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 don't have any ownership ties to TMNT. 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: Uncolored fan art has been done for this chapter. (If I stop being lazy, I might go back and color it later.) The link can be found on my fanfiction profile. Keep in mind, I'm an amateur and I doodle for a hobby. Don't expect a masterpiece. Also, I'm not too fond of how this chapter turned out, but it serves its purpose and is necessary.

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CH3

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!"

His stance firm, muscles taut, lips curled back and browline creased to articulate a snarling expression, he was less than half a breath away from making a move. His brain was emptied, static, and his instinct was just about to kick into overdrive. He lunged, one sai moving up to block an attack while the other slid in a slashing motion to strike his foe. While planning to fight offensively, his moves were countered; his blades became tangled in the spiked gauntlets of his foe and were pulled from his own grip and flung to the pavement with a fluent jerk of the Shredder.

Aside from blocking and disarming the turtle, Shredder made no other move to fight. He simply stood in place, eyes staring at Raphael as if in appraisal of a fine gem. Those eyes, sinister as ever between the parallel sheets of metal, refused to blink or avert.

Weaponless, Raph visibly tensed, expecting the fight to escalate quickly with ill-favors towards himself; his patience was nearly nonexistent, and he just barely avoided the temptation to swoop in and reclaim his missing blades; the act would leave him vulnerable for too long. He watched Shredder for a sign of movement, some kind of tell on what he wanted. When no attack came, Raph laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. Then, a crack of the neck and a roll of the shoulders later, and he was barreling forth with the intent to tackle the evil villain he'd been trained to despise. To his surprise, even with the force of his momentum, his move faltered and failed.

Shredder simply braced himself and held up his hands, firmly grasping Raphael by the shoulders and preventing anything further from happening. Holding him in place, he stared at the turtle and tilted his head in a way that should have looked more menacing; instead it just looked awkward. He tightened his grip, fingers digging into the leathery green flesh of the shorter fighter. The strength behind the grip was neither painful nor threatening, but it was more than enough to alert Raphael and make him wary as the Shredder's own filtered voice made itself known. "Calm yourself, Raphael. I did not come to fight you." As if to prove himself, he slowly relinquished his hold on the turtle and drew his hands away, taking a dozen carefully measured steps back to put distance between them, ensuring safety and withdrawing any threat. "I watched your fight, and I wanted to tell you that it was... impressive. Your skills as a fighter are improving with each battle." His voice held a lilt of amusement. He slid his feet apart, widening his stance for better balance and a more arrogant position as he crossed his arms over his chest in a way that almost seemed petulant. Out of place and out of character.

Seeing this, Raph was furious... because the position was not unlike his own that he'd taken up by unconscious default once there was fair ground between them once more. He didn't miss this fact, this insulting mimicry. Heat boiled under his flesh, warning him of impending rage. His head pounded, and he uncrossed his arms in a way of defiance, to deny any similarity that might have been. He would have adjusted his footing as well, but he was all too aware of his need for balance in case an attack would be launched. It was with a severe delay that the armored foe's words truly sank in, and he relented his rage, pulling back and slamming his fist into the nearest thing- a lamp post. The pole dented with the force of the blow, but he was too numb with aggression to feel any recoil. And, not wanting praise from his enemy, nor seeing any value in it, he let loose the first words that came to mind: "Dammit! Why don't ya just... fuck off, Shred-Head!?" His breath came in terse gasps through clenched teeth and flared nostrils, and his vision once again caught a glimpse of his sais that lay on the pavement several feet away.

'Tuck and roll,' he thought quickly. 'A quick tumble, and I can get to 'em.'

"Oh, all this hostility, and I only offered you a compliment, Raphael," the man said, voice chiding as if reprimanding a child for spilling milk or refusing to share toys.

But the condescending tone only goaded the turtle. "Fuck you, Tin-Teeth! Ya want more goofy nicknames? Thanks ta Mikey, I've got about twenty more! And you should know, they get stupider as the list gets longer." He paused, blinked, and took a moment to mentally grasp the next nickname he had in the arsenal of his memory vault. Channeling his inner-Mike, he shouted: "Bucket-Breath!" Thinking that crude name-calling would rile up his foe and get the fight rolling, he was disappointed to find that it didn't. In fact, his opponent didn't appear the least bit perturbed. Realizing this, Raphael felt a little foolish for trying. Humor wasn't his thing; he wasn't good at it. So, with a sharp breath, he tried another route, one that was decidedly more crass. Something less Mike-like and more Raph-ready. "Dumbass," he said with finality.

That last word -simple as it was- did manage to get a reaction from Shredder, but it wasn't what the turtle wanted or expected. Rather than becoming angry or even annoyed, he chuckled deeply, the sound bellowing louder as it escaped the metal-casing over the lower half of his face. "My, my. Such language. You caught me by surprise; though I should have expected it, I suppose. Nevertheless, I feel the need to reiterate and get my point across." He swept his arm out in a grand gesture, motioning to the number of fallen Foot. "You took down a significant number of highly trained ninja all on your own. And I have to wonder, where were your brothers in all of this?"

A grunt of disapproval escaped Raph as he gave an auto-response. "If yer askin' where the lair is, I ain't tellin' ya nothin'!" His response was automatic, rehearsed, ingrained in his head and heart all the same. He could never reveal the location of their home; he'd never dream of intentionally endangering those he cared for. Even if he was angry with his brothers and sensei, he still loved them; he'd do whatever it took to keep them safe. His heart pounded, he could almost feel the blood rushing through his veins and getting too hot. His vision blurred -a sign that his rage was building and he might lose control. He needed to hit something, soon. Against his better judgement, he let his enemy out of sight in favor of sending a look of longing to the damaged post. He was so tempted to hit it again... His fists tightened desirably.

Raph's attention was drawn away from the urge when he heard an unfamiliar sound. Not quite a chuckle -something closer to a suppressed laugh, but the unfamiliarity stemmed from the voice and the speaker.

The Shredder should never make that kind of sound. A deranged man should never sound so... human.

And yet, there it was, cold hard proof that Shredder was laughing, and the sound wasn't even menacing. His shoulder armor took rise and then fell, articulating a show of mirth that looked out of place on this particular villain. Then, clearing his throat and reclaiming an aura of stoicism, he spoke again, words blunt for the individual before him. "I am not asking any information of you, Raphael. I am saying that your fighting skills are commendable. Your reaction and distrust suggests that you do not get complimented regularly, which is a shame considering your talent. Had your brothers been here, I wonder if they might hold you back. I know your leader -Leonardo- often tells you to retreat. He thinks you're weak. The smart one- Donatello- he always has the answers, but he never wants to fight, does he? He could never understand you. And the other one -Michelangelo- he's just so-"

"Don't ya dare berate my family," Raph interrupted; the rage that had conceded in his moment of perplexity was now boiling over and rolling off him in waves, threatening to drown him and anyone caught in the crossfire. "Who gave ya the right ta say that about them?! They ain't-"

"-Here," Shredder said, interrupting with the intent to finish his red-banded adversary's sentence. "Your family isn't here. But you are, and you did marvelous. Take pride in your strength, Raphael. In a world that brands you an outcast and a freak, it is all you have." With those words, Shredder took a few steps closer to the turtle.

Disoriented and trying to process what his enemy was saying -more importantly, what his foe actually meant- his anger temporarily subsided. It seemed as if he was only capable of latching onto a single emotion at a time, and each one was magnified tenfold. His mind was reeling, head spinning. Key words from his enemy were echoing in his head, getting trapped in his brain and refusing to let go. Then, too late he noticed how the distance between them had shortened; in response, Raph tensed and bared his teeth aggressively, trying desperately to hold onto the rage that told him to fight. Because rage would keep him alive in the heat of battle. And this was a battle, right?

His fists were tingling, a reminder that he'd hit the post earlier and hadn't hit anything since... For a moment, the lack of fighting muddled his own understanding, weakened his grasp on the situation and forced him into something strange and distant, borderline detached. It took almost all his willpower to draw himself back to where he needed, to remain focused.

Even so, Shredder refrained from furthering his advance just yet; he paused to hold up his hands in a universal promise of surrender. "I mean you no harm, Raphael," he explained. "I am simply complimenting your work and collecting what is mine." With a nod towards the turtle, he began a slow and purposeful stride; he came closer until there was less than a few feet of space between them. Rather than attacking like Raph had expected, Shredder simply bypassed and knelt down; he grabbed the hand of a fallen Foot soldier that had -until that moment- become part of the scenery.

With his confusion only continuing to grow, Raph couldn't help the strange look that fell over his features and crushed his face into something pitiful and child-like, desperate to understand. "What are ya doin'?" With every fiber of his being, he wanted to say something snarky and spiteful, but curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't help asking. Besides, there was no harm in a simple question, as far as he knew.

Holding onto the Foot, Shredder quirked a brow at his green enemy, the thin curve rising to disappear under his metal helm. "Isn't it obvious? My men are unable to get up, but they are alive and I intend to get every one of them to safety for medical attention." He spoke in the way a teacher might correct a student's grammar, simple and patient but assertive all the same.

But Raphael just continued to stare, nearly gawking as he watched the armored man hoist the unconscious solider up with ease before going to look over the wounds of another.

"Of course, Raphael," Shredder spoke calmly, "you and your brothers never stick around long enough to see this part: the part where we collect our fallen comrades from the battlefield. No, you cause damage and flee before repercussions set in. Then again, I suppose that is no choice of yours. Your leader is very insistent on running whenever possible. And it is so obvious that you hate running." Carefully setting the injured soldier down, he inspected a particularly nasty bleeding gash on another. Deciding that the wound wasn't fatal, he reclaimed his footing and began to collect both injured ninja in his arms. Shouldering two young masked men, Shredder turned his back to Raphael and began to walk away, not once looking behind him.

Mind racing, head pounding, heart pulsing, Raphael said the only thing he could think to say. "You shouldn't turn yer back on me. I could attack ya, y'know," Understanding his own words to be something between a threat and a warning, he felt his jaw tighten and eyes narrow in a habitually grim fashion.

The armored man was silent for a moment before simply saying: "I know. But you will not harm me, not right now. You have too much pride to attack an unready opponent."

Narrowing his eyes a bit further, Raph grumbled "Ya don't know me very well. All the honor bullshit belongs to Leo. I could kill ya right now, and you'd never pose another threat to me, my brothers, or Master Splinta."

The threat had been placed with all the civility of a tossed gauntlet, but Shredder just continued his casual pace. "I may not know you, Raphael, but I know enough. If you wish to face me, we will do it fairly, at a later time. For now, it is enough for me to say that you fought well. And I want you to keep the compliment."

Raph eased out of his fighting stance, not entirely sure when he'd slipped into it. He heaved a sigh and glanced at his discarded weapons. Training his eyes back onto his retreating enemy, he moved to retrieve his sais. Once both were firmly in his grasp, he felt a little... better. Noting that and taking a moment to appreciate the fading anxiety, he leaned against the wall of a nearby building and watched his enemy walk away until he disappeared somewhere between the distance and darkness. Barely a second later, a flicker of motion caught his attention and spiked his awareness, his senses ablaze, but he soon recognized it to be more Foot, and while that would usually be cause for alarm, their focus seemed to be solely on collecting their unconscious allies.

From his spot against the wall, Raph watched them take their leave. Once they were gone and out of sight and decidedly not coming back, he turned and made his way to the manhole. He was tired and frustrated; he just wanted to go home. He slipped the cover off and dropped into the sewer. It had been a long and thought-provoking evening, and he had a lot to think about on his trip back to the lair.

...

[This chapter was harder than I thought. Sorry for the lack of actual fighting here. Given most circumstances, I know Raph's reaction to anything would be to throw himself in and fight, but I needed this to take a different turn for the sake of the plot. My main goal was to keep Raph and Shredder in the same vicinity with limited hostility. On top of that, some confusion on Raph's part and feigned humanity for Shredder. Next chapter should be up soon, and hopefully better.]