Gotham's Dead End Bar

On a rooftop in a dark, damned city, a man of pure conviction brooded. The night was quiet. Not yet quiet enough but certainly quieter than it had been before.

Crime still lived on somewhere in the city. The man couldn't be everywhere at once. He could never fully stop it. Even with all he'd done, he was fighting a never-ending war full of pyrrhic victories.

The man of conviction forged on regardless. Night after night, day after day, he did everything in his power to safeguard his city and its people. There was always more to be done. And never enough time to do it all.

The man's conviction seemed infinite but he himself had limits. His focus was spread thin. These days, not just Gotham needed him. With the addition of the League and the threats they faced, the man had been forced to delegate.

His family, by blood and adoption, picked up the slack. Often by force so the man would get even a single full night's sleep. He'd trained them to the best of his ability. Sometimes even that wasn't enough. Every war had casualties. Especially Batman's war against crime and evil.

Barbara Gorden's injury had been a wound in Batman's heart and mind. It was a physical manifestation of his limits. The fact that it hadn't happened during the line of duty made the Joker's 'joke' even more bitter.

Yet like Batman, Barbara's conviction wouldn't be broken so easily. She continued to fight, helping Batman and his family in any way she could. Only now, that help took the form of Oracle. Bound to a wheelchair, Barbara Gorden was the Bat Family's eye in the sky, contributing to Batman's war in the only way she could.

Until now…

Something had changed in Gotham. A shift in the way the city's underground operated as of recently. It should have been too soon for the shift's effects to ripple outward and engulf the whole city. The difference was small but for someone like Batman, it was starkly visible.

It should have been insignificant — merely a single new bar opening its doors. It wasn't. The most recent crime statistics didn't match Batman's projections. His normally perfect, almost prophetic projections showed business as usual with a note to account for Poison Ivy's time of the month — an affair that was even worse than for most women.

They were wrong. Crime was down, both from villains and from street-level thugs and henchmen. And Batman knew the reason. The Dead End, its strange owner/waitress, and their promise of neutral ground.

They offered a place for people to get off the street during the busiest hours of the night. A place where criminals could unwind and bond with those who were like them. Worst of all, he catered almost exclusively to villains and their henchmen.

Well, that wasn't necessarily true, Batman considered. Selina had reported that the man was truly neutral in alignment. She said he would cater to heroes and vigilantes just as readily as he would cater to villains. Just, as far as Batman knew, no hero had taken him up on that offer.

The villains certainly had. Including Selina as Catwoman. She was the first as a matter of fact. If the man wanted business for his bar, he couldn't have chosen a better first cape for a customer.

The owner's policy of neutrality was only the first unique aspect of the Dead End. There was that waitress of his as well. She didn't exist. Batman had checked. Thoroughly. It was as if she walked out of thin air or raised herself from the grave to do impossible things in a simple bar of all places.

Damian reported that the bar's two employees should have been much busier than they actually were. They served a full bar with the lax demeanor of an establishment dead of business. Watching the footage from Damian's mask, Batman couldn't help but agree with that assessment, as well as notice that the bar itself was bigger and more peaceful than it should have been with that many customers. Supernaturally so.

Then there was the owner himself. An enigma of incredible trophies and impossible stories who dealt with villains, heroes, and criminals alike as if they were nothing more than simple patrons of his bar. Sean Caine had not lived the life his stories said he had. Either he was the best liar Batman and Gotham had ever seen or… something else was going on.

Considering what Sean Caine had done for Barbara Gorden, Batman was inclined to believe the latter theory. Without moving from Damian's sight, Sean Caine healed Barbara so wholly that it was as if her tragic injury had never happened. She was more fit and healthy than she ever was at her peak. To the point that she was able to go toe to toe with Batman when they'd tested her renewed capabilities.

While he was more thankful than anyone for Barbara's recovery save Barbara herself, Batman was vexed by Sean Caine. He didn't have enough information about the man and he hated not having enough information. That the man had set up shop in his city was further fuel to the frustration fire.

So on a dark rooftop overlooking a dark city, Batman did what he did best: prepare for impossible scenarios, brooding all the while. Behind him, a silently stalking kitty alighted without a whisper. Batman noticed immediately, of course, but didn't acknowledge her over the data on this Sean Caine.

"Oh, Brucie~" Catwoman — Selina Kyle — singsonged.

"Selina," Bruce Wayne as Batman grunted and said nothing more.

"My brooding senses were tingling~ Are you worrying yourself over nothing again~?"

"Hngh… Sean Caine."

Selina draped herself over Batman's shoulders, molding her assets to his body, "Really, Bruce? Mr. Barkeep is just that. A barkeep."

"He's an unknown impossibility who's unaccounted for and unregulated," Bruce rumbled.

"And? Do you want to be the one to tell the potentially impossible being that he can't be a bartender? This is Gotham, Bruce. We have a clown that is straight out of the nightmares of grown men and could give Pennywise a run for its money. If Mr. Barkeep wants to be a barkeep, I say we let him."

"Hn…"

"He hasn't hurt anyone yet, has he?"

"No. He's been suspiciously helpful. Even righting a wrong that I couldn't touch."

"The neutrality that the Dead End offers is mighty useful in Gotham. Have you tried actually going to talk to him in person?"

"It's on the list. I just need more information first."

"Brucie, Brucie~" Selina tutted. "You always need more information. Perhaps you can get it by interviewing Mr. Barkeep yourself. He's very open about himself."

"I'm aware," Bruce didn't deadpan but he might as well have. "The story of his ex-wife is still giving me nightmares. I've already entered it into the Leagues databases."

Selina tapped her lip in consideration, "I didn't hear that one."

"Good. For your sanity, don't ask him to repeat it."

"Haha~! How bad could it be? It's not as if his wife was a world-ending apocalyptic threat, right?" She laughed.

Bruce was pointedly silent.

"R-Right, Bruce…?"

"She was quite beautiful, at least."

"That doesn't make me feel better, Bruce!"

"I told you you'd be better off not knowing."

IIIII

Barbara Gorden still wasn't used to walking again. But, oh how she loved the feeling. The feeling of using her muscles again, of standing on her own two feet. You don't realize how important simply wiggling your toes is until you can't feel them at all.

She'd been freed from her chair-like prison. It'd been a hell of a thing to explain to her father. And then explain again to Bruce and the rest of the Bat Family. But they'd had no choice but to accept the reality in front of them.

To be fair to them, Barbara barely believed it herself. She was still pinching herself as if she was trying to wake up. Only she was pinching herself on her thigh these days and feeling it. And it wasn't a nightmare she was trying to wake from anymore.

All because of an impossible bartender she'd never met in person. Someone who was much more than he appeared at first glance. She'd been minding her business, acting as Oracle for Damian as he scoped out this new 'villain bar' that had sprung up…

Only to end up springing from her wheelchair in shock as this Sean Caine did something she could feel from miles away. He'd healed her. Somehow.

And Barbara would forever deny the practically depraved moan of utter satisfaction that left her lips when her body rejected its old injury and everything popped into place like a perfectly cracked back. Thankfully, Damian was too polite to say anything about it. She was still embarrassed about moaning in his ear like that though.

She had to leave Damian on his own for the rest of that night's patrol. It was understandable. Something impossible had just happened and as excited as she was, Barbara had still been trained by Batman. That entitled her to a (un)healthy amount of paranoia.

She spent the rest of the night testing herself to the best of her ability. By the end, everything (EVERYTHING) came back green. As far as Barbara could tell, her crippling injury never happened. She never spent years relegated to a wheelchair. She'd never even skinned her knee as a child!

It was a perplexing phenomenon. She was so healthy it bordered on absurd. She knew of chronic regenerators who weren't as healthy as she was now. The extent of her healing ended up being added to her version of Damian's report. Then she finally went to bed… but not before enjoying what being able to feel her lower half meant for a sexless woman in her sexual prime.

Not even a day after being miraculously healed, Barbara demanded to go back to her duty as Batgirl. Demanded. She felt good. She felt better than good. Healthier than she'd ever been. And she'd proven it, going through all the old drills as if she'd never left them and even laying out (the now much larger than she was used to) Dick Grayson like he was a civilian.

Batgirl was back, baby! Bruce had no choice but to let her. She still had the costume and all of her gadgets. He couldn't stop her even if he had said no. So he didn't even try. It felt so good to get back to doing what she loved directly. No more crime-fighting from behind a desk. Barbara Gorden was right back in the thick of it!

A week of nightly patrols dampened that enthusiasm but didn't diminish her spirit. She hadn't forgotten the realities of crime-fighting — the soreness in the morning, the long hours, and the deeds she was forced to witness and stop — but she'd certainly been partially removed from them in her role as Oracle. Now, she was thrown right back at the lowest Gotham had to offer.

Tonight, in particular, Barbara found herself stopping at a strange new place. A place full of Gotham's lowest and yet… not. For here, they weren't what they always were. They weren't simple thugs or henchmen or more complex villains. They were just customers at a bar, enjoying the neutrality, atmosphere, and cheap drinks.

The Dead End was an unassuming place, especially for somewhere that was quickly becoming so influential for Gotham's underground and cape scene. A backlit sign flickered with the bar's name as Barbara watched.

She found herself drawn here. Not by anything supernatural or suspicious. Just by the need to meet the man who'd given Barbara her life back. He had told her to come by when she had the chance… What's wrong with having a friendly drink in neutral territory?

Barbara nodded to herself. Yes, she was really doing this. And there was nothing wrong with that. Sure, she hadn't specifically told Bruce what she was doing but he certainly still knew.

He was Batman. Barbara didn't want to say he knew everything but… he kinda knew everything. When it came to Gotham, at least. That much came with his self-imposed duty. Hell, he probably prepared a plan for if she visited the Dead End alone and unannounced. Barbara would have to be on the lookout for one of the Bat Family crashing the party while she tried to give Sean Caine her gratitude.

Well, nothing to it. She was determined to talk to the man who healed her. Bruce and the others wouldn't stop that. They meant well but Barbara didn't particularly need that brand of found familial worry at the moment.

As she entered the Dead End, Barbara was expecting… more. Mostly in regard to the reaction her presence would garner. The reality was surprisingly and welcomely unremarkable.

A few people looked up upon her entrance. Some of them tensed. Others watched warily. But when she didn't immediately start causing trouble, they relaxed and went back to their conversations or drinks.

The man she came to see hadn't even noticed her yet. He was busy at the bar of the establishment, serving drinks lackadaisically while he spoke to an enraptured crowd of villainous patrons. It seemed something of a segregation had appeared within the Dead End. The henchmen and other street-level mooks took up the majority of the bar's tables while the true villains were gathered at the bar itself.

She couldn't hear what Sean Caine was saying over the quiet din of the bar but he seemed to be telling a story. Part of Barbara tensed at that. She remembered the story Damian had listened in on. The one about Sean Caine's ex-wife, the Angel of Death Simmy.

How could she forget? It wasn't every day you heard someone talk openly and honestly about Eldritch Entities and the apocalypse they brought with them.

He hadn't even gone into much detail. But even the implications of what he had said lingered on Barbara's mind. A world driven by powers and heroes and villains. Only there, the powers weren't what they seemed.

Instead of Metahumans or friendly Aliens, those powers were an Eldritch Trojan Horse and they were leading to the death of the entire world across uncountable dimensions. If that wasn't enough, there was the Endbringers Sean spoke of and the fact that he'd married one.

It was enough to give anyone chills. Thankfully, Barbara had been too preoccupied with her miraculous healing at Sean's hands to worry herself to death with his story. She knew Bruce and Damian weren't so lucky.

Neither were the type to share their feelings overmuch but the fact that Barbara had caught Damian in his panic-attack room — just his closet at Wayne Manor — said enough. And Bruce? Well, Barbara was pretty sure he hadn't slept properly all week.

'Maybe I should see if I can get some kind of reassurance from Mr. Caine while I'm here…' Barbara absently thought. 'He certainly wasn't worried about the things he spoke of. Hopefully, he can share some of that irreverence with Bruce."

It was a strange thing for Barbara to be ignored when she was in costume. But it seemed that here at the Dead End, the customers were quickly getting used to capes. She went unmolested on her journey to the center of the bar, a walk that was longer than it should have been thanks to the strange bigger-on-the-inside space here.

Before she reached the bar and its bartender, a pained voice caught her attention, "Damn, that smarts…"

For some reason, Barbara found herself drawn to the voice and its troubles. The source was one of the many tables within the bar, filled with off-duty henchmen and criminals like all the others. But this group was different from the rest. They were almost hard to look at, all nursing wounds or bruises or even visibly broken bones.

"Guess we caught 'da Bats on a bad day, eh?" Another hurt henchman replied to the first.

The first henchman snorted, "Ya think? I told ya we should've gone to the Narrows tonight instead of East End. I tell ya, the Bats is always more testy 'round there."

Barbara winced to herself. The East End was where Crime Alley was located. The place where Bruce's parents had been murdered. Even when he wasn't doing his annual visit to their murder scene, he kept a close eye on that part of town. It was certainly possible he was subconsciously more vicious with his take-downs there.

"Are you okay?" Barbara found herself asking as she made a detour to the injured table. Even though they were criminals, that didn't mean they weren't deserving of basic Human compassion. This was neutral ground, after all. A new concept for everyone, one Barbara felt compelled to explore for her duty to help the people of Gotham.

She came up behind the first henchman who spoke. He was nursing an obviously broken arm. Not even properly set, it was a gruesome sight. The other henchmen at the table tensed at the sight of her but the first didn't even notice.

Without looking back at her, he said, "Yeah, Missy, we'll be alright."

"That looks serious," Barbara observed. "Shouldn't you go to the hospital?"

The first henchman tried and failed to wave his broken arm, ending up with a shrug and a harsh wince, "Not-! Ah, damn! N-Nothing a good night's sleep can't fix. I ain't got insurance and it ain't like insurance covers Bat-related injuries anyway."

"That's… rather concerning," Barbara paused at the man's disregard for his health. "Here, let me properly set the break, at least."

"I wouldn't wanna trouble ya, Miss-…" The man trailed off as he finally turned to see who he was talking to. "Uh… Hi, Batgirl. Long, uh, long time no see, yeah?"

Barbara blinked, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The henchman laughed awkwardly, "Heh, yeah, ya put me away one time when I was tryna rob a gas station. I don't blame ya for that. I was in the wrong — like always — and ya were mighty gentle about the whole thing."

Seeing that this meeting wasn't going to devolve into fists and kicks and remembering where they were, another of the injured henchmen found the courage to speak up as well, "Where've ya been, Batgirl? Nobody's seen ya in, what? Two years now? Longer than that?"

Barbara schooled a wince, "Closer to three, actually. I had to… take a break from direct crime-fighting."

"Well, it's good to have ya back."

"Yeah, you was always one of the good ones!"

"Nothing like that… what was his name? That vigilante guy who didn't last three months? Some kind of dog, right?"

"The Jackal, yeah. He was brutal. Went way overboard for every little thing. He broke Dave's neck for jaywalking. Ended up being taken down hard by some normal guy in flannel. Don't think his ego ever recovered from that."

Barbara nodded. She remembered him. The Jackal even tried to apply to the Justice League before he was dissuaded from a career in crime-fighting.

"Well, thank you. It's good to be back. Now, let me see that arm of yours. I'll set it but you should really consider going to the hospital."

The first henchman shook his head, "I can't. They'd bleed me dry without insurance. And that's if they even tended to me in the first place."

An idea occurred to Barbara as she quickly and efficiently set the man's arm. He grunted in pain as she used one of her quick-set splints to snap it into the proper place, "… What if I could get you on an insurance plan?"

"I'd call ya a goddess but it still wouldn't be enough. I wouldn't be able to afford it. Any insurance would charge me hand over fist for 'injuries outside coverage' or some bullshit. Not like they can insure Bat-related injuries…"

"Wayne Insurance does."

"Wait, really?" The man gaped at her in shock.

No, the framework for this scheme was only just now forming in her mind but Barbara could fix that with a word or two to Bruce. Lord knows the insurance industry is broken enough to be considered criminal in its own right.

Her answer contradicted her thoughts, "Sure, Bruce Wayne likes to look out for his city. And in Gotham, one of the best ways to do that is to insure against cape-related incidents. I could… put in a good word for you boys. Being Batgirl comes with certain connections like that."

"Shit, you really are a goddess! That'd be golden of ya, Batgirl!"

"No trouble at all, boys," Barbara shook her head. "How about you all write down your information and I'll swing back on my way out and see what I can do for you, yeah?"

Most of the henchmen were immediately on board with the idea, their injuries still fresh on their minds and bodies. One, though, hesitated, "This ain't a trick? You ain't gonna use it to track us down and put us behind bars?"

"I swear," Barbara nodded. "This is neutral ground, remember? I wouldn't infringe on that."

"Pinky swear?" The paranoid henchman held out his pinky.

"… Pinky swear," Barbara blinked but complied — only now realized how young this particular henchman looked, younger than her even. His drink didn't even look alcoholic…

With the ancient tradition of crossed pinkies, the pact was sealed. Barbara's conviction to make this happen firmed even further. They may have been criminals but they were people first and foremost. They deserved at least this much basic consideration and Barbara vowed to give them even more.

A new aspect of the war against crime settled into Barbara's heart as she left the injured table and continued on her way to the bar. It wasn't enough to just punch crime in the face. As heroes, they could be doing more. For both the unfortunate criminals of circumstance and the victims of the more actively malicious ones.

Outwardly, an unnoticed tension drained from Barbara's posture. It'd been impossible to completely ignore how she felt walking into the bar. Though it was said to be neutral ground, there were only villains and criminals inside right now. Subconsciously, Barbara still felt like she was surrounded by enemies.

After that positive interaction with the injured henchmen, that feeling disappeared all but entirely. As she settled into a seat at the bar next to villains she'd fought in the past and they just gave her polite nods or little waves, the feeling faded even more.

Nothing at all was said about her heroic leanings. She was just another costumed patron here. It was… nice. The waitress Didi just gave her a kind smile and asked what she was drinking. The bartender Sean Caine didn't pause his story to give her a smile as well. It was a nice smile…

"-Then I took the Infinite Dragon God Ophis over my knee and spanked her until she behaved."

What…? Barbara's mind blanked slightly at that title and the action that followed. She was obviously coming in at the tail end of a story she didn't have any context for.

"It took a century or so in relative time but she stopped trying to kill everything in existence eventually. She did start calling me Daddy after all that… But that was probably more from the endless sweets I gave her when I had to rest my spanking hand every year or so.

"Though, Great Red the Apocalypse Dragon leaving the Dimensional Gap to troll the gods because he quickly became too uncomfortable with Ophis' deadpan kuudere loli squeals was probably just as effective as the spanking. With him gone, Ophis finally got her Silence back and the universe didn't have to implode into Infinite Silent Nothing."

Finally seeing Sean Caine in person, Barbara couldn't help but think, 'Mmm, Gothboy Dadd~… Wait, the universe didn't have to do WHAT?!'