Raven part 2

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos," Raven muttered inaudibly, eyes closed, as she tried to find her center.

At that moment, there was nothing around her. The nonstop beeps of the medical equipment, the far-away voices, the footsteps of the nurses… Nothing existed. There was only tranquility. There was only the peace and quiet of Raven's own mind, as she tried to regain some sort of equilibrium over herself.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos," she whispered again, enjoying the sense of calmness that finally began to settle over her.

It was then that the door to her room opened with a BANG and Dr. Banner entered, almost falling in, with all the grace of a drunk cow.

"I'm so sorry!" Dr. Banner apologized, fast, just as he regained his balance, horrified at his clumsy entrance. "I tried to open the door with my elbow because I'm carrying a tray with your lunch and—"

If a glare could kill — and in her case, it could — Bruce Banner would be dead, so she breathed deep to calm her nerves; Raven felt the bed shake for a bit when he startled her and that was a testament to how unstable she felt at the moment.

"I, um, did I interrupt something?" Dr. Banner asked, still looking extremely guilty.

"No," Raven sighed. "I was just meditating. Trying to find my center after… All this."

"Ah, I know something about that," Dr. Banner said, knowingly. He approached and put the food tray on the small retractable table. "I tried to get you something a little more, umm, solid than breakfast."

"Thank you," Raven said, eyeing the food. It was no culinary masterpiece, but it no doubt looked better than that tasteless pudding.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Banner asked, as he checked the equipment. "Any pain? Discomfort? Nausea? We're adjusting this treatment as we go along, so feel free to give us feedback." He smiled at her. "This poison is so rare that you may be the first person ever to go through it."

"I feel so honored," Raven deadpanned. "No pain. And the weakness is fading."

"That means the poison is leaving your system, that's excellent." He hesitated. "And what about your, umm, 'emotional health'? Cla—Superman mentioned your abilities are related to your emotions, so that makes your mental health just as important."

Raven just stared.

"He didn't go gossiping about you or anything like that!" Dr. Banner added, hastily. "What he said was only mentioned in regard to your well-being, nothing else."

"I have no secrets, I told him as much," Raven said, after a few seconds. "I am… regaining my balance."

Dr. Banner sat beside her bed, cleaning his glasses for a moment.

"I have some notion of how hard that can be sometimes," he sighed.

"Because of your rage," Raven said, as if it were something obvious.

Apparently it wasn't, because Dr. Banner turned fast to look at her, eyes wide.

"You know…?" he started, shaking his head a bit. "Did Superman mention…?"

"I am an empath," Raven explained, slowly. "Didn't Superman mention that? I can feel what you feel."

"Oh…" Was all Bruce Banner said, a stunned look on his face. There was a long silence. "I-I'll leave you to your meditation, then! I'll find Dr. Cho and tell her to find someone else to help her oversee the treatment, that should give you a semblance of peace to—"

"Stop," Raven said, as he got up, flinching. "Stop talking for a moment. Your anxiety is giving me a headache."

"All the more reason for me to leave!"

"Your rage does not bother me," she said, before he could run away. "It's actually the opposite. It feels… calming, like a distant storm."

"How can that be calming?!"

"You allow yourself to feel," Raven shrugged, not knowing exactly how to explain. "The rage is there, it's inside you, I can sense it. Like a never-ending mass of pure wrath, and yet… And yet, here you are, talking, working… Balanced." She stared at him. "How? How can you possibly contain so much rage and not become overcome by it?"

Raven had witnessed, through the Astral Dimension, what that rage inside Dr. Banner could become: an Avatar of Wrath powerful enough to stand with gods. By all accounts, a human should never be able to contain something like that, it was absurd. It was like…

Like a half-mortal girl trying to contain the infinite power of a god-like interdimensional entity.

And yet, without the rigorous Azarathian training and without constant, perfect discipline over every emotion, Dr. Banner could still feel without killing everyone around him. The rage was there, she knew it, she could almost taste it, but she was looking at the man, not at the monster inside him.

How? It was puzzling.

Dr. Banner looked at her for a long time, considering his answer. Raven held his stare, waiting, almost hopeful.

"I tried to bury it," Dr. Banner finally said. "For so long, it was the only answer I could think of. Bury the anger so deep that it wouldn't come back up again. I tried meditation techniques, self-hypnosis, specialized drugs… They worked, for a while. But after a time, without fail, the Big Guy would take the reins and make up for lost time, and I would wake up in another country."

He smiled at her.

"It took me some time to realize that trying to lock the anger inside me wasn't the answer. Learning to live with it, was." Dr. Banner looked into her eyes. "The more you fight your emotions, the more they fight back. And believe me, it gets harder and harder until you finally crack and your inner demons come pouring out."

Dr. Banner put on his glasses again.

"That's my secret: I'm always angry. And I taught myself to live my life despite it."

Could that really be possible? Well, certainly it was for him, Raven corrected herself, she was literally staring at the proof in front of her. But it didn't explain how Dr. Banner could do it. How could he talk to her, gently, understanding, and at the same time have a mass of anger and rage so big inside him that it almost felt like second pulsating heart?

If Raven slipped even for a moment, if she allowed herself to feel any emotion, her powers reacted. It happened in the blink of an eye. Every single feeling had to be constantly pushed back until only serenity remained, otherwise her abilities would come forth, uncontrollable, wild, murderous.

Azarath — what was left of it — was enough proof.

"It wouldn't work," Raven finally said, shaking her head slowly. "Not in my case."

"Sooner or later, the emotions you try so hard to keep buried will fight back," Dr. Banner warned, gently. "Believe me, I know. Learning to live with them is better than denying they even exist. Besides, unless you can also turn into a green rage monster, what's the worse it could happen?"

The question was rhetorical, but Raven answered it nevertheless.

"The powers I inherited from my interdimensional demonic father would be unleashed, either corrupting me completely and making me an extension of his will, or simply spiraling out of control and destroying everything. As the embodiment of Evil itself, set on conquering or obliterating all universes until nothing is left, both alternatives would please my father."

Bruce Banner simply stared, stunned, for so long that Raven started to eat. And when she was certain he wouldn't say anything anymore, he hesitantly opened his mouth:

"I had a complicated relationship with my father too."

Raven rolled her eyes and didn't stop eating.

The Ancient One got up and walked to the bookcase, grabbing a thick and very old-looking book from it. She walked back to the table and sat, opening it. There were words written by hand in the page, a language Clark didn't understand, and a rough drawing.

Some kind of pool or spring?

"These were called by many names during the course of history," the Ancient One said, "but they are better known as a 'Lazarus Pit'. Their waters can heal any wound, rejuvenate the body and even bring the dead back to life." Clark widened his eyes, looking back at the drawing. "They were hailed by many as a miracle."

The Ancient One raised a single eyebrow.

"The truth is a lot more terrifying," she stated, looking at him. "The Lazarus Pits are nothing more than rifts between our world and Trigon's, fissures that leak Trigon's power into our dimension." She paused. "It is true, the waters of the Pits can indeed heal wounds and even resuscitate the dead… But it all comes at a price: eternal torment and servitude at the hands of Trigon. If the deceased accept the bargain, his or her soul is Trigon's forever."

She leaned back, as Clark glanced at the book, horrified at the implications.

"Raven's blood could be used, in theory, to create a Lazarus Pit," the Ancient One went on. "And a Lazarus Pit could, in turn, be used to bring a dragon back to life." She stopped for a moment, as if thinking. "I suppose since dragon's souls don't go to the afterlife — not unless they choose to —, that they considered it a bargain. Simply a way to reenergize their resurrection after so long locked in that tomb. But selling their souls or not, the Pits are a corrupting influence. Those who use it never come back the same. The taint of Evil is not so easy to ignore."

This was terrible news. It seemed the Hand had the means to bring back a dragon to life; worse, bring back a corrupted dragon to life. Clark needed to find them before they managed to do this or things could get really ugly, really fast.

He sighed, feeling the weariness of the last few days. Physically he felt fine, but the mental strain was beginning to wear him out.

"The tomb you mentioned," the Ancient One started and Clark turned to her, "it belonged to one of the dragons that betrayed K'un-Lun, yes?"

"Yes," Clark confirmed.

"Do you know which one?" she asked.

"Thor mentioned that the Dragon's name was Ao Shun."

She considered his answer for a moment, then got up and went to the bookcase again. She looked for a while, seemingly not finding what she wanted, before opening a portal and disappearing inside it. Clark simply waited, hearing the Ancient One's heartbeat all the way on the other side of Kamar-Taj, as she continued her search.

A few minutes later, she returned, holding what seemed to be a very ancient scroll.

"I knew I had this stored somewhere," the Ancient One mentioned as she unsealed the scroll. "It was written during the Han Dynasty and acquired by the Sorcerer Supreme at the time. Take a look."

Very carefully, Clark opened the scroll, his nose catching the "old smell" of the paint. It was filled with letters he couldn't read, but his eyes ignored them in a second, fixing on the very detailed drawing in the middle.

A huge Eastern dragon, flying down from a celestial city.

"Is this…?" Clark began, raising his eyes to look at the Ancient One.

"Ao Shun," the Sorcerer Supreme confirmed, "as he was known in K'un-Lun. In Ancient China, he was worshipped as one of the four Dragon Kings, the Winter Dragon, and they used to call him by a title that roughly translates as 'He Whose Limbs Shatter Mountains and Whose Back Scrapes The Sun'. And as the centuries passed and the legends spread throughout the world, the title was eventually mangled in translation and Ao Shun became known in the West as Fin Fang Foom."

His eyes went back to the scroll as Clark tried to imagine "Fin Fang Foom" in all his glory, flying over Ancient China, so awe inspiring that even after so long legends about him were still remembered.

"Four Dragon Kings?" Clark asked, curious.

"One to rule over each season, in this world," the Ancient One explained. "Before the Civil War, before the Hand, K'un-Lun's dragons looked after mankind. There was always an emissary in this realm, a protector, one during each season. The Ancient Chinese, of course, believed they were the ones responsible for the four seasons, since they seemed to come and go just like them." She tilted her head. "And from a certain point of view, they were right. K'un-Lunan dragons were so powerful in the ways of the chi that they could affect the environment, even go as far as manipulate the weather."

Huge dragons, powerful enough to fight Thor and Loki together, capable of manipulating the weather… And the Hand had the means to bring something like that back to life.

"If I were you, Kal-El, I would search harder," the Ancient One advised. "The last time dragons fought a war in this world, the skies wept storms of fire and ice. There is a very good reason why Ao Shun was titled 'He Whose Limbs Shatter Mountains and Whose Back Scrapes The Sun'."

"Right… Any advice as to where I should start looking?" Clark asked, trying very hard not to picture New York being swallowed by a thunderstorm of flames. "The track I was following ended with Raven."

"Then I suggest you talk to her. She might know more than even she realizes," the Ancient One said, cryptically.

Well, unless Natasha got anything else in her interrogation, then it was the only thing Clark could do for now. Giving back the scroll and thanking the Ancient One for all her help — especially for taking Solomon Grundy off his hands —, Clark jumped from the balcony and took off back to New York.

There was a dragon to locate and he hoped it was still dead when he found it.

"Oh my God, Matt, we're in the Avengers Tower!" Foggy whispered excitedly, as the elevator went up at remarkable speed. "I can't believe this, we got hired by the Avengers! Do you think I can tell people I'm part of the Avengers? I'm telling people I'm part of the Avengers!"

"Let's try not to get thrown out before payment, Foggy," Matt replied, smiling a bit.

Despite being a lot more contained than Foggy, Matt was also excited about working in this case. Not because he was being hired by the Avengers — being the Devil of Hell's Kitchen kinda made the whole 'hero worship' meaningless —, but because he would finally get his hands on tangible proof that could, in theory, put Wilson Fisk behind bars for the rest of his life. And his entire organization with him.

It was a light in the end of the tunnel that even his eyes could see it glimmer.

"Are you sure you're good for this, Matt?" Foggy asked, still whispering, but this time without any excitement whatsoever. "That was quite the fall you took last night."

"You sure you don't want us to take you to a hospital?" Karen asked as well, her voice thick with worry.

Matt couldn't exactly blame either of them for being worried, not after they saw the bruises and cuts marring his face, the trophies he got from fighting the Hand the night before. A 'fall' was the most generic excuse he could think of, but given the fact that he was blind, his friends seemed to believe him.

It wasn't like they would jump to conclusions and accuse him of being the Masked Man, of course, but Matt still worried. And it was a good thing neither of them had seen him the night before; Claire's treatment, chi meditation and a few rare medicines he'd learned how to make from Stick had done a lot to reduce the swelling and bruising.

If his face looked ugly now, it wasn't anything compared to how it looked a few hours after the battle.

"I'm good, thanks," Matt answered. "I'm sure it looks a lot worse than it is."

"I don't know, man, it looks pretty damn bad," Foggy argued. Then he grinned. "For once, I'm actually the handsome one."

"Wow, then it's far worse than I thought," Matt joked.

"Hey!"

The elevator stopped before they could go on and the doors opened.

"Oh my God," Foggy said again, all excitement back. "We're really in the Avengers Tower!"

"How does it look?" Matt asked, as Foggy offered his arm to guide him.

"It looks, it looks… Like any other office out there," Foggy finally said, disappointed. Then he smiled. "But it's the Avenger's office!"

"Well, more or less," a silky voice Matt recognized spoke, startling Foggy and Karen. "Aside from me, the Avengers never actually set foot in this place. But since this is inside the Avengers Tower, I suppose it is an Avenger's office."

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh my God, it's the Black Widow!" Foggy whispered in Matt's ear.

He was pretty certain one didn't need enhanced hearing to listen to that. Turns out, he was right.

"Call me Natasha," she said, smiling. "You must be Foggy."

"Umm, yes, Franklin Nelson, actually, but everybody calls me Foggy. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Romanoff."

For once in his life, Foggy actually sounded intimidated as he shook her hand. He supposed the sight of a drop-dead gorgeous master assassin would do that to someone.

"And you must be Karen Page," Natasha went on. "I understand this whole operation started because of you." She shook a stunned Karen's hand. "You were incredibly brave, Miss Page, and we will see this through to the end, you have my word."

As much as she was embarrassed — Matt had to stop himself from flinching at the heat pouring out of Karen's blushed skin —, the main emotion Matt caught from Karen was the sudden relief. Air being exhaled from her lungs, tension leaving the muscles, the smell of stress beginning to fade…

After everything Karen went through, being told by an Avenger that everything would be okay probably felt like heaven.

Of course, not all the stress Karen was feeling at the moment was due to fear. A good chunk of it came from the huge discussion the three of them had when Clark called him earlier to hire Nelson and Murdock for the case. Getting hired by the Avengers would generally be considered excellent news — not only because of the pay, but because they would be working for the good guys —, and it was, but that also involved Karen having to share all the investigation she and Clark had been doing on Fisk.

Matt, of course, already learned about that from Clark, even if he had to pretend otherwise. Foggy's outrage, however, was very real. He was mad at her from keeping things from them, but more than anything, Foggy was mad at Karen for putting herself at risk and not even bothering to say anything. The whole thing turned into a huge, if brief, shouting match. There were tears and accusations, but eventually everything ended in a very awkward group hug.

And a promise that they wouldn't let anything happen to Karen, a promise Matt intended to keep no matter what.

"And you must be the famous Matt Murdock," Natasha finally said, as if they hadn't met before. "Clark had nothing but nice things to say about you. Pleased to meet you."

Knowing Clark, even if for a very brief time, that was probably true; he seemed to be too polite to badmouth someone, even if they happened to disagree on certain things.

"Miss Romanoff," Matt greeted her, nodding. "It's a pleasure to be here."

He sensed her eyes running over his wounds, most likely assessing if he needed a doctor — or if he would drop dead any time soon —, but she was courteous enough not to say anything; obviously, she already knew where he got those wounds, but it was still nice of her.

"So, where's Clark?" Foggy hesitantly asked after a few seconds.

"He will be here soon," Natasha assured, eyes still on Matt. "He is finishing some business."

Translation: Superman was finding a place to store that undead monstrosity he defeated at the docks. Hopefully, it would be the last they heard from that.

"I was told Miss Jones will help as well, but not today…" Natasha continued. "Apparently she has 'important things to do', but she'll be here tomorrow." She gestured to the piles of documents everywhere. "Now, if we're doing this the right way, we're going to need to go through all of these to build an ironclad case. This is where you come in. There are documents, photographs, tapes, accounting ledgers… I already managed to block several bank accounts and my people are still raiding Mr. Owlsley's safehouses to bring us more evidence to work with, but that should be enough as a starting point. If we succeed, Fisk and his entire organization are finished."

Even without Matt's enhanced senses, it was plain to see that the excitement at the possibility of finally taking down Fisk was almost palpable.

"Well, let's get started!" Foggy exclaimed, and they all moved towards the piles of evidence.

"Let's. But before that, Mr. Murdock, a word?" Natasha Romanoff asked, before he could move; Matt nodded.

She lightly touched his arm with her own, giving him a place to hold as she guided him to another room.

"How does he do that?" Matt listened Foggy muttering, before the door was closed.

The moment the door closed, all the pretense Matt was a helpless blind man was dropped. It was subtle; Matt stood straight, no longer pretending he didn't know what was around him, and Black Widow was looking at him as a fellow warrior and not as a disabled civilian.

"The girl?" Matt asked, before she had the chance to say anything. "The one Stick shot. Is she alright? Clark said she went through some kind of new treatment."

"Raven. And yes, she's recovering. Clark was listening to her side of the story in the morning." Natasha exhaled. "It's quite the story, let me tell you that much."

"Is she a threat?" Matt asked, remembering how Stick had described the feared Black Sky as nothing short of an apocalyptic event.

She sighed. Then chuckled, humorlessly.

"If you had asked me that a few months back, I wouldn't even hesitate to say 'yes'. Now… As a SHIELD agent I have to consider her a threat, the same way we consider the Hulk one. As a person, however… She's just a girl that was dealt a bad hand in life." Natasha raised her eyes to stare at him. "We'll keep an eye on her."

That was good news, as far as Matt was concerned. He wouldn't have to live with the failure of stopping Stick from killing an innocent girl.

"Now, I called you here because Clark gave me a heads up about the Hand's plans," Natasha continued, serious. "Apparently, they have the remains of a dragon and the means to bring it back to life: Raven's blood. That wouldn't be good for anyone."

Matt massaged his temples for a few seconds. How did his life go from beating up criminals to fighting resurrected dragons?

"Ideally, we need to find them before they can succeed in that endeavor. Bad news is, we have no idea where they're keeping the remains."

"If they brought the girl — Raven — to New York, then I assume the remains are also here. Or somewhere close, at least," Matt said, ignoring his discomfort at the whole situation.

"Exactly what I thought," Natasha grinned. "So while you're reading all those documents Mr. Owlsley provided to us, see if you can find any clue that could take us to them. A warehouse, a construction site, anywhere they could move heavy equipment unnoticed."

"You think they used Union Allied for that?" Matt asked, finally getting what Natasha was suggesting.

A construction company that belonged to Fisk and moved, every day, tons of material and equipment all over New York. That would work, he supposed.

"How big are those remains?" Matt asked.

"Big. Very big. I saw the marks the bones left in the tomb's wall… Those dinosaurs' skeletons they display in museums? They would look like children's toys next to it."

Matt dreaded the very idea of witnessing something like that coming back to life to fight for the Hand.

"I'll look into it," he said, immediately.

"Tell me if you find anything," Natasha said, taking something out of her pockets. "Here, this will help you to read without drawing attention." He grabbed the small device, feeling it with his fingers. "Just point at the pages to scan the words. The device will convert that into audio."

"Handy," Matt said, nodding. "Stark tech?"

"He develops non-explosive things every once in a while," Natasha shrugged, opening the door. "Good luck."

Karen remembered when Clark said he had a contact in SHIELD and that she shouldn't worry about his safety, but she honestly never expected that his contact would be the Black Widow herself, and the Avengers by proxy. It explained, at least in part, why he was so unafraid to investigate a case like that.

And dispelled the absurd theory Karen's stressed brain had created: that Clark Kent could be the Masked Man himself.

She concealed a smile when the thought crossed her mind. It was silly, she knew, but Clark seemed to be so incredibly brave, even against all that, that Karen couldn't help herself. The truth was less fanciful, sure, but it hardly mattered; when Karen asked for help, Clark was there. Just like Matt and Foggy. And now they were working together to bring down what probably was the biggest criminal organization in the country.

Karen sipped her coffee, groaning lightly when she dragged another pile of evidence closer. Of course, as heroic as that sounded, their work was anything but flashy. It involved checking the endless piles of evidence and trying to find a way to turn that into a case, so justice could be made.

She was no lawyer like Matt and Foggy, but Karen knew how to spot illegalities, especially financial related ones. Union Allied, as it turned out, could barely be considered the tip of the iceberg. Leland Owlsley, the "mob accountant", had provided documents that proved their involvement in so many different crimes that Karen wouldn't believe if she wasn't seeing it with her own eyes.

Not for the first time, Karen wondered how the hell she survived these people.

"So, you think they're dating?" Foggy piped up, interrupting her line of thought. "Clark and the Black Widow, I mean."

Karen turned her head fast to look around, forgetting for a moment that Agent Romanoff had excused herself to go back to the interrogation room; the last thing she wanted was to piss her off.

"Foggy!" she reprimanded.

"What? She's not here," he said, but he also looked around. "I mean, Clark is a reporter. A good one, sure, but Agent Romanoff is on a first-name basis with him. Doesn't anyone find that weird?"

"They met during that 'Mutant Factory' business," Matt explained, taking off his earphones, part of a very cool Stark Industries' new device for the visually impaired. "Clark probably made an impression."

"That's my point!" Foggy insisted. "Good-looking reporter meets good-looking spy, one thing leads to another and BAM! Love is in the air."

Matt chuckled. "Clark definitely made an impression, but I'm not sure if it was on Agent Romanoff."

"Hey!" Foggy complained, making both of them laugh. "The guy is good-looking, what am I supposed to do, lie?"

"How about stop bringing it up?" Matt countered. "If you can."

"I don't know, Matt," Karen said, jokingly, "I think love is in the air." She looked at an exasperated Foggy. "Between you and me, you made a good choice. Clark really is good-looking."

"Oh, not you too…"

They were still laughing when the elevator opened again and the very topic of the conversation appeared.

"Hey, guys!" Clark greeted them all, enthusiastically, a big smile on his face. "Matt, Foggy, Karen, thanks for the help, you have no idea how much this means."

"Hey, Clark," Karen answered, warmly, as Matt and Foggy greeted him as well. "I think that's my line. You're the one helping me, after all. We wouldn't be here if not for you."

"I think you guys would've found a way to bring Fisk down, even without my help," Clark said, sitting down as he fixed his glasses. He looked at them. "So, what do we have so far?"

"Money laundering, extortion, fraud, smuggling, illegal gambling…" Foggy listed. "It goes on and on and on. You will not believe the amounts of cash these people were dealing with, it's obscene."

Karen already knew that, they had used Union Allied to hide it after all, but she was still surprised when confronted with the ledgers.

"We barely started," Matt added, "and we already have more than enough for a case."

Clark was smiling as he pulled a pile of evidence closer.

"Then let's keep digging."

It would take days to go through all that, Karen knew, and she didn't want to jinx it, but she couldn't help but to smile with Clark.

Against all odds, they had won. Or they would, once they finished reading all that.

"Now, Raven," Superman started, serious, "this is a very important choice, so I want you to think about your answer very carefully."

Raven just stared.

"Do you want regular waffles, chocolate waffles or peanut butter waffles?"

Raven just kept staring, unblinking.

"Oh, what am I asking? All three of them, of course!"

When Superman said he would bring her some "proper food" and asked her what she liked to eat, Raven didn't dare to expect anything; he was a busy man, after all. Maybe he would, at best, buy something from a diner and bring as a dessert for her last meal of the day, if he had the time.

She was wrong. By Azarath, she was wrong.

In a matter of minutes, Superman had transformed her previously dull hospital room in a waffle café, complete with several waffle makers, blenders, a pot with freshly brewed coffee and another with hot chocolate, and a small table filled with all kinds of toppings: syrup, honey, cream, fruits — cut into little pieces by Superman in, literally, seconds —, homemade jam that he probably brought directly from a farm, and at least fifteen different types of ice cream.

It was absurd. It was childish. It was wasteful.

And Raven loved every bit of it, so much that she was forced to meditate for a second to regain her balance; the bursting delight she felt was as dangerous as rage, after all.

So she took a few seconds, breathing deep, as she watched Superman blur across the room, preparing waffles with an efficiency that threatened to put all waffle diners in the country out of business. Raven wondered for a moment from where Superman got six waffle makers and three blenders, but she supposed a building as big as the Avengers Tower probably had everything he needed.

"Dr. Cho is going to have a fit," Dr. Banner muttered, looking as shocked as she was.

"Then don't tell her," Clint Barton — the Avenger's Hawkeye — retorted, from the chair he was perched on.

"It's not that simple. The lab tests will give it away in a second that Raven's been eating something other than the approved food," Banner argued, nervously cleaning his glasses.

"Will it kill her?" Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, asked, her voice almost as bored as Raven's.

"Well, no, but—"

"Then let her live a little," she settled the matter. Then she grinned. "We can make a trade: you eat Dr. Cho's glob and the rest of us eat waffle."

As if they were one, they all turned to look at the truly unappetizing nutritious pudding, forgotten at the corner.

"I think I'm good," Dr. Banner answered, quickly.

"Excellent, because the first batch is ready," Superman announced, blurring as he put plates in front of everyone. Three in front of her, as he promised.

Raven felt her mouth water when the smell hit her, her eyes shining when the ice cream began to melt on top of them; more than that, her mind was suddenly filled with memories, good memories, of her time in Azarath. Raven and her mother had a somewhat difficult relationship — she was, after all, a living memory of what Trigon did to her —, but she never doubted her love.

And one of the most cherished memories she had of Arella were the waffles she used to make, the one food she knew how to cook, her mother used to say.

She lifted her eyes and looked at Superman's smiling face; hesitantly, she smiled back.

"This is delicious," Clint said between bites, drowning his waffle in syrup. "You should really hang up your cape and open a waffle restaurant."

"Super-Waffles," Natasha Romanoff suggested, eating hers like a classy lady, unlike the rest of them. "Yes, I can see it. Good marketing."

"You could put an 'S' with syrup on top of the waffles. And the best thing? You wouldn't even need to hire help."

Despite the absurd banter, Raven caught herself agreeing. Not with the suggestion to stop being Superman and to open a waffle house — no matter how good they tasted, and they tasted amazing, that was just preposterous —, but to Barton's last statement, that Superman wouldn't need to hire anyone. It was true.

He moved so fast, with such precision, that Raven was in awe.

Azarathians had extensive and detailed recordings of their communions with beings from other worlds, but seeing it with her own eyes was something entirely different. Superman exuded power without even trying, his speed and strength were so above anything she had seen in this dimension that it made even her, a Black Sky, feel small.

A perfect vessel, wouldn't you agree, daughter?

She shook her head fast, trying to dispel the sudden dark thoughts. Raven had no idea if the words were truly Trigon's, whispering in her ear, or simply her own demonic side playing mind games, but it didn't matter either way. The very thought of something like that happening left a foul taste in her mouth.

Raven forced herself to bury those feelings, focusing on their conversation again.

"…you guys are trying to find where the Hand stored the bones of a dragon?" Clint was saying. He sighed. "I know I already said it before, but I miss our old problems. Sometimes I even miss Budapest."

"Leland didn't know anything?" Superman asked, looking at Natasha.

"He doesn't even know about the Hand," she answered. "He knows Madame Gao and Nobu," she glanced at Raven, "were bad news, but he didn't know how bad they really were. We'll have to find some clue reading those documents."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Clint snorted. "Without help, you guys will take months to read everything."

"I already read them all," Superman said, carefully taking a waffle from the waffle maker. "I had to pace myself when Foggy and Karen were still in the room, but once they left I managed to catch up. Unfortunately, it doesn't say anything about where the dragon's remains could be."

They all stared, stunned for some reason.

"There were piles and piles and piles of stuff," Clint started, eyes wide. "How—"

"My brain can process information really fast," Superman shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal. "The tapes gave me a bit of trouble, though. There's a limit to how fast those old tape recorders can play the audio. I had to play them all at the same time, otherwise I would've had to stay the entire night there."

Raven understood why they were so stunned now.

"I'm no lawyer, so I summarized the whole thing so Matt and Foggy can take a look tomorrow." He looked at Natasha. "If anybody asks, tell them a SHIELD team worked overnight or something."

She bit her chocolate waffle and savored it for a moment, eyes still on Superman; Raven found it really interesting the fact that he concealed his identity from others. Obviously, she knew "Superman" was a fake name, a title, for which he was known by the people. His real name, Kal-El, was no secret, but somehow people never used it. And apparently he had another name as well, a human name.

Clark Kent, or at least that was how he introduced himself to her, earlier that evening.

Raven understood the importance of the moment, of course, the willingness to trust her, and she was flattered that he would; it was a trust she would never betray. Still, she couldn't help but to find ironic that the name Superman valued the most — his true name, so to speak — was the one given to him by humans, in this world, while she valued the name given to her by the Azarathian monks more than the one given to her in the world she was born.

"This Wilson Fisk," Dr. Banner started, "is he a part of the, umm, Hand? Is that the right name?"

"Yeah, it's the right name. And no," Superman answered, then paused. "Well, at least I think not. But he has been working alongside them, or for them, to facilitate their operations in New York. He pretty much took over all the biggest criminal organizations in the city. If we manage to stop him, we'll disrupt his entire organization and seriously hurt the Hand's operations in the country. We might even find some clues that lead us directly to the Hand's real bosses."

"And clues that lead us to the dragon's remains," Natasha reminded. "Preferably while they're still remains."

Bruce turned to her. "Can your blood really bring someone back to life?"

He sounded fascinated, just as he was when he learned about her interdimensional demonic father. Raven stopped herself from rolling her eyes; only a man of science would get excited to learn there were interdimensional beings from higher dimensions out there, set on conquering other universes. Normal people would just get scared.

"By itself? No," she answered. "But they can use it to open a rift between this dimension and Trigon's, to create a Lazarus Pit, and the Pit would take care of the rest, given time."

"Incredible," Bruce exhaled, shaking his head slowly.

Clint Barton was somewhat less excited.

"You're really Satan's daughter, then?" he asked. "That wasn't an elaborate prank?"

"Not exactly, but yes, I suppose you could say that," Raven nodded, grabbing the ice cream nearby.

"Jesus… Things really are getting out of hand, huh?" Clinton muttered, eyes wide. "And I thought things couldn't get any weirder when gods and aliens first showed up. Now we have dragons, demons, mages… Soon enough you're gonna tell me Harry Potter is real too. Or Merlin!"

"I don't know who Harry Potter is," Raven admitted, "but Merlin is real." She hesitated. "He's my nephew."

Superman choked on his coffee when he heard that.

"I'm sorry, what?!" he exclaimed.

Raven sighed. "Trigon had other sons and daughters, eons before he even considered the idea of setting foot in this world. One of his sons was called Belial, a powerful demon… And my half-brother. Belial, like Trigon, also enjoyed visiting the mortal plane, so much that he eventually sired a half-mortal son: Merlin." She paused. "That was a long time ago, ages before I was born, which would make Merlin significantly older than me… but I'm still his aunt."

Everyone, without exception, was staring at her, jaws agape.

"The waffle is burning," she warned, after a few seconds, snapping Superman back into motion.

"Well, I did not see this coming," Clint admitted, still stunned. "Not even a little bit."

"Well, as I was saying," Superman continued after saving the waffle from a fiery death, "we have the evidence to arrest Fisk. As soon as Matt and Foggy can organize that into a case, we can destroy his entire organization, and someone there has to know about the dragon's remains." He grinned. "We'll drag them out from the shadows like common criminals and force them to face justice."

Raven hoped he was right. Any person that willingly chose to consort with Trigon was bad news, and she was their captive long enough to confirm that. She regretted she couldn't do more to help — she didn't have any information about their whereabouts — but it seemed they got things under control.

The conversation turned lighter once again and soon enough they were joking and having fun; well, all of them, except Raven, who was simply watching. She didn't know how much she missed that. The group around her was as different as the Azarathians monks as they could possibly be, of course — loud and quick to laugh, for one —, but Raven felt safe with them all the same.

It was a feeling Raven thought she would never experience again.

It almost made her reconsider the decision to go to Kamar-Taj; who knew how they would greet her there? Superman guaranteed she would be safe and Raven believed him, but there was a very big gap between being safe and being accepted. As a Black Sky, distrust followed her everywhere, with good reason, but still…

Maybe things would be okay, though. Maybe her luck was beginning to turn. Maybe she could have the best of both worlds: the teachings and the safety Kamar-Taj could provide, and the companionship Clark and the Avengers offered. Maybe.

Superman's phone started to ring.

"Hey, Jessica, how are you?" he answered, happy. "I saved you some waffles. Here, say 'hi' to everyone, you're on speaker."

"Shut up and turn the TV on!"

The urgency on her voice put everyone on edge. Fast, Superman grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, changing to a news channel.

President Ellis and Wilson Fisk united to aid Hell's Kitchen against violence and corruption.

"What the…" Clint muttered, as all of them stared at the TV. Superman turned the volume up.

"I'm not very good at this, out, being in public. But I felt the need to speak up for this city that I love with all my heart."

Raven had never seen the bald, big man before, but by the shock and dread she felt emanating from the people in the room, that had to be Wilson Fisk. The man responsible for facilitating the Hand's operations in New York, the criminal who they were trying to arrest.

And there he was, out in the open, making a speech by the side of a man she supposed was the President of the United States.

"No one should have to live in fear. In fear of madmen, who have no regard for who they injure. In fear of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, who has inflicted untold pain and suffering."

The image changed to show a bunch of warehouses in flames, people dead lying on the street.

"This masked terrorist and psychopaths of his kind, we must show them we will not bow down to their campaign of coercion and intimidation. We must stand up to them, we must show courage, just as we did during The Incident and the Black Zero Event."

He gestured towards President Ellis, pulling him closer.

"This great man has led our nation through dark times. He stood with our great people against threats that have pushed us to our limits. And now here he is, by my side, ready to give all the support we need to persevere in these difficult times."

Wilson Fisk looked at the camera.

"I will not give up the dream that I have for this city. A dream of a better place. A place for its citizens to feel safe, to feel pride. I tried to do this quietly, not wanting to draw attention. The last thing I wanted was for anyone close to me to become a target for those who do not share my dream. For those who will have this city stay exactly as it is, mired in poverty and crime.

He gestured with his other hand and a woman approached, smiling warmly at Fisk.

"But I know now it was foolish to make that decision. That I cannot keep living in the shadows, afraid of the light. None of us can. None of us should be forced to. We must do this together. We must resist those who would have us live in fear."

The crowd was applauding, and he raised his voice to be heard.

"My name is Wilson Fisk. And together we can make this city a better place!"

The cheering crowd was deafening, and Wilson Fisk and President Ellis greeted them with smiles, shaking hands all around; but no one was really paying attention anymore. The previously joyful room was deadly silent, shocked to their core, as they stared at the TV trying to understand what they had just watched.

Maybe Raven had celebrated too soon.