The Flash Fic - A Knotted Cord Untying (Part One of Two)

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: A Knotted Cord Untying – Part One of Two
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: The Flash (2014) (fusion with "Ed")
Rating: PG-13 (for language, mild innuendo)
Characters/Pairings: Earth-1 Harrison Wells (Original Harrison Wells), Earth-1 Tess Morgan, Earth-2 Harrison Wells, Joe West, Barry Allen, Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow, misuse of various characters from the television series, "Ed"; Harrison Wells/Tess Morgan
Spoilers: 1.17 (Tricksters), All of Season 2, especially 2.09 (Running to a Stand Still), 2.10 (Potential Energy)
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~11,000
Beta Credit: theatregirl7299
Summary: Time is not a looped ball of string. Time is not a straight line. Time might be a tangled knot, unless time is simply an illusion.

Or, what happens when Harrison Wells finds a copy his biography at the annual Stuckeyville Library Book Sale.

I'm really kind of shocked that no one has done this yet, fused Ed with The Flash, but there's always a first time for craziness. And a quick primer if you don't know anything about that show. Ed was a New York lawyer on track for the big leagues, when he screwed up a contract he drafted, misplacing a single comma. He was fired and went home to find his wife in bed with a mailman, so he took a trip back to his hometown of Stuckeyville, Ohio. And bought the local bowling alley. That's all you need to know.

Many thanks to theatregirl7299 for her cheerleading and encouragement and advice, in addition to her fabulous beta work. Also, thanks to SuperSnowstorm Jonas for keeping me inside for two days straight.

Title from the Peter Gabriel song, Blood of Eden.

See end for additional (and spoilery) notes.

__________________



“Hey there, Harry.” Alan Stevens, the manager of the local hardware store, waved at him from across a pile of old Westerns. “Not surprised to find you here. You being all intellectual and like.”

Interrupted from his desultory perusal of the offerings at this year's library book sale, Harrison Wells sighed and waved back. "Good to see you, Alan."

For fifteen years – as long as he and Tess had lived in Stuckeyville – Alan insisted on calling him Harry. Everyone here in Stuckeyville called him Harry, despite the fact that he hated being called Harry. His name was Harrison. It was his father's name, his grandfather's name and his great-grandfather's name. He didn't include the generational signifier, preferring the initials Ph.D., instead.

Tess, of course, thought it mildly amusing that he insisted being called Harrison, considering how much he'd loathed his father and all of the generations that came before. But when he tried to explain, she just shushed him with a kiss.

Tess was good like that. She got him. She got his crazy flights of fancy, his dreams, his hopes, his coping mechanisms. She grounded him, too. When he'd lost everything, she let him sulk for two weeks over the ruins of a once-promising career, and then picked him up, dusted him off, and told him that he could either spend the next twenty years trying to rebuild his reputation – and she'd stick by him if that was what he wanted – or he could do something meaningful. Like teach.

He'd asked her, "Why do you want to stay with me?"

She stroked his cheek, bristly with two weeks of unshaven beard, and simply said, "I love you, Harrison Wells. Not your reputation, not your academic trajectory. I love you."

"But your career? Being tied to me will poison your own promise."

Tess had shrugged. "I don't care about that. I care about you."

Back then, Harrison hadn't been convinced that Tess was making the right choice. Fifteen years later, he still wondered.

And yet, there were here in Stuckeyville because of Tess. Her father had owned the bowling alley and left the property to Tess when he'd died. Instead of closing it down and selling the land to some faceless corporation that would throw up another unneeded strip mall, they kept it going, making it a social centerpiece, a place for everyone in town to come to and hang out. Tess, sweet and brilliant, managed it, while he did his best to teach high school physics.

The first years were hard – not for Tess, who seemed to relish living in her hometown, amongst family and old friends – but for him. He'd never been a natural communicator, and teaching a subject he loved at such a basic level to children who mostly couldn't care less wasn't a good combination. What happened in Starling City changed him; he had become harsh and acerbic, and had quickly earned the reputation for being the meanest teacher at Stuckeyville High.

He'd gotten warnings about that. But he'd also gotten results, too. By the third year, he had a student make the final round of the Intel Science Talent Search and there was at least one every year since. Prestige triumphed personality, apparently.

Harrison wouldn't say that he ever really warmed to people in Stuckeyville, nor they to him, but Tess disagreed. "They like you, Harrison. You just don't want to see it."

He grumbled, "If they liked me, they would respect my wishes and not call me Harry."

Tess had just laughed and kissed him.

"Whatcha looking for?" To Harrison's dismay, Alan picked up an enormous pile of paperbacks and joined him.

He replied, "Nothing in particular. Just thought I'd stop by and see if I can find something interesting."

"Wife says we're supposed to support the library, so I'm buying back the books I donated last year." Alan proudly displayed a few dozen moldering Zane Grays.

Harrison nodded and made an effort to be sociable. "Looks like you had enjoyed those already."

"And I'll enjoy them again." Alan clapped him on the shoulder. "Will I see you tonight at the Bowl-a-Thon?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't miss it for the world." Which was kind of true. He actually loved bowling, and Tess thought that made perfect sense. Bowling, after all, was physics.

Alan left and Harrison continued to sort through books. The odds of finding anything that would catch his interest were slim to none, but he really didn't have anything else to do for the next few hours. It was Homecoming Weekend in Stuckeyville, hence the Library book sale and the Bowl-a-Thon at the Stuckeybowl, which was another fundraiser. Tomorrow was the big parade, the carnival was opening and then football and a bonfire. Such was life in a small town in middle America.

There was nothing in the so-called "science" section other than too many copies of that asshole Hawkings' books, and he moved over to the biographies. Lots of books about faded celebrities and failed sports stars, not to mention politicians past and present. He was surprised to find both the first and second volumes of Blanche Wiesen Cook's biography of Eleanor Roosevelt, and set them aside for purchase.

Almost ready to leave, Harrison spotted yet another copy of A Brief History of Time and was tempted to buy it, if just to toss into tomorrow night's bonfire. Instead, he casually let it fall to the ground, where it landed next to a thick tome that was missing its book jacket. That one, he rescued.

Had the sun been just a little lower, or if a passing cloud had obscured the light, Harrison Wells' life in Stuckeyville would have continued to much as it had for the last decade and a half. He would have remained a man mostly content with his life, mostly reconciled to his mistakes; a man who only occasionally still dreamed about making his Nobel Prize acceptance speech.

But no clouds marred the deep blueness of the October sky or obscured the bright sunshine that made the words imprinted on the rescued book's cloth binding glitter and catch his eye.

Words that read, Harrison Wells – A Biography.

At first, he thought it was some kind of joke, even as he opened the cover and started reading the table of contents. There were chapters about his early years, his matriculation at MIT when he was fourteen, his acceptance at Princeton's Institute for Advanced Studies at twenty, his work in particle physics. But what gave him pause (okay, almost a heart attack), was the chapter titled, S.T.A.R. Labs – The Birth of a Dream.

There were only two people in the universe who knew about S.T.A.R. Labs – Tess and himself. They'd dreamed it up one beautiful autumn day, sitting on the beach. It was to be their baby – a laboratory where life-changing technologies would become real. But fate – in the form of a highly flawed thesis, a misplaced comma, and questionable work by his research assistants – intervened. S.T.A.R. Labs existed only as a sketch on a napkin, tucked away somewhere safe from anyone else's prying eyes.

Except that it wasn't. If this book was real, someone had stolen his name and his dreams and had made them a reality.

"Hey there, Harry – find anything interesting?" Carol, one of his fellow teachers, was carrying a pile of books.

He closed the book with deliberate care and picked up the two volumes he'd selected earlier. "Just a couple of biographies."

Carol tilted her head and read the spines. "Eleanor Roosevelt – good choice, although I remember reading something about those – that they are kind of controversial."

"Oh?"

"The author says that she was …" Carol leaned in close and whispered, "a lesbian."

Harrison smiled and whispered back, "She was."

Carol turned bright red and giggled.

Anxious to deflect attention from the other book in his hand, he asked her about her own selections.

"Oh, mostly some books to stock my classroom library. I'm always trying to get the kids to read more."

He tolerated her chatter for a few more minutes and excused himself. "Tess is expecting me at the bowling alley – needs my help getting things set up for tonight."

"Right, for the Bowl-a-Thon – the highlight of the weekend, as far as I'm concerned." Carol was the anchor for the team that had won the Stuckeyville High teachers' league championship the last three years running.

"Yeah – so, I need to pay for these and get going. See you tonight." Harrison backed away from his co-worker as quickly as he could without seeming too rude.

Thankfully, Carol didn't follow him to the cashier, but continued to dig through the piles. A few other people greeted him, but they didn't stop to chat, and he made it to the cashier without interruption.

"Hey there, Harry. Thanks for supporting the library." Mrs. Vanacore, who'd been Tess' third grade teacher – and reminded Harrison of nothing so much as a puffed-up pigeon – was in charge of the cash box. "Just the three hardcovers? And one without the jacket – that'll be two-fifty. Can't do better than that, can you?"

He pasted a smile on his face, relieved that the woman didn't insist on examining his purchases. He pulled a five out of his wallet. "Keep the change – it's for a good cause. And nope, I don't need a bag."

"Okay, then. We'll see you tonight, at the Bowl-a-Thon, right?"

Harrison tried not to sigh in irritation, "Of course you will. Tess will be delighted to see you, too. She always says you were her favorite teacher."

Mrs. Vanacore cooed and he regretted his words as she started going on about her years as a teacher. Thankfully, a few kids were behind him waiting to pay, and Harrison was able to make his escape to his car.

He tossed the two Eleanor Roosevelt biographies on the passenger seat and opened up his biography.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

For the first time in a very long time, Joe had an uninterrupted stretch of four hours at the station. No call outs, no emergencies, no disasters – natural or unnatural. It seemed like the entire population of Central City was behaving today.

Which was good, since he was once again without a partner to help handle the paperwork. Not that he was the type to shove the less attractive parts of the job onto other people, but without a partner to split the work, it tended to pile up.

He had liked Patty. She had great promise, both as a cop and as someone who would make Barry happy. But he understood why she left, and maybe a tiny part of him was glad, too. She was a distraction for Barry, and right now, distractions were far too dangerous. If he was cold-hearted, he'd have to say that if she'd stayed in Central City, if Barry told her the whole truth, the odds of her long-term survival were pretty grim. She'd already been kidnapped by two meta-humans. Wasn't the third time supposed to be the charm?

No, as much as he hated seeing Barry broken-hearted, he didn't want to see Patty torn apart by Zoom, either.

He refocused on the paperwork and just as he entered the data on the last overdue report and get ready to clock out, he got a call from the front desk – probably a call-out, but hopefully not for a meta-related crime. "Detective West speaking."

"Joe, it's Sergeant Watson – can you come out here?"

"What's the matter?" Watson, who was one of the most level-headed cops he knew, sounded completely freaked. Which probably meant it was a meta-human problem.

"There's a dead man here. And his wife."

Joe didn't ask any more questions. He just pulled out Cisco's latest version of The Boot and headed to the lobby.

Where he found Harrison Wells, wearing an old gray sweater with patches on the elbows, a blue button-down shirt and worn jeans. At his side was a lovely middle-aged woman. Both of them were standing with their hands in the air – the entire CCPD had their guns trained on them.

Captain Singh said, "Joe, you told us that Harrison Wells was dead."

The man wearing Harrison Wells' face snapped. "I'm not dead."

The woman added, "My husband isn't dead."

Joe had no idea what to say, what to do. If this woman was Harrison Wells' wife, she was dead, too. He'd seen the accident and autopsy reports from the accident, and the woman standing here bore a remarkable resemblance to the face he'd seen in the photos.

"Tess Morgan?"

"Yes, I am – I was. Morgan was my maiden name. Do you know me?"

Joe shook his head. "No, we haven't met before, but I know of you."

"Do you know my husband?" She reached out, but then seemed to remember the mass of guns pointed at her.

"Yes, I do."

"Except that I don't know you." Wells snapped.

Joe motioned for everyone to lower their weapons. For his part, he lowered The Boot, but didn't turn it off. If these two were meta-humans about to go on a rampage, this might be the only way to stop them. Using his best hostage-negotiation voice, he suggested, "Let's go into the conference room, okay? Talk privately, okay?"

Tess asked, "What's your name?"

"Joe West." He waited to see if that got a reaction. It didn't. "Come, let's talk in private."

He relieved the man who called himself Harrison Wells of an overstuffed messenger bag, and got a rather pointed glare for his effort, then he took them to the small conference room. It was one that often did double duty as an interrogation room because it lacked exterior windows. A uniformed office trailed behind. As the mysterious pair sat down, he asked, "Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"

The woman, Tess, smiled and asked for water. "Wells" – and Joe couldn't help but mentally add quotation marks around the name – declined with a surly "no thanks". Joe signaled to the uniform to fetch the water, and he sat down across from them, setting The Boot on the chair next to him. "What brings you to Central City?"

Wells glared at him again and asked, "May I have my bag, please?"

Joe opened it, checked for weapons – but found just a book and a lot of papers – and handed it over, hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

Harrison Wells pulled out the book and dumped it on the table. "This is what brings us here. Someone stole my name and my life."

Shit. Joe stared at the thing. He didn't need to see the title.

Even without the dust jacket, without Harrison Wells' – no, Eobard Thawne's – no Harrison Wells' – face staring at him, he knew what it was.

That damned biography.

"I found it a few months ago. Fascinating reading. Except that this is not me. Whoever this is about, he stole my life, my ideas. He – he …" Wells spluttered, practically vibrating in outrage.

Tess tried to calm her husband. "Sweetheart, breathe. Just breathe."

Joe watched as Wells struggled to contain himself.

"Where are you from?" That seemed an innocuous enough question.

Tess answered, "Stuckeyville – it's a little town in Ohio. We own the local bowling alley there."

"I also teach physics." Wells muttered. "What does that have to do with anything? This – this impostor – stole my life! S.T.A.R. Labs was our idea, he got hold of it somehow."

A knock on the door was a timely interruption. It was the uniformed officer returning with the promised pitcher of water and two cups. Joe poured water for both his guests, giving him a chance to gather his thoughts.

He waited for the Wells to drink, then asked "Have you lived there all of you lives?"

"Tess was born there. I wasn't."

"You're from?"

"I was born in Wilmington, in Delaware. We moved to Starling City after we finished our degrees."

That jibed with the information he'd been able to dig up on the original Wells – the son of privileged bankers and lawyers who'd parted ways with his family to pursue a career in the hard sciences.

"And how did you end up in Steubenville?"

"Stuckyville." Wells looked at his hands, at the ceiling, at everywhere but at Joe or his wife. "I screwed up and my career imploded. I – we – decided that academics and research wasn't our what our future would be."

Tess picked up the story. "So we went home, settled down and made a new life for ourselves."

"When? When did you move to … Stuckeyville?" Joe thought the name was far too silly for the situation.

Tess answered, "About fifteen years ago. Why? Why are you asking all of these questions?"

Wells chimed in, "And why did those people out there think I'm dead. Why did they point guns at us?"

Joe scrubbed his face, actually wishing he was dealing with a mass outbreak from Iron Heights instead of having to explain things to a not-dead man and his not-dead wife. "It's complicated. Very, very complicated. And frankly, I'm really not the best one to explain everything." He wasn't. He needed Barry, at the very least. And probably the other Wells, unfortunately. Pity Martin Stein wasn't available – there was no one better with explanations of the impossible.

Joe sighed. "We need to take a short ride. You okay with that?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

For months, ever since he found that damn book, Harrison had felt out of sync with everything, with the world, even with Tess. It was like his skin didn't fit anymore. He taught, but there was no passion there. Even when he'd started out, even when he'd had the reputation of being the biggest ass in the entire school, even when he could make his students pee in their pants with one raised eyebrow, he still had a passion for the subject.

But it was gone – stolen from him and he didn't know how to get it back.

"Sweetheart?" Tess held his hand as they sat in the back of the detective's sedan. "Just take it easy. You are Harrison Wells, not this – " She made a face and waved her hand at the book he couldn't let go of, "imposter. You are the man I love, you will always be that man. Tomorrow, we'll go back home and we burn that damn book and start living our lives again. Our lives."

Harrison nodded and rested his head against Tess' shoulder. "What have I ever done to deserve you, Tess Morgan?"

"You exist, Harrison Wells. You live, you breathe, and you love. That's all that counts."

"You've given up so much for me."

"I've given up nothing that matters, you know that."

Harrison wasn't so sure of that, but he couldn't say so. Not in the back seat of a police sedan, on his way to god-knows-where. "I love you, whatever happens – never forget that I love you."

Tess squeezed his hand. "As if I could. I love you, Harrison. More now than ever."

From the front, Harrison heard Detective West make a phone call. "Barry – you need to get over to the lab, now. I'm on my way. And when you get there, tell everyone they need to remain calm."

He couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, which was a pity.

"No, Bar – not a meta problem. Not really - I think. But just get over there and wait for me – in soft clothes, okay. I'm bringing some people you need to meet. See you in a few." Detective West glanced up and Harrison caught his eye in the rearview mirror.

When it was clear that the detective had disconnected from the call, Harrison asked, "Who are we meeting?"

"Just some people who can answer your questions better than I can."

"You seem nervous about this."

"I am, believe me."

"Is it because everyone thinks I'm dead?"

"In part. There are other complications."

"I feel like I'm caught in a very bad science fiction movie."

"Oh, believe me, Dr. Wells – it's worse than that."

Tess just squeezed his hand, and then she let go as the car turned off the main road and they passed through a gate. "Harrison, look!"

He did. "Stop the car, Detective."

To his surprise, the man did. He even let them get out and stare at the building. The vast, ruined building.

"He really did build it. That bastard built S.T.A.R. Labs." Harrison fished through his bag and pulled out a copy of the sketch he'd made so many years ago. "See – see – he stole it from me!"

The cop didn't even look at the sketch, he just nodded.

Harrison wanted to know why the man believed him, but he knew that the answers he was seeking were inside the building. He took Tess' hand and they got back into the car for the remainder of this short trip to a stolen destiny.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Barry hadn't been at work when Joe called. It had been a quiet day in a quiet week, and he'd finished up his reports a little after two. Captain Singh, perhaps in appreciation for the past week's lack of tardiness, or perhaps understanding his somewhat broken heart, let him clock out a few hours early.

There seemed to be a lull in meta-human activity, for which he was unutterably grateful. In the weeks since Zoom's appearance here, since he'd nearly destroyed him, they hadn't encountered another breacher. He didn't know why, and at this point, he couldn't care. It was just nice to have a respite. A chance to rest, to reset, to find a way to cope with all the crap that life had dealt the last few months. Of course, he still needed to figure out how to capture and defeat Zoom, how to get Harry's daughter back. Which was why he couldn't take the night off and was going to head to S.T.A.R. Labs in a while.

Right now, though, he wanted to enjoy the free time, take just a few hours for himself and not be The Flash, not be the dumped boyfriend.

He'd thought about heading over to Saints & Sinners, the bar that Len Snart frequented. It seemed like a good place to escape the world for a couple of hours. But then Joe called and told him he needed to get to S.T.A.R. Labs. That something was up.

Barry hated when Joe got all mysterious, but it wasn't like he could really complain, since he got mysterious on a weekly, if not daily basis with Joe, who knew just who and what he was.

He whooshed into the Cortex and found Caitlin and Cisco at their usual stations. Harry was – thankfully – somewhere else, and so was Jay.

"Hey there, wasn't expecting you until later." Cisco commented. "What's up?"

"Joe asked me to meet him here. Did he contact either of you?"

Caitlin shook her head. "No – all's quiet."

Barry sighed and shook his head. "Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough."

Sure enough, five minutes later, Joe came in. Alone. "Great, you're all here."

Cisco pulled the ever-present lollipop out of his mouth and asked, "Do we need to get Harry? He's in my workroom, again." He sighed in annoyance.

"No – probably not a good idea. Not yet, at least."

"Joe? What's going on?" That had Barry worried. He had so many issues with the Earth-2 version of Harrison Wells, but he didn't like the idea of excluding him from anything that involved potential meta-human activity.

Joe held up a hand, "Just, just hold on." He disappeared and Barry could hear him talking with someone – two people, actually. A man, with an almost disturbingly familiar tenor, and a woman. Both sounded querulous, curious.

Barry looked over at Cisco and Caitlin. They had heard the voices, too, and were wearing matching looks of anxiety.

Joe came back, followed by Harrison Wells, who was clinging to Tess Morgan's hand.

Silence reigned for a very long moment, until Cisco muttered, "Now I see why you didn't want Harry here."

"Who are you people?" That was Harrison's voice – or maybe Harry's. Not as smooth and soothing as the former's but not has hoarse and desperate as the latter's.

Joe made the introductions. "Cisco Ramon, Dr. Caitlin Snow, Barry Allen – this is Harrison Wells and his wife, Tess Morgan. The real Harrison Wells. From this Earth."

Wells – or whoever he was – reared back as if he'd been slapped.

Caitlin shook her head. "That's not possible. You know that."

"What do you mean, 'From this Earth'?" Wells demanded.

Barry ignored the question and circled around the pair. The woman – Tess – seemed nervous, as she clung to her husband's hand. The man – if he really was the real Harrison – quivered with barely suppressed emotion.

Joe said, "Barry – I was hoping you could explain what's going on. I think I understand it, but I'm not a theoretical physicist."

"Neither am I."

"At least you majored in physics. And you've been Ground Zero for some pretty strange things the last eighteen months."

Harrison cut them off. "Enough with the banter. Will someone please tell us what's going on?"

Before Barry could say anything, Cisco said, with typical bluntness, "Well, you both died fifteen years ago."

"Um, clearly not. As you can see, we're very much alive." Harrison looked like he was about to punch Cisco. He turned to Joe, "You promised us answers."

Joe waved a hand at Barry, giving him the floor.

Barry took a deep breath and tried to figure out a way to explain the mess. "Okay, okay. Here's the condensed version. Fifteen years ago, a man named Eobard Thawne – a time traveler from the future – murdered my mother and tried to kill me. A few months later, he caused a car crash that killed your wife." At Tess' gasp, Barry gave her an apologetic smile and turned back to Wells. "You survived, but just for a little while. This man from the future stole your DNA and your face and your memories and killed you. He used your memories to build this place with the sole intention of causing a catastrophic accident in the particle accelerator, which would release masses of dark matter. Which, in turn, would create meta-humans with amazing powers. Actually, that was simply a side effect; he did it to create meta-human powers in me – to give me super speed. He needed to harness that speed to create a time rift that would allow him to return home – in the future." Barry felt like he'd just run from New York to Los Angeles and back, twice.

And of course, Wells didn't believe him. "You are insane."

"No, not really. You are alive now, but you weren't for the last fifteen years." Barry debated giving the Wells a demonstration of his speed, but decided not to. There were only so many impossible things he could expect someone to believe in in such a short time without going bonkers.

Harrison shook his head. "No – you are definitely insane. All of you."

Barry continued. "We weren't able to stop your – " He searched for the right word, "murderer, until his ancestor – Joe's partner – killed himself. Eddie's death broke the timeline and wiped the false Harrison Wells from existence. But that didn't undo everything that happened, it didn't un-create this place, it didn't un-create me or the other meta-humans. Time just didn't unravel."

He waited for another outburst from Harrison, but it didn't come. Instead, the man let go of his wife's hand and sank into a chair. "Time. It's not linear. It's not even like a looped ball of string. Time is a many-stranded knot. You tug one line, others tighten and others unravel. That was my doctoral thesis."

"That's what's happened here. I don't know how to prove to you that your existence was – interrupted. But it was."

"I think we can." Cisco, ever helpful, offered.

"You want to vibe them?" Barry asked, a little surprised, since Cisco rarely liked to use his powers.

"Nah, don't think I have to - and that wouldn't prove anything to them. We need objective evidence, and I'm pretty sure I know how we can do that."

Joe asked the question on Barry's lips, "How do you plan on performing this miracle?

Cisco grinned. "We check the Internet Wayback Machine. It caches copies of web pages. If, as you say, time is a knot, it's possible that there are still some knots in the Wells' timeline. But the question is, have you done anything that would merit the Internet's attention? Something noteworthy? A paper published in an academic journal, maybe?"

Harrison gave a bitter laugh. "I've been living a very quiet life for the last decade and a half. Teaching high school physics in Stuckeyville, helping Tess with the bowling alley. No academic papers, no scientific breakthroughs."

"But you have students who've made names for themselves," Tess said. "Look up finalists in the Intel Science Talent Search for the last few years. Harrison's a brilliant teacher and he's coached dozens of students in the competition. That would be on the Internet, certainly."

Barry held his breath as Cisco and Caitlin worked at their stations.

Caitlin got the first part, "According to the current ISTS website, Harrison Wells is listed as the advisor for two finalists from Stuckeyville this year. Let me see if I can find anything from prior years." Caitlin dug a little deeper and found the listings for the last decade.

Meanwhile, Cisco had luck with the Wayback Machine. "And here is the cache from the ISTS site from fifteen months ago, before Eddie killed himself. Nothing about any finalists from Stuckeyville. And from eighteen months ago." He kept clicking. "And the last page they have cached is from four years ago – nada on Stuckeyville." He turned the screen so everyone could see.

Barry didn't know if he wanted to declare this paradox solved on such circumstantial evidence. Not when there was something a hell of a lot more conclusive in one of the sub-basements. "I think we need to check the cold storage."

Joe knew just what he was talking about. "I thought you were going to take it back to Star City and give it a proper burial?"

"Never got the chance, and frankly I kind of forgot about it. With everything."

"It? What's in cold storage?" Harrison, for the first time, sounded frightened.

Barry felt a surge of pity for him, for both of them. He couldn't bring himself to answer; no one else could, either.

But Wells connected the dots. "My body? You found my body? How did you know it was mine?" Panic coated every word.

Caitlin explained, "We had DNA – from the man we thought was Harrison Wells. It was a match for the corpse."

"The DNA from the murderous time-traveling impostor."

"Yeah."

Tess laughed softly. "I feel like Alice in Wonderland, being told she should practice believing in impossible things."

Barry wasn't sure he wanted to take the Wells through S.T.A.R. Labs – they were bound to have questions he didn't want to answer. Not yet, maybe not ever. But it didn't seem right not to let them be there when he opened the body bag. "Shall we?"

The entire contingent followed him down, into the bowels of the building, past the ruined accelerator ring, the entrance to the Pipeline, and the room with the wormhole, to the cold storage unit – powered by the same tech that Cisco used to create Cold's gun. There were way too many bodies here – almost all of the meta-humans that he'd killed or had died in Central City – Tony Woodward and Farooq Gibran, Hannibal Bates and Russell Glosson, who'd died of an aneurism a day after he was captured.

Barry held his breath as he pulled open the drawer with Harrison Wells' remains. The body bag was almost, but not quite flat. Which didn't mean anything. His hands were shaking as he reached for the zipper – they were shaking so hard he couldn't pull the tab down. Caitlin came to his rescue and covered his hand with hers. Together, they unzipped the black plastic bag.

It was empty. No desiccated corpse, no bones, not even a speck of dust.

Caitlin picked up the bag and turned it over, "I bet if I swabbed the inside of this, all I'd get is residue from the plastic. Not a speck of DNA."

Cisco did something that Barry didn't expect. He stuck his hand in the bag and closed his eyes. "Nope, nothing. Nada."

Wells ignored that performance, took the bag from Cisco and folded it up. He dropped it on the shelf and closed the drawer. "Of course there's nothing there. I'm alive, damn it." He pulled the identification label off, " I don't think you need this anymore."

Barry took the label – "H. Wells – recovered from County Road J, near Starling City" – and stuck it in his pocket. Just one more impossible thing to believe in before breakfast.

GO TO PART TWO