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 was rough. It starts off a little shaky because I made a last minute decision to tackle it from a different angle. Also, you'll almost immediately see the name Danny Pennington. Danny is a young Foot rookie from the original 1990's live-action TMNT film. Personally, I've always liked his character.
I'm hoping the next chapter comes a bit easier.
Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
...
CH9
His name was Danny Pennington, Raph had come to find out; that was the name of the young man whose life he took. A seventeen year old boy guilty of truancy and thievery and nothing more. He had no maternal figure, and his father was too caught up in work to be much of a parent. He fell into the wrong crowd, joined the Foot, and didn't get much further in life. And now, thanks to Raph, there would be no 'Next Chapter' for the young man. There would be no sequel, no bright future or happy ending. All thanks to the hasty thrust of a weapon.
Danny Pennington.
The name would haunt Raphael for an indefinite amount of time. The term 'forever' comes to mind, but it sounds so bleak in this context. So Raphael ignored it altogether, feigning forgetfulness to the best of his ability, but at the same time he was all too aware of the fact that he's too old to play pretend. He's too grown to believe in miracles and good graces. He's too mature to believe, for even a second, that his life hasn't just changed majorly.
But he couldn't dwell on the subject, not when he was bare-knuckle deep in the Shredder's armor. His knuckles battered and bruised, the flesh splitting and smearing his own red essence along those silver plates. If he looked, he might see his reflection in the baited untainted bits of silver, but instead, he concentrated on forcing his anger into each hit, painting that surface with the reddest red he possibly could.
And to think, that used to be his favorite color... Now, if the color could be personified, he'd kill it, and he wouldn't even feel guilty.
How he got into this mess, fighting -if one could even call it a fight- alone against his clan's greatest enemy, he could only vaguely recount.
Not too long ago, it had been the four of them. Mikey injured and unconscious, Raph amidst the brawl, Leo and Don joining in. As far as Raph knew, Mikey and been rescued and Don carted him off, presumably to the lair; and Leo -the self-righteous bastard- had stayed by his side to fight.
Raph hadn't meant to go against orders, not really. He was still very sore over the recent events back home, and then, having accidentally killed someone -the kid named Danny Pennington- his nerves were shot; his insides ached, and part of him wished that his external pains would be enough to take his mind off it. He needed physical release, and the best way he knew to get that release was to fight, to punch, to kick, to put down anyone or anything that got in his path of destruction. To simply destroy. To hurt anything that had the potential to hurt with the exception of himself simply because of his own pragmatic views.
He'd fight tooth and nail if it meant burning up his anger instead of turning it on his family.
He held no regrets about staying to fight the Foot, regardless to how numerous they'd been. He'd wanted Leo to go back to the lair with Don and Mikey, but as long as his brothers made it back alright, everything would be fine, surely. Everyone would be safe, and they could rebuild the wreckage that had been their team. That was the idea. Everyone was supposed to be fine; everything was supposed to be fixable. Raph knew Leo could hold his own in battle; in fact, he counted on it. What Raph hadn't counted on, was Leo's sudden desire to become a shield.
The fight was caught between climax and conclusion when a more experienced ninja drew out a sharp dozen senbon- long thin needles pointed at both ends, not unlike those used for acupuncture; in the blink of an eye, the senbon were launched in the direction of the turtles. While Raph jabbed his elbow into the side of one adversary and followed the attack with a sweep of his leg to drop the ninja, Leo saw the spray of needles and instinctively moved to protect and shield his red-banded brother. Facing away from the needles and towards his brother, many of the senbon hit and bounced off his carapace, but... a few of them hit his shoulders and neck, stinting his nerves and causing his arms to become temporarily paralyzed.
Dead limbs, is what shinobi call it.
Catching an oddly moving blur of green in his peripheral vision, Raphael turned to see Leo's twin swords drop as his arms fell limply to his sides.
Leo's eyes grew wide as the harrowing factors of their predicament sank in. His arms, dead. Weapons, lost and unusable. Legs, a fair target. One brother injured and with him, another was gone. His last brother caught up in a conflict that showed no signs of ending.
"Leo! Oh, fuuuck!" Raph shouted, his attention stolen from the fray and locked onto his eldest brother. He jabbed a sloppy attack that just barely hit its mark and dropped another foe. With affliction nipping at his insides and forcing dread throughout his entirety, Raph thought quickly on how to help his brother, fast. The ninja were too plentiful, and his brother was at an unfortunate disadvantage that could have crippling effects. Seeing only one option in sight, he bit his lip, swallowed his pride, and did the one thing he never thought he'd do. Knocking one last foe away, he raised both sai-weilding hands high, opened his mouth wide and called out: "I yield, dammit, I yield!" Tossing his weapons away and out of reach, he kept his hands in plain sight: a sign of surrender.
Once again, the fight ceased. Every conscious Foot looked in Raph's direction, unsure of how to proceed. They bobbed their heads in question and many lowered their weapons.
Growling at those who kept their tools of brutality poised, Raph elaborated. "You're supposed ta be fuckin' ninja! Where's yer honor?! I ain't got much of that myself, but I won't strike an unready opponent who can't or won't fight! I yield. You win. Now, fuck off!"
"Raph," Leo spoke, an involuntary twitch forcing its way through his shoulder and neck as his stinted nerves gave way to spasm and hitch. "What are you-"
"Let me handle this, Leo," Raph said bluntly. "Yer legs are holdin' up, right? They're still workin'. Walk yer ass home. I'll cover ya if I have ta. Now, go."
Leo tried to shake his head, but the nerves in his neck protested and he twitched again. "No... No turtle left behind, Raph."
Raph chuckled bitterly and shook his head forcefully, almost mocking Leo's inability to make the simple motion. "Go home, Leader-boy. Tell Mikey I'm sorry. Tell Donnie that the bike's fine and doesn't need the turbo. Tell Splinta... that... I... I kinda hope he goes bald one day because that'd be funny as shit."
"Raph, we're brothers. Come home and tell everyone yourself, okay? We can-" Leo tried again, his voice earnest and intentions genuine, but Raph refused to heed his words or even let him finish his thought.
"Get the fuck outta here, Leonardo! Honestly, I don't want ya here! If I have ta tell ya again, I'll make sure neither of us make it home!"
Leo's world went black after that; the last thing he saw was a green two-toed foot making its way towards his head. He dropped to the ground.
Unconscious.
The Foot all stood around, occasionally glancing at one another, still unsure of how to proceed and waiting for some sort of order or command.
Sliding his feet apart, widening his stance and crossing his arms over his plastron, Raphael spoke again, eyes narrow and slightly blurring around the edges as he fought to remain in control. "Alright, Footies, listen up. Y'know damn well that I can kick yer asses all by myself. But I'm feelin' mighty generous. My brother goes free without further harm, and I'll spare ya some of my precious time. Got it?" He paused, closing his eyes and tilting his head up before bellowing loudly: "Ya hear me, Can-Opener?! I know yer up there, but the party's down here! Ya waitin' fer an invitation or somethin'?"
Not a moment later, the Shredder himself dropped down in front of Raphael. He stood at full height, looking every bit as dangerous as a predator that had cornered its prey "Very good, Raphael," he said, his tone demeaning, as if talking to a child. "I do wish to speak with you, though I hoped it would have been under better circumstances."
"Yeah, yeah, Tin-Man. Comin' ta ask the Wizard fer a heart, right? Haven't ya ripped enough outta innocent people on yer own?" Raphael spoke with a surprisingly light tone, his arms uncrossing and resting at his sides.
Narrowing his eyes in distaste at the reference and implication, Shredder gave a quip of his own. "Raphael, you have shed more blood than I have tonight, unless I've mistaken."
At the horrific reminder of his own heinous deed, a burst of freezing cold erupted from within Raphael, steeling him in both thought and motion. He could do little more than stare at the man before him. For a moment, he could only focus on the dry crusted blood on his skin; he became hyper-aware of the coppery scent that lingered.
He missed the presence of his sais, but he was loathe to think of them and what they were truly capable of.
Turning to look at a higher-ranking Foot ninja, Shredder gestured to Leonardo and barked an order. "See that he is delivered to Ms O'Neil. Unharmed. I have... business to attend."
With a respectful bow and the burst of several smokescreen pellets, every conscious and salvageable black-clan ninja vanished, the blue-banded turtle disappearing with them.
Once they were gone and the smoke had cleared, Shredder regarded the remaining turtle. "Raphael, if you will-"
"I just wanted my bro's safety. I ain't got no business with you."
"Oh, Raphael, but you do." Shredder grinned behind his custom menpo facemask and pointed to a body that had been left behind: a ninja with a gashed-open throat; the blood looked almost black with the lack of adequate lighting. "His name... was Danny Pennington. His father's name is Charles."
Raph visibly paled, looking sick. Killing a nameless and faceless Foot soldier was one thing, but knowing that there was a person beneath that mask, with thoughts, feelings, a family and goals... It was a whole other ballgame for Raphael. It somehow made things worse.
"Tell me, Raphael, what do you think Charles will do? Do you think he'll grieve the loss of his son? Maybe he won't even know, if no one tells him and the body isn't found... Maybe he'll assume Danny has run away. But, no matter what happens to poor Charles, you will always know that you have spilled blood and taken a life. No matter how many good deeds you do, Raphael, you will always know that you have murdered someone in cold blood."
"It wasn't like that," Raph said, voice low and tone uncertain.
"Wasn't it?" Shredder countered. "From what I could see -and I saw a lot, mind you- it appeared that you sliced his throat, watched him die, and turned away as if nothing had happened."
"I would have mourned-"
"You would have mourned the death of a common pickpocket? Isn't that noble of you, considering how you were his executioner..." Shredder's words were a taunt, a tease, and a gamble that paid off with the red-banded ninja's rising grief. "Tell me, Raphael, was it worth it? The Foot did not come looking for trouble tonight. They were simply at the docks discussing an upcoming charity event when young Michelangelo happened upon the scene. What choice did they have but to attack an intruding ninja?"
Raphael shook his head, words failing him. But he tried anyways. "The Foot don't do charity work," he said gruffly. "Maybe ya steal from orphans or somethin', but that's about it."
"Oh, Raphael... You get so caught up in calling me names that you forget: I do have a name that does not pertain to Shredder. As Oroku Saki, I have a business and image to uphold. Unable to do all the charity myself, I often employ the younger, more naive Foot members to clean up Central Park, to take hot meals to the elderly or homeless, to-"
"I don't wanna hear it!" Raph shouted, suddenly embittered and full of rage. "Yer not some saint, and I ain't gonna treat ya like one!"
"By all means, Raphael, if you want to fight, I won't stop you. Come at me. Make it worthwhile. After all, this is all you're good for, isn't it?" He chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting maliciously. "Come on. Let's see this fantastic rage-induced energy you have."
And so provoked, weaponless and angered, Raphael lunged and slammed his fist into the unforgiving steel chest plate. Knuckle-deep in the Shredder's armor, he swung his other fist. He heard more than felt the clamor of his attacks as he flooded his enemy, blow by blow. With each hit, the force behind his fists became more violent and less coordinated. He distantly noted that his knuckles were bruising and the flesh was splitting. He could see so much red slipping along that cold metal... His hands, tools for destruction and chaos, somehow turned into a gorey imitation of an artist's paintbrush.
Then, one miscalculated cuff veered off course slightly and fell prey to a blade on the shoulder armor, slicing through his emerald skin and causing him to draw back and cradle the wounded appendage to his plastron.
He'd felt the slice vividly and it made his breath hitch. He took a moment to compose himself as blood flowed from the open wound.
"You finished?" Shredder asked, his tone unreadable. "If you've had your fill, allow me to retaliate." He reared his own fist in preparation to strike.
Raphael braced himself, arms crossed in front of his face in an X formation. There was no point in running.
He waited and waited, but no blow came.
Instead, Shredder swiped the blade of his gauntlet with careful precision, slicing through the thin red fabric of the turtle's mask and simply watching it fall from place.
When Raphael opened his eyes, arms lowering, he felt suddenly bare, exposed. He blinked, confused, and raised a hand to touch his face where the mask had been, finding it devoid the familiar article. He looked to his foe questionably, eyes wide and seemingly more innocent than they should have been.
Stepping back, Shredder explained: "You did something tonight. Against everything you've ever been taught, you took the life of an innocent. And I wanted to see under that mask... to know what was underneath. I wanted to see if you looked like the same monster your actions have shown you to be."
If possible, Raphael was more afraid of this man's words than any physical damage he could implement. He visibly flinched at the term monster.
Staring into the unmasked face of the teen with appraising eyes, Shredder lifted his own hands and placed them on either side of his kabuto, holding them there for a suspenseful moment. Then, he slid one hand to his facemask and unhooked the menpo. Removing that, the helm followed and Shredder held the heavy metal pieces in either hand, his face fully revealed. It was thin, with powerful cheekbones and a jaw to match, high brows and narrow eyes. Intimidating, but fleshy and mortal. Scarred, but human.
Raphael stared at the unmasked wonder of a man, his confusion only growing. He'd imagined this moment so differently in his head, in his dreams and nightmares. The unmasking of Shredder. He imagined a monster so hideous that he always woke up to replace the actual face with a blur. A thumbprint smudge over an otherwise spotless masterpiece. Now, seeing that face in reality for what it truly was, he didn't know if he should be relieved or horrified. Or maybe he was a little disappointed.
Thankfully, this armored foe seemed to be in the habit of articulating his means -either that, or he just loved the sound of his own voice. However, hearing him speak and actually seeing it was two different things. It was odd, to see a mouth behind the metal casing. A mouth without jagged teeth or a fork tongue... And a voice, unfiltered, that sounded completely normal. "Now, Raphael, I've finally seen beneath your mask, so I thought I'd return the favor. I've seen your hidden monster, and you've seen mine. Because, really, aren't we all ugly... underneath?"
Hurt, angry, guilty, confused, but mostly uncomprehending, Raphael averted his gaze and scuffed his foot against the ground. "Hey... Can't we just fight, knock each other around, then part ways and do it again later? Ain't that what we do? Ain't it supposed ta be this never-ending cycle where no one dies and everything just keeps goin'?"
Shredder quirked a brow, the expression strange on his new face. In truth, he'd been surprised by the naivete in the turtle's words, the sincere desire to just cycle through combat without any fatality. But he pushed the thought away to be contemplated another day, and for now he pressed on with his own agenda. "Now, be honest, Raphael. Am I really your enemy? Or am I the rat's enemy?"
Scuffing his foot a few more times before forcing himself to stop the childish habit, Raph looked up to meet the Shredder's gaze. "Ain't it the same thing? Master Splinta taught me everythin' I know."
"Did he teach you to kill, Raphael? I doubt it. And yet, you know how to do that, don't you? Are you willing to take on his vendetta when it does not concern you? It seems unfair and selfish... for him to use you like that, as if you're just another weapon. A tool. Something destructive he can employ."
Raphael clenched his fists and felt the blood run down his sliced and damaged one. "Look! If ya ain't gonna attack, I won't attack ya. If we ain't gonna fight, we got no business together. If ya got somethin' ta say, just say it already. I'm done here."
"A mutant of few words, I see," Shredder mused. "Then I'll be quick to leave you with this thought. There is right and wrong in the world. Black and white. But there are also many grey areas that are unaccounted for. Because, Raphael, there are people who do good things with bad consequences, and there are people who do bad things with good intentions. This grey area is vast and complicated; it might as well be a labyrinth. So, suffice to say, you cannot correctly label someone as wholly good or evil."
Stubborn to the bone, Raphael shook his head to dislodge the words that had been forced into his mind. "No," he defied. "You're always gonna be the bad guy, and we're always gonna be the good guys. It's just that simple."
"I needn't remind you of your actions tonight, nor the fact that anyone human would run and cower at the mere sight of you. However, I will leave you alone with your thoughts. And, when you need me- because you will- you'll find me."
"Just why the fuck would I need a prick like you?" Raph spat, but his heart wasn't in it; his fire was burning out; he was too emotionally drained. The fight was leaving him, adrenaline gone, heart too heavy.
With a shrug, Shredder pulled his helm on and snapped his menpo mask back in place before speaking, his voice once again filtered through metal. "Because, Raphael, unlike your family, I don't see you as a mindless beast or a liability. I see you for your strength and pride. And... something tells me that you'll want me to help you arrange an apology for Mr Charles Pennington. After all, little Danny won't be coming home tonight, will he?" Shredder turned away. But he made no further move to leave. He simply looked skywards for a prolonged moment before speaking one last time. "Your family will never forgive or forget what you have done tonight, Raphael. But I already have... though, I believe a formal apology is in order. Tomorrow night, on the roof of the little corner shop. Come alone. Pay your respects."
With those final words, the armored man approached Danny's chilled corpse and carefully pulled the limp body into his arms; then he simply walked away.
Raphael watched, conflicted, head spinning, mind reeling, guilt becoming an all-consuming force.
Suddenly, he wasn't so sure that going home would be a good idea... His family was already on edge with him; he couldn't imagine things would be any easier after what he'd done.
His mask forgotten and sais abandoned with their rust-red stains, he slipped into the shadows and took leave. He had to get to April's; he needed to check on Leo. He'd worry about the consequences of his actions later.
...
[Another one down. Another one on the way.]