It was not Barry's day.
Who was he kidding?
It was not Barry's life.
The dull ache radiating from his eye was slowly transforming into a full-blown headache and the bustle of the police station did little to impede its progress. A couple of passing officers gave him a small nod of welcome, their eyes drifting to the side of his face where he was fairly certain a massive bruise was developing. Iris's pitying look as she dropped him off on her way to work didn't help.
Barry stuffed his hands into his pockets, kept his head down, and shuffled off in the direction of Joe's desk. It didn't take long – not nearly as long as Barry wanted it to take. He came to a stop in front of the desk, shifting his focus to the globe that the detective always kept there.
A deep sigh greeted him – the one that was becoming a more standard response lately. The one that said "Why are we here again?" or maybe "Why must my foster son be so difficult?" Or maybe it was the all-encompassing, "How is this my life?" It seemed more like the latter today as Joe said, "Bear, this is the second time this week."
"It wasn't my fault this time," Barry sulked.
"The principal said you got in a fight."
"More like the fight came to me."
"Most fights don't come unsolicited."
"Are you saying I asked for it?" That got Barry's gaze up to meet Joe's and his jaw ticked out in mulish anger.
Joe looked wearier than he anticipated and he almost felt sorry for being obdurate, but the lingering anger from the fight still thrummed in his veins and he wasn't ready to play nice yet. "That's not what I said, Bear. What happened?"
Barry scraped the bottom of his shoe along the ground. No good would come of this conversation and he really didn't want to have another fight on his hands. Maybe a half-truth would work this time. "You know, the usual: I'm a nerd, I'm gangly, I make good grades - take your pick."
Joe took a steadying breath, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "So it had nothing to do with the fact that someone scrawled 'Son of a Murderer' across your locker?"
Barry's hands clenched into fists inside his jacket. Even hearing the words set his teeth on edge. And it didn't help that Joe's tone held that same unbelieving note in it. Best not to go down that path. "What was I supposed to do?"
"Maybe try not to retaliate by punching the responsible party?"
His knuckles still ached from that attempt. "It didn't do much good."
"That's not the point, Barry!" Uh-oh, already dropping off the nickname to the real name. If he made it all the way to Bartholomew, he was in big trouble. "You can't keep doing this – if you keep getting into fights, you'll be spending more time out of school than in it and then you'll have to repeat sophomore year. I know this is hard for you –"
"Do you?" Barry finally interrupted, unable to keep quiet any longer. "Do you really? Or do you just think it's hard that I'm bullied, but not because you disagree with what the bullies are saying about me?"
Joe leaned back in his chair, casting a quick eye around the area. Several police officers tried to look very hard like they weren't listening in on every word they spoke. "Let's not have this conversation here, Bear."
Back to the nickname again. Trying to placate.
"Let's not have this conversation ever, you mean." Perhaps it was childish of him, but he was tired. Tired of being bullied. Tired of visiting his father behind bars only twice a week. Tired of not being believed. And tired of being afraid that one day...the mysterious red and yellow lightning might come for him.
"Barry –" Joe's tone turned sharp.
"West!" Captain Singh suddenly barked from his office.
Barry almost smirked. Saved from another lecture by the boss.
Joe stood up and pointed a finger at him. "Don't think you're getting out of this. You and I are going to have a long talk when we get home. Just…go wait out in the lobby for me, ok? And get someone to get you some ice for your face."
"Fine." Barry shuffled away from the desk again. Nothing quite like avoiding a lecture for the moment in order to get the full-blown one later on. It was shaping up to be a fantastic end to a fantastic day. As he entered the lobby, he saw Detective Chyre coming towards him, carrying a bundled up towel.
"Hey, Barry, saw you come in with that sorry-looking face of yours. Came prepared." Joe's partner handed him the towel – which turned out to be wrapped around a bag of ice.
He gave a smile, even though the movement made him wince, and accepted the package. "Thanks, detective."
"Don't let 'em get you down. You're smarter than the whole lot of jocks down at that circus you call a school."
Barry shrugged self-deprecatingly. "If you say so."
"I do say so and you'd do well to pay attention to me. If you'll excuse me though, I have to get ready to process a high-profile thief being brought in. Stay out of trouble, okay? You're making Joe go grey before his time."
Barry only managed a half-hearted smirk, but the man didn't seem to notice as he hurried towards Captain Singh's office. With no other recourse but to wait for Joe to take him home and give him the longest lecture of his life, Barry wandered over to the chairs in the lobby to sit and wait, holding the pack of ice to his eye.
The police station seemed unusually busy today. People bustled in and out of the big glass doors, creating a constant breeze that washed over Barry as he sat a few yards from the entrance. A few petty criminals walked by in handcuffs, heading for the processing area, but none of them seemed particularly interesting.
The station was suddenly filled with the sound of an irate woman, who came charging in after a policeman. Her long blonde hair fluttered angrily about her shoulders as she dogged Officer Jenkin's heels. "You come back, officer! What are you going to do about my car?"
"M'am, I assure you, we have done all we can do." He stopped to address her, keeping his tone calm, but there was an underlying note of frustration in it, as if they had been having this conversation for a while now. "Unless you can find a description of the car that scraped yours, we can't do anything. I assure you, we'll talk to the shop owners in the area and see if we can get any witnesses. However, I'd advise you to talk to your insurance company about the matter."
They had stopped in the middle of the lobby, their argument causing a jam in the flow of foot traffic. The woman's pitch went higher, "A scrape? You think it's just a scrape?! It dented my car! And I don't want to talk to my insurance – they'll just jack up their prices! The idiot who hit my car should be the one to pay for it, which is why you need to do your job and find them!"
Other officers were coming around to help, which caused more of a cluster in the lobby. An officer leading a man in through the door moved to the side to avoid getting stepped on, causing the suspect he had a grip on to bump into Barry's legs.
Barry startled, dropping his towel of ice.
"Oh, sorry Barry, didn't see you there," the officer apologized. "Crowded today, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Barry agreed, his eyes snapping up to the officer and the man he was leading.
Cool blue eyes met his and a slow, self-assured smirk spread across the face of the suspect.
The teen shuddered. He didn't know what the guy was thinking, but he seemed way too confident for a guy about to be incarcerated. His gaze dropped down to the man's hands, which were….no longer handcuffed.
His eyes widened. "Hey -!"
The man jabbed his elbow into the officer's face, sending him sprawling into the crowd, but not before the criminal had seized his gun. Barry made an attempt to get away from them, but he tripped over the ice he had dropped earlier. The only thing that stopped him from falling was a strong grip around his upper arm that yanked him back.
Barry felt no relief, however, because the next moment, the cool barrel of the officer's gun came to rest against his temple.
"Sorry, kid," the man drawled in his ear. "You're my ticket out of here."
This really wasn't Barry's day.
