Disclaimer: I own nothing. Least of all this.

Author's Note: Red rover, red rover, send Set right on over.

3) RED ROVER

Doctor Fate was normally quite unwelcome in Israel.

His Egyptian heritage alone was enough to make Mossad distrustful; add on his less-than-Torah-approved abilities, and they clammed up like oysters in a Chernobyl lake. Whoever this red-masked man was, he'd certainly put the fear of the devil in the Head of Mossad; why else would the man have practically begged the Justice League to send one of their more esoteric members?

Of course, once he actually got to Jerusalem, he realized fairly quickly that it had less to do with the mysterious magician, and more to do with where said man had come from:

A Lazarus Pit.

He had never seen one in person, but he had heard first-hand from Zatanna what it looked like. She had been the one to deal with the Pit below Gotham, and the memory of Ra's al Ghul's insanity still disturbed her to this day. To find one below the Holy City...he shuddered. It was no wonder the League had lost control of the situation.

The man in the red mask had obviously gone through them like a sandstorm in the Sahara. Some of the bodies were mutilated beyond all recognition, heads ripped from bodies by what appeared to be either long claws or teeth. But most had simply been incinerated; nothing left but a pile of ash. The brutality would not have been that out of place on an ancient battlefield; one where gods and giants battled for the destiny of the world.

Perhaps the League had sought to resurrect one of those gods and bind them to their will; it would certainly explain the reaction. Considering the Pit's proximity to Gehenna, the one called Ba'al sprang to mind. Or perhaps Dagon; no, perhaps not. From all accounts Dagon had had a preference for water. If it had been him, Fate had no doubt the League would have been thoroughly drowned. No; it was within the lore of the Lazarus Pit itself that his answer lay. A deity struck down in battle was what he was looking for.

Of course, his list of magical suspects was narrowed considerably by the abilities displayed by the man over his trail of destruction, and in some cases, salvation. Control over gravity, or at least over armaments. Influence over matters of chance or destiny. Fire. Death. Luck. He had heard the man had been sighted in Monte Carlo; perhaps he could learn more of the man's (or god's) range of powers if the Batman were able to provide him with security footage…

He sent a request out for the information, and then turned back to the matter at hand. Namely, destroying the Lazarus Pit. Such an abomination could never be allowed to be used again. Certainly not if he had anything to say about it.

Harry had come very close to burning down an entire street with Accidental Magic when he realized there was apparently no longer a way into the Ministry for Magic. He definitely lit a large patch of asphalt on fire when he found out the Leaky Cauldron had up and disappeared. And he almost certainly collapsed a large portion of King's Cross when he finally came to the conclusion that this wasn't his home reality.

He'd heard Hermione mention "alternate worlds" before; he'd just never figured he'd end up in one.

He should've figured it out earlier; one of the few things he and Vernon had ever been equally proud of was the fact that Petunia's dad had been killed at Gold Beach on D-Day. Harry had made sure to stop by the cemetery on the way out of France; but he hadn't been able to find a single tombstone labeled 'Major Evans'. He'd ended up sitting next to a grave for the much-more recently deceased Canadian 'Captain Zhang' instead once he'd finished checking each and every name in alphabetical order for the fourth time. And the only reason he hadn't gone round again after standing back up was he had a train to catch.

A train that had brought him straight to the worst news of his life.

The wizarding world was gone. He was never gonna see his friends again; any of them. If he had ended up in the same place as Sirius, he would've found the mutt by now. Unless he got extraordinarily lucky with finding another Veil like the one he'd come through, the odds of him ever getting home were practically nil.

Another Veil...well, let it not be said Harry Potter was the sort to give up. After acquiring a map of London, he'd done his best to try and work out just where the Veil might be (if it even existed in the same place here). Personally, he doubted it, seeing as how he'd come into this world all the way over in fricking Jerusalem, but it was still worth a try.

Which was why he had done his very best to hide in the British Museum until closing time.

He had absolutely no idea how deep the place might go, but according to his admittedly sketchy memory, the British Museum was smack-dab over where the Ministry for Magic should have been. If there was any kind of magic society left in this world, he'd been desperately hoping he would find it below.

Instead, all his Point-Me spells failed miserably to lead him to anything that even remotely looked like the wizarding world. He did find some other stuff though; another puddle of liquid like the one he'd stumbled out of in Jerusalem. Long abandoned, from the looks of it. And while there was practically nothing else magical about what was beneath the Museum, there had been a few twitches from his Point-Me in the direction of the Egyptian exhibits.

With a sigh, he'd made his way back to the Great Court. The Egyptians had apparently been good with magic in both universes; maybe he'd get lucky and find a portal they'd left open.

"You were not summoned!" yelled Carter's dad.

"I am never summoned, Julius," the man purred. "But when you open a door, you must be prepared for guests to walk through."

"Back to the Duat!" my father roared. "I have the power of the Great King!"

"Oh, scary," said the fiery man with amusement. "But even if you knew how to use that power, which you do not, he was never my match. Now you will share his fate!"

It was at that exact moment that another voice came washing over the room; whispering, but with so much power behind it. "As a general rule, I'm not keen on kids watching someone they're close to get threatened. But it really ticks me off when the word 'Fate' starts getting thrown around."

A new figure stepped into the circle of flame; and like the man his dad was facing, it seemed unable to touch him. A blood-red helmet, with fire dancing in its reflection. Boots that seemed to leave burning oil in their wake. And a staff not unlike his dad's, glowing just as red as the helmet.

The man raised his staff, and spoke a single word. "Reparo."

The scattered pieces of the Rosetta Stone, as well as its pedestal, began to slot back into shape. The fiery man began to be pulled back, his feet digging into the floor to try and keep himself free. "NOOOO! I WILL NOT BE DENIED! THE FIVE SHALL BRING ABOUT THE DEMON DAYS!"

"Okay," Red Man said, "I was gonna give you a chance to explain yourself, but you had to go and say the word 'demon'. See you never! Expulso!"

The fiery man rocketed backward, and the instant he hit the pedestal, everything exploded once again. When at last Carter rubbed the flash from his eyes, his father was racing down the Great Court after the Red Man. "Wait!"

The Red Man paused. "What?"

"Please help us! You've stopped Set, but the other four are still out there! You are not of the House; you are not bound by their rules!"

"Exactly; I am not bound." the man replied. "It's time you start taking responsibility for your actions; clean up your own messes. If this House you mention has their heads shoved as far up their asses as it sounds, why don't you start with them?"

The man began to march away once more.

"What's your name?"

The only reply Carter heard was, "Just a stranger passing through."

Carter didn't care much; there were more important things to worry about.

The man known as John Constantine was not having a good day.

He'd thought he'd been prepared for any level of insanity once the French police had alerted the British that 'Subject: Jerusalem' was headed his way. They'd caught him on internet footage of Normandy Cemetery, sitting next to a Canadian grave. Already every record the Justice League could find on 'Captain Zhang' was being compiled to a magically-secure hard drive. They needn't have bothered; Constantine knew the name well. When one of the Greek gods arranges for their lover to be buried in the most prestigious cemetery in the world, the news gets around. Of course, exactly how Ares had managed to do so when no one had seen him in well over a century was a horse of a different color.

A matter for another time; a much much later time. Right now, he was more than a bit occupied with hunting down the other four beings that Doctor Kane had released in his unimaginably stupid stunt. It was only his own timely arrival that had kept the two sets of Kane siblings and the House of Life from tearing each other to shreds; they would be absolutely no help on the hunt.

It had taken even more time he did not have to force the two sides to sit and discuss their problems peacefully; and by the time they were done, both the remaining four beings (as well as Ares himself) were long gone.

The whole thing had seemed almost arranged; like Ares' actions had been designed to make sure his head start was more than enough to make an escape with. And the precautions the Greek had taken? Bringing a wand to better work withand counter Egyptian magic? What sounded like Latin spells, a language most Greeks sneered at? It just didn't add up. Ares was acting more like Athena or Hecate than himself; and that boded ill for anyone attempting to catch up with him.

Of course, there was one thing about the whole situation that absolutely screamed 'Ares' influence': if the whole of the House of Life wasn't involved in a civil war in less than a month, Constantine would eat his tie.

"Now," Bruce said as he sank into the cabin chair. "Tell me everything."

Jason shrugged. "Not a lot to tell. I died. The League of Assassins brought me back. I think they were gonna use me as a hostage or tool while their new number one got the real job done."

"Who was their new number one?"

"Some guy they tried to resurrect after me. Didn't end well for 'em. Magician or something; called himself Ares. Released me, then let me help raid the League's cash stash. Recognized the Via Dolorosa once we got out one the street; offered me a lift to Tel Aviv. Turned him down and took a bus. Called you once I realized the League compound blowing up put everyone on lockdown. And, well, here we are."

"Yes," Bruce rubbed his head, "here we are indeed. I should have known you'd be in the thick of things; some friends of mine have already been called in to look into this 'Ares'."

Jason snorted. "Since when do you have friends?"

"Since I needed someone to haul me out of my grief and Alfred was busy dealing with his own." came the crushing reply. "Thank Dick; I never would've gotten out of the hole I was in if he hadn't made arrangements for me to get out of Gotham for a while. But that's done now. And we've got more important things to worry about. Apparently, your friend's been causing chaos wherever he goes ever since you saw him. In Monte Carlo, he took out another League team, and from what we can tell, he dropped an entire plane on yet another one in the middle of France."

"He crashed his plane? Damn. I wanted to see if I could con a ride out of him later."

Bruce' eyebrow went up. "You knew he had a plane?"

"Well no duh. He got to Tel Aviv and Monte Carlo somehow, didn't he?"

"Fair point. What else can you tell me about him?"

"Well, I think he can turn into some sort of really big dog or wolf. Least that's what half the bodies he left behind looked like they'd been mauled by."

"Yes, I've already received the official Mossad report. I was wondering more about his origins: for example, do you have any idea how old he might be?"

"Really old. He said he recognized the Via Dolorosa, but not any of the signs. And those signs looked hundreds of years old at least."

Bruce frowned. "Is it possible the League chose that specific Lazarus Pit to try and resurrect someone who was present for the Crucifixion?"

"Possibly, yeah. But I wouldn't know. I mean, my Middle Eastern history's not exactly up to snuff, so the only name coming to mind is the man himself, and I doubt he'd be the sort to do something like that to the League."

"True. Perhaps there is another historical association to look for, though; my friend who forwarded Mossad's report also mentioned the Valley of Gehenna being quite close by, which is the acknowledged southern tip of the Valley of Megiddo. Where Armageddon is supposed to take place. Maybe there's a connection there to look for."

"I'm not going undercover in a Sunday School, Bruce."

"Wouldn't ask you to, kid. Besides; I don't think anyone who's ever met you would believe you were actually going there to learn anything."

"Damn straight. So; do any of your friends know anything about Biblical history?"

"Funny you should say that; Dr. Fate was vicariously around for a good deal of it. Once he finishes up with the Lazarus Pit, I have no doubt he will turn his attention to getting a head count of missing powerful individuals. Although, since you've already given us the man's name, I think that limits the possibilities severely. Not many people are willing to walk around under the name of a Greek god; even a deceased one. It's entirely possible this is the real Ares, resurrected. But I think that considering the connection to the Middle East, instead of the one you'd expect to find to Greece, it's much more likely to be War himself; the actual Horseman of the Apocalypse."

"Well," an unfamiliar voice rang out, "That would explain a lot."

Bruce stiffened. "Constantine. I wasn't aware you were already involved."

The trench-coated wizard sprawled himself out over a chair. "Ares was sighted headed my way. And yes, up until now I was pretty sure it was the actual Ares; even though Diana sent him hurtling back to Tartarus. I thought he'd been resurrected years ago; since he had not only a lover a decade ago, but a kid. But if the League tried to resurrect a Greek god, and instead got a Horseman of the Apocalypse who's been filling in while the real Ares is gone, things make a whole lot more sense. Who's the kid?"

"Someone else the League brought back. Probably to try and get to me. Jason, meet John Constantine; the most disastrous wizard you will ever have the misfortune to meet. But also one of the smartest. As evidenced by the fact he's one of only two magic-users I know that can teleport at will. Do try and stay on his good side."

Constantine snorted. "Haven't got a good side, Bats; thought you'd know that by now. Hello mini-Bats; nice to know there's more of you guys running around. Means the odds of Gotham's scum getting dealt with permanently go up a hair."

Jason grinned. "Oh, I like you. So; what brings a British ponce 20,000 feet up over the middle of the Mediterranean?"

"Your friend. I said he'd been sighted headed my way, didn't I?"

Bruce sighed. "What did he do?"

"Acted not like the Ares I was expecting. Fellow prevented the release of the Egyptian god Set, and then kicked off a civil war in the resident sorcerering society just to cover his tracks. I've been cleaning up magical messes all over the place, and right now, I need a safe place to take a bloody nap. Wake me up when we land."

And with that, the wizard flipped himself around and went to sleep.

Jason looked from Bruce to Constantine, and then back again. "So. Some friends you've got. Anyone else I should know about before I meet 'em?"

Bruce winced. "Well...you know how I said I got out of Gotham for a little bit?"

"Yeahhhhhh…"

"Dick took over while I was gone. And, well…"

Jason groaned and buried his head in his hands. "He picked up a Robin for himself, didn't he?"

"To be completely accurate, the kid managed to figure out my secret identity and blackmailed Dick and Alfred into giving him a trial run."

"...Okay, that I can respect. What's the kid's name?"

"Drake. Tim Drake."

Harry had been downright disgusted with what he'd seen of this world's magical society. He'd snuck back around a little bit later to see if this 'House' was worth dealing with, and if they could possibly get him home. What he'd seen had not been promising. Although, that one dude with the trench-coat had seemed pretty smart. Maybe even worth talking to. Harry would give him a chance; if the man ever caught up with him that was. So far, it seemed the magicals around here didn't have any way to detect a Disillusionment charm. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

After the disastrous expedition to the Museum, Harry had taken to wandering the streets of Muggle London. He'd never taken the time before to tour around; it just hadn't been an option.

Which was why when he saw a poster for a circus containing quite a few faces he recognized, he happily bought a ticket and went to it.

The performance had been spectacular; nice to know those friends of the penguins actually did have some hidden abilities. He headed backstage afterwards to congratulate everyone...and then noticed the quite obviously irate police officer headed in their direction.

He managed to Stupefy all four policemen just seconds before they made it all the way to where the 'King of Versailles' and the American manager were standing. For once, dressing in a slightly out-of-place outfit worked to his favor; everyone simply assumed he was another circus performer. Well, everyone except the 'King'.

"Heya redhead;" came the voice of the lead penguin, "Fancy meeting you here. Nice to see you made it out alright."

"Same to you," Harry replied. "Nice act you got. You guys going to New York?"

"We sure are, my vermillion friend. The great city of Gotham, in fact. Why? Interested in joining our little jaunt?"

Under his mask, Harry grinned. "Maybe. Would you happen to be interested in a barnstormer with his own triplane?"

The 'King' hummed. "This triplane; it wouldn't happen to have machine guns on it, would it?"

"It certainly would."

"Then you're hired! Come with us, and we'll introduce you to the finest circus this world has ever seen. Hey, you're gonna need a stage name. Got any ideas?"

Harry shrugged. "Just a stranger passing through."

"Hmm...the Red Stranger! That'll get the Americans interested; especially if your plane can be painted to match."

"Oh, it already is."

"My good man, you are one well-prepared son of a gun."

"I try."

After all, if the British magicians couldn't help him get home, maybe the American ones would.

Death glared at Destiny. "You know if he gets to Gotham, the Greeks are gonna notice him."

Destiny waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it, sis; I've got a plan to get most of them out of Olympus for the duration of his visit. Well, all except the three most willing to go along with a great prank."

Death's eyes narrowed. "What sort of prank?"

Destiny just grinned. "How would you feel about sticking it straight to Zeus for being a bastard to your representation on Olympus?"

"...You had my attention. But now, you have my interest. Do please continue."

Destiny did just that.