Tiger Stripes and Lightening Strikes

4: Happenings

Harry was enjoying the peace, as he did every morning whilst drinking a freshly brewed coffee in the heart of Central City: Jitters. Just as he did every day, he settled in a quiet corner before the main morning bustle as he silently flipped through book pages. Steam from his coffee blanched his glasses, trailing mist on the surfaces.

Noise from all around faded into the peripheries of his mind. All he could focus on, was the crisp noise of a page turning. The softness of the paper beneath his fingertips. The sweet scent of old leather.

"Would you like a refill, sir?" a familiar voice tore him from his emersion. Craning his head up, his jaw slackened when he saw who was staring down at him.

"Allen?" Harry's voice hitched, scanning him up and down. Barry's face fell, his apron crinkling as he moved. "Why are you working as a barista?" his brows drew in together. "You already have two full time jobs, surely you don't require a third?"

"Not Barry," came the curt response.

"What do you mean you are not Barry?" Harry's brows furrowed and he leaned back in his seat. "You are his exact physical replica." Barry rolled his eyes. "Wait, you're a doppelgänger that slipped through the cracks, aren't you?" Harry blew out a long breath. "What earth are you from, shifty?"

"The only one there is," Barry responded like he was talking to an idiot. "We look alike because I'm his brother."

"I think I'd know if Allen had a brother," Harry huffed.

"We're estranged," Sebastian groaned. Harry opened his mouth and clamped it shut. "Do Barry and all of his little friends live in this one coffee shop?" exasperation bled into his voice.

"We do spend a large amount of time here, yes," Harry nodded. "You really are estranged if you didn't know that." Now he looked closer, Harry could see a glow of youth in this boy that Barry didn't have. Not anymore, anyway.

"Like I said," the boy responded, narrowing his eyes. "Now, do you want a refill, old coot, or do I have to retell you my entire life story too?"

Harry paused, muscle in his jaw going slack. "That would be nice of you, little Barry," he answered sharply.

"That, is not my name," the boy grimaced as he began pouring piping hot liquid into the half empty, white mug.

"Then what is it?" Harry put his book down, arching a brow. "You look like you suit Bartholomew more that Bartholomew does." Sebastian sent him a look as though he'd stabbed him, finishing filling the mug. "Not nice when somebody gives you the wrong name, is it, young man."

"Then what should I be calling you by?" the boy arched a brow.

"Wells is the name," Harry replied. The boy froze in his tracks, his face visibly paling.

"As in, Harrison Wells?" the boy's voice shrunk. His eyes narrow to slits and he took a step back. "I thought you looked familiar. You're supposed to be dead."

"Harrison Wells is dead," Harry swore. "I'm Harry Wells, his twin brother." The boy's nose wrinkled. "Do you really think Barry would be close with somebody who murdered your mother?" he arched a brow.

"Barry's mother," the boy corrected him, backing off to return to his duties. Harry let out a long breath, returning his sights to his book. A quiver of disquiet was trembling within him. Kneading his brow, he closed his book over and lifted himself to his feet.

*

Although Barry was not happy about working with yet another dead body, he was glad this one was not quite as gruesome as the last few.