At a soccer game in Providence, Rhode Island, a nefarious black van pulls up onto the field. A heavily bandaged evildoer steps out. Back at FBI HQ, Nina, Olivia, and Broyles try to explain the alternate reality thing to poor addle headed Agent Francis. Nina explains that it's not another world, just a different version of this one. At that poor Francis stops them and says Dudes, I don't even understand a truck with no tags, how am I supposed to grasp this alternate universe thing? I don't know. Maybe the hybrid monster babies that were trying to hatch in me, like, ate part of my brain, because no matter how much weird shit I see with you all, I don't seem to ever remember my wacky experiences and apply them to new situations. And thus we end up in these conversations. Can I please go back to acting my pay grade? And how about them Red Sox, eh? Olivia tries to explain again. Did Francis ever get déjà vu? He nods, but is definitely getting pissed that they are making him even try to understand. Olivia goes on anyway. Déjà vu is a glimpse of this alternate reality. Broyles jumps in, too, adding that while most people can get a glimpse some can go further and travel there. The truck came from the other side where they have totally different vin numbers on cars. That's why they can't trace it. Nina is pretty darn sure that Jones is trying to travel to the other side. Luckily for poor Agent Francis, everyone's phones start ringing. Something has happened.
Back at the beach house Walter is frantically looking through closets ranting about starting something a long time ago. Peter tries to calm him down as he starts throwing boxes and almost literally tearing out his hair. Walter cannot be stopped as he tosses the house looking for...something. He still doesn't know what it is. Peter follows him into the living room calmly reminding him that it is getting late and they need to start heading back. I know he's his son and all, but the way Walter is acting I'd be calling Astrid to bring out some halderal more than reminding him of the time. Peter leans against the window and decides a trip down memory lane will soothe the increasingly savage soul of his poor pops. So he talks about coming down there as a child and staring at the ocean and waking before his alarm for pancakes. So obviously he is a big old liar. 'Cause who sets their alarm during vacation? LIAR! Peter reminds Walter that the smell of pancakes meant that Walter was there. He would always make the pancakes in the shape of ... Walter excitedly finishes his sentence: Whales! Whales were Peter's favorite. My pancakes look like whales, too, but not, you know, on purpose. Seriously can anyone make a round pancake? I think it's all a myth perpetuated by the pancake association. Also, some (I can only assume hopelessly breakfast-oriented lousy-spelling tap dancer of a) graffiti artist has scrawled "Time to do Pankake Dance" on the building next to mine and every time I see it, it makes me hungry, but not dance. Fail? Anyhoo, the mere mention of whale-shaped pancakes fills Walter with glee because he now remembers what he is looking for and where it is. In the belly of a pancake whale? Not that far-fetched I guess since William Bell was hiding things in his employee's arm.