Chapter Text
Wemmbu whispers to you: come to the end dude
Wemmbu whispers to you: i have something to show you LMAO
Flame stared at the message on his screen, blindfold already in place even though he'd just woken up. It had been a few days since the 2v1000, since that conversation on the battlefield. Since Wemmbu had basically told him he could stick around without needing to fight for it.
He hadn't quite believed it yet. Kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Wemmbu to change his mind.
You whisper to Wemmbu: why
You whisper to Wemmbu: r u going to jump me
Wemmbu whispers to you: I will soon if you dont come to the end
Flame grabbed <Fragger> and made his way to the end portal. The journey through the stronghold was familiar now, muscle memory more than sight guiding him through the corridors until he stood before the portal's frame.
He stepped through.
The End was as desolate as ever, all pale stone and void. But instead of finding Wemmbu near the usual spawn point where Minute built for players to spawn safely, it was opened, and Flame wandered out before heading downstairs to the library where Egg resided. No one. He moved around downstairs a little more before coming across a kitchen.
An actual, fully functional kitchen built in the End, complete with counters, an oven, and—was that a fridge? Who put a fridge in the End?
Wemmbu stood by one of the counters, his horns silhouetted, tail flicking idly. His eyes—those purple irises swimming in darkening sclera—tracked Flame's approach.
"Took you long enough, bro."
"Dude, you didn't exactly give me a heads up." Flame looked around the kitchen, genuinely confused. "What is this? Did you build this?"
"Minutetech did. Well, had it built. Uses it sometimes." Wemmbu gestured vaguely. "He's off doing guardian stuff. Said I could use it today."
"For...?"
Wemmbu pulled out a piece of paper—actual paper, probably from a book that had been torn apart and written on. "We're baking a cake."
Flame just stared at him. "We're what."
"Baking. A cake." Wemmbu enunciated each word like Flame was stupid. "From scratch. You know, mixing ingredients? Putting it in an oven?"
"Bro, I know what baking is." Flame moved closer, peering at the paper. It was covered in cramped handwriting, instructions and measurements. "Why though?"
"Because." Wemmbu's tail swished once. "You wanted to do normal server stuff that isn't fighting. This is normal people stuff. Normal people bake cakes."
Something warm flickered in Flame's chest that had nothing to do with his fire powers. "So you... you want to bake. With me."
"Don't make it too weird." But Wemmbu was already pulling out ingredients from various chests. Flour, sugar, eggs, butter, milk. "I found this recipe. Looks complicated enough to be interesting."
Flame couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. "This is gonna be a disaster, bro."
"Probably." Wemmbu set down a carton of eggs with more force than necessary. "But we took down a thousand players. How hard can a cake be?"
Famous last words.
"Okay, so we need to beat the eggs for seven minutes until they triple in volume," Flame read from the recipe, squinting at the tiny handwriting. "That seems like a long time, bro."
"It's probably exaggerating." Wemmbu had already cracked four eggs into a bowl—well, mostly into the bowl. Some shell fragments floated in the mixture. "How do you even measure 'tripled in volume' anyway?"
"I think you're supposed to like, look at how high it gets in the bowl?" Flame grabbed the hand mixer Wemmbu had pulled out. "And bro, there's shells in there."
"I'll fish them out later."
"You're supposed to do it now—"
"I'll do it later." Wemmbu's claws extended slightly, just the tips. "Start mixing."
Flame knew better than to argue when Wemmbu's claws came out. He started the mixer on low, then gradually increased the speed. The eggs began to foam, turning pale and expanding.
"Add the sugar," Wemmbu instructed, reading from the recipe.
"It says to add it slowly over forty-five seconds—"
Wemmbu dumped half the sugar in at once.
"BRO."
"What? It's going in anyway, what does it matter?"
"It matters because the recipe says—" Flame gestured wildly with one hand, the other still holding the mixer. Egg mixture splattered onto the counter. "Oh shit."
"Great job, dude." But Wemmbu was already wiping up the spill with a towel, his tail curled in what might've been amusement.
They continued beating the eggs, adding the rest of the sugar in slightly more controlled increments. Flame had to admit, watching the mixture transform from yellow liquid to thick, glossy white foam was kind of mesmerizing. After seven minutes, the bowl was filled with something that looked like clouds.
"Okay, that's actually pretty cool," Flame said, turning off the mixer. "Very fluffy, bro."
"Don't get cocky. We haven't even added the flour yet." Wemmbu was already measuring out flour and baking powder. "Says to add it in three parts. Five seconds of mixing each time."
"Let me do this part. You're too aggressive with the dumping."
"I am not aggressive—"
"Bro, you literally just dumped half the sugar in at once."
Wemmbu's eyes narrowed, those purple irises seeming to glow brighter. "Fine. You do the flour. I'll heat up the milk and butter."
Flame carefully added the flour mixture in three parts, mixing for exactly five seconds each time like the recipe instructed. He could feel Wemmbu watching him, tail swishing impatiently.
"You're counting really slow, bro."
"I'm counting normal!"
"That was like eight seconds."
"It was five—you know what, you heat your milk." Flame gestured toward the stove where Wemmbu had put a small pot. "Pretty sure it's boiling over."
"Shit!" Wemmbu lunged for the stove, his claws fully extended now as he grabbed the pot handle. The milk was bubbling enthusiastically, foam threatening to spill over the sides. "It's fine. It's fine."
"Is it supposed to be that hot, bro?"
"Recipe says hot milk." Wemmbu peered at the instructions. "Doesn't say how hot."
"I think boiling might be too hot—"
"It's FINE."
Flame wisely decided to move on to the next step. "Okay, so now we're supposed to mix some of the egg batter into the hot milk to... temper it?" He looked at Wemmbu. "What does tempering mean?"
"No idea. Just do what it says." Wemmbu was trying to fish out the egg shells from earlier, his claws retracting to their normal state so he could be more precise.
Flame scooped out some of the fluffy egg mixture and added it to the hot milk. It immediately started foaming even more, turning into something that looked vaguely concerning.
"Bro, is it supposed to look like this?"
"Probably?" Wemmbu abandoned the shell-fishing mission—he'd gotten most of them—and came over to look. "I mean, it's not on fire."
"That's a low bar, dude."
"You're literally a fire guy. I figured that would be your main concern."
Flame snorted, whisking the mixture together. It did eventually smooth out into something that looked more intentional. "Okay, now I pour this back into the egg stuff slowly while mixing on speed one..."
This part was easier with two people. Wemmbu held the bowl steady while Flame poured with one hand and mixed with the other. The batter came together, thin and pale yellow, smelling distinctly of vanilla and butter.
"That actually looks like cake batter," Flame said, surprised.
"Don't jinx it." Wemmbu was already greasing two cake pans with butter, his claws retracted completely now. They'd found the pans in one of Minutetech's chests, along with parchment paper.
They poured the batter into the pans—mostly successfully, though there was definitely some spillage on the counter—and Flame lifted them to bang them on the counter like the recipe instructed.
"What are you doing?" Wemmbu asked.
"Getting the air bubbles out. Says to drop them three times." Flame demonstrated, the batter jiggling satisfyingly.
"Let me do the other one." Wemmbu grabbed the second pan and slammed it on the counter hard enough that batter splashed up the sides.
"BRO. It says DROP, not SLAM."
"It's the same thing!"
"It's really not—"
They were still bickering as they slid the pans into the preheated oven, setting a timer for thirty minutes.
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on the counter, legs dangling, watching the oven like it might explode.
"So," Flame said, breaking the comfortable silence. "This is normal people stuff, huh?"
"Guess so." Wemmbu's tail swished lazily. "Minutetech bakes sometimes. Says it helps him think."
"Minutetech bakes?" Flame tried to imagine the stoic End guardian whisking eggs. The image didn't compute.
"Yeah. Usually bread though. Said we could use his kitchen if we cleaned up after ourselves." Wemmbu's eyes flicked toward Flame. "Which means you're helping clean, by the way."
"Bro, I'm not the one who spilled milk everywhere."
"That was a team effort."
They fell quiet again, the only sound the gentle hum of the oven. Flame found himself relaxing, shoulders loosening from their usual tension. This was nice. Weird, but nice.
"Thanks," Flame said quietly. "For, you know. This."
Wemmbu's tail curled. "Stop making it weird."
"I'm just saying, bro—"
"I know what you're saying." Wemmbu's voice was flat, but not unkind. "You already thanked me. On the battlefield. Don't need to keep doing it."
"But—"
"We're baking a cake. That's it. Normal stuff." Wemmbu hopped off the counter as the timer beeped. "Now let's see if we completely fucked this up or not."
He pulled the pans from the oven using a towel. The cakes were golden brown, slightly domed, and smelled incredible. They actually looked... pretty good?
"Holy shit, bro." Flame leaned in to inspect them. "We didn't completely destroy them."
"They're a little uneven." Wemmbu pointed to where one cake had risen slightly higher on one side. "And I think there's a crack on this one."
"Recipe said that might happen if the oven doesn't heat evenly. Says it'll flatten when it cools." Flame grinned. "Dude, we actually baked a cake."
"We baked TWO cakes." Wemmbu set them on cooling racks, his tail doing that pleased curl thing again. "Recipe says to cool them upside down for flat layers."
They carefully flipped the cakes, the golden-brown bottoms now facing up. Some parts were darker than others, and there were definitely those small brown sugar specks the recipe had warned about, but overall? Not bad for a first attempt.
"Should we make the frosting?" Flame asked.
Wemmbu checked the recipe. "Needs to cool completely first. Might as well clean up while we wait."
They set to work wiping down the counters—which were truly a disaster zone of flour, spilled milk, and random batter splatters—and washing the mixing bowls. Flame found himself humming while he worked, some tune he'd heard somewhere on the server.
"You're in a good mood," Wemmbu observed, scrubbing egg residue from the whisk.
"Bro, we're baking. This is the weirdest thing I've ever done." Flame grinned. "I like it."
Wemmbu's expression softened slightly, barely noticeable if you weren't looking for it. "Yeah. It's not bad."
By the time they finished cleaning—well, mostly cleaning, there was still some flour in places they definitely missed—the cakes had cooled enough to frost.
"Okay, so we need to beat the butter for three minutes until it's white and fluffy," Flame read. "Bro, why is everything in this recipe about beating things for several minutes?"
"Because apparently that's how you make things fluffy." Wemmbu was already cutting butter into chunks. "You do this part. I'll measure the powdered sugar."
"It says to sift it—"
"We don't have a sifter."
"Then we should—"
"We're not buying a sifter for one cake, Flame."
Fair point.
Flame beat the butter, watching it transform from yellow to pale, almost white. It was weirdly satisfying, seeing the texture change from solid to creamy and cloud-like.
Wemmbu added the powdered sugar in increments—learning from the earlier sugar incident—and they beat it all together until it looked like frosting. Actual frosting.
"Add some milk," Wemmbu instructed. "Says it might be too thick."
Flame added a splash of milk and some vanilla extract, then mixed again. The frosting became silky smooth, perfect for spreading.
"Bro, we're actually doing this." Flame couldn't keep the excitement from his voice. "We're actually making a whole cake."
"Don't celebrate yet. We still have to stack these without them falling apart."
That part was trickier. They put one cake layer on a plate, spread frosting on top, then attempted to place the second layer. It slid slightly to one side before Wemmbu caught it, adjusting it into place with careful claws.
"Okay, now we just frost the outside," Flame said, scooping frosting with a knife.
Their frosting technique could best be described as "enthusiastic but inexperienced." They got frosting everywhere—on the plate, on the counter, on their hands. Wemmbu's tail accidentally dipped in the frosting bowl at one point, which led to Flame laughing so hard he nearly dropped the knife.
"It's not funny," Wemmbu growled, trying to wipe frosting off his tail with a towel.
"Bro, it's hilarious."
"I'm going to stab you."
"With your frosting tail?"
Wemmbu's claws extended. "With my claws, idiot."
But he was fighting back a smile—barely, but it was there.
Eventually, they managed to get most of the frosting onto the cake. It wasn't professional by any means. The layers were slightly uneven, the frosting had visible knife marks, and one side was definitely thicker than the other. But it was a cake. A complete, finished cake that they'd made together.
"It's kind of ugly," Wemmbu said, tilting his head to examine their work.
"It's beautiful, bro." Flame meant it. Sure, it was messy and imperfect, but they'd made it. Together. Doing something normal.
"It's edible. Probably." Wemmbu grabbed a knife. "Should we try it?"
"Absolutely, bro—"
A pained sound, similar to the devastation of an animal seeing the death of another, could be heard behind them.
Both of them froze, turning to see Minutetech standing in the doorway. The End guardian's expression was unreadable as his eyes swept across the scene: the flour still dusted on one corner of the counter, the mixing bowls in the drying rack, the frosting on the plate around the cake, Wemmbu's tail still slightly sticky, and the cake itself sitting proudly (if unevenly) in the center of the counter.
Minutetech looked at the cake.
Then at them.
Then back at the cake.
Then at the state of his kitchen.
He groaned—a long, deep, suffering groan that seemed to come from his very soul.
Without a word, he turned around and walked back out, the door swinging shut behind him.
Silence.
Then Flame burst out laughing. "Oh my god, bro, did you see his face?"
"He didn't even say anything." Wemmbu was grinning now, properly grinning. "Just groaned and left."
"He's so done with us." Flame wiped tears from under his blindfold. "Worth it though."
"Definitely worth it." Wemmbu cut two slices of cake, the knife sliding through the layers easily. The crumb looked soft, even, and moist. They'd actually pulled it off.
They sat back on the counter, plates balanced on their laps, and took their first bites.
The cake was... good. Not perfect—slightly too sweet in some bites where the sugar hadn't dissolved completely, and one edge was a little dry—but genuinely good. Soft, fluffy, with that nice vanilla and butter flavor the recipe had promised.
"Bro," Flame said around his mouthful. "This is actually decent."
"Better than I expected." Wemmbu took another bite, his tail swishing contentedly. "Could use less frosting though."
"You made the frosting, dude."
"And I'm saying there's too much of it."
They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally pointing out little imperfections in the cake or arguing about whose fault they were. The kitchen was still kind of a mess despite their cleaning efforts. They'd probably have to do a more thorough job before Minutetech came back.
But right now, sitting in a kitchen in the End, eating a slightly imperfect vanilla cake they'd baked from scratch, Flame felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Content.
"Same time next week?" Wemmbu asked, finishing his slice.
Flame grinned. "What are we making next, bro?"
"I saw a recipe for cookies. Looked complicated."
"You just want an excuse to use your claws for cutting shapes."
"Maybe." Wemmbu's tail curled. "You in or not?"
Flame looked at the messy kitchen, at the uneven cake, at Wemmbu with his purple eyes and frosting-stained tail. At this weird, wonderful, normal thing they'd done together.
"Yeah, bro. I'm in."
Later that night, after they'd finished the cleaning (properly this time) and Flame had headed home with a carefully wrapped slice of cake for later, Minutetech returned to his kitchen.
Everything was spotless. Well, mostly spotless. There was still a faint dusting of flour in one corner that they'd missed, and someone had moved his good mixing bowl to a different cabinet.
But on the counter, wrapped in parchment paper with a messily scrawled note, sat a slice of vanilla cake.
Sorry about the mess, Minutetech!
Minutetech picked up the slice, examining it. The layers were uneven. The frosting was haphazard. One edge was definitely drier than it should be.
He took a bite.
It was pretty good, actually.
He allowed himself a small smile, then put the cake in his inventory and got back to work.
His kitchen would probably smell like vanilla for days.
He found he didn't really mind.