Author's note: This story is set on March Friday the 13th. It is a bit AU in that Dr. Wells is Dr. Wells, not Eobard, though he has found a way to bypass the paralysis and kept it secret. The bypass is technological though and without it, he's paralyzed. It will eventually be a ship fic, but not your standard pairing. As always, I welcome comments and input! Thanks to Alisha Winchester Collins!

Not my characters and no money made. Just a bit of Wells torture.

Normally Harrison Wells didn't believe in the superstition surrounding Friday the 13th, but as his day had gone rapidly downhill he was starting to wonder. It had started nicely enough, but then his legs had crapped out on him during his workout. Not usually a problem in itself, he'd gotten used to it, but his wheelchair had then decided to die as well. So, he'd managed to drag himself to his bedroom where he kept a manual wheelchair, and gone from there. He hated the manual wheelchair, it made his hands cramp and his shoulder hurt. To add to it, he'd sliced his hand while cutting fruit for his breakfast. After bandaging his hand, he'd pulled on some leather gloves, minus fingertips, to help protect the cut.

Just when he was thinking he was through the worst of the day, he broke his glasses when he fumbled putting them on his face. Pain from the new cut in his hand had caused him to fumble, sending the glasses to the floor. Once more, normally it wouldn't be a problem, but the place where he got his glasses had screwed up, giving him a pair of bright red wire frames for his backups. Grumpily, he put the red-framed glasses on, grabbed his coffee, put it in the holster on the wheelchair, and headed outside. As he exited his beautiful house, thunder rumbled overhead and rain started to pour down.

On any other day, he'd be able to stay dry by staying on the path to the detached garage. Today though, the rain blew in at an angle. By the time he got to his car he was soaked, and starting to shiver. He was also grumpy because his hand hurt, his hair was plastered to his head, and the glasses were soaked too. Maybe there was something to the old superstition. Wondering what else the day had in store for him, he headed to work.

To his surprise, he arrived at the lab without incident. Hopefully that meant that his troubles were done for the day. He'd only managed the thought when he tried the remote for the lab garage. No luck. Groaning, he let his head plop onto the steering wheel, wondering what next. Sighing, he accepted that he'd have to park in the lot and use the side door to enter the building. As he was parking his car, the rain started pouring down even harder. Happy that he kept his physical therapy up, making it possible for him to handle the manual wheelchair, he easily made the transfer from the car to his chair.

"Do I get no breaks today?" He demanded of the sky as he headed indoors as quickly as he could. At the side door he paused, fumbling for his badge and then at the keypad. His glasses were soaked so he could barely see, and a vibration carried up from the retainer of the chair let him know that at least one leg was bouncing from spasms. Probably triggered by the cold. Shaking his head to clear some of the water, he got the code in and sighed in relief as the door unlocked. As he moved forwards however, he miscalculated and lost control, flipping backwards. Before he could catch himself, he was smashing into the ground, his flailing hands sending the suboptimal backup glasses flying.

Pain raced up his arm from his elbow and he knew he cried out. For a moment, he let the momentum carry him, ending sprawled on the ground, the wheelchair on it's side next to him. Letting the rain soak his face, he stared up at the sky, wondering which gods he'd angered and how. When the rain simply poured down harder, he decided it might be best to get himself up before he drowned. With a groan, he got himself into a sitting position, looking around. The door was still opened, so he just needed to find the damn glasses, get himself into the chair, and then get over the bump that had just toppled him.

Righting the wheelchair, he lifted himself up and into it, biting down on the pain that raced up and down his arm from his elbow. Once he was seated once more, he bent his left elbow, inspecting the damage. A hole had been torn through his jacket and his shirt, revealing bloody skin beneath. Probing with his relatively uninjured hand, he found a piece of gravel and pulled it out. For a moment the pain flared again, and then he felt warmth seeping down his arm. He'd take care of it once he was inside.

Looking at the ground where he'd landed, he was horrified to see his coffee mug on the ground, precious brown liquid pooled around it. Frowning, he picked it up, inspecting the damage that had caused the usually sturdy mug to leak. There was almost nothing left. There went his morning coffee. In disgust, he dropped the useless cup into the holder on his wheelchair.

"Stupid glasses," he said, reminding himself that he still needed to find those awful red-framed things. Looking around, he squinted against the rain, hoping that the storm wouldn't get worse, or that he'd at least get inside before it did. Thunder rumbled overhead and it seemed to grow darker instead of lighter. Shivering hard, Dr. Wells gave up on the glasses, turning to head inside. Something glinting in a puddle caught his attention and he went to investigate. To his dismay, he found his phone, the glasses, and his wallet submerged in the 6 inch deep puddle.

"Well that's just grand," he grumbled, dropping the sopping mess into his lap. Wondering if he should just give up, go home, and crawl back into bed, he headed towards the door again. This time he was more careful as he went over the bump. Once he was smoothly inside, he got the door closed easily enough and headed into the lab proper.