I haven't posted my writing here in forever and I haven't gotten to write Gar angst in ages, so I'mma leave this little part from chapter 20 here
and i'mma just tag my bestie @not-so-mundane-after-all real quick because i feel bad i haven't shown her my writing in so long
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warning: mentions of violence and niles caulder being gross
The truck door slams shut.
Sliding into the front seats, the shapeshifter pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms over his shins. Breathing heavily through his nose, he places his face between his knees, attempting to curl in on himself like an armadillo.
It’s a reaction. He did it on his earth too, after stressful situations that have the ability to trigger certain memories to resurface, one’s he’d rather forget, push to the back of his brain and ignore. Shut down, block the world out. Just sit here, ride the waves, and it’ll pass.
But it’s hard..
And he’s mad. Gods, he’s so mad. Not at those teenagers, not at the Kents for having to be his saviors, at him and how easily he can lose control, be taken over and harm whoever is unlucky enough to be near him.
It should not be that easy.
Years, he’s tried to learn control, keep his abilities on a short leash, but nothing seems to work. It’s all pointless at the end of the day. His powers do whatever they want and he cleans up the mess they caused afterwards, then it happens again. And again. And again.
Sometimes he wishes there would be a clone made of him with the only purpose of being a punching bag, to have its face beat in, let Garfield take out the self-hatred festering inside him for so long on it, punish it for merely existing and everything it’s done to him…
Except, it didn’t do anything to him, did it?
He’s not at fault for what happened, he didn’t ask to be this way and couldn’t protest against the decision either. If this rage should be targeted at anyone, it should be Niles Caulder. If anyone deserves to have their face pounded into the pavement until their own mother couldn’t recognize them, it’s Caulder.
He’ll never forget how it felt to see himself in the mirror for the first time, after Caulder altered his body and appearance. After a new Garfield Logan was created.
That’s not the part he wants to focus on, though.
The hands he could still feel on his shoulders, fingernails digging into his flesh through the thin, blood stained hospital gown he wore; claiming Gar as his creation, someone new to control, just like the others who lived in that manor. The dread, the utter disgust, and sudden hopelessness that set heavy in his chest, the way his stomach twisted and made him want to vomit onto the lab floor when he looked up to see the face of evil. The toothy grin beaming with pride, not proud he saved Gar’s life from a deadly disease, proud he made something he deemed as perfect. Eyes hollow with darkness, soulless pits lacking any empathy or guilt, just the same sickening pride as he observed Garfield like he was nothing more than a trophy he won.
A single tear ran down his cheek as Caulder lifted a hand to gently brush it down the side of Gar’s face and whispered: “You, boy, are magnificent”.