Summary: Connecting all the different planes of reality are three different bars. One for heroes. One for villains. And one for good people that do bad things for good reasons. This is the No More Heroes Bar.

Quick A/N: I suddenly got this image of my favorite anti-heroes sharing drinks together while discussing their individual woes. And then I began to think about how, even though, in a way, all characters in fiction repeat their stories, none do it more than video game characters. (My big brother was playing Uncharted 2 and continuously and unrepentantly getting Nathan killed just to hear his brother's screams. So I scolded him and got to thinking about these people being sentient beings that could remember everything they saw during their time with the player, unable to do anything. And that got me pretty depressed.)

So this little drabble was born!

Characters in case you guys get confused!: Vigilante (Greg Saunders)- Justice League. Desmond Miles- Assassin's Creed. Rocket (Raquel Ervin)- Young Justice. Grifter (Cole Cash)- WildC.A.T.S/Wildstorm universe. Reaper (Gabriel Reyes)- Overwatch. Tsunade- Naruto. Captain Martin Walker- Spec Ops.: The Line. Bigsby Wolf- The Wolf Among Us. Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov- Crime and Punishment.

"No More Heroes?"

"Yeah. That's the name of this fine establishment, pardner."

"Quite the name, don't you think?"

A heavy sigh left hidden lips, then dark green eyes looked up from the drink set before them and into brown ones that were much too curious for the place their owners found themselves in.

"Yuh ain't from 'round here, are yuh?"

"Not at all."

The answer made the man with the green eyes smack his lips together, knock two fingers against the table he sat at, then nod. Once this was done, the man stood up and motioned for the brown eyed one to follow him, then began to move over to the large bar over by the back of the establishment.

There was nothing too out of place about this bar. It was your standard, run of the mill, backwater safe place for those that wanted to drown their sorrows in alcohol. The lighting was sufficient, but left a few spots in moderate darkness. The whole place was built up in sturdy wood, looking a lot like a saloon one would find in western flicks, along with wooden tables and chairs spread all around. There weren't many modern advances to be found throughout, even though many of the patrons had interesting weapons on their bodies.

"Scotch on the rocks fer me an' my friend, barkeep."

The woman standing behind the bar eyed both men for a moment before nodding, then turned to fetch their drinks.

Tipping his hat backwards to have a better view of his surroundings, the green eyed man motioned for the stool before them. "Wanna sit?"

The dark eyed man nodded and immediately sat, all the while he glossed over the sea of unfortunates milling around the No More Heroes bar. There were all sorts. People that looked as if they were trapped in time, like the green eyed cowboy, others that wore normal clothes, and a few that wore garments that he couldn't truly place.

"What is this place?"

"The No More Heroes bar, kid."

"No... It's... There's something weird about this place..." The man turned to look at the cowboy with his face scrunched up in curiosity. "It doesn't feel like a normal bar."

"That it is not."

Their drinks were set in front of them and the cowboy picked his glass up with a nod of acknowledgement towards the bartender, even though the brown eyed male continued to look at him.

The cowboy took his sweet time drinking, which was quite the sight to see. He wore a red bandana over the lower half of his face and had to maneuver around it to not expose his face to the rest of the bar. But he managed to do so while looking graceful and not the least bit bothered.

Once he'd set his glass back down, he turned to look at the brown eyed man with slightly narrowed green eyes.

"This ain't no regular, run o' the mill establishment, pardner." The cowboy breathed out, then motioned with his head over to the other lonely soul seated on a stool at the bar.

He was a blonde haired man with a long red, rag-like, mask covering his face. There were two eye-holes and through them one could see light yet stormy blue eyes. In his hand was a mug of beer filled almost to the top. It had been barely touched.

"Grifter. Ready fer yer usual explanation o' this fine establishment?"

The eyes beneath the holes narrowed, but soon the trench-coated man swiveled in his stool to face them directly. "We're in what you can call an interdimensional conduit. Through magic and science that are well beyond me, this bar exists in all possible realities and synchronizes them, allowing people from all walks of life to meet."

Brown eyes widened in disbelief as soon as the blonde man finished speaking, then their owner began to turn to talk to the cowboy. But the man beat him to speaking, "We're all from different worlds. This 'ere is just a place we can meet ta chat an' despair."

"Despair?"

"Vig, stop talking to that lost cause!" A new voice suddenly piped up, catching the attention of all three men.

A young woman walked up to them with a heavy frown pulling at her lips. She was young. Much younger than someone that should be entering a bar. But her body language read of 'I belong here' as she shashayed up to three men without any ounce of hesitation.

"You know he'll never remember you." The dark skinned woman- teen?- sighed with a shake of her head as she gave the cowboy a one armed hug, then looked over at the masked blonde. "Hey, Griff."

"Rocket." The blonde grunted with a nod, tipping his beer in acknowledgement before his eyes moved on to fall on the cowboy. "Kid's got a point."

The man with his face covered by the red bandanna seemed to grow annoyed with his fellow barflies. The man's green eyes narrowed and his eyebrows scrunched up in a clear sign of dissatisfaction.

"That don't mean nothin'. This kid's 'ere fer a reason. Yuh know that, Grifter. An' we're here ta help 'im out."

"That is not your job, cowboy."

The brown eyed man jumped when he heard a new voice behind him. It was coupled with a dreadful feeling entering his whole body, all the while a sudden chill went through him. The new voice didn't feel human. If anything, it felt almost demonic. As if all the evil in the world had suddenly been given a voice.

"No one else'll do it." The cowboy wasn't looking at either Grifter or Rocket anymore. Instead his dull green eyes were looking at something behind the male they were discussing about. "An' don't no one deserve ta be ignored. Not even if they won't remember it anyways."

"You are a poor fool." The cold spreading through his whole body suddenly began to focus on his shoulder. And when the brown eyed man finally craned his neck to try and understand what was going on, he found a clawed hand holding onto his shoulder.

There was no weight. Just that one hand. And an overwhelming feeling of cold that the brown eyed man couldn't shake.

"Desmond Miles. Member of the Creed. Savior of you world. Dumbass idiot."

"Hey now, Reaper. Play nice." The cowboy stepped forward to grab at the creature behind Desmond, but soon the clawed hand was gone, tendrils of black smoke overcoming it. "There's no need ta be so sour."

Desmond had no idea what was happening. He didn't understand why people were talking about him as if they knew him. Because, to the best of his knowledge, he'd never been in this place before. And he'd never met any of this people in his life. Yet they spoke to him with familiarity, as if they did know him.

"It's useless to try and befriend him." The demonic voice continued in an echo, and when Desmond turned around to find the body to the clawed hand, he only found black smoke slowly swirling around in thin air, heading away from them. "He'll never remember you."

Then the smoke was gone, disappearing into the cracks within the floorboards.

For a second, all that Desmond heard was the soft chatter from the other people within the bar. But neither of three people that had bothered speaking to him said anything. They just remained suspended in silence.

He didn't like this place.

In his time on the run, Desmond had worked in quite a few bars. Most of them had been nameless and lacked much character. The only patrons that visited were nameless ones that either didn't want to be found or didn't have a reason to be looked for. Desmond was accustomed to sad people drinking to drown their sorrows. He was familiar with it.

But the atmosphere in this place wasn't anything like that. There wasn't a sense of hopeless despair that was thick enough to be seen. There was despair, yeah. But there was also a muted kind of hopefulness that didn't make any sense. Not in a dive like this.

"Vig... Reaper's a dick..." Rocket began to say, placing a hand on the cowboy's shoulder.

"But he's got a point." Grifter finished. A statement which was further punctuated by the man grabbing his beer to take a long drink from it. "Dez won't remember us. He'll be hear for another day at the most, then he'll be gone once more. It's just not worth it."

The man bristled at his companion's words, shook his head, and walked up to Desmond to throw a heavy arm around the brown eyed man. "This man gave his life ta save an ignorant an' oblivious world. 'E didn't 'ave ta. But he did!"

Hearing this from the angered cowboy suddenly had Desmond remembering a rather unpleasant experience that had been hidden to his consciousness. A golden orb... A contempt and pride filled voice... Then the burning of what could only have been compared to a thousand suns.

"Desmond, just like Cap. Martin and Bigby Wolf, is caught in a never ending loop, Vig." Rocket breathed out softly, then turned her sympathetic (pity filled) brown eyes towards the man she was talking about. "He's great, there's no doubt about that... But there's only so many times you can introduce yourself to the same guy before you start thinking that there isn't any hope left."

Desmond, for some reason, felt awfully affected by her words. And for the first time since the drink had been ordered, swiped at the drink Vigilante had gotten him and took a heavy swig. When he slammed the tumbler back onto the bar, it had been completely drained.

"Well Ah ain't 'bout ta give up on 'im." The cowboy huffed before turning his dull yet passionate green eyes onto Desmond. "Ah'll explain this place ta yuh, pardner. Then we can go 'head an' celebrate yuh havin' sacrificed yerself ta save yer world."

How this cowboy knew about what Desmond had just done was beyond the male. How he was still alive, even after he was pretty sure he'd died was even further beyond him to be able to understand.

But, even with his complete lack of understanding, Desmond felt as if he were someplace he belonged. Even with the way Rocket and Grifter wanted to shrug him off. Even with the way that freaky disembodied hand had tried to scare him.

He didn't even question the odd names or unbelievable abilities. Because for some reason, something in the back of his mind kept telling Desmond that he was right where he belonged.

At this point, three man walked into the bar. One was a soldier and looked as if he'd just come out of a mission, with blood staining his visible skin and cuts marring his whole body. The other man was somewhat cleaner, but still looked like hell. He was dressed in a white button up shirt, black tie, and black pants. All of which were wrinkly and had undoubtedly seen better days. A look that was paired with an almost fair around him. And the last man was dressed in a tight, long black coat that was rattier than one would believe, seeing how all clothes got to a point of tearing down that they eventually broke.

"Bigsby, Martin, please, follow me." Desmond faintly noted a Russian accent as Vigilante began to order a round of beers, all the while Grifter continued to nurse his own. Rocket just shook her head and sauntered off once more, heading towards a table that held an busty blonde with one of the largest frowns he'd ever seen in his life.

"... Won't listen to reason, Tsunade..."

Desmond had wanted to hear a bit more of what Rocket was saying. But soon enough the three newcomers had herded over towards Vigilante, Grifter, and he. The man with the coat and clean shaven face had his face sunken in, as if with hunger. The other two, though, were healthy looking. Although in need of a razor.

"Vigilante. Grifter." The man with the Russian accent nodded towards both men, then offered a small, almost sad smile to Desmond. "Desmond."

"Howdy, Raskolnikov." The cowboy tipped his hat in the man's direction for a second as the bartender walked up with a tray filled with five beers. "Right on time."

"As always, tovarishch." As he said this, the Russian man grabbed one of the beers and raised it, "Ura. To being together once more. And to always being there for each other."

The soldier and the feral looking man exchanged unsure looks, but soon the man with the white, wrinkly shirt shrugged and grabbed one of the beers. "I have no idea what's going on but... Anyone got any cigarettes? Lost mine after a huge chase."

Wordlessly, Grifter stuck his arm out and offered the man a pack of cigarettes. This was returned by a wolfish smile and nod of gratitude in his direction.

"Now that everyone's here," Vigilante cleared his throat, all the while motioning to Desmond and two of the three newcomers. "Let's get down ta business. We ain't got much with yuh. An' Ah've got stories ta tell."

Please review and tell me what you think! I know it's a bit weird, but I hope it's good!