Chapter Text
Where did it all go wrong? It’s a simple, infuriating, seemingly insignificant question, but it’s one Shadow Milk had demanded an answer to for as long as he could recall. Where did it all go wrong? Was it his stunt that caused him to be struck by an airship, or was it further back? Where did it all go wrong…
Was it his taunts, threats, and performance with Truthless Recluse, or even further back than that? Was it back when he was freed? Was it as far back as when he first watched that thief get a hold of his power? He needs to know, he hates not knowing! He hated how he needed to know, it was just easier to deceive and run away from it all. Or perhaps was this always meant to go wrong… he didn’t know. He would never know, it was hard to care when he could feel his body actively shutting down. All that went wrong in this messed up world was finally bringing him to his knees.
Shadow Milk’s entire being throbbed in agony. Every breath felt like his limbs were on fire, jam sticking uncomfortably to his hair, spilling everywhere as he collapsed. Truly, if he knew where it all went wrong or why, he wouldn’t have let it happen. It would be everyone else that would beg for clarity at the showstopper that was his master plan, but that’s not what happened. Clarity was so far from his reach, and he hated it. Because how did it all go wrong? His plan was perfect, it should’ve been, but it wasn’t. Was it a lack of power? Was his dough not enough? Whatever it was or could’ve been, he was paying for it.
In the corner of his eye, he sees figures, some blurring with his jam-stained vision. One figure he could always make out, even in this horrendous state, was Pure Vanilla. Oh Vanilly…Oh so silly, silly, pathetic silly Vanilly, always doing what he deems as righteous. Where did that get him in the end? Where did that get any of the beasts in the end? Nothing but crumbs and dust. The world didn’t care, the witches didn’t care, and that damn thief of his souljam certainly didn’t care either. It was just an act; a lie.
On one hand, it felt like the perfect irony, and on the other? The most pathetic tragedy. He’d been played like a puppet on a string, toyed with by the ultimate cookie when power and mania tore his body apart. What a joke… his life, his whole existence was a joke. In the end, it was just a pathetic joke, and his demise was the punchline.
He felt his consciousness start to fade, no longer hearing the voices that screamed in his soul. His mind felt awfully silent, far too much so. Was this what crumbling felt like? Had death always been that merciful, or was he drowning in the pain? Surely the end was near, and he was too exhausted to fight it any longer.
So Shadow Milk did the only thing he could, closing the curtains on his performance. He allows his eyes to fall closed, his body growing more slack. Perhaps he should’ve done this sooner, it felt stupid to stick it out for as long as he did. But he had to… he had to survive. He had to be seen… it couldn’t have been for nothing. But it was probably better that it—
“Stay with me…” He thinks he hears from above, but his head’s stuffed with cotton candy. Then muffled shouting for help. As feeling came back to him, he became aware of hands firmly pressing against his dough. He opened one of his eyes, his vision blurry and unfocused as he watched Pure Vanilla hovering over his bloodied body. This confused him greatly. Why would he call aid for his enemy? Shouldn’t he leave him to bleed out?
Shadow Milk didn’t have time to find answers as a warmth spread through his body, a comforting glow obscuring his vision. He always imagined healing magic as painless, patching up whatever discarded soul would be at the mercy of the spellcastor. That was far from the truth… It was more like a golden thread sewing up a discarded ragdoll, starting at the outer seams and working its way towards his core. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to dull the pain.
He could hear more voices, and feel his throat become raw. Was he screaming, or was the strain from battle cries stealing his ability to speak? Before he knew it, he fizzled out. Perhaps it was better to never know.
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Consciousness came in bursts, drifting between in this plane of existence and nothingness. He could faintly feel his body carried in someone’s arms, feel things rushing by faster than his lagging mind could comprehend.
“Oh crumbs…! We’re losing—! Get… nilla! Get Pure Vanilla now!”
“Deep lacerations… any longer and he would be…”
“Leave him to… should be stabilized.”
“Careful with… lay him here…”
It was all that his mind allowed him to register in the bursts. He could feel that something was keeping him under, like a thick fog ensnaring his slumbering thoughts. The memories he couldn’t keep at bay even in this strange state of non-lucidity. He felt like he was boiling and freezing, a feverish ache starting to dull and throb simultaneously.
Then everything quieted again, remaining that way for what felt like eternity. What was going on? Was this his afterlife, was he dead? Did the witches finally take notice and see their actor of chaos? He had to see for himself. Despite the protests his body mustered, he forced himself to search for answers. He was no longer on a soiled battlefield, but a bedroom, seemingly used to house guests. Though the more he looked around, the less it felt like a bedroom at all.
Shadow Milk forces himself to sit upright, hissing at how flimsy his limbs were being, like they were stuck in extra sticky molasses. Looking to his left he could see a nightstand stacked with medical equipment, bandages and bottles labeled with all sorts of modern medicinal jargon. To his right, was nothing but a book and a vase of slightly wilted lilies. The bookshelf in the furthest corner of the room offered a plausible explanation for what a book was doing there, but it didn’t explain the vase of lilies; thus reminding him of the crux of his confusion. Why was he here, why wasn’t he dead?
The door gently creaks open, familiar faces stepping in, the echoes of a tender conversation put on hold. They pause, the younger one quietly staying back as the older one approaches. He knew who it was, he’d know that overwhelming scent of vanilla anywhere.
“You’re awake,” Pure Vanilla says, his tone seemingly… grateful? Okay, if he wasn’t confused before, now he certainly was. “How are you feeling?” Pure Vanilla tried to converse, making his way to his bedside. Shadow Milk gives a horse scoff, coughing from the effort.
“Why… are you… here?” He tried to sound intimidating, tossing in some grit and gusto, but it came out as a wheeze. It could be dealt with later, right now he needed answers.
Pure Vanilla looks back at the doorway, now recognizing that the second figure was Gingerbrave. His hands were tightly around his candy cane, big blue eyes looking to the older one for guidance. “Go, let the others know.” Pure Vanilla assured, walking to Gingerbrave as he placed a tender hand on the kid’s shoulder. “We’ll talk later. Alright, Gingerbrave?”
Gingerbrave peered past Pure Vanilla, staring directly at Shadow Milk, before giving a reluctant nod. “Alright, I will… I’ll see you later.” Shadow Milk watches him leave, his footsteps echoing until they were far away from wherever they were.
“You were nearly dead, Shadow Milk.” Pure Vanilla began, making his way to the medical supplies at his left. Shadow Milk scowled. “…You should’ve let me bleed.” He hisses the last word, clawing at his chest as the dull throb returns. Pure Vanilla gently, perhaps absentmindedly, propped the pillows up behind Shadow Milk. He was either ignoring the glare Shadow Milk was leveling him, or not fully realizing the level of care he was giving. “I wouldn’t do that, Shadow Milk.” Pure Vanilla quietly began, opening the first-aid kit on the nightstand. “You don’t deserve to die…”
Shadow Milk blinks, baffled by what he was hearing. He thought Pure Vanilla was baffling before, but this was on an entirely different level of absurdity. He watched as Pure Vanilla eyed the lilies, reaching over to check the wilting petals between his fingertips. “Might need to replace these soon…” he muses to himself, letting go of the petals and grabbing the bandages shortly after. “The bandages on your torso are in need of being replaced…” He muses further, clearly holding information back. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” Shadow Milk doesn’t bother holding back the gawffaw that escapes his lips. “How pathetic do you think I am?” He openly mocks. “You’re asking me, the Beast of Deceit, on comfortability? Don’t make me laugh—!”
“Shadow Milk, I’m serious.” Pure Vanilla cuts him off, yet not unkind as he held the bandages more like a choice rather than a forced decision. On one hand, he could just reject the offer, but he didn’t have a choice, not really. Pure Vanilla could mangle this vessel for all he cared, and he’d still be hailed as the ever so saintly Pure Vanilla… “Fine.” He spat out, “but don’t go expecting me to like it.” Shadow Milk keeps his eyes on the healer, watching as he becomes unreadable. The healer should be relieved that he complied, he’s getting what he wanted! A perfectly compliant puppet. So why did he only look more concerned?
Pure Vanilla pulls back the covers, and Shadow Milk instinctively shivers. He can see his body clearer, the robes instead of the frilly jester attire he had ruined when flying off with his perfect scheme. When did someone change him into this? Why? There was simply no need to… “I’m going to undo this to get to the bandages,” Pure Vanilla spoke slowly, tugging at the sash keeping the robes closed. “Is that okay with you?”
Now he was certain Pure Vanilla knew something he didn’t, and it didn’t seem like he’d get any answers unless he complied. Or maybe he didn’t have to, he liked the sound of that plan much better. He hauls his hand up, struggling to undo the sash the healer was going to take forever undoing. However, instead of scolding him, Pure Vanilla waits, quietly watching as he tears the robes open to reveal the jam-smeared bandages underneath.
Shadow Milk could tell the bandages were applied not too recently, the jam was days old at least, but that’s the problem; he shouldn’t have been out at all. Wasn’t he just fighting Pure Vanilla and those foolish children? Wasn’t he— then it hit him. That golden glow, the voices screaming, his mind falling eerily silent, where were… “What did you… what did you do?” He grits his teeth, he hated how small he sounded. He needed an answer, not sounding more pathetic than he looked. “What do you mean?” Pure Vanilla’s voice falters, “I’m not sure if I—?”
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!” Shadow Milk hollers, clawing at his hair with a painful yank. “They’re not there, I can’t hear them!! What did you do?! ANSWER ME, YOU GNAT.” He snarls the last word, huffing out his frustration at Pure Vanilla. If he had it his way, he’d tear that stupid worry off the healer’s face and shred it into oblivion. He could see Pure Vanilla contemplate whatever he debated not telling him, pressing his lips into a thin line with a drawn out sigh.
“You’re right,” Pure Vanilla sadly agreed. “I haven’t been honest with you. I didn’t expect you to wake after… all that.” Shadow Milk paused, allowing his hand to fall away from his hair. “What’s that supposed to mean…? And don’t even think about dodging the question!!”
Pure Vanilla went quiet, his face scrunching as he allowed the bandages to gently slip onto his lap. The words that came next shook him to the core. “You’ve been out for nearly four weeks, Shadow Milk. The other beasts have not been with you since you’ve been brought here.”