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The Price of Deceit

~ Shadow Milk Cookie redemption fic

Containing: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Attempts at Humor, everyone being somewhat mentally not fine, Pure Vanilla being actually angry for a while and the Deceit Trio as a dysfunctional found family

Chapter 5: Relearn & Reconsider

Summary: Shadow Milk comes to an absolutely world-ending realization. He will never recover from this. He will die. Slowly and in unending agony.

Read on AO3

The next morning found Shadow Milk in slightly better condition than the one before.

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes (yes, he had slept again—shut up), he couldn't help his mind from wandering back to the evening before.

After being informed of their decision, Pure Vanilla had insisted on speaking with them again. And since Shadow Milk was still supposed to take it slow, the conversation had taken place in his bedroom once more.

Black Sapphire had made a snarky comment about last-minute changes to the deal, but the ancient had quickly reassured them—no changes, just a few reminders.

Shadow Milk had mostly let the explanations wash over him. Something about mealtimes, spending money and an upcoming festival. He had always let Black Sapphire handle that kind of stuff—too boring for his taste.

Although, this time, that might not have been the real only reason for his lack of attention.

Pure Vanilla might have seemed as calm and composed as always, but the jester had clearly heard the resentment buried under that gentle tone—had noticed the stiffness in his stance, the subtle tension in his movements. He had looked at his other half far too often, despite his increasingly desperate attempts to stare anywhere else. Out of boredom, of course.

I wonder if he can't stop thinking about our last encounter in this room, as well…

The phantom ache in his chest flared at the thought—radiating in bitter pulses, like cracks spiderwebbing through sugar glass. The shattering of his Soul Jam hadn’t just fractured his magic; it had left behind splinters—sharp, invisible, buried deep, not in his dough but in his very essence.

It had dulled overnight, faded into something almost neglectable. But now, just the memory of that look on Pure Vanilla’s face…

Shadow Milk shook the thought from his head immediately.

Ugh…

Nope! Nu-uh. No way.

He was not ruining his morning with that kind of thinking before it even began. It was far too early for this shit.

A glance at the clock on the wall had him groaning—in fact it was far too early for anything, really. Breakfast started at six, if he remembered correctly, so in about half an hour…

He groaned again—putting on a show for an audience of none. He definitely hadn’t planned on being the first in line. And especially not on going alone. He still refused to acknowledge that he needed food at all like it was the plague. He was good at that after all. Lying to himself.

He’d need to find a way to occupy himself while he waited for the other two to wake up. Unlike him, they hadn't been out for several days straight, so they would surely not wake for another few hours at least.

Welp, no time like the present!

With a dramatic flourish worthy of a stage curtain call, Shadow Milk flung the blanket aside and shuffled to the edge of the large bed. The movement earned him only a faint sting from his protesting body—progress! Encouraged, he swung his legs over the side with a bit too much enthusiasm.

For approximately one glorious second, he felt triumphant.

Then gravity had to remind him that it existed.

His legs, traitorous fools that they were, failed to support him in the slightest. His balance pitched forward. His arms flailed for purchase like the air could support him and with a startled yelp more befitting a squeak-toy than an ancient being of darkness, Shadow Milk faceplanted into the soft, plush carpet below.

He just lay there for a moment, sprawled out like a marionette with it's strings cut, limbs tangled, dignity in tatters.

His brain took a moment—or three—to catch up.

Thank anyone but the witches that no one else is awake yet. I might actually die of embarrassment if Candy or Sapphire had seen that.

Still facedown, he groaned quietly into the carpet. Then, with the grace of an uncoordinated newborn cream sheep, he awkwardly pushed himself up onto shaky elbows, before turning back towards the bed and grabbing onto it's frame like a lifeline.

What the hell just happened?

His body felt heavy.

But not in the same way as when he first woke up yesterday, weighted down by exhaustion. No—this was different. More… existential.

Instinctively Shadow Milk reached for his magic, intending to levitate himself back onto the bed like he had done a million times before in his lifetime. His magic sparked. He felt lighter. It flickered, then sputtered, then fizzled out completely. Weak. Drained. To little energy.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Still stitting on the floor. Staring at his claws, almost tearing into the mattress, as the realization hit.

'I've never stood up,' hiseyes were wide, his throat tightened. 'I never walked. Never ran. I…'

The thought hit like a blow to the chest.

I haven’t walked in millennia.

Why would he have? Flying had become second nature—effortless, instinctive, as easy as breathing. He'd mastered it to perfection, the motions natural for his mind and body alike. It had never needed much energy. Not when his Soul Jam provided power like the roaring sea.

But that sea was gone now.

His magic pool, once vast and unending, had been reduced to a trembling puddle. A glass half-empty where there had once been an ocean.

Something squeezed around his chest, invisible and unrelenting. His breaths grew short, sharp, panicked.

I can’t fly.

Even if he had the magic, he wasn’t allowed to use it outside these walls. He wasn’t allowed to be what he used to be.

I can’t walk.

His heart pounded like it was trying to escape the prison of his ribs.

I forgot how.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t run.

Couldn’t escape.

His whole body trembled. Not with exhaustion, but with the gut-deep, all-consuming terror of someone cornered. Caged. Trapped in a body that no longer obeyed him.

He dragged in a breath—but it caught in his throat. Another. Still too shallow. His hands clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to ground him, to move him, to free him.

I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—

The room spun.

The walls were closing in. The ceiling pressed down on him. Even the air felt wrong—too thick, too quiet. Every heartbeat was a war drum. Every second, a scream.

You’re powerless. Trapped. Useless. A pathetic shell—

“No.” The word was more a whimper. Croaked. Pleading.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Removed his hands from the bed sheets before his claws would tear them apart and hugged himself instead. Trying to hold it together. Trying to remember how to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. Count it. Focus. Just…

One breath.

It stuttered.

Another.

It wasn’t steady, but it was there.

He pressed his forehead into the softness of the bed, his pulse still racing, but not quite galloping off a cliff anymore. His breaths were still ragged and wet with barely unshed tears, but they reached deeper into his lungs. His body still shook—but it was slowing.

A little.

You’re fine, he lied to himself. You're used to this. Being fine. You're always fine.

He stayed there for a while, just focusing on his breathing. His heart still pounded, but it no longer screamed. The room was still too quiet, but the silence wasn’t suffocating anymore. His body still felt heavy… but it was his.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

You're gonna find a way. You're not unable to walk. You've done it before. Just because you forgot, doesn't mean you can't relearn.

His little pep talk hadn’t been nearly as convincing as he would’ve liked—but hey, what did they say?

Fake it till you make it!

It had been his motto for centuries. Surely it could get him through this, too. As long as no one found out, he’d be fine. No one had to know about this temporary weakness of his.

All he had to do was deflect any attempts at dragging him outside until he figured out how to walk again.

How hard could that be?

As it turned out: Pretty hard.

The hours after his breakdown passed in a quiet, uneasy blur. The panic had drained him more thoroughly than he cared to admit, and once he'd clambered back into bed, his body had simply refused to move again. Not quite asleep, not quite awake, he'd drifted in and out of a restless half-consciousness—too tired to think but too tense to rest.

A very unpleasant experience.

But by the time he heard movement in the next room, he’d at least somewhat managed to sit up again—doing his very best to appear like he had not just spent the last three hours crashing out from a little panic attack.

“Morning!” came Candy Apple’s far too-loud, far too-cheerful voice, as she dashed into the room as soon as she saw him awake, closely followed by Black Sapphire at a more measured pace. “You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Shadow Milk barely suppressed a flinch.

Act natural. You did not just have a full-on existential crisis because you forgot how legs work.

“Of course I’m awake,” he answered easily, gesturing vaguely and doing his best to lounge against the headboard like he hadn’t recently been face-down on the carpet. “Unlike certain others, I don’t need no beauty sleep to maintain my looks.”

Candy gave him a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “Uh-huh.”

“Should we all go to the dinning hall for breakfast,” Sapphire asked casually, “or would you rather we bring something here?”

Shadow Milk’s smile froze just a bit too long. Not the food again. He could not go out there. Not yet. But he couldn't like say that either!

“Oh no, no, no, I wouldn’t dream of subjecting the public to my radiance so early in the morning,” he declared with dramatic flair. “Besides, I’ve been giving it some thought, and I believe I should begin today by practicing the art of reflection. Yes. I need to think about some… stuff.”

There was a pause.

Candy tilted her head. “So... that’s a no?”

“Absolutely. Go, eat, nourish your mortal forms, or whatever it is you do.” He made a shooing gesture. “Your glorious leader will be right here. Meditating. Very deeply.”

Sapphire’s brow twitched, but he said nothing. Candy was already turning toward the door, a barely-suppressed grin tugging at her lips.

“Alright,” she chirped, “we’ll eat breakfast here. I hate sitting between all those boring, ordinary cookies anyway.”

“We’ll bring you something from everything,” Black Sapphire added, already halfway out the door. “So you can sample and decide what you like best. They serve pretty much the same things at the breakfast buffet every day.”

He smiled far too sweetly at Shadow Milk’s disbelieving expression—and had the audacity to close the door behind him before the jester could even begin to protest.

Shadow Milk slumped back with a theatrical groan, softly thunking his head against the headboard and dragging both hands down his face.

“Oh, yes, wonderful. Let’s experiment with breakfast while I sit here like a tragic room decoration.”

He muttered into his hands.

“They’re going to kill me. Not with violence. Not with poison. With… domesticity. Or whatever the hell this is.”

Care, whispered a voice at the back of his mind—one that sounded far too much like Pure Vanilla for his liking. They care.

Shadow Milk barely stopped himself from groaning once again, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles as if he could scrub away the feelings clawing at his chest.

Confusion. Frustration. Fear.

But hey, at least he’d bought himself a little more time.

Now he just had to figure out how to walk before lunch.

Easy. Right?

…Right?

When Black Sapphire stepped into the hallway for the second time that day, it was to collect lunch from the dining hall.

The soft whirr of the Wafflebots activated the moment the door clicked shut behind him and Candy Apple, two of the three drones floating politely into position—one behind each of them. Silent, unarmed, and yet somehow deeply unsettling.

He did his best to ignore them. They weren’t menacing or invasive, exactly—but that didn’t mean he liked being followed around by weirdly polite, floating surveillance waffles.

It was mostly a matter of privacy, really. Pure Vanilla had been insistent that the recordings would only be accessed if there was an incident requiring review—and even then, only by council order. But still… Black Sapphire was a suspicious cookie by nature. And he knew better than most that rules had a habit of bending when someone important enough thought it “necessary.”

Candy Apple, naturally, had no such concerns. She twirled once on her heel, walking backwards down the corridor with a grin. “Well,” she said brightly, “That was definitely a new flavor of weird.”

Sapphire gave a thoughtful hum, eyes narrowing. “Even for him. Something’s definitely wrong.”

Their master’s refusal to leave the room, his excuse about “preserving the mystique of his presence” or whatever he’d called it this time… it was off. Wrong, even. Shadow Milk lied all the time—masterfully, theatrically—but not like that. Not nervously. Not with something almost like an edge of desperation in his voice.

And that, more than anything, put Sapphire on edge.

“We need to do something,” Candy said firmly, but far to easily for the monumental task that that would probably turn out be.

Black Sapphire sighed heavily, pinching his eyebrows. “If only it were that easy,” he muttered. “Sometimes I really wish we could just ask for answers and get them. But nooo... That would be far too easy, of course.”

He was tired. He hadn’t slept well in days. First because Shadow Milk hadn’t stirred for over two days, and now because there was a devastating threat looming over their master’s head, the scope and consequences of which remained completely unforeseeable.

“Oh, heads up, Sapphy!” Candy chirped in her usual singsong. “Master will get back on track, sooner or later. He always does!”

Sapphire didn’t dignify that with a response. Candy adored Shadow Milk far too much to see the cracks for what they truly were. But contradicting her would only lead to a heated but pointless argument he didn’t have the energy to deal with right now.

“We should keep him entertained,” Candy continued, undeterred. “At least until he’s ready to leave the room again. We both know how...”

She hesitated, clearly searching for a word that wasn’t as insultingly honest as her first thought.

“...gloomy he gets when he’s bored.”

That was—actually a very good point. Whatever was bothering Shadow Milk, letting him stew in his own thoughts would only make it worse. He needed constant engagement—not that he would ever call it that, of course. But especially after the Silver Tree… their Master didn’t handle stillness well.

Sapphire gave a small hum of agreement. “We know he enjoys crafting—fabrics, puppets, dolls—whatever catches his attention. But if we want to help with that, we’ll need to buy supplies. And you know what that means.”

“Ughghh,” Candy groaned theatrically. “We need to work again...”

It wasn’t particularly hard to earn some spending money in the Vanilla Republic. Volunteering at the production facilities was practically a cornerstone of daily life. Cookies often helped out friends or neighbors for a few hours just for the fun of it—and even occasional helpers were always paid fairly for their time. As Pure Vanilla had reminded them yesterday, they were still welcome to lend a hand—so long as they followed the rules.

Black Sapphire gave a slow, pointed nod. “Exactly. And this time—no shenanigans. No chaos. No incidents whatsoever.” He shot her a meaningful look. “We’re walking on very thin ice right now, and every mistake we make will fall back on Master too.”

He stressed that point as much as he could, hoping to get the seriousness of the situation across, since Candy had never cared one bit about getting herself (or him for that matter) into trouble at all.

He paused, considering all that. “Actually... maybe it would be better if you stayed with Master, while I–.”

“What!?” Candy shrieked, stopping dead in her tracks. “Are you implying I can’t do it?! I handled this boring shit just fine last time—and I’ll do it even better now! You don’t get to just dump me in our rooms like I’m—like I’m a babyor whatever!”

Sapphire raised an eyebrow and carefully adjusted his tone to avoid setting her off further. They were still far from the more populated areas of the castle, but Candy's shrieking often had the unfortunate side effect of attracting unwanted (or sometimes wanted) attention.

“Of course not. I simply assumed you’d prefer spending time with Master instead of doing ‘boring shit’ as you put it.”

That made her pause. Then she shocked him.

“Well, yeah, that’d be more fun,” she admitted, “but we both know it wouldn’t help. Master likes his space, and you alone won’t earn enough money anyway—not if we want to buy materials and have anything left for us.”

Sapphire blinked at her. Huh. Maybe she had matured a bit over the past few years. He was almost proud.

“…Fair enough,” he conceded, turning back toward the hallway.

They agreed to seek out Sugar Glass Cookie, still the volunteer coordinator, as Pure Vanilla had explained yesterday. There wasn’t much use arguing about where they’d work—not yet, at least. They didn’t even know which facilities currently needed help. Luckily Sugar Glass Cookie already knew them, so Sapphire was fairly certain that she would at least have the good sense not to put Candy Apple on one of the numerous sheep or alpaca ranches. She had zero patience after all—neither for animals nor for cookies.

They continued towards the dining hall to return their breakfast trays and collect lunch, heading back with a bit more food—and surprisingly a bit more of a plan—than they’d left with.

Over the next few days, Shadow Milk made exactly zero progress.

He’d tried. Truly. Heroically, even.

The floor of his bedroom had seen more ungraceful flopping than a pancake griddle during breakfast rush. (Unfairly delicious stuff, by the way. It made his stubborn resolution to hate food so much harder than it should have been.) He also never thought he'd be thankful for something as mundane as carpets. But here he was.

Turns out, having no memory of how legs worked was a bit of a hindrance. His muscles remembered nothing. His dignity remembered everything.

And while he did have just enough magic left to float the short distance between his bed and the bathroom—or dramatically collapse into his desk chair like a fainting starlet—that was about it. More than a few times, he’d hovered halfway to his destination only to sag back to the ground like a popped balloon, hissing and cursing and crawling his way there instead.

It was humiliating.

Even if he were allowed to use magic freely, there just wasn’t enough of it. Not anymore.

Candy Apple and Black Sapphire had been doing their best to keep him entertained—bringing back crafting supplies and fabrics whenever they returned from work, or simply sharing stories about what they’d seen, heard, and done throughout the day.

He’d come close to thanking them more than once by now… But had resolved to show his appreciation in whatever way he could without actually saying those two words, instead. They deserved so much better than this—than him.

…

By day three, the walls were starting to close in.

He just couldn't take it anymore. He’d always been the master of mystery, the king of control, the jester who danced through shadows without ever missing a beat. But now?

Now he was on day three of being stuck in the same disgustingly yellow room while his doting minions looked more and more suspicious every day.

As much as he hated it—he would have to admit defeat.

He needed out. Or rather—he needed help. It was pathetically disgusting. But if he was going to learn how to walk again without faceplanting into the marble floor of the castle corridor, he’d need reinforcements.

Unfortunately, that meant telling Candy Apple and Black Sapphire the truth.

…Still better than the floor, though.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Shadow Milk announced after breakfast the next morning. He had barely managed to force down a few bites—despite the fact that stage fright was normally not something he struggled with. Candy Apple and Black Sapphire had been looking at him with that disgusting worry again.

“You’re not dying again, are you?” Candy asked, pointing her fork at him suspiciously from where she sat at the table in his room—where they’d held all their meals together the past few days.

“No, no, nothing that dramatic,” Shadow said with a dismissive wave. “Well, not physically, anyway. Emotionally? Spiritually? Existentially? Whole different story.”

Black Sapphire raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “What is it?”

The jester leaned back against the headboard of his bed, putting on his best mysterious air. “I simply… wished to share with you the latest development in my tragic hero’s journey. A shocking revelation. A scandal of epic proportions.”

Candy stood and pounced toward the bed eagerly—ever the enthusiastic audience.

Black Sapphire just sighed, but followed suit. “He forgot something stupid again.”

That hit far too close to the truth. He was not ready for that yet.

“I’ll have you know I remember many, many things!” Shadow protested, placing a hand over his heart like a wounded poet. “Just yesterday I remembered that I hate morning light and that waffles should never be square. Ever. A circle is a much friendlier shape.”

“Master,” Candy said slowly. “You said you wanted to tell us something?”

“Ah, right.” He coughed. “Yes. Of course.”

A pause. For dramatic effect, obviously.

“I’m in possession of a… temporary technical malfunction. Of the physical variety.”

Black Sapphire blinked. “What?”

“My glorious form is—momentarily—out of sync with this mortal realm,” Shadow continued. “In other words… I am experiencing a minor inconvenience. Of epic proportions.”

Candy and Sapphire looked at each other for a few seconds, then back at him.

“Master,” Black Sapphire said, slowly, carefully, “are you saying… something’s wrong with you?”

“Pft, wrong is such a loaded word,” the jester said, trying to smile through it. “Let’s say I’m currently operating at limited capacity. You know, like a waffle iron on low heat. Still functional, just… inefficient.”

Another pause.

“Spit it out,” Sapphire said flatly.

Shadow Milk groaned dramatically and buried his face in his hands. This wasn’t working. He just had to get it over with. Time to rip off the bandage.

“I forgot how to walk, okay!?”

Silence.

“...You what!?” Candy almost yelled.

“You forgot how to walk?” Black Sapphire echoed in sheer disbelief.

“It’s not like it comes with a manual!” Shadow shouted, gesturing wildly. Then, crossing his arms, he added defensively, “I haven’t used my legs in literal millennia! It’s not that I can’t walk, it’s that I… misplaced the instruction sheet, and now the whole operating system is being very dramatic about it.”

He braced for their laughter, but it still hit his ego like a sledgehammer when it came.

Candy burst into uncontrollable giggles, nearly toppeling over, while Black Sapphire at least had the decency to muffle his laughter behind one hand—though Shadow Milk thought he heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, “I cannot believe this is my life.”

“Oh, knock it off! It isn’t that funny!” he growled, his tone dangerously sharp and cutting… only to immediately regretted it, when both of them stiffened like soldiers caught out of line.

Black Sapphire pulled the old mask of elegant obedience over his features with unnerving ease. Shadow Milk hadn’t seen that look since before the war ended. Lightly bowing at the hip, he offered a practiced apology—for himself and Candy—without a hint of sarcasm, as though it were his natural response to disapproval.

The sight punched Shadow Milk square in the gut.

It yanked him straight back to all those long, bitter days of war filled with frustration and failure. When the stress had been too much, and the pressure too high, and his temper had gotten the better of him. When he’d shouted, snapped, let his magic crack the walls and shake the floor—not at them, never at them—but close enough that the fear still stuck.

He remembered how they used to throw each other under the cart without hesitance, with clever excuses and even sweeter lies. But somewhere along the way—somewhere in those dark, cold days—Black Sapphire had started stepping in first. Stepping before his sister. Shoulders squared. Voice calm. Taking the weight before Candy even had a chance to flinch.

Because when it really came down to it, Shadow Milk knew Sapphire would protect Candy with everything he had—from anything and anyone.

Guilt crashed into him like a tidal wave.

He had always hated himself afterwards—tried to make it up to them, giving them more time-off, or gifts, or elaborate distractions. But he had never apologized. Never once admitted that he was in the wrong.

They deserve so much better.

“…I’m sorry.”

The words scraped up his throat, rough and unfamiliar. His voice didn’t even sound like his own.

Candy and Sapphire stared at him like he’d grown a second head. He didn’t blame them. He had never apologized before. Not out loud. Not to them. Not for this.

He hated how it made his chest ache.

He swallowed hard and changed the subject. He'd actually rather go back to the mortifying ordeal of discussing his inability to walk. Please—anything but this.

“Right. Uh. Back to the topic at hand—walking. My new personal nemesis. But I still kinda need to relearn how to do it.”

Sapphire, to his credit, only blinked a few times and smoothly followed his lead.

“Well, yes, of course. But while we might know how to walk,” he said carefully, “that doesn’t necessarily mean we can teach someone. Especially not someone who’s…” He tactfully didn’t finish that sentence. “It’s different when you’re already grown. Probably even more complicated when it’s about… relearning.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Maybe the library could have something? There must be books about physical rehabilitation.”

Shadow Milk made a face like he’d bitten into something sour. “Ugh. Books.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You think some glorified stack of paper can teach me what millennia of muscle memory forgot? Please. If books were that useful, I wouldn’t be hiding in a castle full of pastel optimism after blowing up my life.” He paused. “Again.”

Sapphire hummed, and Shadow got a front-row seat to watching how spectacularly the radio host failed at keeping a smirk off his face.

He was not going to like whatever came out of that mouth next.

“Well… we could always just ask someone. You know, I’m sure cookies sometimes need to relearn how to walk after serious injuries. A healer would probably have some experience—”

“NO!” Shadow Milk screeched, nearly falling off the bed as he lunged for Black Sapphire, who just laughed and stepped easily out of reach, raising both hands like he was the picture of innocence. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare tell anyone about this—especially not him!”

If Shadow had ever thought his dignity couldn’t sink any lower, the idea of Pure Vanilla Cookie finding out he’d forgotten how to walk promptly proved him wrong. The sheer thought of it made his skin crawl.

He could feel his face burning—probably glowing a shade of blue darker than should legally be allowed.

“Then the library?” Sapphire asked with enough saccharine innocence to make a sugar cube mine envious.

“Yes! For witches’ sake, yes! Just go to the damn library! And take Candy with you while you're at it, you imbecile!” he snapped, in one last, futile attempt to preserve some shred of dignity.

Candy Apple, still wheezing with laughter, nearly tripped over herself on the way out. Black Sapphire—still wearing that insufferably smug smile—paused halfway out the door to give one final mocking salute.

“Of course, Master,” he said, voice dripping with false reverence. “Right away.”

They swept out together, still giggling as the door closed behind them.

Shadow Milk groaned and flopped back onto his pillows, covering his face with both hands.

He never thought he’d be grateful for them sassing him.

But here he was.

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