Chapter Text
Dark Cacao refused to admit that his son’s return had anything to do with his mental decline.
It had been a month since Dark Choco had returned, much to the king’s great joy. It was undeniably, inarguably the best thing to happen to him in decades. Now Dark Cacao had the opportunity to repent for his poor parenting choices, to make everything right again. Words couldn’t describe how ready he was to make amends with his son. Both cookies had made grievous mistakes, but Dark Cacao didn’t have the heart to stay angry at the boy he’d taught how to wield his sword, the boy who’d always meant the world to him.
If he just showed Dark Choco some love and appreciation now, Dark Cacao would free himself from the crushing guilt that weighed him down more and more each day. A small smile here, a nod of approval there…that was all it took to right his wrongs. His plan was foolproof, or so he thought.
But Dark Cacao found himself doubting every loving gesture, each kind word. He had to be very careful; he couldn’t mess everything up again, not when his son could flee at any time. If Dark Choco left again or attacked Dark Cacao, the bitter king didn’t know what he’d do.
Every day, Dark Cacao felt a little less confident that he could redeem himself from his mistakes. Dark Choco deserved better than such a sorry excuse for a father. After all, his early years had been loveless, and he was permanently scarred because of it. Dark Choco carried himself in a way that suggested he, too, carried a heavy weight on his shoulders; he took after his father. And both cookies knew exactly whose fault that was. The son’s shortcomings reflected upon the father, after all.
So, perhaps, in some respects, Dark Choco’s return brought back the guilt Dark Cacao had carefully suppressed since his son’s first attack. And now, his once-latent misery exploded without warning, shattering the poor cookie’s fragile heart.
Much to his own dismay, Dark Cacao had made a habit of collapsing inside his chambers with little warning, shaking profusely as he clutched the spot where his son first struck him with the Strawberry Jam Sword. Visions of battles with Dark Choco lingered just behind his eyes, right alongside memories of teaching the young warrior how to fight. He constantly worried Dark Choco would leave again, or burst into his chambers and stab him before he had the chance to react (he deserved it, anyway.) At the end of the day, everything Dark Choco had done was Dark Cacao’s fault, in one way or another.
Dark Cacao needed to atone for his misdeeds toward his son, and he would go to great lengths to prove to himself that he regretted what he’d done. This mindset, unfortunately, led to the resurgence of a… particularly unpleasant habit he’d developed in his youth. After years upon years of being clean, he started cutting himself again, hoping to mangle his dough beyond comprehension as a physical symbol of his regret. He would torture himself until he crumbled if it meant he could rid himself of the guilt that grew more suffocating every time he stopped to think.
Dark Cacao’s treatment of Dark Choco in his earlier years wasn’t the only thing he hurt himself for. There was also his kingdom, which he’d completely neglected by shutting himself away behind the castle walls. The Dark Flour War had destroyed the great warrior that once was, and all that was left was a scared husk of a cookie. He was afraid, ashamed, and guilty, and he couldn’t stand idly by and do nothing about his grievous errors. So he would slice his dough until his hands shook and his head spun, because nobody knew the full extent of his sins. Only he could give himself what he truly deserved.
It was essential that Dark Cacao kept this habit of his contained. If anybody were to find out, some would call him emotionally unstable; many would call him insane and unfit to rule. He worked diligently to hide the outbursts littered across his dough, but one failure was all it took to reveal his sorry mental state.
After a particularly vicious quarrel with Dark Choco, Dark Cacao excused himself to his sleeping quarters to punish himself for his recklessness. By that point, he’d already forgotten what the argument was about; probably something to do with fortifications for the castle walls. But he realized now that it didn’t matter. After all, Dark Choco could have left at any moment during that argument, realized that being in the Dark Cacao Kingdom with his father was not worth the occasional bitter quarrels.
As he sat against the floor, pressed against a wall, Dark Cacao grasped a small dagger with the power and intensity of a determined warrior. He took one slow breath before he began his ritual. Jabbing the dagger into his arm, he pulled it across as fast as he could, gritting his teeth as the incisions gaped and throbbed. He breathed in and out methodically as he sliced, each cut deeper than the last.
All Dark Cacao wanted was to atone for his wrongdoings, but somewhere deep inside, he knew nothing would ever be enough. He cut until his hands were too shaky to continue, only deciding to stop when he could no longer grasp the blade. Slipping onto the floor limply, Dark Cacao groaned softly, closing his eyes tightly in an attempt to ignore the pain. He lay there for a couple of minutes, wishing he could push his feelings so far back that they disappeared forever.
As dark red jam streamed from angry, fresh incisions in his already tender dough, Dark Cacao heard a heavy knock on his door, followed by his son’s low, raspy voice. “Um… I’ve cooled off a bit, I’d like to talk about our argument earlier…May I come in?”
Dark Cacao tried to suppress the panic in his tone. “Give me a moment, my boy,” he replied weakly, preparing to push himself into a sitting position. He offered no further elaboration, but hoped Dark Choco would allow him enough time to clean up the puddle of jam that was now caked into the roll wood floors of his room. He tried to stand up abruptly, but had lost so much blood that he was uneasy on his feet. After frantically trying to take hold on the wall beside him, he failed and crashed to the floor. A sizable thud echoed from the room, and Dark Choco knocked again at the door.
“Father? Are you ok?”
Dark Cacao tried to respond, but he felt himself growing shakier by the second. Pressing against his most prominent wounds to halt the jam loss, he tried to assure his son that he would just be a moment. His words didn’t come out loud enough, and Dark Choco’s tone grew more anxious as he knocked one final time. “You’re worrying me. I apologize, but I’m coming in…”
When the door opened, Dark Choco was met with a sight he was most certainly not prepared for: His father, his strong, cold, stoic father, lay on the floor with an empty expression and deep incisions across his arms, jam rapidly spreading across the floor. He had obviously tried to cover up the wounds by rolling his sleeves back down, but that just caused the jam to seep through.
It didn’t take Dark Choco more than a couple of seconds to piece together what had happened. Trying to ignore the implications of his father’s current state, he jumped into action, rummaging around in drawers and cabinets until he found cloth that was suitable for bandaging. He grabbed a medkit from his room nearby, making sure he was fast enough that Dark Cacao couldn’t run away. As he cleaned the wounds, Dark Choco tried to ignore how his father pulled back in embarrassment every time he tried to steady his arm.
After his father’s injuries were adequately bandaged, Dark Choco looked down at the seemingly emotionless cookie. He stayed eerily quiet, unwilling to look his son in the eye after what he’d done.
Afraid to break the silence, Dark Choco sat beside his father wordlessly, surveying his stoic expression. Dark Cacao didn’t look any sadder than normal, and yet here he was, dough littered in wounds caused by his own hand.
Dark Choco knew he couldn’t just ignore his father’s injuries, but it wouldn’t do much good to have a conversation about it in his current condition. He decided he would come back later, once Dark Cacao was fit to discuss what he had done. What he needed now was some rest.
“...It may not be my place to ask this, but… are you alright? I do not think I can ignore this. I will worry about you.”
Not expecting a response, Dark Choco was surprised when his father spoke up. His normally powerful, gruff voice was weak and shaky, a far cry from anything Dark Choco had ever heard from him before. “I am fine. Leave me,” he barked weakly, pushing himself up from the floor and scowling.
After a brief but careful consideration, Dark Choco decided to heed his father’s wishes. He trusted Dark Cacao wouldn’t do anything reckless with a whole kingdom relying on him. The bitter cookie’s injuries were severe, but they weren’t deadly, and Dark Choco didn’t know how to discuss the situation at hand right now.
Though he was worried about his father, Dark Choco nodded, discreetly snatching the jam-covered dagger off the floor as he rose. “We need to talk about this once you are healed, Father,” he said, shoving the weapon into his pocket before lightly closing the door behind him. As soon as his son left, Dark Cacao crumpled into himself, overcome with sadness and remorse.