Disclaimer: Neither Clark Kent or Steve Rogers are my own characters and therefore are not owned by me. That honor goes to DC and Marvel, respectedly.
The bartender knew the man in front of him wasn't a normal customer. He had never seen him before, but the man seemed familiar somehow. Dressed in a hoodie and khakis, didn't seem like a normal gent out to drown his sorrows, but then again, normal encompassed everyone who came to forget for however long they wanted. The man must be used to drinking anyhow, as he had already downed several shots of their strongest stuff and it hadn't affected him yet. There was a row of eight shot glasses in front of him, and only two were still full.
The door slammed shut behind a new arrival, another new face, one dressed in plaid and jeans. He sat down next the hoodie guy, and looked at the shot glasses. "I'll have what he's having." He beckoned to the bartender. Hoodie guy looked up at the newcomer. He put out his hand in greeting.
"Name's Steve. Nice choice. It gives a kick as it goes down."
"Clark. Thanks. I'll take anything I can get. It's rare to feel anything." Steve shook his head in agreement.
"I know what you mean. Sometimes I think I should just give up on trying to feel anything. I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for-" Steve abruptly stopped and threw back his seventh shot. Clark received his shots with a nod of thanks to the bartender and threw back his first one. The sting reached his eyes for a mere second before disappearing. He drank the second shot right after. He grinned for a brief glimpse then downed the third one. Steve watched Clark down two more in succession. The bartender noticed that the second guy didn't seem to be affected anymore than the first one was.
"You know, I've lived here almost all my life, and yet, I still don't feel like I've truly found my place in life." Clark muttered.
Steve laughed sadly. "I know what you mean. Born and raised in Brooklyn, and yet when I walk through those streets, everything is totally different."
Clark nodded in agreement. "I hear you. Cheers."
The two men raised their glasses together and clinked in unison.
The bartender watched as the gentlemen kept drinking through the night, swapping stories of not belonging and trying to fit in. The storytelling carried on until a phone rang. The strains of the Star Spangled Banner permeated the air. Hoodie pulled out his cell phone and gave a resigned sigh before answering. After ending the short call, he turned to Plaid and gave an excuse. "Work. Seems there's an emergency. Thanks for the company. Appreciate it."
Clark gave a two finger salute and watched Steve pay up and leave the bar in a hurry. After taking another drink, his own cell phone rang.
"Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet. What do you have for me? Avengers called in to take care of a new supervillian? Where's it at? Okay, on my way." He left money to pay his bill, and left the bar in a hurry.
As the bartender started to clean the used glasses, another customer came in and sat down. He ordered a drink with a German accent. As he reached for the poured drink, his sleeve pulled back to reveal a row of numbers tattooed into his skin. The bartender left him alone to drink in solitude.