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The world was lit by the haunting red hues of flames. Everything around Purple Yam had been doused with the wretched color. He’d become all too familiar with this scene. Fire sprung up from all around him like fervent grass and it made his skin feel as though it might slough off at any moment. It felt like thousands of blazing needles were puncturing his skin all at once, though he might have preferred that over this dreaded cell. He wails in pain, but the only response he gets is his own voice echoing off the metal walls that surrounded him. He tries to move, to raise his mace high over his head to try breaking down the silver barriers, but his gut wrenches and he stumbles, falling to his knees and gagging from the overwhelming pain. He sobs weakly and pounds his fists against the metal pan beneath him, but all that did was char his fists. “Oh god, let it END!” He cries out, hoping his plea might be heard and he could be taken from this nightmare. No one could hear him. He screams at the top of his lungs in frustration, though he chokes up as the heat burns his throat. It felt like his stomach and lungs had been filled with boiling bile, and it made him want to be sick. There would be no mercy for him. He’d been here before, and he knew how long it could last. His sentence had only just begun.
As he reaches for his mace, a sound startles him. “Y….my…” Oh god, the witch. He was going to die. The rotten being that had brought him into existence had decided to finally take him out of it. And yet Yam doesn’t resist. Death was preferable to this furnace, though perhaps he already was dead and this was his own personal hell. He kneels on the pan, frozen in place, accepting his fate as he senses the light escaping the oven, and he feels the witch’s horrible fingers wrap around him.
He snaps out of his frozen peril the second he feels the hand squeeze around him, pulling him out of his prison. He thrashes about violently, trying to escape her grasp, suddenly flooded with hope at the thought that there was still some chance of freedom for him if he could just get out of those disgusting fingers.
“Yammy!”
He opens his eyes and screams, his voice echoing through the forest. He’s greeted with the sight of the hellfires once more. No, it was just a small campfire. Behind it were trees and grass, tinted blue in the moonlight. His chest heaves as he gains his bearings. The fingers were still around him. He looks over his shoulder, entirely expecting to see the grotesque face of the witch. Instead he only finds the cloudy, pale eyes of his travel companion, Milk Cookie. His eyes were filled with concern.
“Yammy? Are you alright?” That’s when Purple Yam notices it was not fingers that were wrapped around him, but rather a pair of arms. He was resting up against Milk’s chest, practically sitting in his lap and being hugged from behind. Yam jumps up, throwing Milk’s arms away from him. “Get OFF me! What the hell is your PROBLEM?!” Milk looks startled, taken aback even. “You were crying in your sleep, I thought you might be having a nightmare..” Yam roars at such an accusation. “I NEVER cry!!” But that’s when he tasted it. Salt. The flavor had stained his lips. He hesitates before bringing a hand to his own cheek. Sure enough, it was damp with hot tears. “I- I don’t..”
Milk frowns sympathetically. “Was it a nightmare after all?” Yam quickly pulls his hand away from his face. “HELL no! I’m not a little kid, I don’t GET nightmares!” Milk slowly raises an eyebrow as he curls his legs up to his chest. “Then.. why were you crying?”
Yam falls silent. He had no argument to make. “Yam.. It’s okay to have bad dreams, you know-“ “No it’s not, it’s a sign of weakness!” Milk sighs, defeated. Yam had always been hard to work with, and he had no intent on pressuring him at the moment. He was clearly in a state of stress. “You don’t have to talk about it, I just want to be sure you’re alright.” Yam growls under his breath. “Of COURSE I’m alright. It was just a dream. Don’t touch me ever again, UNDERSTAND?” Milk lowers his eyes, exasperated and tired, and nods solemnly.
Yam huffs, satisfied enough with the nod, and sits back down. He didn’t dare lean up against the fallen log Milk had propped himself up on. He instead opts to curl up, reluctantly accepting that grass was the best pillow he could get for now.
He hears Milk shift back to a better sleeping position and he forces his eyes shut, ignoring the sound. He didn’t need to be comforted and held, that was for babies. It was just a dream anyways…
Though, at one point, that had been his reality. He’d been baked alive in a fiery hell for what felt like an eternity. He could still remember the heat clear as day. Even now he couldn’t look at something as simple as a torch without flinching or feeling contempt towards it. No one would understand him when he said the oven had been a living hell. They all would say every cookie has been to the oven, and that he shouldn’t exaggerate. He knew though, they’d never gone through what he had. The hours of laying on blazing metal, hoping to die so the pain would finally come to an end. They never listened. They would never understand.
The campfire crackles and it makes Yam jolt, snapping him out of his thoughts as his eyes flick open. It was just a stupid campfire… but looking at it made him feel sick. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep after a nightmare like that. He shifts uncomfortably on the grass, facing away from the fire. It didn’t help; he didn’t trust having the flames to his back. He’s still and silent for a good while, trying to fall asleep despite his struggles, but he couldn’t stop squirming. Finally he gives in to something he’d normally never succumb to; his loneliness and fear.
“Milk? Are you still awake?” There’s a quiet hum of acknowledgement before a gentle voice greets him. “Yes?” Yam doesn’t speak at first, he just scoots closer to Milk and rests beside him instead of by the fire. He stares up at the stars and moon above, his voice low. “It was the oven..” Milk gazes down at him sadly. “Oh dear.. I’m sorry to hear that. Is there any way I could help you? I could make a midnight snack, or maybe tell you a story, or-“
“I just want a-“ Yam’s voice dwindles at the last word. He grimaces in shame and frustration and his voice stays at a hoarse whisper. “I just want a hug.” Milk’s expression immediately switches to surprise. Yam rolls over to face away from him. “Don’t make it fucking weird..” Milk straightens up immediately. “No no, of course not. I just.. didn’t expect it, that’s all.” Yam sighs as he pulls himself upright. “Can’t believe I’m doing this… I just.. can’t sleep. That’s ALL.” Milk chuckles softly. “Well, I'm glad I can help.” Yam scowls a little at the kind words, but scoots closer all the same. Milk cautiously wraps an arm around him, seeming unsure about the whole interaction, but ultimately still pulling Yam close and wishing him to be in better spirits.
Yam lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and he rests some of his weight against Milk. It felt nice to relax finally. He hated being seen as vulnerable.. but he trusted Milk. One of the worst parts of the oven had been the isolation. No one was there to reassure him that it’d all be over with soon, that things would become easier if he was patient. Above all, no one had been there to relate to his struggles. The only person who ever listened to his endless ranting was Milk. The pale cookie would sit through what sometimes would be hours of shouting during their adventures, and he always would offer words of advice and comfort. They’d seen each other in their best moments, and in some of their weakest. Milk was the only person who’d ever earned a real laugh from him. In all fairness, it had only been a stifled chuckle, but Yam hardly knew he could even laugh anymore before that point.
He really trusted Milk more than anyone else he knew, and in that trust he knew Milk would comfort him now. Yam rests his head on Milk’s shoulder and closes his eyes. He feels Milk hug him a little closer, and a moment later a cautious hand brushes the hair away from his face. Yam grumbles quietly and the hand pulls away. He regretted making any sound though; it had honestly felt nice.
Suddenly something in his memory stirs, and he breaks the silence. “Why did you call me that?” “Huh?” “When I woke up. You called me Yammy.” Milk gulps quietly, hoping the moment hadn’t just been ruined. “I meant nothing by it, I just thought it was a.. a sweet nickname...” Yam doesn’t respond, and Milk quickly tries to mend the situation. “I can stop calling you that if it makes you upset, I’m very sorry..” Yam doesn’t say a thing, he just curtly rests his head in Milk’s neck. It was impossible to know how he felt at this point, so Milk just lets it go and finally shuts his eyes. What a strange night it was… He secretly wished there would be more like it.