Disclaimer: I own nothing. Least of all this.
"The man in black fled across the desert; and the gunslinger followed."
- Stephen King, "The Gunslinger"
Author's Note: So. I know I'm supposed to be working on at least three other stories...but I've had this one plonked down for at least a couple of months and finally got around to typing it up. For anyone who's familiar with Rorschach's Blot or Caer Azkaban, you'll probably notice certain...similarities. Specifically, to 'Make a Wish', 'The Untitled DC Xover', and tidbits about the goblin-in-charge. That being said, I fully intend to jam as many other crossovers in this fic as I can, so any beginning similarities will probably get thrown out the window pretty fast. Hope you enjoy it!
1) RED IN TOOTH AND CLAW
Talia al Ghul was nothing if not cautious.
Which was why she had the entire workforce of this League of Assassins' base stationed around the Lazarus Pit.
Summoning a bound spirit from the Pit had been one of the favorite research topics of her father; he had considered killing Bruce Wayne and then turning the man into the enslaved leader of the League the height of irony. However, she had opted to approach that particular problem from another angle. Which had left her father's research abandoned.
Until now.
This was merely a trial run; they weren't anticipating success on the very first test. And even if they were successful, all they would be dealing with was one hellhound. Surely that wouldn't be too much of a problem for the might of the League.
She hoped.
A deep breath in, and she began to chant.
"SIRIUUUUUUUUUUUS!"
Harry watched in horror as his godfather smiled one last time...then disappeared into the Veil. "No. No, no, no, no, NOOOOOOOOOO!"
Someone was holding him back. Didn't they see? He had to get Sirius back; he had to.
"Harry, stop!"
Remus. It was Remus holding him back. Well, if Sirius' so-called best friend wouldn't go after him...then Harry would.
He gently relaxed into the werewolf's grip; it wasn't long before he got the desired effect. Remus let go ever so slightly. Just enough for Harry to dive for the Veil.
The last thing he heard as the dark closed in around him was the echoing laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange...and the anguished scream of Moony.
Death eyed her sibling warily. "I'm still not sure exactly what it is you want me to do."
Destiny groaned. "Don't you see? In one reality, we've got the League of Assassins attempting something way ahead of schedule; and in another, Harry Potter somehow managed to follow his godfather through your bloody Veil. All I want is your permission to...shuffle certain fates around, shall we say. Interconnect the two problems, and that way trim it down to one solution."
"And you need my permission, why? As far as I can see, aside from my Veil being involved, this doesn't concern me in any important respect."
"Oh, but it does. According to Harry Potter's original fate, he was supposed to end up with your Hallows."
"Him? Are you sure?"
"Quite. It was supposed to be a present; a surprise assistant, so to say."
"Hmmm...how thoughtful."
"I try. Now normally, I would've already taken out Riddle's Horcrux and sent Potter on his way, but since Hades probably wouldn't take kindly to a competitor moving into his reality…"
"Yes, yes I see your point. Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat." She thought about it for a moment. "Didn't that Ares chap lose his fight to Diana in that world?"
"Quite badly, too. Still haven't decided if I want him to turn up again."
"Don't bother. After all, if I can't have an aspect of myself for an assistant, then a personification of War ought to do nicely instead. The body count will stay much the same, anyway."
Destiny's eyes lit up. "Sister, you've just given me the most marvelous idea. Do you remember that goblin deity of embezzlement?"
"You mean the one that also used to write ohhhhhh…yes. Yes; yes, that's perfect. A page from another's book, so to say."
"Exactly."
"By all means. I may even have a few ideas of my own to spice up the situation."
"I look forward to seeing them in action, oh sister mine."
Talia smiled as something began to emerge from the Pit. She'd chosen this place with infinite care; as they said in real estate, location, location, location. A strong necromantic connection had been required. And even beyond that, a connection to the Underworld in particular. They were directly underneath the Valley of Gehenna, the Hebrew word for Hell. Not far away stood Golgotha and Gethsemane, names that needed no explanation. The Temple Mount was a bit further, but still influential. And of course, the church that contained a certain empty tomb. The place had practically been custom ordered for their purposes. And apparently, it was more than enough to complete their ritual.
At last, the League would reveal itself to the world. At last, they would have…
Huh. That didn't look like a hellhound.
Any further observations she might have had were cut short by a blast of fire from the three-headed abomination of a dog.
The rest of the League didn't fare much better; the Cerberus was quite put out that it had been quite rudely yanked from its' comfortable perch in the Underworld. It tore through the assembled assassins with unmatched ferocity; limbs flying here, heads flying there, and blood flying everywhere else. And when at last every single one of its assailants lay scattered in pieces, it gave a derisive snort, and returned to the Pit from which it came.
Of course, if it had waited a few more seconds, it would have gotten yet another free meal; in the form of one Harry Potter, wizard.
Harry spluttered as he rose to the surface. If he had a nickel for everytime he had to go after someone he'd indirectly put in danger and ended up soaking wet...he'd have two nickels. Which wasn't a lot, but it was weird that it happened twice.
He stumbled from the pool, unidentifiable liquid splashing as he went. If his glasses had been just a little less grimy from said liquid, he might would've noticed the absurd amount of bodies strewn everywhere. But he did not.
Instead, he forged ahead, trying desperately to clean his lenses as he went. Which can be problematic under the best of circumstances, but especially when everything you try to use as a rag just gums things up further. In the end, he abandoned his less-than-successful efforts and chose instead to begin finding his way out of the pitch-black maze he'd apparently stumbled into. All a muttered Light Charm did was make the glare on his glasses even worse, so he was forced to fall back on other methods. He still didn't know why Hermione had seen fit to tell him after the Third Task of the Triwizard about the left hand on the wall trick, but he was certainly grateful for it now.
Eventually, he did manage to find his way into a room that vaguely resembled the Gryffindor Quidditch lockers; towels included. Unfortunately, whatever it was that he'd swum through, it wasn't coming out of his clothes. Or off his glasses.
He gave up trying about three minutes in; the glasses, he abandoned to their smudges. And as for the clothes, he rummaged around for some time before finally Alohomora-ing open a locker with a replacement ensemble that fit. Curiously, they were the only clothes around that looked like they were deliberately meant for someone around his age.
A thick pair of black trousers to start; then socks, boots, and belt quickly followed. His swim plus the cold air weren't doing any favors for his internal body temperature, so on went a black undershirt, then regular shirt (with some weird plastic sewn in) on top of that. And to top it all off, a brown fur-lined jacket that looked like it had once been meant for a much larger person, before being trimmed down.
There was only one more item in the locker; a blood-red helmet, shining new. He briefly considered leaving it, but his glasses were still pretty bad...and the helmet did have lenses…
The helmet fit perfectly. But the lenses were a bit iffy; a little bit worse than his normal HOLY SHIT HE HAD NIGHT VISION!
They weren't lenses at all; they were screens. A bright green light had just scanned his eyes and then adjusted the tint and blur. He could see EVERYTHING! True, the whole room had a bluish-green tinge to it, but it was still better than the terrible lighting earlier. Easily good enough to see the handily labeled signs on the wall.
Pity he couldn't read whatever language they were HOLY SHIT THIS THING COULD TRANSLATE TOO!
That settled it; he was never taking this thing off.
One of the signs was quite clearly labeled "Exit", with an arrow showing the way. The other had two arrows pointing the same direction, the first labeled "Dungeons" and the second labeled "Vault".
Hmm, he thought to himself. If I was Sirius coming through here for the first time, and assuming he could read the signs...which way would he go?
Vault. Definitely Vault.
Pulling on a pair of gloves (it was still bloody cold down here), he ventured further into the dark.
Naturally, he had to pass through the dungeons first.
There was only one occupant; a boy. Small; too small. Harry knew that look; it was the look of starvation and isolation. Damn his 'saving-people-thing'.
A wave of his wand unlocked first the door, and then the boy's restraints. Some Transfiguration, and he had a halfway decent cup. An Augumenti, and the cup filled with water.
"Here," he said, bending his knees to reach, "Drink."
The boy just eyed him warily.
He sighed. "It's just water; I promise."
"...Are you an Assassin?" the boy asked.
Harry frowned. For some reason, the word 'assassin' had sounded capitalized. "No;" he answered. "Just a stranger, passing through."
Slowly, the boy reached out and took the cup.
Harry let him, then gently backed away. "Don't suppose you've seen anyone else come by here, have you?"
The boy shook his head. "You're the only living creature I've seen since...well, since the guards left."
"And about how long ago was that, would you say?"
"About two hours."
"Well, I'd say they're long gone then." Harry stood and dusted himself off. "Any idea where we are, exactly?"
"How'd you get here if you didn't know?"
"Portal of some sort; down in the basement."
"Ah." A flash of comprehension. "The Lazarus Pit. It's the reason I'm here too. Or, it was. Are you letting me out?"
"..You know, I rather think I am. There's a Vault down the way; you can help me loot it, or if you like, the exit's back along the corridor, through the locker room, then take a left."
The boy's eyes lit up at the mention of 'loot'. "How big of a Vault are we talking?"
"Pretty big, I should think."
"Count me in."
If the Cerberus was put out to be summoned through a particularly messy portal, it was nothing compared to how it felt when, upon re-traversing said portal, it found itself in yet another unfamiliar situation.
Now, here's an interesting things about Cerberuses (Cerberii?); whereas a normal hellhound will merely drag your soul to Hell, a Cerberus will actually swallow it and digest it first. Why, we still don't know; but it is a far faster process for turning souls into demons than the usual methods. Imagine how you'd feel to suffer the indignity of a Cerberus' digestive tract. Some believe this was where the original Knights of Hell actually came from; no one's ever been brave enough to find out for sure by asking.
And by casting the Cruciatus Curse at a Level 5 Dangerous Creature, Bellatrix Lestrange offered herself up for desert; creme brulee style.
She was flambeed, torn into three charred chunks, and then chugged down three flaming gullets. And most of her reinforcements suffered the exact same fate.
Remus Lupin cowered in fear; if ever there was such a thing as an Alpha Wolf, it stood not fifteen feet from him. He tucked his head between his knees and prayed to Hades as quietly as he could:
"Please don't let it eat me. Please don't let it eat me. Please don't let it eat me…"
Whether it worked or not, we can't say. For at that very moment, the Dark Lord Voldemort made his appearance...and made the exact same mistake as his second-in-command.
"Crucio!"
ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
And with a sickening crunch, the most dangerous wizard since Grindelwald joined the Headless Hunt. Or, he would have, if his soul didn't immediately begin to digest.
All that saved the remaining Death Eaters (once again) was an incompetent, meddling Dumbledore. To be specific, his flaming, flying, chicken. Fawkes dove at the Cerberus in much the same way it had at the Basilisk three years prior (phoenixes are notoriously hateful of all Dark Creatures), and managed to drive the beast back...back...back...until, with one more step rearwards…
The Cerberus vanished through the Veil.
This time, it was ecstatic (well, as ecstatic as a Cerberus can be for a dog) to find itself right where it was supposed to be: Third Level of the Underworld, Ninth Circle, out back of a little demonic convenience store that threw out the absolute best bones for miles around.
With a chuffing snort, he settled back into his spot. This was his find, damn it; and he would be cursed before he let anyone take it from him.
If there was one person who knew best when to keep his mouth shut, it was Jason Todd. And coming back from the dead hadn't changed that.
The League had been smart; psychological torture to start with, no doubt to be swiftly followed by brainwashing. Brainwashing that would now never take place, thanks to the...person...who he was currently assisting in looting the League's base down to the bedrock.
So long as his rescuer didn't ask any questions, Jason wouldn't tell him any lies. He may owe the guy for the breakout, but he still had a duty to...to Bruce. Or at least to the bastard's secrets. The man's morals, not so much. He was definitely killing the Joker the next time he set foot in Gotham. Batman's methods just didn't work for some people; not that Bruce would ever admit it.
The stranger seemed to rely on some form of magic for most of his work; a single word was all it took to open the most advanced looking vault door Jason had ever seen. Another sent every single bit of cash flying towards them, and a third stacked it all up nice and neat.
"Take what you like," the stranger said. "I'm guessing you're a long way from home. You'll need it to get back."
His rescuer summoned about half of the stack, shrunk it, and slid it into his somewhat familiar-looking coat (kinda reminded him of one Bane used to wear). "Anything else you can think of that you'd need?"
"Uhh...let's just see where we are first."
"Alright. I'd offer to shrink that money for you, but I doubt you'd be able to shrink it back."
Jason just shrugged and kept stuffing bills in his pockets.
(When they passed the locker room, he grabbed a coat way too big for him just to hold it all).
Upon exiting the underground facility, they were greeted by a cramped and dusty street; full of people and problems.
"Hmm…" the stranger looked up and down the road. "Seems familiar, but something tells me it's supposed to be a bit more...I dunno, empty."
Jason looked around. "Well, the signs are all in what looks like Hebrew, so I'm guessing Israel."
His companion started, then relaxed. "Ah. The Via Dolorosa. Been a while since I've seen it."
Jason gave the guy the side-eye. "If you've seen it before, how come you didn't recognize the signs?"
"Weren't any back then. Well; now that we know where we are, wanna keep looting, or head out?"
"What are you gonna do?"
"Probably the latter. Got a friend of mine to track down."
"Who?"
"You wouldn't know him."
"I might." Jason countered. One didn't become Batman's apprentice without learning at least some important names.
"...Black. His name's Black."
"...Nope, never heard of 'em."
"Thought not."
"Any idea where he is?"
"A few. Speaking of, any idea where the airport is?"
Jason frowned. "Afraid not. Doubt you'll be able to get a flight outta here in that outfit anyway."
"You'd be surprised. Well? You coming with?"
"...Nah. Think I'll take a bus to Tel Aviv; once I'm done with this place, anyway."
"If that's what you want. See you around."
The stranger began to walk off, and then paused halfway into the tide of humanity.
"ALMOST FORGOT!" the man shouted. "WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"
"JASON!" he shouted back. "WHAT'S YOURS?"
The stranger shouted back something that sounded like "ARES!"; but by then, the roar of the crowd was far too much to be positive. He shrugged, and went back below. With any luck, the League would've left a few goodies lying around.
Harry couldn't believe it; he was actually in Jerusalem. He'd seen the pictures growing up; Vernon had always made it a point to take them to church when Harry was young (probably hoping to teach Harry just how bad magic was and why magicians should die). Well, at least until he realized Harry actually liked going. They hadn't been back since.
Even though that was long ago, he'd still remembered what the Via Delorosa was supposed to look like. On the layout of the Holy City, he was a little more iffy; but a quick Point-Me led him directly to the airport.
Guards were everywhere; a few Notice-Me-Nots and Confundus Charms were required for sneaking in. Unfortunately, the only person who would take cash for a flight to Tel Aviv was a cranky old German flying one of those red triplanes from the Great War (the man had been waiting on someone named 'Talia', but a quick Confundus took care of that). Harry was quite sure he was getting scammed, but he didn't really have many other options. If Sirius had gone where he thought the mutt had gone, Harry needed to get there as fast as possible.
If Jason had eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours, it would've come back up once he reached the basement. He was extremely grateful for the low-lighting; he didn't dare think of what the massacre would look like without it.
The only body he recognized was Al Ghul's; that is, the back end of it. Hey, he was a growing boy!
He could only shudder as he imagined the carnage that occurred down here in the Pit. The stranger had to have done it (Ares, his name was Ares); how else could you roast that many people to death except with magic? The rest had been eviscerated; like a wild animal had gone absolutely feral. Not even Killer Croc could've done that, even with a buddy with a flamethrower distracting half the room.
It had to have been his rescuer.
Oh, Bruce wasn't going to like this...then again, it wasn't like it was a great loss. For all they knew, this could be the last they ever heard of the League of Assassins.
"The time window has elapsed, Lord Bane. There has been no contact with the base."
"A pity. I had hoped Talia would be successful in her attempt." Bane crossed his arms. "But there is a reason she gave the orders she did. Is our operative still in place?"
"Affirmative."
"Proceed."
Bane watched the computer screens as the League member ordered the missile strike to cover up the base's self-destruct sequence. The loss of an entire Lazarus Pit was a great one, but there were others still usable. And the deaths would be worth it to prevent an uncontrolled hellhound from running around in Jerusalem. Not to mention the instability a missile strike would cause in the Middle East. Talia and he would soon be reunited, and they would continue with their work.
As for the death of Jason Todd...well. They'd resurrected him once. Who was to say they couldn't do it again?
Jason watched in horror from the back of the bus.
Missiles...those were missiles…
And then, with the roaring screech of ancient cylinders, a blinding red triplane came flying overhead. And the missiles...stopped.
Gently, they began to lower to the ground, coming to rest on some far-off rooftop. After they'd been taken care of, the triplane gave a wing waggle and flew off back in the direction it had come from...Tel Aviv.
As it passed Jason once more, he was able to see who it was flying the thing: a clearly unconscious pilot in the first seat...and Ares the stranger in the back.
No trouble getting a flight, indeed. Carrying around a shrunken replica of the Red Baron's plane had to be one of the coolest things he'd ever heard of.
He groaned inwardly as he realized the odds of their bus getting to Tel Aviv anytime soon had just tanked dramatically. Couldn't they have at least waited til they were out of eyeshot of the city?
Flying was actually easy once you got used to it.
Shooting Impendimentas while flying? Not so much.
Still, he got it done. Damn his saving people thing; now he had a Stupefied pilot he'd need to keep out cold til they got to Tel Aviv. He would've tried to talk the guy into helping, if he hadn't known it would take far too long to explain what he was capable of doing. Even if the man had believed it.
Next time, he was ignoring whatever shenanigans came up during a trip. It just wasn't worth it.
Especially since he still didn't have any idea how to land.
"Base has been destroyed, Lord Bane."
"Excellent. Were there any...complications?"
"Only one, Lord Bane. It appears the missiles dispatched failed to detonate."
"Oh?"
"There have been claims the missiles were halted 'magically' mid-air, but in my opinion it is much more likely the equipment simply failed. It was Russian, after all."
"Or perhaps our operative betrayed us. Bring her to me; I will question her."
"Yes Lord Bane."
Jason had tried to get through security at Tel Aviv airport; he really had. But it was no good. Not with what had just happened in Jerusalem.
There had been an underground explosion mere minutes after the missile incident. An explosion that could've had only one possible origin. If Jason had stayed down in the compound much longer…
The League always had backups. Unfortunately for him, that meant there was probably only one way he was getting out of this country.
He'd wanted to do this face-to-face; who would've believed him otherwise? But as the phone rang and rang, he reasoned that perhaps it was better this way. At least…
"Wayne Manor, Pennyworth speaking."
...Alfred wouldn't see him cry. "Hi Al. Long time no tea."
"...Master Todd?"
"The one and only. I'm in Israel, Al; Tel Aviv. Think you can get me out of here?"
"...Does your miraculous resurrection have anything to do with the smoke cloud currently on international news?"
"You know I can't say that over the phone, Al."
"...Very well. I shall arrange transport. A jet will be along to pick you up. And might I just say...welcome back, Master Todd."
There was a smile on Jason's face as he hung up.