#donner the whumpee

[cowboy-anon]

CB & Sideblog’s Christmas Special

Meant to get this up way sooner and also yesterday, but welcome to the second part of this Christmas collab with @sideblogformindtrash! :D Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Krampus

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CW: Amputation mention, beating, blindness mention, bleeding out, blood, bloody nose, body horror (I think??), brief food and alcohol mention, broken bones mention, burning, captivity (in a cell, temporary), chains, Christmas stuff, cold whump, discussed whump of minors (nothing happens during the drabble but it’s very much implied), electrocution (and lingering effects), evisceration mention, gore, hunted for sport, hybrid whumpees, imprisonment of minors, impaled, inhuman whumper, kicking, magic whumper (mind reading, healing), manhandling, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, near death experiences mention (quite a few times), passing out (almost), punishment mention, sadistic whumpers, screaming, sleep deprivation (self-inflicted), thinking he’s dying, torture, whip mention

Comet didn’t mean to do it, but the night before he’d stayed up late tending to Blitzen and Donner after a particularly brutal session with Santa, and the exhaustion and disorientation he felt afterwards couldn’t be helped.

It was his own ornament, one made of ice as thin as glass and twice as fragile. Inside was a snow globe-esque scenic, filled with almost life size trees and a wide opening at the top that would be perfect for letting real snow drift into it. More likely than not while Comet was inside. 

But Comet’s wagon got caught on something he couldn't see, and he tugged it free a little too forcefully. He felt the wagon tip and felt the load lighten considerably, and then he heard it--ice shattering, loud as a gunshot. 

Comet remembers it distinctly, the way Santa strode up to him and his toppled wagon. His breath smelled of spiked eggnog and poor Cupid’s cookies. 

Comet froze in place, peering not quite into Santa’s eyes and staying quiet, neither acknowledging guilt nor begging for punishment. It’s what he always told the others to do when Santa got into one of his moods. Don’t give him any further excuse to hurt you. Don’t beg or show fear, he likes that, and don’t run or cry, he’ll only hurt you worse. 

Comet follows his own advice, because on typical days like this, it works. He’s dealt with it long enough to know that. 

“You’ve just broken one of my newest toys for you,” Santa says. He dips his foot into the sea of shards and crushes it beneath his boot for emphasis. “That’s alright, sweet Comet. Since I don’t have anything special planned for you anymore, Krampus can take care of you. Let’s see if you ever break something of mine again.”

Santa cracks the whip overhead. Comet pulls his cart forward and away from the commotion, ignoring the way the ice crackles like glass under his hooves. Whatever Santa had planned with this toy, it was intricate and precise. He doesn’t doubt he’ll receive a more severe punishment for this, but whatever it’ll be, it doesn’t draw the terrified reaction Santa was no doubt hoping for from him. 

That’s because Krampus is just Santa’s boogeyman. Comet doesn’t believe in Krampus. 

He sighs as he steps out of the biting arctic air and into the stables. Rudolph, Blitzen, and Donner are waiting for him in the center of the little building and staring up at him with big scared eyes.

Rudolph wipes at some of the blood dripping down his lip. “Comet, how are you so calm?! Aren’t you afraid?”

Comet sighs and closes the rotting wooden door behind him. He already knows what this is about, but he asks anyway. “Of what?”

Donner and Blitzen are trembling, half from fear and seemingly half from the shocks they received earlier this evening. “Of Krampus of course!” Donner squeaks. He buries his head in his brother’s chest, even though Blitzen seems just as scared and jittery. 

Comet dusts some of the snow from his fur and approaches the three of them, spying Dancer and Prancer in the corner. Prancer rolls his eyes at Comet, all too aware of the spiel he’ll spout to make them feel better.

Well, what he’s going to say is true. Krampus isn’t real. 

“Come here, you three. Yes, Rudolph, that means you too.”

The three of them huddle together in the center of the stable in front of Comet.

“Krampus isn’t real,” Comet says firmly. He looks the three of them in the eyes, particularly Rudolph. He’s not even sure if hears things like this anymore, things like the truth and reality. “Remember what I told you? Don’t show him you’re afraid. It only makes Santa hurt you worse. You remember that, don’t you?”

Blitzen and Donner enthusiastically nod, still clinging to each other. Rudolph’s nod is a lot more reluctant and confused. Of course it is. He’s still the same old Santa in his book.  

“Well, he only ever mentions Krampus to get us afraid. You see? We’ve never seen him, only heard horrible stories. But I showed no fear. Whatever Santa has planned for me, it can’t be worse than usual.”

Donner and Blitzen still look skeptical, but the three of them nod again, even Rudolph, who looks more convinced than the others. 

Comet rewards them with a faint but genuine smile, and he motions to one of the only two beds of dry hay in the room, the one at the center of the stable. “Come on then. It’s getting late and we’ll need our strength for tomorrow.”

Blitzen, Donner, and Rudolph give a final nod, and Rudolph scurries off into the back and grabs a thick fleece blanket from the only other dry spot in the stable. It’s worn and discolored an odd shade of red and green and in the center, there’s a large cartoon picture of Santa himself, but it keeps them warm during cold winter nights like tonight. 

The four of them settle into the brittle hay on the ground, getting comfortable. Then they curl up together close under the one blanket. 

Tucking himself in between his brothers and feeling the instant reprieve from the bitter chill, Comet peers over at Dancer and Prancer, huddled together and shivering in their own damp corner of the stable. Comet’s never understood why they don’t join them. Maybe the two of them like their personal space, or maybe, more realistically, the two are so accustomed to their relationship being the source of their pain that they think anything otherwise is foreign and wrong. If only that wasn’t the case. There’s room for more under the blanket. 

At least Vixen knows that. When he gets back from tonight’s hunt, he’ll be bruised and bloody, a state they all know too well by now, and he’ll need Comet’s attention. At least once Comet’s fixed him up, the two of them can crawl back under the blanket and try to get as much sleep as they can before one of Santa’s rude awakenings.

Comet sighs and pulls one of his brothers closer, either Blitzen or Donner. He can tell by the faint uncontrollable spasms that leave them juddering in his arms. 

It’ll be alright, Comet thinks to himself, and he closes his eyes. Tomorrow will be another day, and they’ll all survive that too.

***

Cold. Comet wakes to numb fingers and half frozen-shut eyes. There’s a terrifying moment where he can’t see, feels nothing but the cold sting of blizzard-like wind in his fur and stark nothingness when he reaches out to touch Blitzen, Rudolph, anyone--

His eyelashes pry apart. It’s only a little better. 

Now he knows two things: Cold and dark. Comet sniffles against the cold and presses his unfeeling palms into the floor below him, not hay but smooth stone. Cobble maybe?

He gets his hooves beneath him and stands, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. It’s then that he notices the third thing--a quiet unlike anything he’s ever heard before. There’s no way this is Santa’s workshop. There the noise is endless, clambering elves and hooves against ice and, in even the quiet peaceful moments of the night, the huff of his sleeping brothers’ breaths throughout the stable. 

Instead he hears disturbing silence. Comet takes a blind step forward. His hooves plod almost deafeningly against the stone beneath his feet. “H-hello?” The only response he receives is his own echo. He sniffles again and reaches out in front of him, desperate for anything familiar to orient him in whatever this place is. 

Comet takes another step forward, then another. 

He hits something cold and solid. Comet feels along the surface with his hands, touches over smooth metal and--they’re thin. Thin metal with spaces between, a big row of these tall columns. His heart drops into his stomach and the touching grows more frantic. Bars. These are bars, cold, solid steel. “He-hello?” he calls again, and he clumsily feels around, searching for the end of these bars, hoping perhaps, naively, that he’s on the outside rather than inside. 

Instead of more bars, his shoulder meets a rough wall and his hoof lands in some puddle he’d rather not think too hard about. Wherever he is, he’s inside a cell, completely blind and colder than he’s ever felt in his life. 

“Hello!” Comet calls, the loudest he’s dared so far. He buries his hands in his armpits and paces the length of the barred cell. “Rudolph?” he whimpers at the bars. No answer besides the echo and the silence that follows it. “Blitzen, Donner? Dancer?” He grows louder with the building desperation, turning in the cell and beginning his pacing in the other direction. “Prancer? Vixen? Cupid?” Comet squeezes his eyes shut and sees no difference. None of his brothers are answering. They must not be here. “S-Santa?” he cries at last. 

No answer. 

Comet forces himself to stop in place despite the frigid cold and takes a breath. There’s no use getting himself worked up now. He needs to gather his thoughts, keep it together like he tells the others to. This is a situation that can’t be helped. What can be is how smoothly whatever it is goes along. Another breath, deep and steadying, and Comet steps back towards the wall, something to keep him grounded. Slowly, his breathing returns to normal. 

“Santa told me his sweet Comet would be a tough spirit to break.”

Comet whips around, looking away from the radiating cold of the metal bars and deeper into his cell. 

Black, nothing but black. His eyes frantically tear between the nothingness, trying to find the source of that sound. Like chains dragging across a hard surface, grating and foreboding and yet with a musical quality to it too. He can’t even tell if he imagined it. Comet’s never heard a voice so odd before. 

Staring into the blackness, he finds calm in convincing himself he did imagine it. All Santa’s talk of Krampus must have him on edge. In fact, that must be the case. This has to be his latest attempt at entertaining himself. Perhaps even the toys have gotten boring to him. 

“It’s easy enough to think that, isn’t it, sweet reindeer?”

Comet hears it then, the strike of a match, and with the burst of light it brings, his ears go flat against his head and his eyes impossibly wide. 

Not a man or a reindeer or anything Comet’s ever seen, but one thought strikes him like the deafening ring of a church bell on Christmas Eve: Krampus. 

Comet’s frozen in place, unable to comprehend a single thing at once, because in a single second, the entire place comes alive. 

Light. It’s nowhere near blinding, hardly even comparable to moonlight through a wall of curtains, but it’s enough. The silhouette it reveals is twice as horrifying as Comet could’ve conjured by imagination himself. Broad shoulders and an odd, powerful gait—and horns, tall and sharp. Maybe even weirder, the match doesn’t seem to be burning out at all. 

And sound. Cries and moans. Comet forces his eyes away from the figure. He turns around then and squints to look past the barred cell he’s in, his heart pounding too quickly in his chest as he fights for verification. He gets it in the shape of a hunched form—no, two—whimpering mindlessly in the cell across from him. 

Children. It’s a prison full of children. 

Comet feels the air burst from his lungs. He’d heard stories, but— He whirls around again to face the horrifying thing, the monster that could do this. 

In the darkness, illuminated by the faint firelight from the match, his eyes meet a wretched smile. 

He’s truly never felt so afraid. 

“That’s good, Comet,” Krampus rumbles. “Take it all in. There’s so much I want to show you…”

Comet, trembling now from both the cold and the fear, can’t do anything more than stare. 

Krampus steps towards him. 

Comet wonders briefly if he can stand to take his own advice. Don’t beg or show fear, he likes that, and don’t run or cry, he’ll only hurt you worse. Don’t give him any further excuse to hurt you. Those rules worked with Santa, but he was predictable and needed them and he was human, at least in part. But Krampus? A part of him is yelling at him to run as far away as possible, even if he knows he’ll just be dragged back kicking and screaming. 

“You poor, darling thing.” Comet glances up at Krampus, still endlessly torn by the conflicting sounds of his voice. “Are you afraid?”

Comet barely avoids Krampus’s eyes, bright and shimmering like gold, enough to look like he’s paying attention but not enough to offend. Is he supposed to answer that?

“Well, it was a question,” comes the gruff reply. 

Comet pales slightly. That’s likely answer enough. 

Krampus hums some wordless acknowledgement and stalks his way closer. Comet feels the way those golden eyes rake over his body, from his trembling legs to the scattered spots patterned across his dull, half-lifeless fur. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, he speaks again. 

“You miss it, don’t you?” Krampus slinks around Comet, so close behind him at one point his stinking breath raises the fur on Comet’s neck. “I don’t even have to elaborate, do I? You already know who and what I’m talking about.”

Comet does know. Santa’s Christmas spirit. 

Comet opens his mouth to say it, to cooperate like half of him thinks he should, but before the words are even out of his mouth, Krampus hums, “That’s right. I can feel it, feel your own in fact.” Comet barely fights off the urge to run when faced with another terrifying smile. “Poor Comet,” Krampus continues, and his voice actually hangs with an odd sort of pity. “Your own feels so weak. So damaged. It grows dimmer by the minute.”

Comet doesn’t move or speak or think. He doesn’t know what to think, not with Krampus seemingly reading his mind at will. 

“You could get it back, you know.” The odd musical quality to his voice returns full force, almost silvery now. “There’s a reason he’s there and I’m here.”

Is Comet supposed to reply to that? He doesn’t know, so he stays quiet and waits for Krampus to read his thoughts: What do you mean? 

Krampus grins. “Santa and I are quite alike, contrary to what he might have told you.” He gestures to Comet to relax, which is the last thing he wants to do, but directly following orders tends to lend a hand to less sticky future situations, he’s found, so Comet takes a deep breath and tries to do so.  

Krampus huffs a breathy, content sound. “Good. From what I’ve heard, you’re smarter than your brothers.”

More experienced, Comet thinks curtly, and then his eyes widen and he wills his mind to go blank. 

But Krampus just breathes another almost laugh. “You're protective of them. That’s good. From what I hear, your ‘experience’ is one of the only things keeping them alive.”

Speaking, or rather thinking, doesn’t seem to have its consequences, at least not yet, so Comet dares to venture, …what do you mean there’s a reason you’re here? He thinks he can guess but...

“I suppose you wouldn’t know,” Krampus says in that deep, melodic rumble. “Santa’s only ever spoken poorly of me and my tactics. If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black…”

Comet…supposes that’s true. He’s only ever heard from Santa the sadism Krampus was capable of, all while enduring what he’d already subjecting them to years before. 

“That’s right, little reindeer.” Krampus steps closer to Comet, and Comet realizes his breath reeks. “We’re cut from the same cloth, he and I. The Christmas Spirit, our magic, the rewards of being on the, as Santa calls it, ‘Nice List.’ The only thing we disagree on is what to do with the naughty children.”

The… children. 

Comet takes a step back, away from the nauseating stench of Krampus’s breath, and he takes his first real sniff of the air in the rest of this place. Damp, like mold and rot, but also metallic. Like chains, like the penny collection Rudolph keeps for some inexplicable reason, like blood. The scent is so familiar now Comet thinks he wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t really looking for it just now. 

Paired with the sounds he heard earlier… Comet looks back at Krampus and for the first time he speaks directly to him. 

“You… torture children?” Not quite sure if it’s true, hoping to all that’s good and Christmasy that it isn’t. 

Krampus smiles that toothy smile behind the still-lit match and his heart sinks. “Only the naughty ones, Comet, so I suggest you behave.”

The thought makes Comet sick. Santa was right, he was right. All the stories, the tales of sadistic endeavors and brutal happenings here, they hadn’t happened to reindeer hybrids like them but human children. And the stories that he did tell, they were awful...

“You don’t even know what I really do to them yet.” That smile on Krampus’s face grows wider, showing more teeth, golden eyes sparkling. “And you haven’t even heard my proposition.”

Fear, sharp and visceral, cuts through Comet’s stomach like a knife. Whatever it is this monster has to offer, he wants no part of it. 

But he doesn’t have a choice, does he? There’s no place to run, no way out even if he could manage to overtake Krampus. Comet feels acutely aware of the way Krampus’s eyes search his face while he thinks, no doubt reading his thoughts. 

He sighs, and without a single other option, Comet nods. “Your proposition?”

Krampus seems to calm despite approaching him further. “Good choice.” The match in Krampus’s hand, his claws really, momentarily flickers but keeps burning bright with the intensity of a fresh one. The haunting shadows it casts on his face does nothing to soothe Comet’s nerves. He still hasn’t gotten a real look at him. 

“We were talking about Christmas Spirit earlier, weren’t we, Comet? About how yours is weak and Santa’s is near nonexistent?”

It’s not a real question. They both know Comet remembers. He nods anyway. 

“Well, mine, as you might have noticed, is still going strong. The good children are rewarded accordingly, and as monstrous as you might think I am—“ Comet flinches at the word choice, pulled directly from his thoughts “—I enjoy what I do. And you, sweet little reindeer, could be a part of that.”

Comet looks at Krampus, straight-faced to seem neither interested nor completely disinterested. “What do you mean?”

“Here, you wouldn’t hurt. I could use the help—and the company. I can’t punish them all myself.”

Comet only has to think of two things to make up his mind. One— “You torture children.” That’s one thing Santa would never do, no matter how pissed he got. That why they were even doing this in the first place, wasn’t it? For them? For the sake of Christmas cheer? Even the thought of turning on them like that makes him feel traitorous. 

Krampus’s smile pulls into a sort of grimace. “I encourage you to reconsider, little reindeer.” It’s a threat if Comet’s ever heard one.

But the fact still stands. Besides, there’s still reason two: Comet could never leave his brothers behind. 

He thinks this fact hard and looks into Krampus’s eyes. “I can’t.” He tries to keep his voice steady but firm. “Now either do what you’re going to do to me or let me out of here.”

Krampus’s toothy grin contorts into a vicious sneer. At this moment, Comet realizes that was the wrong thing to say. 

He decides if he’s going to try to run, now is the time, but one of Krampus’s hands, clawed and terrifying, grabs onto one of his antlers and yanks his head back so hard it’s a choice between following the pain and his neck snapping like a twig. He follows the pain. 

“You think he’s so much better than me?!” Krampus roars into his face. Chains, chains, chains. Chains in his voice, the scent of chains in the air, a burst of too bright light and—there’s chains in the room hanging from the ceiling. “You have no idea.”

The match is gone from Krampus’s fingers, and that second hand digs into the fur on the back of his neck and wrenches him forward. Towards the chains, towards big hooks Comet realizes as they get closer, towards whatever Krampus has planned– 

Comet abandons whatever strategies he thought worked with Santa. He fights, and in this brightened light, Comet gets his first full view of Krampus himself. He wishes he didn’t. 

He hardly knows what he’s looking at now, fur or flesh or cloth or some horrific combination of the three. He’s afraid of the answer, and even if he did have it, he wouldn’t know if it was true. The grime is caked on thick, so old and disgusting Comet can’t even make out what it is. 

He grabs a hold of it anyway, ripping and tearing and clawing.

It does nothing. Krampus drags him to the chains. 

Krampus hits Comet across the face. It’s harder than Comet expects, and if it wasn’t for the hand around his antler, he would’ve tumbled to the ground. Instead he takes his filthy hands and cups them under the blood spilling from his nose. 

Krampus yanks him upright and grabs his chin so hard it hurts, seemingly unbothered by the blood dripping into his hand. How often has this happened for him to seem so indifferent to this? To how many kids?

“Only to the ones I like, little deer.” Krampus grins sadistically. “Still too many to count. Now stand up.” 

Krampus lets go of his antler and his fur all at once, and Comet collapses. He earns a harsh kick in the stomach in the time it takes him to hit the ground. It leaves him gasping, and he gets another in the second after that. 

Comet wheezes and coughs, but he manages to get his hooves underneath him and stands, if only to avoid getting kicked again.

He didn’t know it was the lesser of the evils. 

Krampus towers over him now, reaching above his head for something he can’t see through the involuntary tears.

Comet hears a squeal, then the deep click click click of heavy chains descending fast. He hears the sickening squelch twice because of the cell’s echo. And he doesn’t hear his own scream at all, not over the blood rushing in his ears. 

Because sweet Christmas, he’s dying. 

No, he’s not. It’s his shoulder, just his shoulder. Something went right through it and the pain is bright and blinding and has his body trying to double over. When he moves, he hears the click click of chains. 

Chains… the hooks on the chains. Comet dares to look, barely holding himself upright on his hooves to begin with. He just about faints seeing it with his own two eyes. He cries instead and the pain doubles.

Impaled. His shoulder’s impaled on this disgusting rusted hook. Hot blood pours from the wound and soaks his fur like Santa’s sickly sweet candy wine.

It’s bad, easily the worst thing Comet’s ever felt. With every jostling breath, the hook only seems to claw its way deeper, and the thought of ever having to remove it is beyond nauseating. 

But it feels like it’s over. This wound in itself could easily kill him if they aren’t careful, but this will be the worst of it, Comet decides. 

Only Krampus starts moving again, to Comet’s other side. The dread drops in his stomach like lead. 

“K-Krampus–” Comet starts, but when he tries to turn his head, something in his shoulder pulls and he cries out. 

“You wanted worse, little Comet,” Krampus practically purrs. “And he’d usually stop here, yes? Don’t bother answering, I already know he would.” The clink clink clinking of another line of chains. “But sweet thing, we’re just getting started.”

And then he feels the new worst pain he’s ever felt in his life. 

So bad in fact it doesn’t feel real, but it’s real enough that his scream of agony gets trapped in his throat and chokes him. 

Comet’s side, his–his fucking side! 

There’s a hook in Comet’s side and it’s tearing his insides apart.

The blood loss makes his knees go weak and his head pounds and his eyes swim as the darkness races to fill his vision. He’s passing out, or maybe he’s dying, or both, probably both in that order.

Krampus hums introspectively and takes a step back to take in the sight before him: Comet, impaled on two hooks, pale, sobbing, in a cold sweat, bleeding heavily, and clearly on the verge of blacking out. 

An almost perfect picture. 

Except if Krampus keeps this up, Comet’s not going to last an hour. 

Comet’s pretty sure he’s never felt this weak in his life, and watching Krampus’s yellow eyes scan over him, he feels even weaker. Powerless even. When Krampus approaches again, he doesn’t even bother trying to stop his tears. The old rules don’t apply here, and even if they did, it’d be an impossibility. 

So when Krampus puts a terrifying hand over the wound in his side, he cries, expecting them to dig into his flesh and twist. What he doesn’t expect is the burn. It’s a familiar sensation, warm then hot then too hot. Santa hasn’t yet realized Comet can mostly breathe through it, but Krampus must know. He’s thinking it now. Maybe he should not think it, for the sake of a little familiar easy pain. Well, he’s already thought it, so Krampus must know–

“Little reindeer, your mind is just too loud when you’re dying.” Krampus looks at him with those golden eyes. “And you’re not dying. Anymore at least. I’m not letting you go that easily.”

The white heat of the burning heightens considerably. Comet grits his teeth, breathing as deep as he can without moving. Another few seconds that feel like minutes and the impossible heat coming from Krampus’s hands dies off. With it, so has the other unbearable pain. What...?

“Go ahead and take a look,” Krampus says, stepping back. “You should know the state you’re currently in. We’ll always return to this. Again and again and again until I get bored of you.”

Comet dares to peek at his injured shoulder. 

Underneath the skin and fur, Comet can see a bulge, big and unnatural. He looks down then, careful not to pull too forcefully on the strained muscles of his neck. Another big swollen lump, more noticeable from this angle than the one on his shoulder. Where there was once exposed flesh, there’s simply fur and skin. His wounds have seemingly healed over.

But the hooks are still inside of him.  

Comet’s alive and healed mostly, and somehow that thought it more terrifying than when he was sure he was dying.  

“I should warn you,” Krampus continues. He closes the gap between them again. “I’m very creative. I hardly ever get bored.”

Krampus tilts Comet’s head up with a finger under his chin. When Comet meets his eyes tearily, he grins. 

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

***

Comet wakes up screaming.

“Sweet Christmas!” someone shouts, and the next thing Comet knows, the thick fleece blanket he was fighting with is torn off his body and he’s squinting up at his brothers. 

The light in the stable, it’s blinding compared to his cell with Krampus. 

Krampus. Comet scrambles to his feet, turning every which way, trying to catch a glimpse of him. Nowhere, he sees him nowhere. Instead he sees six pairs of eyes staring at him in varying degrees of fear and annoyance. 

Comet falls onto his knees.

“He… he…” What didn’t Krampus do? Thanks to him, Comet knows what his insides look like, how they feel in his hands. And he knows blindness and broken bones and amputation and crushing hopelessness and how it feels to almost die, again and again and again, only to be brought back from the edge of what would at that point be mercy–

“Who?” Dancer pipes up worriedly from his damp corner with Prancer. 

He forgets momentarily that his thoughts can’t be read here, that they’re his own. Comet shivers and stammers, “K-Krampus…”

“Hey…” Blitzen says, creeping out from behind Donner. “That’s not funny, Comet.”

“Yeah,” Donner chirps. “We know Krampus isn’t real. You don’t have to rub it in our faces that we’re still scared…”

Comet shakes his head. No no no, they don’t understand–

“Guys,” Rudolph butts in, and he actually sounds serious. “Comet would never make fun of us.” The hopeful look Comet gives him is almost pathetic, as is the heart-wrenching whimper he gives when Rudolph bursts into a smile and says, “He’s only kidding! Right Comet? It’s a joke so we’re less scared!”

Comet feels stinging tears welling in his eyes. 

Vixen pipes up then, wincing terribly at the hand he’s pressing into his side to staunch his own bleeding. “Come on, guys, there’s only a few hours until sunrise. Back to bed.”

Comet sighs, his breath tremulous but relieved as everyone starts settling in for bed again. 

Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph curl up under the blanket, Dancer and Prancer cuddle together in their corner of the stable, and Vixen luckily seems to be taking care of his own wounds today. Comet glances between them all and fearfully slips under the covers again. He wraps himself tightly in the blankets and closes his eyes.

But Comet doesn’t sleep.

The next morning, Comet is out of it and jumpy, but pulling Santa’s toys in his wagon, he takes every precaution not to let it tip.

The next night, Comet goes sleepless again. Too scared, too terrified to go to sleep and wake up in Krampus’s cells again. 

Rudolph, Blitzen, and Donner still don’t believe Comet wasn’t dreaming that night, and though Dancer and Prancer don’t say it, Comet’s sure they don’t either. They don’t believe he’s suffered more in a night than they will in their entire lifetimes.  

But every time Comet meets Santa’s eyes in the workshop, he can see it. Santa knows. Somehow that doesn’t reassure him in the least. 

On the third night without sleep, Vixen comes back from a particularly vicious hunt and pulls Comet aside, barely conscious as it is, and tells him enough is enough. “You need to sleep.”

“I can’t…” Comet says. He sways a little on his feet, more exhausted than he thought possible. 

“If you start having another nightmare, I’ll wake you,” Vixen offers. He gently but firmly grabs Comet by the shoulders and leads him to the center of the stable. 

Maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe it’s the sheer amount of trust Comet seems to be putting in Vixen, but he follows relatively easily and lets Vixen tuck him in–beside Rudolph this time. A moment later, Vixen slides under the blanket beside Comet. He pets Comet’s fur a little. It’s gotten even more dull over the past few days.  

“I’ll wake you,” Vixen promises again. 

Comet nods his head reluctantly, terrified of what’ll happen when he closes his eyes. He does it anyway.

Vixen pets his fur until he can’t feel it anymore. Comet guesses that’s when he falls asleep.

And when Comet wakes up several hours later, he’s still in the stable and in Vixen’s arms…

TAGLIST: @kim-poce​, @as-a-matter-of-whump​ (Let us know if you want to be added/removed!)

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CB & Sideblog’s Christmas Special

We proudly present you... a CB ( @cowboy-anon​ ) and Sideblog’s Christmas Special!

Chapter 1, The Great Tree

Masterlist - Next Chapter 

Cw: Multiple whumpees; hybrid whumpees; slavery/forced labor; fantasy whump; cold whump; exhaustion; hunting; animal attack (dogs); enviormental whump; broken nose; mentioned: shock; domestic whump; impaling; starvation; stress position;

“Work your stupid shits” Santa said to the elves, smacking the whip on the air to startle them. He didn’t hit them though, not when they were working to lower the giant ornament into the wagon Vixen was pulling, tied up by chains and leather. Upon close inspection, he realized this one was the set up for Blitzen and Donners torment: a crystal ball, the insides reinforced by a wire structure, the center what looked like a coil “Careful with this one. It’s special, one of my best creations”

He swallowed the knot on his throat. Back in the day, Santa would spend his days creating toys. His entire life was to bring joy to kids all over the world, and in his spare time, he designed new ornaments and decorations for the season.

Not anymore. The office wasn’t clean anymore, it was piled to the roof with papers and ideas and blueprints, each of them showing horrors worse than the last. Pretty, still, but designed to torment and torture. Santa said there was no point in making toys, anymore. Kids only cared about their ‘damn phones’ and ‘stupid brand toys of movies’. So, he made something that would make him happy.

If Vixen had a place to speak, he’d say Santa should go on the naughty list. 

Of course, it wasn’t his place to decide that, anyway. He dragged the wagon across the fluff snow, towards the Great Tree.

The pine was colossal, ancient, residing over the pole for as long as Santa had. Decorating it was always stressful, but back in the good old days, it was a job they carried with pride, the silence of winter cut by hundreds of voices breaking into joyful songs, and finally turning the lights on announced the beginning of Christmas Season, with all of them feasting together and celebrating, the tree towering over them like a giant lighthouse, bright against the darkest of nights. 

Today, like the other days of the week, there was only eerie silence, as everyone kept to themselves, trying to save their strength and just be done with it as soon as possible.

Well, silent except for…

“...SEVEN SWANS A-SWIMMING, SIX GEESE A-LAYING, FIVE GOLDEN RINGS…” Rudolph passed through him, with the brightest smile on his face as he pushed his wagon “FOUR CALLING BIRDS, THREE FRENCH HENS, TWO TURTLE DOVES, AND A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREE”

Vixen didn’t even had it in him to roll his eyes anymore. Rudolph was a poor thing, and maybe… Maybe he was right. He seemed to suffer less than the others, clinging to his delusions, still thinking everything was fine, that Mrs.Claus would be back soon, that the Christmas Spirit was alive, that they were still a family. 

He ignored the blood dripping down his nose. It was always prone to bleeding, earning him the ‘Rednosed Reindeer’ title. Was a bit dark, but overall harmless joke back in the day, and sometimes, Rudolph would pick up a clown nose from the pile of toys and walk around telling jokes. Nowadays, he didn’t even need the clown nose anymore, he got slapped and punched so often he always had a red smudge of blood across his face.

He crossed Cupid, as well. He was looking fearfully at the tree. Cupid was terrified of heights, but the fact that he was Santa’s favorite meant he would be sitting on the very top of the tree, tied in some ungodly position for hours or days. 

It also meant he got to sleep inside most days, eat more, and do domestic chores and help in the office instead of working outside. Some of the others were pissed about this and despised Cupid, especially Prancer. Vixen didn’t hold any grudge, in fact, he was just fucking glad it wasn’t him. He’d rather be hunted any day than have to deal with the constant gaze of Santa over him. So much so he stopped to hold Cupid’s shoulder for a second, the pretty reindeer boy giving a soft smile. He was so desperate for any affection that didn’t come from Santa, that he almost teared up, holding Vixen’s hand for a moment.

Then, they got back moving, pulling their wagons with the ornaments to the platform where the elves would secure them, and use a series of levers to hoist them up and put them on the branches of the trees.

He took a moment to breathe as the elves unloaded his wagon. That thing was fucking heavy. He was worn out before his hunt even begun, from pulling those things all day. He knew he wouldn’t escape, anyway… But he needed to put on a good hunt, or there would be hell to pay.

This was the last week of the year on which Santa could freely hurt them, as he needed everyone in shape for the Gift Giving day. The weeks that preceded it, despite being insanely stressful, meant no lasting punishments, and warm clothes, and enough food. Even Dancer and Prancer got to eat freely during this time of year, and the both of them would gain some weight, stuffing themselves as much as they could knowing they’d go back to sharing one portion of food as soon as the holiday ended.

It also meant that they would pay for every moment of rest later, Santa being more cruel than ever on the first month of the year.

Another wagon stopped beside him. Comet stopped beside him. He used to be beautiful, once, Santa’s right hand with his star-like fur, the guardian and leader of the small pack of Santa’s reindeers. Now he was curled over the weight of his sorrow, eyes deep in purple circles, sunken on his face and lightless. It was sad to see him on this state, truly defeated, and even more to know he had been suffering longer than everyone else.

Comet sighed, resting as they unloaded his wagon, and reached a trembling hand to touch Vixen’s shoulder, a sad, concerned expression. 

“Good luck on the hunt” And he leaned forward, whispering in conspiratory tone “...Don’t hesitate. If you get a chance to leave, please for the Spirit of Christmas, runaway, and never turn back… please”

“Yeah. I’ll go, if I have a chance” He whispered back, holding his hand gently, keeping it on his shoulder a little longer “But he makes sure there is never a chance”

“I… know” Comet replies. The elves hit the back of Vixen’s wagon, and that’s his sign to return to the factory to get the next decoration, before they get accused of slacking off.  At least it is easier when it’s empty. He knows the others get back pains and twitch muscles from doing it for so long, but he will be let off soon. 

His heartbeat goes fast as he approaches the huge factory building, passing under the fairy lights that decorated the gray walls. Santa is still screaming and shouting at the elves, but he stops and smiles when he sees Vixen return.

Alright.

It 's time.

He takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm and not flinch as Santa approaches, touching and cradling his hair. He can smell him, and the scent is danger. Time freezes, his jaw clenched, the cold air is not enough.

“Vixen, my dear fox” Santa touches him, unbuckling him from the wagon, letting the chains and letter stripes fall on the floor, taking a moment to hold his jaw, just staring into Vixen’s wide eyes, while his body tenses so much it hurts “...One hour. Run”

“...One hour. Go”

And time begins to move again as Vixen runs out the factory, tracing the white snow. Other reindeers and elves turn to watch him go with tired eyes. The first few times? They cheered, hoping he could escape. Right now, this was a pitiful mockery. They knew Vixen wouldn’t make it. He’d be brought back, screaming and kicking, dragged through the snow behind Santa’s sled.

-

...He heard a gunshot, in the distance. He could barely believe an hour had passed already, Santa beginning the hunt with his sled and the awful dogs. The hounds would be on his heels very, very soon. He needed to do something to make this entertaining for Claus, and maybe if he managed to do it well enough, Santa would be in a good mood, and go easy on his brothers.

Was the best he could hope for, anyway. He was an easy target, despite his experience from running over and over, his bright orange fur made him a very obvious spot on the wintery landscape. And of course, he was a hybrid reindeer, so the cold wasn’t so bad - he was made for it, with hooves firming him even in slippery ice - but the weather eventually started to wear him down.

Especially after this next step. The river was a good landmark, meaning he was already far. Enough that now, only the tip of the colossal tree was visible. But crossing it was tricky.

He bristled his fur, as he made his way into the freezing water of the river. It always brought him some time, weakening his scent to the dogs, but it came with a cost. For the most part his fur kept him dry and safe, but the water was treacherous, and even his hooves weren’t a guarantee of a safe cross, against the current.

He still had to try. This hunt was important, his safety and his brother’s were important, so he slowly started to move on the icy river.

The dogs howled, a little closer. He felt cold, unable to tell if from the wind that blew or sheer fear. He needed to run, move faster, go faster, but it was dangerous right now, he little rocks on the edge of the river offering little support.

Alas, he reached the other margin, panting, he climbed the little hill, unable to stop panting. It had been an hour of non-stop moving and running, right after a couple more pulling wagons with the huge ornaments. He was exhausted, but stopping wasn’t an option for his panicked mind. Not that he thought he’d run very far. 

The howls again, even closer. He needed to move. 

After the river, there are more trees, which Vixen is always grateful for. They shield him a bit more, hiding his awful color in their dark branches, covered in snow. Once, he decided to climb and hide on one of them, thinking he disguised his smell well enough, only to have Santa shoot him with a harpoon-like weapon, and drag him back home through it.

He darts in between them, ignoring his screaming muscles, his exhaustion, the pouding in his head. He keeps on running, playing the rigged game.

..

Santa catches him after three hours of the start of the hunt. He can’t keep running, yet he tries, as the dogs gnaw at his ankle, carving sharp teeth on his legs. He whimpers, falling over the snow, trying to claw away from them, to no avail.

“Enough-” Santa’s voice echoes once he tires of the pathetic display, and the dogs stop their vicious attack. He gets out of his sled, kicks Vixen stomach “Found you my little fox”

He doesn’t know what to answer, so he doesn’t, as Santa picks up a rope and ties him up, dragging him behind the sled.

The way back is torturous, his fur being dragged in such a way snow gets in betweem them, runing their insulation, and Vixen starts to freeze, feeling wet and disgusting. Not to mention the many cuts he gets all over his body, each time he meets a little stone or a sharp piece of ice or even fallen branches.

He doesn’t complain. He wouldn’t dare. At least, he did well. Santa was smiling. He doesn’t look at the tree, his face illuminated by the Christmas lights as Santa’s sled goes under it. He is carried inside the stable, left to rest on the piles of hay. RIght now, even if they are uncomfortable, they just feel like heaven.

“It was a good hunt” Santa grants him. 

Vixen smiles. He is too tired to fix his own wounds, and his brothers won’t be sleeping here today, so he curls up tight and small under the pile of hay, and passes out.

TAGLIST: @kim-poce​ @as-a-matter-of-whump​

[cowboy-anon]

HNNNGGGGG THEY’RE PERFECT. CHRISTMAS TIME MY DUDES.

Blitzen and Donner, more of Santa’s reindeer whumpees :D @cowboy-anon

Their names means ‘Thunder and Lightning’ so it sounds only fair that they’d get shock collars :)

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Blitzen and Donner, more of Santa’s reindeer whumpees :D @cowboy-anon

Their names means ‘Thunder and Lightning’ so it sounds only fair that they’d get shock collars :)