Disclaimer: I don't know the JSA or My Little Pony. I wish I did though.
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You always see crossovers between the JLA/Avengers and MLP, but I've yet to see one with the real heroes of the DC/Marvel Universes – the one organization that started it all: The JUSTICE SOCIETY OF AMERICA.
Beware.
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During the days of the Great Threats, a group of costumed mystery ponies gathered together to form the first superhero team of all time. With their strange and fantastical powers and weapons the Mystery Mares and Stallions of the Justice Society kept the lands of Equestria clear of threats that the Equestrian Guards could not handle.
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The salt-and-pepper pony sat alone on top of the gently sloping hill, and sighed almost wistfully at the young colts dashing around and about the park that lied just beyond the limits of Maretropolis. They were so young, brimming with untapped reserves of energy – oh where had the time gone, he wondered. He used to be like that, dashing here and there between alleyways and from rooftop to rooftop like a mad pony, always hiding in the shadows while he snooped around. He smiled nostalgically – he didn't exactly go around catching balls and discs in his day but the analogy was close enough
He tore his eyes from the game and focused them on the descending sun and sighed at the sunset. He hadn't even fallen asleep yet, he chuckled. Not that he was complaining though; his dreams never really did bring him the rest he wanted or deserved. He was so focused on watching the sun that he didn't hear the soft potter-patter of hooves coming up from behind until it was too late.
"Hullo there."
Dodds let out a strangled cry and leapt to his hoofs, kicking his ear legs back while at the same time swerving to face his attacker. Out of reflex he reached toward his sides for his gas guns before he realized when he was, where he was and who he was facing with a mischievous grin on his wrinkled face. "Is that anyway there to treat an old friend?" The old stallion chortled much to Dodds chagrin although that didn't stop a smile from crawling over his lips. "How long has it been since you hung up the mask, eh Wesley? Twenty two years and you still have it, not bad for somepony your age."
"I could've broken your jawbone old man," Wesley Dodds said snorted as Sandy pretended look offended.
"Old Man? Please, I can still rough you up if I wanted to."
Dodds didn't doubt it. Sandy Dream may have not have had the magic of Karkull keeping him fit and young, or the experience in fighting criminals and monsters that Dodds had, but he was a force that Dodds had never seen in any of the creatures he fought in the old days. Even now, seeing his aged friend, Dodds still felt intimidated like he had been when he was a little colt in the Maretropolis Police Force.
For a moment, Dodds wanted to pretend that he was young again, that he was still in uniform (or costume) and that Sandy was right at his side as they investigated the uncountable crimes of Maretropolis by Equestria's worst. But the look in Sandy's eyes, a look that Wesley was uncomfortably familiar with, broke that fantasy and brought him back to reality and to the business at hand.
"I thought you retired."
The gray-mane pony gave him a look of surprise before snorting before slowly sitting on the grassy hill. "I did but that doesn't mean that I can't keep an ear on things." Dodds felt his ears flatten against his head at the pitying look in Sandy's eyes. Something was wrong, he just knew it. "Wesley," Sandy went on, scratching his mane, "did you know that one of your, um, super-friends was living in the city?"
"Super-?"
Oh.
"Yes, yes I did. We didn't keep in touch that much, the contract and all that," he randomly waved his hoof before it sunk in. "Did something happen to him," he asked, a hint of panic in his voice.
Sandy hesitated: "You… don't know?"
The pony narrowed his eyes at his old friend's hesitation. Why in blazes was he avoiding the question? Deep inside of him Wesley knew what had happened but he didn't want to admit it – he had lost too many friends already and had seen so many ponies' die that it would have driven most pony's mad. But he hadn't gone mad; on the contrary he had pushed on ahead, adopted a new name and challenged history until he was able to prevent the deaths of the same ponies he had seen die. He had been a hero, and with others like him, he had gone on to do so much more until they came after them, putting them down one by one until they forced to hide away like rats.
He stamped his hoofs into the ground, annoyed. "Don't know what? What happened to McRider?"
Sandy's ears drooped and he murmured something.
But he heard it.
"Didn't you dream about it?"
"No."
Sandy cocked his head, a look of surprise on his wrinkly face. "I don't mean to sound insensitive here Wesley but that's a first. I would've thought that you would've been the first pony to know…" he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You have been sleeping, right? You aren't-"
"No. It's just-" Wesley hesitated. "How did you find out?"
"It was in the papers Wesley; even if you didn't dream it, you would've seen it. We don't have that many murders in Maretropolis anymore so when they do happen they usually get front page, especially something like this." Wesley wondered if Sandy knew just how insensitive that sounded although he didn't blame him. He didn't know the reason why he didn't dream about McRider's death.
"I don't read the papers anymore, there's never anything important in them. But why was this one so special?" 'Besides it being an old friend,' he thought mournfully. He remembered Charles – he had bandaged every member of the Society at least half a dozen times and had always been a good friend, always there to lend a hand to anypony despite his so-called 'Visual handicap.' Of all the ponies to be murdered, he never thought it would be McRider. Last he heard the old stallion had a family now with two colts and a little filly. Poor pony, he never deserved to die. He wondered how they were holding up and made a note to visit them even if they didn't know him.
The least he could do for Charles.
"You should."
Reaching into his saddle bags (where did they come from Wesley wondered,) he pulled out today's paper with his mouth and dropped it in front of Dodds. His eyes widened as he stared at the enlarged photo that took up half of the front page. Sprawled on top of a pool of blood in what looked like an alleyway wasn't just Charles McRider but his alternate persona – a costume he hadn't seen in more than two decades. It was tighter than he remembered (Charles obviously hadn't been keeping fit) but there was no mistaking the red suit, green cowl or the intricate goggles over the pony's eyes.
He took a deep breath.
"No one touched the body?"
"He was like that when they found him, Wesley."
Sandy leaned forward.
"Why."
It took a few moments for the word to sink in. It wasn't a question as much as a statement and it jolted Dodds from his stupor. "You think that I'd know," he said both outraged and hurt by the assumption. He honestly wished he did know – what would possess Charles to put on the suit after two decades? It didn't make sense, unless Charles had gotten back into the game to relieve his glory days. But even then, back when, he didn't really fight unless they couldn't talk the criminal down. "I wish I knew," he said after the long pause. "I really do Sandy, but I don't. I, we didn't really keep in contact after he moved to the big city. None of us really kept in contact after the end."
Sandy sighed. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to pry but I heard that it raised a bit of a ruckus. Your pal was friends with a lot of officers and a lot of them haven't taken this too lightly." 'Neither am I,' Dodds thought. He wondered if the others knew about McRider's death – he was the first one to die after they disbanded. "But here's something we haven't talked about – why didn't you know?"
"I don't always dream about murders," he answered sardonically.
"But you don't go one day without giving anonymous tips to the department about would-be murders Dodds. Oh I know about your little calls Wesley," he added seeing the flabbergasted look on his friend's face. "You have to be more careful. But for the last two weeks, you haven't made one call and now? Something's up Wesley and you're hiding something. I'm a friend, you can trust me."
Wesley looked away.
"I… can't.'
"Why the hell not," he demanded.
"Because it's personal," Wesley snapped getting to his hooves.
Sandy scowled. "The hell it is Wesley – nothings personal when you have a connection to a victim and have a power to boot. If you're hiding something that's detrimental to anypony in this city then you have to tell me!"
"I don't," he snapped.
Sandy just stared as the Sandman walked away.