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Nico sighed as he moved through the bar, pouring drinks and whipping tables. Most bars had barmaids to do this- cute girls dressed in too short skirts and low cut shirts, forced to flirt with everything that moved just to gain a couple extra dollars. Not tonight.
Generally, he picked the waiters for their ability to do the job. He paid okay, but at the end of the day, it was the protection that sent him hundreds of applicants. He just needed somebody he could trust. Unfortunately, Nico felt bad for keeping any such person on the job. If they could stomach serving at his bar and were a good enough person to earn his trust, an incredibly high bar, then they were good people. He couldn't help but give them a hand, get them out of this forsaken city. After his last colleague, Livia, had moved to central with her little sister and brothers to pursue her education, he was left looking for another person to employ. In the meantime, he would take care of the place.
The establishment was okay, the quality of the room poor and the furniture uncomfortable, but the drinks were good. Nico made sure of that. This was no fancy brewery by far, but he wasn't going to sell anything that tasted cheap. Hell, no. He had a reputation to uphold.
As always, the bar was packed full of people, dressed in anything from comfortable clothes, to full business suits, to body armour. Because his bar was special. If you were skilled- hero, villain or in between, this was the place to go. Heroes and villains alike came to relax, far from the feuding streets and master plans. Someplace, safe, a word Nico had never known himself.
There was an army of mercenaries, from common thugs to assassins. They knew Nico could direct them to an employer. The petty gang members, who were too stupid to tie their own shoes were directed to crime bosses, and the more intelligent ones to those looking for sell-swords. Nico made it his business to know everyone's business, and being a bartender put him strength in the middle of the town's best gossip.
Some knew that if they came directly to him, he'd have missions for them. But those were reserved for the higher-up, the warriors with years of experience under their belt. And they had to show their loyalty.
Not to Nico, of course. But if they had a history of backing out of deals, of fraud, of abuse- they were off the table. Sure, he'd seat them. He’d direct them at someone for work. But he wouldn't stay and chat, wouldn't offer deals or give them the quieter missions Nico manly dealt with. You had a mission, you came to him. It got done. It was no secret he simply gave it to others, he owned a tavern after all. But the person he gave them to always matched the mission, there were never any complications or problems. Plus, Nico didn't charge much. If he liked you.
Red Hood came stalking in, as per usual, placing his helmet down on the counter and taking a seat. Despite this being a no-fight zone, people tended to give the young crime lord some space. He would not forget if you slighted him. He respected Nico, and would wait until they were outside to take you out, but you were dead. Or just severely scared. Either way. Nico pretended not to notice.
Trailing behind Red Hood was none other than Red Raptor, the pair of Robins moving slightly too close to each other. Nico smirked. He’d been waiting for them to start dating for over a year, watching the game of cat and mouse as if it were a tennis match. Both had refused to admit their feelings for so long, and when they did, they refused to tell the other, thinking they could never replicate their feelings. It was rather amusing, but it was now over, tied with a neat little bow.
Nico liked happy endings. Reminded him that there was hope, that there would be good for those who deserved it. Pray to Zeus, these two deserved to be happy after what they'd gone through.
---
Within a bustling crowd of heroes and villains, mercenaries and assassins, a young Italian man made his way through the crowd, distributing drinks and chatting merrily. He knew them all by name- both names, actually. Not that they knew.
It was a strange sight indeed, for the 5’6 young man to be weaving his way through the crowd, his face the youngest in the bar. He looked perhaps 20, though most presumed him 25. He was 16.
He wore black skinny jeans and a black shirt bearing his signature skulls. His black hair was tied back in a simple knot, his arms covered in an old looking leather jacket. If you looked closely, you’d know it was from ww2. Not that anyone did.
His eyes were highlighted in black, sharp mascara and eye liner mixed with his lip piercing and dead black earrings radiating gay. He never flirted though, and he made it clear he expected the same treatment. He was a friend, a confidant, a mentor, a boss. He could get you work, or a date, or just help you with life. He would not flirt while doing so.
Red Raptor looked surprised to be approached by the short young man who wandered through the crowd, one of the few to not be in armour or bear a mask, and the only to not have any weapon on his person. Whoever this kid was, he was going to get himself killed, no matter what Jason said. Tim had no idea why this was a ‘safe place’. Obviously, Jason said that there was to be no fighting here. But how the actual **** did a bar have ‘no fighting’ when you cram it full of thugs, villains and heroes? Why did no one worry about a villain planting a bomb, or being arrested by a hero, or some thug stealing from you? Hell, Tim could even spot a couple off duty officers chilling. And they were the few batman had listed as ‘minutely trustworthy’! What were the trustworthy cops dining here?
Jason, on noticing the man, smiled and waved fondly. Smiled! Who was this person?
“Hey, Hood.” greeted the other, turning to stand behind the counter. So he worked here, realized Tim. Makes sense how he was weaving through the crowd, and how Jason knows him. But what was that casual greeting? “Finally caught your bird, have ya?”
Tim nearly choked. Jason just smiled wider. “There's no fooling you, is there?”
The bartender rolled his eyes. “I’ve known the two of you liked each other for over 7 months now. It was only a matter of time before one of you fools came up with the courage to say something. Who was it, anyways?”
Jason shook his head. “I didn’t even know I liked him ‘till ‘bout 4 months ago. You always know shit before any of us do. It's a complicated story.”
“I’ll find out some other way then. I’m sure it will be amusing. Anyways, care to introduce me?”
Jason chuckled lightly. “Not that you already don’t know who he is. Meet Red Raptor. Red, meet the Hell Hound’s bartender.”
Tim blinked. “Doesn't he have a name?”
“No. The regular, I assume?” Enquired the strange man.
“Yep! We won’t be stayin’ too late today, though. Looks like you don't have to kick me out.”
“I figured. Stay safe. Eh, kids?”
“Don’t call me kid, I’m older than you. You’re like, 20?”
The bartender shrugged. “Most people actually guess 25, but it's good to know I ain’t ageing. Wouldn't want some white hairs at 15, now would I?”
It was moments like these that Jason realized just how much his friend knew. Like the exact age he woke up at with a white streak. If the man ever decided to do something with his life other than bartending, he’d make one hell of an ally. Jason valued his safety enough not to ask.
---
Tim and Jason had been preparing to leave when none other than Deathstroke. Jason didn’t like the guy- Who in their right mind would organize a coup against the league of assassins? Not to mention, he tried to kill both Damian and Tim on numerous occasions. That, paired with his kidnaping of Richard, made certain Jason would not forget about him anytime soon.
He stalked into the bar, taking a drink from the hands of a nearby minor villain. The villain growled slightly, but did little other than that. The no fighting rule held him in his chair- that and deathstroke's reputation.
He then proceeded to piss off several nearby patrons, before noticing Tim. He turned, revealing an arsenal of guns. It appeared he had found a target.
Not caring in the slightest, the mercenary kicked one of the tables into the wall, spilling drink everywhere and sending splitters of wood everywhere. This caught the bartender’s attention.
Jason had only heard stories about what happened when someone fought inside, and he had doubted their truth. The bartender was a short, underweight kid with little to no training. He had no weapons on him and was not in Bruce’s meta database. Jason doubted the kid could do much, but admired his bravour. Now, he was seriously reconsidering his beliefs.
“Excuse me,” said the child. His voice was impossibly cold. “What do you think you're doing?”
Deathstroke turned to him, eyeing him mockingly. “Just killing an annoying birdie or two.”
He leveled his gun in the bartenders direction and fired. He didn't even react as the bullet soard above his head.
“Sorry,” mocked the mercenary. “Guess you're just so short the bullet missed you.”
The bartender was not amused. “Leave. Now.”
Deathstroke laughed. Nobody joined him.
They were all staring at the demonic smirk that now filled the bartender’s face, his eyes slowly turning black. The lights in the room flickered, and a total silence filled the room.
The pair was standing, glaring at each other, an unarmed kid standing beside a walking tank, who had 1 foot and 200lbs of muscle on him. Jason blinked. They were gone.
Not gone. Nico was standing over Deathstroke's body, shething a sword Jason was certain had not been there before. Deathstroke lay on the ground, dead. Without a word, the young man picked up his body, armor, weapons and all, and calmly walked out the front door, dumping it into the adjacent dumpster and returning inside. There wasn't a drop of blood on him, or on the floor. And despite lifting over 500 lbs of armored man, he acted as if it was perfectly normal.
He rolled his eyes at the silent, unmoving shocked faces of the crowd.
“Well? Anyone else want to start a fight?” Nobody answered. “Well get back to it!”
They turned back to their drinks.