(Consider this chapter a reward for getting through that last boring one. Enjoy, and don't forget: reviews are my lifeblood! -Doverstar)

There was a yell echoing through Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs on a Saturday night.

Caitlin was made only partially aware of the first one, half-in and half-out of sleep. She had to really consider the physical ramifications of taking night classes under Stein. She was used to all-nighters back home, on her Earth, because there was almost always an emergency that required her skills long after dark. But Stein's lectures were just early enough in the night hours to throw her body's sleep schedule completely off. Thus she was more exhausted than usual; her brain didn't recognize the sound for what it was.

Not until she heard it again. Then she was wide awake, throwing the blankets off and pulling on her lab coat for warmth. It was the closest thing to her on her way out into the corridor, and in a building made largely of metal in autumn, it was wise to don extra layers.

She was halfway to the Cortex before she remembered—Wally had recovered. He had gone home. Home to his mother, who was, to Caitlin's delight, very much alive on this Earth. But she had been livid, obviously, upon discovering that West's hero was the one who had ordered him out.

"Last I checked, I was his doctor, and he isn't cleared to leave until I say he is!" Caitlin had hissed to the speedster.

The former God of Speed was less than apologetic. "You can't keep him when there's nothing wrong with him. And there's nothing for him here," he had added pointedly, a fight on the edge of every word.

She couldn't argue with the former half of his retort. Wally was better, and he wouldn't stay if his rescuer didn't want him. She'd sent him on his way—he'd promised to visit whenever he could, but he wasn't welcome any longer to stay the night. So it couldn't be the boy who was not Kid Flash making such distressing noises. And there was only one other person in the building.

Savitar's room was even barer than hers. Where she had laid out her clothes and a few of her things from home to make it seem more familiar, Savitar seemed to have deliberately kept everything the way the past employees here had left it. The only signs of life were a small table against the east wall, with a few average workman's tools splayed across it, and—of course—the room's sole occupant, tossing and turning in his cot with his day clothes still on. The Flash suit was carelessly hanging over the end of the bed.

Caitlin realized, catching sight of him, that until now she hadn't believed he actually slept. It was fine to joke about it with Cisco when they were alone, on a universe she recognized, but looking at him here...it suddenly seemed unfair. Of course he slept. He was still only human—or a metahuman—despite his own best efforts. Speedster or no, villain or reluctant hero, he needed as much rest as anyone else did.

Unfortunately, there is a difference between sleeping and resting.

Savitar was sleeping. Sleeping was when you closed your eyes and you laid down and you dove into your own subconscious, your body shutting out background noises in an attempt to recharge. Resting was when you actually recharged, when you successfully lost consciousness and your body prepared itself for the next day, usually over the course of at least six hours.

Barry Allen's time remnant was not recharging. He was clearly locked in the throes of an intense nightmare.

Trying to swallow her initial surprise—embarrassed to admit to herself that she hadn't ever thought of him experiencing REM the way the average person did, either—Caitlin moved cautiously to the bedside.

Savitar's hair was off his forehead, and without it hanging down in his eyes slightly, like some cliché anime protagonist, he looked more like Barry than ever. It also helped that though there was enough moonlight to make out details, none of it was on the side of the room that his scars were facing. Still, it was just as unnerving to see Barry having bad dreams as it was to see Savitar have them.

His body shuddered and rocked on the cot; he was hardly using the blankets provided anymore. Gingerly, she tried to take his hand and shake it loosely, in an attempt to wake him, only to find that his palms were very sweaty. Clammy, actually. And there was something odd...her eyes widened. They were too warm. His skin was burning hot, and he wasn't under the covers, and the room was ice cold...

She was a professional. She knew her patients well. There had been zero sign of the flu or a cold the day before, so there was really just one explanation for his temperature. She reached over and pulled the collar of his gray shirt away from him, only hard enough to see his left shoulder, his most recent injury.

His thrashing around must have disturbed his fragile wound, because he'd somehow opened it again. It wasn't awful by any means—she was not going to have to return to the med bay for another happy gunshot session. A stitch or two—or five—had come undone and his injury had been exposed to frigid night air and a frankly musty deserted bedroom. The hole was not mended enough, even with his healing properties, not to be agitated by this yet. There were signs that told her it had bled while he slept, probably because he'd jostled it, but that was dry now, dark dark brownish.

It must have been hurting him, though, because he kept making small whimpers as he lay there, and the unstitched shoulder came up off the mattress in subconscious irritation more than once. Those were the whimpers Barry made when he dislocated something or, less often, when Iris was upset with him. Caitlin was one of the few people who knew he could whimper, superhero specimen that he was—even Barry himself was unaware of it, and probably would have made a nice effort never to make the sound again if he knew.

So the God of Speed was not only suffering from a nightmare, now he was suffering from physical pain, too. She couldn't decide which was worse, biting her lip as she looked from his wound to his tortured expression.

If there was one thing Caitlin hated, it was a nightmare. She was used to controlling everything—mostly. But nightmares were unavoidable, unexpected, and utterly uncontrollable, down to the last foggy frame. There may have been science behind it, but science couldn't make it go away. Watching someone else—anyone else—caught in their own mind like that caused her to do what she did best: try very forcefully to help.

Carefully avoiding the shoulder, Caitlin went around to the other side of the cot and put a hand on the opposite arm. Its muscles were tense, and she thought he might even have been vibrating a little in his discomfort; it was like holding one of Cisco's old Gamecube controllers. She joggled him, but he had stopped moving for the most part; only his face showed he was still in distress. Caitlin put both hands on his arm now, pulling.

"Savitar!"

She had barely gotten his name out before he sat bolt upright, breathing hard. She expected a wave of wrath, and probably another snarky comment about her lovely bedhead. Or a complaint about how late it was. But he didn't give her any of that.

Instead, one green eye bloodshot, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Agh, your hands are like ice!"

He glanced up at her, hair back in his eyes, and she could see by the glazed pupils and the way he squinted that he was not completely awake yet—or that the fever his injury had generated was putting him out of his own mind.

"Caitlin?" He said it quietly, very confused. It was riding on a tired breath, the way Barry would say it, and her heart expanded, reminded of his origins. It had been two and a half weeks since she'd heard anything other Doctor Snow in that voice, at least in person. "What are you doing? Where are—why are you here?"

"You were—"

He had barely given her time to respond before he let out a sharp exclamation, a mix of arhh and ow, clapping his right hand to the left shoulder of his tee shirt. Pushing cotton into the half-open wound did not do him any favors, as one could imagine.

Caitlin raised her eyebrows apologetically. "That's why. You split a few stitches."

Savitar winced, rolling his sleeve up to look at the source of his pain. He glared at it. "I'm not going to the—" He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. His voice rose. "The—your—" The tiniest of snorts escaped him, frustrated.

Forgetting terms, fluctuating volume. Definitely the fever. He wasn't completely lucid. Just a feather of sympathy burst through for him, and she offered helpfully, "The med bay?"

He exhaled, relieved. "Yes." The speedster's voice cracked as if his throat were too dry.

"You're not," she agreed, sighing. "I just have to clean around it and stitch it up again. I can do all that here. Let me get my bag."

He had fallen asleep again when she came back. He really did do everything quickly. He didn't seem to be dreaming anymore. Or that was what she assumed, before nudging him awkwardly on the arm with the back of a hand this time, hoping that might be warmer. The way he gasped and hurled up again made her retract her assumption.

"If you open this again," Caitlin told him, leaning down to commence stitching, "at least suck it up until sunrise." She wasn't in a joking mood at 3 AM, but he seemed to think this was funny.

"No promises," he chortled, grimacing.

It was almost exactly like treating Barry. The duplicate seemed too tired to add any bite to his bark. When Caitlin finished, she cleared her throat, nodding to his pillows in as authoritative a way she could manage. "All set. Go back to sleep—your wound induced a premature fever, but it should clear up in an hour or two if you rest."

Savitar didn't close his eyes or even lay down. Instead he stared at her. Trying to prove she was no longer intimidated by him, she stared back. But that didn't last long, of course, because she was herself. He watched her so intensely that she started fidgeting, and when she couldn't take it anymore, she snapped. It was too early for this little power play.

"Did you hear me? You need to go to sleep. You're not a god, you need your rest."

"I'm try—Caitlin—" He rubbed his forehead with the heel of a hand. "I need rest."

"Right," Caitlin agreed patiently, setting her bag down. "And I do too, so just try to—" Wait a minute. Caitlin again. Stuttering. She peered at him, squinting in the dark. "Savitar? Are you...awake? Do you understand me?"

It was a ridiculous way to check. She knew full well that if his fever was taking him out of it, he wouldn't be able to truthfully answer her. But this was a grown man with extraordinary abilities, not a little boy sleepwalking. Even with her intellect, knowing how to read the signs, it was hard to tell just from his tone and his mannerisms whether he was actually solid or not.

"Yes," Savitar hissed. "Yes, I told—I told you I'm not—" He blinked hard, several times, clearly struggling to regain control of his faculties. "Why are you in here?" he repeated, louder.

Caitlin struggled to remain patient. His tone had become harsh again. "You opened your bullet wound," she intoned. "I had to stitch it back up. Not two minutes ago."

"No." Savitar swallowed, dry mouth bothering him. "You didn't hear it open," he growled. He pointed to the door. "From your room."

Caitlin glanced at the door herself, as if he actually wanted her to see something in that direction. She shook her head. "You're right," she admitted. "I heard you yelling. In your sleep. I came to help."

Savitar's eyes focused a little more at that. "You can't help me," he whispered, unfeelingly. Matter-of-factly.

She didn't respond, watching him.

"Might as well get up. I'm not gonna get any more sleep with this all night," Savitar finally announced, nodding to his shoulder. He seemed to be a little more awake now.

"I don't think you were yelling because of that," Caitlin commented quietly.

Savitar didn't tear his gaze from his shoulder, but he was still, listening to her.

"I also didn't think the God of Speed could get nightmares," she added, taking a step nearer.

He snorted. "He probably can't. Too bad I'm not a god, huh?" His milky eye glittered up at her, contemptuous.

"What was it about?"

"Nope." He spoke over her. Savitar shook his head hard, a half-smile forming. "Not doing that. Go back to sleep, Doctor Snow, I don't need a therapy session." He lay on his side, turning his back to her, folding his arms tight.

Caitlin pursed her lips. She was just as stubborn as he was. She didn't know what made her keep trying, what made her go around to the other side of the bed to face him. Maybe it was the echo of her friend still hanging over him, or simply that she was so used to helping everyone that she couldn't turn it off.

His eyes were open, and they struck her as if she had insulted him by coming into view. "Studies show it's difficult to sleep when someone's staring at you, Caitlin," he grunted.

Encouraged by the use of her first name, her eyebrows puckered in a way that was meant to show sympathy. "I've had my fair share of nightmares, you know. Becoming Killer Frost. Watching Ronnie die. Zoom. Sometimes I even dream I'm being chased by dolls," she offered, cracking a smile.

She sat on the side of the bed, but as soon as she did, he rocketed up.

"You don't understand," he told her, almost sounding amused. "You think dolls and ice powers are bad?" He pressed two fingers in between his eyebrows, pulling them away to gesture aimlessly. "I spent centuries trapped in the Speed Force, in Barry's prison built specially for me. You know what I saw in there?"

Caitlin stared up at him, too shocked he was actually sharing to form a sentence. She leaned backward a little, waiting.

"I saw you." Savitar pointed at her, hard. Angrily. "I saw Wally, Joe, Cisco. I saw Iris." He tilted his head at her, narrowing his eyes. "I found out there are about two billion ways to be rejected—and that's just by one person. Imagine a whole team of people, abandoning you for eternity. He threw me away to live out the worst day of my life over and over and over again, and when I got out," he practically grinned now, "I thought I'd be free. I was so tired. But it turns out I get to press replay." He tapped his temple with a finger. "Every night. Guess I didn't suffer enough in the Speed Force."

She didn't know what to say. How did you respond to that? She just watched him, trying to picture Cisco turning him away. Trying to picture him as Barry again. Trying to picture any of them shunning him. Once again, it was nearly impossible. Even after everything he'd already done, they had saved him. No Team Flash, no matter what they had gone through, would turn away someone who needed their help. Especially not someone with Barry's face and Barry's memories. But the look in his eyes told her it had absolutely happened, and that he felt it with every heartbeat. He couldn't be lying. It was the one thing he actually seemed passionate about.

Untangling her mind, struggling to find the right words, she said, "Sometimes...talking it out can take the weight off. I can help you."

Savitar didn't move. He watched her back. "Why?" was all he said.

"Why?"

"Why are you helping me? Why are you here?" When she opened her mouth to ask, he cut her off by adding, "Not—in my room. On this Earth, why? Why did you come here?"

Here was something she could answer with confidence. Something clear and firm. "Because it's the right thing to do."

Savitar let out a long oooh under his breath, mouth an O, looking at the wall as if he just couldn't believe her. "Come on," he said, prompting, shaking his head.

"I'm serious!" Caitlin's eyebrows rose, her voice rose, she almost stood up off the bed.

"There has to be another reason." He was speaking over her again, over the tail of her words. "There's something in it for you."

Caitlin's face hardened, and she glanced up at him determinedly. "There isn't. Believe it or not, people can do things for others without gaining anything for themselves. You want to start over, and—I know what that feels like. I can help you, you need—"

"Don't." He held up a finger, warningly, almost tauntingly. "Don't. I don't need you."

Caitlin spread her palms on her knees. "I was going to say you need friends," she muttered. "You need people beside you, or this won't work."

"I had people beside me," Savitar snapped, turning at last to look her full in the face. "And they tossed me away. You can say it wasn't me, but I remember." He closed his eyes, casting back, and Caitlin saw the ghost of the true Flash passing over him, when the anger drained from his expression, when he called memories to the forefront of his mind. "I remember getting struck by lightning. I remember meeting Wells—all of them. Moving in with Joe. The first time Cisco vibed, fighting Grodd, helping Wally with his homework." He opened his eyes, lifting his chin in her direction. "You."

Caitlin blinked, thrown by the emotion in his gaze.

"I remember meeting Ronnie, and how scared you were when he showed up again. I remember your face when he didn't come back from the Singularity."

"Stop it," Caitlin whispered, glancing out the window, not meeting his mismatched eyes. He remembered what wasn't his. She didn't like reliving certain things any more than he did.

He didn't stop it. He went on. "The day you got your little necklace, when you yelled at me for meeting Iris on top of Jitters." A little chortle puffed out. "Oh—you told Eddie I was emotionally unstable because of the lightning, 'member that? How about when we went to that bar, and you did all the drinking—"

"Stop!"

"What was that song you dragged me up there to sing?" Savitar paused, then hit his head with the heel of a hand. He pointed lazily at her, as if it really did just come to him. A small smile came to his face, and it wasn't clear in the dark whether it was sinister or not. His voice was laced with the same ups and downs little brothers used when they insisted they weren't doing anything, all while poking and teasing their sisters. "Summer lovin'..."

Caitlin stood up. "That's enough."

Savitar showed her his palms. "That wasn't you, that was Barry Allen!" He mimicked her speech patterns, but his own voice stayed the same. He folded his arms. "Funny how much it feels like it was me, though. You haven't thought about how much I know, have you? How much I have to ignore."

Caitlin's mouth tightened. He was standing there in his tee shirt, hair messy, and in the half light she could so easily believe she was talking to the Flash. Her Barry, with the same tired rasp, the same lackluster posture too early in the morning. But the scars and the one blue eye and the sound of a metal spear going clean through H.R.'s body told her she was dead wrong.

He seemed to read her mind. "See? You get to look at me and—" He mimed something flying out of his mind with a hand, shrugging. "You don't have to remember any of it. But I look at you..." He was nearer now, coming around to her side of the cot. "I look at Wally. And I see a whole life with you, all of you, that I don't get to talk about." He pursed his lips, expression perfectly communicating oh well! "I don't get to mention it. It's not my place, I don't have the right. It makes you angry. You still see a villain when you look at me."

"No." Caitlin found her voice at last, quick with indignancy. "That's not true, I don't—I don't see a villain. Not anymore."

Savitar's whole body seemed to freeze, just for a heartbeat, and he stood facing her, waiting. He was actually confused; she had managed to give him pause. "Then what do you see?" he demanded, carefully, as if he already knew the answer.

Caitlin bit her lip. It took her a moment to reply, thinking it over. "I don't know."

He exhaled, rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, exasperated.

She hurried to finish her thought before he could shut down again. "I do know you're trying to be different," she offered. "I know you want to put it all...behind you. But you're doing it the wrong way."

Savitar cocked his head at her, disbelieving.

"You think you can change by yourself. You can't. Barry needed friends, he needed his family to help him. In everything. You need that too." She folded her arms. "Whether you look like him or not."

His let his shoulders bounce with a slight wince and slid his hands into his pockets. "What if you're wrong? If Barry's family didn't want me, what makes you think anyone else will?" He seemed to think he'd delivered a Trump card, something she couldn't get past. His back was straight, face stiff.

"You'll never know unless you take a chance," Caitlin told him breezily.

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers, calculating. His shell had been cracked, she could feel it, and for the moment he wasn't making any attempts to seal it back up. His breath still smelled like strawberry Jell-O.

Caitlin took a deep breath, finally heading for the door. "You can start your day at 4 in the morning if you want," she sighed, picking up her medical bag. "But as your physician, I don't recommend it."

She was almost at the exit when he stopped her.

"Stay." Savitar said it in a giving-up tone, something very close to annoyed. Really, it was almost an order, the same way you'd call a child back to you after they'd 'snuck' something out of your backpack, assuming you didn't know. He hadn't turned to watch her go and was standing in the same place he had been seconds ago; his voice was loud and wide awake.

Caitlin halted instantly, wondering if she'd heard him properly. "What?" she said, giving him a chance to retract it, almost warning him. She couldn't help being suspicious.

He dropped onto the cot, folding his arms across his chest, upper half propped up on the headboard. Like a moody preschooler being told that if he wasn't going to nap, he at least had to lie down quietly for a while. "Stay in here," he elaborated throatily. "Until I fall asleep."

Caitlin's eyebrows went to her hairline. Her fingers curled in, lifting her hands. "Are you...giving me an order?"

"Yes."

She was searching for a retort, flabbergasted that he would dare, when he finally explained himself.

"You want me to stay in bed, this is how it's gonna go." He watched her walk back toward the end of the cot. "I'm not gonna get any rest if I have that dream again, so you get to babysit."

"Is that so?" Caitlin was not entirely sure how to proceed, what kind of tone she should use. This was uncharted ground. Another unexpected turn of events. She was losing her touch as S.T.A.R. Labs' resident control freak.

If it was possible to shrug an elbow, he was doing it, arms still tightly crossed. "If it happens, you wake me up."

Caitlin's eyebrows knit, she debated, looking off to the side, hands gripping the base of the bed's metal frame. Her slippers were making her feet sweaty after being worn this long.

Interrupting what was fast becoming a long, detailed list of pros and cons in her head, Savitar added, "You said you wanted to help me, right?"

She met his eyes, fully engaged at this point. Nodding very slightly, still feeling incredibly out of her element. It was sort of an out-of-body experience, what was happening right now. The God of Speed, the big bad, needed someone to stay with him until he fell asleep. In seconds he'd gone from bitter tirades to nonchalant bodyguard employment.

"You win," Caitlin said, putting a brave face on it. She pulled the stool by the worktable to the side of the bed, stifling a yawn as she sat down. "We can't have Earth-66's resident hero too tired to work."

Savitar closed his eyes, shifting a little, getting comfortable but still remaining in that stubborn position, legs crossed as well as his arms now. After two minutes of silence, just when Caitlin was wondering how she'd pass the time, her name drifted in, though he hadn't moved at all.

"Caitlin."

"Yes?"

Probably too much to hope for a thank you.

"Don't touch me." His eyebrows came down. "Your hands are freezing."

Definitely too much to hope for. "Excuse me?" She couldn't suppress an indignant huff, not quite a laugh, but not actually negative. She couldn't deny her own body temperature. She had cold powers, it was self-condemning. "It is 50 degrees Fahrenheit in this room—"

"I don't care how bad my nightmare gets. If you touch me with those Killer Frost fingers again—" More talking over her. She could play that game too.

Caitlin lifted an arm to slap against her thigh. "How do you want me to wake you up, with a foghorn?"

He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you serious right now?"

For some reason, she was trying not to laugh. Probable the surreality of the situation. "You act like the sudden cold wouldn't be an effective—"

"Look, this is not hard—"

"You wanted me to wake you up, this is the easiest—"

"I'm not arguing about this with you!" Was it a trick of the moonlight, or did she see the quirk of Barry's trying-to-be-serious smile? "Hands off. Okay?" Muttering, he added, "Unbelievable."

It was such a familiar phrase coming from that mouth, she relented. Caitlin folded her hands on her lap. "Understood. Hands off the metahuman."

He closed his eyes again.

Caitlin waited a few seconds, but it was too late. Her brain wouldn't be quiet. She was a scientist, her only patient was actually in the same room with her for once, and it was 4:35 AM. "Can I ask you something?"

The air hissed out of him. "It's Savitar's bedtime, Caitlin."

"Are you...blind in your left eye?"

"What?" It came out as a groan. Eyes still shut.

"The damaged half of your body, the—one fogged eye. It's similar to a cataract, but it doesn't drift." She was babbling, fighting exhaustion. "And it has the same premature coloring a newborn's eyes have before adjusting to sight. Can you see out of it?"

"Not when it's closed."

"I was thinking if—"

"Caitlin."

"Right. Sorry." She cleared her throat, lapsing back into silence.

She saw him swallow, squirming slightly again, getting prepared to try and sleep once more. There was no clock in the room, but if there were, she had a feeling its ticking would be deafening. She should have brought a clipboard, she should have been looking over her notes from Stein's classes. She at least could've retrieved her phone before agreeing to sit here. She might have been productive, researched this Earth's Kyle Nimbus. Instead the only thing to look at, to occupy her time with, was the speedster doing his best to get some rest.

Barry did, in fact, look good in black. Wearing baggy clothes, though, made him seem younger, like a skater boy, and seeing Savitar slouching back on the cot just fueled the similarities. She watched his breathing slow, wondering suddenly if he could feel the Speed Force even as he slept, if that was why his nightmares were vivid enough to have him writhing the way he had been when she found him earlier. Did his heart rate accelerate where others' became sluggish while snoozing? Did electricity still flash and set his bloodstream ablaze when he was unconscious? The coma had proved that much, okay, but could he feel it? Did it change his dreams, the pattern his brain weaved?

Whatever the answer, he looked peaceful, lying there. The pain and the bitterness were dormant when he slept without nightmares, like they were hiding. Somewhere in him was the ability to shine the way his counterpart did. The Flash brought nobility and compassion to Earth-1. Barry glowed when he walked into a room; he had been through so much darkness and had come out brighter for it, and he illuminated his friends when he stood beside them. Savitar could do that. It wasn't too late. She thought he probably craved it—he just didn't know that was what it was he wanted. That light was so much a part of the person Savitar had come from, it couldn't just die out, no matter what he'd experienced. He was miserable, trying to smother it. She wanted him to feel whole again, but he was so afraid to try...

Another question sprang to her mind, a little glass shard of hope. "Savitar."

She didn't think he'd heard her, but then he snapped, "What?"

"Why did you ask me to stay with you?" Caitlin demanded. "Do you really think my sitting here is going to keep your nightmares away?"

He opened his eyes. "No."

"No," Caitlin repeated, squinting. She leaned back, studying him.

His eyebrows bounced, he looked expectantly at her. "I was taking a chance."

Caitlin controlled her expression, though the shard of hope had become a small, stained-glass window. "I see." Winding the heels of her hands together. "And...how do you think it'll turn out?" She felt like she was asking for an early grade on a report. Searching for some sign of approval.

Savitar clicked his tongue. "I'm optimistic. But it depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you can shut up long enough for me to fall asleep."

Caitlin waved a hand apologetically, motioning for him to try again. "Yes. Yes, sorry." She coughed. "At ease."

He rolled over, but this time it wasn't so that his back was turned. His arms were still crossed, but his eyes were just barely open now, watching her. "Don't go anywhere, Doctor Snow." It was almost under his breath; she had to strain to hear it.

She blinked, a little fed up with trying to decode his every sentence. "I said I'd stay until you were asleep."

Savitar didn't respond, but his mouth tightened. He looked at her, and went on looking at her, until finally the late hour seemed to take him, and he lay fully folded, facing her, out like a light. Caitlin had planned on leaving as soon as he was unconscious, going back to her own room, but she remained in the chair until daylight came. No sense in disobeying orders.