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: Updates might not be so frequent. My free time is now limited.

Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.

...

CH 16

[With Raphael]

Sometimes, I wish there was another way out.

Those words were the only ones written on the page. Raphael had tried to follow it up, to pour himself, his grief and frustration, into his notebook, but the words wouldn't come. He could feel a wave of emotions within him, and it was dense, thick and drowning. Suffocating. Almost physically stealing his breath as he fought to reign control over himself, his misery, and worst of all... his small triumphs that somehow felt larger than life when given light.

Some part of him rationed that if he could just take what was inside and put it all into words, write it all down, then it would be more bearable. More like a bedtime story he never had to read, and less like the manifestation of internalized agony that sought to gnaw at him.

The term 'warble' briefly entered his consciousness. Warble, a parasite that usually took up residence in the throat or neck... and began to consume until it either had its fill or its host's head had come off completely, severed by the consumption, having been eaten from the inside out. It was a messy affair, coupled with disease and infection and the growth of bacteria -the smells of which would draw other disconcerting consumers and decomposers...

Emotions could very well be compared to parasites, Raph surmised with his face carefully blanked. Not out of necessity or habit, but out of sheer lack of having anything to express- which was, for him, an oddity.

There was no unrelenting rage. No stewing depression. No amusement. As he filtered through his thoughts one by one, he drew up empty of anything important... and yet, he could not bring himself to appreciate the absence of feeling.

He had a love-hate sort of relationship with apathy. It was safe but frustrating, and yet he couldn't feel the frustration or draw strength from it.

This realization left him further embittered- 'There we go,' he thought with his expression turning decidedly sour. 'Bitterness. Somethin' that doesn't go away, even if I stop acknowledging it. More constant than anger... Bitterness.'

And he was bitter.

Towards his family... Because they had everything. Each other. A father and sensei, a leader, a brain, and a heart... And Raphael had whatever was left.

Towards life... Because, really, what could be expected for a mutant turtle forced to believe that only darkness could offer him safety, that people were and always would be potential threats, and that any semblance to normalcy would always elude him?

That bitterness, of course, also extended towards his predicament and the man whom he so desperately wished to blame. That man, with his blades sharp and words sharper... was always getting to him with something or another. Whether it was some form of order, critique, or even kindness, everything felt like a direct attack. Something as simple as the offer of basic needs from him to Raphael seemed like bait, but the mutant knew better than to refuse -after the first time... he'd learned his lesson. And while the scarring was minimal, he found himself scathingly humbled.

But perhaps even more repugnant than his feelings towards the Shredder, was Raph's resentment towards himself. For allowing it all to happen. For blindly stepping into this man's foreboding shadow. For leaving behind everything he knew, and for simply... accepting it.

Then again, he also had to recall his reasons for it to begin with. All the blood. Red, too much red.

'Guilt.'

His need to protect his brothers and the innocence they possessed.

'Love and desperation.'

And because, once again he could relate the problem to his family, there it was again. That cold, stark bitterness.

So, Raphael focused once more on the notebook that contained his secrets.

If he could script it all, his ache and guilt could become a story. Fiction. Something to toss on a shelf (or under the bed) and forget about.

But there were no words, none that he could bring to light and jot down with his pen.

No words. None. Nada, zero, zip, zilch. Not for his predicament. And not for the terrible bout of homesickness that seemed to swallow him whole, spit him out, and then claw at his soggy remains.

Eventually giving up on his endeavor to write, he closed the notebook and tossed it under the bed, as per usual.

Under the bed... It wasn't a hiding place of any sort, he knew, but... there was a principle to what he did and where he liked to keep his journals. To him, it made sense... to hide monsters under the bed. To sleep with his demons below him.

In some distorted version of his own reality, he decided that keeping the journals in such a location could demean them and their damning contents. In a way, it gave their horrors less power over him... even if that line of thinking was just some kind of self-made placebo-mentality to protect his psyche.

It was a ridiculous thought, but it was one he held onto.

His notebook well and truly put away, imprisoning his thoughts, he slapped his pen to the desk and found himself with nothing to do. This was nothing new, surprisingly. He regarded his room. It had been immaculate on day one. Now, it was very much the same, save for the back wall that he had, on more than one occasion, grown restless and attacked viciously. Needing an outlet and having none. He'd stabbed and slashed at that poor defenseless wall for a small eternity before dropping his weapons and continuing the assault with his knuckles.

He stopped the beating only when his hands were quivering, bloody and raw and mangled, nerves reacting to pain that his mind refused to register.

Today would not be a day for wall-pounding, but it was an activity he'd easily become fond of.

His hands were still bandaged from the last bout of wall-bashing.

With a heavy sigh, he considered his options -because, as he'd been reminded, there were always options and the choice he made was his own. He quickly came to a decision and prepared to act on it. He grabbed a bandana that was becoming all too familiar and tied it around his arm in a hurry before exiting the room.

'Gotta talk to Soupy. Shredda. Tin-Man... Whoever he is today.'

Raphael was first and foremost a one-punch kind of guy, but he could use his head when it suited him; and regarding the time of day, he easily deduced where would be the best place to look for his former foe.

As expected -'Predictable bastard'- the mutant found the human in his throne room. As the name suggests, it was on the highest floor and the entirety of it could be described as regal, with its imported tapestry, oriental rugs, and priceless antique displays... Not to mention the over-dressed seat of plated silver and luxuriously over-stuffed cushions that drew center-focus.

"Greetings, Your Highness," Raphael mocked upon entry, his eyes immediately landing on the man and taking in his rather shiny appearance.

Shredder glared from behind his metal guise, quelling his distaste with the inhalation of a deep breath. "You wanted something, Raphael," he said carefully, eyes locked onto the turtle's.

Raph approached with a casual stride, stopping a few feet away from his alleged superior and planting his feet firmly on the ground before folding his arms over his plastron. The classic look of petulance. "Yeah, Tinny-Tin-Tin." He held up his bandaged hands for the other to see. "Ya wanted my service right? But I'm gettin' mighty restless over here. So, tell me, should I keep beatin' myself up with the wall, or would you rather me take it out on some of your Foot lackeys? Could be fun, and it would give yer medic a nice workout too." He paused, observing the Shredder and taking in the tense body language and filtered but audible breathing. "Then again," Raphael added, pretending his new words to be an afterthought and not his sole reason for bothering this man in the first place, "ya could always send me out tonight with my own team of Footies. Give me somethin' ta do. Me and the Foot, we need some bondin' time anyways. Can't do it properly all cooped up like dis. And trainin's gettin' stale. All flash and no heat. Now I get why the Foot wear masks with filtered lenses: so yer eyes don't burn from all the damn smoke pellets ya use. Ya buy that shit in bulk at Sam's Club or somethin'?"

Hearing the greeting, the reasoning, the excuse, the suggestion, and the accusation seemingly all at once, the Shredder held Raphael's gaze in a fierce stare while he took it all into consideration. And, eyes locked with one another, neither blinked; both were wanting and waiting for the other to avert their gaze first. A childish contest of will, but it was still a battle of sorts.

A stare-down. Something the turtle had done with all his siblings when they were younger...

In the end, Raphael was the first to look away, not because of dry eyes or any sort of emotional spasm... Rather he was simply restless and quickly losing interest. He allowed his eyes to dart around the room, focusing on nothing in particular as he aimlessly fingered the hilts of each sai.

'Give me somethin' ta do. Otherwise, it's a complete waste ta have me here. Why have a mutant ninja at yer disposal and not do somethin' with it?' Raphael's own thoughts caught him by surprise. He could understand the restless thinking and desire to be productive, but... while he'd accepted the fact that he was a mutant and a freak, he'd never referred to himself as an 'it' before. Part of him wondered if it was a conscious thought or a Freudian slip of the mental variety. Another part of him tried to brush it off, and he allowed the dismissal.

After a long hard moment of silence, Shredder spoke to the conflicted mutant, his voice stern. "I am not confining you against your will, Raphael. If you wish to go out with your faction of the Foot, so be it. However, I do have a specific task for you to complete, if you're interested."

Interest piqued at the idea of any kind of action, Raph's blood pulsed with sheer excitement; he refocused on Shredder and waited. He curled his toes and held his breath, waiting... and waiting... and... waiting?

Nearly three whole minutes passed before Raphael expelled his breath and fixed a confused and impatient expression onto his face. "Well? What is it?"

The metal-coated man brought both hands up and, with one he removed the menpo face mask; with the other, he removed his helm; he placed both articles on a decorative stand. Armor still in place but too-human face bared, he appeared thoughtful as he looked to the turtle and spoke. "I'm... afraid I can't tell you, Raphael, until you prove you are ready. For you to do that, I want respect, which you show very little of."

"Respect, hn?" Completely unperturbed by the sight of the man's face -something that had initially caused a great deal of stress, Raphael frowned at the words and implication. "I ain't jammin' my sai into yer neck," he said bluntly. "Ain't that respect enough?" When he received no answer, he tried to understand just what was being asked. "Ya want me to drop the goofy nicknames?"

"That's a start," Shredder answered.

"Anythin' else, Princess-uh... -What I mean is, uh, Shredda. Oroki Soku- or whatever."

"Oroku Saki," the armored man corrected, impatience notable in his tone and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Same thing," Raph defended carelessly, dismissing his mistake with the wave of a hand. "All Asian names sound alike ta me. Just be glad I'm not callin' ya Kung Pao Chicken... So, now that we're on better terms, what kind of thing ya want me ta do tonight?"

Shredder was silent for an immeasurable amount of time before simply saying: "I'm not satisfied. Proper respect, or I will send someone else."

"But-" Raphael began, eyes slightly wide at the idea of having this small chance taken away from him.

Because, among so many other dislikes, Raphael hated having something taken from him, almost as much as he hated sharing. Having grown up with three brothers, it was inevitable... so he'd always made sure he was the one to do the taking whenever possible, and his possessive nature was something he couldn't let go of.

It was just as much a part of him as the color of his skin or the weight of his shell...

He was stolen, again, from his thoughts by Shredder's voice. A single word that, despite the easy tone, spoke volumes upon volumes of expectation and horror and greed and arrogance. That one word: "Kneel."

The word -no, the command- struck a deep chord within Raphael, making him queasy and sick.

"Kneel, Raphael," the command was repeated, this time more forcefully.

And, still trying to process what this order meant -what was truly being asked- Raphael found himself stooped over on his knees with his head low and eyes directed at the floor... A familiar position he'd reserved for only his sensei. He hadn't even processed the movement, nor planned on obliging the order, but his body seemed to act on its own. His memory had connected the word with the position and his muscles complied.

Once down and acknowledging what he'd done- the fact that he'd obeyed- he refused to look up and see a possibly smug look on the man's face. His chest felt tight and wrong. His breath caught between his throat and lungs but he forced the air in and out in a controlled flow.

Suddenly, he was aware of a five-fingered hand on his shoulder. There was no radiating warmth, but he drew comfort from the weight of it. Only when he felt that comfort did he raise his head and allow his eyes to meet that of the human.

"Well done, Raphael," he said simply. His hand rested and was removed with perfect timing to avoid awkwardness or tension. "Now, about your assignment. It will be one of stealth. You will take no less than three and no more than five Foot with you."

"Four," Raph concluded.

"I have taken liberty of hiding a specific item among a display in the museum. The museum closes early, and you will be retrieving the item tonight."

Raphael blinked. His kneeling position forgotten as he focused on what was being said. "So, is it like a paintin' or artifact or somethin'?"

"You will know the item when you see it. You get no hint other than that, Raphael. You are smarter than you pretend to be. Use that brain of yours."

The turtle frowned, his eyes showing doubt. "I don't steal. We've been over this."

"It's not stealing. It is my own item that I simply stored there. And you will pick it up and bring it back to me. There is nothing illegal going on here-"

"Except for breaking and entering," Raph interjected.

"Which is nothing new to you, I'm sure," Shredder said with a snide tone. "If you don't want this assignment-"

"Okay," Raph said, eyes veering off to the left to avoid looking at the man. "I wanna do it."

"Just simple retrieval. First and foremost, your mission is to practice stealth with the Foot under your command. Do not trigger alarms or be caught on camera. Do not alert any personnel to your presence."

The mutant took in the words and his browline creased in thought. "But stealth and finesse ain't any of my finer points; they're actually my dullest," he deadpanned. "If strength is a blade, then all that careful strategy shit is like foam rubber ta me."

That careful five-fingered hand once again was on Raphael's shoulder, this time with added pressure, but there was no comfort; it was a warning. "Stealth first. Retrieval second. How you go about this matters little to me. Fail, and suffer the consequences."

With a small sigh, Raph grumbled: "At least it's somethin' ta do."

Suddenly, that hand was gone and Shredder spoke indifferently as he said "You may rise, Raphael."

Almost instantly, the mutant was on his feet. He frowned at his body's obedience. He didn't like it. Part of his mind screamed for him to say something smug or snarky, to spit out something crude or sarcastic, to openly defy... but another part of him reasoned against it, reminding him that he'd chosen his fate. He'd stepped onto this path of new shadows. And he could blame no one but himself. And, a little humility would serve as retribution.

Caught up in his thoughts, Raphael's attention was pulled back to the man as he spoke once more.

"Stop living in your head, Raphael. There is a time to think and a time to let go. Now, come. I will prepare you for your mission and you can plan accordingly with your Foot. Any success you have will be in young Pennington's honor."

And... there it was. Pennington. The reminder. The motivation. The sorrow... The intense swell of emotions that finally reached beyond his chest to manifest itself physically.

With a soft growl, body tense, and head throbbing with sudden stress, Raphael watched the Shredder grab and don his kabuto and menpo before making a slow and graceful exit.

Raphael followed several feet behind.

Two floors down and into a room that was all leather and steel and pristine sterility, Raphael sat at a small table across from Shredder, blueprints laid out before him.

"I suppose you can read this without me explaining it to you," the man mocked with his voice once again filtered through a metal grating.

Raph opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it, simply nodding instead.

"Then, I will leave you to your planning. The cameras and access points are all marked. There should be no problem."

Raph nodded and allowed his eyes to scan the blueprints; it was fairly standard, from the looks of it. Doors, windows, ventilation ducts, cameras at the turn of every hall and entryway... Then he began to note the locations of each room, considering which display might hold the item he needed to scavenge. Then...

"Oh, Raphael, another thing."

At hearing himself addressed, the turtle looked up, blinking twice to show the clarity of his focus and attention. Then he heard more than seen an item being placed on the table. His gaze flickered over to it, seeing a large ring of metal with an odd electronic device attached, equipped with a microphone.

That size and shape of the item in question coupled with the sight of the microphone gave a clue as to what it was, and Raphael voiced his first thought. "A headset? I dunno, this looks more up Donatello's alley. Ya might got the wrong turtle fer dis," he said without thinking.

His damn mind referenced his family far too often for his liking, stirring up feelings he tried to repress. But it couldn't be helped that his brothers were hardwired into his brain.

Shredder allowed a strange sort of chuckle before explaining, "The masks of the Foot ninja are being fitted with transceivers. Your headset will transmit and allow communication. While it is not something I want you to rely on, it will certainly come in handy."

Raph grumbled something unintelligible before shaking his head and drawing his attention back to the blueprints.

With a hum of approval, Shredder rose to his feet and turned to the door, pausing a moment to get one last word in. "And Raphael, you will be leaving all other equipment behind. No protective-wear or weapons. The Foot ninja with you will be well prepared and armed accordingly, and while I know you could handle yourself, I want you to trust them to have your back. After all, you are a team, are you not? Trust is something that must be forged." And finally, he was gone, exiting the room and leaving Raphael with a splitting headache.

Once alone, Raph's hands flew to his sais, feeling their hilts and taking in a small amount of comfort at acknowledging their presence.

With a great deal of effort, he looked back over the blueprints, expression unreadable.

'A trip to the museum with my Footies tonight. Simple retrieval. Boring, but better than nothing.'

...

[And, there we go. Feel free to check my profile for a link to fan art of Raphael wearing his headset. I'm not a great artist, but everyone's gotta start somewhere. -Next chapter should be up soon.]