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: About last chapter, I just want to say that I'm not writing Shredder as a pacifist. In case it isn't obvious, the bulk of the last chapter was the beginning work of a mind game of sorts. Raphael's confusion there will assist in his lapse in judgement later. But, patience and baby steps. Good guys don't become bad guys overnight, most of the time.
-Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
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CH4
He couldn't remember the last time his head hurt this bad. But worse than the headache was the drained and empty feeling in his chest. Part of him wanted to be angry, to lash out at anything and everything. There was even a small part of him that wanted to break down and release some waterworks, but greater than both of those desires was sheer emptiness. Lack of motivation, lack of caring. It was like a fatigue that preyed on his emotions and left him blank. Stole a vital piece of him. Took away anything that wasn't factual.
Raphael realized this during his trek home.
Home, the word seemed so hollow. Minutes ago, it sounded like sanctuary. Now, it was simply 'there' and 'that place' and 'not where I was' and 'underground,' and in a distant voice: 'prison.'
On a brighter note, with the lack of feeling came the lack of bitterness as well. He would be so glad for that, if he could feel gladness.
But empty -empty was something foreign and new, unwelcome.
Arriving and entering the lair with about as much subtly as a jackhammer, he looked around and vaguely, carelessly, reproachfully noted that everything was dark and quiet: a sure sign his brothers were in bed.
The television wasn't on and blasting noise from a newscast or videogame. The light in Donatello's lab was off -practical proof that he was either gone or out cold and lost in dreamland. The lair was devoid of any sign of life at first glance, though the scent of stale pizza wafted from the direction of the sofa where a small stack of empty boxes could be seen.
Deciding not to press his luck with his sleeping siblings, Raphael opted for sleep; he had just begun his slow saunter towards his room when he caught sight of flickering candles. Which meant his sensei was not only awake but likely meditating.
With unshakeable resolve, he approached the flickering light and was rewarded with the view of his paternal figure sitting in the lotus position, eyes closed and breathing deep.
A quick breath, and he stepped further into the room. "Master Splinta?" He beckoned, instantly dropping to his knees to kneel before the rat. Empty or not, he didn't want to disrespect his sensei.
Hearing the familiar greeting, Splinter cracked one eye open before slipping it closed once more. "It is good to see you, my son. What ails you?" His tone gave away how weary he was.
Sitting up but refusing to look directly at the rat, Raphael acknowledged that he could've gone to bed and avoided this confrontation; in fact, he probably should have. But this empty feeling inside had him almost physically aching. His insides felt cold and unsettled. He was stressed, stretched too thin for his own mental capacity to handle, and at this moment he'd give just about anything for a reassuring hand on his shoulder and a few words of comfort.
That's all he wanted.
His eyes dull and mutely pleading, he rolled his eyes up to stare at the rat for a moment before speaking. "Master Splinta- sensei- father..." he tried each name he knew to call the benevolent mutant before dropping formalities altogether. "Dad," he said, voice more firm and confident. "Can I get a word with ya? It's about what happened tonight. I think it's kinda important. Y'see-" He began with the intent to launch into a full explanation, first and foremost, skipping over the pleasantries and hoping to rid himself of this unfortunate block of ice that seemed to weigh him down and freeze his core. In his mind, he rationed that he just needed to talk to Splinter, and then the cold icy feeling would go away. By morning, everything would be better.
By morning, he could apologize to his brothers. Shredder would still be the bad guy. And all would be right with the world.
He latched onto that line of thinking -the promise of tomorrow- needing something to hold onto.
Unfortunately, he did not count on his father's alleged wisdom and ability to understand a situation before being told. Having raised four boys on his own, it was a fascinating and very necessary skill, to look a child in the eye and know when he was lying or hurting; to know when he was up to mischief. But the rat was growing older, his senses a little less keen and observant. And with each lecture he gave, it was becoming more and more obvious that he was not some cosmic being with the ability to know everything. His next words confirmed this fact even further.
"Ah, you fought with your brothers and fled, my son. Then you met up with Mr Jones for another night of rambunctious activity." He gave a nod at his own words, then his tail gave a swish. "I have thought much about your words and behavior, and I have come to a conclusion regarding the matter."
Blinking several times in rapid succession, almost disbelieving, Raphael moved to verbally defend himself. Family delinquent or not, he was not -and never would be- a liar. "But, sensei, I just-"
"You promised not to see Mr Jones, yet there you went tonight. Undoubtedly, you have tracked down civilians and passed judgement in ways that I do not encourage. While I understand and support you and your brothers working as a team to protect the city, this solo-nonsense is a far cry from justice, my son. You must realize-"
"Please, Master Splinta, I-"
"Raphael! You will not interrupt me again!"
"I just really- Tonight, I-"
"I have decided to punish you lightly, considering your behavior."
"Punish?!" The word came out as a shriek. The emptiness Raphael had felt was gone, replaced by a fury he couldn't contain. He'd been hurt and confused, and he'd only wanted guidance. Before he could stop himself, he snapped at the mutant he called father. "Y'know what? Dis ain't right! Fuck yer punishment. Tonight, I ain't did nothin' wrong." He intended to keep his tone leveled, but his voice rose in pitch and intensity with each word. "I didn't see Casey, and I didn't go out to bash heads in neither! But y'know what? I ain't gonna tell ya what I did because it's none of yer damn business!"
"Raphael, you will-!"
"I am goin' ta bed!"
"My son, you-"
"Don't call me son til you start actin' like a father!"
"Raphael!"
"I am going ta fuckin' bed, and if ya have a problem, take it up with me tomorrow, preferably aftah ya submit it in writing!" By the time he'd finished, he wasn't even talking; he was screaming, loud and anguished. In a flurry of movement, too fast and reckless to be any kind of subtle or graceful -to be anything ninja-like- he teetered and stumbled around the room. He stirred the air with his rapid motions and inadvertently caused the candle flames to be blown out. But he was beyond caring. He'd made the room darker, but he wouldn't have been able to see even if the sun had poured in. His eyes nearly blind, white and sightless by this point.
With a cry of frustration, he slammed his foot into the wall as hard as he could before stealing away from the room.
He was tired, but the anger he felt was much more prominent than weariness. Though his mind told him to turn in, to go to bed, to sleep and hope the rage would fade by morning, his body acted against his wishes.
Almost on autopilot, he moved from room to room, until he'd covered most of the lair. He wasn't looking for anything, nor did he want to go anywhere. But he needed to move. He needed to do something. And so, it seemed inevitable that he would find himself standing before the leather-bound punching bag, fists tight and muscles tighter, expression altering between the extremities of lost and vindictive.
In the silence of the night -or was it early morning?- Raphael couldn't feel the burning sensation in his hands as the flesh on his knuckles became split, cracked and bleeding. His mind was too distant to process anything physical. And so, he heard more than felt each blow he dealt to the bag.
He swung wildly, fist biting into the weighted bag. He gave a quick follow-up with his other hand. He watched his target jump and sway from its binding chain for a moment before he slammed into it shoulder-first. He watched it spring away and glide back towards him, just in time to get a hard kick.
Once that first kick was landed, he kicked again. Side kick, spin kick, snap kick...
Uppercut, left hook, right cross, headbutt...
He unleashed everything he had in his reserves on the undeserving punching bag. Seconds seemed to stretch for miles and minutes felt like hours. He lost track of time- rather, time no longer seemed to hold any meaning.
In time, he couldn't even register what he was doing, what moves he was using. It had all become purely animalistic, from the wild swings to the growling and grunting sounds he emitted as he viciously attacked.
His rough treatment had torn a few small holes into the bag that had previously been patched and sewn and taped to preserve its longevity. But he didn't dwell on that. He hardly registered the sand that leaked and puddled beneath his designated 'beat-down area.'
Even if he had registered the tear in the bag, he probably wouldn't have stopped the assault. Compassion was beyond him. In his rage-induced stupor, exhaustion and immobility were the only things that would make him cease.
And after an immeasurable amount of time, he did cease. Passed out, fell harshly to the floor and was cushioned by sand. His eyes closed, harsh gasping breaths slowly evening out and, most importantly, his mind went blank, gave in to the pull of unconsciousness. And he welcomed it.
...
[Another chapter done. Next one coming soon.]