Tips From Barry

Tip #1: When you wake up feeling like crap, call in sick and stay home.

Barry honestly wanted to die.

And you know, since he decided to get out of bed and go to work instead of resting like he knew he should, there was a good chance of that happening.

After all, people can die from 104 degree fevers.

Had Barry decided to stay home, rest, and just in general take care of himself, his fever would have gone down on its own and he would've been fine in the next two days.

But no.

He decided to get up, skip breakfast, forget a coat on the cold day, walk to work, and just be an idiot.

Barry slunk up to his lab, unnoticed among the commotion in the bullpen. He didn't so much as sit down at his desk, but rather he collapsed to the ground and the chair caught him.

And then he proceeded to fall asleep (read: fall unconscious) in a pile of papers.

Barry was woken up abruptly by someone frantically calling his name and shaking his shoulder.

"Stop," Barry groaned.

"My god Barry," a familiar voice said, "You are such an idiot."

Barry blearily looked up to see Otto with a firm frown set upon his face. His cool hand was resting on Barry's neck and Barry had very little time to relish the coldness before he turned and vomited all over the floor.

"Oh Barry," Otto whispered, patting his back. When he finished, Otto asked, "Do you think you can stand?"

Barry nodded drowsily and leaned on Otto as he guided him to the stairs.

Barry started to slip back into unconsciousness.

"Barry Allen, you need to stay awake."

Barry did not listen.

*****

"I hope you know if you do this again I'm going to make you regret it."

Barry smiled sheepishly, "okay."

"I'm serious Barry. I even have Margot's promise of help."

A glimmer of terror crossed his face, "I'll never do it again."

Tip #2: When firing a gun, make sure the safety is on.

Guns are no good when the safety is off. That's how Barry ended up with a bullet in his leg.

So, for future reference, Barry reminded himself to always keep the safety on.

"I don't need to learn to fire a gun." Barry said.

"Yes. You do." Margot argued.

"Okay. I don't want to learn to fire a gun." Barry rephrased.

"Yes. You do." Margot pressed with a no argument tone that made Barry shiver just a little.

Barry swallowed, "Yes. Yes, I do want to learn to fire a gun. Fire away teach."

Margot sent a steady glare his way but proceeded to show him how to work the deadly little contraption. And Barry lost in his irritated thoughts only half listened.

However, Barry did take particular note of the safety. How to turn it off and on... that was after the hospital trip though.

Tip #3: When mixing chemicals, do so with care, and do not mix them with coffee.

Ever put deadly chemicals in your coffee? It doesn't taste good.

Barry found that out the hard way.

Barry's job was hard.

It often resulted in mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion.

So, Barry was almost always seen with a cup of coffee to keep him on his feet since the child refused to take care of himself.

Barry was in his lab. It was 3:00 in the morning, and he'd been there since about 4:00 the previous morning. The case he was working on was a heavy one and Barry was surrounded by about a dozen coffee cups, both mugs and to-go cups. He had a bunch of sugar packets scattered about and a few things of cream.

At this point though, the only thing the coffee was doing was keeping him from falling asleep. It was in no way waking him up.

Barry stumbled into his lab with his most recent cup of caffeine, bleary eyed and mumbling meaninglessly.

He reached for some sugar and cream to pour into his cup.

He took a long swig of his coffee, hardly tasting it before swallowing. And then gagging. Barry cleared his throat with a mighty cough and looked down at his drink, wary and confused.

He took a sip of it, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment before promptly spitting it out.

"Tha's dizguzting." He slurred.

He turned to look around for what he might've put in his drink, but he was overcome with a wave of nausea and collapsed onto his knees, gasping. He clasped a hand around his stomach that was now burning in agonizing pain.

A small cry of pain escaped him as darkness floated in and out of his vision.

Then, he lost consciousness.

*****

"What do you mean he's still here?!" Singh yelled furiously.

The poor messenger swallowed and pointed towards Barry's lab.

"I'm going to wring that boy's neck," he mumbled as he thundered upstairs. He was yelling before he even was inside the lab. "Allen I swear to- Allen!"

Barry was laying on the floor, shaking. He was having a seizure.

Blood drained from the captain's face as he rushed towards the fallen boy.

"Allen! Karson call an ambulance! God damnit Allen, don't you dare die or I'll kill you!"

*****

A familiar beeping resounded throughout Barry's head.

"Wha' happened?" He mumbled, unwilling to open his eyes and face what he was very sure to be a hospital room.

"You tried to kill yourself."

That confused Barry, "No I din'."

"I suppose you didn't intend to, but when you lace your thousandth cup of coffee with chemicals what did you expect to happen?"

Now, Barry opened his eyes, to meet the angry but worried frown of his boss.

"Just so you know," Singh said, folding his arms, "you are banned from coffee in the lab."

Barry frowned, "Damn."

Tip #4: Don't dye Margot's hair blue. Just don't.

Barry wasn't even the one who did it.

He pitied the idiot who did.

Maybe he'd visit the idiot's grave after this all came to pass.

For now?

For now, he was going to take cover.

An animalistic roar cut through the bullpen, freezing everyone in their places.

Everyone turned slowly, fearfully.

Margot stalked into the room, fury radiating from her as she scanned each face, daring anyone to even smile.

For in walked Margot, with hair gleaming bright, neon blue in the bullpen lights.

"Who's the wise guy," she said slowly, "that thought it would be funny to put blue hair dye in my shampoo?"

Silence rang throughout the room. Right up to the moment a small snort of laughter was hastily tried to get covered with a cough.

Margot was on that poor soul quicker than the flash. (Even though this is pre lightning. Shhh I know.)

That poor soul just happened to be her very own, very idiotic cousin.

"Have something to say? Otto?" She growled.

If Otto walked into work the next day with striped neon pink and green hair and a purple tutu, no one said anything.

But they did laugh.

A lot.

Tip #5: Elevators are overrated. Take the stairs.

Barry had a strong distrust of elevators, but they did their job... usually.

Barry ducked inside the precinct, dripping wet and gasping. Thunder boomed outside, making Barry jump in surprise and duck into the elevator.

Ever since he was a small boy, Barry had hated thunderstorms. After his mom died, he hated them more since she wasn't there to comfort him, and he felt like he had to be strong. Even now, as an adult, the thunder still made him jump and made his chest feel tight.

Barry pressed the elevator button rapidly, just wanting to get up to the bullpen as fast as he could. The doors shut and the elevator started to rise.

He was nearly to the bullpen when thunder boomed again.

Then, the elevator jolted to a stop.

The lights flickered.

Barry held a bated breath.

Another boom.

The lights shut off and he was engulfed in darkness.

An involuntary whimper escaped Barry as he sank to his knees. He spread his arms out, searching for a wall he could rest against.

Thunder continued to rage outside, and the lift trembled. Barry trembled with it.

Any moment now, Barry thought, the elevator will start back up. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It will be fineee.

The elevator did not start up again.

What the elevator did do was shudder violently and drop about a meter.

Barry's head hit the rail above him, and he let out a cry of alarm, his ears ringing and his head spinning.

"No nonono," Barry mumbled, clutching the walls. This was so not happening.

He tried to reach for the help button on the elevator, but between the swaying elevator and the black spots dancing in his vision, he was having a hard time with it. He pressed something, he wasn't sure if it was the correct button or not, but he didn't really care because the elevator decided to drop another few meters.

Barry's head hit the railing again, and the black spots turned to blobs and then encased his whole vison as he sank into terrified unconsciousness.

He really only ever took the stairs after that day.

Tip #6: Don't stand near the edges of balconies after the floor has just been mopped.

"Hey Clark!" Barry greeted the janitor with a smile.

"Hi Barry," Clark smiled, mop in hand.

Barry walked over to him excitedly, "You'll never guess-"

"Barry I just mopped there; the floor is wet. Be careful."

"-Yeah, anyway-"

Barry stepped in a wet patch and, like a cartoon, was stent sprawling over the rail.

"Barry!" Clark yelled, running and grabbing Barry's arm as he fell.

We love Clark, but his upper arm strength isn't much better than Barry's, so despites his efforts, Barry slipped through his fingers and plummeted towards the bullpen floor.

And he fell right into Margot's muscular arms.

"Margot!" Barry cried with delight, "You saved me!"

She raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow at him, "Barry Allen you are an idiot." She said. And then dropped him onto the floor with a thud.

Tip #7: If you're a wanted criminal, don't just waltz into the precinct with a dumb-ass balloon full of weed.

As far as dumb criminals go, this one has to be the dumbest.

Clearly, the man was already higher than a kite before he dragged his long-haired lanky self into the building. But come into the building he did.

"Who's reaaaady for a partaaaay!" the grizzled, high man slurred excitedly, "I brought a weed balooooon! Don' worrry I like to share it!"

Action in the bullpen halted for a moment, and a few officers had to turn their faces to hide smirks. This man seemed very proud of himself and his generous offer that was going out to the room full of police officers.

Barry happened to be right next to the man, so he asked with genuine curiosity, "Sir, do you know where you are?"

"I'm here to spreeead the looove." he replied.

Ah. So, he was a hippie too. That explained it.

"Ok," Barry said, "But do you realize you've brought your illegal love into a room full of cops?"

"That's cool man," he said, a dopey grin plastered on his face.

Barry couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him. "Sure man," he said, "have fun in a holding cell."

Tip #8: Stay away from the back right corner of the training room. There might be an angry ghost there.

Barry didn't go down to the training room often. And when he was down there, it was usually someone else's idea. They seemed to think he needed 'survival skills' or something drilled into him.

But Barry didn't really go down there voluntarily.

This time around, it was Margot who dragged him down there. She decided he needed more practice in the self-defense. However, halfway through was Margot considered a 'sufficient' amount of training time (which Barry disagreed with, he thought it was inherently too long), she was summoned back up to the bullpen, leaving Barry to gather up his things and skedaddle before she had a chance to get back.

As Barry was rounding up his things and cringing at how sweaty and sticky he was, he heard a clang towards the back of the room.

"Hello?" Barry called out. He hadn't thought anyone else was down here.

He crept a bit closer to where the noise had come from. And then there was an eerie whistling sound.

"Is someone there?" Barry pressed, "If you're trying to scare me Otto it's not gonna work."

But Otto didn't emerge from the dark corner. No one came out to say 'ha ha I spooked you' to Barry. But there was a gust of freezing wind that seemed to wrap around Barry.

More groans and whistles came from the dark corner and Barry found himself not wanting to move towards it anymore.

"I'm sure it's just a draft," Barry muttered to himself, "Nothing to worry about."

Just as Barry was about to turn around to walk out, thoroughly creeped out, the icy draft sent a chunk of cement flying at his head.

"Holy shit!" Barry yelped, dropping to the ground. The cement chunk plopped onto the matt behind him, and Barry scrambled backwards on his butt to get away from the corner.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Ghost. I won't bother you again!" And he high tailed it out of the room.

Tip #9: If you have been injured, tell someone or face the wrath of Bree and her incredibly good aim.

Barry was having a pretty good day.

He was killing it at his job. Bree was bringing brownies. And he was even going to make it to work on time today.

But then his day hit a bump in the road.

Well... Barry sort of was the bump in the road...

For someone else.

Well... his foot was.

"Son of a motherless goat!" Barry yelled, crouching down in pain to grab his throbbing, smooshed foot. "Ahhh damn it that hurtssss." he hissed. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. It was probably broken. And things had been going so well.

He glanced at his phone, and he perked up a little, he could still make it on time! He picked himself up off the curb and started hobbling the last block to the precinct. No one needed to know he got hurt, he'd just wrap his foot up with a first aid kit and tough out the limp.

Good plan.

Barry bit his lip and limped up the stairs, mentally readying himself to fake through the pain and get a brownie.

He pushed the door to the bullpen open with a small wince and plastered a smile onto his face. He pushed through the pain with a persistent 'brownies brownies brownies' as his mantra. He walked up to Bree and gave her a bright, mostly genuine, smile.

"Hey Bree!"

"Barry!" she said with excitement, "here for some brownies I presume?"

"You know it," Barry said, making a little heart with his hands.

As she started to get out the goodies, an officer brushed passed Barry, causing him to lose his balance just enough that he had to use his crushed foot unintentionally.

Barry hissed sharply through his teeth and Bree's head shot up with concern.

"You ok there Barry?" she asked.

Barry nodded, "Yeah! Just a hunger pain. I, uh, skipped breakfast this morning."

It was a weak lie, and he knew it.

Bree looked at him skeptically, "Okay..."

She handed him a brownie slowly, never taking her gaze off of him and his fake smile.

Barry eyed the chocolatey square of heaven with lust, "You're amazing Bree. I love you so much."

"I love you too Barry. You sure you're good?"

Barry nodded, "Even better now that I've got one of your brownies!"

And then he started walking off, praying to any god that would listen that Bree wouldn't notice the limp he was trying so desperately to hide.

They weren't listening.

"Bartholemew Henry Allen you filthy liar!"

And then Barry felt a rubber eraser whack the back of his head with surprising force.

"Get your butt back over here this instant or I swear I'll revoke your brownie privileges for a month!"

Needless to say, Barry hobbled his butt back over to the angry lady.

Tip #10: If you see a white mouse with alarmingly purple eyes, go the other direction. DO NOT ENGAGE.

*************

A/N- Behold! Words on a page! Created by me. Hooray!

Please be patient with me, I am working on a new Psych one-shot book right now, so this book isn't my only focus. I'll try and post something about once a week, but no guarantees because college and work and gross adulting things might get in the way.

Love y'all! :)