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: Here there be long chapter.
Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
HAPPY READING!
...
CH 17
[Journal Entry]
Growing up in that oppressive hell, it was easy not to expect much outta life. Fuck, back then, the streets were the closest thing I had to a sky.
Then, I went topside. We all did. The street- our sky- suddenly became something beneath our feet. For just that moment, we were as close to God as mutants could get. Well, maybe that's a bad way ta put it, but ya get the point. We felt larger than life, even though the new world was so huge; we towered over everything we ever knew, stood above it. It was... somethin' indescribable.
I remember the first time I curled my toes against the pavement, so similar but so different from the cold damp floors we were used to...
I just remember standing in that alley, only a few feet away from the manhole. I remember looking down at the asphalt and thinking it was somethin' amazin'.
Then, lookin' up, the sky above was almost like what I imagined heaven ta be. If I believed in heaven, that is.
The first time on a rooftop with my brothers... I could see the panic in Leonardo's eyes, even if he tried to hide it. He'd never been up so high up before. But, like everythin' else in life, Splinta Jr conquered that fear of heights; conquered it head on, once again provin' how fuckin' perfect he was.
Y'know, for a minute, it was nice... ta see him scared. To see him come undone just a bit. But I'd never tell him. And now I'll never get the chance to. After all, I call him 'Fearless' fer a reason.
But, fuck Fearless. He can take his precious katana and shove it where the sun don't shine fer all I care.
...Nah, that ain't right. He's... still my brother. Can't be thinkin' like that.
I just... need to focus on something else. That time- That first time on a rooftop. That's right. I remember how the sky looked. I remember standin' there and, when everyone had their shell to me and I knew they couldn't see, I reached up... kinda... sorta... pretendin' ta touch the stars. The light pollution took away much of the atmosphere, but it was still somethin' special.
If I could relive any moment in life, it'd be that one. That first real taste of freedom.
The very same freedom... that I gave away.
[End Journal Entry]
With those last words, Raphael's pen tore through the paper, the nib snapped and ink bled over the notebook and onto the desk, the mess catching the turtle's emerald hands and staining them an ugly blue. He let out an indignant cry of frustration as emotion ripped through him; he chucked the pen as hard as he could and tried to find satisfaction in the way the splintered plastic became embedded in the wall.
He breathed heavily, holding back a feral growl as he glared at his blue-stained hands. The only positive thing he could focus on was the fact that the ink was too dark to match his eldest brother's mask.
Raphael suddenly hated the color blue... It wasn't any kind of special. It mocked the color of the sky he couldn't get enough of; the sky he could only live under as a part-time resident. Simply because he was neither human nor animal.
He was a mutant.
A freak.
An accident.
An unwanted being caught up in the art of ninja and pushed into a war between feuding clans.
A tool of destruction and hypocrisy. Because, for someone who loved his family enough to sacrifice himself, he was admittedly quick to desert them.
'What the fuck does that even mean?!' He thought bitterly, unable to stop a scowl from claiming his face and warping it into something less than settling. 'I left, but they didn't even come aftah me. For all I know, it's better fer them. Better that I'm gone. Not challengin' Leonardo's fuckin' leadership. Not breakin' Donatello's techno-garbage. And not flippin' out on Michelangelo's stupidity... Yeah. S'better this way. Better fer me ta be gone... but that doesn't mean I don't miss you guys, even if ya probably don't miss me.'
Raphael's thoughts had dropped him into a fit of despair. The anger he'd felt dissipated, and he was left feeling hurt, guilty and neglected. Realization of his feelings added a stab of frustration to the mix, and the combination twisted within his gut, making him feel sick.
Not too long ago, he'd been so aptly hyped about his pending mission, regardless of its simplicity. He'd tinkered with his new headset, met up with his selective team of Foot, and then retired to his room to mentally prepare for the nightly run.
He did an even count of situps and pushups and presses, working his shoulders, chest, and triceps to help expend energy and gear his mind in the right direction.
After a brief workout that didn't even cause him to work up a sweat, he seated himself at the desk with the intent to write whatever came to mind, preferably something pleasant that would keep him in a fair mood for the outing to come, but the moment he opened that notebook, all his 'feel-goods' seemed to fade -not all at once, but in stages.
Thoughts of his mission easily led him to thinking about his current residence and how it all came to be. Then, his thoughts flew to his family, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why they hadn't come after him that first night.
It seemed forever ago, after all he'd been through since then. Seemingly, a whole other lifetime of memories had taken place in such a short amount of time. In the absence of his brothers and sensei, a moment of weakness could almost lead him to thinking of the Foot as family. The way they regarded one another when unmasked... and the fact that, even when their faces were covered, he'd learned to tell them apart. No longer were they faceless nobodies. Instead, he could look at each one and see a person beneath, and he knew those people. The people who asked him for help on History homework. People who sometimes struggled in combat or relied too heavily on smokescreen. The people who tripped one another in he halls when someone had their guard down -then laughed about it good-naturedly. The people who ate together and slept packed into rooms like dogs in a puppy mill. The people who got pissed off at Flappy Bird... (and yes, Raph had also come to know and hate Flappy Bird as well... because the damn thing didn't look like a bird, and it loved to nose-dive into everything.)
Only the 'Elite' were granted higher privileges, and somewhere in the midst, Raphael had found himself in the good graces of similar luxury. Those privileges were a mixed blessing that often left him bored. Too much time in his own room left him with too much time to think. And, worst yet was the occasional morning meeting with the man who had taken him in with the promise of restoring his moral integrity.
The morning meetings were infrequent but awkward. Raphael would be expected to sit at a table across from the man he knew as Shredder while they spoke civilly over a meal that was arranged very much like a banquet. If that alone wasn't grounds for the affair to be uncomfortable, Raphael could clearly recall their first morning meeting, during which the human neither wore the familiar armor nor his traditional 'everyday' attire. Instead, the turtle recalled with horrific clarity, the fuzzy duck-themed bath robe and matching slippers that quack-quacked with every step...
"Yer gettin' soft on me, Soupy. First ya ditch the armor, and now this duck-lovin' bullshit... Kinda hard ta respect ya like that."
It was wrong, on all accounts. The man was supposed to be some heinous abomination of a man, and yet, Raphael was forced to acknowledge that he was, in every way, shape, and form... still human.
The thought was sickening, but also grounding. And some small part of Raphael couldn't help seeing it as an element of trust. It made him a little less wary; he could almost admit that much. But he'd never voice it. And the less frequent he met with the man in such a state, the more comfortable he'd feel, but the image was firmly lodged in his mind and would remain indefinitely.
Just one more memory to add to his own personal internal drive.
With an abrupt shake of his head, Raphael literally shook the thought from his mind. He had far too much to focus on, too many wandering thoughts. He needed his mind to be sharp. He needed to get himself together and focus.
And focus, he did. But the thoughts that came to mind were once again unwelcome.
'I could've gone home.' He was frowning deeply at these thoughts. 'Just one more time. If you'd have asked, I'd have come home. But ya didn't even try...' As much as he loved his brothers, the darker parts of his mind were more than capable of distorting the other half of the equation, and he couldn't help wondering if the familial love he gave so selflessly was ever returned.
From a more logical standpoint, he knew each of his brothers had been there for him at some point or another, even when he didn't want them to be, but his more emotional side reminded him once again that they didn't even try to stop him from walking straight into the Shredder's shadow... and staying there.
A small voice in the back of his mind questioned if they even cared for his absence.
He glared at his over-inked Journal. Thoughts of his former team had soured his pleasant mood, and for once, writing it all down did nothing to deter his angst. Instead, putting it in words actually fueled his grief. He grabbed up the notebook and hurled it in the same direction he'd tossed the pen prior, slamming a fist against the desk's surface when he couldn't find any release for the steadily building tension.
He gulped in air, wishing he could freeze his thoughts or clear his head.
His only hope, he surmised, was the pending mission of stealth and retrieval.
Surely it would take his mind off things, ease his thoughts on the family that didn't want him. The family he walked away from...
...
Later towards the evening, Raphael's persistent bad mood had all but vanished after a couple swallows of the familiar drink he kept in a silver flask. The flask had been a gift from his overweight friend from the construction site, and he treasured it more than he thought possible. It was so simple, very plain in its design, but he'd used the tip of a sai to chisel the Foot insignia onto it.
He never thought he'd find that symbol as anything more than a nuisance, but he'd accepted it as part of his life. As part of him... for as long as he fought for redemption.
Taking another hefty swig of the burning drink, he let out a slight cough before sealing the flask and stashing it away. He was weak, he knew, to give in and use any kind of substance to cope; to mute his thoughts, his own personal non-physical aches and agonies, but one thing the turtle refused to do... was openly admit the weakness. After all, he didn't deny the pain; he was simply making it more tolerable. The fact that he enjoyed the burning throat and the pooling heat in his stomach was simply a bonus.
Besides, he'd only drank enough to take the edge off; he was still clear-headed. If anything, he was more in control, more alert, more adept for the mission he was undertaking.
His negative emotions having tapered off into something more manageable, the turtle couldn't help the lopsided grin that fell into place, nor the excitement that began to swell within as the the daylight faded into something more acceptable for a night of ninja-ing. 'Because, fuck yes! Ninja-ing is a fuckin' verb,' his thoughts transient and spirits high, seemingly nothing could break his good mood. Despite his lack of gear and the unforgettable absence of his sais, he felt alive as he exited Foot Central and crept into the night, shadowed by his own four solid shadows.
Stepping into the world- a world that was so simple and meaningless to most people, taken for granted- Raphael simply felt... content. No bitterness or rage. Just a hollow feeling of 'alright' and a fixation of the pending task.
For a long and peaceful moment, the feeling of freedom returned; his breath came easier and easier and his mind was perfectly at ease despite his position. Something about the crisp night air against his leathery flesh... it was almost harmonizing.
His shell pressed against the wall as he remained hidden among the darkness, Raphael tapped his headset to activate it. Suddenly, the cycloptic-lens over his eyes became an active display. His hand remained on the control panel that rested against his right temple as he adjusted the settings; he'd tried it earlier but this was his first chance to try it outside and in the dark. His large fingers slid across the screen of the panel and, as he turned his head to look left and right, the display zoomed and focused, outlining various objects and bodies; his new vision stained in infrared. Adjusting the settings with the flex of a finger against that panel, his screen became littered with numbers; at first, the sight of so many numbers had caught him off guard, but after taking a moment to really read them, they appeared to give the dimensional lengths, volume, and weight of various objects that came into focus, as well as the distance between said objects and himself.
Incredible, really, if he had to admit.
But numbers and himself weren't compatible, and he switched the setting back to the odd contrasting colors of infrared. He took a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the new swim of orange and red and yellow as he took in the spectrum of wavelengths and radiation... It was almost as if everything he looked at was bathed in the colors of sunrise.
'Donatello would love this.' He fought back a smile easily enough before mentally berating the thought. 'But Donatello's not here. It's just me. And my Foot. My family can just stay outta this. It's my mission, even if it's a stupid one. It's mine, dammit.' With a hint of finality, he turned to the black-clad ninja that flanked him.
The ninja were properly ensconced in the veil of darkness, but his display screen pointed them out easily enough. Their outlines flaming red-orange, their entire selves born again in bright neon colors.
Forcing his acute fascination at bay, he spoke into the microphone, knowing that each ninja would hear him clearly through the transceivers. "Alright. Museum is less than a block away. We get there. We take out the cameras first. The wires can be clipped with well-aimed shuriken. Collect 'em afterwards; leave no evidence. I'll be watchin' from the roof. The main mission is stealth. Keep shit simple. At least one of ya will enter through the back entrance on the south-side. Two of you will go through windows- don't break the glass because it'll trigger an alarm; just cut the damn panes instead. Last one will come with me, and we'll take a ventilation duct from the access point on the roof. I ain't armed, so I need someone ta watch my back. We clear?"
He received no response aside from a few sharp nods; then again, he hadn't expected anything different.
"We get in, do our scavengin', and get out. Nice and easy. I'll work on disablin' the alarms once we get in. This fancy headset-thing should be able ta help with the electronic bullshit."
'I'd rather go straight in ta cut the power, but I guaran-damn-tee they have a backup generator for emergencies,' Raphael couldn't help thinking as he recalled the blueprints he'd studied. And he had studied hard in preparation before removing his gear when prompted.
Because, in the past, when he had a regular mission with his brothers -his old team- the planning, the mapping, the ins and outs of everything would be done by Leonardo and Donatello; back then, all Raphael needed to do, was show up, get worked up, and throw himself into the mix wherever he felt it might be beneficial.
In hindsight, it was no wonder he was seen as the blindly aggressive muscle. After all, that's all he was needed to be; his alleged family never bothered to see beyond his physical build and the brooding angst that he channeled into rage...
But circumstances had drastically changed. Now, he was filling the shoes of the leader and the engineer, and all the while, even when weaponless, he desired to continue to keep up his role as the muscle as well.
Then again, with a stealth mission, he doubted he'd have to exercise anything more than his brain, and his mood dampened a little at this realization. Because, he never was the leader or the brain. Those were not his domain. And yet... it seemed cardinal, non-optional, that he expand his skill sets and put forth more effort... for the sake of his new team. And maybe, for the late Pennington's honor...
He pushed his thoughts aside. Family, Foot, and honor issues could only get in the way. The mission now was one of stealth. To be successful meant no conflict, no awareness to anyone outside himself and his team. With a draw of breath, he regarded said team. "Now, any questions?"
No answer. Which Raphael took for meaning 'no complaints or objections.'
"Good," he affirmed, more to himself than his team. "One last thing..." His voice, while quiet, took on a distinctly familiar edge -his own version of a leader-voice, as he said: "We're a team. We're fuckin' ninja. Who... and what... we are to the rest of the world doesn't matter; the moment we set out together, all that matters is the team, the goal, and all that unity bullshit. Goin' inta this, I want no Foot left behind. We go in together, and we come out together."
The mutant never imagined he'd be doing this, calling the shots, giving a speech -he'd imagined, dreampt it even, but it hardly seemed a possibility unless his blue-banded brother found himself out of commission, and even then, the purple-clad genius would likely fill he slot...
In his wildest fantasies, Raphael never could have concocted a scenario where he'd be breaking into a museum to scavenge an item in exchange for praise from his sensei's foe. And he especially never imagined that he'd be playing leader to a group of ninja he once thought of as faceless drones.
But now he knew better.
Beneath those masks, there were actual people. Young people with their own thoughts, feelings, conflicts, and desires. Their lives were in his hands. As leader, any triumph or failure would be his own doing. And with grudging effort, he could accept that.
His resolve, thought with affinity and a steely-eyed gaze beneath his mono-lens: 'I ain't gonna fail. Simple as that. In. Out. Complete mission with all four Footies in tact.'
His words lain out, Raphael moved with restless agility from shadow to shadow, his Foot soldiers in tow.
They happened upon the museum, taking in the flow of human traffic.
Raphael couldn't help the growl that escaped, a low rumbling sound of irritation at a personal error in judgement. Despite his knowledge of the city and its activity, he'd somehow imagined that humans would be more... sparse. In his mind as he planned, he just envisioned the building and the layout, almost completely forgetting that there was an entire world around it.
'Well,' he thought to himself, a wry grin warping his face. 'This'll either be interestin', or a disaster.'
He carefully watched the flow of traffic, the spread of humans, before looking around and pointing to a nearby roof. On his signal, his ninja exercised their acrobatics as they made their way up a darkened fire escape and waited for further command.
Raphael remained hidden at street level, adjusting the settings at his fingertips as he waited with frail patience. The museum was so close, but he hadn't any disguise to protect himself from prying eyes. Only the shadows could offer him safety. He couldn't allow himself to be spotted.
Once he saw a clean break between the flow of humans, he spoke clearly into his mic. "Now. Take the roof on your left. Next, the one straight ahead. From there, await my signal. Then double back and onto the museum's roof. Once there, one of you will remain and wait fer me while the others fan out to take care of cameras and work their entries."
From his perch, Raphael watched and signaled and, with flawless effort, he guided the Foot and his team listened. In no time at all, he watched through his hyper-focused lens as the four ninja landed on the roof of the museum. Then, satisfied with the small success, he turned his head left and right, again tracing over traffic patterns as he prepared to join his team.
He'd just caught a break in the flood of humans and was about to make a move when a voice suddenly drew his attention. One very... distinct... voice.
"Ah, shut up, ya bonehead! I'm comin'!"
Hearing this, the turtle's eyes widened. 'Bonehead? -That voice...- Casey!' Raph's thoughts were short, sharp, and certain, much like the blades of the weapon he lacked. All logic screamed for him to ignore the voice and press on, but... something held him back. Whether it was curiosity or the strange tight feeling in his chest, he couldn't say.
He turned his enhanced vision towards the source of the voice and, sure enough, he could easily spot the masked vigilante.
Raphael couldn't help the pounding in his chest as a new realization dawned on him. 'If Casey's here... he might not be alone.' Just as those thoughts entered his mind, Raph's attention flew to the rooftops just in time to see three new shadows leap and land a few roofs away from his own group of ninja.
And, even without he headset, Raphael was certain he knew those new shadows, the distinct shapes of bulk muscle and shell...
He needed to think of something, fast.
Into his microphone: "Ninja, do not engage. Vanish- NO smokescreen; it would draw too much attention. Vanish, and await my signal." After that, Raph watched his own four Foot disappear, their location only notable with his enhanced infrared optics. He focused his gaze elsewhere and relocated Casey.
The human vigilante was out of earshot, but Raphael could tell he was talking into a phone, to somebody. Possibly April or one of the other turtles. It was a tough thing to guess, so Raphael didn't make any assumptions. Instead, he kept quiet, hidden, his attention split between Casey, the three turtles, and his own faction of Foot.
His head was starting to pound from stress, but he quelled it well enough.
Finally, at long last, after such a vile and intense moment of anxiety, Raph was able to breathe a sigh of relief as Casey moved further away and the three other turtles made their leave with the intent to join him.
When the coast was clear of decided foe and civilians, Raphael finally allowed himself to execute a few flips to get to the fire escape before scaling. His senses flaring with paranoia, he followed the same route he'd previously directed to his team. Once his feet were solidly planted on the roof of the museum, he spoke to his mic: "Ninja, fall in. Three of you take out the cameras; one of you come and join me."
A moment later, a single black-clad ninja jumped and landed next to Raphael. The turtle pointed to the ventilation system and approached. He tapped it and signaled his lone Foot. Without the need for a verbal command, the black-clad ninja approached, procured a multi-tool, and proceeded to pry open the grate. After that, Raphael quietly moved in, his Foot following close behind as they crawled through the ducts.
In Raph's mind, he recalled the blueprints, trying to mentally map out where the security room was. One wrong turn and many right turns later, he found it. His underling once again pried open a grate and they both dropped in, silent, ninja-like.
First thing Raphael did was look over the array of monitors, seeing almost all cameras full of static, white noise. Which meant their wires had been successfully clipped. He waited idly while another one went out before his eyes. With a nod of approval, he moved towards the computers that worked all the electronic locks and alarms.
A plight of apprehension came over him, but he pushed it aside and feigned confidence.
He would not fail this mission due to his lack of computer know-how.
He dropped into a chair in front of the computers and reached a hand for a hidden compartment under the panel of his headset. He slid the juncture and pulled out a micro-cable. He attached one end to a port in his headset and the other to the USB drive of the main computer.
In an instant, his vision and display was flooded with code that he couldn't begin to decipher, but the computer monitor before him flashed in warning before a message popped up, reading: CAMERAS DOWN. ALARMS DOWN. SYSTEMS DOWN. And the monitor went black.
With a breath of relief, Raphael retrieved the cable and slid it back into its slot before closing the compartment. His heart had been pounding, but it seemed to relax with the lessening of stress.
When he got up from the chair and turned, he saw -not one, but FOUR Foot soldiers lined up in the doorway. Silent, stealthy. His ninja... all waiting for him. For his signal. His command. His guidance.
There was a feeling of warmth and respect that had nothing to do with the previously-consumed alcohol as he regarded his team.
'They're actually relying on me...'
Not speaking directly into the mic, he told them: "Fan out and search. Look for anything Shredda might have left behind. Clues, objects, whatever."
With that, his ninja left, each slinking along halls and ducking into pools of shadow to remain hidden during their quest. Raphael himself wasn't far behind, heading down the first hall he could see and entering an exhibit.
He took in his surroundings. Various animal pelts, cave paintings, foot castings of the earliest known humans, bones of every size, and then a series of dino skeletons ranging from partially-to-fully complete. Each display had it's own history article, riddled with facts and names Raphael couldn't be bothered to read. After he'd taken in the generic information first and foremost, he deepened his search, looking for anything out of place. He traversed first to the back of the exhibit with the dinosaur bones.
Due to the endless number of possibilities, he peered into the ribcage of some large foul beast, wondering if something had been hidden. A riddle or a clue, anything. He came up empty and continued his search. He glanced skywards, looking among the light fixtures and rafters- but again, nothing that neither his eyes nor infrared lens could pick up. Slowly, he made his way back towards the caveman figures and pelts. Still looking, he spoke into the mic: "If anyone finds anythin', alert me immediately. Don't leave me searchin' fer somethin' I ain't gonna find."
The moment those words left his mouth, something caught his attention.
There.
Beneath a glass pane.
Right next to the casting of a particularly large Footprint left by an allegedly ancient homo sapien.
Next to that plaster casting... was a shiny metal briefcase with a tag attached to the handle. In red ink, the tag simply read: "STEALTH MISSION ONE."
Raph couldn't help the sinking feeling that it had all been so anticlimactic. All the dramatic buildup for something as boring as a briefcase. Suddenly disheartened, if not a bit bored, he gave up on stealth and simply punched a hole into the glass, shattering it with the force of the blow. He grabbed the case and spoke into the mic: "Item secured. Ninja, move out. Exit through the south-side. From there, take the streets east. Back ta Central."
...
[Eariler... Outside the museum]
"C'mon, Bonehead, y'know I'm just lookin' out fer you guys."
"Casey," the blue-banded turtle said evenly, his expression stern, "I wanted to leave Mikey and Don home. If this lead is a dead end, it'll crush them. I know it's not fair, but as leader, decisions have to be made, even if they're tough. For the good of the team-"
"Leo, what about what's good for the family?" It was Don's voice. His eyes wide and caring. "We lost one brother. What if we lose you too?"
"Don-Don's got a point, bro!" Mikey piped, his chipper expression too forced and tone too cheerful. "You want me to stop acting out, then let's find Raph. For Raph, I'll really try. Like, crazy hard, I'll try to be the happy one again." He paused, expression suddenly darkening. His voice lowered as he said: "Hey... What if... Uhhh, what if Raph didn't just run away? Ever think of that?" He paused again. "I've thought about it a few times. Thought about... like... I dunno. Like, what if Raph-"
April approached, a frown in place; she didn't like the negativity coming from the usually jubilant turtle. "Mikey..." Her voice was soft, worried. "You know Raphael. He wasn't suicidal. He's not the type to-"
The orange-banded ninja gave a frantic shake of his head as he interrupted his human friend. "No, I mean... what if... he got hurt or captured? What if we never see him again? He could be hurt and all alone..."
Donatello approached next and placed a comforting hand on Michelangelo's shoulder. "We can't think like that, Mike. Raph's tough. He's okay. We need to remember that, and we need to follow any lead we can get."
Leonardo regarded his team- his family- and couldn't help the smile that formed as he recognized their sense of unity. "We'll speak to this construction worker, as Casey arranged. But I promise, even if it turns out to be a false lead, we won't give up. We won't quit on Raph."
Mikey shrugged Don's hand off his shoulder and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "So, uh... for old time's sake, anyone up for a high-three?"
Don raised his hand halfway but paused, hesitant.
Leo continued to smile, glad his brothers were at least making a valid attempt to shun their misery in favor of finding their missing sibling. "Yeah," he said finally, "high-three." He raised his hand to meet that of his youngest brother, and Don joined in at the last second.
The family moment was broken when Casey drew a hockey stick and pointed. "There! That's the worker-dude that says he knows Raph! I knew he'd show up! The big guy said he had a hard time believin' there was other giant turtles in the city!"
Hearing this, April gawked momentarily before slapping Casey on the arm as a way to reprimand. "Casey! You don't go around telling everyone about the turtles! What if it was a trap?!"
True to his genuine love for movies and impersonations, Mikey drew his fingers under his chin and wiggled them -pretending them to be a 'squid-beard' as he mocked: "IT'S A TRAP!"
Ignoring Mikey in favor of focusing on April's insinuation, Casey sputtered indignantly before turning away with a huff. "If it means findin' my pal, and no one gets hurt, it's worth the risk, ain't it?"
Leo's face morphed into something dark and unsettling, angry and betrayed. He opened his mouth but closed it when he felt Don's hand on his shoulder. He looked at his purple-banded brother.
"Leo," Don said, "let's just find Raph. You can yell at Casey later."
With that, Casey took lead, April close behind and three mutants tailing her. They approached a plump figure on stubby legs. The figure let out a strange guffawing laugh as they all came into view. "I can't believe it! There really are more of you!"
"Cool it, man. We're here to ask ya 'bout my green friend. The one you said ya saw," Casey explained.
The large man nodded. "Only seen him a couple times. Green- darker than you three," he said, vaguely gesturing to the other turtles. "Bulky but not fat."
Michelangelo opened his mouth to make a joke, but both Leo and Don shot him a warning look.
The stout man continued, his cheeks blubbering and bouncing over his constantly morphing chin(s): "Got quite a potty mouth, and he's got a comeback for just about anything. But underneath the sarcasm and the glaring, I think he's just lonely."
That got April's attention. "Lonely? Poor Raphael."
Don's compassionate side won over his other emotions and he offered the human female a small smile. "He probably misses us, April. It's been a long time."
The stout construction worker gave a shrug. "He's very... guarded, from what I can tell, like he's got this big secret to hide. And he seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He told me about a time he saved a woman from a mugger, but when he returned the purse to her, she took off her shoe and started beating him with it... He didn't say anything after that. He got real quiet. Drank the rest of my booze. Then left." He took on a mournful look. "It was good booze too."
For a long moment, no one knew how to respond.
Then, Leo's words... "Raph. Alone, and drinking." He sighed heavily, placing a hand over his eyes as if it could stop the swarm of thoughts within his head.
Casey's words and pouting expression. "I promised Raph I'd sneak him his first beer. Now it's all ruined." He kicked a pebble with his foot and watched it skitter away.
Don simply looked thoughtful, processing the new information and filing it away.
Mikey bounced on the balls of his feet before saying: "Y'know what this means, right? Our fat friend here might see Raph again! Which means, we might be able to-"
"Mikey!" Leo scolded. "We do not insult people who are being helpful."
April's voice came next, her tone curious. "Ummm, guys? The museum closed around five today, right? Then, why is the back door opened?"
Everyone turned to look and, sure enough, the door had been left slightly ajar. As leader, Leonardo moved in to investigate, signalling his brothers and human friends to hold their positions. Once close enough, he noticed a nearby camera with its wires severed. His expression hardening, he signaled his team to fall in.
The stout construction worker clumsily bounded after, but Michelangelo stopped him. "Sorry, dude. Official ninja business. You can't come. If you fall over, you'll roll away or something. Come to think of it, do you bounce?" The mischievous gleam in his eye spoke volumes of wanting to find out on a personal level, but hearing his genius brother hiss his name was enough incentive for him to refocus and join the others.
The two humans and three turtles lined up outside the darkened doorway, all waiting for... something. What that something was, no one could be sure. But as they waited, the air seemed to thicken.
Anticipation rose.
Whatever this was, it was going to be big.
Everyone braced themselves, preparing for the worst.
They drew their weapons, feeling a stir of energy in the air that boasted of a pending fight.
Just then, from the darkness of the museum, a familiar figure stepped out, strange headset secured in place with a cycloptic-lens covering his eyes and a shiny metal brief case clutched in his three-fingered hand.
"Ya gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!" Raphael practically shouted. 'So much fer stealth!'
...
[There we go. Next chapter will be shorter, but it's In-Progress! Stay tuned!]