Chapter Text
A fifteen year old Dark Cacao cannot seem to get it right.
The wooden sword is heavy in his hands, hours of practice outside making his palms rough and chipped, hours and hours and yet he can't seem to get it right. The form is supposed to be perfect. He doesn't know why it isn't.
The cold licks at his face, frostbite threatening to take his fingers away, but his hold does not waver, does not falter, he's trained in worse weather. Much, much worse.
He's seen his brother do this countless of times, so why can't he? Is it because of his age? His stature? Him and him alone? Is it because Cacao can't seem to do anything right? Because of his stubborness? For all the mistakes he's done in life when his elders are saints compared to him, the rebellious prince? Is it because his brother must exceed him in every action and ascpect? Why? Why?
"Dear brother, what are you even doing in this blizzard?"
Dark Cacao must still have some discipline in him, because he pauses, freezes; he shall blame it on the cold. He turns to face his only brother, Dark Chocolate Cookie, his once stoic and dismissive face tainted with the wrinkle lines of concern, and for a moment, Cacao is stunned at how different his big brother looks when he actually shows genuine worry; the ice freezing his body leaves quicker than the wind rushing past them.
The elder's lips press together as his brows furrow downward, a soft expression that is a wonder itself when on a king such as Dark Chocolate.
The dim lighting makes the sword his brother carries glow in a bright red frenzy. It makes something in Cacao's stomach churn. Perhaps he is in trouble. Perhaps.
He takes those calculations and tries to test his luck. "Training," he rasps, the cold has made his voice dry.
Chocolate's face twists further, Dark Cacao's insides turn into knots, tensed for a scolding.
It doesn't arrive. Chocolate breathes out slowly from the mouth in an echo of a sigh and Cacao's shoulders slump in releif before realizing the action and straightening up.
Chocolate's eyes lock onto this movement and lays a hand on his plated shoulder, feeling the gentle touch burn against the solid biscuit.
"Cao," his brother says, soft, "we should head inside."
We, he says, and Cao, his brother hasn't called him that since the former king and queen before them both died. Something in his chest tugs at his heartstrings and controls his actions. Instead of shrugging the hand off his shoulder, he nods instead. Nods.
The ghost of a smile twitches on his brother's face. He's not so rebellious after all.
.
"I'll teach you that move later, first thing in the morning." Chocolate promises as they stop in front of his quarters.
The cold but bright lighting in the castle makes every wrinkle and crease visible in the ruler's face. He looks tired beyond measure. No matter how many monsters crumble how many soldiers and citizens, the kingdom will always be plentiful and large. Cacao doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.
Dark Cacao just nods and twists his door open, says, "Goodnight, brother," and dips his head. He clicks the graham door shut.
.
The nightmares are not new, he's had them for so long that he's forgotten how to live without them.
And it's always the same. Screaming, yelling, red, red eyes and a sword tainted with strawberry jam. The same pang in his chest and the same ring in his ears, a hand pressed against his cheek, the palm rough and wet and cold.
It's horrible.
It's expected.
Dark Cacao Cookie awakes with a jolt, his dough damp with sugar sweat, eyes teary and nose stuffed even when he doesn't think it's all that terryfying.
His sheets are no better. He covers them with a dry blanket and goes back to sleep.
.
Whispering is everywhere. Too low and too quiet to be heard. A nineteen year old Dark Cacao shuffles closer, always one to be curious, to be childish no matter how hard he tries to grow into a man.
"The defenses aren't enough!" A voice says, hushed and anxious, a mere servant. Dark Cacao feels his stomach bubble with anger, the nerve of one heavily sheltered subject to doubt their king. "Dark Chocolate Cookie must be out of his mind to be sending recruits onto the battlefields. I've seen them train, those boys aren't ready!"
Dark Cacao restrains a disrespectful comeback from spilling out of his lips, wanting to jump into their line of vision and challenge them to a duel, then he alone would be the one to judge if that pompous fool had a right to mumble a word about how inexperienced the king's royal army is.
But he says nothing, going back outside to train in the cold again.
.
A month later, war erupts from the bridges, the docks; the creatures have learned how to crawl. So when they've already destroyed most milk villages by the water, Dark Chocolate decides he won't lose any more subjects.
Dark Cacao feels for his sword as soon as he hears of the news, and sharpens the blade with a determined scowl inside the armory. He will fight for his kingdom.
His older brother walks into the small room, steps padded and light, silent as he observes the latter. Cacao can feel the eyes gaze at the back of his head, threatening to burn the very biscuit he's made of. There's a lump that forms in his throat as he realizes Chocolate will continue to create a hole into his skull if he doesn't make his sense of perception known.
Ever the most merciful brother out of the two, Dark Chocolate must be here to try to convince Cacao to put his sword down and merely wait for him to come back home from battle instead of fighting alongside him.
So Dark Cacao says without turning to face his king: "You're not going to stop me, I will not let you waltz into that forest without someone to watch your back."
There's a fond chuckle from behind him, startling him to the greatest measure, he was expecting a scoff, a lecture, a pissed of ruler that would give him nothing but quiet seething, anything except for that, yet - "I have five hundred men to watch my back, brother."
Dark Cacao pulls himself upwards, back straightening once again.
"They will fail," he croaks out, eyes darting to the side as his chest fills itself with chagrin, head turning by the slightest bit for his peripheral to catch the steady form of his twenty-five year old brother, "five hundred is an even number for such an odd match."
He shouldn't be talking back to his brother - his king - like this, but he finds it in himself that he doesn't regret it as he spots the soft upturn of Dark Chocolate's lips, his elder is full of surprises sometimes. "So you suggest I make it five hundred and one?"
The warmness in the king's voice catches him so off-guard, Dark Cacao Cookie turns away comepletely, just this once, bashful; his grip on his sword slackens.
But Dark Chocolate places a firm hand on his shoulder, steady and strong, unwavering just like his compassion. "I have faith in my little brother, Cao, do not assume I would let such skills of yours go to waste."
Cacao feels a smile form on his face, a foreign thing for the Dark prince, but he welcomes this time. This is his chance to prove he is something more than a spare, more than just a prince in his elder's shadow, the chance to prove his loyalty to his brother, to his kingdom.
Before he can say anything in thanks, the hand on his shoulder pats the armor of his plate as a soft, get some rest, and leaves. "I expect you to be up way before dawn tomorrow, Captain."
The door clicks shut, leaving Cacao alone in the space, grinning like a loon. He stands and goes outside once again to train.
For old time's sake, he'll be rebellious and not go to his quarters and sleep.
.
Their king prepares his army, his sword, his brother even - for battle and saddles the cream wolves into the snow-ridden field. That is the opening to the story that will be told for future generations to come. It will (most likely, hopefully) end in the king leading his troops to victory, with the prince as their captain and their king as their leader, they defeat the monsters that come from tar seas and slay all those who are a threat to their beloved kingdom.
The story plays in his mind as he and his soldiers trudge through the snow, boots heavy and weighted with their heads filled with weary doubt if they'll survive this battle or not. Cacao tries his best to lift the men's spirits - or rather boys' spirits - the brave cookies can't be any older than twenty.
One boy in his troop is even fifteen, such a young age to be dreading if this would be the very place they'd die in.
But Dark Cacao has set his eyes on victory, they are going to win, he says to them, he'll make sure of it.
.
The monsters are ruthless.
Dark Cacao deflects its piercing jaws from crushing a another soldier with his sword, the sticky goo abomination shreiks at the clash of metal against bone and flesh. "Move!" Cacao orders harshly to the boy cowering on the ground, braced for death, the cookie scrambles to his feet again and rushes back into battle.
Cacao lets out a breath of relief, the cold making it sound like one of exhaustion, they've been fighting for hours.
There's another clang of metal, he blinks, there's some shouting. Like an army of salvation, his brother's cavalry comes roaring, swords and bows raised and aimed, arrows rain down on them perfectly, a godsend, striking through the creatures' armor like butter, more clash of metal against hard ink, Cacao spots his brother, charging to the largest one, the red glimmer of his sword spelling death for every abomination that dared to hurt his kingdom.
He feels a manic grin take place on his face, they're going to win.
.
There's more of them.
They crawl up to the snow, charcoal blank against the soft white, war screams harsh and screeching like siren calls. Cacao raises his hands to his ears, groaning, when he opens his eyes, previously screwed shut, the army is struggling, even with this much men.
There's yelling, so much of it. It overwhelms him. The men charge into the monsters only to be eaten and devoured by another. Screams of horror and fear, he can't find his men, they're swallowed up in the sea of black sludge.
Jam splatters against his face, there's something foul in the air, burning his nose. Cacao grunts as he tries to stab against the dark flesh, they've doubled in size, he swallows, grip unsteady - why? Why is his hands shaking so profusely? - Dark Cacao's eyes scan for any sign of too much struggle, the one who's tinkering on the cliff of death.
It's Dark Chocolate.
Cacao's breath catches in his throat, eyes sharpening as he spots his older brother, his king. His legs are moving before he can think, there is the sludge, there is the monster, it's closing in on Choco, slimy teeth bared and screeching. Choco can't see it coming, he's too busy trying to live with that blotch of red on his side.
He slides under a monster's legs, sheathing his sword as he nears, a snarl spilling out of his lips. "Choco!"
A mistake, a foolish miscalculation, an accident. Of course his brother would look at him, of course his brother would choose to face him even when he must have his full attention on the threat before him; of course his brother would rush in to protect Cacao first instead of himself.
He realizes this as soon as the cry leaves him, the monster sees the opening, it strikes, it's large; it has more power than any of the other beasts. "No!"
Dark Chocolate crumbles to the ground, strawberry jam coursing out of him through the wound, through his lips as he coughs, the monster leans to crash onto his brother like a tidal wave.
Cacao roars in a fit of anguish, anger, vindication, unsheathes his sword and slices through the darkness like a beacon of light. His sword cuts through the creature's skin like butter, black tar taints his cheek, eyes burning.
The monster thuds against the ground, Dark Cacao stands before it, purple eyes glowing in hatred, the sword he weilds painted with its lifeblood.
He regains himself, the adrenaline pumps through his sugar and he turns to his king, his brother, his elder.
Dark Chocolate is slumped against the snow, curling into his wound, gasping for breath, his throat is cut, his torso is slashed horizontally, ugly and messy and bloody. Cacao stumbles to his ruler's side, on his knees. "Brother," he croaks out, reaching for his king.
He swallows thickly, the bile and the sob, gathers his older brother in his arms and cradles him, the screams continue, the yells and cries, but it is all blurred noise, the only thing he can focus on his how red Choco's eyes are, how his blood matches the color perfectly. "Co." Choco gasps, throat tight and dry.
There's that cursed smile, small and gentle and nothing like Choco, or it could be everything like Choco, it could be nothing and everything like Dark Chocolate because his king is soft when it comes to Cacao, the rebellious prince, he is firm when he is soft and he is gentle when he is harsh. "It's alright, little brother." Choco tells him, his jam drips down to the snow, marking the cold powder in royal blood. "It's going to be alright."
"Stole the words from my mouth," Cacao's lips are moving before he can even process what to say, there's something that burns in his eyes, threatening to drown him, a sigh that sounds like a wet, broken huff of a laugh, "just breathe, in and out, brother, that will be it, you've done enough."
He winces as soon as those words escape him, but how can Cacao hold his king together when he is too broken to even last -
No, no, Cacao will not think like this, his brother will pull through, just as he did so many other times before in battle, so Cacao has heard. He will pull through, he must.
But this is his big brother, bleeding out, the dark biscuit in his skin is cracked, chipped, dressed in crimson red liquid that goes from in to out. Choco's breaths are shallow, short and desperate gasps, he holds him tighter. "Choco," he pleads, cradling his brother in his arms, he is still a larger cookie, but Cacao is grown, he's up to his brother's shoulder, so he can do this; Cacao can hold the cracks shut and keep his king alive for just a moment longer. "Choco."
It's a command, it's a plea, it's an apology.
Chocolate smiles, strawberry jam dribbles past his lips, down to his already red-soaked robes, which pools underneath them like mud and water, snow and blood. "You will be alright, Cao," he rasps weakly, breath rattling in his chest like chains, Cacao leans closer, hugs his brother tightly, "you will be alright..."
"No," he grits out, a prince does not cry, nor does his king, but there are tears in the sides of Choco's eyes, spilling out at the small crow feet at the edges, "you will be alright as much as I will be."
Choco either chooses to ignore him or can't hear him at all, the cookie's gaze slips and locks and slips away again like the shores, washing up with the waves, forward and back, back and forth. Cacao doesn't realize he's rocking himself and his brother until the hand reaches to cup his cold cheek. "Mother and Father had always... expected great things from you, little brother," Choco murmurs, so low that Cacao has to go so close that their foreheads are almost pressed together.
"I knew... you would have... esclipsed me soon enough..." he whispers, hushed as an old family secret that it is, "you are destined to lead this kingdom to greatness, you... you are special," Choco says quietly, and Cacao can't even find the words to argue how much he doesn't believe him. Dark Chocolate was - is, one of the greatest rulers the kingdom has ever known. "I've seen it in the way you fight, how you... yearn to protect and justify."
And it is true, Dark Cacao Cookie seeks justice, fairness and respect and everything the world deserves, maybe even freedom, but that doesn't mean his brother was eclipsed by him. That doesn't make Cacao better.
His own hand shakily comes up, traps the palm on his cheek and makes it stay there, "It's okay," Choco says shakily, voice wavering like taut rope.
Choco's smile dims, his gaze softens and melts like butter. Cacao surpresses another sob, the hand is cold, red, red eyes looking up at him. "You are what this kingdom needs, little brother, Mother... Father would be proud, so, so proud."
"Do not say that," Dark Cacao spits at that, words cracked like sugar glass, face twisted in rage, "you will not speak like the dying, you will live, Choco!"
A pained whine slips out of his older brother's mouth, his eyes fluttering shut, the glimmer of red on his sword, his crown, dims. "This crown chooses you, Dark Cacao Cookie."
Cacao's very soul freezes into ice, cold as the blizzard that rages around them. The screaming has stopped, there are yells of victory, of pain. His men are gone, only a few of his brother's army have made it past the creatures, black sludge and cookie crumbs scatter the snowy battlefield, cold and dead. "Stop," he begs to the gods, to the snow-filled sky, "please, no, not yet, do not -"
Choco coughs, cutting his words off like icicles, blood flows down his lips like hot faucets of chocolate, "'M sorry, Cao," he mumbles, eyes cracking open just slightly to look at him, "you... you deserved so much better, little brother..."
Desperately, Cacao shakes his head, fat, warm tears spilling out of his eyes and down his cheeks, they land on his brother's tattered armor, and the prince grips him tighter. He cannot bring himself to say how much he cares, how much Cacao needs his older brother, how much he loves him more than any other thing he's ever known, more than any dream or goal or place on the throne, instead Cacao says: "Then stay, long enough for us to be the best of brothers, stay, Choco."
The faint smile appears on his brother's lax, pale face, eyes crinkling with sorrow, and a soft, endeared laugh escapes him. "Cao," Choco mumbles, voice barely above a whisper of the harsh winds whipping past them, "do not weep for me, little brother."
That is too late, Dark Cacao is weeping, weeping is the only thing he's doing, "Please," his chest heaves and Cacao sobs, shoulders trembling, the hand on his cheek goes limp and boneless and the young man presses it harder into his skin, unwilling to let go. "No, no," he pleads, shaking Choco a little, "get up."
Red, cherry eyes glaze over. Cacao screams until his throat splits open.
.
Twenty year old Dark Cacao Cookie awakes, there are lilac colored sheets draped over him precautious like, and he rises from his bed, heart heavy, eyes wide and glassy as he fists the fabric as soon as he glances around the room, a king's room, trembling.
There's a knock on the door, an advisor, Dark Cacao glares at the brown doors, wills his body to get a grip and lets the subject step inside.
"My prince," the man greets, a safe distance away from him. Cacao manages to lift his head up slightly, purple eyes meeting the servant's, "how are you feeling?"
Like I lost a brother, like I lost everything, Cacao wants to snarl, sneer, punch the random advisor's face so hard that his features will crack, instead he counts to six, counts to twelve, "Good enough."
The cookie before him smiles anxiously. "You... you've done well, sir, the healers give advice that you should stay in bed for a couple more days, then -" a swallow, his adam's apple bobs slightly, "then we can have you ready for your coronation."
Cacao hums im acknowledgment, waves the cookie off along with the boiling anger and misplaced melancholy. "Leave."
And the form does, slipping away hurriedly, shutting the large doors. Cacao slumps back into his cushions, glaring at the ceiling like it's done him the greatest wrong imaginable. He swallows the grief down, forces it down his throat, locks it away and throws the imaginary key out of the window and down the black sea. He screws his eyes shut, unscrews them and opens them, shuts them again, opens and closes.
The funeral is still burned into his mind, soul fire and red robes and banners, his mouth feels dry whenever he thinks of his brother's sleeping face, tries to ignore the memory of him screaming and wailing as they sent the corpse out to sea, along with smaller little boats that accompanied their king. Dark Cacao recalls the fifteen year old boy, dead on the snow, he wonders if he got to ride out into the heavens with his majesty across the seas.
He opens his eyes, numbness washing over him in waves. The cursed crown chooses him.
So be it.