Chapter Text
“It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another.”
-- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (1818)
Barbara was nice. Really, she was.
She had a gorgeous face, beautiful eyes, and long, blond hair that always seemed to catch the sunlight. Her life was rather interesting, too. She had grown up in Chicago in a big house with a white picket fence, two loving parents, and her golden labradoodle, Bradford. When she was ten, Bradford buried her grandma’s favorite pair of bunny slippers in the backyard in a seemingly random act that Barbara believed had actually foretold her grandma’s demise in a tragic pickleball accident a week later. While her parents tried to get her into therapy to discuss her odd coping mechanisms when it came to accepting the fact that sometimes plastic balls could freakishly hit someone with enough force to knock out their frontal lobe, she was steadfast in her theories about clairvoyant canines and would move to Plaht City when she was eighteen to pursue a degree in Dog Psychology at Atlas University. Rather than becoming the next Cesar Millan, she hoped to eventually prove to the world that dogs had psychic abilities and would do a better job running the country than half the humans in Congress.
Keith thought that maybe it was because, despite her charming qualities, the spark just wasn’t there. Maybe it was because this was all happening too soon. Maybe it was because of the whole Dog Psychology thing (he didn’t believe that they were fortune tellers -- though he did agree with the Congress comment). Either way, all he could say was:
“Okay.”
“‘Okay’?” Barbara repeated with a scowl. “I’m breaking up with you, and that’s your response?”
Keith glanced around, hoping that her agitated tone hadn’t drawn the attention of the other tables around them. The Quantum Abyss was a small restaurant that featured vintage wooden furniture, brick walls with abstract paintings of cosmic whales, way too many Edison bulbs, and a playlist of obscure, space-themed folk music. Each burger had a random name that only the staff understood (was there a symbolic meaning behind eating a "Razor’s Edge" -- asking for a friend), included at least some kind of unpronounceable goat cheese, and cost an arm, a leg, and your firstborn child.
It was a weird place to invite someone for the sake of ending a romantic relationship. Especially since a single cone of Parmesan truffle fries were fifteen goddamn dollars.
(Seriously, this breakup could’ve been an email.)
“I mean,” he said, keeping his voice quiet, “I am upset, don’t get me wrong. I’m sure you have your reasons, though.”
“Don’t you want to hear what they are?”
Keith really didn’t. He had a hunch as to what the reasons were. They were undoubtedly the same reasons his last three (short-term) relationships had gone belly up.
“We’ve been dating for a solid month and you’ve never once opened up to me!”
Whoop, there it was.
Keith frowned. “It takes me a while to get close to people. I’ve dealt with a lot of loss in my life, and I also have a little girl to consider.”
“Little?” Barbara scoffed. “Keith, she’s eleven--”
“Twelve.”
“--and all the excuses in the world won’t make you any younger. If you’re gonna start dating again, you gotta learn how to be emotionally available.”
“Gwen needs me to be strong for her. Things have been rough ever since her mom died, and she gets these panic attacks sometimes -- and she has a hard time connecting with other people, too.”
“Children are like dogs,” Barbara stated matter-of-factly, ignoring Keith. “They may not always act like it, but they want to be a part of something greater. If you’re gonna convince them to follow you, you need to be someone worth following.” She grabbed the single remaining fry from the metal cone between them. “Dogs are related to wolves, you know. Wolves live in packs, which always have an alpha who can lead even the most rebellious pups. But alpha wolves have to be the strongest wolves in the group. You say you’re strong, but are you an alpha, Keith?”
Keith stared at her, dumbfounded. “What?”
She stood from her chair, intimidating in her posture. “Or are you a sheep?”
“What does this have to do with--”
“A sheep!” she growled. The fry in her hand resembled a dagger. “Are you a sheep waiting to be consumed by his predator of a daughter!”
“I don’t know!” Keith threw his hands up, faintly wondering if his newfound ex was actually going to murder him with an overpriced piece of potato. The group of hipsters seated at the communal table next to them were staring now. “Is there a ‘none of the above’ option? Gwen doesn’t even like lamb chops!”
“You are a sheep, Keith!” snarled Barbara. “A lost little sheep. You can go back to your flock, but you’ll always be a sheep. Never knowing happiness of your own. Just waiting to be fed to the wolves. And I?” She bit the fry in half and tossed the remains in front of Keith. “I am a gorgeous she-wolf, and you’re not even worth a single bite.”
She grabbed her purse and stomped out of the restaurant.
Keith could only sit there, stunned. Then he dropped his head into his hands. “What the hell are they teaching at Atlas nowadays?” he groaned into his palms.
His phone rang.
With a sigh, he grabbed his phone, read the number on the screen, and muttered a curse.
Keith knew from experience, unfortunately, that the office of Principal Ellen Sanda was spartanic.
Potted plants were watered on a strict schedule, including her army of Lovecraftian Venus flytraps that had probably gobbled up a secretary or two. The bookshelves were dusted every day as if their oak surfaces were some no man’s land between the nations of Dust and Pledge® Enhancing Wood Polish. Leatherette chairs were wiped down hourly to clean off the sweat from all the poor, unfortunate souls who had to sit beneath the stern gaze of Garrison Middle School’s head honcho, which Keith was certain was the number one leading cause of nervous breakdowns in America. Overall, it was a fitting environment for the stoic woman who had practically run the entire institution for the past thirty years. Even the sunlight peeking in through the window blinds felt as harsh as a warden’s glare, more disappointed than angry.
“Mister Kogane,” said Principal Sanda from her desk, her hands folded in front of her and her voice completely void of hospitality, “I’m glad you could join us.” She bowed her head toward the last remaining chair. “Please, take a seat.”
Keith shut the door, narrowing his eyes at none other than James Griffin, who was seated with his daughter, Ava. James returned the look, the glower no less irritating than it was two decades ago, but Keith managed not to tell him how much of a giant ass clown he was and instead took the empty chair next to his own daughter.
Guinevere “Gwen” Kogane was a spitting image of her mother, so much that it sometimes hurt to look at her. Dark hair. Blue eyes. A wit so sharp that it could blow away the judges from Forged in Fire any day of the week. The other stuff, though? The questionable stuff? That was from Keith. The oversized hoodie, the ripped jeans, the dirty Vans, the impulsivity and the rebellious attitude and the tragic backstory to match. Gwen was an outcast in the proper and pristine world that people like James had created -- and she was reminded of it, constantly, whether by peers, principals, or her inner demons.
Keith swallowed, a sudden and raw ache in his throat.
As usual, when he tried to subtly reach out, to place his hand on hers and comfort her, she shifted away from his touch. Her scowl remained glued to the rug as she mindlessly and anxiously picked at her purple nail polish.
“My apologies for having to call you all in today,” said Principal Sanda, “but I figured that it was the only way we were going to sort out this issue. As you know, Mister Kogane, this is the third time this month that Gwen has been in my office, and--”
“I’m sorry,” said Keith in a way that was anything but apologetic, “but what is the issue, exactly? What happened this time?”
“She pushed me!” barked Ava, a true doppelganger of her father’s sour sense of superiority.
Keith looked at Gwen, who only sunk into her seat. “What?”
“Ava,” said Principal Sanda, her short tone causing the child in question to withdraw with a pout. “I will tell the story here.” She turned back to the group. “But yes. Ava came up to one of our hallway monitors this morning and said that Gwen had pushed her over.”
“Onto the dirty floor!”
“Ava.”
Ava grumbled, ignoring James’s gentle scolding.
“You pushed her?” Keith said to Gwen.
“She started it,” muttered Gwen, still glaring at the rug.
“What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t mean anything!” spat Ava. “She never does and never will! She’s mean, and evil, and a monster!”
“Ava!” said Principal Sanda.
As everyone else bickered, Keith stared at Gwen, watching how her scowl wavered and how she had to brush a few silent tears away with the sleeve of her hoodie. It took everything in his power not to burn down the whole universe.
“Let Gwen talk!” he said, quieting the room almost immediately, in which he then asked Gwen in a softer tone: “What happened? What did you mean when you said that Ava started it?”
Gwen sniffed. “She found Kosmo,” she mumbled.
“Kosmo?”
“And she tried to take him away. She tried to tell me that I was too old to have him. She and her friends were gonna rip him up. They wanted me to cry--”
Ava scoffed. “Why would I care about some dumb toy?”
“--and when she grabbed him, I just wanted him back, but she wouldn’t give him back. So I…”
“Pushed her?” murmured Keith.
Gwen nodded. She pulled her backpack close, encasing it protectively with her arm.
Principal Sanda glanced between Gwen and Ava. She hummed in thought; it was a small, simple, and dreadful sound, like the pulling of a grenade pin. “We do not tolerate bullying at Garrison, no more than we tolerate acts of aggression. Regardless of who started what, this is a recurring pattern of behavior that has yet to be corrected. I am afraid that disciplinary action will have to be more severe. That said, perhaps the time away will do the both of you some good.”
“‘Time away’?” Keith repeated, his heart sinking.
James crossed his arms. “Like father, like daughter.”
Gwen snarled at him. “Hey! Fuck you, man!”
“Yeah!” said Keith. “Fuck you!” He paused, his anger snuffed out by horrid realization. “Wait, what? No.” He scowled at his daughter. “Gwen! Language!”
Principal Sanda narrowed her eyes.
Keith, ashamed, avoided her gaze by staring at the rug.
“Suspended,” muttered Keith. “For a whole week.”
Through the rearview mirror, he could see Gwen in the backseat, resting her chin on her arm as she stared out the open window. Her rage and tears had long since faded away, her eyes glazed over with things that she didn’t know how to handle. All the intrusive thoughts that she dealt with on a daily basis were now kept at bay by the walls that had always seemed to exist between her and everyone else. Walls, distance, and the backpack that she still clung to her side.
“I don’t want to go back to that stupid school anyway,” she said.
“I know you don’t.” Keith tightened his grip around the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep dropping everything and moving mountains to rescue you from…”
He tried to catch himself. But Gwen, like her mother, was very perceptive.
“From what?”
Keith sighed, exhausted. “From yourself.”
It was a confession that he shouldn’t have made. Not to his own daughter, who was understandably struggling with her mother’s death and a world that was determined to keep knocking her down. It was only one small step above what he had to deal with at her age, but it was a broken step all the same, consisting of splintered wood, termites, and a long drop to some hellish unknown.
As expected, Gwen raised her hackles. “I didn’t ask you to come rescue me!”
I know, he should’ve said; the usual script for a diplomatic resolution. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll try to do better. I just don’t understand. I’ll never understand.
But, God, he was tired.
“That’s my job!” he snapped instead. “I’m your father! What am I supposed to do? Leave you behind when you can’t take care of yourself? You are my universe, Gwen! It is my job to protect you. So every time you act out, it doesn’t just affect you!”
“I told you! Ava started it!”
“Did she start all the other fights? The skipping class? The endless nights of running off to who-knows-where so that Lance and Hunk have to come help me find you? Even Shiro was getting ready to jump on a plane the last time!”
Gwen looked out the window again, scowling at the buildings passing by as if they were patterns on Principal Sanda’s rug.
“We’re a family,” Keith murmured after a moment, keeping his eyes on the road. “We have to hang in there. For each other. But I can only do so much.”
He knew that he would regret this later. He already regretted it. He regretted making Gwen feel like she was remotely a problem. He regretted revealing himself to be just as broken as her, in need of his own rescue, when he was supposed to be her defender. There was so much regret, and he was so tired of carrying it alone.
“We’re not a family,” she grumbled, right as Keith was starting to believe that she might never talk to him again. “We’re a joke. Especially since you’re trying to replace Mom with all these weirdos.”
Right. That was the main reason his relationship with Barbara hadn't worked out: Gwen didn’t like her. She hadn’t liked her since he introduced them, just as she hadn't liked all his other romantic interests. If Gwen didn’t like someone, the tension was palpable and her bad behavior became worse. When these were combined with Keith’s vulnerability issues, the Kogane household then formed an emotional baggage Megazord that was destined to defeat his love life like it was the villain of the week.
As with all things, though, Keith was trying his best.
And, as with all things, his best was never good enough.
“I’m not trying to replace Acxa!” he said, turning in his seat to glare at Gwen. “But, damn it, if that weirdo, Barbara, was right about one thing, it’s that I deserve to be happy, too!”
Gwen opened her mouth to argue -- only for her eyes to widen at something ahead.
“Dad!” she yelled, pointing at the windshield. “Red light!”
Keith raised a brow and turned back around.
Just as the red light passed by overhead.
“Oh shi--”
Something hit them.
The car spun, throwing Keith and Gwen against their seats. Debris flew out the windows as it tilted and rolled. The crunch of metal joined the shattering of glass and cries of terror in an amalgam of chaos. When the car returned to its wheels, the momentum gone, it plopped down and stilled.
In the eerily silent aftermath, time finally caught up with Keith. He was unhurt, though definitely shaken, especially with how the airbags hadn't gone off. At the sound of hyperventilating, he twisted in his seat. “Gwen! Gwen, are you okay?”
His daughter also seemed physically fine, but she struggled to catch her breath. She dug her fingers into the door’s armrest, clawing at the collar of her hoodie with her other hand.
A panic attack. She was having a panic attack.
“Gwen,” said Keith, reaching out for her. She didn’t respond to his touch. “It’s me. It’s Dad. I’m here. You’re okay.” He searched frantically for her backpack. “Kosmo. You need Kosmo. Where’s Kosmo?”
When he peered out the window, he saw her backpack in the street, surrounded by broken glass. He unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed the door open, the metal groaning in response, and he stumbled out. People had begun to gather around the scene, gawking and murmuring, asking if he was alright, if anyone was hurt. Some of them were already on their phones, calling for ambulances. He ignored them all, grabbing the backpack, pulling the zipper open, and tossing out paper and pencils and miscellaneous school supplies until he was able to reach the stuffed animal inside. A wolf with blue fur and yellow eyes.
Throwing the backpack aside, Keith held up the toy and rushed back to the car.
“Gwen! I got Kosmo! I got…”
His voice trailed off as he realized that the door beside Gwen had been opened, that her panic attack had subsided, and that she was even sharing a small smile with someone who had knelt down to talk to her. That same someone stood up at the sound of Keith’s voice, revealing themselves from behind the door.
It was a woman, probably only a few years younger than him, with short, brown hair, a sharp face, and hazel eyes that gazed at him curiously through a pair of well-fitted glasses.
As the woman stepped away, Keith approached Gwen. Though she was still trembling, she was stable. He handed Kosmo to her. She took the wolf and held it tight, burying her face in its fur.
He looked back at the woman.
“How did you calm her down?” he asked in genuine awe. “What did you do?”
The woman hesitated. “Well, for starters…”
She tossed her thumb over her shoulder -- at the old, green, and very much totaled sedan in the intersection.
“I was the one who hit you.”