[ He pauses when he gets that message, because he knows he shouldn't mess with timelines. If he's meant to know, he'll find out eventually, but Barry knows more right now. So maybe— ]
I'm going to ask you something and all I want is you to honestly answer me, "yes" or "no."
[ Barry isn't hesitant to answer, exactly. Harry deserves to know, and it might not impact anything.
But that's the problem. Just because there won't be consequences back home doesn't mean there won't be any here, and he isn't sure if knowing will make things better or worse for Harry in the meantime. Except Harry's asking, and he's probably got a reason — and there's only one other person who knows they've met. Better to hear it from Barry. ]
you will.
you met him earlier on his timeline. before he came after me and my mom. we caught him, but we had to send him back to his time.
[ He could say more. He could explain the timeline, could explain what happened to Cisco, but even typing out that much is a stretch. ]
[ Harrison's breath catches when the message comes in and he swallows hard, resisting the urge to send his device hurtling across the room. It won't fix anything. There was probably a reason — it had to have been something that couldn't have been helped, for him to make a step like that — but whatever it was meant that he'd effectively signed the death certificates for the Harrison Wells and Tess Morgan of Earth-1.
It takes about ten minutes or so for him to compose himself, taking in a few deep breaths to steady himself, before he taps out a message. ]
[ The delay's expected, but the answer still feels lackluster when he gets it — it's short, civil. Barry drags a hand over his jaw and considers answering with either nothing or something just as distant. That feels bizarrely dishonest, too.
Harry had said there was nothing they could do about it. They couldn't stop Eobard's future when it was already in their past. But the way he'd said it had said plenty, the I, that silent admission that he'd been complicit in Harrison Wells' death. ]
i'm here if you need to talk.
[ Harry won't take him up on the offer, but he doesn't regret sending it. ]
[ There's no response for at least an hour. Harrison had every intention of letting it lay there. But then again, he'd also had every intention of not having the day go disasterously wrong. Which it does. Which usually seems to be the case with him these days. And in the near future too, apparently.
He stares long and hard at his device, pulling Barry's last message up and chewing at his lip idly. It was just a formality. It was just a polite way of ending the conversation. Harrison eyes it flatly, then taps out a message quickly and sends it before he can stop himself. ]
[ It isn't worth much. Barry knows that the same way he knows he'll never be able to give up his own guilt — over his mom's death. Over Eddie and Ronnie and literally everything that's happened since they let Eobard walk out of that cell.
And he might not ever completely believe Joe and Iris and everyone else when they try to shoulder some of the blame, try to convince him it isn't his fault — but it still matters, having them there to say it. Another delay, though this one's short. ]
cisco almost died because of me. you're the only reason he's still alive. you made the right call. or you will, i guess.
[ It's probably good that he's alone at the moment, because Harrison lets out a bitter laugh when he receives Barry's messages. Of course he made the right call — he's been making the "right call" his whole life, no matter what happens to everyone else, himself included. That's what got them into this whole mess to begin with.
He rubs at his face with a hand, then sends off a few rapid-fire texts. ]
The right call isn't always the best one, Barry.
But I'm glad to hear I made the right one when it came to Cisco.
(don't tell him that.)
The fact remains. Harrison Wells and Tess Morgan's blood are on my hands, not to mention any future they would have had. And I have to live with that.
[ The first text earns a surprising spark of anger, because he knows that — he knows it so well that he hates himself for it, and having it offered up like a lesson feels patronizing even though he knows it isn't. But Barry knows that anger's misplaced, and it's easy enough to swallow when it's chased by that simple admission of affection for Cisco.
Now it's his turn to almost drop the conversation, again, and the text he finally ends up sending is one he regrets quickly. ]
yeah, well if you figure out how, let me know. i could use some tips.
[ It isn't the honesty he regrets. It's the fact that it's flippant, crass, making light of the blood on both of their hands. ]
[ It's less than that. Barry pauses for a second outside the door, dragging a hand back through his hair to fix the mess that always follows running — and to give him a second to get his thoughts together, because he isn't entirely sure what to expect on the other side.
Then he knocks, gives it two seconds, and turns the key in the lock before pushing the door to the workshop open. ]
[ Oddly enough, the workshop isn't a mess. Nothing's been thrown, there's nothing shattered on the ground, and everything appears to be in its right place. The clear board sits in the corner, half-written equations on it with one marker on the ground, like it was dropped and rolled back under the board's stand. Harrison sits at the work table, at the chair closest to the board. His face is ashen and he looks shaken in general, like he's still trying to calm himself down. His device is sitting on the table, face down, and buzzes once, noting a message received.
Harrison's eyes flick over to the door when it opens, tensing up briefly before he remembers that the door was locked, so it could only be one person. Hopefully. He draws himself up, straightening his back and resting a hand on the table to still it, giving him a nod as a greeting. ]
[ The greeting's quiet, a little distracted. Barry doesn't notice the fact that the workshop's tidy, for once; he's too busy watching Harry, brow furrowed gently in concern, eyes tracking over him briefly like he's expecting to see some kind of visible warning.
There isn't one beyond the thin line of tension along his shoulders. But the text had been warning enough. Harry isn't the type to ask for help, and this is as good as. Barry follows his greeting up with a small nod, a bit too delayed to feel natural, and there's a touch of caution to the way he wanders further into the room. His own hands are buried in his pockets to keep restlessness at bay, shoulders slumped in a way that makes him seem smaller than his six-plus feet. ]
What is it?
[ Eobard. That's the obvious answer given the conversation that led up to this, but he still feels like he needs to break the ice. Harry had invited him here, but it's difficult to picture Harry volunteering information without being prompted — and laying it out himself or making assumptions feels way too aggressive. ]
[ Harrison hesitates for a moment. This was probably a mistake. He'd wake up in the morning, have some kind of grand plan for handling Thawne, and then all of this would be an afterthought, something they'd roll their eyes at briefly before moving on. And it's his battle to fight. But it's already settled in him, a deep pit in his stomach, and Cisco wasn't wrong when he pointed out that alone hadn't quite worked out the way he wanted it to up to this point.
He chews at his lip idly in contemplation, eyes shifting back over to his device. He stares flatly for a moment and then picks it up, loading up a thread from his inbox before sliding it across the table towards him. ]
[ Barry waits patiently, and he doesn't seem hurried when he steps over to the desk and picks up the device. He recognizes the username, reads it through once with an odd sense of detachment — numbness, in retrospect. The second time he tries to read the poem he gets about four words in.
He realizes he isn't breathing, lets out a slow, shallow exhale as his brow knits together in disgust. His grip's tight on the device without being secure, and he has to focus for a second to make sure he doesn't drop it, gaze lifting to seek out Harry's. ]
This isn't— [ All conviction with no words to back it up. It isn't Harry's fault. That feels important, but it's sidetracked by the shock of ice in his stomach, the way it's making his limbs feel hollow. He has no idea if it's offense or anger; maybe a mix of both. Whatever it is, it's disabling. He wants to find Eobard right now, hit him until he's a bloody mess. He doesn't want to leave Harry standing here with this. Both at odds, both vague enough to feel directionless when he needs to say something, needs to fix it. ]
He can't touch you.
[ Because of the truce, because Eobard knows he'll lose Barry if he does — but it feels weak. Not enough. He can't take the message back any more than he can take back all the years Eobard had lied to Cisco and Caitlin, the years he'd watched Iris and Eddie. The fact that Eobard's already killed one version of Harrison Wells. Barry stalls out for half a second, then the numbness breaks as he drags his other hand out of his pocket, both hands going to the back of his head while he half turns to look back towards the door. He doesn't leave, though; it's just an anxious movement, anger without an outlet, and the device is starting to strain beneath one tight fist. The exclamation that goes with it is more of the same, breathless and frustrated. ]
[ In a twisted sort of way, it's almost comforting to know that he wasn't overreacting. The pit in his stomach hasn't settled, not by far, but the numbness feels like it's starting to give way to something else — anger, it's usually anger with him, but also a touch of fear. He keeps his eyes focused on the table, avoiding any sort of contact so as to not give any part of himself away. Harrison knows it's true, that Thawne can't touch him — one way or another — without massive repercussions.
He still feels like he could use roughly five showers right about now.
As Barry speaks, starting and stopping, Harrison quietly sucks in a bit of air and then exhales deeply, focusing on his breathing to calm himself. He shifts his gaze away from the table after a moment, glancing over in his general direction. He wasn't quite sure why he asked Barry to come over out of everyone else he'd come to know here, why he'd choose to confide this to him of all people. Maybe it was because of their mutual connection to Thawne. It could also be due to his penchant for being the most obnoxious battering ram when it came to Harrison's defenses. Then again, the fact that he was one of the few people he knew he could trust probably factored in along with the rest of that.
And seeing him in an obvious state of distress is . . . well. Jaw set, Harrison stands and steps over towards Barry, reaching out to take his hands into his. It's not a gentle movement — gentle's never really been in his vocabulary — but it's hardly rough either, as he lightly tugs at Barry's hands in an attempt to lower them, to get him to unclench his fists. ]
Barry. Barry. [ The latter a rough whisper, with almost a hint of urgency. ] Hey. Look at me. That's not who you are.
[ The way he draws back is quick and impulsive. The defenses aren't up because of Harry, and it isn't really him that he's backing away from — but he does back away, pulls against the light hold and takes a step back, unsteady.
Harry's right. Again he's left thinking of Joe, of all the times Joe's told him mercy is a strength instead of a weakness. The thought's grounding enough to help him regain some composure, and for a second he seems like he might relax. He lets his hands drop, attention turning to the device in his hand. His gaze catches on the text, another surge of anger, and then he places it face-down on the desk with a forced sense of control. ]
I can't. I can't let this keep happening. [ Control that starts to slip the moment he starts to speak again. Sharp frustration cracks the edges, and his expression's gone hard when he looks back up to Harry. ] What he did to Eddie, what he's doing to you— I can't let it keep happening.
[ There has to be more. Things he hasn't heard about, from Cisco or Eddie or Harry. He isn't stupid; he knows they won't always come running to him. ]
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It sent out several for me. To Cisco, Eddie, Thawne, and a few others.
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[ Of course not Eddie, it says it right there. ]
everything good?
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I'm going to ask you something and all I want is you to honestly answer me, "yes" or "no."
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yeah, of course. go ahead.
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[ Technically. That isn't a lie, because this Harry hasn't — but it still feels dishonest. ]
not yet.
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[ He shouldn't push it. There's nothing to be gained, but he has to know, and "not yet" — that's not enough of an answer for him. ]
Barry, please.
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But that's the problem. Just because there won't be consequences back home doesn't mean there won't be any here, and he isn't sure if knowing will make things better or worse for Harry in the meantime. Except Harry's asking, and he's probably got a reason — and there's only one other person who knows they've met. Better to hear it from Barry. ]
you will.
you met him earlier on his timeline. before he came after me and my mom. we caught him, but we had to send him back to his time.
[ He could say more. He could explain the timeline, could explain what happened to Cisco, but even typing out that much is a stretch. ]
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It takes about ten minutes or so for him to compose himself, taking in a few deep breaths to steady himself, before he taps out a message. ]
Alright.
Thank you.
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Harry had said there was nothing they could do about it. They couldn't stop Eobard's future when it was already in their past. But the way he'd said it had said plenty, the I, that silent admission that he'd been complicit in Harrison Wells' death. ]
i'm here if you need to talk.
[ Harry won't take him up on the offer, but he doesn't regret sending it. ]
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He stares long and hard at his device, pulling Barry's last message up and chewing at his lip idly. It was just a formality. It was just a polite way of ending the conversation. Harrison eyes it flatly, then taps out a message quickly and sends it before he can stop himself. ]
There's nothing else to say.
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[ It isn't worth much. Barry knows that the same way he knows he'll never be able to give up his own guilt — over his mom's death. Over Eddie and Ronnie and literally everything that's happened since they let Eobard walk out of that cell.
And he might not ever completely believe Joe and Iris and everyone else when they try to shoulder some of the blame, try to convince him it isn't his fault — but it still matters, having them there to say it. Another delay, though this one's short. ]
cisco almost died because of me. you're the only reason he's still alive. you made the right call. or you will, i guess.
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He rubs at his face with a hand, then sends off a few rapid-fire texts. ]
The right call isn't always the best one, Barry.
But I'm glad to hear I made the right one when it came to Cisco.
(don't tell him that.)
The fact remains. Harrison Wells and Tess Morgan's blood are on my hands, not to mention any future they would have had. And I have to live with that.
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Now it's his turn to almost drop the conversation, again, and the text he finally ends up sending is one he regrets quickly. ]
yeah, well if you figure out how, let me know. i could use some tips.
[ It isn't the honesty he regrets. It's the fact that it's flippant, crass, making light of the blood on both of their hands. ]
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[ It's not an easy admission, not by far. ]
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where are you right now?
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My workshop
You should come
[ For Harrison, that's like practically begging for someone to come over. ]
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[ It's less than that. Barry pauses for a second outside the door, dragging a hand back through his hair to fix the mess that always follows running — and to give him a second to get his thoughts together, because he isn't entirely sure what to expect on the other side.
Then he knocks, gives it two seconds, and turns the key in the lock before pushing the door to the workshop open. ]
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Harrison's eyes flick over to the door when it opens, tensing up briefly before he remembers that the door was locked, so it could only be one person. Hopefully. He draws himself up, straightening his back and resting a hand on the table to still it, giving him a nod as a greeting. ]
Barry.
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[ The greeting's quiet, a little distracted. Barry doesn't notice the fact that the workshop's tidy, for once; he's too busy watching Harry, brow furrowed gently in concern, eyes tracking over him briefly like he's expecting to see some kind of visible warning.
There isn't one beyond the thin line of tension along his shoulders. But the text had been warning enough. Harry isn't the type to ask for help, and this is as good as. Barry follows his greeting up with a small nod, a bit too delayed to feel natural, and there's a touch of caution to the way he wanders further into the room. His own hands are buried in his pockets to keep restlessness at bay, shoulders slumped in a way that makes him seem smaller than his six-plus feet. ]
What is it?
[ Eobard. That's the obvious answer given the conversation that led up to this, but he still feels like he needs to break the ice. Harry had invited him here, but it's difficult to picture Harry volunteering information without being prompted — and laying it out himself or making assumptions feels way too aggressive. ]
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He chews at his lip idly in contemplation, eyes shifting back over to his device. He stares flatly for a moment and then picks it up, loading up a thread from his inbox before sliding it across the table towards him. ]
That.
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He realizes he isn't breathing, lets out a slow, shallow exhale as his brow knits together in disgust. His grip's tight on the device without being secure, and he has to focus for a second to make sure he doesn't drop it, gaze lifting to seek out Harry's. ]
This isn't— [ All conviction with no words to back it up. It isn't Harry's fault. That feels important, but it's sidetracked by the shock of ice in his stomach, the way it's making his limbs feel hollow. He has no idea if it's offense or anger; maybe a mix of both. Whatever it is, it's disabling. He wants to find Eobard right now, hit him until he's a bloody mess. He doesn't want to leave Harry standing here with this. Both at odds, both vague enough to feel directionless when he needs to say something, needs to fix it. ]
He can't touch you.
[ Because of the truce, because Eobard knows he'll lose Barry if he does — but it feels weak. Not enough. He can't take the message back any more than he can take back all the years Eobard had lied to Cisco and Caitlin, the years he'd watched Iris and Eddie. The fact that Eobard's already killed one version of Harrison Wells. Barry stalls out for half a second, then the numbness breaks as he drags his other hand out of his pocket, both hands going to the back of his head while he half turns to look back towards the door. He doesn't leave, though; it's just an anxious movement, anger without an outlet, and the device is starting to strain beneath one tight fist. The exclamation that goes with it is more of the same, breathless and frustrated. ]
I'm gonna kill him. I have to, I can't just—
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He still feels like he could use roughly five showers right about now.
As Barry speaks, starting and stopping, Harrison quietly sucks in a bit of air and then exhales deeply, focusing on his breathing to calm himself. He shifts his gaze away from the table after a moment, glancing over in his general direction. He wasn't quite sure why he asked Barry to come over out of everyone else he'd come to know here, why he'd choose to confide this to him of all people. Maybe it was because of their mutual connection to Thawne. It could also be due to his penchant for being the most obnoxious battering ram when it came to Harrison's defenses. Then again, the fact that he was one of the few people he knew he could trust probably factored in along with the rest of that.
And seeing him in an obvious state of distress is . . . well. Jaw set, Harrison stands and steps over towards Barry, reaching out to take his hands into his. It's not a gentle movement — gentle's never really been in his vocabulary — but it's hardly rough either, as he lightly tugs at Barry's hands in an attempt to lower them, to get him to unclench his fists. ]
Barry. Barry. [ The latter a rough whisper, with almost a hint of urgency. ] Hey. Look at me. That's not who you are.
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Harry's right. Again he's left thinking of Joe, of all the times Joe's told him mercy is a strength instead of a weakness. The thought's grounding enough to help him regain some composure, and for a second he seems like he might relax. He lets his hands drop, attention turning to the device in his hand. His gaze catches on the text, another surge of anger, and then he places it face-down on the desk with a forced sense of control. ]
I can't. I can't let this keep happening. [ Control that starts to slip the moment he starts to speak again. Sharp frustration cracks the edges, and his expression's gone hard when he looks back up to Harry. ] What he did to Eddie, what he's doing to you— I can't let it keep happening.
[ There has to be more. Things he hasn't heard about, from Cisco or Eddie or Harry. He isn't stupid; he knows they won't always come running to him. ]
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the edit made this so much more upsetting why
because it wasn't a 2am sleeptag ofc
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