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 TMNT or anything that I might reference. Credit and appreciation 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: I feel like it should be stated: while I appreciate and support slash and t-cest, there will be none in this fic. Those who don't like it can safely read on knowing that there will be no turtle-porn. That being said, you also don't need to openly bash it. Don't like turtle-porn, don't read it. Just sayin'. I mean, atheists don't go to church to divert followers; likewise, t-cest lovers and haters don't need to stir up trouble. I like reading t-cest, but there will be none here. Leave it at that.

Also, I want to give a hearty thanks to my readers and reviewers! Being new to the fandom, I was rather nervous about writing for it. Support is greatly appreciated, and it's a good boost for my ego as a writer. Makes me motivated to keep writing.

...

CH2

[Solid shadows advanced, weapons ready. And Raphael was none the wiser.]

...

Meanwhile, back at the lair, three turtles and a rat were situated around the table, their faces each holding some variation of solicitude. It had been a long day and an even longer night. Any plans they had to go out patrolling the city as a team were dashed the moment the hothead had run off... hours ago. For a while, no one gave it much thought; it was a fairly common occurrence for him to stomp off in an attempt to divert his rage.

The affair would have been left alone for the time being, if the rat hadn't stepped into the kitchen with an expression of trepidation as he leaned heavily on his makeshift cane. He looked at the three remaining turtles, holding their gazes for a stern moment before closing his eyes and steeling his focus. It was moments like this when he had to decide between acting as a father and a sensei. His paternal instincts bade him to offer kind words and comfort but the sensei in him opted for cold understanding and rationalization towards the subject at hand. After a brief moment of consideration, he decided to compromise the two senses of identity.

"My sons, I am greatly troubled," Splinter said with a shake of his head, his whiskers twitching, tail lashing in distress. "I cannot be the only on to have seen this change in Raphael. He is angry, and his trips away from home to the surface-world are becoming more frequent and lasting much longer. He believes his desertion is the key to fixing his problems, but it is only causing the rift inside him to grow larger, deeper, more hurtful. He hurts, and that feeling clouds his mind; it is a blinding force to be reckoned with. He expresses it with a burning rage that will pull him away from us if we do not get through to him. He has built a wall between himself and us. That wall, it is for his own protection, but I fear it is doing more harm than good. We must break that wall down." He punctuated his words with a tap of his cane to the floor.

The blue-banded son gave a respectful bow of his head as he acknowledged the words. "You're right, Sensei. Raphael has been acting... worse, more rash and impulsive. In training, he's been careless. When he's not training, he's quick-tempered. My first thought was that he needed more training to help himself find balance, but he has rejected it at every turn. Sometimes, it's like Russian Roulette whether or not he decides to get physical with his show of aggression. Sensei, what should I do? Raph won't listen to reason. He's too hotheaded, too stubborn, too-"

Leo's long-winded preach-speak was only half-noted by his brothers, but the rat grew tense at what he was hearing, and he put a stop to the words before they could become more harmful. "Leonardo," Master Splinter cut in with an uncharacteristic twitch in his eye, "you will stop your belittling at once! Those qualities are what make Raphael who he is. I do not wish for him to change, nor do I suspect that he would want to. However, he needs support. As his family, it is our duty to give it to him. Only by showing him support can we mend his hurtful feelings."

Donatello looked thoughtful, his eyes appearing as two endless mud-colored caverns of concern as he turned his back to his family and poured himself a cup of coffee into a mug that no longer had a handle -the reason for the omitted handle was little more than a memory, but the thought made the purple-clad ninja smile in spite of the quandary. He recalled with affection some time ago, when Raphael -in an attempt at apology- had made coffee for Don. He'd poured it into this very mug and attempted to deliver it immediately, severely misjudging the steaming hot temperature and burning his own hands in the process. He'd cursed loudly and dropped the cup. Crashing to the floor, the cup had become chipped and the handle had cleanly snapped off on impact. He'd apologized several times after that, but Don had seen through the mess of broken glass to the kind intent of the deed itself. He couldn't help the predilection, nor did he make any attempt to sway his thoughts on the matter. The memory, to him, was an affectionate one that spoke of his brother's good will.

Unaware of Don's own accountability and not really focusing on dwellings of the past, Michelangelo's minute attention span was still on Splinters suggestion at supporting Raphael. The orange-masked turtle groaned in a mix of apprehension and boredom. He leaned back so that his chair balanced precariously on two legs. "How we gonna support him, sensei? We can't just go up to him, hug him, and say that we're glad he has anger issues. He'd whack me upside the head for sure... and he'd only do that after trying to kill me! And he wouldn't be killing me with kindness!" Mikey tipped his chair back just a bit further - too far- and toppled backwards with a surprised shout. "Gyaah!" His cry was indignant and he quickly scrambled to his feet before righting the chair. He let out an odd sound that was somewhere between a nervous gasp and a suppressed giggle. "Heh..."

"My son, please, calm yourself. We must discuss this rationally before Raphael returns," Splinter said. He suddenly appeared more tired and aged; his whiskers drooped and it was with notable effort that he stood a little straighter and kept his head held high. "I fear the road ahead is not an easy one, but it is one we must travel. We must first talk with Raphael, learn why his hurt is so great and why he reacts with such violence."

Listening to his sensei, Leo couldn't help agreeing. He scuffed his foot on the floor and curled his toes against the texture; he did this three or four times before catching himself and halting the action altogether. It had been an old habit, one he hadn't indulged in some time, not since he was young and still on good terms with his red-banded sibling. Some part of him noted that Raphael still had this habit, but he quickly pushed the thought from his mind and paid attention to what Splinter had said. "Someone should talk to Raph," he voiced calmly. "As leader, I would be the first choice for the assignment, but what about Don?" as Leo spoke up, his eyes focused on the rat and his toes -seemingly on their own accord- once again began to scuff and curl along the grainy surface. "Master Splinter, with all due respect, Raph can't stand me; he's too quick-tempered, and we'd only fight again. And he'd throttle Mikey if he could catch him. But I don't think Raph has a grudge against Donatello. Maybe Don could-"

"I'm right here, Leo," the purple-banded turtle spoke, voice low-key in its chide at being overlooked; his brown eyes were pastoral and contemplative. "I could talk to Raph, but I don't want to pressure him. If I did, he'd just turn away from me too." He sipped at his coffee, cradling the cup between both hands and lightly running his thick fingers over where the handle once was. The memory still warmed him. "Raphael means well, most of the time; it just seems like he has so much going on in here-" maneuvering the coffee mug to one hand, he pressed the other hand over his pastron where his heart was- "and not enough activity up here-" he moved the same hand and tapped a finger to his temple- "to keep everything in check. His heart is in the right place, but his head gets in the way." With those words concluding, he drew the mug between both hands once more and took a longer, more tentative sip.

At Donatello's explanation, everyone was silent, taking the words in for honest consideration -excluding Mikey, who seemed to simply accept Don's word as law and allowed his own attention to bounce around the room like a disjointed echo. His stomach growled and he made a vocal imitation of the sound. Once his mind drifted to the subject of food, it was all he could focus on.

Deciding to ignore the plight of his youngest brother's gurgling tummy, Leo committed his focus to the problem at hand: Raphael's blatant frustration and Don's earnest understanding. Allowing small sigh, Leo straightened his posture and offered a reassuring smile. "You're right, Don. Raph has always been like that. He's passionate to a fault; though, it's been more noticeable lately. Perhaps we reacted too strongly on the negative aspects and have neglected the good in him." He looked thoughtful, though his expression had lightened considerably, as if he were relieved and felt his own stress and tension leaving. Knowing that Don was able to understand and explain it so well, Leo could almost physically feel a weight lifted from him. The relief was evident in his demeanor and tone as he spoke once more. "I don't want anything to put an unnecessary strain on our family. We'll get through this together." He trained his gaze back onto Splinter. "Sensei, what do we do? We need to do something. We can't sit back and wait for Raph to come to his senses."

"My sons, it is late; we will rest. I will meditate on this. I'm sure an answer will be clear in the morning." He offered a kind smile to each of the teens. "For now, I believe there is a movie on the television about Mighty Ducks. Let us watch. And, Michelangelo, you may order pizza."

"Awesome! We are totally getting jelly beans as a topping! And pineapple! And sardines! And hot sauce, and-" In Mikey's excitement, he missed the soured faces of his brothers who were much less enthusiastic about exotic additives.

Unable to stop himself, Donatello couldn't help voicing a new concern. "Sensei, you know Mighty Ducks isn't about actual ducks, right?"

Leo allowed himself a chuckle at Don's words. "That's what you're worried about, Donnie? Shouldn't you be more concerned with the food Mikey expects us to ingest?"

And with a few barbs and good-natured laughs at one another's expense, the plight with Raphael was all but forgotten. Spirits high and tensions low, an appreciatively calm night of familial bonding awaited.

...

[Topside]

If Raphael cared about time, he'd carry a watch. But he wasn't measuring the weight of passing time by the ticking of a clock; instead, he measured it in breaths taken and foes fallen. As far as he was concerned, the night was young. If the bruising of his knuckles was anything to go on, he could keep up the rush well into the morning hours.

Part of him wanted to call Casey- not for help, but for the sake of camaraderie. But, of course, he'd bitterly recalled the double standard and his own promise not to be involved with the vigilante that donned a hockey mask. Instead, tonight, he'd fight alone. By himself. No help. No brotherly barbs and fun. Just himself against the world- or at least, against a fleet of black-clad ninja.

Determined and fierce, he held a sai in each hand as the number of opponents had dwindled under the pressure of his attacks.

The fight that had started on the rooftops had crossed over several buildings and down to street level in a more vacant part of town.

Raphael had just struck another Foot soldier in the temple with the blunt end of a sai, rendering him unconscious as he fell into a heap on the ground with a dull thud resounding.

Breathing deeply from the exertion put into the workout, he looked around, taking inventory of the number of Foot he'd been up against. He'd taken down at least twenty on his own, and he'd even dragged the fight out with a few of the more skilled ninja, but all too soon he ran out of foes to drop.

Stretching languidly and cracking his neck, he felt a sense of accomplishment course through him. He was almost smiling.

Almost.

His head felt clear and the bulk of his tension had left several Foot ago. The thrill of the fight and the pride in his success had all but emptied his mind and replaced his prior anguish with something serene.

With one last look around, eyes carefully searching the shadows near and far, he decided he could finally head back to the lair. He'd cooled down enough, and he was certain his family would give him time to himself at least til morning. They'd forgive him, and he'd play it off like he always did. They were family after all; families were supposed to forgive each other.

Yeah, he could go home. Finally. And when he got home, he wouldn't even insult Leo or yell at Mikey. The thought made him smirk, but there was nothing vicious about the expression on his face; his eyes held a soft glow in the dim lighting. He was almost content with the idea of going back home and into a warm and welcoming environment. Sewers be damned, it was still home.

Surmising the distance between his current location and the lair, he quickly decided on which route to take and did a quick flip towards the shadows, letting the darkness envelop him.

There was a manhole less than a block away; he could easily get to it unseen, and that was his intention.

At least, it was until his eyes caught sight of something silver that glimmered in the moonlight. That silver, cold metal littered with spikes and resting over the form of his clan's most hated enemy. The Shredder.

With an internal groan that was just barely suppressed, Raphael had to decide -quickly- whether to stand his ground and fight, or flee...

The last vestiges of adrenaline coursing through him, his mind was made up. Stepping out of the shadows, he brandished his weapons and turned his full attention to his pending foe. Baring his teeth, he called out: "Let's see what ya got, Metal-Mouth!"

...

[And, another chapter done. Next one coming soon!]