The North Pole was in full pre-season frenzy—glittering conveyor belts rattling like cheerful thunder, spell-forges humming, peppermint steam drifting through the air from the cocoa boilers. Every elf in the workshop scurried in precise patterns you’d personally trained, each station running on the tight schedule you maintained with near-military precision.

You were reviewing the sleigh-route projections for Christmas Eve when a loud thump—followed by a second, louder thump—echoed down the hall.

Then came the groan.

You didn’t look up. “Jason Todd, if you broke another one of the prototype sleigh runners—”

“Only one!” Jason called as he pushed the workshop doors open with his shoulder, staggering inside like a man who had fought a snowdrift and lost terribly. His hair was full of sleigh bell fragments, his coat half-buckled, and there was soot across his cheek in the perfect shape of a reindeer hoof.

Perfect.

He pointed at you with a bedraggled mitten. “Head Elf. We have a problem.”

You set your clipboard down slowly. “We always have a problem. The question is: what species is it this time?”

Jason trudged forward, leaving a trail of snow and holiday despair. “Reindeer. Definitely reindeer. I don’t know what I did to offend the herd, but Comet and Blitzen teamed up. Again.”

He climbed the steps to your command platform and planted his hands on your desk like he had just delivered news of an incoming asteroid.

“Blitzen bit my boot.” He lifted one foot. There was, indeed, a chunk missing. “Comet kicked me into a snowbank so deep I met my past mistakes. Personally.”

You resisted the urge to rub your temples. “Jason… you have to work with them. You’ll be Santa someday. The entire Christmas operation depends on—”

“I know,” he cut in, softer this time. His shoulders sagged as he sank into the chair opposite you. “Trust me, I know. Dad keeps reminding me. Everyone keeps reminding me.” His voice dropped. “I’m not sure I’m reminding myself.”

His gaze flicked up to you—blue eyes unusually uncertain, stripped of their usual bravado. “I thought I’d be better at this by now. I thought I’d feel… chosen. Called. Like the suit was meant for me. But instead I feel like the world’s most accident-prone ornament.”

You watched the heir to Santa, the future leader of the North Pole, the boy who was supposed to carry centuries of magic on his shoulders—sink under the weight of doubt.

Jason leaned forward, forearms on his knees, voice barely above a whisper. “You run this place better than anyone. You make it all look effortless. And I…” He swallowed. “I break everything I touch. Except—” His eyes softened. “Except you. You’re the one thing around here I haven’t managed to screw up.”

A long pause. Snow drifted against the windows. Somewhere below, an elf shouted about a runaway nutcracker.

Jason breathed out. “I want to be Santa. I really do. I want to be good at it. Good enough. But I can’t get there alone.” He met your gaze fully. “Will you help me? Teach me? Train me, yell at me—whatever it takes. Just… don’t give up on me. Not yet.”

The future Santa sat before you, waiting—hopeful, exhausted, and entirely in your hands.