Listen: Eobard Thawne has come unstuck in time.

Breaking the time barrier is different to all other milestones that have come before. Suddenly he has at his fingertips the power of infinite possibility, the freedom of temporal mobility. He could run to any point in time and perpetrate any action of his choosing; he could rip space and time apart with his bare hands should he so desire.

He could pile paradox on top of paradox until this and every other timeline shatters under its own weight.

Given the choice, he chooses not to. He rather likes the thing called "life" that a stable time-space continuum offers. As scripted and backwards as it is, his existence is preferable to the alternative.

The rest of it, he comes to accept with fire in his heart and poison on his lips, is not his to choose. Even the achievement itself is hollow, less a culmination of his studious efforts and more an in-joke authored by destiny. "Good job, Eobard. Right on time!"

What he's meant to do with this amazing gift is to sweep up like some glorified temporal janitor. There are loops to be closed, paradoxes to avert, effects to cause. Eobard Thawne, in unlocking the purest form of freedom in the multiverse, has consigned himself to a life sentence of hard labor.

First things first, then. He runs back in time to make Barry Allen's life a living hell.

The Flash he finds is raw, unpolished, clumsy and slow. He hasn't yet tapped into the deep veins of power that lie dormant inside him. He can't hurl lightning or pass through solid objects. He can barely run on water, much less through time. Eobard finds a child, and as dictated by the Natural Order, Eobard will be playing the role of the nightmare under his bed.

How odd it feels to be the Reverse of a Flash who isn't even the Flash yet.

Eobard runs rings around him. Taunting, mocking, antagonizing. Doing all the things a good rival should. Even this early, the Flash already recognizes him, is steeled against these messy battles that trend in Eobard's favor. No wonder he'll have such a chip on his shoulder when he finally learns how to fight back. Eobard's every inch the demon he remembers from his own early days in the ring, and isn't shy about capitalizing on the opportunity to give as good as he got.

He's got the Flash on the ropes, busted and battered, but not broken. Eobard finds great satisfaction in holding back, in letting the Flash know that this could all be over with just a touch more pressure applied to his throat. He likes the confusion that runs rampant over Barry Allen's face when he drops him to a heap on the ground.

The Flash is choking and heaving on the pavement, but the river's beautiful this time of night so it's probably as good a time as any.

"Thursday night, say, eight, eight-thirty," he leads. "Got any plans?"

"Why," Barry Allen wheezes, climbing unsteadily to one knee. It'll be a while yet before he can get much farther. "Is that when you're free for another ass-kicking?"

Eobard ignores him. He spins slowly in place, scanning the skyline to get his bearings. Maybe it's that way, towards the south? "There's a quaint little bar just, uh, over there, somewhere. Come to think of it, there's a chance it's not there yet, but it will be. The service is terrible but the booze is good. I think the name was Joe's. You know it?"

He pivots back to the Flash with his hands on his hips, his head cocked curiously. The Flash rolls back on his heels and smoothes both his hands over his cowl, holding his arms akimbo behind his head a moment before dropping them with a bitten-back grunt.

"For real? You want me to go get a drink with you?"

Eobard frowns like he's not sure that question's correct, puts a hand to his chest and points to Barry, presses a finger against his lips and lifts a thoughtful gaze into the middle distance, miming a careful recalculation of the situation.

He slides his attention back to the Flash with a wolfish smile. "Care to get a drink with me?"

The Flash wobbles as he tries to gain his feet. Eobard's scared him good, this time; he can barely stand and yet he's desperate to run along home before it's too late. "You're out of your mind."

"No," Eobard corrects him. "No, I thought that for a long time, myself. But I don't think I am."

There's a thrum of energy in the air, a preamble to the Flash's quick exit. The kid has no subtlety, no guile. There's no sign of the cocky bravado Eobard remembers he will have. Right now he reeks of adrenaline and fear. They both know he wouldn't get very far, if Eobard didn't want him to.

Eobard might be a villain, but he's not a monster. He doesn't move a muscle when the Flash takes one tentative step backwards. "Oh, did you have someplace to be? Don't let me keep you." He makes a show of waving the Flash off towards the haven of S.T.A.R. Labs, where the security of friends and family awaits.

(If Barry Allen started running now, at top speed, Eobard could still get there first with enough time to kill everyone he found and greet Barry at the door with a bloody banner reading "Nice try!")

He doesn't. He won't. He hasn't. Instead, as always, the Flash flickers out of sight, leaving Eobard alone with destiny. So it goes.