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There were many benefits to cryogenesis, including but not limited to: an increased lifespan, a greater chance of survival compared to those who didn’t hop in a pod for over a hundred years, lower rates of malnutrition, and an increased autoimmune response when faced with microscopic outside threats.
There were, however, a few ill-researched downsides—namely the fact that being isolated from the outside for so long meant that the immune systems of cookies frozen in time were unable to evolve alongside the ever-growing number of viruses, bacteria. Such side effects seemed harmless before, back when the Vanilla Kingdom was a self-contained ruined paradise. Once those other cookies moved in, however, the delicate balance was shattered and their over-evolved parasites invaded every corner of the kingdom.
Crepe hadn’t noticed it, at first, a lifetime in a pod erased most of their memories of before—being sick included. A dry throat wasn’t that unusual, anyways, working well into the night meant they often forgot things like water. A runny nose could be attributed to the cold air. The Vanilla Kingdom’s average temperatures dropped significantly at night and struggled to rise the next morning, an excess amount of mucus was all but guaranteed as the body tried to defend itself from the cold.
A mild inconvenience, the symptoms, but an inconvenience was something someone could push through. A weaker, lesser cookie might take the day off, and Strawberry Crepe Cookie was not weak or lesser! Besides, the Workshop had so many scanners, if they really couldn’t work anymore then they could just analyze their dough, find the root cause of their mysterious illness, fix it, and get back to their Waffle-Bot upgrades! A fool proof plan, if you asked them.
Unfortunately, other cookies did not seem to agree with their obvious genius.
***
“I’m f-fine-” They tried to protest, before yet another coughing fit interrupted them.
“Clearly, you are not.” Espresso huffed, rolling his eyes at the child in his arms. Gently, he patted their back as best he could while carrying them down the hall, wincing as they coughed up mucus once more.
The child, for once, did not protest. Whining, they wrapped their arms tighter around his neck and buried their face in his shoulder.
“Working in your condition would only do more harm than good.” He continued. Normally Strawberry Crepe would talk his ear off, rambling on about their latest project, though they couldn’t really do so now, seeing as how they struggled to get a simple sentence out without a cough or wheeze interrupting them. He tried his best to fill in the strange silence, but even he had to admit he was never much of a conversationalist.
“You need to rest, Crepe. Unless you want to feel even worse in a few hours.” Witches, he was starting to sound like his cousins. He shuddered at the thought, though that might have just been the child in his arms.
Crepe, faced with the stubbornness of a Dark Cacao Kingdom descendant, did not respond. It wasn’t like they could plead their case effectively anyways, though not for a lack of effort. They had screamed, when Espresso found them lying on the floor near the vents, demanding to be put down. All they got for that was an even sorer throat.
The short walk from the Workshop to the room seemed impossibly long, the silence only filled with the occasional sniffle as Crepe fought back a sneeze, or another cough. It was a blessing for them both once they made it to the room, for Espresso’s tired arms and Crepe’s weary….everything.
“Noo..” The child whimpered as they were gently tucked into the bed. Feebly, they tried to push the blanket away, much to Espresso’s mild irritation. He placed a hand on their forehead and hissed.
“You’re burning up.” He murmured to himself. “I’ll go ask Pure Vanilla if he has a thermometer.” He whispered gently, speaking to them this time.
“I’ll be back soon.” He promised.
***
To say Strawberry Crepe was intelligent would be an understatement, a disservice to their genius.
They didn’t feel like a genius right now.
They should have gotten some of the fever medicine as soon as they detected higher-than-average temperature levels within themself, they should have given themself a full-body scan earlier. Maybe if they had they could have done something to cool off sooner, maybe if they had they could have found a better place to hide. That’s what they did before, when they got sick after meeting the Cookies of Darkness. They found the coldest corner of the workshop and lay there, praying to Witches they barely believed in that none of their newly-found allies would discover them in such a vulnerable state.
They never did. Not even Red Velvet found them, not even Chiffon.
It was so hot. Espresso had left the fan on, and had pulled the blanket away from them, and yet they still felt impossibly hot. Their clothes were soaked with sweat, sticking to their dough like a fourth layer of skin.
They shivered again.
If they were less delirious, and could think more clearly, they would find it almost numerous. They were so hot they were cold. Isn’t that ironic?
The room was quiet, too quiet. The only sound was the whirring of the fan. They tried to figure out where it was, maybe angle themselves closer to it, to no avail. Their vision was too blurry, eyes too swollen from the tears they shed before, to see.
…Their teeth hurt.
Being in the room felt weird. They never went in here, not unless they were desperate to get away. They had mapped down every last inch of their workshop, down to the blueprints they studied for days before Dark Enchantress had found them. This room had been Licorice’s, when he stayed at the Vanilla Kingdom. It still felt like Licorice’s room. If they focused, they could still smell the faint scent of black licorice on the carpet.
They missed him, sometimes. And Schwalzvalder, and Red Velvet, and Poison Mushroom. Sometimes they even missed Pomegranate, though they would never admit that to anyone.
Their entire face hurt.
The pillows were too soft, too comforting. Slowly, subtly, they could feel themselves drifting off into sweet, sweet unconscious, sleep desperate to claim them…
…and just as subtly, they could feel a cold piece of metal press against their forehead.
“One-hundred-three..” Espresso muttered above them. “That’s… concerning.”
As he gently tapped them on the head, Crepe glared at B him as best they could.
“Pure Vanilla said there was a bug going around.” Espresso explained. “The Raisin Villagers apparently caught it, and it’s spread through the kingdom since.” He said, helping them sit up.
“He said it was a harmless bug, though it seems you either have a worse variant, or your immune system is weaker than average.”
Crepe hated the pity in his voice. They didn’t like being pitied, being babied. They were old enough to be his grandparent for Witch’s sake!
…though it was nice to be cared for.
“Pure Vanilla said this medicine was made for immunocompromised cookies. He recommended I give it to you, so take your grievances about the taste up with him.” Espresso warned, popping the bottle open.
Crepe would have protested the sudden fingers holding their nose shut, considering it was so stuffed it might as well have been shut already, but once the taste hit their tongue they were grateful for any dampening there was. How the taste could be so awful was a mystery Crepe wasn’t sure they wanted to solve.
Espresso helped them lay back down.
“Do you want the fan angled towards you more, or..?” He asked. At their small nod a rush of blissfully cool air hit their shivering body, merciful relief in this torturous onslaught.
And as the whirring of the fans filled their ears, and the soporific effect of the medicine took hold, Strawberry Crepe finally surrendered consciousness to the gentle rocking of sleep.
***
It was times like these that made Espresso regret never paying much attention to the moments his cousins would sit with his mother and discuss the old kingdom, and regret never connecting to his roots even more.
He had been a sickly child, and his earliest memory of his mother was when he suffered a particularly bad illness. His mother would make him cacao-shoot soup, modified to fit his more Crème-Republican tastes. She would sit by his side and tell him stories of her life before she left her family, before she gave up everything for a better future for herself—and eventually, her only son. One of his biggest regrets was never learning that recipe when she was alive, among other things.
“Pick up, pick up…” he prayed, though he didn’t know if it was to the Witches of the Republic or the Spirits his mother honored.
“Es-Espresso?” Latte asks with a yawn. “Why’re you calling so late? I.. What is it?”
“I need your help.” He said, feeling a little guilty. He really should call her more often.
“Well, I could have figured that out myself.” She said with a laugh, making him feel guiltier. “What’s up?”
“You remember Mom’s cacao-shoot soup?” He waited for a hum of approval. “I need the recipe.”
“Oh! Auntie wrote it down for me. I think I have it somewhere in the kitchen! Let me go check!”
Espresso waited, and waited. He didn’t know why he was so desperate for this specific recipe, plain jelly-noodle would have been a perfectly fine substitute. If Latte couldn’t find the recipe he supposed he could just make some of that instead, ignoring how strangely wrong the thought felt. Maybe he’d just wing it, make it as best he could. Perhaps Pure Vanilla would know-
“Found it!” Latte exclaimed with delight. “You’ll need-”
“Let me write this down first!” He interrupted, frantically searching for a paper and pen.
“Found it!” He smiled to himself. “Okay, ready.”
***
Strawberry Crepe awoke with a pounding headache and a, fortunately, lessened fever. Their eyesight had returned, though they weren’t sure the headache was a worthy trade-off.
“Hey,” Espresso said, coming into the room with a bowl of…something and a book, “you’re up.”
“What’s that?” They asked, curiosity taking priority over physical discomfort.
“Cacao-shoot soup.” He said, a fond smile. “It’s usually too bitter for most cookies, but my mother would add a little sweetener to make it closer to what cookies in the Republic ate.”
“Oh.” They said finally. Sitting up with a wince, Strawberry Crepe debated whether or not it would be worth it to try and convince Espresso to let them leave the room and head back to the workshop.
As he placed a spoon into their hand, Crepe figured his mind was made up, and that he would not let them leave the comfy, warm bed and the nice, cool room with the special dim lights that didn’t hurt their eyes. No, it wouldn’t be worth it.
Taking a bite of the soup, feeling a warm cacao-shoot soothe their aching throat, Crepe felt conflicted.
“I had Latte help me make it. On the phone, on call, she gave me the recipe.” He explained, wincing at their reaction. “It’s the first time I’ve tried making Cacaoian food in a bit so it’s probably not the best.”
Taking another contemplative bite, Crepe responded. “Is your mom’s better?
“Very. I’ll ask Latte to make it for you, if-when we see her.” He corrected.
Crepe decided to drop the topic, and finally decided they made up their mind about the soup.
“I like it.” They said, finally. They weren’t used to it, but it wasn’t bad. “It’s really sweet.”
“Do you want me to make it less sweet next time?” Espresso asked. Crepe nodded.
“What’s the book for?” They asked finally.
“Oh-” He said, looking down at the book as if he had forgotten it was even there, “my mother used to tell me stories of the old kingdom when I was sick. I haven’t been since I was a kid, and I don’t remember it that well, so I thought I might read you a book instead.”
“What’s the book about?” Crepe asked.
“It’s…some children’s book Black Raisin recommended. It’s about the founding of the old Vanilla Kingdom.”
“That sounds boring.” They said, looking down at their soup, already half-gone.
“I… I could tell you about the Crème Republic?” He offered.
Crepe thought about it for a moment, and nodded, a devilish smile on their face.
“What was your most embarrassing childhood memory?” They asked.
Espresso paused, then smiled softly. “For the first three years after I met my older cousin, I thought he was a girl.” He confessed.
“How didn’t you know?!”
“The traditional dress of the Dark Cacao Kingdom is very different to that of the Republic, especially the outer villages.” He explained. “My Cacaoian also wasn’t very good, and it never really improved since then, so whenever people would refer to him as ‘he’ I thought they were saying ‘she’. We never really talked about him, specifically, at the Republic either.”
He thought back on the memory, and grinned. “When Latte found out she immediately ran to tell him. He was pissed!” He said with a laugh.
“What did he do then?” Crepe asked attentively, hungry for more.
“Well…”
***
There were a few downsides to cryogenesis, namely a weakened immune system, a separation from the culture one was raised in, and the occasional erasure of memories.
There were also many benefits to cryogenesis, and a scarcely-mentioned one was the simple comforts afforded to one by loved ones when sick.
After a long conversation (and another round of medicine, somehow more disgusting than the last) Strawberry Crepe felt their eyes beginning to droop.
“Can I have more of the soup?” They asked quietly.
“When you wake up.” Espresso replied, taking the spoon and bowl from their resting place on the bedside table.
“Goodnight, Crepe.” He said, ruffling their hair.
“‘night Dad.” They replied, their voice a whisper.
And if Crepe realized their slip-up, they didn’t make mention of it.
And if Espresso heard their words, he didn’t say.