Caleb Danvers

It takes all the promises he's ever made - to his mother, to Pogue, to himself, to everyone - for Caleb to stop himself from following in his father's footsteps and those of his father before that when the power is singing in his veins, thundering in his ears, begging, promising, threatening, coaxing him to just reach and touch it, and sweet relief would hold him warm, and comfortable, and strong.

Caleb watched snow melt from Pogue and the slender girl sitting practically in his arms by the fireplace, watched them shift closer together unselfconsciously, and smiled at the heat on his friend's cheeks that he suspected was not entirely caused by the proximity of the open flames.

Caleb didn't know in full why he decided to let Chase have another chance - but as he did, he couldn't do it halfway, and so the older boy got as much support, in any way, as he could manage to give.

Caleb had meant every single word he'd said, and more, but it took no more than touching an old gift, next time when he was alone - shift at the hospital coinciding with school - to render him helpless to stop the shivering or keep the contents of his stomach or calm the whirlwind in his mind.

The once-dark-haired man's expression is soft as he watches his son's black curls bob up and down against the snow as the boy bounds across it to his friend, the narrow trail too tiny for his momentum.

The Christmas tree, familiar, familiarly adorned, familiarly stocked with presents under it, looked way too huge when it was just Caleb and Evelyn standing beside it.

Like dancing, it's not one of my, ah, strong points.

His family ever was way too complicated to explain - and way too simple to feel.

One can truly love others, too.