Where Roads Mead

by Curiosity44

Sometimes people lose their way. Sometimes they can't find their way back. Sometimes they never figured out how to walk it in the first place. Sometimes...people just need someone to listen. Have a drink at Where Roads Mead, a bar that connects those who lost their way, and anyone else who wanders through its doors. AU WARNINGS. I CHANGE STUFF. Will add minor movies to the mix.

1. The First Tale - The Lost Cub

AN: Yo! Welcome to a new story. Been sitting on this one for a bit, but I got far enough into it to feel happy to start posting.

This is mainly a 'Bar' style fic with slight aspects of 'Café' genre. It's set in a mixed world of DxD, PJO, and a few minor movie mixes I'll throw into the mix whenever applicable. Don't worry about schematics, I'll explain stuff as we go.

There will be lots of character dialogue in this one. It's less about the MC fighting, as it is being connected to a large category of characters in unique ways.

Expect lots of slice of life, different character POV's from typical story lines, and who knows what else. I try to be original, but I'm sure someone somewhere wrote something related to what I want to write. I do my best anyway.

I did a lot of research into cocktails to write certain parts of this story, and I enjoyed it, but just know that when I get into describing drinks, I'm being as accurate as I can to a real drink. I will state for the record that I have never been a bartender before.

With all that said, let's jump on in.

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Disclaimer: I own no source material.

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Chapter 1: The First Tale – The Lost Cub.

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Flakes of snow fell gently from the heavens above, painting the city that never slept white in its cool embrace.

The setting sun robbed the sky of its light, but New York City would never be without illumination as it truly came alive in the night.

Distant chatter and laughter rang through the streets as people of all cultures went about their business.

Cars honked, sirens rang, and subway trains chugged along as the city's ambient sounds continued without end.

A festive energy was in the air as the city celebrated Christmas Eve of the year two thousand and four.

Families came together, friends met in bars, and many put down their work, taking the night to be more human than machine as their ambitions to succeed took a temporary backseat.

Many gathered around the famous Rockefeller Christmas tree, towering and imposing, shining and warming among the chilly winter air with just its presence. Others played at the Rockefeller ice rink, laughing and smiling as they fell into the flow of the holiday cheer.

It was a time of joy and gratitude. A time to give and receive. A time to relax and destress. A time to dream and be jolly.

And it was a time, to reflect.

Life could be messy, and oftentimes, we lose our way. Many recover, some lean on others for support, and fewer stumble onto their path with luck.

But just as many remain lost. Waiting, hoping, wishing, even if they don't themselves realize it, for someone to listen.

Someone to not judge. Someone to not pity them. Someone to objectively tell them what their inner demons sounded like, without wanting to change or conform them.

Someone to give them a chance. To hear their side of the story.

And on that night, another lost soul stumbled into that someone.

It happened in a small, simple bar on the Upper East side, closer to Lenox Hill, on a small side street, tucked away between two much larger buildings.

The bar was two stories, with tinted windows, warm redwood walls, and a set of stairs leading down to the front door of the establishment's entrance where a metallic sign hung out from a post above the frame at street level.

'Where Roads Mead' it read. A play on words symbolized by a mug of mead over a crossroad.

Through the front door, where a gentle bell signaled anyone's arrival hung, a dimly lit, relaxing interior lay.

Plush red carpeting, walls split between hardwood, and red and white wallpapers with frames holding images of various past guests.

Lights hung down from the blue-painted ceiling, giving the L-shaped polished bar top a dim glow.

Padded blue barrel bar chairs lined the bar, two to the short side and seven to the long.

Similar styled booths sat across from the bar, numbering eight in total and able to fit four to a table.

Illuminated wooden shelves lined the wall behind the bar, lined side to side with bottles of various liquors and liqueurs, and stacked four shelves high, with five sets of shelves lined up in a row.

Only the center set held no bottles, but an array of glasses and mugs.

A counter beneath the bar top on the inside was lined with shakers, dashers, bowls of limes and lemons, a freezer, and a beer tap.

At the far end, out of sight, a swinging door led to a short hall, leading both to the kitchen and bathroom. And from the kitchen, a set of stairs led up to the second floor, where a private loft existed for residential use.

The interior was luxurious, yet at most, fifteen hundred square feet, thirty across and fifty long, making up the shape of a rectangle with a maximum occupancy of just under forty guests at a time.

But there weren't forty guests that night. In fact, the bar rarely had guests. And at the moment, only two souls only occupied the space.

An elderly male bartender idly cleaned a lowball glass with a cloth as he eyed his guest with open curiosity. The older man was the perfect image of a gentlemen in a form fitting high quality bartender attire, fitting perfectly into the scene with smooth piano jazz playing from hidden speakers.

His guest, however, was almost the exact opposite.

Sprayed over the counter, a filthy man in rags for clothes, reeking to high heavens, with ungroomed facial hair and hollow cheeks, clutched his empty glass with shaking fingers.

"Another." His hoarse and shaky voice called out.

The older man raised a brow, seeing the three empty glasses already at the younger one's side, but said nothing as he prepared a fourth glass for his dark-haired customer.

Two ounces of scotch, half an ounce of simple syrup, and three dashes of bitters were stirred into a glass with ice before being strained into a lowball glass with a square ice cube and garnished with an orange twist.

A Dalmore 12 Old-Fashioned, as the younger man had requested on his arrival, was presented not a minute later, having been prepped by long experienced hands. The ice clinked gently in the glass of amber liquid, wafting with the citrus scent of the orange peel.

Stormy blue eyes blinked blurrily as the guest clutched the glass of scotch in a desperate grip and ran a finger over the rim, resting his head on an arm dully, and idly looked over at the bartender returning to his cleaning of a glass that looked perfectly clean already.

The younger man's gaze traveled from the glass to the older man and back as his finger tapped the rim to the beat of the soft jazz. "You guys got a tab?"

The older man didn't bother looking his way. "I doubt you could pay even if we did."

The guest grunted and pushed himself up on his elbows. "Then why give me the drinks?"

The bartender hummed and turned halfway with an intrigued, aged half smile. "It takes a special type of person to walk through my doors." He gazed at the younger man's forehead, where a unique four-sided arrow tattoo sat, and narrowed his eye as he tried to see what lay beyond. "Besides, it's Christmas. Happy holidays." He returned to his cleaning as his guest gripped his drink tightly with a grimace.

"I don't need no handout. I don't need your pity. I'll pay you back." He brought the glass to his lips and felt the liquor burn down his throat, drowning out his thoughts on how 'happy' the holidays were.

The old man hummed and finally put away the glass he was cleaning as he came to stand across from the seated young man and leaned back against the counter. "Very well, then how about a story?"

"A story?"

"Indeed. Stories are often best told with drinks. Pay for your tab with your tale."

The younger man scoffed as he answered sarcastically. "How much time you got?" He didn't expect the blunt answer that followed.

"All night. I have no where to be."

The guest eyed the rest of the bar, only really realizing then that it was only the two of them, having walked through the door in a daze to escape the cold, expecting to be kicked out without a word and not really paying attention.

Instead, he sat down and ordered, receiving a drink without questions asked. And then another. And another.

"I….I don't really know where to start." The younger man responded hesitantly.

"How about with your name?"

"My name?" A flash of pain crossed the younger man's face as he responded lowly. "Leon…Leon Volk." Old mental wounds flared as Leon dreaded a reaction to his name, but the last thing he expected was an aged palm to enter his vision.

He looked up at the friendly face of the bartender with his hand extended. "A pleasure Leon, Volk is Russian, is it not? You can refer to me as Mr. H." The older man flicked his name tag over his chest, where Mr. H was stamped cleanly.

Leon stared hard at the older man and saw no recognition of his last name. His old wounds faded as he met the hand with a shake of his own, long-forgotten manners kicking in as he responded in a clearer tone. "A pleasure. And yeah, it means wolf in Russian."

"A strong name, although, you don't seem happy about it."

The younger man snorted. "What gave me away?"

Mr. H hummed and let it go. "Well, introductions are in order. Now, entertain me with your tale and I might just give you another refill."

Leon eyed his empty glass and grunted. "Why does it always vanish so quickly?"

"Because you forget to savor the moment." A new glass of scotch slid his way, and Leon blinked as he hadn't even felt the old man move. He may have questioned things, but he was well and truly tipsy, halfway on his journey to drunk, as he enjoyed the buzz he hadn't felt in weeks and gripped the new glass.

"Maybe I've forgotten how to."

"It's never too late to start."

"Sometimes… it is." Leon sighed and lifted his glass, only to pause at the words he was just told and take a small sip, letting the flavor of the scotch fill him. "It's smooth."

The older man chuckled. "Very smooth. A good choice for an Old-Fashioned."

Leon grunted. "I've had enough time to know what works."

"Did you study Mixology?"

Leon's eyes shifted away from the older man's gaze. "In a manner of speaking."

Mr. H saw the pain in the younger man's expression and waved a hand. "Perhaps, you should start at the beginning."

Leon rolled his glass and stared into his blurry reflection as he thought back. "I guess…. it started from the moment of my birth." He made a pointing gesture with his finger. "You know that painting? The one with the dogs….what was it called…ah, right, Dogs Playing Poker?"

Mr. H hummed with an almost fond smile. "I do. It was painted by Cassius Marcellus Coolidge in the early 1900's."

Leon didn't notice the older man's distant gaze and went on. "Yeah, that one. You know that bulldog? The one smoking a cigar with a mean face? That was basically my father."

"Must have been rough."

Leon slammed a fist down on the bar. "It was!" The energy fled in a heartbeat as he sagged. "It was. But he wasn't a bad father." The younger man took another sip and let his mind go down memory lane. "He wasn't a bad guy. He wasn't a good guy either. He was a hard ass, rarely showing emotion, but he cared in his own weird way."

Mr. H's finger twitched as the words struck a nerve, but he stayed silent.

"I admired him you know? My father was a rare breed. A Russian immigrant. Escaped the communist nation in the late sixties to come to America at the young age of twenty-four, no older than me. The land of milk and cookies where all your dreams come true." Leon chuckled sarcastically. "The guy was so happy. He thought a red carpet would greet him when he arrived. Women, cars, caviar, champagne, he thought it would all be his just for getting here."

Leon sighed and leaned back. "It was a big deal back then you know? My grandfather had been the one to let him go. The man went from a successful construction company employee at the top to bottom of the barrel, all because his son had 'run away' to America."

Mr. H hummed. "It was a different time."

"Yeah, it was cruel. And it gave him a real wakeup call. He was my own age, overweight, with no college education, barely any money, with a serious smoking problem, a chip on his shoulder, and barely speaking English in the middle of American east coast winter." Leon swirled his drink. "And you know what he did?" A spark of pride burst through the younger man's lidded gaze. "He took on the world."

He chuckled and then coughed as a burst of pain shot through him. Almost ironically, shaking hands reached into his dirty jacket to remove an equally dirty pack of cigarettes, likely pulled from a dumpster somewhere. Leon looked up with a questioning gaze, and Mr. H waved his hand. "Be my guest."

Leon nodded thankfully and lit up the cigarette, breathing in that calming yet addicting tobacco laced with nicotine. His mind was already hazy enough to not even register how the ashtray appeared by the side of his hand as he went on. "My old man got some help from a nice Rabbi at a Shul, my family being Jewish on that side, although before that day, my father never cared for religion. The Rabbi got him a job, a place to stay, and even some starting funds, all without more than a simple thank you from my old man who never looked back."

He took another hit and released a cloud of smoke in the dim lighting as he calmed. "He went from job to job, he struggled, his chip got ground down by reality, and eventually he began to grow. He had a talent for sales, and man, did he sell." Leon chuckled and looked down. "Selling vacuums door to door, barely speaking English, and still getting people to spend thousands on fucking vacuums of all things." He shook his head in amusement. "He was good, and he found his calling as he kept jumping jobs." Leon took a sip. "He met my mother in that time, and while love wasn't really there, they had a partnership. She spoke English better and had an easier time getting people to open their doors, so she did the talking, and he did the selling. A classic soft and hard approach."

The cigarette end burned brightly as he went on. "And then my mother got pregnant."

"With you?"

"Nah, my eldest sister. A real hell raiser." Leon smirked. "Little Ellen. She used to go to neighbors houses, knock on the door, and tell them that her parents didn't feed her."

Mr. H let out a small laugh. "Hell raiser indeed."

"Yeah. It was rough back then for the family, but they somehow made it through. My father picked up religion around that time, not for any personal connection to god, but because he knew there were connections to be made through it for business. He shook hands, smiled, did the whole nine yards as he learned from others. And eventually got into real estate. And from real estate into the stock market. By the end, he was running a hedge fund company built from scratch with his own hands. A company that shined under his talent, will, cunning, and most of all." A cloud of smoke left his lips as he looked ahead at nothing. "Ambition. An ambition that built a mountain of success out of the bricks of all his failures."

Mr. H hummed. "Sounds like you really admired him."

"I did. Still do." Leon ran a hand through his hair. "Even more so because after becoming successful, one of the first things he did was go back to find that Rabbi that helped him after he first arrived in the US to repay him. Although, all he found was a tombstone." Leon ashed his cigarette with a pause. "So you know what he did? He tracked down the man's family and put the Rabbi's children through college. All expenses paid."

"That was nice of him."

Leon grunted and leaned back in his chair. "Yeah. My old man had a real bleeding heart. Donating swaths of money to charities, starting his own orphanages in foreign countries, helping orphans find futures." He chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I'm sure he did it for the tax cuts as well, but he always told me that he wanted to give others the chances he never had growing up." He looked down at himself and his torn clothing. "Ironically, the guy only helped the youth. Just as he wanted to help those who never had a chance, he would say that adults who were homeless had their chance and wasted it." A defeated sigh left his lips. "He was a real case."

Mr. H tilted his head. "Life isn't always black and white; it seems he just made a hard choice to pick who to help."

Leon shrugged. "I guess."

"So how does this all relate to you?"

"Ah, right. Well, I was the fourth child in my family. All three above me being girls. And my old man really wanted a boy."

Mr. H winced. "That's a bad recipe right there."

Leon chuckled. "Yes sir." He finished off his drink and didn't even blink at the new one that appeared the second he put down his glass as his vision wavered. "My old man had plenty of expectations thrown my way from the start, and the girls didn't appreciate that. They say children take on qualities of their parents, and I believe it. My sisters inherited his talent, cunning, ruthlessness, and his ambition." Calming nicotine filled his lungs as he inhaled. "I took more from my mother, her kindness, her down to earth nature, and most importantly, her love of freedom."

A gentle smile touched his lips as he thought back to those times. "She was a wonderful woman. Born in Ukraine, had been through her own hardships, and moved to America with her parents. Her father was a heart surgeon, someone of real status back then, but he was a good man for the most part, aside from being a stout traditionist in some things like marriage. Funny enough, my mother was actually engaged to someone else when she met my father. Arranged by her father to a nice engineer, although he was twice her age. My mother refused to accept that, refused to let her freedom be taken from her." Leon remembered her telling him the tale late at night while putting him to bed. "She ran away with my father and they became a team. Even if the love was missing, it was her choice, and she was happy with that. No matter how much easier her life might have been if she listened to her father."

"Sounds like a strong woman. Especially for that time period."

Leon nodded in agreement. "Yeah, she was. But she didn't have ambition or drive. She let my father steer the boat and followed in his wake. When he moved up in the world, she stayed back to take care of the kids. The girls were a mess. Not evil, but they all only cared for my father's approval. They fought, competed, short changed each other, and made messes of everything. We couldn't even have a simple game of monopoly without secret alliances and backroom deals."

Mr. H barked a laugh at the mental image, and Leon joined him.

"It wasn't so bad when we were kids, but it only grew out of hand as we got older. The girls didn't hate me, but they were happy to put me down to get in my father's view. They clawed for every win they could get. Straight A students, extra activities, instruments, they went all out."

Leon breathed out some more smoke with a sigh. "And then there was me. The black sheep. I never wanted to win. I never wanted to fight. But my father expected the most from me. He spoke little back then, allocating an hour a week for a one on one talk, but each conversation was sharp and to the point. I was to do my best. Given the tutors and teachers my sisters had to ask for. Martial arts, music, gymnastics, etiquette, the list goes on. And you know what I felt the whole time?"

Leon looked up with tired eyes. "I hated it because I wasn't given a choice. And I hated myself because I couldn't work up the courage to argue against the choices made for me."

Mr. H hummed at that. "Freedom. Just like your mother."

"Yeah, just like her."

"Did you ever talk to her about it?"

A grunt left the younger man's lips as he sipped his drink. "Never really got the chance. She got sick when I was five and passed away a year after." The cigarette burned itself out on the ashtray as a moment of silence passed.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Don't be. It happened a long time ago." Leon sat back and looked up at the ceiling. "I enjoyed my time with her. She told me stories, showered me in love, reprimanded me while explaining what I did wrong, taught me how to play the piano, and took me with her to do things like cook old school Russian recipes in the kitchen." A soft smile rested on his lips. "I'll never forget those days, and I'll always appreciate them."

Mr. H smiled at the younger man. "A good mother is a gift."

"Hear, hear."

"I assume things became harder after she passed."

Leon's peaceful smile shattered as he lifted the glass to his lips with a nod. "Mn. Even after all these years, I still remember her funeral." He lit up another cigarette as he talked. "I remember the casket being lowered into the earth. I remember watching the dirt fill the hole. I remember the hot tears I shed that day." He stared into the flame of his lighter. "But you know what else I remember? I remember the look of apathy on my family's faces. Like they were looking at something that was in the way. Like they all had better places to be."

Leon shook his head in disgust and blew out a cloud of smoke. "I learned that the world was cruel that day. I learned how to wear a mask. I learned that my family are only called that because of blood, not choice." He sighed and went on. "And the future proved my points. With my mother gone, the pressure skyrocketed on my shoulders. My father expected me to take over his company, and I'm sure in his mind he was just giving me everything he never could have as a child, but he was suffocating me. And my sisters took every chance to tighten the knot."

Another self-deprecating sigh left his lips as he took another drink. "And the fucked up thing was that I still couldn't find the ambition to fight back directly. My freedom was taken from me, my life wasn't mine to live, and my young heart rebelled the only way it could. It rebelled against the teachers and got poor grades, it rebelled against the etiquette and got into fights, hell, by the time I was thirteen I had already broken into my father's liquor cabinet."

Contrary to the sour mood, Leon suddenly laughed and flicked his glass. "I remember the day my father called me over to the kitchen while I was fourteen as he held a bottle of Kors Vodka, the really expensive shit. He had asked everyone around why the vodka he kept in the freezer was frozen solid and my dumb ass could only realize that I drank it and refilled it with water thinking no one would notice."

Mr. H chuckled in amusement. "Did he find out?"

Leon shook his head. "Nah. I played it off and I think one of my sisters got blamed." He smirked at the memory and went on. "Anyway, shit was hard. I never got a good sleep. Every waking hour was scheduled for me. I was dragged to events of all kinds as my father's son, put in a fancy suit, and told to mingle. A kid my age shouldn't have had to wear a mask so early." Leon took a hit and let out another cloud. "I easily formed masks. I could speak to whoever, say what needed to be said to make them happy, and hate myself for every minute of it. Even when I went to school, and I thought I could make friends, the schools made a big deal out of my last name wanting donations from my father, and the masks had to remain on. I was never free. Even from a youthful age, kids I met were told by their parents to befriend me to use me, and I saw through it all."

Mr. H raised a brow. "A bit cynical there don't you think? How did you know?"

Leon shrugged. "I made them tell me. Kids love to brag when you give them a chance."

"You used reverse psychology when you were a kid?"

"What can I say?" Leon chuckled, and Mr. H shook his head in exasperation.

"So what happened next?"

Leon hummed and sipped his drink, getting progressively drunker as he went along and the words poured out of him. "Well, I continued to rebel where I could. Slowly became scorned more and more by my family. Time passed, I continued to show mediocre results from all my lessons, and we grew older. The girls left the house one after another, spreading their wings into the world and taking it by storm just as my father did."

Leon didn't even need to get a new glass at this point, as his scotch seemed to refill without him realizing it. "The eldest, Ellen, she went into Insurance and built her name as an agent from the ground up. The second, Emma, went into real estate with my father's advice, and became a self-made millionaire by twenty five. And the third, Sarah, she stepped into the fashion industry and pushed a company of beauty products to the front of the market. Each one, burning with ambition and drive to succeed, to be the best and outdo each other."

Another long drink was taken as his eyelids grew heavy and he leaned forward on the bar. "And then there was me. Messing around and refusing to grow. Pathetic, no? I had all the tools but not the will. I rejected it all till the end. My soul screamed for freedom, and I tried to find it in any way I could."

His second cigarette burned out, and when he reached for another, he realized he had finished his last one with a sigh. Mr. H opened a silver case and offered him a cigarette without a word, and the younger man took it with a thankful nod.

"Eventually, I found an answer with a military recruiting officer who came to my school." Leon smiled at the memory. "The guy had zero expectations to seduce anyone to enlist at a rich snob school like mine, but he was there, and I listened, and I stood forward with zero hesitation." He blew out some smoke and looked up. "My school was private, and it had a system where the more work a student did, the faster they could graduate. It let those who had the smarts to advance put in the effort and not get bogged down by wasting time."

"Seems efficient."

"It was. The funny thing is, I was way behind on my courses. I remember this harpy of a guidance counselor telling me I was going to have to retake my last year of high school. But the second I found a way to escape, I put my mind to it and graduated a week before I turned eighteen." A small smile of pride grew on his lips. "I'll never forget that look on her face when I got my diploma. I graduated, turned eighteen a week later, and got shipped off to Marine Corps boot camp the following week, a real eventful month."

"What did your father think of that?"

Leon shrugged. "At the time? No idea. I didn't tell anyone. I just ran. I listened to my drill instructors, did what I had to do, and graduated top of my class before getting sent off for specialized training. They even put me down as a candidate for special forces with my scores. For the first time in eighteen years of life, I accomplished something entirely on my own that I could be proud about."

Mr. H smiled at him. "Must have been a big moment for you."

"It was." Leon swirled his glass with a lost gaze. "It was, but nothing lasts." He took a drink and sighed. "I soon realized that I just traded one cage for another. The military didn't promote individual freedom. You were a number. One among many. Not even a year into my military career, I got into a fist fight with a superior officer, some cocky little shit who signed up as an officer instead of enlisting, and I got dishonorably dissscharged." Leon slurred his words a bit at the end, the booze taking its toll. "They booted me out real quick without any connections to cover my ass. But I didn't care. I was free again."

Leon lifted the cigarette to his lips as he thought back. "I remember that day, sitting on a bench at the airport, staring at two different flights on the board that left at the same time. One to take me back home, to my father. And the other leading to parts unknown." A deep look appeared in his gaze. "I can't say what it was about that moment in time, but it felt like….like a hand pushed me on the back and told me where to go."

Mr. H smiled wide. "Parts unknown?"

Leon smirked around the cigarette between his lips. "Parts unknown. My soul called for freedom and I ran with it. The following year was the best of my entire life." His mind traveled to those days. "With nothing more than a backpack, I flew to South America and traveled for close to a year. Worked in hostels, various odd jobs, and even this weird hotel in the middle of ass end nowhere in Argentina. Mostly bars, though; everyone loves bartenders."

Mr. H nodded at that token of wisdom as the younger man chuckled.

"I saw penguins and orcas, hiked through one of the deepest canyons in the world, camped in the Patagonia mountains, went down to the southernmost city in the world before Antarctica, Ushuaia, trekked through Chile, visited Easter island, surfed sand dunes in Peru and visited the Amazon to play with monkeys. All that and so much more."

His eyes brimmed with emotions that made the older man smile softly. "Traveling expands horizons."

Leon raised his glass to that. "It was a journey. I fell in brief love, experienced heartbreak, played around, made friends who didn't know my last name, took week-long horse trips into nowhere, and saw sights I couldn't ever imagine before." He sighed wistfully. "I even got my back and shoulders tattooed by this eighty-year-old Peruvian woman in the Sun Valley. She had this 'sight,' or so the locals said, to see what others didn't."

Mr. H raised an interested brow. "What did she give you."

Leon leaned forward and rested his heavy head on his arms. "This big lion head on my back with this staff thingy in its teeth. What was that word….? That staff thingy with two snakes?"

Mr. H's eyes widened noticeably, but Leon was too far gone to notice. "A caduceus?"

Leon snapped his fingers. "That's the one. I spoke Spanglish, so I got a broken translation of what she was trying to tell me." He wiggled his fingers jokingly. "She got all mystical and said something like 'You are a lion, born to the wolves, unable to escape being a cub. The day will come when you must make a choice.'" Leon scoffed in amusement. "Crazy old bat. I always took it as the two snakes were the angel and devil on my shoulder. Cuz they came up and cross over my shoulders, get it?" Leon laughed drunkenly, and Mr. H's brow twitched, but his eyes traveled to the younger man's forehead.

"I see, did she also give you that tattoo up there?"

Leon's laughter died down as poked at it. "Nah, I got this….more recently I guess."

Mr. H hummed curiously but waved a hand. "Why don't you continue, I think we're getting close to the end." The older man could tell by just how much Leon had been drinking.

Leon swayed in his seat with a nod. "Right, er, my trip. I had a blast. Toward the end, I was doing these tour guide jobs and got scouted for a company. I had this whole path laid out and felt great about it; it was my choice, you know? And then, one day, my dad showed up." Leon's mood dipped. "Just clear out of the blue. I hadn't seen him since I ran off, and I honestly expected a dressing down, but the guy walked right up to me and hugged me."

Leon hiccupped and dropped his head on the bar top. "He actually praised me for having the courage to make my own choices. To live and survive for two years without his help or money. It was the first time I heard that shit in my life, and I kind of fell into a daze as he pulled me along to a restaurant to sit and talk." He raised his head and sighed. "He started off complimenting me, and then mid-way through, he really got into his reason for being there." Leon smiled sardonically. "Just like everything else he sold in his life, my father sold me on something before I could even blink. He wanted me to come home, and his words from back then stuck with me."

Leon's voice grew deeper as he quoted his old man. "Do you want to live like this for the rest of your life? Messing around and wasting your potential? Come work for me, I'll teach you what you need to know to succeed."

Leon broke into a fit of drunken laughter as he finished, doubling over and slamming his fist into the bar top. "Ha! And you know what I did? I fucking listened to him." Leon wiped some wetness from his eyes. "I listened. Against my better judgement, I followed him home like some lost pup. I let him put me back in a suit, sit me in an office cubical, and spend the next two years of my life slowly dying inside as I gave up my freedom. And for what? Some sense of security? To make him proud? To live up to his expectations?"

Leon gripped his head tightly as he gritted his teeth, and Mr. H said nothing as the younger man tried to force out the words. "I did my best. I tried to force down my feelings and 'suck it up.' I did the projects given to me. I signed up for online college. I got back into my physical and martial training. And I put the mask back on." He sighed and kneaded his forehead to calm down. "I fooled myself into thinking I was living the right way, and just like when I was a kid, my soul rebelled. For two years I struggled between two worlds. One studying hard, doing the work, and training till my knuckles bled. And the other trying to rebel and digging in its heels. Like trying to kick a dying horse, I went through bursts of productivity before it slowed to a crawl. My soul screamed to go one way, and my head said to stay on course. It took two years before it boiled over and I fucked up a project, and my father fired me without remorse, telling me I didn't have what it takes."

Leon pushed himself back up and took a long drink, already unable to realize his scotch had been replaced with water as he was on the verge of blacking out.

"My old man must have seen through my desire to run back to being a tour guide in another country as he threw me the keys to a cabin in the back of his property, deep in the woods. Told me to stay put like a fucking dog so I wouldn't give him a headache. Told me not to wander off, and just do whatever I wanted with my time. He was done with me. But in his own way, he wanted to keep me where he could see me, thinking I couldn't hash it on my own anymore and worried I would die in a ditch somewhere. Like I was an invalid or some shit. Stubborn old man couldn't imagine being wrong."

Tears of frustration fell from his eyes as he gripped his glass. "And you know what the worst part of it all was? I listened! I was disgusted with myself. I didn't blame or hate my dad for screwing me over or something, I hated myself for my cowardice to not just leave and never look back. I was finally crushed by the expectation that had been weighing on me for two decades. I couldn't even find the will to make new friends, as everything I did or anywhere I went would eventually be known by my father. I was trapped in a cage of my own making. In my own pathetic nature."

He sniffed and found a napkin by his side, taking it without thinking. "I couldn't even make myself keep training. I tried to force it, but my environment killed every sense of motivation I could make. On and off, back and forth, I've pushed myself up dozens of times, and fallen each time. And eventually, I just….gave up."

He lifted his glass and swirled the contents, seeing the dim lighting reflect off the liquid. "I turned to booze and drugs to escape the pain, let my body and mind fall to ruin, and like so many others, it killed me."

Mr. H raised a brow. "You died?"

Leon hiccupped and nodded. "Mhm. Overdosed I guess. One minute I'm drugged out of my mind, and the next I'm floating in this weird foggy void. Just went on and on without end. And then these letters formed in the air, and something spoke to me."

Mr. H leaned forward in interest. "What do you mean something?"

"Hell if I know. I thought I was on some weird drug-induced trip at the time. It was big, bold letters telling me stuff like I died and that I was being given a choice to go to a new world where I could continue. Which is ironic considering my tattoo. Wasn't sure if I was in heaven or hell." Leon chuckled foolishly, and Mr. H once again twitched.

"What choice?"

Leon hummed drunkenly and waved a hand. "Something weird. What was it? Oh, right. In big, bold letters, it asked:

[If you had a second chance, what would you wish for? {Wealth} {Fame} {Power} {Freedom} {Eternal Rest}.]

I took eternal rest to mean I could let it all end and I really was tempted. I was tired and thought just going to eternal sleep would be nice."

"What changed your mind?"

Leon's drunken gaze sharpened briefly, and Mr. H's interest spiked. "I….don't remember."

Mr. H had to physically stop himself from faceplanting. "You forgot?!"

"Wait, no, I remember now." Leon looked up and stared at something far away. "I remembered the tattoo and the old woman who gave it to me, telling me about a choice. Something clicked with that, and I gave in to my soul's heartfelt desire." He smiled wide. "I made a choice and for the first time since that day I followed my father home, I felt whole again, you know?"

Leon slumped forward for the last time. "I felt free in a way I can't describe." His voice began drifting off.

Mr. H smiled at the passing-out younger man. "It seems you broke your self-imposed shackles; not everyone can say that. So, what happened next?"

Leon mumbled a bit. "Next? Next….next….oh, right. I made my choice, and then whoever it was I was talking to fucking branded me. Shit burned."

The older man sweatdropped. "They….branded you?"

Leon pointed lazily at his forehead. "This thing. I got fucking stamped or something, it hurt like a bitch, felt like my head was swelling. Next thing I know the words came back, telling me a bunch of stuff I could barely remember before I passed out, only to wake up buck ass nude in a backstreet alley in the city. In December. That was almost two weeks ago, and I think my withdrawal symptoms have been hitting me pretty hard because I've been seeing some really weird shit while I wandered around the city."

"Like what?"

Leon hiccupped. "Glowing lights where no tech was. Big ass dogs with red eyes. Kids with armor and swords running through back alleys. Bodybuilders with one big eye. People with wings. The list goes on."

The older man hummed. "Does the phrase 'clear-sighted' mean anything to you?" Leon grunted out a 'no' with little elegance, and Mr. H nodded. "Figures. I was wondering how you found your way through my door."

"Hm?" Leon turned a swaying head his way, and the old man waved it off.

"Nothing. Have you noticed anything since waking up?"

"Besides being concerned about freezing my nuts to anything metallic?"

Mr. H cracked a smile. "Yes, beside that."

Leon's body finally seemed to be on the verge of total shutdown with how much liquor was in him as his vision began to darken. "Yesh…this weird thing pulls down over my eyes, 'The Four Paths' or some shit like that. I don't know. I made a choice when I woke up, picked one of em, got this fancy book, apparently I can make potions if I gather some stuff, real helpful when I'm broke, ya know?" Leon snorted and rubbed his head against his arm with a yawn. "So much for super powers when I'm dying of hypothermia, withdrawal, and hunger."

Mr. H winced. "You didn't try getting help?"

Leon grunted out something unintelligible. "Cops, told me to fuck off. Homeless, want what little I have. Got clothes from a box in the trash after a thrift shop chased me out. Scavenged for what else I could get." He began nodding off as he spoke. "So much for a second chance…. Why even revive me at all?"

Mr. H silently stared at the younger man with a thoughtful look. His gaze traveled to the tattoo on his forehead, and he blinked at what he saw. Only after Leon spoke of it was the older man able to peer behind it and sense the incredible amount of potential energy packed within. 'The kids had it rough. But my guess was right. This is the source of that spatial anomaly a couple weeks ago. Everyone got excited about figuring out what it was, and it just wandered here on its own, and with my mark on his back no less, what are the odds?'

Mr. H considered his options for a long moment before deciding to take a gamble. His voice deepened with an authority that wasn't there a moment before. "Hey kid."

"Hm..?" Leon mumbled, half asleep.

"You want a job?"

"Job?"

"Yeah, you said you knew your liquor. Run the bar for me."

"Hmm….sounds….fun." With those last words of acceptance, he passed out, utterly dead to the world while the older man thought to himself.

'Well, he agreed. Kid could use some responsibility and freedom in equal measure, one where no one's got a chain on him but he's got something to do. Running the bar should help him meet other people and heal some wounds.' Mr. H chuckled as his body began to glow. 'I never even intended this bar to be anything more than a private hang out spot. The kid walked right through my aversion ward without even realizing it. A clear sighted mortal running a supernatural bar, huh, that sounds like the start of a great joke.'

Mr. H's chuckles turned into laughter that shook the walls as he snapped his fingers. Leon's body vanished to appear in the loft above, lying on a single mattress in an otherwise completely empty space. 'Hm, kid probably won't remember much of this conversation. Better leave a note.' A letter appeared by Leon's pillow, and Mr. H's body began to fade away. He looked around with a thoughtful look and starched his chin. 'Let's make this interesting.'

A heavy aura settled on the bar as he spoke aloud. "By my authority, let those wandering lost souls in need of rest find these doors." He waved a hand, and the sign 'Where Roads Mead' hanging above the front door glowed golden before it faded. 'There, now Leon should have his work cut out for him. I'd love to see his face when he realizes exactly what kind of clientele he will be receiving.'

Mr. H shook his head with a laugh and faded away, only to reopen his eyes in a different location where his main body was in the middle of taking a nap while eleven titanic bodies sitting in thrones around him argued and complained in equal measure.

To his immediate left, a giant man in a leather jacket and sunglasses with a dangerous aura noticed him return and elbowed him. "Oi, Hermes, my turn to nap."

Mr. H, or Hermes as he was better known, chuckled and nodded back. "Go for it Ares, I had my fun."

Ares lifted a brow at his half-brother. "I thought you were just going for a drink? Anything interesting happen?"

Hermes, god of business, trade, roads, travel, and hospitality. Guider of souls, owner of the caduceus, and messenger of the gods smirked secretly. "Who knows."

Ares snorted at his brother trying to be mysterious and sat back to get comfortable so he could look awake to the others while he slept. "Whatever, I'm going to get laid."

Hermes chuckled and summoned a Dalmore 12 Old-Fashioned to his hand. 'It might have been a random whim, but that kid interested me, along with whatever is hiding in that head of his." The god swirled his drink while recalling the incredible potential he sensed stirring behind that tattoo. 'The future is starting to look interesting.'

End.

AN: Thoughts?