Chapter Text
As rare as it is, Recluse can still get sick.
His Souljam effectively froze his body in time, and with it, the full deterioration of his body that he knew would have happened if any other cookie was in his position. Combined with the fact that he self-isolates himself within the Peak with little to no contact from other cookies, it took him by surprise when he woke up one morning feeling ill.
"It is quite ironic," Sage says from where he stood in front of the stove stirring a pot of soup, "that a former healer gets sick because of their lack of care for one's health. I would have thought if you knew the principles of healthcare, you would at least be a good example of it."
Sitting at their kitchen table with a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders, shivering in his seat, Recluse scowled.
"Enough out of you," he responds gruffly, his throat dry and scratchy from coughing all morning.
"No, no. I do believe there is a lesson to be learned from this," Sage says as he ladles a portion of the soup into a bowl. "The lesson being; not even you are exempt from taking at least a little care of yourself, now and then, because you are just as infallible as any cookie, my dear Recluse."
He sets the bowl in front of Recluse and sits down across from him. He lifts a spoonful of soup to Recluse's mouth, prodding at his lips with it. "Now eat. I highly doubt you have eaten anything since my last visit other than the berries I left on the counter."
Recluse turned his face away, his scowl turning into a sneer. "I can feed myself."
"With the way you are shaking, you would have an easier time convincing a mule it is a goat than successfully getting a single drop into your mouth instead of the floor," Sage deadpanned.
"I am not-!"
The spoon is swiftly shoved into Recluse mouth, cutting him off from his tirade and almost making him choke. Sage pulls the spoon back once he is sure Recluse won't spit it out, rolling his eyes at the glare sent his way.
"It is like you enjoy making this as difficult for yourself as possible. Open up- you are not leaving this table till this bowl is empty."
Recluse bristles in his seat, his eye twitching in annoyance, but lets Sage lift the spoon back to his lips. This time, he focuses on the warmth of the soup on his tongue, light in terms of flavor but easy to swallow. His stomach had already rejected water that morning, and any of the snacks Sage leaves behind when he visits. With each spoonful he swallows, his stomach feels fuller than it had been in days, his frigid dough not as bitting.
He only manages to eat half the bowl before he shakes his head, pressing his forehead against the table with a tired sigh. It wasn't just eating that had become a problem- sleeping has proven to be its own challenge with him tossing and turning in bed with sweat pouring out of him. He can't remember the last time he slept more than a few minutes before his empty stomach cramped and reminded him he hasn't eaten.
The sound of scrapping porcelain makes him flinch, and he hears Sage sigh from above, his knuckles pressing against his sweaty neck. "Staying in here is doing you no good, dear. How about we get some fresh air, hm? Maybe that will help."
Recluse shakes his head, the idea of leaving making his stomach twist, and he did not think he could handle another bowl if he threw up this time. How could he leave? Any moment, a truth-seeker could come knocking at the Peak's door, and if wasn't here to stop them and they learned the harsh truth of the world, he would never forgive himself. His last purpose, his only purpose; he couldn't fail again.
Sage clicks his tongue, tapping his nails against the table. "Then… perhaps the greenhouse? I seem to recall passing by it once while returning from the library. Would that be amicable enough?"
A slow nod, and Recluse feels his chair pull back from the table before he is lifted into a pair of arms. His head slumps against Sage's shoulder, the scent of blueberry milk invading his nose and making him relax further into his hold. Sage holds back a snort at the sight.
"For someone so determined to appear threatening, you are quite cute like this," he hums, adjusting his grip as he left the kitchen, and grinned at the finger jabbing at his chest in response. "What? I do not lie, Recluse! You are as cute as button, and as beautiful as the midnight sky. How could I ever refrain from making my affections known?"
Another harsh jab to his chest and Sage laughed. It was funny making Recluse so flustered.
The way to the greenhouse was a mix of long winding hallways and spiral stairs where the bottom was hidden by shadows. It amazed Sage how much seemed to fit inside the tower with its empty passage ways and boarded up rooms. Other than their living space, most of the Peak was inaccessible- some in part because of Recluse, but mostly because many of the rooms have been destroyed.
Ceilings that caved in, or missing floorboards that will send you crashing into the next room, or scorch marks that left behind only ash. If Sage didn't know better, he would assume that the Peak was abandoned.
When he first arrived, the living space had been… bare. The living room was empty except for the fire-place, which was just a pit without anything to prevent the fire from escaping its designated spot. The cupboards in the kitchen were filled with cobwebs and dust so thick he reasoned that he could find a brand new colony of dust mites that had not yet been recorded. The kitchen was missing a proper table and chair, though he expected as much because of those cupboards. And the bedroom…
Recluse did not see the problem as gravely as Sage had. He was no fool- he knew that no cookie should or could live under the conditions he was under, but he was not a normal cookie. What point was there in stocking shelves when there would only be one person eating? Most of the food would rot before he finished even half of it.
What was the point of a table with chairs if there were no visitors? What use was a fire-place when his blankets served him well? What point was there in making the Peak 'hospitably' when no one lived there at all?
"You live here," Sage had pointed out, and Recluse shook his head.
"No, I do not. I reside here, and I guard the Peak from truth-seekers who do not understand what waits before them. But this is no home."
Sage, who had been standing on the balcony at the time, paused. How strange it was, then, to see yourself so clearly in another. Home. What an interesting concept that is.
What is a home?
Yes, Recluse may sleep in this tower, he may hide from the world within these walls, and he may have spent centuries claiming it as his domain, but that does not make it home. How could it be when he did everything possible to make it as horrible as possible?
"I suppose we are in agreement, then," Sage said, watching the town below and listened to their voices.
Even now, it was not a real home.
The furniture did not match, as Sage brought each piece up weeks or months apart to convince Recluse he brought it on a whim. The cobwebs were still in the cabinets, but the spiders kept the insects at bay. And the bedroom gained new sheets and pillows, all of which made from the softest cream-sheep wool.
It was slow progress, certainly, but it was something. A small comfort in knowing that Recluse's suffering was lessened, that he begrudgingly accepted his help even if he bared his teeth first. Sage did not expect him to change so suddenly- that would be unfair of him. He could see it, though. That he tried for Sage's sake and not his own, but he hoped Recluse would find it in himself to care for himself, too.
They arrive at the greenhouse, hidden within the labyrinth of the Peak behind a burnt door with a melted handle. He flicks his wrist, and door squeals as it opens. Sage steps inside and frowns at the state of the greenhouse.
Just like the rest of the Peak, it was in ruins. Dead trees with burnt bark, shriveled flowers crushed under boots, and the false-glass ceiling with cracked frames. But to his left was a stone bench, cracked but stable, and Sage set Recluse down gently. He was starting to nod off, but his eyes fluttered when Sage cupped his face.
"I am not sure what I expected," Sage hums as he looks around the greenhouse, "but, I have never been known to turn down a project!"
Recluse shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. "Of course not. Do you even know the first thing about gardening?"
Removing his hat and vest, he sets them aside next to Recluse. He rolls up his sleeves, shooting Recluse a playful smirk. "Perhaps not the application of it, but what better way to learn than by experience itself? You stay put, and let me handle the hard bit."
Recluse leans back against the stone bench, pulling the blanket tighter around him and shrugging his shoulders. "Sure, knock yourself out."
For the next few hours, Recluse watches with a dazed expression as Sage cleared out the debris from the greenhouse. It was funny watching him pull weeds with a concentrated look, and scowl as dirt clung to his clothes. But whenever he turned back towards him, Sage would flash him a smile and whistle a care-free tune. It was oddly domestic, and made his chest squeeze with fondness.
But maybe that was the sickness getting to him.