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 is in two parts. Sorry for the delay. I literally wrote seven versions of this chapter before settling on what to do and how to go about doing it.
Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
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CH 14
If Raphael's family had chased him after his abrupt departure from the roof of the corner shop, he didn't bother to look back and see. His breath was ragged, his heart thundering. He sped through the alleys, weaving himself between buildings and leaping or flipping over whatever obstacles got in his way. He ducked behind parked vehicles and went as far as hitching a ride on the back of a bus as it took a slow turn on a sharp corner. From there, he'd leapt onto the roof of a car; he pivoted off and into yet another alley. Up a fire escape from there, two rooftops over and down again.
He didn't count on the darkness to shield him. He didn't rely on speed or tactics. He just did what his mind and body agreed for him to do. He just threw himself towards his future, away from the pain and ache that chased after him like something foul and beastly.
He ran til his lungs burned, despite how slow and deep his breathing was. He ran til his body tried to quit, muscles burning and sore and begging for him to stop, and then he kept going anyways.
Suddenly, it seemed, what happened not so long ago felt like forever ago. The more distance he put between himself and everything else, the further behind it truly and rightfully felt.
As if a physical escape could offer him honest reprieve.
He didn't look back to see if he was being followed, if his brothers and human friends were close behind. He was hopeful and fearful of what he'd find, so he did his best not to find out at all.
He didn't know how he might react if they caught up to him, nor did he want to consider that they might not be going after him.
For once in his life, he felt that it was safer to be ignorant, to not know... To simply ignore what all logic would try to force upon him if he were to dwell too long.
So, he just kept running. As much as he hated running, it was the only thing that made sense. His only option.
His mind was a muddled mess of conflict, baited between: 'Please, come aftah me. Stop me before I do somethin' I regret. I don't wanna be alone, and family doesn't let family go...' and 'No! It has ta be this way. I need to fix my mess, and a truce with Shredda might fall in the family's favor. This might be my only chance ta do somethin' right. So, just keep away. I don't think I could resist if you guys were to come find me... and ask me one more time to come home. One more time, that's all it would take. One more... I'm strong, but not strong enough to say no. It's not fair; strength is all I got -all I've ever been good for, and I'm just not strong enough! I can't take dis shit on my own, but I can't push it onto my brothers either!'
He clutched that spiral notebook in his hands like a lifeline and kept going, pushing himself as hard and fast as he could, needing desperately to get away. Away from the oppressive team that might seek him out -or just as bad, the ghost of the team that didn't bother to. Away from their disappointed or chiding gazes. Away from the pending lectures... and away from his own actions.
His whole self screamed to keep going, to not stop. To not give up.
From all his exertion, he slowed to a staggering pace; his stamina wearing down.
In time, he was only half-sure of what he'd been running from in the first place.
His mind concocted a scenario where he might be in a horror film, chased upstairs like the bimbos he often made fun of. He imagined locking himself in a room and boarding up the windows, only to find that what he wanted to keep out... was on the wrong side of the door, trapped inside with him.
And he'd damned himself.
It was just a thought, a silly thing to make up, but it terrified him.
Where he was going to go from there, he couldn't fathom. He felt crowded and backed into a corner, yet he was physically alone and on the run. He only came to a complete halt when he felt a nearby presence; his heart sank and his insides coiled and twisted; his guts churned in both stress and relief. He wholly wanted to turn and see Leonardo there, in all his perfect self-righteous glory, offering him a hand and telling him that... everything could, and would, be alright again. His heart thudded loud; he could hear it pounding. His hope -because, yes, he had that- turned into a fragile device just barely managing to keep him afloat, away from the undercurrent of hurt and despair.
His optimism, however faint, was slaughtered indefinitely when heard a dark voice call to him: "You were quite clever in your escape, Raphael, despite your lack of pursuers. Once again, I've been watching, and I am impressed. Your resolve is firm, but your ability to reason is something that can be vastly improved... with guidance."
The next thing Raphael was aware of, a human hand was planted on his shoulder. The contact made him flinch, an action that was painfully obvious in the absence of his mask. He suddenly missed the fabric more than he thought possible; he'd dwell on its significance at a later time. For now, he was torn between being angry and depressed and hurt and... too many things all at once. Too many emotions, he couldn't begin to process it. It made his head hurt, so he stopped trying. His shoulders slumped under the weight of that five-fingered hand. He wanted to shrug it off, to snap at its owner and allow the familiar burst of rage to flow through him, but he was so tired, emotionally and physically burnt out. His ability to comprehend seemed to take on a lag; before he could form a proper response to the added stimuli, that voice came again.
Slow and soothing, drawing the entirety of the emerald-skinned turtle's attention, the man spoke. "Take pride in yourself. In your abilities and actions. Once done, they cannot be undone. Your only hope to right your wrongs is through future actions. Let young Pennington's death be a lesson to you. If you do not, it will have been in vain."
The words were far from assuaging, but the feel of a hand on his shoulder, the light and comforting pressure- it was something Raph had longed for. Something his own family hadn't offered in a long time and, against his better judgement, he welcomed the gesture. Furthermore, he confessed "I'll do what I have ta, fer Danny... But I'm not a criminal, and I ain't gonna act like one."
"Raphael, I would never compromise your moral integrity. That is a promise. Your actions are your own, regardless of reason. Remember this, and remember it well. You always have a choice; you are not a trained animal or a mindless drone. I will not mould you into a tool. But, my offer stands, and I think you'll agree that it is not negotiable. For Pennington, step in to rebuild his faction of the Foot, which you have broken. Fix it, redeem yourself. Report to me with your progress."
"I wanna do somethin' ta make up fer Danny's death, but yer askin' a lot. Give me one good reason ta go along with this. I mean-"
All-imposing and ever-resourceful, the man had his answer and presented it without delay. "How about three good answers? Your brothers. Your brothers will no longer be deemed a targeted enemy of the Foot clan for as long as you do your part. This is invaluable. Should your brothers and the Foot continue to clash, it is only a matter of time before more blood is spilled. It is the only logical option, if you wish to prevent further casualties. For your own sake, and for the sake of your brothers, I believe we have a deal."
Raph's jaw was tightly set as he considered the words, their meaning, his position. For him to accept, it would be nothing short of sacrifice, he was certain. He had no problem giving his life for the good of his family; still, he considered the alternatives. His mind ran through scenarios where he and his brothers -on positive terms with one another- might again run into the Foot. A fight would be inevitable. The fight... escalating to seismic proportions.
He imagined each of his brothers' faces twisted in horrific shock and realization as blood would puddle on the ground around them.
Leo's katana... something he's so prideful of, stained red. Red. Too much red as a Foot is beheaded by a miscalculated slice. Leo's honor, more than gone, would be destroyed.
Don's bo... something he carried solely out of necessity, benevolent as he is, landing a skull-crushing blow to an enemy, knocking 'em to the ground... permanently. Don's calm patience and pacifism, over-ruled by guilt and fear- guilt for what he'd done, and fear that he had that kind of strength to begin with.
Mikey's nunchaku... something that had brought him so much excitement and proved to be effective in his blaze of energy, hitting just a little too hard in just the right spot, causing brain hemorrhage. Mike's happy-go-lucky self, lost in a vacant stare as he received a fatal blow of his own...
He imagined their anguish. Their screams. He considered how they might withdraw from one another... assuming it wasn't their corpses strewn about the battlefield.
'That can't be allowed to happen,' Raph thought, his eyes closing tightly as he took a deep breath and fought to dam up his emotions. 'It's too late fer me. I've already taken a life. But they don't have ta share that experience.'
Quelling his grief momentarily, Raphael suddenly felt closed-in. The hand that rested on his shoulder had overstayed its welcome by several seconds. Taking note of this, the turtle feigned his usual sense of pride and contempt, swatting the hand away and standing up a little straighter. His fatigue was all but forgotten. He trained his gaze upward to meet that of his former foe, as if issuing a challenge. His voice came out quieter than he would have liked, but he continued, needing speak the words that rested heavily in his mind, burning on his tongue. "If I do-"
"You will," Shredder cut in, his tone leaving no room for debate, but the turtle kept going, needing his words to be heard and understood.
For the sake of clarity, if nothing else, he pressed on. "If I do," Raph repeated, louder, more confidently, stubbornness striking his tone and hardening his eyes into a glare, "I want assurance. My family... it includes my brothers as well as my sensei. Splinta goes unharmed too, right? No targeting. And all the stealin' and crap ya guys do, will it stop? 'Cause, I don't want no part in it."
The human considered the words before speaking carefully. "The Foot is not simply a group of petty thieves. It would be a waste, to train ninja specifically for that purpose. I don't deny that a bit of theft does take place from time to time, but seldom is it on my order." Shredder paused, thoughtful in the way he regarded the mutant before him. "Then again, there are exceptions to everything, Raphael. Tell me, are you familiar with Robin Hood?"
Confused, the turtle gave a curt nod. "Yeah, the guy who wears tights and dresses like Peter Pan, right? I think Mike-"
"Michelangelo," Shredder corrected, an amused expression warping his features into something distinct and unsettling.
Raphael blinked at the interruption, partly surprised, but he shrugged it off and continued. "Yeah- Michelangelo- he likes the cartoon version with the fox... 'Bout a guy who steals from rich bastards and helps the poor. Good guy, y'know, fer an idiot in tights."
The human gave a slow nod as he displayed a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, something like that of a politician; an expression that was likely offered to friend and foe alike. His sharper features were highlighted in the glow of night lighting. "The Foot never takes from those who can't do without. And it is never their intent or order to harm unless someone directly impedes or they are targeted first. Self defense is a perfectly reasonable-"
"Bullshit!" Raph spat, suddenly given a reason to lash out; he latched onto that feeling, needing it. "What about all the innocent people's lives ya take?! How can ya possibly justify any of that?! What about..."
Quirking a thin brow, Shredder looked at the turtle with something akin to pity.
And Raphael hated pity.
"I suppose, Raphael, that I should ask you the same thing. How can you justify your recent actions? I could wait for you to give me a life-altering speech, but something tells me that you don't know the appropriate answer. I think it might be more beneficial to both of us... if I simply help you. After all, your moral redemption is a priority." He gestured to the spiral notebook still within the turtle's grasp. "Your own faction of the Foot awaits; they are counting on you. The rest of the world has already let them down; do not fail them also."
In that moment, Raphael truly wanted to seethe and retort, to shout something vicious and insulting, but his mind blanked out anything intelligible and he glanced, instead, at the notebook as he regarded what was asked of him.
Could he do it?
What needed done. For Danny's sake.
What wasn't optional, if Raphael were to remain true to himself.
To cleanse the blood from his hands... could he set foot onto a path laid before him by the Shredder?
[One Month Later]
It wasn't quite a cell, the room he was in. The enclosed space was too large and he could come and go as he pleased. Luxury was sparse, but that was his own choice. Material objects meant little to him. He regarded this room as something of a rental because he couldn't call it home. It was simply a place with a bed and a desk where he could retire when his work was done. Sitting at a desk, he clicked his pen to life and allowed his vision to sweep over the room and rest on the wall- more specifically, something that had been tacked to the wall. A familiar bandana with the initials DP stitched neatly into the interior.
Danny Pennington...
The name had once been poison but now seemed like motivation. Something to keep him going. A reminder that he couldn't turn back.
He'd been given Danny's own bandana for reasons he couldn't fathom, but he welcomed the offer, almost cherishing it as a keepsake. It represented so many things... about Danny... and about himself. It was a reminder that any innocence he might have had... was gone. But in Danny's honor, he could still try; he owed the kid that much.
That bandana, the one tacked to the wall with the Foot clan insignia on it, was not unlike the one tied around his own arm. At first, the symbol of the Foot was something he truly despised, but he was too burnt out on hatred to keep it up for long. It took too much energy to be pissed at a piece of fabric. So, he let it go. He accepted it. It meant nothing to him, so it mattered little.
Pushing aside his thoughts on the matter, he took a long drawn breath and put his pen to paper in one of the several notebooks he was granted, as if putting a piece of him on paper could take the stress and pain away. Foolish as it was, he tried anyways...
[Journal Entry]
I don't know when it really began, or when I noticed that I was diff'rent, but it happened. It happened, and there ain't nothin' gonna change it. Too many mistakes, I can't redeem them all. It was a stupid thought, that I meant something more to my family. That I could be anything more than brunt force to the team or a liability to my siblings... or... a disappointment to sensei. All I know is, somewhere in all this shit, someone's got a sick sense of humor.
I... only wish Michelangelo was here to laugh about it with me.
Because, it is funny. This past month... has been... - I ain't even got the words fer it.
My family... My old team... I hope yer okay. You... were my brothers. You were my whole world.
Now, it just seems like my world got a whole lot bigger. I always hated being confined ta the lair, but now the world's too big fer even me. It's easy to get lost, and I'm afraid I ain't gonna make it back.
Any idea how big the world is, Donatello? I bet that brain of yours could come up with some number for it. I still ain't good with numbers; right there's proof that some things never change.
And Leonardo... I just wanna say, maybe ya had a bigger influence on me than I thought. Or, maybe I'm still a big disappointment. I dunno. Sometimes, I like ta pretend I'm you, and I got all the plans... Ya always said 'No turtle left behind,' but... bro, I'm pretty far behind. Or, am I ahead?
It's hard to imagine that I'd get ahead of any of you, but I don't even know anymore.
Hey, I've gotta wonder, when you guys get together in the mornin' ta eat and talk about the night before... I wonder... am I ever a topic of conversation? Got anythin' nice ta say 'bout me? Probably not. Just as well. I can't... say a lot... about you guys either.
It hurts to do that. To talk about ya, like we're friends or somethin'. We ain't friends. Can't be.
I left you guys, and you let me leave. But just this once, I won't blame you. I know what I did. I know a lot of stuff now. The price of life -it's cheaper than ya think. The guilt... it only gets ta me sometimes. Mostly, I just ignore it.
I'm writing again, like I did... before. Not that you guys could possibly know. Not that you care.
I sorta made amends with Charles- Danny's father. Danny... Daniel Pennington, the kid who's life I, y'know, ripped from his throat with my sai.
Shredda -I like ta call him Soupy, but you'd never understand that one- he arranged fer Danny's father and I to meet. I know it's a forbidden sort of thing there, 'cause mutants and humans don't really mix, but... for my own selfish guilt-ridden issues to be disbanded, I had to talk ta him. Had to tell him in person that I was sorry.
He freaked, as you can imagine. But it was even worse after I told him what I did. To Danny.
No apology or excuse I could come up with would've made it right. But I still tried. Oh, fuck, did I try.
Charles, he- he killed himself the next day... And that was all my fault.
If I would've just handled the guilt better, he'd just go on thinkin' his damn kid ran away; he'd still be alive. Worried and lookin', maybe, but still alive. Not dead. Not buried back behind the construction site. -I buried him myself. Had to. It was only right... for him to be buried near his son.
Two deaths, my fault. My own personal trophy shelf- or, erm, cemetery.
Sorry, morbid humor. Kinda comes with the territory.
I gotta say, I don't do the apology-thing anymore, not after Charles decided that he liked the taste of a gun in his mouth.
Apologizin' is a waste of effort. Doesn't fix nothin'. Actions speak louder. Next time I take a life, I'll handle shit better.
Scout's honor. -Not that I was ever a scout, but I didn't wanna say 'ninja's honor.' Too much like somethin' you guys might say.
I have a lot ta do. My own team to work with. But, when I'm done, maybe... Maybe I can come home? That is, if I'm still welcome.
I don't imagine the rat would appreciate me bein' there.
'The rat,' doesn't that sound harsh? Well, maybe not harsh so much as indifferent.
But my thoughts are justified.
It's only been a month... but it feels like so much longer. Sometimes, I don't even feel like the same guy I used to be.
These thoughts are personal and shit, but... part of me wishes you guys could read it. Part of me wants to open this notebook, tear out all the pages, turn 'em inta paper airplanes and just let 'em go. Maybe they'd find ya, or you'd find 'em. Maybe you'd read 'em. Maybe you'd care.
But if not, I don't have ta know. I can just sit here pretendin', like I've been doin'.
Whatever. Just... be safe, guys. Bros, if I'm still allowed to call ya that.
...
[Next chapter coming soon.]