A/N: So my friend and I were talking one day, and we developed a set of AU turtles that each grew up in different settings and completely apart from each other, not knowing that the others existed. This story is about Oroku Raphael, raised by Oroku Saki, and how he grew into someone that... no one really likes very much.
WARNING: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS LOTS OF VIOLENCE AND MENTIONS OF NOT-SO-PLEASANT THINGS!! DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THOSE THINGS!! Thank you.
Disclaimer: I do not own the turtles or anything else in their world. I'm just using it to amuse myself! grins
Chapter 1 - Success
He stood still and silent in the shadows, watching from his perfect hiding spot, not betraying where he was with even the quiet sounds of breathing. This was his refuge, where he came to hide from the bastard who called himself his 'father.' That man was no father: He was a monster.
Waves of anger rushed over him as he watched 'father' tearing through his things – HIS things – searching for something that had been misplaced. His fists clenched and unclenched spasmodically as things that were precious to him were flung across the room without regard to their well-being. Crashing sounds reached his ears and he gritted his teeth, grinding them together in annoyance and fury.
This pathetic excuse for a man did not deserve to be a father. He didn't deserve to lead the Foot clan. And he most certainly didn't deserve to live.
His grip tightened on the shovel in his hand. In just a few minutes, it would all be over and he would never have to see the assholes ugly face again. He would bury his 'father' along with any memories he ever had of him.
Without making a sound, he stepped out of the shadows and approached his 'father' slowly, deliberately. "Stop," he commanded in a low growl.
Annoyance flickered over the monsters face, but he did not stop his search for even a moment. When he spoke, it was in Japanese, like it always was when he was angry or frustrated. " Go back to your room, Raphael. "
"This is my room, you fucking jackass!" The shout escaped from Raphael's mouth before he had truly thought about them. Usually, he would have just growled and left the room, but it had become too much. His 'father' had finally pushed him off the edge.
Eyes snapping up in anger, the man saw the look on his sons face and reeled back, away from him. A smirk played across Raphael's beak at the sight of his 'father' so afraid. Oh, how the tables had turned.
In an attempt to hide his obvious fear, the man drew himself up and shouted at Raphael. " Stand down, Raphael! " He took a swing at his son, which had become a normal reaction for him, but he found the swing stopped halfway to its goal. Quick as lightning, Raphael's hand had shot out and now held his 'father's' wrist in a vise-like grip.
The beatings. Yes, that had been part of what had led to this moment, though not a big part. Raphael had grown accustomed to the pain and it had dulled to him. Even the occasional pains of rape had become nothing more than dull throbs, though it still sent a stabbing pain through him to realize how easily he could be pinned down and treated in such a way. Never mind that his 'father' always resorted to trickery and bonds to do it, he was still overwhelmed too easily for his own liking.
The thing that had finally driven him to this point though was the way his 'father' talked to him. A growl escaped him as bits of memories flashed through his mind.
" You are nothing, Raphael. You are a failure! You will never succeed at anything you try because that is all you are. Just a failure. "
His grip tightened slowly around the wrist in his hand until he heard a crack and then cries of pain, jerking him out of his memories. A great pleasure filled him at the sight of his 'father' in so much pain, crying for him to stop, pleading.
Now was his moment to prove, once and for all, that he was not what his 'father' said he was. He was not a failure, and his first success would occur when this man lay dead before him.
With a shove, he let go of the wrist and easily tossed the man onto the ground. For a moment, he stared at the heap of worthless flesh before him. He ran a thumb lightly over the edge of the shovel, which he had sharpened so painstakingly, so lovingly. In that moment, he saw a piece of humanity in his 'father,' something he had never seen before in those cold, loveless eyes.
"Please… Raphael… my son…" He resorted to English and a pleading tone as a last effort to save himself.
Raphael squatted down and studied him with his head tilted to the side while his 'father' breathed heavily, hoping against hope that his son was as much of a failure as he had always told him.
After a moment, Raphael spoke with a quiet, almost deadly calm, a sneer in his voice if not on his face. "I am not your son." With that said, he stood, raised the shovel high, and brought it down in a sweeping motion across the man's neck, almost decapitating him in his fury.
Breathing heavily, he stood over the body of the man who had broken him so many times in his life, blood-spattered and looking positively gleeful. He only turned from staring hungrily at the sight when a choked gasp sounded behind him.
There stood one of Elite Foot, his mask off, staring in horror at the dead body in the room. The Elite was one of the few who had ever been kind to Raphael, bringing him treats when he had been good, reassuring him in his younger years whenever his 'father' had been particularly cruel.
The Foot finally tore his gaze from the most gruesome part of the scene and focused his gaze on Raphael. "Raph… what have you done?"
Turning back to stare at his first accomplishment, Raphael shook his head. "I am not Raph and I never will be again."
He stooped down and caressed his dead father's cheek in an almost adoring way. "From this day on, I am Phael, as he named me."
With that, he straightened and strode away, leaving the horror-struck Elite to raise the alarm and inform the Foot clan that their master was dead.