Chapter Text
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Shadow Milk did not, in fact, tell Pure Vanilla Cookie that the Light of Deceit said hi. Nor see Pure Vanilla at all, in fact. It is not as though Shadow Milk Cookie did not seek him out—he did. Well, he attempted to, but Pure Vanilla wasn’t there.
The gardens?
Pure Vanilla wasn’t there.
His chambers?
Pure Vanilla wasn’t there.
The kitchens?
Pure Vanilla wasn’t there.
Shadow Milk scaled the entirety of the castle, yet Pure Vanilla wasn’t there. Shadow Milk even checked the pastures, figuring the king must be spending time with his damned sheep, but, once again, no sign of the Ancient of Truth. By this point, he was mentally exhausted, and very fed up. So, naturally, Shadow Milk retreated to Pure Vanilla Cookie’s bedroom; waiting for the Hero of Truth to return while he curls up under the bed, in the form of a small black cat. This position was…oddly comfortable. Shadow Milk felt as though he could drift off then and there. He’d been searching for so long…it’s only fair he gets some rest. Shadow Milk shuts his eyes, giving into the soft embrace of sleep—one he has not indulged in for a while.
That was the plan, anyway. Until the door bursted open, Pure Vanilla’s agitated form bustling in. He appears to be frantically muttering under his breath, frown prominent on his disgustingly perfect face.
What? Where did that thought come from?…Shadow Milk pushes it aside. Not important. Shadow Milk shifts his form so he can sneak along the shadows, getting a better view.
Pure Vanilla Cookie heaves a heavy sigh, shoulders sagging as he unpins his Soul Jam, setting the broach aside before continuing to remove his outer robes-
Oh. He’s undressing himself, Shadow Milk quickly registers, crawling back under the bed.
A few moments later, the mattress dips, and Shadow Milk takes this as a sign that the healer has changed into his nightclothes at last. Another sigh can be heard, before the rustling of paper. Pure Vanilla is reading, perhaps?
Shadow Milk waits a few minutes before taking a sneak peak, discovering Pure Vanilla is not reading, he is instead working, brows furrowed as he reads pages upon pages of paperwork.
That won’t do, now will it? Not after how terribly long Shadow Milk has been waiting. And he does feel incredibly company-deprived.
Shadow Milk Cookie shifts back into his previous feline form, casually strolling out from underneath the bed and leaping up onto the covers. He plops himself down beside Pure Vanilla, curling up and allowing his eyes to flutter closed.
The movement draws Pure Vanilla’s attention; he looks over, a smile tugging at his lips as he sets his paperwork onto his bedside table and turns all attention to the kitty now sharing a bed with him. Hands now free, Pure Vanilla reaches over, gently scritching behind the cat’s ears.
The cat, to his own displeasure, begins to purr. Pure Vanilla lets out a revolting chuckle.
“Hello, my friend. I missed you.” comes that honey-sweet voice, smooth as butter.
Shadow Milk gives a hiss, though it’s half-hearted. He rolls over onto his back, melting into the affection and giving Pure Vanilla access to his belly. The ancient rubs small circles on the area he’s newly been given access to, and if the purring from a certain shapeshifting cookie became louder, that was between him and the cat.
After a while of this, Pure Vanilla Cookie suddenly scoops the small form up and onto his lap. The cat leans up scratches at Pure Vanilla’s face angrily—the latter simply heals himself and continues devoting attention to the small kitty. A few beats pass, and Shadow Milk Cookie begins drifting off, before finally comes to his senses and realises what the damn hell he was doing. Upon realising such, he hisses, jumping off of Pure Vanilla’s lap with a sour expression on his fur covered face.
Pure Vanilla Cookie frowns. “What’s the matter? Did I hurt you, little one?”
…
Little one?
Perhaps Pure Vanilla didn’t even realise it was Shadow Milk in the body he was so willingly petting. Shadow Milk paces back in his mind, trying to recall any indication the healer could tell.
Nevermind, Pure Vanilla Cookie definitely knew. It’s a shame, really. Shadow Milk was quite enjoying that—not that he’d ever tell a soul.
“Shadow Milk?”
That brings Shadow Milk back to the present scene. He sighs, deciding to give up as he shuts his eyes once more and allows his original form to gather around him. Now, Shadow Milk lies on the bed staring up at Pure Vanilla, in cookie-form this time. “What?”
Shadow Milk Cookie…Shadow Milk
Cookie looks tired, Pure Vanilla thinks. The jester’s blue tinted face reveals dark eye-bags resting on his under eyes, prominent enough for Pure Vanilla’s poor eyesight to spot. He hadn’t noticed them before—but now, with Shadow Milk so close, they are increasingly obvious.
“When was the last time you slept?” Pure Vanilla asks gently.
Shadow Milk Cookie barks a laugh. “Hah! I don’t need to sleep,” Pure Vanilla’s frown only deepens. “Fun thing about immortality. Sleep is not a requirement for my—for our—existence.”
“That does not mean you cannot benefit from it.”
“Ah, ah! I don’t need it, my dear Silly Vanilly!” The Beast of Deceit can taste his own lie on the tip of his tongue. Sure, his existence doesn’t require sleep, but that doesn’t mean Shadow Milk does not find the experience enjoyable. Which is why it is so very frustrating that he is plagued with dough-trembling, heart-wrenching night terrors.
“Benefits this, benefits that. It’s not necessary, so what’s the point?” Shadow Milk’s head hurts. He doesn’t feel like arguing.
“I would really appreciate it if you got some sleep.”
“Pass!” Shadow Milk retorts. “Besides, why would I ever willingly do something you’d appreciate? That’d go against everything I stand for!” Shadow Milk floats off the bed, despite the refusal coming from the pounding in his head. He crosses his legs in the air, trademark jester smile in place. “Anyways, unless you have a more interesting idea to propose, I think I shall be on my way.”
“I would, my friend.”
“You would what?”
“I truly would play with you, but I have had a much eventful day. I am simply exhausted. I do apologise. Perhaps I shall see you in the morning?” Pure Vanilla Cookie tilts his head politely.
“Should you be so lucky,” Shadow Milk cocks an eyebrow. “And what do you mean by eventful? Anything interesting happen?”
Pure Vanilla attempts a light laugh. “Hah…well, a small child got bitten by a cakehound, and the professionals asked me to take a look since they were worried it may be infected.” Pure Vanilla closes his eyes. “It was not. They found the cakehound, and he turned out to have bitten into something that had stained his teeth hours prior, staining the young cookie’s dough in turn. And then, of course, I was in and out of meetings—you know how that goes. Not to mention paperwork…” he sighs. “I hate how everyone still treats me like I’m royalty.”
“You are royalty, Nilly.”
Pure Vanilla’s eyes crack open. “No, I’m not. Not anymore. I gave up my title of monarch long ago, but I suppose even an abdicated king cannot have his rest.”
Unwavering titles. Shadow Milk is unwillingly acquainted with them. “Cookies. So selfish, they’ll never allow others to rest. Never give them a chance to breathe. So lost in their own delusions, they’d rather hear a sweet lie than the cold, harsh truth. Never willing to face the facts others present to them. I gave up on truth long ago. Perhaps you should too, Pure Vanilla Cookie. There’s never any good to come of it. Or are you still deluding yourself with those pretty lies and false beliefs of yours, hm?” Shadow Milk rolls over mid-air, resting on his back as he tucks his hands behind his head and shuts his eyes. Pure Vanilla simply stares at him with pity. “Besides, I liked you better as Truthless Recluse anyway. Black and blue make for far finer attire than that stuffy gold and white facade you’ve got going on.” Shadow Milk drawls.
“Pointing fingers at my wardrobe choices now? My, you really are cruel.”
“Yes. I am. Which is why I have half the mind to stay here and ambush you all night.”
Pure Vanilla sighs. “Please do not. As much as I value your company, I also value my sleep.”
Shadow Milk ignores the strange stir in his Soul Jam that second comment brings.
“Boring. Really, why would anyone willingly be unconscious for eight hours?” Shadow Milk pivots again, giving Pure Vanilla a falsely offended look. The latter merely chuckles in response. “Well, firstly, because those eight hours of unconsciousness are both a priority and a requirement for most cookies’ existence. Secondly, I’d be overjoyed if I achieved eight hours of sleep,” Pure Vanilla gives Shadow Milk a look—somewhat a knowing one. “You see, I have been suffering from terrible nightmares, as of late.”
“Aww, brain giving you a tough time, doll?” Shadow Milk taunts, ignoring the strange look Pure Vanilla is giving him.
“Quite.” Pure Vanilla stands up, pulling back the covers of his bed and climbing in. “I’d like to get into bed now, if you don’t mind.” Pure Vanilla smiles, somewhat smugly. “You are welcome to stay, if you’d like to join me.”
Shadow Milk ignores the flush on his cheeks, smirking. “My, my! Bold, are we. You wish a cookie as great as I would even consider joining you.”
“It was worth a shot.”
Intrepid. Pure Vanilla truly is tired.
“Don’t be coy with me, Pure Vanilla Cookie.”
Pure Vanilla hums. “Don’t give me reason to.”
“Oh, you flatter me, truly.” Shadow Milk coos.
Pure Vanilla shifts deeper under the covers, resting his head on his pillow and shutting his eyes. Shadow Milk blinks a couple times. “Wow, really just gonna fall asleep on me like that?”
“I’m trying to. You’re making it increasingly difficult.”
Shadow Milk scoffs in disbelief. “Fine.” With that, he disappears into a puff of overly theatric smoke.
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Shadow Milk lies on his bed, staring up into the milky abyss curated overhead. He remains completely still, only movement the slow rise and fall of his chest and resilient blinking of his eyes. He is so tired. But he mustn’t give in. He can’t. He can’t go back. Shadow Milk feels his eyelids drooping. Just a few minutes. He’ll wake up before it gets bad.
He’s in control.
Giving in, Shadow Milk Cookie allows his eyes to slip shut, rolling over as he enters slumber.
“Fount Of Knowledge! You’re back! Please, master, how do I solve this question?”
Shadow Milk looks down at himself. No, not Shadow Milk. He is the Fount Of Knowledge, blessed with all power imaginable, the pure image of wisdom.
“Fount Of Knowledge!!! Over here!”
“Fount! What is our purpose?” The Fount freezes. That’s not part of the script. That’s not how this is ever supposed to go.
“Yes, Fount Of Knowledge! Tell us, why were we, cookies, created?”
“Do the Witches love us?”
“Is it true that we were baked to be eaten?”
“Pray tell, oh wise Fount, could you tell me if Rose Plum Cookie reciprocates my feelings?”
“Why must we walk on these frail legs?”
“Is it true that the Witches love us?”
“Are the Witches really our creators?”
Fount feels dizzy. He has to answer their questions, that is his job. That is his purpose. A voice rings in the back of his head; “Go on then, little Fount. Answer their queries, why don’t you? You have all the required answers, after all. Do you not?”
“Yes.” The Fount Of Knowledge whispers. “Yes, I do.”
Images of cookies being torn apart limb by limb, dipped in their own jam and carelessly tossed into wide, open mouths flood into the Fount’s mind. The sound of crunching grinds in his ears. He pants. No. He must regain composure. He has been given a purpose, one he needs to fulfil. One he must fulfil. No matter what. Thats how he had been taught.
“No matter what, my little Fount.”
“No matter what, mama!”
A conversation shared between creator and creation. Mother and son.
But Fount hasn’t seen First Milk in a long time.
“She’s forgotten about you.” That voice in the back of his head rings again, louder than the ones surrounding him from below. The scene shifts, showing burning kingdoms and a crazed smile peering down from above—his own smile. His own face. “You are a failed experiment. A flawed creation. And when you finally cracked, she left you. She never loved you, anyway.” The voice cackles harshly. “Did you really think she could love something like you? A monster?”
Fount falls to his knees. “I…I’m not a monster! Why are you here again? What do you want from me?” He sobs, hot tears falling down his face before he even registers them himself.
“I don’t want anything from you. No one does. Not anymore.” The voice taunts. A cracked mirror appears in front of Fount’s face, his reflection jagged and wrong. “Take a look at yourself. What you’ve become.”
Fount Of Knowledge trembles. “I’m what I always have been. The Fount Of Knowledge. That’s my purpose. Who I am.”
“No, Shadow Milk Cookie,” the name rings familiar in Fount’s ears. “You haven’t been him in a long time, have you?”
The reflection shifts, showing Shadow Milk Cookie, as he is, his own trembling, tear streaked form staring back at him.
He stands, chin high. “No, I haven’t.”
His vision warps. Sharp, cold metal presses against his throat, threatening to draw blood.
“Fount?” A voice gasps. The disappointed figure of First Milk gazes at him, expression one of disbelief. “My little Fount. What have you done to yourself?”
“Mother-“ Shadow Milk croaks, wincing as the action rubs the tip of pointed silver further against his neck.
“You disappointed us all, my Fount.”
“No! No, you don’t understand-“ Shadow Milk Cookie is silenced.
Black.
Shadow Milk greets the darkness. It’s all that’s left for him now. Darkness doesn’t deceive. Darkness never lies. Darkness can’t hurt. Darkness blocks out anything and everything. Except for one thing.
Light disrupts Shadow Milk’s darkness—golden, pure light.
“Please, Shadow Milk Cookie. Let me be your…friend.”
Black envelopes him again.
“Falling for tricks again, little Fount?”
Shadow Milk can’t breathe.
“I never knew the great Shadow Milk Cookie, Master Of Deceit, King Of All Trickery, could be fooled by a mere cookie. A Cookie Of Truth no less.”
“Shut up. Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” Shadow Milk clutches at his head. This is just a dream. It’s not real. He just needs to wake up.
“Ah, ah, ah! Not so fast now!” The voice taunts, tone all twisted and wrong. “We’re not done playing yet-“
Shadow Milk is shook awake by two firm hands on both his shoulders and soft calls of his name.
“Shadow Milk Cookie?” His eyes snap open. He stares up, met with the profile of Pure Vanilla Cookie. Wet tears fall from Shadow Milk’s eyes—he hadn’t even realised he had been crying. A sob escapes him. How long has Pure Vanilla been here?
“Shh,” Pure Vanilla embraces him, Shadow Milk’s head buried in his chest. “It’s alright. It was just a dream. You’re here now.”
Shadow Milk wants to pull away. He wants to rip this blasted kingdom apart, leave nothing remaining, he wants to destroy everything in his path and submerge himself in darkness. But he doesn’t find himself doing any of this; instead, he chokes out, “Why?”
“Hm?” Pure Vanilla rubs a soothing hand up and down Shadow Milk’s back. “Why what?” He coaxes.
“Just…just why? Everything. All of this. Why even keep me around in the first place?” Fresh tears fall, drowning themselves in Pure Vanilla’s robes.
Pure Vanilla pulls away slightly, sitting himself on the bed, before tightly wrapping his arms around the beast once more. “Because,” he begins, “you’re not a monster.”
Shadow Milk pulls his head away, giving Pure Vanilla a thoroughly bewildered look. “How did…”
“You talked a bit in your sleep. You’re not a monster,” Pure Vanilla brushes his hand over Shadow Milk’s cheeks, cupping the latter’s face in his hands. “You’re someone who’s been treated unfairly by the world. Someone worthy of forgiveness.” Pure Vanilla leans down, eyes fluttering shut as he thumps their foreheads together. “Someone beautiful, undeserving of all the hurt the hurt they had forced upon them. Someone the universe has been cruel to.” He opens his eyes, leaning to the side and gently kissing Shadow Milk’s cheek. “Someone worthy of love. Someone desperately deprived of it.”
Shadow Milk slumps forward, going limp completely as he slumps into the warmth Pure Vanilla’s body offers. A hands cards through Shadow Milk’s hair, sickeningly gentle with its delicate touch.
“Truthfully,” Pure Vanilla murmurs. “I haven’t had the best of sleep either. Terrible dreams.” A squeeze to Shadow Milk’s waist. “Dreams of the past, dreams of regrets. Dreams of things I wish I had done differently.” Shadow Milk infers what that last sentence means. “Dreams of things I would have, had I been given the chance.” Pure Vanilla Cookie’s voice wavers slightly. “Regret. It never gets easier over the years, does it?” Pure Vanilla shakes his head, not waiting for a response. “The past is never something you can control,” he inhales deeply. “The future, however, is completely our decision. Albeit, unpredictable, but somewhat controllable.”
“What are you trying to say, Pure Vanilla Cookie?” Shadow Milk manages, voice hoarse.
“What I am trying to say,” Pure Vanilla starts gently. “Is that perhaps both our nightmares will be more bearable if we do not have to face them alone?”
Shadow Milk pulls away, blinking at Pure Vanilla as he gives a deadpan look. Thankfully, Pure Vanilla catches on. “Ah. I suppose, I am suggesting…well, you don’t have to-“
“Spit it out.”
“I thought perhaps it would be more comfortable for the Soul Jams if we slept in the same room?” Pure Vanilla asks sheepishly, a slight pinkish tint to his cheeks. Shadow Milk smirks. “My, my! How scandalous! A king inviting a jester into his bed?”
Pure Vanilla allows himself a small, amused smile. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
Shadow Milk raises a hand to his chest, the same one that had been throbbing with displeasure moments earlier, as he lets out an affronted gasp. “How was I supposed to know? After all, I am the cleverest, handsomest cookie in all of earthbread am I not? Many cookies would be lining up to have me in their bed, hm?”
Pure Vanilla chuckles. “Perhaps. Is that a yes, then?”
Shadow Milk eyes Pure Vanilla. “Now, now, don’t be hasty.” Shadow Milk drawls. “I suppose there is no harm in the arrangement—assuming you don’t have a blade under your pillow you’re planning to impale me with?” He asks innocently, hands coming up to wipe away the last remnants of teardrops that shimmer on his dough.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Pure Vanilla beams. “No pun intended.” He adds upon realisation.
Shadow Milk snorts.
Perhaps this old fool isn’t that bad after all.
“If you try to touch me I’ll bite you.” Shadow Milk announces, rolling over so his back is facing Pure Vanilla. The two had decided the king’s room was more suited to their arrangement than Shadow Milk’s; what with the bed being bigger and all.
“Noted.” Pure Vanilla hums. The lamp snaps off, and both cookies relax against the pillows, before eventually falling into comfortable sleep.