(Again, reviews are really what keeps me continuing multichapter fics like this. I love them, please consider writing one down there; even if it's just three words, I do need the encouragement.

Also, I don't own the Flash. Forgot to mention that, even if it's obvious. -Doverstar)

The smell was what really bothered him.

The smell of the Cortex. It smelled like clean laundry—probably because of the care Cisco gave to the Flash suit. It smelled like Big Belly Burger, particularly around the main desk, where Team Flash regularly ate on the go, bouncing ideas off of each other. It smelled like Cetacaine in Caitlin's wing of operations, liquid anesthesia for an ailing hero. It smelled like home.

The smell that hit him when he woke up each day in S.T.A.R. Labs, after accepting Team Flash's help, made him crazy. Well, crazier. It was familiar. An eternity in the Speed Force kept him from that scent, and he'd needed the distance.

Whenever he was in the Cortex now, forced to drink in that smell, suffocating him, it took him backward faster than anything else had, all this time. Well—rather, it took him forward. Backward for him, forward for all of them.

To the day he became who he was, the day everything inside of him got sick.

Every time he closed his eyes, Savitar saw their faces.

Back when he'd still been a copy of Barry, in 2024, back when he still was Barry Allen in his own mind. He had just pulled off his suit's red hood, looking over his own hands, his arms, down over his body, not quite believing he was still alive. The only time remnant to survive. Moments ago, he had watched the God Of Speed slaughter the others his original self had created, before the metal-clad villain was shot into the Speed Force by Tracy's finally successful bazooka. The gun had worked—just not soon enough; Iris was already dead.

But they had stopped him. At last. Savitar was defeated, seven years too late.

Barry Allen's last time remnant had gazed around the room, breathing hard, the left half of his face unfeeling and caked in blood from the fight he'd just helped finish.

"We did it," he had breathed out, tasting the blood as it leaked into his open mouth. It didn't matter. It proved he was flesh and bone, Savitar hadn't killed him too.

2024's Cisco Ramon was watching him with fascination, metal hands clicking as he rubbed them together the way he had in the old days, near his chin, when something was just so impossible, he couldn't get over it.

"You're alive," Cisco had said, squinting. Though the remnant could tell he was excited, there was something else there too—wariness? Why was he looking at him like that? They'd won. Iris was avenged. It wouldn't bring her back, but at least her murderer hadn't gotten off in the end. At least they could still do this for her.

The hollow that had opened in Barry since Iris' death was in the remnant, too. The black hole in his heart, sucking in everything that mattered anymore. If it was in the original, it was in his remnant. But after seeing the others massacred not even twenty minutes ago, this remaining copy was too in awe of the actual life, the many breaths he would get to take, stretching out before him to feel the hollow. Just for now, he was distracted from the pain.

The real Barry—the one that had created the remnants—returned to the Cortex a moment later, lightning in his wake. He had stared at the time remnant, walking in a circle around him.

"He left one?" The Barry Allen of 2024 had sounded exhausted when he said it. Drained, broken. As if it didn't really matter either way. "Why?"

Cisco did not look at his old friend straight on, choosing instead to keep studying the time remnant. "Not sure. Maybe it was an accident."

"He doesn't make accidents," Barry had murmured, coming in close to his remnant. "You can't stay here."

That was how it had begun. You can't stay here. The remnant had appealed to Cisco. He knew 2024's Ramon was desperate to reform Team Flash, after Barry Allen had shut it down. Iris' death marked the end of Central City's crimefighting undergrounders, because the Flash would not allow it to continue. The time remnant had offered to rebuild, but for some reason, Cisco wasn't interested.

"You're not the real Flash," he had murmured, staring right into the duplicate's remaining eye, resigned to hopelessness.

You're not the real Flash.

The remnant remembered meeting Cisco. The first thing he had heard when he dragged out of that 9-month coma was an adequate sing-along to Poker Face, and when he opened his eyes, the smell of a lollipop and the sight of friendly brown eyes had been waiting for him. The remnant remembered the hugs and the fist bumps. He remembered forgiving him for revealing the Flash's identity in an attempt to save his brother's life. He remembered supporting Cisco through his early days using his Vibe abilities. He remembered sharing burgers and going to the movies. He may not have been the first Barry, but he remembered Cisco's loyalty and jokes and love.

But Cisco didn't want him.

The remnant had gone to Wally. Wally, who was still recovering at home from his own solo battle with Savitar. Recovering from a shattered spine. After Iris' death, Wally West had been enraged, willing to risk his own life to avenge his sister. He went after the God of Speed himself. Day by day, his speech decreased. Day by day he ate less and less, and he stopped moving from room to room in his wheelchair.

"Wally—Wally, it's me, it's Barry." The remnant kept the mask on this time, stifling his injuries as best he could, kneeling at Wally's chair, hands gripping its metal arms.

Wally's eyes had focused on him, just for a moment. But it wasn't enough. He wouldn't say anything. He didn't seem to understand he was being spoken to. So the remnant pulled the hood off.

"We won, we won, we beat him. We beat Savitar, man. We got him. Wally? Wally, please—"

Somehow, in his bleary state, Wally had seen it. He'd seen the remnant for what he was, without a moment's doubt. He made sure he got it out, too-long spaces between each word as his mind struggled to stay in the present. In his eyes, someone had taken his mentor and aired him out, so that the holes could be seen clearly—

"No. You're not my brother."

You're not my brother.

The remnant remembered when Wally had showed up on the Wests' front door one Christmas night. The kid had walked in and headed straight for the apple cider, ignoring the eggnog—just as Barry had done at the beginning of the festivities. He had been sent reeling at dark eyes like Iris' and a laugh like Joe's. He remembered helping Wally with his school project. He remembered giving up his speed for Wally, training Wally. He remembered teasing Iris and racing side by side and spending Mother's Day together. He may not have been the first Barry, but he remembered Wally's admiration and smile and love.

But Wally didn't want him either.

The remnant stumbled out of the living room. He wanted his dad. He wanted his dad.

Joe was in Iris' old room. Everything was the same, even the soccer ball underneath the bed. He was looking through a high school yearbook, ignoring a ringing cell phone on the bed.

"Joe," he had whispered, "I need your help."

The temporal duplicate had launched, babbling with nerves, into explaining himself. But Joe West hadn't seen or heard from Barry Allen in seven years, not since he'd lost his daughter, so that face already wasn't welcome. And when he heard the words Savitar and time remnant, Joe held up a hand. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but they were also as sharp as if he were on the job. His head swung back and forth, slowly, and his gaze was fixed on an old picture sitting on the nightstand.

"Get out," he had whispered back. "Get out, you're not him, you're not mine."

You're not mine.

The remnant remembered Joe's firm hand on his shoulder. Eleven years old, trembling, pushed gently for every step forward as he entered the West household for his first ever night there. He remembered Joe's silhouette against the moonlight from his bedroom window, sitting with him until he fell asleep, afraid of the Man In Yellow. The remnant remembered being taught how to drive, Joe in the shotgun seat. He remembered showing Joe how his new abilities could allow him to change his voice. He remembered calling Joe 'Dad' before running into the time stream, he remembered moving back in. He remembered the smell of pizza and decorating the Christmas tree and a firm, comforting arm around his shoulders. He may not have been the first Barry, but he remembered Joe's selflessness and tears and love.

But Joe didn't want him.

None of them wanted him.

Utterly alone, heart heaving, refusing to break, gasping and shuddering instead, the time remnant had wandered the world at a dead run. Running harder than he had ever run in his life. But was it his life? Was it his? Wasn't it Barry's, wasn't he Barry? Why didn't they want him? Everything his family, his friends, his people had ever been to him, everything he thought he knew they had felt for him, was now null and void.

It was spinning, too blurry to see anymore. Like it hadn't been there at all. It was more than betrayal, it was just a lie.

Even if he was a copy, a temporal duplicate, a time remnant, wasn't he still Barry Allen, their Barry Allen?

And wouldn't they help Barry Allen?

Didn't they love Barry Allen? Didn't they love him?

A lie. They didn't need him. They had one already. A spare Flash, that was what he was, a disposable hero, an aberration. Aberration, noun: a departure from what is normal, usual, or expected, typically one that is unwelcome. One that is unwelcome. Not Barry Allen. What was he supposed to do if he wasn't?

What was he doing here? Alive?

He remembered every second with every one of them, how was he supposed to go on without any of them?

He had already lost Iris—or had Barry lost Iris? He was losing them, too.

Why couldn't it stop, why did he lose everyone?

Had he ever had them to begin with?

Cisco, Iris, Joe, Wally, Caitlin, Julian, Harrison Wells—he wasn't Barry, he wasn't, not to them. If he wasn't Barry Allen to them, who could he be?

It was too much. Everything circled back in his mind, the world was too tiny, he couldn't get away. Time remnant. Not Barry. He was running like Barry. He felt the power and the wind rush past his damaged face, but there wasn't color in it anymore. 2024, full of lights and sounds and colors. He couldn't see any of it. No color. Red wasn't the right one for him anymore.

It was cracking him open. Should he go back and reason with them? Anger made the Speed Force zap and writhe behind his good eye. They don't deserve it. Was this how they had felt all along? Only one Barry? If another Barry, their Barry, just a copy, needed them, they couldn't be bothered? This was what he had been to them all along. They needed to be punished. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

A speedster shouldn't hurt. He shouldn't have to feel pain, a duplicate of the Fastest or not. He had too much power, too much in him, to feel pain.

So he would become a god. Gods didn't feel pain.

The time remnant would be Savitar. God of Speed. It all made sense now. Of course. This was why he had lived, why the other remnants had to die. He wouldn't need anyone else. He would show them. He would show Barry Allen, the 'real' Barry Allen, what it was like to be abandoned and forgotten this way. They wanted one Flash? They could have him.

Savitar, brain crumpled, knew exactly how to break them. He had lived it.

They didn't want him.

And the smell of the Cortex today reminded him.

Back to 2017, their present, his past.

He needed their help. They wanted to give it to him. They wanted to save him—or at least, Barry Allen did. Iris did. The others were of a more dented metal, not quite as gold, but he had a sneaking feeling they didn't want to see him die anymore either.

He didn't want to admit why. He didn't want to admit he had been wrong in 2024, when he had decided to become Savitar. But he could feel it. He could feel them recognizing him as Barry Allen—but only conditionally. A Barry Allen, not the Barry Allen. He was both to them. He was Barry when the paradox was clawing for him, but he was Savitar everywhere else. Their enemy. They would never all be friends again.

But they were too good to watch him disappear helplessly after he had accepted their way out. It couldn't really be that they saw what he had begged them to see at the beginning of his creation—their Flash.

No, they didn't see him. But they cared just enough. And he would have to take it in sooner or later. But until then, the bitterness and the memories had him biting at them every chance he got. Making Cisco lash out, making Joe uncomfortable, making Iris guilty. Funny how that last one worked; he loved a good dose of irony.

"Slow down, Barry! You can't eat the whole bake case in one sitting!"

Savitar winced, leaning against the corridor wall. Images flicked through his mind. New memories.

"Wally , you wanna top me off here, son?"

"Look—I'm not kidding, Jitters makes the best muffins on the planet. Iris, take a bite of this."

Oh. The Wests were having breakfast at Central City's favorite coffee supplier. Savitar could taste that blueberry muffin now, licking his lips. He could see Iris' smile, hear Joe's mug sliding across the table as Wally held out the pitcher of java.

Savitar's fingers went to his temples, massaging slowly. He'd had breakfast with them today. Or Barry had. Good. It had been good. No metas, no murders, the only problem was that they'd picked the table too close to the window and the morning sun had been in his eyes the whole time. Heaven, practically, all he needed. Muffins and his family. He remembered how full his heart had been.

And he also remembered a timeline where he hadn't done any of that. A timeline where Iris died. A timeline where he was alone. He—Barry. Where Barry was alone.

"You look like Hell," Cisco greeted him as Savitar finally braved the Cortex. He tried to ignore the smell this time.

Ramon and Snow were at the main desk, surrounded by papers, three different monitors showing three different, never-ending calculations. The glass demonstration board was completely covered in numbers, question marks, circles and theories. Savitar didn't take the time out to speedread it all, but he gathered that they had probably been up all night working on the Hammond Cuff. Caitlin hadn't even changed out of her rarely-worn S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt.

"Really?" Savitar raised both eyebrows, feigning surprise. "I guess getting new memories will do that to you, Francesco."

"'Kay, add that to the list of things you are never ever allowed to call me," Cisco started in on him.

Caitlin cleared her throat loudly. "Speaking of new memories," she interrupted, "I think I've found a way to fix that for you."

Savitar spared her a glance. She didn't know it now, but one of the biggest divergences from his timeline and hers was her own identity. Caitlin Snow should have been wounded when Abra Kadabra escaped the pipeline. She should have become Killer Frost. He still had that timeline in his memory, he still recalled what it was to have her as an ally in his ascension.

But somehow, that hadn't happened. She hadn't undergone surgery, hadn't flatlined, hadn't embraced her darkest side. She was Doctor Snow, Barry's rock. She didn't know him at all. Not this version of him.

Two people hadn't shunned him as a time remnant in 2024. The first was Iris—because she was dead, of course. The second was Caitlin. Because she was locked away as Killer Frost in the future, she didn't get any more chance than Iris did to reject him. But he remembered her trust as she became his partner in crime, Killer Frost and Savitar, young gods.

Looking at her now, he didn't know what to make of her. Still the basket-case brunette, still unable to look him full in the jacked-up face. He held no bitterness toward her because he didn't have true memories of her casting him aside in 2024 the way he did of the others. Really, any snide remarks he made toward her were probably because he got off on seeing any of them disgruntled by him. She was part of Team Flash, and Team Flash had been his enemies for so long, it was just routine to discomfort her. He was doing some calculations of his own, watching her.

He knew what she was to Barry, what she probably still was deep within him, in that lonely part Barry had mentioned when he'd offered their help. But they wouldn't accept him as their green-eyed hero; she'd proven she was no different yesterday with her counting comment. A comment he'd been waiting for her to make. So he would withhold judgement for now. She was Caitlin Snow, someone to test and shake for kicks and giggles, but nothing deeper. He didn't know her anymore, not as a friend—more like as an expert on a particular kind of animal. Barry's memories allowed Savitar to understand Caitlin as the original Flash did, clearing the path for the former God of Speed to push her buttons in just the right ways.

"That's a relief," Savitar told her throatily. "I'm getting this...massive headache. Probably got something to do with the joke Joe just tried to tell at Jitters." He closed his eyes for a second, trying to mentally shake the images still pouring in. He opened them to peer at her. "Anything you could recommend, Doctor Snow?"

Caitlin's weary expression grew wearier. Up all night and he was still patronizing her. But her eyebrows, when he mentioned Jitters, drew together. She was...sympathizing? Oh, he didn't need that. Not from any of them.

"Or maybe I'd better ask Cisco, I mean, cures aren't really your specialty, are they?" Savitar held out a palm, exactly as if he were apologizing for his slip-up. "Just ask Jay." Caitlin stiffened.

Cisco stood up. "Oh, you remember stuff that's happened to all of us before now?" He pointed both fingers at the floor, at 'now', painting a befuddled look on his face as if this were news to him. "Man, I had no idea, please drop some more names!"

He shouldered past Savitar, heading for his worktable. He was retrieving the Cuff.

Savitar licked his lips again, turning his attention back to Caitlin. He did want answers. Fun was fun, and making them surly was definitely helping his own mood, but now it was time to get serious.

"So what is it?"

Caitlin reached for a few papers, stacking them against the desk to straighten them. "I...I got to thinking. It must be debilitating to keep reliving whatever's happening to Barry at any given moment. So I installed a cerebellum inhibitor of my own in the Hammond Cuff. Mixed with Cisco's frequency equalization, as long as you're wearing it, you shouldn't be getting any of Barry's new memories."

Savitar's eyes followed Cisco now as he brought the Hammond Cuff to the desk for a final once-over. Caitlin was still watching him, he could tell in his peripherals. She could keep watching. He wasn't going to break into a dorky grin, wasn't going to give them a heartfelt thank-you, guys. He knew it was what they wanted to hear. But they didn't expect it. Because, of course, to them he was Savitar. Barry Allen would thank them later for their help. They didn't need more than him.

Even if the tiniest, still heaving part of him wanted them to look for it in him.

Cisco tapped a rhythm, a code, onto the Cuff, using a minuscule number pad that hadn't been there yesterday. Its opening widened with a noise akin to the unsheathing of a sword. Caitlin stood, back against the desk, to watch as Ramon slid the cuff onto Savitar's outstretched wrist.

It tightened immediately, almost as if it were part of his skin, gleaming bronze and cold to the touch. Instantly Savitar felt reenergized. The frequency his existence vibrated at was now coupled with a new one—the one belonging to the temporal zone. It was like someone was charging him up. His legs itched to run.

"Any new memories coming in?" Caitlin checked quietly. "Is...Iris finished eating?" It was as if she were quizzing him for a Spelling Bee.

Savitar let his eyelids flutter shut, casting back. His withered heart gave a little jolt as he realized there was nothing there. Unsure how to respond to this news, he opened his eyes and shook his head.

"How's it feeling?" Cisco demanded.

Savitar turned his wrist, mouth open, attention focused on the device. "Powerful."

"Yeah, well, don't forget," Cisco said, reaching for his soda in a failed attempt to hide the pride in his work, "we won't know if it's actually...a success...until your 24 hours are up." He popped the straw in his mouth, holding out a hand for Caitlin to high five. Done with his sip, he added, "So don't take it off until tomorrow. If your arm—and—the rest of you's still, you know. There tomorrow."

Savitar hesitated just to sneer at Cisco, letting him know the comment was not appreciated, but that felt a little too close to banter for comfort, and he gave in to the need for speed. He tore out of the Cortex, feet pounding the ground as hard as they could carry him.