AN: This one is a short chapter, but I like what I did with it! Plus, I want to get back into this fic. Hope you enjoy!
"All ready for bed?" Dr. Wells asked without turning around or even looking up from his laptop. Probably the sounds of Cisco's bare feet on the floor had alerted his dad to his presence, Cisco knew.
"Uh-huh," Cisco confirmed, coming closer.
"Shower?" Dr. Wells questioned, still not turning.
"Done," Cisco told him.
"Pajamas?" Dr. Wells queried, looking up and over his shoulder.
Cisco pointed at the old too-big t-shirt top and pajama bottoms covered in little graphics of wrenches, hammers, and screwdrivers he was wearing. "Yup. All set."
Dr. Wells raised his eyebrows. "Mmm. And your teeth?"
"Brushed and all of it," Cisco confirmed.
"But did you floss?" Dr. Wells countered.
Cisco pouted. "...No. Do I have to? We didn't even have anything for supper that would get stuck between my teeth."
Dr. Wells pointed toward the bathroom. "Go."
"Awww," Cisco moaned, but he went and did as he was told. After finishing, he trotted back out and announced, "Fine, now I'm ready."
"Go get in bed, I'll be there in a minute," his dad said absentmindedly, scrolling through something on his computer.
"But you'll be there? You won't get distracted and forget to come back until after I'm asleep?" Cisco checked.
"You get caught up in your work to help change the world and don't tuck your son in one time, and he never lets you forget it," Dr. Wells said dramatically.
Cisco laughed and pointed out, "You did it more than once."
"No, I didn't," his dad insisted, and before Cisco could say anything else around his own giggles, his dad added quickly, "Go get settled."
Still giggling, Cisco headed down the long, winding hallway to his bedroom, past all the modern art and hanging glass sculptures intermixed with all the blueprints of Cisco's earlier inventions, from a device for making orange juice with just the right amount of pulp to the Heat Gun, and all the pictures of him with and without his dad. Turning most of the lights off and climbing into his bed, Cisco smoothed his blankets down and settled in, staring at the ceiling and wondering whether using a negative-stiffness vibration isolator fixture would work better than an air table to lower the compression preload on his latest invention.
It took only a few minutes of wondering before Cisco was yawning and fighting to stay awake. Just when he was certain his dad had gotten swept up in work again and wouldn't be there until long after he fell asleep, the now-familiar sound of whirring came from the hallway and Dr. Wells motored on in.
"Thought you weren't gonna come," Cisco said around a yawn. "Thought it was time to change the world, not time to say good night to me."
"You thought wrong," his dad teased, reaching out and ruffling his hair gently. "It's definitely time to say good night to you. Look at that yawn."
Cisco was going to say "I'm not tired," but a yawn came out instead, so he gave up. Instead, he just snuggled deeper into his blankets. "G'night."
"Good night," his father stated fondly, wheeling away toward the door.
Cisco tried desperately to keep his eyes open long enough to watch his adoptive dad go, but they closed against his will, and Cisco knew no more.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, like someone was watching him, and Simon Stagg swung around in his office chair, clutching his paperweight. Probably the last person he'd ever expected to see was sitting there.
"Wells. Who the hell let you in here?" Simon asked incredulously. "And where's your little shadow? The kid of yours, Cecil or Craig or whatever, it past his bedtime or something? Usually he'd be right behind you."
Wells just hummed in response and jerked his chin toward the outdoors. "They having a party out there?"
Simon huffed. "I'm sure you saw on TV. Former employee of mine tried to kill me."
"Former employee with the ability to replicate, faced off against a man who could move at super speed," Wells noted.
Simon almost dropped the paperweight he had been fiddling with. Putting the paperweight on his desk, he stood. "You've seen him too, haven't you?"
"Indeed I have," Wells agreed.
"Extraordinary," Simon breathed, coming around his desk to stand in front of Wells. "The power he possesses, it's like the, it's like the gods of old, like Mercury on earth."
Wells just watched him approach, face not betraying what he was thinking.
"Can you imagine if you could control his power, if you could, if you could harness it? You could change what it means to be human. The man in the red mask is the key, and I'm gonna get him," Simon said viciously. Wells would be jealous, mad, bitter even, but Wells would have to deal with it. Simon was going to get his hands on the man in the red mask.
"The man in the red mask. He's called the Flash, or at least he will be, one day," Wells said slowly, and on the last two words, he was-
He was getting up.
Wells was getting up.
A paralyzed man was getting up.
"What the hell-" Simon began, then Wells' hand moved fast, and pain exploded in Simon's chest.
It was a stab wound.
Simon had been stabbed.
Wells had stabbed him.
Simon almost fell to the ground, but Wells was holding him up.
"Forgive me, Simon," Wells was saying.
Simon could barely hear the man over the panic and the pain.
"I worry that you will think that this is personal, and it's not, it's just that the man in the red mask, the fastest man alive, must be kept-" Wells paused, and with a smooth, swift motion, yanked whatever he had stabbed Simon with up and out.
Simon choked out a gasp, and he fell to the floor.
"Safe," Wells said softly.
Simon tried desperately to get up and get to the phone to call for help as Wells turned to go, but Simon's heart stuttered against his will, and Simon Stagg knew no more.