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: This chapter happens in segments. There is no t-cest, so try not to think that.
Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
...
CH7
Suddenly, hunger was the last thing on his mind. His gaze turned to Mikey and his vision tunneled. He stared directly at his orange-banded brother, but all he saw was red.
There was no word for the sound that bellowed forth, starting from Raph's diaphragm and rising with ferocity, drawing out of his mouth in the harsh mockery of a battle cry. He slammed bodily into Michelangelo, pinning the younger turtle between himself and a wall.
Sightless, blind with feeling, he screamed wordlessly, saliva catching display between his top and bottom teeth in the way that can only be expected from cheesy horror flicks.
Pinned, uncomfortable, and perturbed by the pressure of his sibling's plastron against his own, Mikey tried desperately to pull away, to no avail; it only caused discomforting friction and an odd scraping sound that grated on his ear slits. He cringed at the sight before him and tried again to wriggle free, but his efforts proved fruitless still. "Dude, bro, your breath totally stinks! Like, mondo-grosso!" he said jokingly, trying to laugh the tension away. "I could get you a breath mint, but, uh, I left it in my other shell."
If humor was something to be tested on, he failed: a big fat letter 'F' stamped in place by his older brother's pungent spew of odorous breath.
Michelangelo gagged and turned his head away to escape the turtle incarnation of a bio-nuclear assault -or at least chemical warfare.
Raph, unable to quell his own inner beast, gnashed his teeth together, making a vicious snapping gesture in an attempt to threaten and intimidate. Teeth bared, he growled, the sound low and rumbling. Then slowly, ominously, he brought up a large fist. He drew back, knuckles paling and nails digging into his palms; finally, he drove his hulk-like mitt into the the side of his younger brother's head.
Unable to pull away or defend himself, Mikey registered pain and blurred vision before he noticed the blood in his mouth; he'd apparently bitten his tongue. He fought for a proper response, but proved to be too disoriented to do anything more than hang his head.
Thankfully, before another blow could come, the family intervened.
Swords abandoned, Leo was behind Raph in a flash. He hooked an arm around Raph and anchored its corresponding hand onto the back of Raph's neck. Leo's free hand quickly shot out and gripped Raph's other wrist tightly to prevent further movement. A quarter-nelson had been executed. The nelson hold was effective, though it was anything but fool-proof against his violent brother.
Leo knew from experience that Raph was more physically adept, but he refused to let go, keeping his hold secure. He kept his arms locked in place, accepting that he would either prevail or risk a dire break to his arms should Raphael get loose.
Thankfully, Leo's efforts were assisted by Don, whose bo was swiftly lodged between Michelangelo and Raphael; he proceeded to pry them apart with grudging effort.
Once there was adequate space provided, Mikey slipped out from his spot between Raph and the wall and stumbled over to Splinter.
Splinter waited with open arms and hugged his youngest son without a second thought. After a moment of consolidation, he gripped the turtle by the shoulders and forced him to back up a step so he could appraise the damage.
Where Michelangelo had been struck, the skin was darkening around the point of impact, bruising; his eyes held a glazed look that spoke volumes of just how hard he'd been hit, and a thin trail of blood escaped his mouth and ran down his chin.
A dark emotion began to settle within the rat, but he held it at bay. After all, his sons needed him to be level-headed in the face of distress, and he would not fail them. "Leonardo, contain Raphael!"
"Hai, sensei!"
"Donatello, assist Leonardo!"
"I'm on it, sensei..."
Leo's muscles quivered with effort to remain locked and secure his hold, but he refused to relent. His teeth clenched and he squinted his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against his brother's carapace as he tightened his grip just a bit more.
Bo staff in hand, Don joined Leo's plight; he gave his weapon a twirl before swinging it forcefully into the back of Raph's knees, causing him to drop to a kneel and allow Leo better leverage. Satisfied with the small accomplishment, Don tucked his bo back into its respectable strap on his back. Then he took up position alongside Leo and slipped his own arms around Raphael.
At Don's signal, Leo pulled back and Don quickly and effectively pulled Raphael into a 'blood choke' hold. With surprisingly little strength necessary and proper restraint over the carotid arteries and jugular veins, Donatello counted the seconds for cerebral ischemia and a temporary hypoxic condition to befall Raphael and force him into a state of unconsciousness.
Simply put, a sleeper hold.
Having been forced to kneel and now feeling the added threat of those olive-colored arms around his neck, Raph visibly stiffened. His breath caught in his throat before continuing at a much calmer pace since his airway was not quite restricted. Slowly, his body began to relax and his eyelids fluttered. He felt himself slipping.
Seconds passed, though time seemed to move much slower, and it felt like a small eternity passed before Raphael spoke, his voice soft and hollow and empty all at once through his labored breathing. "I'm fine... Just... Sorry."
Leo kept vigil, positioned inches away from his brother in case more trouble ensued. Don loosened his hold but kept his arms around Raph, not taking the chance of another launched attack.
Splinter watched from a short distance, his arms once again around a dizzy Michelangelo. "Leonardo, Donatello, you have done well. I believe Raphael is done with his tantrum. There will be no training or practice this morning. Everyone will go to their rooms and remain there until I say otherwise."
Leo and Don exchanged odd and indecipherable looks as Don relinquished his hold and both he and Leo moved back to give their kneeling brother room to breathe.
Blinking more and taking deeper breaths, Raphael took longer than expected to pick himself up and get to his feet. He kept his gaze to the floor and shuffled out of the kitchen without a word, his toes curling and feet scuffing in a familiar way with every step he took.
Donatello was the only one who watched Raphael's exit.
"With all due respect, Master Splinter," Leo began once he knew Raph was out of earshot, "we shouldn't leave Raph alone. Whatever's wrong, we need to fix it." His voice was determined, but that determination did not reach his eyes.
Shifting his gaze towards the rat, Don took a breath before adding his own comment, his voice soft with compassion. "Master Splinter, we all know Raphael hasn't been himself for a while. We... all... heard that fight between you and him last night -well, it was technically morning. -If he came to you, maybe it was important and-"
"-He attacked me, Donnie," Mikey whispered; his eyes were wide and unfocused. His mouth hung open and his body trembled. "Raph attacked me..."
For a moment, Don wanted to cross his arms but decided against it; there would be no good in exerting Raph-like behavior. He fought to keep his arms at his sides as he lowered his head and confessed: "Mikey, you were perfectly aware that Raph was upset, and then you pranked him. I don't blame him for being mad."
"Donatello! Are you defending his violence?!" Splinter's concern had turned to something dark and accusing; the flash behind his eyes was startling.
"No," Don said, voice sounding more confident than he thought possible. He lifted his head, eyes meeting the rat's own beady optics with deadly accuracy and determination. "I'm not defending his actions, but his feelings were justified, Master Splinter. You said so yourself that he's hurting. If he's hurting, why aren't we helping?"
In that moment, Splinter took in the appearance of each of his sons, their emotions laid bare and unguarded before him. His own expression softened. "My sons, there is much healing to be done. Healing someone who is sick or wounded is easy. Healing a heart is not. But we must try. Raphael is sinking deeper into this inner darkness, and we must pull him out before it is too late."
"Raphie doesn't play with me anymore," Mikey cut in suddenly, his tone despondent.
"I'm still worried about his training," Leo confessed, lips drawing into a taut line.
"I, too, am worried, my sons, about Raphael's spiritual health."
Don looked between his father and remaining brothers. His own heart ached considerably. 'Is this what worries you?' he thought, refusing to voice the words that plagued him. 'Something is bothering Raph, and you only seem to care how it affects the family. But... Raph is part of the family. Shouldn't we find out what Raph wants?' A deep breath, and he finally spoke, his resolution decided. "I'm going to talk to him. Alone."
Ignoring Mikey's exaggerated whimper, Leo's offer of assistance, and Splinter's 'Be careful, my son,' Donatello took leave.
...
[With Raphael]
He had gone to his room, just as he vaguely recalled being told. Sitting in his hammock, he looked around at everything he owned, all he held dear, and he suddenly felt more foolish than ever.
The posters on the wall. The stack of magazines. The rack of weapons. The weight bench he frequented. The notebooks he used to write in when he was younger...
The memory of those notebooks froze all other thoughts. Those books had been a diary of sorts. He'd been hurt and angry, even when he was young and too innocent to understand anything about the world. Back then, while he did get into scuffles with his brothers, more often than not, he'd run to his room to write in his notebooks. All his thoughts and feelings. Every dream or wish.
As if putting a piece of him on paper could take away the pain.
Curiosity getting the better of him, he slipped off the hammock and claimed one of the notebooks. Holding the ratty old thing gingerly in his large hands, he flipped it open to a random page and read the large sloppy text of a child's scrawl...
[Journal Entry]
Leo did it again. Stupid Leo. I said a bad word, and he told on me. We're brothers. He's not supposed ta tattle. I didn't tattle on him when he lost Mikey in the tunnels. I just helped look for him. Guess I'm a better brother. But I won't rub that in just yet.
Gotta save it for a rainy day.
Sensei got so mad at me for cursing. He made me do ten whole flips! Right in front of everyone! It was... embara-emba- that word. It's a long one. Sounds kinda like 'em-bear-ass-sing. Donnie would be able to spell it.
The punishment made me so mad. No one else had to do flips. I hate flips. Especially if ya don't land right.
Mikey did flips with me though. He didn't have ta, but he did. He's the best flipper I've ever seen!
And Donnie, he didn't laugh at me when I landed on my shell that one time.
Leo laughed though. Ugh!
I blame Leo. Stupid Leo. Such a bastard. Prick. Cunt. Jackass. -Uh, better lay off the swearin' in case someone reads dis.
One day, I hope he gets in trouble and has ta do about TWENTY flips. And then, I'm gonna get to laugh at HIM!
That would be real justice.
More importantly, I kinda hope Mikey wouldn't flip with Leo like he flipped with me. He probably would though.
[End Journal Entry]
In truth, Raphael didn't remember this incident, nor did he remember writing it. But he could imagine how it went down, how he felt... He could imagine himself younger, innocent, learning a dirty word and using it every chance he got. And he could imagine Leo- the perfect son- running off to tattle.
Frustrated and tired, Raphael turned the corner of the paper in a dog-ear fashion and tossed the notebook onto his hammock; he'd look over it later when he was in a better mood.
Once again, he looked around his room at all his possessions. Each one of them had been important at some point in his life. Each item, to an extent, defined who he'd become. And yet, it felt wrong to measure himself and his worth in objects.
He suddenly hated that stack of magazines.
In his head, he bitterly thought: 'I'm Raphael, and this identifies me.'
"Fuck identity," he spat at nothing in particular, eyes roving around but not taking in anything. "I ain't gotta... -I can't..." Words failed him. His chest had that tight feeling again. Not knowing what else to do, he put his head in his hands and focused on simply breathing.
So caught up in his own little world of soothing hands and calm breaths, he didn't notice his door opening, nor someone stepping inside. He didn't notice a second presence until a soft voice spoke to him.
"Raph, sorry to bother you. I, uh, was heading to the garage. Thought I'd do a bit of work on the Shell Cycle. Care to help?"
Slowly pulling his hands away from his face, Raph turned to see Don standing in his doorway, expression mellow and a small smile in place.
Seeing his calm brother standing there with the open invitation, Raph nodded absently and stepped closer. "Thanks, Don," he whispered under his breath, stepping passed his brother and exiting his own room, heading for the garage.
...
[Hours later]
Time in the garage had been peaceful. There were no tears or awkward questions or forced conversations. There was mostly silence, the clinking of tools, or idle chat about how they might remodel the bike altogether.
"You're right, Donnie, I bet she'd look pretty good with a single-side swing-arm and a new tank."
Don smiled at hearing the endearing nickname fall so easily from his brother after such a stressful day. "And what about fuel injectors? A little turbo? Not really necessary, but we could-"
"Ummm, guys?" A third voice broke in, belonging to Michelangelo. "Sorry to bust up the bro-time, but... are we up for patrolling? Sensei said if we can have a civil family dinner, we can all go out tonight." He paused, gauging their pending reactions for a moment before adding: "I hear, there's trouble a-Foot!" he chuckled at his own joke and was glad to see Raph turn away to hide an amused grin of his own.
"Sure, Mikey," Raph said lightly, grabbing a sullied rag and wiping oil from his hands. "But," his eyes narrowed and his voice turned serious, "leave the pranks outta the equation. Leo and Don won't always be around to protect ya, and I'm about sick of yer shit."
...
[Another one done. Another on the way. Note: this isn't t-cest. The Donnie and Raph moment was family-oriented only.]