Author's Note: Hey everyone! So, this is the beginning to my first multi-chapter Flash fanfic! I'm not exactly sure how many chapters it's going to be yet, but I'm excited! I know the first chapter is a little short, but the next ones will be longer! This is just kind of the introduction :) Anyways, hope you all enjoy! Review and give some feedback! ALSO, anyone who watched the season premier last night, feel free to PM me to talk about it! Because, like, what the actual hell? The feels. I cry

Infected

Joe was going to kill his son. The kid had super speed, damn it, yet there the cop was at 7:20 in the morning running up the stairs to hurry him along. It most definitely should have been the other way around. However, this was Barry he was dealing with; he had quite the track record for being late, even with his powers, apparently. He had waited as long as he could, but seeing as Barry still hadn't materialized downstairs, Joe made his way up and down the hallway to the young CSI's room.

"Barry!" Joe said exasperatedly as he reached the 26-year-old's closed bedroom door, knocking loudly. "What's the hold-up? You know we have to be in at 7:30! Singh will have your head if you're late again!" He waited a moment, listening. When there was no response, he grumbled a few choice words under his breath and shoved the door open, letting out a huff as he saw that Barry was still sound asleep in bed. This was not how he had wanted the morning to go, and he really didn't want to know what Singh would do if Barry once again didn't show up to work on time.

"Bar!" Joe said sternly, making his way across the room in seconds and shaking him. "Come on, time to get up." With a tired groan, Barry rolled over, clearly still half asleep as he tried to dodge Joe's hands.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, and Joe let out a mix of an annoyed and frustrated noise. This wasn't the first time Barry's terrible sense of time had been an issue, especially when it came to getting himself to work; but it really shouldn't have been this hard to get him out of bed, and they did not have the time to waste. At this rate, Barry would have to use his speed to get Joe to the precinct as well, and the detective much preferred to use his car. If he was being honest, whenever Barry super-sped him anywhere, it always made him a little queasy. Two years, and he still wasn't quite used to the sensation.

"Barry, it's 7:25. Up!" Joe tried again, persistent. As Barry heard those words, he shot suddenly up like a rocket, earning himself a spot on the floor as he scrambled to untangle himself from his blanket and bedsheets and fell from the bed with another groan. Joe raised an eyebrow, his frustration seeming to slip away at least a little as he watched. Barry had always been a little clumsy, but this was a little excessive. "You okay, Bar?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Barry muttered as he stood, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Sorry, Joe, I guess I'm just tired," he apologized, blinking hard. "I'll be ready in a second and flash you there. Don't want you to be late." Joe opened his mouth, ready to say something, though not quite sure what. To protest being flashed to work? To ask about why Barry was tired enough to sleep through his alarm? He knew the boy had been dealing with a lot of metas lately, but even so, he was usually a light sleeper. Something about the whole situation seemed to be nagging at him, but it didn't matter; before Joe could utter a word, Barry had already grabbed his clothes and was gone a fraction of a second later, the only remnant of his presence the rush of air that hit Joe as the speedster hurried to get ready in the five minutes they had left.

Despite their press for time, both Barry and Joe managed to make it to work by 7:30. And miraculously, Joe managed not to empty the contents of his stomach once they got there. Under normal circumstances, Barry might have laughed at the somewhat queasy look on Joe's face. But as things were presently, he didn't particularly feel up to it. Oddly enough, the run had left him feeling somewhat queasy as well. It was because he hadn't been able to have a proper breakfast, he told himself as he climbed the stairs up to his lab. He would have to make it a point to grab one or two of Cisco's special protein bars during his lunch break with Joe. Pushing the already-fading feeling to the back of his mind, Barry set to work, determined to get through the thick stack of papers on the Ferguson case sitting on his desk.

The young forensic scientist sat down and, after a brief check to make sure no one was lurking around the hall outside, grabbed the stack, using his speed to read through it as quickly as possible. The task that should have taken perhaps a good fifteen minutes was finished in under a one, and Barry grinned to himself; even after having them for so long, his powers still excited him. His happy feeling wore off, however, when he stood to cross the lab to start on a blood splatter analysis and felt the queasiness slowly but surely returning, and the wave of dizziness that hit directly after. His smile turned into a frown as he tried willing both symptoms to go away, with minimal results. What the hell was going on? He never got nauseated using his powers, and he hadn't gotten dizzy spells since the first week of obtaining his speed.

If he didn't know any better, he might have said he was getting sick. Barry turned the idea around in his head for a moment before snorting. He didn't get sick. That was also something that hadn't happened since he had obtained his speed. With his fast metabolism, it was basically impossible. With a sigh, he shook his head, trying to clear it. At the moment, he couldn't worry about it. He promised himself he would keep an eye on it, but right now he needed to work. If he didn't have this case done soon, he knew the captain would kick his ass. He had managed to stay out of trouble with his boss for the past few days, and he wasn't eager to blow his good streak.

Unfortunately, his determination to push through his progressing symptoms didn't seem to be enough to ignore the problem. By the time lunch break rolled around, Barry was finding it quite hard to focus on his work, and had barely made any progress with the damn case. When Joe came up to collect his son, it was to find him leaning on his desk with his eyes closed, massaging his temples with an annoyed look on his face. He hadn't appeared to hear the detective walk in.

"Barry?' Joe asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at him. Barry's eyes snapped open and focused on his foster dad with a bit of a startled expression. "You alright there, son?"

Barry's hands dropped and he nodded, blinking heavily and standing from his chair. "Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, shaking his head as he had done earlier. Joe didn't look convinced, and Barry could tell by the look on his face. He offered him a sliver of a smile.

"Really, Joe. It's just a headache. I'm fine," he insisted. There was no need to tell him about the details of earlier; he didn't want to worry him. "Where are we going for lunch?" He headed for the open door of his lab.

"Barry -" Joe started, reaching out and grabbing his son by the arm. He frowned at how warm the limb felt and pulled him backwards, resting his palm on the 26-year-old's forehead despite the protests he was giving. "Bar, you have a fever," Joe said as he pulled his hand away, giving him a serious look as he crossed his arms. "I knew something was off. You're sick."

Despite the way he was feeling, Barry couldn't help but scoff at Joe's words. "First off, you definitely can't tell if I have a fever just by feeling my head," he protested. "My temperature is always above average."

Joe was not looking convinced.

"And second of all," he continued, "That's ridiculous. I don't get sick, Joe."

Arms still crossed, the cop gave him a look that clearly said 'are you for real?' He was about to open his mouth to give a retort, but at that moment fate seemed to step in to help Joe's case, and there were two distinct sounds as he watched the events that took place in only seconds: Barry sneezing, and the resounding thud of him super-speeding himself into the wall directly after. The speedster fell backwards from the unexpected impact, landing on his back on the floor for the second time that day. Joe crossed the room in an instant and knelt down next to his son with concern, startled at the sudden development.

"Joe, I think I might be sick," Barry mumbled as he stared dazedly up at the ceiling; Joe grimaced.

"Come on, Bar," he said, helping him carefully back to his feet. "We're going to STAR Labs."