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: I slightly edited the ending of the previous chapter as of 1/27. I apologize for this. I mixed up my notes and chapter drafts and left out a small but crucial line. So you don't have to worry about going back to re-read anything, I'll simply put the correction at the beginning of this chapter. Thank you for your patience! Sorry for the mishap and inconvenience.

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

...

CH 19

Even though the others were undoubtedly behind him -'Too little, too late'- he knew he had the upper-hand in this environment. The other turtles had only been through in passing, but Raphael had made it somewhat of a safe place where he could go to be alone or meet up with Hobo-Joe.

His eyes quickly found a large unfinished scaffold. "Only one way to go," he said, a bitter smile pulling at his face. "Let's see how high you can go, Leonardo," he added, closing the distance between himself and the structure. With affinity, he began to climb.

'Hand- hand with briefcase! Foot, foot. Repeat.' He pulled himself up.

He was two and a half stories up by the time his pursuers - unwittingly minus one human- poured onto the scene.

Upon arrival, Leo surveyed the situation and adopted a strange expression that no one bothered to read, too focused on the emerald-skinned turtle that ascended. Taking a deep breath, the blue-banded ninja said: "He's going up. There's only one way down..."

...

The irony was sharp, bladed and serrated, searing into him like venomous jaws. But it had been his own weapon; his own personal bout of mutilation. In the absence of his sais, he wielded words. In the rejection of the fight, he fled. He'd been desperate for control, and he'd denied his desire to throw a punch. 'Because I'm better than that,' he thought, but even the voice in his head had a far-away ring to it, as if it was leaving. But it was just as well, because Raphael deserved it, after all the leaving he'd already done.

He wanted control. Of himself, his life... of everything. Perhaps it was his possessive, selfish, hotheaded nature, but somehow, despite his attempts, he'd lost control in an entirely different way, though it was just as destructive.

Beneath an array of stars -they looked so clear, he found himself at the peak of the large scaffold, balanced precariously on single thin beam that stretched between two rises. His feet were firmly planted; his balance was secure. Looking down, his view only slightly distorted by distance, elevation, he watched everyone fan out wide to encircle the base of the platform, to box him in.

His three brothers- 'Can I still call them that?'- were the easiest to spot from his vantage point, but a glance over his shoulder, and he spotted a very miffed Casey Jones, his face easily displaying every thought and feeling as it came to be.

Taking a quick count, Raphael's eyes widened with paranoia. Because... April... the human female, wasn't in his line of sight. Which meant, she could be anywhere. Dropping to his knees, he peered over the edge and began to visually trace the rungs and rises of the structure... in case she'd gotten the bright idea to come after him.

'No,' he thought to himself. 'They wouldn't come up and risk me jumpin'... right?' Looking down and seeing just how high he was, he wouldn't make it without pulling some clever acrobatic bullshit, and that just wasn't his domain. Then again, he'd proven his wits; he'd played both Leader and Engineer... Who's to say he couldn't go the extra mile to be a little more reflexive and agile?

His insides twisted in disgust at the idea of filling slots that the other turtles usually occupied, but it was necessary. He wasn't part of their team anymore. And, after his one-sided chat with Michelangelo back at the museum, he supposed he'd technically renounced his spot in the Hamato clan.

'Heh, membership expired. So, where does that leave me? Am I just another Foot? Shredda's pet? That ain't right... Can't be. I know I started dis shit with good intentions. Just gotta remember 'em.' He dug deep into his memory vault as his eyes continued to scan his surroundings.

It appeared that everyone was just standing around, doing nothing.

'Typical,' he thought with a sudden sneer. 'I was always the one ta rush into things, and now ya guys ain't doin' nothin'. Ya want me to hold yer fuckin' hand? I ain't one of ya no more. Can't be. With me gone, ya ain't gotta... be afraid that I'm gonna hurt Michelangelo. Ya ain't gotta worry 'bout the Foot causin' trouble. You have a lot less of a chance at spillin' blood. It's gotta be dis way. I-I'm sorry.'

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he'd made his bed and all he could do, was lie in it.

He moved to sit more comfortably on the beam, legs dangling over the edge and the briefcase in his lap. He considered opening it, to see what was so damn important, but he refrained. For all he knew, it could be a bomb that would detonate upon opening. The thought was silly, yes, but anything was possible. That damn briefcase was every bit like Schrodinger's fuckin' Cat: an idea that Raph himself had thought of many times before. Because, unlike what people expected of him, he could use his head, and he did have the ability to retain knowledge... 'Poor cat, maybe. Maybe not. Same thing fer the case. Maybe bomb; maybe some kind of Little Debbie snack cake.'

Not that it mattered now that he was pitted against the very beings he grew up with, swearing to protect.

On the ground, no one seemed to do much of anything; they were waiting him out, thinking he'd get restless and do something stupid. But he'd show them. He might not have had an infinite well of patience, but he could out-stubborn them if he tried. He wouldn't be baited. He wouldn't fall into the mould of predictability they still fought to put him in.

Raphael was his own person- er- mutant turtle, and he refused to let them define him as nothing more than the muscle, the hothead, the rebel. He was in full control, and he wouldn't stoop so low as to play into their hands.

For a moment, his resolve was firm, unshakable. His expression carefully blank. If Raphael so much as allowed a growl or snarl, he might just give in and get angry, but he couldn't afford that. Not in this situation.

For a moment, he felt incredibly stupid for allowing himself to get virtually trapped. Up so high with nowhere to go. Then again, this had seemed like a better idea before. In his mind, he reasoned that if the others wanted to get to him so badly, they'd just climb up after him and he could avoid them on the way down; he could even take time to taunt Leonardo's insecurities in the process. But of course, the plan was half-baked and came back to bite him on the ass.

At this rate, if no one made any moves, he just might get too restless and give in. Something he didn't want to do because they expected it. But really, what could he do? Unarmed, alone, against a group of skilled fighters whose strengths he was very well aware of.

He sighed inaudibly, his attention back on the metal case and his thoughts gradually falling away. He pulled the emptiness from some cosmic source and drew it in, willing himself to become numb and hollow. In most cases, he hated that feeling, but for now, it was better than the agonizing alternative. Especially when he thought about his pending fight with his brothers.

Because, as far as he could tell, there would be no more escaping.

'No more denial.'

For a moment, he almost wanted that damn case to contain a bomb, to blow his shell up, and take his heart with it. Then again, he supposed it wouldn't solve anything. He'd be just a statistic- less than a statistic because almost no one knew of his existence. There would be no proper funeral. He vaguely wondered if his makeshift ceremony would be arranged by the other turtles or his Foot brethren. His mind concocted a strange image of the two setting aside their differences to mourn his passing- but of course, it was a ridiculous thought. They'd sooner tear into each other than try for anything civil...

'Civil...'

For a moment, Raphael almost missed the warm five-fingered hand of 'Soupy' touching his shoulder, offering praise or reassurance, speaking in low tones to quell his doubt or rampant emotion. But Soupy wasn't there, and Raph didn't need any 'feel-goods' in this situation. He needed his wits.

'No more running. But I won't be spillin' blood. That's a promise.'

The thought was finite and all-consuming, reaffirming with everything in him that he'd come out of this without causing harm.

From then, it seemed as if the passing time was only truly measurable by the position of the stars and the slight alterations in the sky in terms of cloud coverage and color.

In time, it was Leo who would be the first to speak, loud so his voice would be clearly heard, his tone an articulate blend of caution and stern. "Don't do this, Raph. Come home. We'll fix everything. That's what family does." If Leo's words were meant to be placating, they weren't.

That voice, those words, Raphael could only register it all as bait: something to push him over the edge. And despite his resolve, he worried it just might succeed. He could no longer contain the deep growl that vibrated against his vocal cords before he shouted, loudly: "Say all the nice shit ya want, but there ain't no fixin'. Not from you. Ya wanna be a leader? Then lead everyone away. I ain't got no business with you."

"We won't turn our backs on you," Leo said firmly, stubbornly, his gaze trained skyward against his brother's elevated form. "Be reasonable, Raph. Come down. Don't make me send Mikey after you." The words were, he realized, intentionally antagonizing. In saying this, his rogue brother's attention was quickly averted and refocused onto the orange-banded turtle. Leo, taking advantage of the slight distraction, gave a quick and subtle hand gesture in Casey's direction, punctuating it with a upward jerk of his head.

Quickly catching on, the human placed careful hands on a protruding ledge of the scaffold and began to climb as quietly as possible, taking his time.

Meanwhile, Raph was nearly seething, his glare wholly on his youngest sibling. "Michelangelo is fast and athletic, but if I get one good punch in, I won't hesitate ta take him down!" Raph shouted bitterly, suddenly recalling that last sparring match from just over a month ago... 'I could take him, and I could do it without takin' things too far,' he told himself, but even in his thoughts... there was a notable pang of doubt. Seeing the orange-clad ninja still in place on the ground, unmoving as a forgotten chess piece, Raphael redirected his frustration at Leo. "Ya guys really don't wanna piss me off right now. I'm in a bad way, and yer makin' it worse." He warned them.

Raising his hands in a gesture of collective calm, Leo spoke again. "We don't want to p-... upset you, Raph." Leo glanced over to check on Casey's progressive climbing, but from his position, he could only guess; the vigilante was currently out of his sight and somewhere on the other side of the structure. With little thought, Leo realized he had to keep Raphael busy, distracted; had to keep him talking. Had to reduce the hostility at least a little. He chose his next words carefully with the intent of changing the subject and diverting his rogue brother's apparently dismal train of thought. "Raph, what happened to your mask?" There were a million other questions in his head, but none he could fathom that would cause anything less than anger and distress from his flighty sibling.

"I lost it. Big fuckin' deal," Raph spat. "What business is it of yours anyways? I killed a kid, y'know. Isn't that a bigger deal? I did it, but I got over it." And there it was, spoken aloud. A confession. He'd already accepted the murder, but after such a short time, he'd found himself thinking of the late teen less and less, only reminded by that bandana tacked to the wall and Shredder's words of encouragement: 'For late Pennington's honor.' In truth, without those, Raphael supposed he'd exhausted the grief of the actual killing. And, to an extent, that fact worried him.

True remorse was lost on him.

It had only been a month. He should be a mess, seeking forgiveness and working to right his wrongs, but... nothing could give back the life he stole. He knew this, and yet... 'How long should I fuckin' pay fer one accident?' the thought caught him off guard, but it was acknowledged. - He was conflicted. Confused. And, being confused, he was no more in control of himself now than he was a month ago. Despite the solitary bouts of writing, the swallows of vodka, and the excess training alongside the Foot.

'I-I still have no control. Where's that strength I prided myself on? Where's my innate desire ta fight?' He groaned in frustration before reaffirming his grip on the metal briefcase and bringing it upward, slamming it into his forehead with a near-dizzying force. The instant headache was enough to jar his thoughts, and he blinked away the blurry aftermath.

From the ground, Leo watched carefully, keeping track of every twitch and sigh from his rogue brother. Because, clearly, something wasn't right, and at this moment, he wouldn't put it passed his younger brother to just jump and leave them all to clean up. The thought was sickening.

Leo's mental mantra was along the lines of: 'I need to keep him talking. Casey needs more time.' "Raph, the mask was cut cleanly by something sharp. The last time we saw you, you appeared to have minimal injury, but I can't imagine a blade getting that close to your face without-" Leo trailed off, catching a flicker of motion against the grating of dark sky above.

Casey was less than fifteen yards away from Raphael, his balance careful, knees bent and arms spread wide as he began to close in.

Mikey and Don were still grounded on opposite sides of the scaffold, Don paying close attention to everything going on and everyone's current position. By Don's calculations something was definitely off -not just about Raphael either. After a moment's thought, he realized what that something was. "Leo," he said immediately, voice tinged with a bit of urgency. "Where's April?"

That caught the leader's attention and he moved to point on instinct where he figured the redheaded female would be, but... he stopped mid-raise of the hand, a crease forming between his eye ridges to articulate uncertainty. "Don... find April; she could have twisted an ankle or something on the way here. Or worse."

Don gave a nod but was hesitant to leave. He caught sight of Casey's current location and Mikey's jittery tip-toeing. He considered Raphael's position and his faith in Leonardo as the leader. With a deep breath, he decided that everything would be fine. No one appeared to be in danger -aside from the sheer height of the scaffold. And so, he ignored his other worries and turned his shell to everyone, intent on following his leader's order and making sure their other human friend was alright.

Meanwhile, Mikey's attention had been wholly on Raphael. His brother had said hurtful things, but he had to imagine that Raphael was hurting so much more, if it had come to that. The fact that he didn't jump straight into a physical fight had to mean something, and Michelangelo suddenly missed the aggressive side of his brother. Something was missing. Or maybe he was missing something. They were all so close to Raphael, but still so far away. He had to wonder, even if they managed to bring the turtle back to the lair, would it be enough? Would they even be bringing home Raphael? Or had too much damage been done in the short amount of time they'd been apart?

He shook his head hard, trying to force the thought away. He refused to quit on his family.

His blue eyes roving just a bit, Mikey caught sight of Casey's perch, and an idea struck the youngest. In his mind, he recalled his own speed and agility, and with the desire to assist in any way possible, he jumped onto a section of the structure and scaled with ease, silent with his every move. In a fraction of the time it had taken either Raph or Casey to get to the top, Michelangelo had made it to the other side of the beam at the peak of the scaffold.

Raph sat in the middle, his gaze trained downwards; he'd just watch Donatello run off.

On Raphael's left, Casey; on his right, Mikey.

The unmasked turtle was thoroughly trapped. He could do many things, but he couldn't take on both the agile reptile and his former best friend in such an environment, weaponless no less. He had to think quick. Unfortunately, while he was quite capable, this wasn't his strong suit; he wasn't really a leader; he wasn't the play-maker; he wasn't the big brain behind the more complicated operations. He'd proven that he could operate as both leader and engineer, yes, but he'd had help; and now, he was alone.

No one was on his side. No backup. No one to have his shell when things got bad.

He was on his own. His enemy more than just the other turtles and Casey -his enemy was also the world.

For not being able to accept him. For branding him a freak and an outcast. For forcing him into the shadows...

'Fuckin' shadows. Always stuck in the dark... Even now, as close ta bein' free as I can be, and I've gotta practically fight fer my life, and it's still fuckin' dark out.'

And so embittered, practical tactics be damned, he reassured himself that the briefcase was still in his possession -an act that both of his would-be captors took notice of, before he inched his way along the beam in Casey's direction.

Rash decisions were more his style, always had been, and he finally allowed himself to fall back on them. It felt natural, easy. Just act and think later.

He shut his mind down.

Actions... always better than words. Words got in the way. Words fucked things over.

Raph was done talking. His jaw tight and teeth bared, he approached the human male.

"Raph?" Casey asked, his gaze suddenly on the briefcase as he realized the turtle was getting closer. For a moment, he wondered if Raphael might hit him with it and knock him into gravity's unforgiving hands. "C'mon, Raph. Buddy. Pal, talk ta me..."

Raphael said nothing; his expression caught between grim and menacing. Closing in, he fisted the fabric of Casey's shirt. He utilized the strength he'd worked so hard for, and promptly lifted Casey and hurled him in Michelangelo's direction. An apology burned on his tongue, but he held it back.

Because words were useless.

Surprised, Casey cried out as he crashed into the orange-clad ninja and both fell from the lengthy structure. Quick and true to the nature of his own abilities, Michelangelo grasped onto a sturdy metal rung and caught himself halfway down; he dangled, Casey falling below him and snatching hold of the turtle's ankle.

Decidedly safe, Casey waited for his breathing to even out before he said "Well, that could've gone better." He offered a sheepish grin.

Mikey nodded. "Yeah. Raph sure is shell-bent on not going home, huh? But, at least he's alive." He paused, then forced a smile. When he spoke again, his voice was loud, delightful, and terribly too chipper. "So, after this, do you think I have a shot at being a stunt-double?"

Casey offered a pity chuckle at the lame attempt to lighten the mood. "A little on the green-side, aren't ya, bonehead? Now, let's get our feet on somethin' solid."

Once assured that his brother and human friend had made it to safety, Leo trained his focus on Raphael, who had managed to make it to the ground in a few rough leaps, swings, and bounds, landing harshly enough to stun his legs momentarily. Seeing this, Leo opened his mouth to direct a command at Don, but... the purple-clad ninja was long gone. With a huff, Leo instead raced after his unmasked brother. He didn't know if it was determination or some form of grudge, but he had to get Raphael. His team- his family- depended on it. He refused to fail.

Leo began to close in on Raph, and hope started to settle comfortably in his chest. He was so close; his legs carried him fast and his stamina was still going strong. He pushed off from the ground, preparing to tackle his younger brother. Just before he could make contact, something happened. He didn't quite catch it until it was too late, though the slight motion in his peripherals should have alerted him; should have clued him in a solid second sooner as countless smoke pellets rained down into the area around the turtles and erupted in a fierce screen of white.

Leo somehow missed Raphael completely, hitting the ground and skidding on his plastron, gaining dirt, pebbles, and various debris in his forearms and knees. He inhaled the smoke, coughed, and waved his hands, trying to clear the sudden burst of chemical that seized his throat and burned his eyes. One thing he noted was that it tasted wrong; not like the usual smokescreens that were so often used. He coughed a couple more times; inhaling it left his brain fuzzy, dizzy, and slightly disoriented. When he was finally able to get his bearings... Raphael was gone.

Again.

'Sensei, forgive me. I have failed.'

...

Donatello found April less than a block away from the museum. Duct tape nearly mummifying her. He winced at the sight and tried to decide the best way to remove it with the least amount of strain. His first thought was to utilize the aid of a solvent to ease the adhesion before removal, but he didn't have any on him, and he was certain April didn't want to wait. So, he started at her head, gripping a piece of protruding tape and working to unravel it.

It was fine- minimal hair pulling- until he got to April's eyes and saw how worried she looked, how wet her cheeks were from crying. But even that was better than the wail that came when her mouth was free of tape.

"April! I came as soon as I could. What happened?" He bit his lip as he continued to work the tape away from her, hoping a conversation might distract her from the ripping/pulling sensation.

Gasping, April turned her frantic gaze downward, appearing in deep thought before looking Don in the eyes. "You won't believe this, Donnie, but it was the Foot!"

"The Foot?" Don echoed with a hint of surprise. "Strange, they've been virtually inactive since...-"

"I know, I know," she cut him off, in a hurry to be heard. "But you'll never guess what they did!"

"Did they... hurt you?" Don asked, shoulders suddenly tense.

April blinked for a long hard minute before shaking her head. "Nothing like that."

Don's shoulders sagged with relief.

"But... someone did get hurt, and this was the baffling part. They turned on one of their own. There were four, but three of them beat up on one!"

...

[Later, Foot Central]

Raphael collapsed in a heap, almost literally dropped before the Shredder. Stress and guilt were eating away at him, sapping him of any fight. It was degrading, that after the night he had, he'd be once again kneeling before Shredder, staring absently into the metal shin guards of his armor.

Because he was armored.

Normally, Raphael would take the time to throw a barb his way, but now, he just couldn't muster up the energy. He didn't know if he'd succeeded or failed his mission at this point, but he knew for sure that he'd failed at everything else.

"Rise, Raphael," the Shredder said, his tone betraying nothing.

Almost on auto-pilot, Raphael rose to his feet, albeit lethargically. He kept his eyes trained downwards. "Shredda, I got the case-thing from the museum," he said.

Shredder gave a curt nod and drew the case into his own hand. "Anything else you wish to tell me about your outing?"

Raphael inhaled shakily; his body convulsed with pent-up emotions but he worked to force them down; those emotions would do him no good here. "The... initial mission went flawless. Stealth and all. We got in, got the case, and came out. But..."

"But?" Shredded coaxed when Raphael's tongue seemed to quit working.

"But, on the way out, we ran... uh... inta some complications. Y'see, my brothers-"

"The repulsive reptiles!" Shredder snapped, voice rough.

Raph, if possible, paled. He curled his toes almost reflexively. "Yeah, the reptiles... they showed up with-" he continued his explanation but stopped for a moment. His mind worked with surprising clarity as he decided to stretch the truth... just a little. After all, what harm could come from leaving April and Casey out of the equation? -"Shredda, they showed up with the intent ta stop me. Thought I was robbin' the museum or somethin'. Things got a little outta hand."

Shredder took a moment to consider the words, the tone, and the hesitation. "Did you engage in battle?"

"No," Raphael said quickly, easily, truthfully. "I-I hit Leo with the-"

"Leonardo," Shredder corrected.

Raphael winced at his mistake. The more he verbally messed up, the greater his punishment would be in the end. But he had to get his words out. "I hit Leonardo with the metal case-thingy. Hope nothin' in there was breakable."

Again, Shredder appeared thoughtful. Then, at long last, he raised a hand and planted it on Raphael's shoulder.

Almost instantly, the turtle's tension began to fade. Despite how little, he craved the gesture, the feeling of someone offering praise, comfort, or guidance without getting too close- hugs were suffocating, but this... Raphael could appreciate this.

Suddenly, the grip of that hand on his shoulder tightened, fingers digging in hard, hard enough to make Raphael wonder if it would leave any visible mark on his dark leathery skin. Regardless, he refused to portray signs of discomfort.

Shredder's next words were more than enough to jar Raphael as he spoke: "Tell me, Raphael, at what point in your little story does Ms O'Neil and Mr Jones come into the picture?"

Raphael's eyes widened without his consent. "How did you-" 'How could he possibly know?!'

"You tried your hand at leader, Raphael, and you failed."

"But, Shredda, I-" He was almost pleading, his heart pounding. He was suddenly reminded of the last time he'd tried and failed to talk to the rat... He felt like a distraught child trying to get help, but no one would listen... No one would understand. No one even tried. But, at least in this case, the lack of faith was warranted.

"Your Foot have all come back, dragging you from the battlefield. I am pleased that you have put your trust in them, but still... as leader, you have failed. One of your men did not come out unscathed. He's in the infirmary, and his life hangs in the balance at the hands of Ms O'Neil; he was bludgeoned with a brick, if I am to understand correctly. Should he pass, let it be on your conscience."

'But... April would never...- She wasn't there at the construction site. But-!'

Raphael suddenly felt worse than empty. His thoughts raced, trying to pull up a memory of what might have happened to any of his ninja. He'd left them at the museum, and he didn't see them again until after the scaffold fiasco- and even then, he was dizzy and sick from whatever new chemical was being packed into their fancy pellets.

He could recall nothing of significance on the trip back to Central.

'April didn't follow. She wasn't anywhere near the scaffold. Then Donatello left... What if the two of 'em decided ta-' Raphael's thoughts refused to complete themselves, for which he was admittedly grateful. The little faith he had in humanity couldn't take a blow this bad.

Finally drawing his crushing grip away from the turtle, Shredder spoke again, voice filtered. "You have failed, Raphael." His hands found the mutant again, this time going to the strange device that acted as both a headset and a collar. With ease, he removed it and set it aside. "You failed the family that didn't want you-"

"Fer someone who didn't want me," Raphael cut in, voice quiet, drained, distant, "they sure tried pretty hard ta get me back. Maybe... Maybe I could go home? They might take me back, y'know..."

If the Shredder heard, he didn't acknowledge the words. "You failed your wretched family. You went against the teachings of the rat who took you in. You took a life. Then, in coming here to wipe the slate, you potentially endangered your own ninja. You are not fit to be leader. Should you continue to hold any position in this clan, you will learn to appreciate it. Because, apart from being a mutant, Raphael, you are not special. And, despite myself, no one wants you. No one sees any value in you. Raphael, you should not exist."

Anything the armored man said after that fell on deaf ears.

...

[And, there we go. Next up, we'll shed some light on things and then progress a bit.]