worried him.
Pure Vanilla’s throat felt dry. He wasn’t ready for this conversation. He hadn’t ever planned on having this conversation. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at The Fount, and he took a deep breath. “Sometimes…ever since accepting The Light of Truth…I don’t feel like…myself.” He said slowly.
The Fount said nothing.
So Pure Vanilla kept talking, “What I mean is, I feel as if I am a passenger in my own body, and I discovered the quickest way to come to my senses was to hurt myself, so I began a cycle of hurting myself and healing the wounds before they could scar so no one would suspect me. But then I came here and you knew and —,” He began to cry again, “and I now know that you were trying to help me all along, and I know you feared it was your fault b-but please!” He opened his eyes and clung to The Fount, “Please, you must not blame yourself! I-I knew what I was getting into accepting The Light of Truth, I just…” He deflated, saying it out loud sounded childish and ridiculous, a trivial problem compared to the weight and burden The Fount had carried for hundreds of thousands of years by himself.
When The Fount was still silent, Pure Vanilla peeked an eye open.
The eyes of the beast stared back at him. Pure Vanilla’s pulse quickened. But it wasn't Pure Vanilla he was mad at. He was mad — no, furious — at the Witches. In The Fount’s eyes, it was their fault he’d nearly lost Pure Vanilla.
“F-fount?” Pure Vanilla whispered, scared to break the silence.
The Fount blinked and Shadow Milk’s eyes winked out of existence. His eyes softened as he took in his trembling other half. He clicked his tongue and lovingly caressed his cheek, “Oh, my little cookie.” He pulled him into a tight embrace, “Thank you.” It was a problem The Fount was familiar with, especially from his early days of existence. And at least now he could try to find a solution.
The Saint and White Lily only stayed two more days. The Saint made sure The Fount kept working, and White Lily got Pure Vanilla back on his feet. Things were tense.
Awkward.
Uncomfortable.
Pure Vanilla didn't like that The Fount would talk to The Saint before going to bed, he didn't like The Saint just standing in their door and listening to The Fount’s whispers, he didn't like The Saint.
He especially did not like The Saint when White Lily told him about their three day fight and their four day disappearance to who-knows-where.
As much as he loved having his friend nearby, he was grateful when The Saint announced, rather suddenly, that they were leaving. White Lily and Pure Vanilla said their goodbyes, both promising to be better at telling the other when they needed help. The Fount quietly thanked The Saint for his support. The Saint laid a hand on his shoulder and nodded once.
And then they were gone, leaving The Fount and Pure Vanilla alone in the Spire.
Still too weak to do a full day's work, Pure Vanilla sat in the cream sheep fields on the outskirts of the village and let cookies come to him.
It was nice to be back outside, in the sun, and with the flock. He didn't get to check with the farmers and shepherds often, usually pulled to aid in healing someone or help The Fount with something, but the cream sheep field was one of his favorite spots in the whole village.
Several cookies came by just to wish him well and expressed how grateful they were that he was okay.
Black Sapphire came by, a sleeping Candy Apple on his shoulders, and expressed how relieved he was to see The Saint gone. “He gives me the creeps.”
“You and me both, son.” Pure Vanilla sighed. He laid back in the grass and missed the lingering look on Black Sapphire's face before he said his goodbye and left. A cream sheep, which he’d been petting absentmindedly, sat beside him and rested her head on his stomach.
He stayed like that for a while, letting the sun warm his dough. The wind was calm and the air was sweet. He reached down and gave the cream sheep a head scratch, her wool was as soft as, well, cream.
Pure Vanilla smiled sadly to himself. He couldn't believe he’d almost lost all of this beauty: the golden sun, the gentle breeze, the sweetness of a cream sheep, the support of his people…his Fount.
He ached at the thought of him nearly abandoning them all, but another part of him was overwhelmed with how much love was in the world. How much love he still had left to give, how much love would have turned to pain if he had succeeded.
Safe and warm, Pure Vanilla drifted to sleep.
The long grass hid him unless someone was looking really hard for him.
And someone was.
The Fount cocked his head as he looked down at his sleeping cookie. Five cream sheep had come to nestle against him. Two on his legs, one on his stomach, and two around his head. He looked as if he’d been swallowed by a cloud.
Gently, The Fount shooed away the cream sheep. They baaed and snorted at him, but stood up and shuffled back towards the rest of their flock. He scooped Pure Vanilla up into his arms.
Pure Vanilla blinked awake, but quickly made himself comfortable and nuzzled The Fount’s shoulder, “‘z’ i’ la’e?” He mumbled.
“Not terribly.” The Fount answered, fluent in sleepy-nilla, “but if you're going to sleep, you should’ve at least gone home.” And he began to carry him in the direction of the Spire.
“Wa’n’t pl’n’n on sl’pin’.” Pure Vanilla stifled a yawn.
“You never do.” The Fount chuckled, “you just have a knack for falling asleep wherever you get comfortable.” The Spire’s front door opened for them and The Fount immediately flew to their bedroom. “Here, you rest, I’ll be back shortly —?”
“Nooooo, please,” Pure Vanilla whined and clung to The Fount as best he could while the Virtue tried his best to unhook him so he could lay down. “Please??” Pure Vanilla begged prettily.
The Fount nuzzled him, “What do you need from me, little cookie?”
Pure Vanilla looked up at him, so, so grateful he had someone as wonderful as The Fount in his life, “Hold me?”
The Fount melted and smiled, “Of course.”