Hi everyone! I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe during these crazy times. I got some inspiration to write for The Santa Clause fandom again! If any of you all read my story May You Always, this story takes place in that universe, but before the events of that story. I don't think it's necessary to read MYA to enjoy this one. Some of my headcannons for how the elves's magic works is going to be talked about here, but I think I go into more detail in MYA. But, in case you don't want to have to back track to find out, in my headcannon, the elves's magic comes from Bernard's magic. That's why he's the Head Elf. So basically they're all tied to him because of this.

This story is about Curtis being chosen to be the number two elf and Bernard's hesitation at doing so. It'll be about three chapters long and will dive a little into the history of our favorite Head Elf.

WARNING: There will be mentions of pain and death throughout this story, which is why I'll be giving it a T rating. Nothing really graphic or gory, and for me it's not bad at all, but if that's not something you like to read about please take caution while reading this story. I care about each and every one of you and want to make sure you're taking care of yourselves.

In case anyone is interested in knowing, the title for this story comes from the Etta James version of the song Stormy Weather. Well, long author's note is long. On to reading my lovelies!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of The Santa Clause movies or of Etta James.

*The North Pole, May of 1961*

There's a special checklist of things Bernard must get done everyday. From the second his alarm clock ring ring rings him awake, until the clock chimes 7 p.m. signaling the end of the work day, he is always checking that he's done everything on the list. Checking it twice, actually. Some are easy, like thing number one.

1. Make sure Santa Claus is out of bed.

That one takes nothing more than a few hard knocks on his boss's bedroom door and a call that breakfast is on its way. With the promise of sticky sweet syrup over fluffy pancakes and hot crispy bacon, the first item on his list is taken care of and he can move on to the next.

2. Check the complaint box.

The big man at the pole a few Santas back had thought the elves needed a place to voice their concerns without having to try and track down their Head Elf, and a way to remain anonymous in case their issue was with said Head Elf. Bernard had begrudgingly agreed to it, because well, he can be hard to find sometimes. Not because he's avoiding anyone, it's just that he has so much to do he can't afford to waste time staying in one place for too long. He was a little miffed at the idea that the other elves might want to complain about him, and a little worried that complaining about each other might cause some unneeded turbulence in the workshop. But, Santa was in charge and if he wanted it, it had to happen. They put the box near the Candy Room. It was a pretty thing about a foot and a half tall and wide, made of sturdy wood and painted a lovely cherry color. There was a four inch long slot on the top where the elves could stuff little notes scribbled with their concerns, and two shiny brass locks that only Bernard and Santa had the keys for. The Santa at the time had said it was important that the box was checked every day, so the other elves would feel like their complaints were being taken seriously. So, Bernard put the box at the top of his list, and he made sure that every morning he addressed any issue the notes told about.

Today, there are three notes laying at the bottom of the box. He reaches in and grabs them all in one quick swipe. He then shuts the box, makes sure it's locked, and stuffs his ring of keys back into his pocket. The first note is written in sloppy cursive, with the m's and n's looking identical, like the person who wrote it forgot how many humps were in the letters.

"Davey," Bernard huffs with a laugh. He'd recognize that hand writing anywhere. He taught the younger boy how to write cursive decades ago, because Davey said it would make him seem more mature, and he was pushing twelve hundred you know. Even after all these years though, Davey still couldn't quite get it right. "Need more magenta wrapping paper in wrapping department."

Bernard makes a mental note to head that way next, and then crumples up the note and tosses it in the trash can right below the table the box sat on.

"Oven four's pilot light is out," says the next note. There's a smiley face drawn right beside the small neatly printed words. Kitchen elf plus a smiley face? That would mean Melinda was the one to write this. She always liked to add a smiley face or a heart to any message she sent so she "didn't seem too demanding."

Bernard tosses that note as well. The kitchens were on the way to the wrapping department, so it would just be a quick detour and then he could bring the wrapping paper to the elves. He unfolds the last note, written on a light greenish card stock instead of just a scrap of paper, and immediately feels his already rosy cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"Stop by the kitchens for breakfast as soon as you see this. I know you didn't eat dinner last night." Judy. Bernard swears that girl is psychic or something. She has to be. That is the only explanation he can think of for her always knowing when he skips a meal or stays up all night working. His stomach gives a betraying gurgle. Okay, yes, he had accidentally forgotten to fix himself something to eat last night. But, in his defense, he had three piles worth of inventory reports to check through. It isn't his fault he fell asleep on the couch before he could even think of grabbing dinner. He chucks Judy's note into the trash can and gives the box a farewell glance.

So technically the elves didn't use the box for its intended purposes. They never have. The Santa who'd wanted it had been expecting the others to voice their hidden grievances, but all they ever did was put in notes for things Bernard needed to fix that they hadn't gotten a chance to tell him about. He did move around a lot after all, so he was bound to miss a few things each workday. He's actually a little thankful to have the box around. It makes it so he doesn't have to feel guilty about accidentally missing something the day before.

Bernard checks item number two off his list and heads towards the nearest storage room to grab the magenta wrapping paper Davey wanted. Afterwards he marches straight to the kitchens, not just because he doesn't want to deal with a disapproving Judy, but because his stomach is starting to protest the lack of food.

"There you are! Thought I was going to have to send Abby to come find you," says a cheery voice upon his entrance. The kitchens of the workshop always smell delicious, and today is no exception. Bernard can smell fresh sugar cookies baking in the oven, along with the heavy spiced scents of pumpkin and apple pies. He hears the sizzling of bacon and ham on a stove nearby. On the far side of the room, several kitchen elves are stuffing turkeys, which means a hot turkey sandwich is on today's lunch menu. His stomach gives another traitorous rumble.

"Don't worry, Judy. I know not to ignore your demands for me to sit down and have a proper meal." Bernard jokes.

The brunette smiles up at him from her seat at one of the long wooden tables. Her purple princess hat is placed neatly atop her head and there's a candy cane striped apron tied around her waist. "Good. Now come and eat before it gets cold."

Bernard does as he's told and takes the seat across from her. The table is heavily ladened with a huge bowl of freshly sliced fruit, a plate full of steaming scrambled eggs, and a large stack of thickly cut pieces of french toast. He grabs an empty plate and starts to load it up with food. Judy reaches over and pours them each a glass of ice cold milk before grabbing her share of breakfast as well.

"Remind me before I leave I need to fix that—"

"Pilot light?" Judy interrupts with a grin. She pours sweet raspberry syrup over both their portions of French toast. "I already took care of it."

Bernard swallows a huge bite of the sticky, eggy bread. "You did? Thanks!"

"Of course. It's an easy fix. I've told the other kitchen elves how to do it a hundred times. I don't know why they keep bothering you with it."

"Eh, it's my job to be bothered. I don't mind."

"Still. It's something they should do themselves. What else is on your agenda for the day?"

Bernard goes over what's left on his list, which is quite a lot since it's still early in the morning, and the last remaining item from the complaint box. Judy graciously offers to take Davey the wrapping paper, which puts the Head Elf back on track to working on his checklist. He finishes his breakfast as quickly as he can without Judy scolding him about the dangers of choking. Then, he leaves her with the bundle of paper and heads down the hall towards the main floor.

Normally this floor would be packed with elves building toys, but in the early morning hours there's only a handful of workers roaming around. Most of them are still half asleep so they don't even notice their Head Elf wandering by, but a few do call out quiet hellos. Bernard quickly knocks off the next three items on his list, checking conveyor belts, tools, and supplies. Once he's finished, he crosses the Naughty and Nice Center and heads through the large double doors into Research and Development.

Quintin is sitting at his desk , as per usual, braided hair still mussed from sleep and a half drunk cocoa sitting cold and abandoned next to him. There's a pile of folders in front of him and he's glaring at them like he wishes they would just disappear. Bernard walks over and taps the younger boy on the shoulder.

"Ready to go do inspections with me?"

Quintin pushes himself out of his chair with a huff. "If it gets me away from this paperwork then I'll do as many inspections as you like."

6. Inspect any new equipment for quality assurance purposes.

The two of them make their way towards the Stuffed Animal Department, because Quintin's team had designed new sewing machines for the elves there that were supposed to work ten times faster than a regular machine. Bernard isn't quite sure how they work, because sewing has never really been his forte, though his friend has already tried to explain it to him twice. The elves in the department seem to like them though, so that's all that really matters.

When they reach the department, Bernard stands by so Quintin can go through and check that each one is working properly. Normally everything is, but there has been the rare occasion that a faulty machine slips by the Research and Development elves, so the Head Elf needs to be near in case Quintin needs his help pulling a broken machine off the workshop floor. Quintin works quickly, despite his desire to prolong the inspections. He really hates doing paperwork and would do just about anything to get out of it.

Quintin gives his friend a thumbs up when he finishes looking over the last sewing machine. All good, then. Bernard turns around so he can sign the clipboard hanging beside the entrance to the department. Quintin comes up behind him and signs as well. This lets the elves here know the inspection was done. Not that they don't trust Bernard to do it. He just thinks the clipboard makes him seem more accountable.

They leave and start walking back towards the main floor. Unfortunately for Quintin, that was the only inspection that needed done today, so it's back to paperwork for him. He knows Quintin is aware of this, because the boy has suddenly started to drag his feet. Bernard huffs out a laugh.

"Come on, paperwork is not that—"

"Bernard! Hey, Bernard!" interrupts a voice from behind them. The two older boys turn around to see who is shouting. Bernard immediately has to suppress a groan.

Curtis is running towards him, a file stuffed with papers in one hand and a Christmas tree green thermos in the other. The younger boy stops right in front of his Head Elf and grins up at him like a cat that finally caught the canary. Bernard wants to kick himself. He'd forgotten the most important item on his checklist right now.

12. AVOID CURTIS AT ALL COST

It wasn't like Bernard didn't like the younger elf. It's just that Curtis has been following him for the better part of the last five weeks and he was beginning to drive the older boy insane. Bernard takes a deep breath, doing his best to ignore the exasperated snort from his friend behind him.

"Morning Curtis. What can I help you with today?"

"Aren't you supposed to be up in the tower checking their radar system for me?" Quintin asks.

"I was on my way! But I remembered that you and Bernard were inspecting those sewing machines today so I thought maybe Bernard and I could talk about my promotion?"

"Promotion?" Quintin gives the Head Elf a bewildered look.

Bernard raises his eyes to the ceiling, resisting the urge to pull out his hair. "Curtis, I already talked to you about this."

"I know, but I thought maybe you had enough time to reconsider?"

"I'm not reconsidering anything—"

"But the handbook says you're supposed to have a Number Two Elf!"

"I know this—"

"So why not me?"

"Curtis—"

"Please! I really think if you gave it some thought—"

"Curtis! For the hundredth time, I don't think you're right for the job!"

The younger boy goes quiet, his gaze falling to his feet. The expression on his face is absolutely miserable. Bernard feels a pang of guilt deep in his belly. He leans down so he can be eye level with the younger boy and places both his hands gently on Curtis's shoulders.

"Listen. It's not that I don't think you do a good job, because I do. You've got a great head on your shoulders and you do fantastic work. That pantograph thing you've been working on? Mind blowing, really. You're so talented, Curtis, and I'm very proud of you. I just... I don't think being the Number Two elf is the right job for you. Okay?"

Curtis meets his gaze with eyes full of disappointment. He gives Bernard a slow nod. The Head Elf smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way, and then ruffles the younger boy's hair.

"Why don't you go check out that radar system Quintin asked you about, 'Kay?" Bernard says, standing straight again. Curtis sighs, and without even a goodbye, slumps off back down the hall.

"So... Curtis wants to be the Number Two elf, huh?" Quintin asks.

Bernard turns to face him with a groan. "Yes. I told him no the first time he asked me about it, but apparently that wasn't an acceptable answer. He's been bothering me about it every time he sees me for weeks now."

"Well, he's nothing if not persistent. He... is right though. You are going to have to pick someone eventually."

"No one wants the job, besides him of course. I still wish you'd reconsider."

"I love you dearly, Mate, but no thank you. Frankly, I find even the idea of that job terrifying and well... I am a coward at heart."

Bernard gives a disbelieving snort. " Oh, little one, I raised you. I know you've got plenty of courage in that heart if yours."

Quintin's face flushes crimson, making the freckles spread across his cheeks stand out even more so than normal. "D-don't call me little one! I'm fifteen hundred years old, it's embarrassing!"

"Whoops," the Head Elf laughs sheepishly, "sorry. Some times it just slips out. But... I don't blame you for being afraid. There's a lot of crazy stuff involved with being the Head Elf. I don't think Curtis realizes that. It's why I've told him no."

"Hey, you don't have to justify your reasons to me. You're the boss. Don't worry though, I'm sure you'll find the right elf for the job sooner or later."

Not long after that, Bernard says goodbye and leaves Quintin to his paperwork. It's later in the morning, so the workshop is now crammed with laughing, joyful elves. The pounding of hammers and the whirring of drills beat against his ears along with the roar of countless voices. He finds the noise strangely pleasant. To him, it sounds like productivity and a hundred good deeds all being done at once. It sounds like children's wishes coming true. It sounds like magic.

Bernard spends the rest of the day here, on the main floor, bouncing back and forth between the different conveyor belts and the Naughty and Nice Center. It's a busy day, but for the most part things run smoothly, so he can't really complain. He runs into Santa at one point. Jon Baters, a.k.a. Santa Claus, is a plain looking man with watery gray eyes and the softest voice Bernard has ever heard. His hair, now the customary snowy white curls, used to be a warm ginger color and was chin length and very shaggy. With his big round belly he looks jolly enough, but Santa has a way of walking where his arms and legs seem to flop independently from the rest of his body. The Head Elf's first impression of the man was of a scarecrow that had somehow learned how to walk and talk. Probably not the best way to think of your boss, but ever since then Bernard has had a hard time imagining Santa as anything else. Which means it's probably a good thing the big guy tends to just let Bernard do as he pleases with the workshop. He does wish Santa would get a little more involved, but, oh well. At least he delivers the presents without any complaints.

Bernard's exhausted by the time the work whistle blows, signaling the end of the day. He says goodbye to everyone and then starts grabbing all the paperwork he needs to check over tonight before bed. Twenty minutes later, he meets Quintin at the front doors. They're just heading down the front steps when a voice stops them.

"Bernard? Can we talk... please?"

He knows it's Curtis before he even turns around. Bernard sighs and fidgets with the strap on his bag. He's starting to lose his patience with the boy.

"Work day is over, Curtis. If this is about the Number Two Elf position again—"

"It is."

"Then it's going to have to wait until tomorrow. Go home." He turns away and starts walking down the steps again.

"N-no."

Bernard pauses. He looks back to face the younger boy. "What?"

Quintin's mouth is agape and he can't seem to decide which elf he wants to stare at. His gaze is flicking back and forth between the other two boys. Curtis pushes his glasses farther up his nose and stares at his Head Elf with stubborn determination.

"I'm not leaving until we talk about this. I don't think you're being very fair."

Bernard narrows his eyes and walks back up the stairs. He stops on the step just below where Curtis is standing. The younger elf is a good bit shorter than him, so he has to crane his neck back to look Bernard in the eye. "Curtis. This discussion is over. Go. Home."

It's not a command, not really. If Bernard wanted to, he could order Curtis to listen to him. He could make it so all the elves had to listen to him. But Bernard doesn't like that. Even the thought of it leaves him feeling empty and cold, like all his warmness has shriveled up and disappeared. Yes, the other elves all carry parts of him with them. Pieces of his magic, his very being, rest deep within their cores, keeping them warm and young and alive. That doesn't mean they are not individuals. It doesn't mean they don't have their own thoughts and feelings and free will. He wants them to be who they want to be and he wants them to make their own choices. The only time he ever puts his foot down and makes something he says law is when it's serious. Like when their safety is on the line.

Even so, he can't help the buzzing of his magic in the air as he stares right back at Curtis. He's tired and annoyed and he doesn't want to spend the rest of his evening arguing on the front steps of the workshop. Curtis visibly gulps when he feels the pressure from the Head Elf's magic. Even Quintin takes a step back. Bernard takes a huge breath, willing himself to calm down. He feels his magic retract and settle snug and warm in his chest.

"N-no." Curtis stutters. "I'm not going home. Not until we talk. I don't think it's fair that you get to decide I'm not right for the job."

"Curtis..."

"No, I'm serious. I get that I don't know everything about what it means to be the Head Elf, but just because I don't know yet doesn't mean I can't do it. You haven't even given me a chance! I'm not saying you have to make it official yet. I'm... I'm just asking you to let me try!"

Bernard blinks at him. So, what, he wants like a trial period or something? He's... never thought of doing that with someone before. Normally he just explains everything the job would entail and the responsibilities of being Head Elf. The few people he's ever considered for the job have all said no when they hear what it really means to be in charge of the elves. He's never considered letting them try it first before making an official decision. Still though...

"Being next in line to be Head Elf doesn't mean you just get to boss people around. If you want to be in charge of people, try to become head of a department. Being the Head Elf... it's dangerous, Curtis. A lot of stuff relies on you. And I'm not just talking about everything going on at the workshop. The elves rely on you, and if you fail them... bad things can happen."

"I know all about how the rest of us are connected to your magic. That doesn't scare me. I know I'll always try my best to make sure nothing happens to me or the elves. And everything else I don't know, I'll learn along the way. Please Bernard, at least let me try."

Bernard sighs. He has to admit it, Curtis has a strong argument. He doesn't want to rush this decision though...

"I can't believe I'm saying this..." he starts off with a mutter. "Alright, let me sleep on it, and I'll get back to you first thing in the morning. But no more bothering me about it tonight or my answer is going right back to no! Got it?"

Curtis practically jumps up and down in his excitement. "You're really gonna think about it? Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Bernard snorts and then turns to start walking down the steps. "Well, you made a valid point. I can't really argue—"

Huh. Well, that was strange. Suddenly he is looking up towards the thick ice ceiling that hides their home from the rest of the world. His back and arms are aching something terrible and there is an oddly familiar burning in his chest. It hurts.

"B-Bernard? Mate, are you okay?" Quintin and Curtis are knelt down beside him, eyes blown wide with concern. The Head Elf takes a moment to breathe past the pain. He's felt this burning before, but in his shock at finding himself at the bottom of the stairs, he just can't remember where. It isn't the feeling he gets when he loses track of one of his elves. That's a cold chill creeping up his spine and lingering at the base of his neck. Bernard pushes himself into a seated position, waving away Quintin's worrying touches with a halfhearted smile. Just as quickly as the mysterious pain came, it disappears. He rubs absentmindedly at his chest as he tries to rack his brain over what that could have possibly been.

"D-did all of the field elves check in?"

"Yea... I checked right before we left. Someone's not missing, are they?" Quintin starts anxiously picking at his fingernails.

"No... I don't think so. You're sure everyone checked in?"

"Positive. I talked to them all myself and they all said they were calling it a night. What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure." He rubs at his chest again. The feeling is definitely gone, and some instinct is telling him that's better than if it had stayed around or gotten worse, but he still can't put his finger on where he's felt it before. "I guess... maybe I just slipped?"

"Slipped on what? The stairs aren't icy," Curtis says looking back at the steps. He's not wrong. The stairs leading up to the front doors are perfectly safe, not a drop of snow or ice on them. Quintin and Curtis both grab an arm so the can heave Bernard to his feet.

"Maybe you're just tired? Let's get you home," Quintin insists. Bernard nods his head and doesn't even argue when both of the younger elves escort him all the way back to his front door. The Head Elf tries to smile reassuringly as he bids both boys goodnight, but he can tell it does nothing to ease their concern. He closes his front door gently and then drops his shoulder bag full of paperwork onto his messy coffee table. The bag plops right down onto a stack of inventory reports, tipping the papers over and scattering them across the floor. He debates on cleaning them up, but then decides he's too tired to care right now. He'll just get up earlier in the morning and do it. Bernard gets ready for bed as quickly as he can and then burrows deep into his over-sized burgundy comforter. He's almost immediately hit by Sandman's spell. His eyelids feel like there are little weights attached to them, dragging them closed. Before he drifts off into the warm darkness of his dreams, a fleeting thought flickers across his mind.

Something is wrong.

Want to know something funny? I realized while writing this that all throughout May You Always, I spelled Quintin's name wrong. It's kind of killing me inside now that I know this but that story has 11 chapter's worth of Quintins to find and I just don't have the wherewithal to do it right now. Eh, maybe I'll do it later. See you next chapter!