Just a little something I whipped up in twenty minutes or so. I've got a longer fix-it in the works, but for now I thought I'd post this.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own DC's Legends of Tomorrow or The Flash.

WORD COUNT: 689

The clientele of Saints and Sinners tended more towards the 'sinner' end of the scale than the 'saints', and that was just the way they liked it. If someone who didn't fit the scene walked in, they usually got intimidated within the first ten minutes and walked back out within the first fifteen. But not this strange crowd.

The first two to enter appeared to be a couple. The man was tense, didn't look any of the regulars in the eye. The woman garnered a lot of appreciative looks from the men in the room (and a couple women), but when one drunk regular actually had the guts to sidle up to her, she fixed him with a calm stare and turned him down. There was an unspecific something about her response that unnerved the man so badly that he backed off without even noticing the death glare her boyfriend had sent his way. The woman ordered a screwdriver, the man a whiskey sour.

Next came an older man with white hair and thick glasses, looking like he should be standing at the front of a college lecture hall instead of a dive bar. His companion was a young man who tried to order a rum and coke, but after a stern "Jefferson" from the older one, he changed it to a plain coke. The bespectacled man ordered a beer. They were greeted warmly by the first pair and joined them.

After that was a pair the regulars had seen often enough; they would sometimes come in with another regular, one who hadn't been seen for a while. Their entrance didn't draw as much attention, but when they sat down with the other four, beers in hand, it was noticed.

Four more people entered shortly after; two men and two women. The guy with long dark hair scrunched up his nose as he took the place in, while the brunette clutched her purse tightly and was visibly nervous at all the attention they were getting. If the other woman was scared, she didn't show it, and the tall, youthful guy with shorter hair didn't seemed fazed at all. The bartender remembered him; he'd visited the bar twice in the past year or so to talk with one of the regulars, the same one who hadn't been around lately, which had caught the bartender's attention because that regular had never been seen hanging out with anyone besides the aforementioned two. The two women ordered screwdrivers, the young-looking guy a beer, and the black-haired one an orange soda (which he vehemently insisted to be only because he was the designated driver). They joined the growing crowd at the bar, and Mr. Orange Soda got hugged suddenly by the female semi-regular.

The last two to arrive were a man and woman. The man was tall, well-dressed, and naively open and friendly as he ordered a beer. The woman came in behind him, and she was short, blonde, and abrupt as she asked for the strongest liquor they had. She carried her drink with her to the strange crowd. The first woman hugged her tightly, others patted her arms or shoulders, and the second woman finally let go of Orange Soda to shake her hand. Were they crying?

The young guy, the one who'd been there twice before, cleared his throat. "There's no way I can say that Snart and I were close," he began, "But I figure this would be the best place to honor him. If he could hear me, he'd probably say I was being sappy and sounding stupid, but… I'm gonna miss him. I'm gonna miss how he kept me on my toes every time we met, how he made me want to punch him so many times, and how he kept surprising me those times he turned out to not be such a cold-hearted jackass." He raised his beer. "To the pain in our asses who wound up saving all our asses. To Snart."

"To Snart," they all echoed.