Chapter Text
The little boy stood in the doorway to the kitchen from the dining room. He still had his Spider-Man backpack on. His best friend had just dropped him off after school.
Jack wanted a snack and knew that Mommy would have one waiting. Instead, dark red covered everything. His eyes widened as they locked onto his mother, lying on the tile a few feet away. He walked cautiously toward her. She didn’t smile or call him ‘Crackerjack’. He saw the cellphone near her hand and picked it up. 9-1-1 was already dialed. He pushed the call button.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“M-my mommy. There’s a lot of blood. Daddy, too.” Jack looked at his mother's blank face and answered the important questions the lady asked.
“Okay, hon, we’re sending somebody out right now. Can you tell me if they’re breathing?”
“No,” the young boy whispered.
That was the last piece of information anyone was able to get from Jack Kline. The police officers who came to the scene immediately called Child Protective Services, one of them specifically asking for Missouri Moseley.
A detective (one who already had a couple of children of his own) took Jack to his bedroom to try and make him more comfortable (and so that he wouldn’t see all that was going on in the room nearby). One of the paramedics diagnosed the boy with severe shock and wanted to get him down to the ambulance for monitoring. The detective carefully carried Jack outside, blocking his view of the scene with his hand over the boy’s eyes.
For the detective, it felt like Missouri arrived within hours rather than the twenty minutes it actually took her to drive across town. The woman parked down the street, flashed her CPS badge to an officer standing guard, and made her way to the ambulance. She was stopped by another detective, likely getting a quick rundown of the situation. Missouri nodded, locked eyes with Jack. He quickly dropped his own and huddled further under the blanket.
“Hi, Jack. My name is Missouri. I hear you’ve had a really hard day.” The young boy looked too small under the navy thermal blanket, and all he could do was stare at his hands. Missouri noticed that they shook slightly. “I bet you’d like something to drink.” She turned and met the detective’s tired and sad eyes. “Brian, why don’t you go get Jack here some juice?”
The detective nodded, knowing when he’d been dismissed.
Missouri sat down beside Jack on the back of the ambulance. “You don’t have to say a word, sweet boy,” she said, slowly wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jack yielded after a moment and leaned into the woman’s side. “I think we’ll go to the police station in a little while. I’m not sure how fun it will be, but sometimes there are colorful characters around for entertainment.” The woman filled the silence, trying to distract Jack from the flurry of activity happening in and around the house. According to the call she’d received, they were missing someone.
A person screamed from down the road, and it reverberated outward. “What the fuck?!” Missouri leaned over and watched a young girl run down the street, only to be intercepted by a detective. The policewoman told her what had happened.
Missouri watched as the girl crumpled to the ground. She felt Jack stir beside her. He shed the heavy blanket and ran through the fray to his sister.
The girl grabbed Jack, and they clung to each other tightly. Missouri gave them a few minutes before walking over. It was getting to be early in the evening, and the children needed a place to go. She ran through possible foster families that would be ready to take in two traumatized children so quickly before sitting down on the curb beside them.
A minute later, Brian returned with two juice boxes in hand. He set them down beside Missouri and joined her just as she made her decision.
“Do you have someone to call?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, actually. Are you alright to sit with them?” Missouri didn’t want the children to be left alone. A paramedic passed by Missouri and draped a large woolen blanket over the children’s shoulders. The social worker pulled her phone from her pocket and began scrolling through her contacts.
The woman walked closer to the house, hoping to get a glimpse into what Jack saw that rendered him catatonic, but then she decided it didn’t matter. The children were hurting, and she needed to be there for them.
“Missouri? What’s wrong?”
“Good evening to you, too, Castiel,” Missouri said with a faint smile, always admiring the man’s eagerness when she called.
The man cleared his throat. “Yes, I apologize. May I ask...the problem?”
Missouri sighed and looked over at the children again. Their sobs had quieted, but they looked lost and frightened. “I have a young boy and a teenage girl who need a place to stay for a few days while we sort things out. Would you and Inias--”
“Yes! Yes, of course. I have bedrooms ready. Do we need a car seat? Do--”
“Calm down, Castiel. I’ll bring the children to you later tonight. Mostly, they need someone to be a presence as they grieve. The girl is sixteen, and the boy is six.”
“Yes, please, bring them.” Castiel sounded sympathetic and sincere. Missouri had made the right choice.
“I’ll be over in a couple of hours. I’ll text you. Is that alright?”
“That sounds good, yes.”
“Excellent. Then we’ll see you soon.” They said their goodbyes, and Missouri made her way inside the house.
Everything looked normal until you reached the kitchen, where Jack and Claire’s parents lay. The detectives had already determined murder-suicide (Lucifer Kline shot his wife, Kelly, before turning the gun on himself), but would, of course, wait for the final decree from the medical examiner.
Missouri looked around the area where the bodies were simply covered by sheets. Blood soaked through in places. She saw that there was a door leading outside that was directly across from the children’s rooms. Perhaps they could allow the children access to their rooms that way... The woman walked back outside and over to where Detective Brian sat with the Kline children.
“Brian?”
The man stood and walked over to Missouri. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Will you set up some sheeting in front of the kitchen so that the children can get to their bedrooms. I need them to pack a bag to go to Castiel’s tonight.”
“Yeah, of course. Give me five.” Brian strode off with purpose.
Missouri walked over and sat down again. Claire was rocking back and forth, holding Jack, who looked like he was asleep. “My mom’s dead,” she said, her voice raw. Her eye makeup had run down her cheeks, turning them almost navy in color.
“She is. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
Claire sniffled, cleared her throat, and met Missouri’s eyes for the first time. “Now what?”
“Now, if you’re okay with it, I'll take you to the home of some very nice gentlemen who will look over you for a few days while we reach out to fam--”
“It was just Mom and us. Dad moved out a couple of years ago. He might have a brother somewhere, but I’ve never met him. Mom was an only child, and her parents are dead.” Claire had no inflection in her voice, and her eyes, under the orange-ish light of the streetlamp, were still glassy from shock.
“I see,” Missouri commented, nodding. “Well, would it be alright to stay with Castiel and Inias for a little while?”
“Why gay guys—I assume, anyway...”
“Because they are good, upstanding men who will make sure you’re looked after and taken care of until we find something more permanent.” (Which the woman hoped would be with Castiel.) Missouri angled her head. “What do you say?” she asked quietly, fully aware that she may be taking the children home with her that night. Instead, Claire shrugged. The motion stirred Jack, and he sat up in her lap. “Did you hear any of that, Jack?” Missouri asked. “You’re going to stay with some friends of mine for a while.”
The boy looked at her hollowly. She could already tell it was going to be a very long road for the two to heal.
With Brian’s permission, Missouri and Claire went inside to pack a couple of bags to take with them. Claire packed, instinctively knowing what Jack would need. Within minutes, she was back in the hallway and headed out the door.
Missouri and the children did, in fact, go to the police station, though it was mostly a formality. The detectives needed statements from Claire and...well, they had hoped, Jack, but that wasn’t meant to be.
It was dark when Missouri pulled up to Castiel and Inias’ house. She checked the rearview mirror often and saw that the siblings held hands across the seat, though they didn’t look at each other at all.
The front door opened as soon as Missouri parked the car. “Castiel’s a little...eager to be helping y’all,” the woman said with a quiet chuckle. “Stay here.” She exited the car, leaving the door open so that Claire and Jack could hear their conversation (she knew they weren’t ready to go into the stranger’s house just yet).
“Thank you, Castiel,” Missouri told the man as they approached each other. “I appreciate this--”
“It’s my pleasure...ours. Um, please, come inside.”
Missouri noticed the slight stumble but chose not to mention it. “It will probably take a while before the children are ready. I’ll stay with them for a bit before we come inside. Okay?” Castiel nodded. Missouri lowered her voice so that the children couldn’t hear her. “Try to remain calm. The children are in shock and don’t need any excitement.” Castiel nodded again and took a deep breath as the woman patted his arm and went back to the car.
Nearly an hour later, Missouri announced to the children that it was time to go inside. Neither one moved. “Claire, Jack, I’m sorry, but you need somewhere to stay tonight. Castiel has two rooms, two beds...both just waiting for you.”
“Why can’t we stay with you?” Claire asked in a soft but wrecked voice.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Missouri cooed. “You don’t need to spend the night on the lumpy sofa in my office while I get your files in order and make some calls.” Claire opened her mouth. “Don’t argue now,” she said gently. “Let’s get your things and go inside.”
The siblings carried their bags up to the front door with Missouri. She knocked, and Castiel opened it. She liked the man; he may have been a bit of an odd duck at times, but his heart was pure. His husband, Inias, however, was a little more stoic. Missouri thought that the men had very differing views on fostering and adoption. (She gave the marriage six more months, if that—especially if they attempted to adopt the Kline siblings.)
“Hello,” Castiel greeted softly. He held out his hand. “I’m Castiel.” Claire stared down at it, and Jack was hiding behind Missouri. The man nodded and stepped back instead. “Come in.”
“I thought Inias might be here,” Missouri said, ushering the children in.
“Oh, an earlier surgery is taking longer than expected, according to one of his nurses.” Castiel led the three down a short flight of stairs into the living room before stopping suddenly and turning around, looking at Claire and Jack. “Um, would you rather go to your rooms instead of taking a tour? Are you hungry?” Missouri laid a hand on his arm. He breathed deeply again.
Claire looked down at Jack, who had pressed himself tightly against his sister’s side. “We’re tired,” she answered in a small voice.
Castiel nodded. “Of course. Let me take you upstairs.” He led them back up to the front door and turned to the left to go up the remainder of the staircase. “Um, this is the master,” Castiel said, gesturing to the left at the top of the landing. “The bathroom...” He gestured vaguely to the open door. “And two bedrooms, here and--”
“Yeah, thanks,” Claire bit out, walking down the hall to the room farthest from the stairs. She and Jack both went inside. The door closed with a sharp crack, and the lock clicked into place.
“C’mon, Castiel. Make me some tea, won’t you?” Missouri took the man’s hand and led him down the stairs and into the kitchen. She’d been at the house plenty of times over the years, talking with and interviewing Castiel (and Inias on occasion).
Castiel dropped the woman’s hand and went around the counter to the stove to put on the kettle. He took down a tin of tea from the cabinet and set up the cups.
“You’re going to let me down easily about something,” he said, back turned.
Missouri sighed. “It looks like a murder-suicide. Jack found the bodies.”
“Motherfucker.” Castiel’s eyes widened. “Pardon me.”
“Claire came home about an hour later. They will not be easy to care for over the next several days. Give them space, let them know you’re there for them, and try not to get too attached.”
“There it is,” Castiel lamented, finally turning to face Missouri.
“We’re going to look for any family first; you know that. You’ve passed all your inspections and--”
“You’ve said this before, Missouri.”
“Just take it one day at a time, okay?” The woman knew that Castiel wanted children of his own. He’d stated over and over again that he wanted to foster older children. Castiel’s aim was to foster and then adopt. With the Klines as his first placements, Missouri expected him to get attached quickly.
Castiel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He nodded and took the boiling water off the stove.
Missouri left after tea. She outlined what the next steps would be and told Castiel to call her anytime, day, or night. She visited the children before leaving, telling them the same thing and giving Claire her card. The man walked Missouri to her car and hugged her.
“Thanks for the opportunity,” Castiel whispered.
“You’ll make the most of it, I’m sure.”
~~~~~
Castiel watched Missouri back out of the driveway before dropping his head back onto his shoulders and groaning quietly. He rolled his neck, cracked his knuckles, and went back inside. He crept slowly up the stairs, avoiding the one two-thirds up that squeaked no matter what Castiel did to it, and tiptoed down the hall to the room Claire had chosen. He pressed his ear to the door.
“You’re really brave, you know that?” Claire’s voice was muffled, but Castiel could make out most of what was said. “I’m really proud of you. Mom would be, too.” He heard each child sniffle. The young girl cleared her throat. “It won’t make things better, but we should try to rest.” There was a brief pause before she continued. “Of course, I’ll still be here.”
Castiel wondered if perhaps Jack would only speak to Claire. At least he was talking to someone. He walked quickly and quietly back downstairs to clean up the kitchen. He walked out to his office afterward and nabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet there. Sitting down in the kitchen with a glass of the amber liquid, Castiel thought about what had happened that night.
First, a brutal murder-suicide took place. Second, two children were orphaned, one of whom actually found his parents and called the police. Third, the children were brought into his home. Finally, he was drinking at the dining table and trying not to smile.
The circumstances were horrendous, but Castiel couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope in his chest. He’d always wanted to be a father, but knew, being gay, that he didn’t have a lot of options. When he and Inias married, Castiel had immediately begun looking into adoption. Inias talked him out of it, offering to wait a few years so that they could enjoy each other a little while longer.
Five years later, Castiel began looking into surrogacy. Inias again talked him out of it, recommending adoption once again. With that back on the table, Castiel researched for a year, wrote letters for a year, and was denied for three years, until Missouri.
That night, that very night, he was fostering his first children. Castiel was anxious and happy and scared and surprised, and already felt like he was floundering. He downed the rest of his whiskey in one swallow. Inias’ career had come first for a lot of years, but Castiel was determined to make the man slow down and put something else first for a change.
One very long week later, Castiel escorted Claire and Jack into the funeral home for their parents’ memorial service. Jack still wasn’t talking, and neither child would leave the bedroom at the end of the hall (though he could hear the toilet flush from his office, where he spent his time doing TeleHealth appointments and trying to be productive, though he had other priorities he wanted to focus on). He set trays of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and water, and milk at the doorway, hoping that they’d eat. Each time he came back for the tray, at least some of the food and beverages were gone. Castiel considered those days to be absolute wins.
Inias wasn’t thrilled to come home at four a.m. the previous week to two brand new people in his home without his knowledge or permission. Castiel had calmly (and quietly) explained the circumstances. Inias huffed, said he was going to stay with a friend, and turned around and left.
Castiel began looking for a divorce lawyer the next day. It’d been a long ten years of doing what Inias wanted. Castiel was tired and hurt. It was obvious that the other man didn’t want to be part of what was happening—what he had originally been all for (mostly). He didn’t come back to the house, and Castiel wondered just who this indulgent friend might be.
But the day wasn’t about him; it was about the children saying goodbye to their parents. Castiel offered to hold their hands, but Claire pulled away and took Jack with her to the front row of benches. He followed slowly behind with his head down. Missouri was there as well and went to sit beside the children. Castiel sat on the other side of her. There weren’t many people present.
Over the past week, the police learned that Kelly Kline had a restraining order against her husband, and he very obviously broke it. Missouri had helped make plans for the funeral with sparse input from Claire, and Castiel helped with the rest. It turned out that Kelly had put a lawyer on retainer for a divorce, and that person had access to a will the woman wrote. It mostly detailed what should happen to the children if she were to pass unexpectedly (which said loads to Castiel about the relationship between husband and wife). There was no one to name as guardian, but Kelly had managed to get her wishes known.
“I want Claire and Jack together in a kind and loving home. I want them to flourish and become their best selves...”
Castiel had the document in a box with other important papers. He would give it to Claire one day—if she stayed. He began losing hope as the days passed, and there was no news on his fostering the Kline children for the long term. He was already surprised that the children had stayed with him for this long.
Castiel kept in touch with Missouri nearly daily. He knew, he knew the holdup was because he was gay and starting divorce proceedings. Kelly’s lawyer argued that the woman wanted her children in a loving home that included two parents. (The woman’s will didn’t specify race, gender, ethnicity, or any other types of limitations on the persons who would take care of her children, including and up to single and/or gay parents.) And so Castiel waited.
One week became two weeks became three weeks became a month. In the middle of that month, Kelly’s lawyer teamed up with someone higher than Missouri at CPS and demanded the children be handed to the county for processing them into the adoption and foster home database (the woman, it turned out, through the grapevine, was against LGBTQIA people adopting and wanted the children removed from the home out of principle).
Castiel wanted to fight for the children. He had no real stake in their lives, but he wanted them to flourish as much as their mother had. His biggest fear was that the two would be separated. Jack hadn’t uttered a word since he called the police after finding the bodies. Claire barely spoke, and when she did, she was angry. They needed each other.
“You all need each other,” Missouri insisted. “I think I know a couple of people who might be able to help. They’re good friends, and I trust them. This will work out.”
All Castiel could do was nod and trust the woman in front of him. He didn’t know if he believed her or not, but he was willing to go on a little faith (or try) that something good might happen.