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: Slight religious tones mentioned in this chapter. This does not convey any personal opinion or belief. I make no effort to suggest conversion, existence, or denial of existence in terms of any religious factor out there. Please read and review with maturity.
I apologize for this, but there is a good bit of dialogue towards the end with lacking detail.
Please note that I operate under the pretense that both April and Casey are adults.
Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
...
CH 10
The morning heat hit him in waves, scorching his eyes. The night before was a blur of events that fluctuated in its clarity. As far as emotions were concerned, he was back to feeling empty and drained, though that wasn't the only kind of emptiness he registered; his stomach growled in protest to his lack of nutrition but he ignored the sensation and sound.
Forcing his eyes to take in the light of day, he stared off into the many hues of sunrise from his spot in the alley behind a grouping of overturned garbage cans that hid him from the initial view of passersby. With an awed breath, he regarded the colorful stretches of cloud and sky, the sun, the brightness, and the heat... It was a luxury he sparsely attained. On a whim, he reached a hand out, as if to touch the golden rays. His own dark emerald flesh became a silhouette against the morning glow.
Moving that hand away from the sun and closer to his face to rub at his bleary eyes, he was reminded again of the mask he lacked, the dry crust of blood scabbed over his hands... Everything flooded back in flashes, like movie fragments, though he recalled it all with a comfortably numb detachment. He knew he should be in a state of panic and apprehension, working into a frenzied uproar of some sort, but he just couldn't find it in himself to care. He was too tired; too warm in the sun's embrace to complain. If he tried, he could probably fall back to sleep and remain that way for a good long time.
And he considered it.
Blissful sleep, where nothing seemed real, and nothing mattered. And anything horrific would come to an end the moment he woke up. Sleep was a godsend. And reality was the true nightmare, with its only release being death.
He suddenly envied the comatose. Forever dreaming, forever escaping reality and never facing their demons -not for real, anyways.
Sleep would be the name of his own personal Angel of Mercy, if he believed in either angels or mercy. The million dollar question: if angels existed, would they be inclined to watch over those who were decisively inhuman? Would their merciful hands reach a tender touch towards an accidentally corrupted mutant? Would a mutant's soul- assuming they have souls- be worth saving?
For a moment, Raphael entertained the idea of religion. Angels, demons, heaven and hell. And somewhere among it all, a true being of all-power known as God. Provided that it was all legit and existing, Raphael hoped there was no soul within him, because there would be no place in heaven for him, and he was admittedly abhorred by the alternative.
Like church for an atheist, there was no point in dwelling on something he couldn't understand; so he put aside all thoughts on the matter and went back to his original thought- something much more simple and comprehensible.
Sleep.
With a soft grunt, he shifted his position to get more comfortable as his eyelids drew down. But the moment his eyes slipped closed, he was greeted with flashes.
Images.
Real life comics.
Live-action.
Motion picture.
Those flashes... haunting him, driving him through an empty hall of decorative madness...
A new kind of horror story with an unwritten ending.
Eyes closed and rest pending, that story played on a continual loop.
Leo, foolishly acting as a shield.
Himself, yielding to the enemy.
Leo being taken away.
His encounter with Shredder, the exchange of faces after the removal of literal -and possibly figurative- masks.
The trip to April's...
...
[The Previous Night, Shortly After Shredder's Departure]
The trip to April's had been full of soul-crushing guilt; the whole way there, he felt as if his heart had dropped into his stomach and frozen over; it was so cold that it actually burned, hot and scorching, frostbitten. The name Danny Pennington still rang in his ears, etched into his brain: a haunting misery that he could neither avoid nor escape.
He could recall with horrific clarity the resistance -or lack thereof- between his sai and that throat... like poking a spoon through a glob of jello.
He suddenly hated jello.
He had tried to focus his thoughts on something else. Perhaps his family, but it did little good. Apprehension gave way as he considered how his paternal figure might react, and how his brothers' opinions of him might change, after all... with his violent streak and lack of control, they'd all considered the possibility of him going too far in a fit of rage. Now that it had finally happened, would they be afraid of him?
'Can they ever trust me again?' he couldn't help questioning. 'Master Splinta's gonna be so pissed. But hey, he's still got Leo. Good ol' Fearless. The golden boy, the perfect son. What's he need me for? Why would any of 'em need me? They got Splinta's good grace. They got a leader. They got a brain and a joker... Where would I even begin to fit inta the mix? Sometimes, it's like I'm only there out of circumstance. Fate, or whatever. Simply because we share the whole 'mutated turtle' bit. If we had other options... things might be... -No. Can't think like that. I ain't gonna think like that.'
His expression turned sour as he moved through the shadows of night, finding solace in the familiar darkness, approaching his destination where he hoped to find Leo. At April's apartment, unharmed, hopefully, as Shredder had said.
But how much truth could be expected of the man he'd been taught to despise and trained to fight against? How much faith could he put into the Shredder's words?
'Please be alright, Leo; ya gotta be. Dammit, there's already blood on my hands, not just mine either. I stole a fuckin' life. And fer what? Mikey wasn't in any real danger; he was just unconscious... We were all there... We were all there, but I was the only one who- My sai just slipped.'
He repressed an agonized groan as realization set in.
'No... it didn't. I fucked up, bottom line. I didn't just kill a Foot soldier. I took the life of a kid, with a dad, and a GPA -he was still in school. The kid may have been a thief, but I'm the one that stole his future. Some good guy I turned out ta be...'
He grit his teeth and shuddered at the thought as he slipped behind the apartment complex, unseen in the way that can only be achieved through training and a mastery of ninja stealth.
In the dead of night, the city that never sleeps sure sounded a lot more quiet than he was used to. And while he never was one to mind the peace and quiet, he found the sudden serenity to be rather irksome; the way it grated on his nerves, it was pretty damn annoying. The city wasn't meant to be at rest.
He scuffed his feet simply to hear the sound, to hear something other than the daunting misery that sought purchase over his code of morale.
Moving closer to the building and hopping up to stand on top of a garbage can, he'd grabbed onto a drainage pipe and hobbled up far enough to reach a window ledge. Resting an arm along the ledge, he peered through the lavender curtains and into April's apartment.
The apartment was as practical as it could be. Fairly small but with three bedrooms. Despite the fact that she lived alone, it wasn't uncommon for her to have guests of the mutant-variety, and she always made sure they felt at home- minus the sewer smells, of course.
He almost smiled at the memories. Himself and his brothers littered around the living room in front of the television, half a dozen pizza boxes scattered. Splinter pretending to meditate while he kept one eye open to watch an infomercial for some improved version of a dust-buster. Casey, the big oaf, walking in and sitting nearby with a bottle of beer before taunting: "I'd offer ya some, but yer underage, pal. Or, do ya measure life in turtle years? Like, cat and dog years? Ah, screw it! I'll sneak ya a sip later..."
He never did get that sip... but the memory was there, stirred up by simply looking into a window.
April O'Neil, what a gal. One of their only links to true humanity...
The sentiment was there and always would be, but she was not the subject of Raphael's impromptu visit.
Peering in, he took in the scene, April pacing back and forth with a phone clutched between her hand and her ear; her lips were moving rapidly as she appeared to stumble over her words, expression frantic. A glance at the couch, and Leo could be seen, plastron-down and head turned to the side; he was breathing steadily and the needles had been removed. Aside from the occasional twitch, he looked perfectly at ease.
April would take care of Leo, and she was probably talking to Don on the phone.
Seeing this and deciding that Leo would be alright, Raphael had left, lurked around aimlessly from street to street before finally settling into an alley on the industrial side of town for a few hours of rest. After all, he wasn't sure if he could go home and bear the look of shame and disgust that would surely be directed towards him.
If he had a dream that night, it wasn't something he could recall...
...
[Morning, Back at the Lair]
Michelangelo sat at the table with a deep frown on his face, the expression nearly foreign on the usually happy-go-lucky turtle. He'd slept through most of the night with Splinter at his side, and now that he was awake, his mind cycled through everything he knew. But all he could really conclude was, his family didn't feel much like a family anymore. He ran a finger over a familiar blue rubber roach, as if petting it. He knew his brother Don had walked into the kitchen a whole minute ago, but there was no point in offering a cheerful greeting when he didn't have the spunk to make it convincing. So, he stayed quiet, petting his rubber roach and sighing heavily.
"Something on your mind, Mikey?" Donatello tried, pouring himself a cup of coffee, as per his usual routine. When his orange-banded brother gave no response, he tried again. "How's your head this morning?" He glanced over, his focus drawn to the large nasty bruise that the younger turtle had obtained via Raph-rage. The swelling had gone down but the color was still unpleasant. "What about-"
"The Foot didn't really hurt me, Donnie, if that's what you're about to ask. It was a clean blow that knocked me out. I didn't even get a concussion." He scowled; the expression seemed unnatural. "If Raph hadn't-"
"Mikey, how can you blame this on Raph?"
Giving a sharp turn, so abrupt that his chair screeched against the floor, Mikey glared darkly at his purple-clad sibling. "Got any better ideas, Einstein?" The bite in his voice was strange, but he held his tone, refusing to let go. "Leo's gone. Raph's gone. Sensei might as well be gone. And you're just standing there like everything's fine, and you're expecting me to crap out rainbows!" Pinching the blue roach between his fingers, he pulled his arm back and chucked the bug forward; it bounced off the wall and landed somewhere he didn't bother to locate. Taking a deep breath, he got up from his chair, careless to the fact that his jolt had knocked the chair over. "I'll be in my room. Don't bother me until I have a family again." With that, the orange-banded turtle stomped off, making as much racket as he possibly could on the way to his room.
Don stood there, his handle-less cup cradled between his hands and a forlorn expression slipping into place. He looked down, catching his reflection in the dark liquid. Closing his eyes, he whispered -only bothering to speak aloud for the sake of hearing something comforting- "No matter what, I'll fix things. That's what I do. I fix things. The toaster, the remote, the microwave, this family... Whatever trouble you're getting into, Raph, I just hope you know that you're not alone." Setting his cup, half full- because he refused to think of it as half empty- on the counter, he moved to pick up a phone.
Dialing a number he'd long since memorized, he pressed the phone to the side of his head and listened to the telltale sound of ringing.
"I can't do this alone," he said, mostly to himself. "First, I need Leo. Leo's the leader, the play-maker."
Just then, the phone clicked, signalling that someone had picked up on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Hey, April, it's Don."
"Donnie? You're calling about-"
"Yes, I'm calling about Leo. How is he? I know you called last night, but I couldn't come; I had to keep an eye on Mikey, and you said Leo was alright..."
"He woke up a little while ago. He's starting to get feeling back in his arms, but he's still twitching."
Don smiled, he couldn't help it. With so much going wrong, it was nice to hear a friendly voice, and even nicer to know that Leo was going to be fine. "That's good. Without being there to check on him personally, I can't say for sure, but the effects of those needles shouldn't last much longer. Just make sure he eats and gets plenty of fluids; we don't need him dehydrating."
"I'll take care of him, Donnie."
"Thanks, April."
"And don't worry, I'll make sure he gets back to the lair tonight."
"You're a life saver, sometimes literally." He smiled, but that smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. "April?"
"Yes, Donnie?"
"If- If you see Raph, tell him... that he can come home."
...
[Next chapter coming soon.]