A/N: *waves sheepishly* Okay, so here's the new fic - it's this multichaptered thing about what I think would happen if Caitlin got her ice powers on Earth-1 ( is that what we call it? ).
Caitlin dreams in detail so real that she smells, tastes and touches. Her parents, Barry, Cisco, Doctor Wells, all sit in a full amphitheater watching her with thousands of others. She is center stage, dressed in wine-colored silk, spot-lighted with too-bright lights. If she squints hard enough, she sees the outlines of individual people in the audience. She feels their collective breath held tight as they wait to see her performance. But she doesn't know what she's supposed to do.
She holds a harp, then a needle, then a gun. With every blink, the contents in her hand change.
Someone tries to push her off the stage. Caitlin fights. She doesn't want to go. Then she hears applause and falls into the orchestra pit, keeps falling. She falls through space so infinite and black and so full of nothing that it feels heavy like liquid steel. A voice speaks. "It's your fault he's dead. You killed him."
Gasping, Caitlin wrenches her eyes open. She's on the floor beside her bed, tangled in her blankets. The chill is a slap to her face, considering that it's smack dab in the middle of summer. Frowning, Caitlin scrubs at her sandy eyes, wondering if she's still dreaming. Her mouth falls open.
The glossy white furniture, the walls, the ceiling, even her own blankets are coated with a thin, white layer of frost.
Caitlin gags. She wants to run. This has to be a trick, somehow. An illusion of the light. A figment of imagination conjured up by her tired mind. The logical part of Caitlin wants to argue that there is no way ice can form at a room temperature of ninety degrees when theoretically, the freezing point of ice is at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. It's impossible. Her breathing grows shallow and irregular. Ice forms in a web around her quivering limbs, crawling over the floor, up the walls and onto the ceiling.
Caitlin is the only thing in the room that remains untouched in the wake of Jack Frost's fury.