This fic draws only from Harry's actions as they stand in canon. If you like Harry, or would like to continue along the train of thought that he hasn't been way out of line since day one, really, go read something else. I won't judge you for it. seriously, save both of us the headache.
Harrison Wells had never, even in his youth, been one to believe that dreams were anything but hallucinations; images and events that occurred during sleep. They weren't signs of things to come, they didn't symbolize a damn thing and never had. People who claimed they did, that if one dreamed of flying it meant they had some out of control issue to settle, were charlatans after the money of those easily duped, or were those fools that handed everything over to someone who would explain.
Harrison Wells wondered now, or his dream-self did, if he had been wrong. This was clearly a dream, after all, but not like any he remembered. His dreams were usually straightforward and boring, memories mixing with what must have been memories forgotten, or else outlandish and worthless. This was neither of those: a flat, empty space, like the white of an empty page, almost blinding, only it wasn't white exactly, just a brightness.. He stood there, one dark spot against that emptiness, until he blinked, removing his glasses, and put them back on, more out of habit than anything, a physical quirk meant to give him control over the situation and bring him into lucid dreaming. It did not work, except that a pair of figures seemed to solidify out of the blank-space itself, and then a third.
He frowned. One of them, a woman, was totally unknown to him. The other two were only slightly more familiar, though it took a moment to place them, another woman and a younger man. He wasn't certain of their names, but the woman looked something like the picture he'd glimpsed of Detective West's ex-wife, and the boy bore resemblance to Zoom's pet, Rupture.
"I suppose you don't know what this is?" he said, testily.
"Harrison Wells," the first woman said, her red hair bright against a dress that seemed to melt back into the nothingness of the space, white and yet also light, every color merged into one. "Of Earth two," she added. Harrison frowned. Bad enough that everyone seemed to have adopted the idea that his world–better in every conceivable way–wasn't the prime Earth, he wouldn't allow his subconscious to do the same.
"What?" he demanded again, and for all the openness around him, he felt enclosed with the three of them surrounding him.
"A year and a half ago," the young man said, teeth flashing, brows knit in anger, "You took the only safe place my brother had left. You used his gifts, his powers, his mind, like your own personal tool box, without regard for his safety. And then? You pretended to kill him. You used his darkest memory to make him into your tool, to force him to use his powers how you wanted."
Harrison opened his mouth to protest, realizing that this was indeed Dante Ramon, and that he was just as stupid in a dream as he had to have been in life, not understanding that the ends justified the means, that Ramon had needed someone to control–guide–his powers, that he had needed the jumpstarts. No words came. The first woman shook her head.
"Harrison Wells, your actions speak for you. Learn to listen."
Now the second woman, close cropped dark hair like a crown, moved into the place in front of him.
"You," she said, and if Dante Ramon's tone had been angry, hers was the original voice of fury, the thing that all other raised voices could only hope to mimic. "You used my boy. You care about that girl of yours like she's apart of you, but you don't care what you do to keep her from leaving, her choice or not. The man you killed, you answer to someone else about. Maybe that's justified, maybe not, not my place to decide. But you knew the only way to keep her was to lie to my boy. You used the biggest hurt in him, and before you claim you didn't realize, you understand that lie won't work. Not here. You knew that hole was there, that pain and you used it, for your own selfish-ass reasons. Made him see me in you and his own heartbreak in that girl. Because you knew he's a better man than you'll ever be."
Francine West stepped back, but her eyes, like the Ramon boy's, remained fixed on him.
The red-haired woman nodded, her eyes softer, but her face firm, lined with disappointment and disapproval. "You put my child at risk. You use the best part of him and twist it for your own ends, to selfish to be honest about it. He would help you with his dying breath, deserved or not, but all any of them are to you are tools."
A fourth figure appeared, the brightness dissolving away to reveal another woman, and his heart stopped, or seemed to. Tess. But she didn't look at him as his wife had. She didn't smile at him, and there was something not right about her. Another world's Tess Morgan, then. Again, Harrison thought bitterly of his world's superiority, his Tess's superiority. But the thought could not last. Not facing her. Not facing her anger in this bright, terrible place he couldn't fall free of.
"Remember this, Harrison Wells," the Tess that wasn't his said. "You are one man in the multiverse, no more inherently better than any other. Nothing exists just to belong to you. Not Cisco Ramon, not Wallace West, not Bartholomew Allen, not your daughter. You will not be permitted to use past trauma and loss manipulate those in our care again. The next time you do, the fate you use as a tool, as petty mockery, will become your own."
Harrison Wells remained frozen, unable to breathe, unable to respond, as the four ghosts, spectres, faded and the brightness prismed into a rainbow of color and then faded into darkness.
He did not remember any of his other dreams.
Feel free to comment, unless your only comment is to whine at me about your lord and savior Harry, because I warned you not to read it like three times :)