Title: Validation
Summary: Never the perfect son or student or brother, Raphael does the unthinkable. Away from the lair and into an allegiance with Shredder, honor is replaced by his pronounced desire for validation.
Disclaimer: I have no ownership ties to the TMNT fandom or anything else I might reference. Credit to those who do.
SPECIAL THANKS TO! Bella13blue, my own personal Nemesis! (Because everybody needs one.) MY Nemesis has been a good friend; she's a great soundboard and has been kind enough to encourage and offer suggestions on my work for this fic.
Author's Notes: Naso-gastric tubes: type of feeding tube in short term and are threaded from the patient's nose down to his stomach.
Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
...
CH 51
"What- What are we doin'?" Raphael rasped, mouth dry, tongue heavy and pasty, throat sore from the way he'd improperly removed the naso-gastric feeding tube that had gone through his nasal passage and run the length of his esophagus, into his stomach.
The words, as they left his mouth, sounded strange. He couldn't tell how loud or quiet he was speaking; every sound- harsh or soft- met his ear slits with the same stale, muted quality.
"What are we doin'?" he asked again, eyes shut tightly, squinting beneath the blind.
This time, thankfully, he garnished a response. "What do you mean, Raphael? You're in the Infirmary, healing." Shredder's voice. Calm, poised, and completely capable of permeating the turtle's muddled senses.
Feeling weak and exhausted, Raphael struggled to sit up, making slight progress, only to fall back onto his pillow. He licked his lips in a futile attempt to moisten them. Then, "I just... don't know what I'm doin' anymore," he confessed, grunting in discomfort as he curled his toes and bent his legs, feeling entirely too stiff and sluggish. "I thought I had it all figured out. It made sense before, but there's all this stuff in my head. And... I dunno."
Raphael heard a slight shuffle of motion, but he couldn't see; the blindfold made certain of that. So, when he felt a 5-fingered hand touch his face in what was meant to be a soothing gesture, he wanted to flinch. And, under any other circumstance, he would have done just that... but for now, he was too physically exhausted to do such a thing.
Shredder's breath, smelling of mint and ginger, washed over Raph's face with his next words. "Raphael, make no mistake, you have a purpose here, and everything will be fine." He spoke evenly, retracting his hand and stepping away.
Raphael listened and counted the retreating footsteps, knowing that his human-master hadn't gone far.
"You are under my leadership and guidance. You protect the city. The people of New York need you."
With a soft hiss, Raphael cut in: "I scared 'em. I got stupid. I scared a group of humans. Probably all over the news..."
"I handled it. A patsy in a costume. Some bribery to the tabloids. As far as the general public is concerned, it was all a hoax, and your mishap never occurred." Shredder's words and tone were precise and alleviating.
Raphael was honestly glad to hear it. In his fog-laden mind, he needed the assurance, and he was grateful to know that his mistake had been covered.
But the human wasn't done speaking. "New York needs a hero, Raphael. Why shouldn't it be you? No one else holds the city in higher regards. No one else cares or has the capability that you do... This is what you've always wanted, isn't it? To protect those who cannot protect themselves? It can happen. And, in time, it will."
Raphael's browline creased beneath the blindfold, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It sounds great, but... it sounds a little too great. What's the catch?"
"No catch, Raphael. This is what you wanted, and once you are healed and your condition is primed to meet my standards, I will unleash you unto the city. You will cleanse the streets of criminal scum and gangbangers. You will save the innocents. Because, everyone needs saving, Raphael. Those people need you. And... believe it or not, I need you as well."
Hearing the slight speech, Raphael let out a small choked sound that he cleverly disguised as a cough; then he couldn't help questioning: "You... do? Ya need me?"
"Of course." The answer came easily enough. "You have been a great asset to this clan, but you have also been fair company. I enjoy our little trysts and the meals we share. Honestly, I... am honored to call you my son."
Raphael took in the words, trying hard to process their meaning and the seemingly infinite kindness behind them. A faint voice argued for him not to be so trusting, but his brain was barely working at half its usual capacity, and he consciously ignored it. His thoughts seemed to collide with one another into a jumbled mess until he wasn't sure what he was thinking at all. He was quiet for an immeasurable amount of time, and when he spoke next, he only managed a barely audible request of: "water?"
Without further prompt, Shredder moved to the counter to grab the plastic cup that had been deemed Raphael's long ago. Moving to the small sink, he filled it from the tap, turning off the water and returning to the mutant's side. Clearing his throat to gain attention, he carefully pressed the cup into Raphael's hand.
Attempting to sit up, the entirety of Raphael's body shook with the effort, yet he made little progress. With his head slightly inclined, he brought the cup to his beak and tried to take a drink, spilling at least half of the liquid down his chin and neck, then choking on the little bit he managed to swallow.
Shredder watched, soundless, unamused and unimpressed... but completely understanding.
Because, Raphael had died. For eight and a half minutes, his heart had stopped. It had taken Perry and an entire team of professional-grade medics entirely too long to revive the mutant, but it had been done.
Raphael was alive. Weakened, but alive. That's what mattered.
By the professor's explanation, intense stress over an extended period of time coupled with inefficient coping, had caused the mutant's body to speed up hormone production- and, it was simply too much for him to handle.
Jordan Perry had explained:
"When perceiving danger, a system kicks into gear: A chain reaction of signals releasing hormones — most notably epinephrine (adrenaline), norepinephrine, and cortisol. The hormones boost heart rate, increase respiration and increase the availability of glucose in the blood, thereby enabling the well-known 'fight or flight' reaction. Because these responses take a lot of energy, stress simultaneously tells other costly physical processes — including digestion, physical growth, and some aspects of the immune system — to yield or shut down. My supposition is, a malfunction between the signals carried from the brain to the body must have stopped both his lungs and his heart from working... In short, Raphael's stress was literally the death of him."
That's what the man had said.
But for now... Raphael was fine; his condition was stabilized. Having Raphael revived was a triumph all its own. Knowing that his spirit would be weakened during recovery was an added bonus. Now, all Shredder had to do, was play his cards right, and he'd get exactly what he wanted.
He always did.
...
[Later, with Shredder]
He pulled on his armor, piece by piece. A young woman of Asian descent helped to secure it all in place. His kabuto came on next to last, followed by the menpo, which he took a long moment to examine before donning. Because it was new, shiny, freshly polished.
Almost completely encased in metal, Shredder tested his new gauntlets with retractable blades. Decidedly satisfied with the sleek design and the ease of use, he pulled the blades back into the sheath along his forearms before walking gracefully across the room, stopping once he reached a darkened corner. Then, with a simple clap of the hands, a spotlight poured down, illuminating a whole new suit of armor, much different than his own but no less intimidating.
In time, this armor would be fitted and gifted to his mutant-heir.
But not yet.
There were far too many flaws to be ironed out first.
The young Asian woman stepped away for a moment, returning quickly to the Shredder's side with the Golden Shuriken in her grasp. With a respectful bow, she presented the relic to her master.
Taking the proffered object into his hands and holding it at length, he observed it, noting with satisfaction how the glow dimmed like a dying bulb.
He needed that light to go out completely, signalling its detachment from a soul. Only then could he tap into its power. Only then would he move onto the next phase of his plan.
But for now, he waited, baiting time.
For now, he played a role, eloquently scripted to mislead his intent.
...
[Next chapter: In-Progress!]
