Chapter Text
It's been a pretty slow day at CCPD.
Well, slow for them.
There have been no outrageous meta attacks. No banks being robbed or kidnappings or other shenanigans they get pulled into by the Flash.
It’s almost a breath of fresh air when they have a slow day considering most of their days are on the scale from batshit to inexplicable.
So, of course, something batshit and inexplicable has to happen.
And, of course, it has to do with Barry Allen.
Barry runs into the precinct, but not in the way he usually does in his chronically late rush, but instead with terror in his eyes.
He’s hugging his middle, wearing an uncharacteristic black hoodie and worn sweatpants. His hair is greasy, hanging over his eyes, and his posture is hunched over as if he’s trying to sink away from all of the gazes staring at him.
His eyes scan the room, clearly looking for someone and not finding them. His breathing quickens, his arms hugging tighter around himself, trembling as his panic grows.
Captain Singh pushes past the staring officers and goes to Barry who flinches away from him.
Singh stills and holds out his hands placating. “Hey. You looking for Joe?”
Barry doesn’t respond. Just darting his eyes up at him for a moment before looking back down, nodding silently.
“Joe’s out on a call right now,” Singh says. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Barry’s eyes flicker to Singh again and he takes a shaky breath. “I’d… I’d like to report a crime.”
A chill shoots down Singh’s spine. The words echo in his mind, running through every worst case scenario that could make the typically sunshine-y man react like this. He tamps down the worry and forces an encouraging smile. “Yeah? How about we go sit in my office and we can talk about it, okay?”
Barry nods again before following Singh.
Singh notes that Barry doesn’t seem physically injured, but then again, he’s always been good at hiding that kind of thing.
Singh motions for Barry to sit at the seat across from his and he tentatively sits, watching Singh warily.
“So,” Singh says. “Tell me what happened.”
Barry starts to pick at his nails, eyes on his hands in his lap. “Uhm. I, uh.” He clears his throat, brows pinching uncomfortably. “I placed a restraining order on someone and they, uh, didn’t.”
Singh feels dread pool in his stomach. How did he not know about this? It should be in his file. “Alright,” he says. “Someone violated the restraining order. What did they do?”
“They, uhm,” he clears his throat again, wiping at his eyes with sleeve. “She found me when I was getting coffee. And she, uhm, she wasn’t happy with me. And she… she…”
“It’s okay,” Singh says. “You don’t have to—” He stops because, yes, he does need this information. “Did she hurt you?”
Barry’s head snaps up. “No! Well, I— she didn’t, like, hit me or anything. She just… touched me. You know. Gripped my arm. Put her hand on my back. But I— I should’ve pushed her away, right?”
“No,” Singh says firmly. “It’s not your fault and she shouldn’t have touched you.”
“Oh,” he whispers. “Oh, I… I didn’t expect you to say that.”
Singh should feel offended but the kid is clearly not in his right mind. “Can you tell me her name?”
“Vanessa. Uhm, Vanessa Redlynn. I don’t know if you look it up by her name or mine but it would be under Christopher Stewart then—”
“Wait,” Singh says, his fingers pausing over his keyboard. “Christopher Stewart?”
“Yeah?” he says, brows furrowing. “That’s… my name?” He pauses. “Oh. Oh. Sorry, did you— you thought I was Barry, didn’t you?”
And suddenly he’s mentally bluescreening. “You’re not?”
“I’m his brother,” he says. “We’re triplets.”
“Triplets,” Singh repeats. “So there’s another one of you?”
“I mean, we’re not clones or anything—”
Singh holds up a hand and Chris immediately cuts himself off. Realizing his mistake, Singh smiles kindly. “Sorry. If I’d known, I would’ve introduced myself.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Captain Singh.”
Chris shakes it reluctantly. “Chris. But you already knew that. Actually you didn’t. Because I said Christopher. Which is also my name. They’re both my name. But I prefer Chris. But if you need to call me Christopher for, like, police reasons—”
“Chris is fine,” Singh cuts him off. “You did the right thing, coming here. What we’ll do is bring a charge against her so that we can arrest and process her.”
“Arrest?” Chris repeats. “You can arrest her for that?”
“Yes,” Singh says. “Protective order violations are guilty of a Class 1 misdemeanor which carries up to 12 months in jail. If she continues to violate when she’s released or there is any sort of physical escalation, she will be charged with a felony.”
Chris lets out a breath of surprise. “Oh.”
“We want to keep you safe, Chris,” Singh says. “And we will do everything we can to make sure you are.”
“Thank you,” Chris whispers.
“Do you want me to go get your brother?”
Chris nods, visibly relaxing, and Singh knows that’s the right choice.
When he enters Barry’s lab, the man is balancing two trays of test tubes and walking to his desk. He looks up at Singh and nearly drops it before quickly catching it. “Captain! What can I do for you?”
“Your brother, Chris, is here.”
Barry obviously picks up on Singh’s grave tone and his face falls. “Is he alright?”
“He needs you.”
In almost superhuman speed (not almost; definitely) Barry sets down the test tubes and follows Singh downstairs.
When Barry meets his brother’s teary gaze, Chris barrels into his arms, clinging to him in a shaky embrace.
Singh closes the door behind them, giving the privacy they so obviously need.
Of course their slow day becomes a not so slow day.
It seems like every criminal in Central City has decided to go out on a crime spree. Every officer who had been lounging at the desks are now worn thin, waiting with bated breath on the edges of their city, ready to jump up into action for another call.
So, when Barry Allen in a tailored dior suit and gelled back hair comes into the precinct, Singh honestly thinks he may be having an exhaustion hallucination.
He zeroes in on Singh and struts his way over to him.
“Sebastian Smythe from Smythe & Associates,” he holds out a manicured hand with a sharp grin. “I’m here on behalf of my clients, Leonard Snart and Mick Rory.”
Singh’s brows shoot up.
Yeah. He doesn’t want to know and frankly? Does not get paid enough to care.