One moment, he was staring out at the city, mind racing with too many thoughts. The next, his back hit the wall of the rooftop stairwell hard and there was a hand around his throat, cutting off his air. For a brief moment, he was too stunned to react, everything happening to quickly for him to process it. And for him, that was saying something. Then he was struggling against the hold, only to freeze at the sound of a voice he hadn't expected. Harry might have looked the same as Wells - Thawne - but he didn't sound anything like him. This was a voice he hadn't heard since his trip back in time. A voice he'd never wanted to hear again.
"Thawne?" he gasped. "How? You're dead." More than dead. Wiped from the timeline. He blamed the lack of oxygen for the fact that he'd momentarily forgotten that people could come from after their deaths. Of course, he was a little more concerned with not letting himself be strangled to death by the man who had murdered his mother.
"I didn't do anything." He struggled against the older speedster's hold, panicking a little, before remembering how Len had taught him to fight. He brought his hand up in a hard strike to Thawne's elbow, forcing him to release his hold. He brought a hand up to his throat, rubbing at it, and kept a wary eye on the other man. "You think I somehow caused this? None of us know how we got here. But it wasn't me."