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: Short chapter here, but it more than serves its purpose. Also, I quote Oscar Wilde here.
Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
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CH 25
Emotions could be stifling; Raphael knew this much. He was never the leader, the brain, or the heart, but he wasn't stupid either. More than muscle, he was nerve, and like any and all nerves in the body, he felt everything. It was no wonder why control was so hard for him to grasp and maintain, but he'd been doing better since the distractions were lifted.
With Central as his home and an endless number of black-clad ninja as his brethren, he nearly felt whole; yet, it was undeniable that something was missing. Something crucial to his existence.
His mind conjured green blurs- faces that were once so clear but now looked out of focus, like smudged fingerprints.
He knew their names, their faces, their colors... He knew their former relations to him. But there was a distinct detachment. In a child's sing-song voice, he could almost hear the chant of: 'One of these things is not like the other.' And he was always the 'thing' that didn't belong. Too raw, too passionate, and too unstable. Too uncontrollable. Animalistic. Malignant.
A cancerous tumor among the Hamato clan. That's what he was. And with the precision of a surgeon, that tumor had been removed; its malignancy had been treated and cured, and the remaining cluster of cells had been implanted elsewhere- among the Foot, where it became deeply rooted.
In every way, Raphael was an anomaly; his bullheadedness and stubborn nature only goaded error and misjudgement, but somehow, in his new environment, he'd become something more than an overlooked statistic.
He became a stable variable waiting to be applied to an equation. He waited to find his place among the numbers, and he even chanced an estimation at their product. Ironically, he hated anything to do with mathematics. Had he come up with the metaphor himself, he'd probably be royally pissed. Probably have to take several deep breaths and then find a way to burn off the sudden spike of adrenaline fueled by feeling.
But for now, he was not thinking up analogies, metaphors, figurative bullshit that would lend him nothing but grief. He was not an emotional wreck driving further into a state of madness. In fact, he was carefully blank, awaiting orders. Awaiting praise. Awaiting whatever the human before him had to offer.
Like a child pining for attention.
'Look at me. Did you see that? Did I do good?' Simple words any excitable or insecure child might say on a regular basis. Words that Raphael had never- and would never- utter. But the thought was there... the need to have his work credited, his worth known and brought into light.
His need to be given value and appreciation.
Raphael could only stare, silent, anxious beneath the facade of apathy. Beneath his carefully pieced-together exterior was a well of boiling emotions, all fighting to get to the surface, but he quelled them, forced them beneath his flesh and down into his gut where they twisted and knotted and risked making him feel ill. The nausea was a small price to pay, to keep himself in check as he regarded the armored man.
The Shredder.
The one human who might be able to accept the rogue mutant as something more than a tool or a monster. Possibly, maybe, somehow, the man might call him son.
And Raphael considered it, the implications. In a way, this would be his chance to be the shining pupil, the perfect son... This would be his chance to garnish praise and affection; his chance to tout his own sense of honor- something he'd fiercely denied in the past, regardless to how evident its presence might have been.
Because, honor was something that belonged to Leonardo. Not Raphael. Just as none of the other turtles -the repulsive reptiles- in the Hamato clan could step in and fill the role of being a reckless hothead, Raphael could not- would not- steal their positions. Everyone had their own domain to rule; the only difference was, among them all, he was the only one completely dissatisfied with his. The concept was childish and ignorant at best, petulant without a doubt, but it was all-consuming for the brooding and angsty teenager.
There was more to him than the others were willing to accept, and they opted to push him into this tiny little box of expectations.
For them, he filled those expectations. Tenfold. Then he over-filled it until there was simply nothing to do but rebel against the bindings he'd been forced into. His rebellious nature turned spiteful. In trying to elude the spite, he turned bitter and hateful. In trying to hide such negativity, he began to shut down his mind and act solely on instinct and impulse. In doing so, he found himself along a path of regret.
Regret drove him into a state of cowardice. Being anything like a coward drove him back to hatred. Hatred burned through him like acid.
And when he was alone and could do no harm to others, sometimes that acid didn't choke him up too much. Sometimes, it was tolerable. Sometimes, it was okay. It had to be.
Raphael wasn't much of a reader, but he'd found the suited words before, in a book he'd borrowed- without returning- from his genius sibling. The words stuck with him, somehow, even after all these years. Those words, dialogue. A quote from a hedonistic man in an era he could scarcely understand.
The words: "Anything becomes a pleasure if one does it too often."
And, caught in a sea of loathing, destruction, and despair, Raphael decided it was true. He hated his anger, and he grew angry at his hatred, and the cycle continued until it devoured him in his entirety. Faced with the fact that he had little else to look forward to in life, he accepted the feelings; and, in truth, he didn't mind it after a while.
It became a means of strength.
It was only a problem when he lashed out against those he sought to protect. After all, he could protect them from enemies, but... protecting them from himself, it was too hard.
But those turtles, that family- the Hamato clan, they were all so far away. Out of reach. A distant memory wrapped in a haze of distress.
He'd been lonely, lost, confused, and hurt...
But now, a new family was so close to accepting him. Unlikely humans who had pulled him from the shadows and into something entirely new but not unwelcome. And he was one task away from acceptance.
That task would be rewarded greatly, sating his desire to belong. The one thing he wanted more than anything, to fit into a greater picture without being jammed into a slot... -Like a puzzle. He didn't want to be simply lined up and pushed in, trapped between other pieces. It was a selfish thought, but he wanted to be part of something without feeling smothered or neglected. It was a nearly impossible thing to ask for, and yet, he was so close to obtaining it.
But he couldn't let his desperation show, not right now. Not when everything was so close to working in his favor.
For now, the mutant kept his emotions at bay.
He feigned patience as he accepted his new equipment: his gear. The long-winded gadgetry that Shredder had previously spoken of came in the form of a new belt. He discarded his black one in favor of a cayenne-colored device with three rings and a heated panel that rested over his abdomen.
The panel was sectioned into six facets, each designed to hold its own nuclear-reactive chemical or element. According to the Shredder, an engineer designed the belt to adjust to the core temperature of the wearer and utilize radioactive decay to produce warmth through thermocouples connected at the heat-sink. The generated heat would be partly converted into electrical energy through the Seeback effect, and the arrangement of the semiconductors would allow the energy to flow at a constant loop, resulting in a heat source that would last as potentially long as the Plutonium power cell's half-life.
Housed by a sturdy containment unit with a thickness of 22 micrometers, the heated belt had the potential to last a lifetime, provided that the unit remain firmly in tact without spilling the radioactive agents.
By default, the reactors within the belt, despite the consistent electrical charge, would be triggered when the wearer's core temperature dropped below a designated point.
As Shredder simplified further to a rather apathetic -if not bored- Raphael: "Wear it, and eliminate the risk of physical dormancy."
The turtle couldn't help voicing his obvious concern. "And yer sure it's safe? Ain't it supposed ta be dangerous to have radioactive shit-"
"Raphael, do I have your trust, or don't I?"
The turtle shut his mouth and gave a nod without hesitation as he allowed the belt to be fastened behind his shell. He stared down at the sub-divided panels resting along his abdomen and was mildly surprised by the almost-tingly sensation of heat that began to pool within his stomach as the belt registered his naturally low body temperature and reacted accordingly.
It wasn't necessarily a bad or alarming feeling, but it was definitely... different.
After feeling the heat spread further within, Raphael decided the sensation was tolerable. He slipped his sais through a set of holsters at either side of the new belt and turned his attention to the additional gear that was being provided.
A respirator with a custom-fit to cover his uniquely shaped mutant mouth, colored cayenne to match the belt.
When Raphael regarded the armored human over the need for the respirator, the man simply explained: "New York is overly polluted. We must think of your health, Raphael. Wouldn't it be a shame for your weak immunity to be your downfall?"
Raphael offered no protest, though he refused to have anyone put the device on him; it seemed too invasive of his personal space, to have anyone put their hands in his face. Instead, he took it in his own three-fingered hands and cautiously brought it closer, rested it over his muzzle, and secured it in place by himself. In an instant, he could taste the difference between the regular and filtered air; he could feel the difference in the way he drew in the life-sustaining oxygen from the filtered grate; while the air was decidedly cleaner, it forced him to further control his breathing. And, as he spoke next, he could hear the slight difference in his voice as it passed through the metal. "We done yet?" A simple question that showed his obvious disdain for the nuance.
"Almost," Shredder said simply before presenting Raphael with the final pieces of his new attire.
A set of heavy shoulder armor, each with three short, sharp spikes that spoke volumes of intimidation rather than function. On the metal plate below the spikes were embossed flames tinged in red...
The human took it upon himself to personally set the armored pieces on the turtle's shoulders, subjoining them in place with the utility straps that had already been adorned. Then, Shredder stepped back to look at the turtle in appraisal. The steely glint in his eyes held a bout of admiration- not for the mutant that stood before him, but for his own hand in shaping the reptile.
With a hum of approval, Shredder addressed the turtle's pending objective. "Raphael, the Golden Shuriken is being held in the Vault of a facility I will be giving you the address to. I have not been able to attain a copy of the blueprints, but I can give you its estimated location, as well as a bit of forewarning on the security you are likely to encounter. This opportunity is time-sensitive, so you'd do best not to dally. Your biggest problem should simply be getting inside. While I assure you that it is not the most high-tech establishment, they compensate with man-power. Once you successfully infiltrate, it is imperative that you exercise caution. Though you will have little to worry about, as I have taken liberty of... bribing a few officials into blanking out the cameras and looking the other way." When he finished speaking he allowed his eyes to roam over the turtle once more.
Apart from the emerald skin, obvious shell-factor, and burning gaze, the reptile was nearly unrecognizable as the misguided accidental-killer Shredder had taken in not so long ago. The new and nearly-excessive training coupled with oral steroids and amphetamines had turned him into a high-strung and easily-motivated being. His upper-body mass had increased and the sheer power behind even his least calculative attacks was something to marvel. His strength, speed, and mental capacity had grown into something that could easily back up the cockiness and arrogance that hung around him more often than not.
The difference between the before and after was astonishing.
While Shredder surveyed and deliberated, silence became a barrier between himself and the mutant.
That barrier lasted only a moment or two, until the human shattered it. "You have grown much in such a short amount of time, Raphael. You have made me proud. Continue to do this... For both our sakes, succeed in acquiring the Golden Shuriken. I have gone to great lengths to assist you in this task. Do not fail me, my son." The words that left his metal-encased mouth were bait, but they were also a promise and a warning. Their every meaning was clear.
Hearing the words and tone, Raphael's insides twisted in a way he couldn't fathom. Before he even knew what he was doing, without prompt, he dropped down on one knee and bowed his head low in reverence. "You'll get yer relic-thingy tonight," he gave his word, his vow, a promise on his honor as a ninja and as a sentient being. Then, under his breath, he whispered words he never imagined using. Through the grate of his respirator, the words came with a slight distortion, sounding just a little thicker than he'd wanted. But he'd spoken them, nonetheless: those words... "I'll get it fer ya. I promise, Master Shredda."
Raphael's head was low, too low to catch the sudden flash of amusement and triumph in the human's eyes. Even if he had looked up, he would probably be too lost in thought to really notice and process what Shredder's perplexing expression might have meant. His own thoughts were too busy focusing on the strange almost-sick feeling that lurked within and suddenly made itself known. All because of two little words.
'Master Shredda...' It was a whole new confession. The official abandonment of the rat that had pulled him into the sewers and expected him to be happy with his position in life. It was the official acceptance of his role beneath a new master. And while he felt sick and bile threatened to rise in his throat, he refused to be upset over the matter.
His own choices had landed him here.
The Hamato clan was safe and better off without him. And he was better off without them.
It was some sort of universal truth. And he'd hide from it no longer.
'It's better this way.'
...
[Another chapter down. More on the way!]