We want JSA!

Gotham City, the Present Day…

Robinson Park was not the safest place to be at dusk. The old-fashioned lamp-posts came on automatically, but those who knew better put their heads down, made eye contact with no one, and headed for home.

And that was just fine by Ted Grant. He had jogged this route at least twice a week for forty years, his towel around his neck, waving to the winos asleep on the park benches, and breaking up the occasional mugging. Usually, it didn’t take much more than a look. While he was well into his eighties, Ted Grant still possessed the physique of a very much younger man, thanks to an incident back in 1951 involving Per Degaton and something he had called a “chronobomb”--- Dr. Fate had tried to explain the details once, but it had only given Ted a headache and sent him to the fridge for a beer. As it was, Ted’s thick dark hair was silver at the temples, but he kept it short anyway, and his face was a bit more grizzled than he preferred when he looked in the mirror, but otherwise his muscles were toned and rock-hard, and his reflexes never sharper--- which more than one would-be mugger had learned to their dismay.

It was not for nothing that folks still referred to him as ‘the Champ.’ Of course, it had a different connotation when his lady-friends said it…

Used to be that Ted hardly broke a sweat on his run, but his ratty, old Milligan’s Gym t-shirt was damp by the time he came to his favorite spot, the water fountain by the statue of Gotham’s first mystery man, the Crimson Avenger.

“Evenin’, Lee.” He nodded--- as he did every time at this point in his run--- up at the weather-worn figure of a well-dressed man in a domino mask, fedora and cape, then paused for a quick sip at the fountain.

“Evening, Ted.”

Water spurted from his mouth as Ted started, whipping around. The statue hadn’t come to life--- but there was a man hovering in the air next to it, his body limned in a green aura, arms crossed over his chest.

“Jeez, Alan, next time give a guy some warning.” Ted wiped his chin, glowering up at his old friend.

Green Lantern, the first bearer of that name, looked even younger than Ted--- exposed to Degaton’s ‘chronobomb’ as well, Alan Scott also had the cosmic powers of the Starheart keeping him young, and Ted Grant looked upon his old friend’s unlined face with a minor and passing pang of jealousy.

“Sorry, Champ. I didn’t mean to startle. I knew I could find you here, though.” Alan smiled apologetically.

Ted grunted and resumed his run, Alan keeping pace with him, hovering in front and just above him.

“What’s with the work clothes, Alan? You’re as retired as the rest of us. A respectable U.S. Senator, now. Voted for you myself.” Ted swatted at Alan as if he were a fly, and Alan moved a respectful distance away, but still kept up with him.

“Of course, of course.” Alan Scott said quickly. “I'm keeping busy, and the Justice League is doing a fine job out there, but… This is JSA business.”

Ted shook his head, and put on some speed, though he knew he could not hope to outrun Green Lantern.

“No can do, Alan. I have a hot date tonight. Spunky little rookie from Gotham Central I’m teachin’ ta box. Besides, my Wildcatting days are long gone---.”

“Ted, it’s Wesley.” Alan said quickly. “He’s come back.”

That brought Ted up short. He slowed to halt, glancing up at Alan as if he had heard wrong.

“Wesley Dodds, the Sandman? He’s alive?”

Alan nodded.

Some years ago, after Wesley Dodds lost his long-time love Dian Belmont to a debilitating illness, he had disappeared, leaving behind a Fortune 500 company in the hands of Dian’s nephew, Sanderson Hawkins, to wander the world. He had left no clues to where he had gone, only that no one should expect his return: he had no home where his beloved Dian was not. That was more than twenty years ago, and while Wesley Dodds had been exposed to the same chronal-radiation as the rest of them, and he could more than take care of himself, in his grief, they had expected him to soon follow his beloved Dian.

“Well, that’s good news, right?” Ted eyed Alan suspiciously, not liking the pensive look on his friend’s face.

“Yes, of course, it’s just that… He’s brought something with him.”

“Something.” Ted repeated. He didn’t like this. Alan Scott was not usually this evasive. He was troubled, that was sure.

It was the next words out of his mouth that surprised Ted Grant the most.

“It’s the Spear of Destiny.”

Ted swore out loud. The Spear. The potent magical artifact, once wielded by Adolf Hitler himself, that had kept the JSA from directly attacking Nazi Germany and bringing a swift end to World War Two.

“I hate that thing!” He grumbled, but pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. “Renee, sweatheart, I’m gonna have to take a rain check, alright. Yeah, maybe next week. I’ll call ya.”

He flipped the phone shut, then glared at Alan.

“I’m gonna hafta get the old costume outta mothballs. Gimme a lift back to the gym…?”