Chapter Text
He jolted awake in a cold sweat. In a blind panic, he kicked at the bedsheets keeping him hostage until they slipped off the foot of the bed. His pulse was thundering, the sound of his heartbeat pounding against his chest akin to a stampede of wild, angry cake hounds. His hands trembled with the same quality of his ragged breathing, unsteady as he attempted fruitlessly to calm himself. He tried to blink the blur from his vision, quickly wiping the water from his eyes, as if there was anyone around to judge him for daring to shed tears.
Dark Choco Cookie is a wreck.
Through a deep yet quaking exhale, he tries his very best to level himself. Fresh air should help, he decides. It usually does. But when trying to escapes his prison cell of a bedroom, his legs would be no help if they were more comparable to gelatin than working limbs. Therefore, calming down enough to function is the first priority. And yet, his hands itch for the Strawberry Jam Sword, to cling to it like a lifeline. The reason could be any number of things. So he can feel safe. So he doesn't feel so weak. So he can be prepared. Of course, the distant sound of demanding voices are no help, only clouded by exhaustion and a determination to be alright, at this very moment.
Eventually, after many minutes of repetative, deep, slow breathing, he slips off of the end of his now bare bed. He makes a mental note that he needs to actually put the sheets on the mattress again, before he inevitably collapses once he comes back. He slides his boots onto his feet, and takes hold of his sword- just in case -and makes his way past the bedroom door.
He isn't too concerned about waking anyone. Of course, he isn't planning on coming out and making a racket just for the sake of it. However there was no real need for tiptoeing about. Most of the Enchantress's followers are quite heavy sleepers. Everyone aside from Dark Choco Cookie, it would appear. Unfortunate for his sleeping habits, but a godsend for the sake of nights such as these, which grow more and more frequent as the years go by. He had hoped when they had first became routine, almost a decade ago, that the opposite would occur, or at least that he would stop reacting so harshly. But perhaps this is the universe's punishment for his crimes. An ever growing dept which he pays for in panic attacks.
The outside world, beyond this cursed church, is far more inviting. Tempting, even, as the days go by. A literal and figurative breath of fresh air. No Pomegranate Cookie, no horrid spells, no dreadful memories. Far, deep down in his bitter core, he wishes so immensly that he could simply leave this behind him. To abandon this damned church, keep the Dark in his past. Perhaps he could join those young heroes he'd encountered at the academy. They seemed all too eager to let him in. Possibly, he'd return to his homeland, in the Dark Cacao Kingdom. He would try to make amends with his father, and maybe he could chuck that cursed sword into the Licorice Sea with every ounce of might in his body. He'd probably be far happier that way.
In spite of this, although it pains him to admit such a thing, Pomegranate Cookie is right. He is far too weak to seek out a new path. The very thought is terrifying. Because it is easy to fantasize about a world where his hypotheticals transform into truth. But to fantasize is to ignore the reality and difference between what you want, and what you have. Because he has dug himself a hole far too deep to simply hop out of. And the longer he waits, stewing in his guilt, immobilized by his self-pity, the easier it is to throw in the towel and wither to crumbs. If he stays where he is, he can avoid the discussion in which those young heros question why he didn't just accept their offer in the first place. He wouldn't need to wrestle with the guilt of daring to set foot on the homeland he has time and time again tried to bring to the ground. He would never need to see the look of distain in his father's eyes when he looks at him, nor listen to him turn him away after his attempt to explain himself, to apologize. And his hands would never allow him to part with his sword. His body would sooner fall directly into the Licorice Sea to go after it, than it would allow him the ability to let it sink into the abyssal ocean. This is his curse, his burden to bare. And his cowardice, his weakness, will not allow him to strive for greater. To fool himself into thinking he's better than that... is a pointless endeavor. He is bound to the darkness. A life engulfed in shadows, until the cold and bitter end befitting him.
His body still aches of exhaustion. He has no doubt in his mind that Pomegranate Cookie's cursed spell was to blame, draining every ounce of energy from his body just to rub salt in his crumbs. He sits at the base of a tree not too far into the forest surrounding the church. The temperature is on the colder side, tonight, but Dark Choco Cookie didn't mind. He was raised in worse climates, if anything he welcomes such weather. Some mix of nostalgia and pointedly ignored homesickness leaves him almost craving the cold.
"Can't sleep?" And with that, all of Dark Choco Cookie's "calming down" progress is flung out the window, as the sudden sound of speaking causes his heartrate to spike.
Dark Choco Cookie is well aquainted with the high pitched, nasally voice that had just startled him out of his thoughtful trance. Of course, tonight of all nights is when Licorice Cookie decides to leave his little nest at one in the morning. It could have been any other night, he'd welcome it if it were any other night. But truly Dark Choco Cookie just wants to relax enough that he can sleep.
"I don't blame you." He states quite bluntly, easily sliding into a cross-legged sit, at a different tree right across from Dark Choco, "I wouldn't be able to either. I had no idea Pomegranate Cookie could get any more heartless, and yet here we are."
The sorcerer gestures about in a vague reference to Dark Choco Cookie's current state, before his hands fall, rested on his knees into a hunch. "...I feel like I could've-..." He pauses, drawing in a sharp breath, "I should've, stopped her."
"Well, it's nice to know you care enough to think about it." Dark Choco shrugs.
"I mean, sure, whatever," He mutters, curling ever so slightly more into himself, "You're kind of the only person worth talking to here. Poison Mushroom is always out of it, so it's you or Pomegranate Cookie."
It is true that this isn't the first time they've sat down and had some, typically meaningless, conversation. Normally it's around this time, aswell. When Dark Choco Cookie wakes up from particularly bad nightmares, and Licorice Cookie is up and about on some restless night of his own. However, this goes unknown by the rest of the Cookies of Darkness. This is for one, obvious reason.
"Hm," The former prince hums, "And here I was thinking I was a 'real peice of work'. Betraying my homeland and running and such."
Licorice Cookie gulps, "Ah. You heard that, didn't you?"
"That was the point I was trying to make by quoting the things you've said about me behind my back, yes." Dark Choco Cookie replied dryly.
"It was a scummy thing to say, alright? I know that. I just wanted Pomegranate Cookie off my case, and throwing you under the bus was just the first thing that came to me! And that's a dumb excuse but it's the truth." Licorice Cookie always was quite prone to acting before he thinks. He's normally an extremely bright Cookie, he would just seem that way to more people if he thought things through more often.
"Perhaps it's about time you start thinking before opening your mouth," Dark Choco says with a sigh.
Licorice groans in reluctant admitance, "I know."
An awkward silence befalls the two, but despite his desire to simply up and leave, Dark Choco Cookie could not bring himself to break it. He blames this on the fact that Licorice Cookie is shockingly easy to read. Because he knows full well that even though the sorcerer claims to be this all powerful magician, the dark prince is still well aware of his greatest weakness. That in the end, Licorice Cookie dreads to be alone. This is what brought them together in the first place, causing these late night talks while everyone else is fast asleep. And it's the thick concrete wall keeping Dark Choco Cookie from being able to leave in good conscience.
(Of course, this is what Dark Choco Cookie blames it on. However the reality is that he himself shares the reaper's fear. This, combined with an underlying worry that returning to bed will only bring about more nightmares, is what truly keeps him here. But for the sake of his own pride, and peace of mind, he lets Licorice take the fall. For he is not a child, nor someone suffering enough to be worthy of such lenience.)
"The plan has been set back by at least a few days," Licorice Cookie informs him, "After what you pulled with the pomegranate gems, Dark Enchantress Cookie won't be set free for another week."
Dark Choco Cookie simply nods along. This, of course, was his intention. But to admit such a thing to Licorice Cookie, such a fanatic for the Enchantresses work, would likely only result in some sort of far crueler punishment, should he let it slip to Pomegranate Cookie.
"She also wants to see you." At the Reaper's words, his heart drops to his stomach, "We all plan to be there when she awakens, but she wants to speak to you in particular. Lucky you."
There's a thinly veiled sarcastic tone in his voice when he adds the final phrase. Dark Choco Cookie isn't sure if this is a small act of distain for the Dark, knowing that this won't likely end well for him, or if it's bitterness towards the former prince himself for being "favoured". Which would mean that he truly is clueless to the risk of this future meeting, leaving him jealous. Both seem equally likely, all things considered. And truly he couldn't decide which would be worse, being pitied or being envied.
"I'll be sure to be on my best behavour, then." Says Dark Choco Cookie.
...Another short pause, less awkward, more pondering, before Licorice Cookie blurts out, "Are you ok?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Despite it being the reason they talk in the first place, Dark Choco Cookie has made very sure not to let the necromancer know quite why he's up this late so very often. Call it what you will- pride, stubborness, a lack of self-worth and preservation- but Dark Choco Cookie would rather crumble than admit that he's struggling to anyone other than himself for the sake of self-deprication.
"You seem sorta... out of it." Licorice Cookie shrugs, "And I mean, you usually do, this late at night. But you're a whole lot more quiet, and jumpy. And like I said earlier, I don't really blame you. What Pomegranate Cookie did back there did was royally screwed up. I just figured I might as well ask. You aren't exactly the most... open. Or readable, for that matter."
"While I, again, appretiate the concern, you need not worry about me," Dark Choco Cookie answered, while struggling to look Licorice Cookie in the eyes, as he gazes at the prince with such earnest worry, something he'd go on to deny.
"If you say so." Licorice accepted with slight hesitance. "So, yesterday I was training with Bat-Cat and Schwarzwalder, and-" And here comes the more normalized menial conversation, something Dark Choco Cookie could happily nod along to and add small comments as Licorice Cookie rambles on. Even he could admit, there is something quite charming about the sorcerer when he works himself up over ranting about his superiors, or gets very passionate about explaining spells that Dark Choco Cookie in his near-magicless ways only barely comprehends. On nights like these, when his stress is high, and his thoughts run rampant with poison, it's almost theraputic, and he could honestly listen to his voice for hours, despite how most would describe it as shrill or whiny.
And he does exactly that. It goes from one-thirty, to two, to three in the morning, in what feels like mere minutes. Until eventually the sorcerer's ramblings grow punctuated by exhaustive yawns, so often that his eyes have begun to water. And suddenly, without warning, he stops altogether. Dark Choco Cookie looks over to see why, only to find him fully slumped against the tree he sat at. He breathes steady, slow, restful breaths, small snores escaping him. The Dark Prince finds himself watching quietly, the magicians peaceful expression as he stirs ever so slightly, likely looking for the warmth he's more familiar with in sleep, used to his nest-like pile he calls a bed he shares with his pets. But eventually Dark Choco Cookie comes to his senses, and stands up, gently scooping Licorice Cookie up of the ground, careful not to hit him with the Strawberry Jam sword.
As he walks quietly back to the church, he notices Licorce Cookie sleepily leaning into him, attracted to his body heat. He smirks with an airy chuckle. Licorice Cookie would probably be livid if the prince actually claimed that this happened tomorrow, so he decides that he'd be keeping this to himself. Making light steps through the echoey church halls, Dark Choco Cookie stops himself at Licorice Cookie's chambers, covered in little keep-out warnings you see on the bedroom doors of angsty teens. He gently opens the door, knowing full well that the sorcerer's "servants" would be sleeping on the other side. Walking up to the nest sitting beneath the far window, Dark Choco Cookie tries to loosen his grip, but Licorce Cookie clings to his front, stubborn even in sleep, and only after long moments of gentle coaxing is he able to put him to rest without waking him. Satisfied with his job well-done, he leaves the room, slowly closing the door behind him.
And now he was alone again, continuing down the dark hallway, far too early in the morning for the candles to be lit. He was left feeling colder than before, as he opens his door, and shuts it again behind himself. Sliding his boots back off, and hanging up his sword, he huffs, remembering that he still needs to put the kicked-off sheets back onto his bed. He shakes them off as he throws them back onto the mattress, and when it's finally finished, his body gives into exhaustion, and he collapses onto his pillow, falling into a dead slumber.
This sleep is dreamless, motionless, and deep. It's reserved for the evenings after a long day of exhaustive training. Or when he's finally able to rest after a string of sleepless nights. However neither was true of tonight. No, this was just farther proof that that spell, or more accurately, that curse, of Pomegranate Cookie's, had somehow sucked all of the energy and fight from his body.
Nevertheless, this should lend itself to a smoother morning than the nearly two hour waking period would normally allow. And five hours later, with the sun pouring golden rays through the cracks in his curtains, his eyes slowly open as he awakes...
... to a knock on the door.