The sounds of hard bone hitting flesh made Peter wince as he furiously scrubbed at the now non-existent stains on the hard, polished wood of the bar. His eyes were down cast as he tried to ignore the massacre in front of him with every fiber of his being. Despite it being early in the afternoon, his shift had already started off quite eventfully, with a barroom brawl. Even now, he found it hard on himself not to intervene. However, he knew he couldn't draw attention to himself. In this type of environment, attention was either bad or worse with no better or inbetween. It was something he couldn't afford.

A thump in front of him drew him out of his musings, his Spidey Sense starting to tingle quite annoyingly. Whoever was in front of him was dangerous. A deep voice started to speak.

"Old fashioned," came the demand. Peter nodded silently, willing his face to be impassive as he concentrated on making the drink for the man. When he was done, he slid the drink over to the bar counter.

"Here you go sir," he uttered politely, glancing up and taking note of the patron. He was an older man who wore a black, fitted T-shirt that displayed his assets clearly, biceps bulging as he leaned leisurely against the counter. White hair covered his head, cut recently as the smell of fresh shampoo came off of him to reach Peter's sensitive nose. He could also clearly see little hairs clinging to the black of his shirt. The man had an eye patch over his right eye and was huge as well. When he finished his drink, he slid it back over to him, and stood up at his full height, towering well over Peter and the rest of the patrons in the bar. The man's one eye glanced at him, appraising him and Peter couldn't help but blush a bit. He looked away, but not before noticing the slight twitch of the man's mouth as he did.

'Fuck,' he thought and to avoid more embarrassment, Peter glanced around the large man to look at where the brawl had gotten to now.

"You new here?" Peter's large eyes came back up to meet the other man's and he nodded shyly.

"Yeah, a little over a month." Eye-Patch (as Peter has now affectionately nicknamed him) hummed and stared at Peter for a little while longer, who fidgeted uncomfortably. Even though there was plenty of noise within the mostly empty club, the silence between both men was getting to Peter, which prompted him to ask a question. "Do you come here often?" The man grinned.

"Not before." That made Peter blink. He tilted his head in confusion. He was obviously missing something here.

"Huh?" Eye-Patch laughed, gaining the attention of several people around them.

"Nothing, sweetheart," Peter bristled a bit at the nickname, "just that you should probably expect me more." Reaching into his pocket, Eye-Patch pulled out several hundred dollar bills and threw them towards Peter, whose eyes widened at the sight. "Just for you. Keep the change." And he walked out the door without another word. Peter gaped at the door for a long while before looking at the neat bills on the counter.

"Weirdos," he grumbled underneath his breath but not before pocketing the money. Another low thrum sang at the back of his head and he felt a presence sidle up beside him. He knew who it was without even looking.

"Hey Petey Boy!" Peter grabbed the glass that Eye-Patch just drank out of and began washing it.

"Hey Harley. What's up?" The woman squealed happily, popping the gum in her mouth obnoxiously. Peter found that he quite liked Harleen Quinzel, after he worked past his first impression of her.

"Nothin' much," she drawled out teasingly, her blonde pigtails bouncing around her, "just wonderin' when ya' became such good friends with Deathstroke over there." Peter grabbed a rag hanging on the bottom countertop and started to wipe down the glass in his hands.

"Who?" Harley giggled loudly, toying with the hem of Peter's T-shirt as she grabbed onto one of his arms. He glanced down at her with a soft, curious look and she rolled her eyes playfully.

"Y'know, hunky Eye-Patch guy? Guy who just left?"

"Ah," Peter realized before questioning, "his name is Deathstroke?" Harley rolled her eyes again.

"No, silly! His real name is Slade Wilson. He's a mercenary for hire."

'Guess that answers that question.' Harley blew a bubble and popped it again, winking suggestively at him, "and he was so interested in you!" Peter snorted.

"Nah. I'm new here so he was just asking. Besides, he's a bit too old for me." The look on Harley's face was dubious.

"Uh-huh. Sure, honey. I'm just saying, he's pretty hot. Also," he felt a squeeze on his bicep, "have you been working out? You're ripped!" Her smile became mischievous. "Trying to impress someone? Ooh! Ooh! Is it me?" Peter gave a small laugh, his curly hair bouncing as he shook his head.

"I'm always trying to impress you, Harls." The blonde giggled and leaned over to kiss his cheek before swiping her thumb across it, wiping away the lipstick.

"Aww, you sweetie. If I didn't have my puddin', I would be with you in a heartbeat." Peter forced a smile as Harley made heart eyes at the mention of her on-again-off-again boyfriend. Right now, it was decidedly on. If you asked Peter, he would say he knew the signs of an abusive relationship when he saw them. "Anyway. I just came ta tell ya' that your shift for this afternoon ends right now and I'll see you in a few hours!"

"Okay, thanks." She kissed his cheek once more, not bothering to wipe away the residual lipstick before flouncing out of the bar. Peter wished she could see that she could do so much better than a man nicknamed 'The Joker.' Somewhere among the brawl that still had not stopped, the sound of glass shattering grabbed his attention. Peter sighed.

'I better clean that up before I leave.'

Peter walked the few blocks that it took to get to the homeless shelter where he stayed. He opened the door that housed the tens of people that wandered the streets, and closed it softly behind him. Setting towards his cot, he noticed that people were bustling around like crazy, and a nice smell was coming from the kitchen. His stomach grumbled but he willed it to stop. He needed the money to get a new place and he was a few hundred away from achieving his goal for the upfront portion. He was lucky that Harley decided to help him out and aid him in forming a bank account here. Peter reached his cot and sat down, noting that, luckily, no one had tried to steal his stuff. Again. Settling back against the pillows, Peter thought about the past couple of months.

He had first come to this world so unfamiliar to him through some sort of magical portal. God, he fucking hated magic sometimes. Mr. Stark had let him go into his lab unsupervised for the first time since the incident involving the toaster, pink glitter, and the flamethrower. It was nice. He was sitting at one of the tables, tinkering around with one of his web shooters, Led Zeppelin ("For the sake of America's Ass™, Peter, it's ACDC!") booming in his ears when suddenly, he felt himself being pulled back, a cold feeling settling across the back of his neck and making its way to the rest of his body. Then, a weird expression came over his face as another feeling came over him, like he was being stretched thin, but it didn't hurt. There's a quick flash of a blinding light, causing him to shut his eyes (his overly reactive senses are a blessing and a curse) tightly and the next thing he knows, Peter hits the ground hard, his body making a soft thudding noise.

The first thing to register is the sight. It wasn't overly bright, like the light was. In fact, it was rather dark. Brick walls surrounded him from two sides, indicating that he was in an alleyway of some sort. It wasn't too spacious and various bags of trash were littered all over the place. Doors were lined along the brick walls, all closed and looking uninviting. Then came the smell. It was horribly pungent, probably even to the regular nose. To Peter's nose, however, it was hell. He could practically feel his olfactory glands swelling from the amount of stink he was admitting into his body. Gagging, he tried to stand up to get away from the smell only to stumble and nearly eat the gravel under him.

'Parker Luck fucking sucks,' he thinks as he collapses against one of the doors on the brick walls, then thinks groggily, 'hey, that rhymed.' He rested his head against the cool metal for a moment before his Spidey Sense, sensitive and overly reactive at the moment, blares a warning, making him shoot backwards. He lays on the ground for less than a second when the door he had previously rested on opened with a bang. His head pounded more than it ever did before, with the added sound of the metal banging against the brick and a high pitched voice screeching. Peter squinted at the rather tall female figure standing in the doorway screaming obscenities into the lit room. She screamed her last words, no response following her, and stepped outside with a huff, slamming the door behind her. Peter closed his eyes again, and laid his head against the concrete sullenly, fully expecting her to leave him. If he was a woman in a city at night, he would do that too.

"Oof, yer' lookin' kinda rough there buddy." Peter's eyes popped open in surprise. The woman was standing over him, a look of sympathy and concern displayed on her pale face. She crouched down and the closer she got, the more clearly he could see her features. She was pretty, with alabaster skin and platinum blonde hair pulled into pigtails, the ends dyed red and blue. Her bright blue eyes blinked curiously at him as he laid unmoving for a second.

"I fe'l rough'," he croaked, his hands rubbing at his throat in an effort to ease the pain he felt as he spoke. The woman clicked her tongue and reached for his wrists, bringing them away from his neck.

"Alright, sweetie, I need you to answer every question as best as you can okay? I'm a doctor, I can help you." Peter groaned and pointed to her, his arm bending at the elbow to raise his finger in the air.

"Wha's yur' name?" He managed to slur out. 'Stranger danger Parker,' he reminded himself in lieu of Mr. Stark. If he were here, he would be shaking his head in disappointment, Peter was sure of it.

"Ah, how rude of me! Ma names Dr. Harleen, but ya' can call me Harley!" The hand pointing at her turned into a wave, greeting her.

"Hey," he replied weakly, "my name's Peter. Peter Parker." He could hear the grin in Harley's voice.

"Well, Peter Parker, tell me. Are ya feeling nauseous or dizzy?"

"Yes."

"Any ringing in the ears?"

"No."

"A headache? Are ya feeling really tired?"

"Not that bad of a headache. Tired, yes," he sighed, fatigue heavy in his voice, "look, Doctor, I don't have a concussion. Just feeling weird right now."

"Ya drink before you came here or eat something weird?"

"No, I'm just weird like this." Harley was silent for a moment.

"Do ya want me to help get you home?" Peter sighed again, pushing his arms up to help himself lift his torso so he was sitting upright.

"I, uh, don't have a home," he looked around the alley, his senses starting to clear (though his nose still throbbed at the smell), "where am I, by the way?" Harley leaned into his vision, a slightly incredulous look on her face.

"You don't know where you are?" Peter shook his head, happy his headache was now subsiding. The disbelieving expression didn't disappear from Harley's face. "Well, you, puppy, are in Gotham, the most crime ridden city in the world." Peter sent Harley a weird glance.

"Gotham? Like Gotham City, Batman's Gotham City?" The second the sentence went out of his mouth, Harley covered his lips with her hand.

"Never say that name unless you're looking for a death wish!" She hissed at him, her eyes hard. "Promise me!" Wide eyed, Peter nodded reluctantly and he was let go. It wasn't like he read the comics or anything. He didn't really know much about Batman. Just that he had a sidekick named Robin and they fought the Joker on a regular basis. Harley straightened, causing him to look up at her. She extended her hand which he took and he slowly stood up with her help. She dusted him off, her hands sweeping across the back of his jacket and the front of his shirt for him. He nodded in thanks.

"Do you have your phone on you?" He reached into his back pocket and felt that, yes, thankfully, his phone was still in his pocket. He tugged it out and unlocked it, tapping on the call icon. He goes straight to Tony's number. A ring doesn't even make it onto his phone before the screen says that there's no service for his phone. He sighs forlornly. There goes trying to contact home.

"Sorry Harley, I don't have service here."

"So you don't have service, no way to contact home, and you have no idea where you are?" Peter shook his head. It was Harley's turn to sigh. "Alright, puppy, you're comin' with me. I know a nicer homeless shelter than any of the ones they got on Grand." She grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the alleyway onto the nearly empty street. He should've probably been concerned that he was heading somewhere with a random woman, granted one who had tried to help him. There was still a low thrum of danger at the back of his head, but all he could focus on was that ridiculous nickname.

"Puppy?" The blonde haired woman paused, turning back with a teasing smirk on her pretty face.

"'Cause yer' so cute like a puppy, with those puppy dog eyes and pouty frown. Yer' even smaller than me!" At that point, he had taken note that she was, in fact, a full four inches taller than him. He looked at her with somewhat genuine offense.

"Hey! I'm 5'6! You're only so much taller because you're wearing heels!" He pointed towards the pumps that adorned her feet. Harley scoffed and took off her heel for a second, showing both of them that, even without the heels, she was still an inch taller than him. He groaned. This night was just getting worse and worse. First, he's in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar woman who was taller than him. Hearing Harley's laugh though, as they walked through the streets arguing about who was really taller, made him feel at least a little better. It wasn't much, but every little bit counts.

All that eventually led to where Peter was now, laying on a cot in the same homeless shelter that Harley had introduced him to. He had gotten a couple of jobs with Harley's shadier connections. He had realized early on that this dimension was not the same world that the comics had shown. This was somehow different. There was no one with super powers, though the monikers were still real. Batman was real, but Harley (the only person he trusted up to this point) hadn't told him anything, and by the fifth time that he asked, he realized he wouldn't be getting anything out of her so he stopped. He had wondered who Batman was here, and if he and Robin were still partn-

The sound of an alarm pulled him out of his thoughts, and Peter hurriedly grabbed his phone and turned it off. He saw the time and sighed.

"Time to head to work," he muttered.

"Hey Puppy!" Harley squealed as he entered the club that was now flooding with people, the lighting dim save for a few spotlights that roved over the sea of people. Peter straightened his clothes, a white button down paired with some slacks. They had been the Joker's but, according to Harley, they didn't fit him anymore. Peter shivered at the thought of taking something of the Joker's, but he guessed it couldn't be helped.

"Harley!" He yelled back in greeting and both walked over the bar. Peter quickly clocked in and set off to work, one of his coworkers behind the counter already. From there, it was quite the busy time, people requesting drinks all over the place. Peter and Harley talked from time to time as he prepared other's drinks. It was a fairly smooth evening so far.

Of course, as soon as he thought that, trouble had to come, brewing in all its toxicity. When he had first started as a bartender for the club, he had been warned to keep an eye out for suspicious activity, just so the club doesn't get hit with another lawsuit. Harley was fiddling with her phone in one corner of the bar, and at this point, Peter was used to the loud noise of the club, having inconspicuously stuffed his ears with ear plugs earlier. However, it didn't completely cancel out the noise as his super hearing still noted everything within his vicinity. In the opposite corner of the bar, away from him and Harley, Peter somehow heard the soft sounds of paper being ripped, a drop of something hitting the water, and a soft fizzing noise.

His head imperceptibly turned to watch as a rather handsome man handed a tall glass of something to a beautiful blonde accompanied by a taller, equally beautiful redhead. 'Taller than me too,' he thought bitterly. The blonde accepted the drink as it was slid over to her and was about to lift it when Peter quickly rushed over. He leaned over the counter and subtly pressed a finger down onto the base of the glass, which was widened, using his strength to keep the glass down. He made subtle eye contact with one of the bouncers next to the door, and the man got the message pretty quickly. He started toward the bar while Peter distracted the patrons.

"Sir!" His voice still sounded somewhat soft and high pitched over the bass of the music. "I think there's someone outside looking for you! You match the description I think!" At the odd look given to him, he continued trying to convince him, "what's your name?!" The man's glassy eyes roamed over Peter's face before answering,

"Trevor!" Peter squinted, trying to sell his lie.

"Last name?!"

"McConnelly!" Peter nodded and waved over the bouncer, who lumbered over.

"Is this the Trevor McConnelly the person outside is looking for?!" A quick once over of Trevor told Peter all he needed to know about him. "Wasn't it his girlfriend?!" Without a question, the bouncer nodded. Trevor suddenly paled and rushed past the bouncer, a man named Gus, who followed him. Peter shot him a thankful look and then turned back to the two women, glancing about them awkwardly.

"Sorry, but I wouldn't drink this if I were you. He slipped something into it." The women, shockingly, didn't look surprised. They only glanced at each other before turning to him with twin smiles, an unheard conversion passing between their eyes that Peter didn't know how to interpret.

"Thanks for the assist. I really appreciate it," the blonde said over the music. Peter could've sworn the grin on her face turned sharp for a split second before it flitted away and an almost natural smile came over her face once more. Almost being the key word. A shiver crawled up Peter's back and the thrum of Spidey Sense became nearly haywire as he stared at the expressions of the two women. They were a lot more dangerous than they appeared.

"I don't mean to condescend, and I'm sure you're both able to protect yourselves, but please be careful. No one deserves that to happen to them," he said as earnestly as possible, using his large brown eyes to his advantage. That seemed to soften at least the red head as her smile started to turn a little bit more gentle. The blonde seemed a bit thrown by his honesty, but quickly recovered, and her smile too seemed a little tender.

"Thanks, man!" He gave them a small, genuine smile before turning back to the bar and continuing with other orders. Harley was suddenly gone from her spot, and Peter furrowed his brows. 'I hope she's okay,' he thinks as he starts on another drink for another patron. He quickly shoots a text in between requests and then shuts off his phone. At one point, he's done with all his requested drinks and takes a bit of a break. He turns around again only to see the two women from earlier still at the bar, conversing quietly. They're quite perceptive, he notes as the instant his attention turns to them, their attention turns to him and they're locked in a staring contest. He shyly wanders over to their spots, nearly missing the slight amusement that flashed between both of their eyes.

"What's your name?" The redhead asks as he nears them. Peter smiles innocently, trying to keep posture loose as his Spidey Sense reacts again. His hands pull at each other, something he can't help, and something that both women definitely notice.

"I'm Peter. Peter Parker. And you?" He's as polite as possible. Always be polite to a customer, he remembers his manager saying. The redhead speaks again.

"I'm Barbara, but my friends call me Babs. You can too." Peter nodded, his curly down hair bouncing as he did so. The women's eyes crinkled as they smiled, their expressions now a hundred times more genuine than before.

"Stephanie, Steph. But you can call me 'Mine,'" the blonde winked with a small and suggestive smile. Peter's cheeks turned red at this, his pale skin flushing. Barbara and Stephanie could tell too, as they chuckled a bit at his face and Peter turned his head away in embarrassment. When he turns back a few moments later, they're still laughing, and he pouts a bit. 'I never know how to respond to those comments,' he thought. As their laughter subsided, they started asking more questions. With the danger at a small vibration at the back of his mind, he felt like he was in an interrogation.

"Have you worked here long?" Stephanie asked, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck and cleavage. Peter made a huge point to himself to look straight into her eyes or over her shoulder under the guise of watching someone else.

"Not really," he replied, "Just over a month. I work at The Captain's Bar too." Both women perked up in interest.

"Really? We frequent but we've never seen you."

"Well, I work in the mornings and afternoons on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. You guys should come by sometime when I work! It's quieter then if you guys want to talk!" They smile at him and he feels the vibration of danger slowly slip away until it's nearly nothing. Peter guesses he won them over.

"Sure thing! We're free next Wednesday so expect us then!" Peter nods, his fluffy hair bouncing again. Sudden, dual beeps enter his ear canal as he hears both women's phones go off at the same time. They glance at the texts and Peter realizes he shouldn't hear those sounds and he's staring so he turns away, trying to find interest in something else.

Stephanie talks again, "do you have a napkin and a pen?" He searches around the bar for a pen and he grabs a napkin from the neat stack in the corner. He gives them to her and she quickly writes down two sets of numbers. "These are our numbers! Keep in touch!" With that, they're gone. Peter takes the napkin delicately into his hand, observing Stephanie's writing style before pocketing it carefully. He resumes his job, but it's not five minutes later that he remembers, the thought irking him. Damn pet peeves.

"Fuck," he curses quietly, "she took the damn pen!"

It was a week later that he encountered Barbara and Stephanie again. In the meanwhile, he was added into a chat between the two women, their conversations ranging from everyday, talking-about-the-weather to absolutely ridiculous. He rather enjoyed having more people to talk to, not that Harley was an unsatisfying friend to be around. Speaking of, he had found that Harley had left because her "puddin'" needed her. When he had called her later that night, concerned, the excuse rushed out of her lips, leaving him less than convinced, but he let it go. She arrived at the barroom the next day and everything was back to normal. Eye-Patch came in more often, Peter noticed, leaving more and more hundred dollar bills on the counter. Peter had tried to get him to stop, only to receive a smug smile and a goodbye of 'sweetheart,' before he was on his way. He found that Deathstroke, Slade Wilson Peter recalled as his name, was a man of little words, but that didn't stop him from making small conversation with Peter when he could. Harley thought that he wanted to impress Peter. Peter disagreed completely.

"I think he might be making fun of me." Harley rolled her eyes.

"Not true. I know guys like him. He's trying to impress you, Puppy. Don't doubt me." Peter, knowing that arguing with her would be fruitless, just shrugged.

"Whatever you say, Harls."

Wednesday came, and just like they said, Stephanie and Barbara entered The Captain's Bar near the end of his shift with dazzling smiles on their faces as they shifted the backpacks on their shoulders. Peter greeted them happily.

"Hey Babs! Hey Steph!" They greeted him, waving jovially and walked towards the bar, sitting on seats right in front of him. "How are you guys doing?" Now closer, he had more of a view to observe the two women. They had slight bags under their eyes and their skin was paler than usual. "Are you guys okay? You look tired," Peter asked with genuine concern. Stephanie leaned forward onto her elbows, which she settled on the counter. Her neck dropped a bit and he could suddenly see the back of her collar, a small, nearly inconspicuous red stain on there. It was freshly made, the texture under the lighting still looking wet. It looked like blood, he realized. With that conclusion, the thrum of danger returned and another shiver was forced down his back. The women noticed.

Stephanie raised her eyebrow, "The question is, are you okay?" Babs' look was no less concerned. Peter nodded shakily.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine. It's just, you got a little bit of blood on the back of your shirt. Do you need first aid?" The blonde's eyes widened a bit before her small hand clutched the back of her collar, Peter still looking at her in worry. Barbara's jaw clenched and she plastered a fake smile onto her face.

"Steph's fine, she just had a bit of a rough night. We're both okay, so you don't have to worry Peter." He nodded reluctantly, still worried but content to take them at their word.

"Then what can I get you guys?" They rattled off their drinks and he rushed to make them, vaguely aware of the door opening to let another customer in. It wasn't until he slid the girls' drinks over to them did he realize that Slade had walked in. The one eyed man grinned predatorily at him before sitting down at the nearest end of the bar. Peter muttered a "be right back" to Babs and Steph before wandering over to the mercenary.

"Hey Slade."

"Sweetheart," the older man rumbled his greeting.

"The usual?" A short nod from the man sent Peter on his way to making an old fashioned drink for him. As he gave the man his requested beverage, Slade pointed over to the two women who were conversing softly with themselves, his one eye narrowed.

"Those two your friends?" Peter glanced at Babs and Steph and looked back at Slade, confused.

"Yeah? I mean we met like a week ago, but I guess you could call us that. Why?" Another body slumped into the chair next to Slade, slurring an order. Peter noted that he was a semi-regular, but drunk more often than not. Peter pitied his liver. Slade took that as a distraction for Peter and stood up.

"Because you have interesting taste in friends, sweetheart." He sauntered towards the women, his shoulders drawn tighter than Peter's ever seen them. He watches Slade interact with the two women, watches their reactions to each other. He notices that, oddly enough, Slade is the one in the submissive position, while Stephanie and Barbara are dominant, despite their dispositions. Slade was stiff, in a combative stance while the other two were completely open, smirking and tilting their heads up at the older man. A hand snapping in front of his face brought Peter out of his thoughts.

"Hey, twink!" The man who slumped next to Slade sneered up at Peter from his position over the counter, "I told you to get me a fuckin' drink," he slurred loudly enough to catch the attention of those nearby. Slade, Steph and Babs turn their attention towards them.

"I'm right on it, Mr. Stanley," Peter said politely, his hands starting to sweat, "can you repeat your order again?" The man squinted up at him for a moment, straightened up in this seat, lifted his hand and slapped Peter straight across the face. Peter, being Spider Man, saw it coming straight away, but had the forethought to remember not to draw much attention to himself. He tried to make it seem like the hit actually affected him a bit. So he stumbled off to the side, falling down in the process and watched as Slade stormed over to the man and proceeded to punch the drunk, living daylights out of the man. Steph and Babs went to the side of the bar where the small door separating the bar and the rest of the room was and rushed over to Peter, helping to straighten him up.

"You good Petey?" Babs voice was soft as if afraid he would spook like a cornered animal. He nodded distractedly, focusing on Slade who was now shaking the drunk man. He was knocked out instantly by the punch. He pushed himself up, looking at the other two who stood up with him. Slade noticed movement in his peripheral vision, his gaze snapping over to Peter in an instant.

"You okay, sweetheart?" The look of Peter's reddened cheek made Slade clench his teeth.

"I'm fine, Slade," he replied before pointing at the man that was limp in the mercenary's arms, "let him go." Slade blinked and looked at the man, sneering and releasing him, letting him hit the floor with a loud thump.

"With pleasure," he smirked as Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Just," Peter leaned over the counter and took note of the unconscious male, his eye well on its way to swelling to the size of a golf ball, "wait here while I go get my manager." The brown haired boy sighed in suffering as he headed toward the back of the bar to get his manager who would no doubt fire him soon for this.

'Fucking Parker Luck,' he thought bitterly.

Unawares to Peter, Stephanie and Barbara joined Slade in watching over the knocked out patron, looking down at him as if he were scum underneath their shoes. Stephanie glanced at Slade, who, even though he wasn't looking at her, knew that she required his attention. Fully aware that he was listening, Steph said,

"I assume that you won't struggle to say yes to this mission?" He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"No problems here, blondie. I'll even take this case pro bono if I get first shot at him." Slade grinned at the blonde, a ruthless intent behind his expression. Steph, who mirrored this, then turned to Babs to gage her reaction.

"Count me in," she murmured, her tone soft but firm. She was quite disgusted by the display that negatively affected their new favorite bartender, "but you do know Dick and Tim are gonna want to know why we're doing this." Slade stilled at the mention of his ex, and whether or not the two women noticed it, they didn't comment. Instead, Steph hummed.

"That may be, but I think they'll quite like Petey." The blonde sent Babs a knowing smirk, which Babs rolled her eyes at. Secretly, however, she agreed with her friend.

'Yeah,' she thought as Peter came back out, his fluffy brown hair bouncing with every step and his doe brown eyes wide, 'they'll like him. A lot.'