#bernard dowd

He's been given back control of his body on the condition that he uses it to pleasure Superboy, and there’s nothing he can do about it. The god is gone from his mind, and he has no way to reach the bastard until he takes over yet again, because he isn’t free, not really.

Every month, he’s going to be the vessel again. Every day between, he will be a slave to Superboy’s whims.  

He feels empty. The hideous beige walls don’t feel like a comfort anymore. He might not be in a cell, but he’s just as trapped as was before. 

“I’ll do everything I can to help you be happy,” Superboy had vowed. “Anything you need.”

“I need you to leave,” Bernard had told him, and now he’s alone in an apartment that feels like another cage.

The whole situation is fucked up. He traces the sequence of events backwards, looking for each point where he could have turned back and there are so many. So many choices he could have made to avoid not only his own misery, but causing pain to so many others. The flickers of memory he has from being possessed burn behind his eyes, haunting visions of fire and blood and cracking stone. What is the earliest thing he could have done? Not coming out to his parents and being cut off maybe. Jumping in front of the bullet that killed Darla? Doing a better job when he tried to slice open his wrists as a teenager? So many better options than ending up where he is now.