Title: Validation

Summary: Never the perfect son or student or brother, Raphael does the unthinkable. Away from the lair and into an allegiance with Shredder, honor is replaced by his pronounced desire for validation.

Disclaimer: I have no ownership ties to the TMNT fandom or anything else I might reference. Credit to those who do.

SPECIAL THANKS TO! Bella13blue, my own personal Nemesis! (Because everybody needs one.) MY Nemesis has been a good friend; she's a great soundboard and has been kind enough to encourage and offer suggestions on my work for this fic.

Author's Notes: This chapter WAS a lot longer and split into two parts, but for editing, I just split it into two chapters instead. This chapter touches up on the Hamato clan. Next chapter picks up with Raphael.

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

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CH 31

[Hamato clan]

Without Raphael, the only static element in the sewers was the segregation among its sentient occupants.

Splinter had tried a hundred times to write an appropriate letter to Raphael at Leonardo's insistence, but the words would not come easy, and whatever he managed to put on paper never seemed good enough. He'd lost a son to his own carelessness and neglect. The time apart from his rebellious son had caused a pit of despair to consume him, and he'd all but given up. He knew he shouldn't have, but the hope he had for his son's return had slipped away. His family was falling apart, and all he could do was watch. Any attempt he'd made to subdue the remaining turtles had started with good intentions and ended in tears and angry words from any or all of the mutant teenagers. The last of his hope had been dashed upon hearing the first utterance of 'I hate you.' After that, he sought solace in meditation, though even that seemed futile. The Astral Plane became a place of security; even if he could not reach out to the one who needed him most, he still tried. He owed his family that much.

It was a mess.

Leonardo himself rarely took breaks from meditation for food, hygiene, and light training, but his heart wasn't in perfecting a kata or asserting his leadership. His heart wasn't in the dojo or along the rooftops of the city. His mind was a million miles away; his body was on auto-pilot; and his heart was on a constant search for his missing brother. Part of him wondered, if he'd taken the time to really hear Raphael, to truly listen, if things might be different. Leo knew the burden of being a leader; he knew the complications of balancing that with brotherhood. But one thing that troubled him most, was that he so completely failed at both positions. He'd failed the family and lost a brother; he'd failed the team and lost their source of strength. Their unity depleted. And while he was so close to making progress and working to mend the rift that had formed, 'close' just wasn't enough. Like horseshoes and hand grenades.

It was a disaster.

Donatello's presence at the Lair was becoming a rarity. From dusk til dawn, he was topside. Searching endlessly. Desperate. He'd taken up a trench coat and hat to roam the streets. The crowd of humans, all faceless and meaningless for all he was concerned, were nothing but a nuisance as he searched for a familiar shade of green- to no avail. He'd abandoned logic. He followed Casey and shook down thugs. He questioned bystanders and grew angry when answers didn't turn up. Of course, he kept up that calm facade, but the mask was slipping. He could tell by the way his own hands curled into fists without conscious thought. He could tell by the dull heat that swelled from within, and by the foul images that played through his head when he managed a few minutes of fitful rest. Images of himself battering a masked thug... and the mask coming off... to reveal his own lost brother. And, for those dreams, Donatello would jolt awake with a silent scream and scramble for the old, cold and stale coffee- in the very same cup that was handle-less and covered in hairline fractures that had been carefully sealed. -Due to those dreams, more often than not, he didn't sleep. Didn't dream. He just pushed himself onwards, drawing energy from an already over-taxed reservoir. Because when he dreamed, the pain was just as real as when he was awake, but at least when he was conscious he could control how he reacted. He could bury that pain and force the calm facade; he could play the part of the pacifist or the aggressor if he chose. He could...-

It was a catastrophe.

Michelangelo left the Lair a fraction as much as his genius brother, but when he did, it was almost always to tag along or help cover more ground when they searched. Yet, a few times, even though he so badly wanted to find Raphael, he found himself needing to escape, ditching his route in favor of climbing through April's apartment window. He found himself curled up on the couch next to her with her arms wrapped protectively around him. And he found himself telling her everything. About what he read in Raph's Journals. About how things were at the Lair. About that time he killed a human- a little girl... It had been an accident. But ultimately, it had been his hands that knocked her from the overpass. His eyes that watched an 18-wheeler slam into her. And it had been his own arms that gathered and cradled her shattered and lifeless form when passersby feigned blindness... And it all started because he wanted to play a game of Tag with a curious human girl who didn't scream at the sight of him... In his excitement, he tagged her a little too hard, knocked her off balance, and sent her plummeting. He couldn't get to her in time; he couldn't save her. And in the end, he left her body to be found and dealt with by the other humans. Mikey had been powerless to help. It had been his fault, but worse than the death itself was the fact that he could never have carried her to a hospital; he could never attend her funeral; and he could never tell the girl's parents how sorry he was. Because he wasn't human. Because he wasn't meant to be part of their world. Because, all he was meant to have, was his brothers and sensei and their enemies. And now, minus one brother, he was once again powerless to help. Useless. The heart of the clan, and he couldn't even do his job. If he was a heart, he was a broken one, and not even Donnie's diligent fingers and quick-drying modeling glue could fix him. But, broken or not, he attempted smiles when he could afford it. For them. For his family. For Raphael. For the human girl he couldn't save. And maybe, a little for himself.

It was a tragedy.

Everyone was doing their own thing, trying to get by, wrestle their demons, and keep faith that their family would be made whole again. Someday.

Though no one would say it aloud, they were all beginning to wonder if Raphael was still okay, if he was captured, or even if he was still alive.

Leo had, a number of times, tried to assure his family that Raph had to be alright... because his spirit was still intact.

But the doubts were still there, if unspoken. That is, until that NEWS report- the interview with the scantily-clad woman that described her savior: "And, oh my God! I didn't get a good look at his hands, but I think he only had three fingers! And he was holding these weird fork-things!"

A family meeting of sorts had been called, and the turtles all occupied the area that served as their living room.

Don's eyes narrowed in determination but his mouth quirked into an odd smile as he regarded the television. "At least we know Raphael is well enough. If he's still patrolling the streets of New York, we have to come across him eventually. There's only so many places he could be..."

Leo nodded and slumped down on the couch next to Don, a respective gap between them. "He's alive, I told you. I just... need to reach his spirit."

Mikey stood between the other turtles and the TV; he placed his hands on his hips and leaned forward, scowling. "Don't you guys see what's going on? Just... take a sec and think about it. We're falling apart. Not just because Raph is gone, but because we're letting ourselves fall away from each other. We almost never do anything together anymore. We don't eat together; we don't patrol together- unless you count what Donnie does- and we just... We don't even train! I actually miss training! I miss sparring. We used to have fun, and now... we probably don't even function like a team anymore. Losing Raph is one thing, but now... it's like no one's even trying to be a family. All we have is each other; if we lose that... then...-" He trailed off, letting his lack of continuance give his brothers a chance to draw their own conclusions, dredge up their own horrific possibilities.

Don looked away and processed what his youngest brother was saying; the sincerity in his brother's words was exceptionally lucid.

Leo, on the other hand, kept his gaze fixed directly on the orange-banded turtle. "You're right," he said simply. "We need to make time for each other. We need to regroup. We need to come together and reclaim what we've lost. As a family and a team. But first, we need a plan..."

Hearing that, Don quickly focused on his oldest brother and his eyes glimmered with hope. This was the first time in a while the blue-banded ninja had suggested something outside the spirit world. "A plan? That, Leo, is the most intelligent thing you've said in weeks, possibly months." He exchanged a brief glance with Michelangelo before returning his attention to Leo. "Make no mistake, Leo; we appreciate that you were trying to be a better brother, but we still need a leader."

Mikey nodded quickly and approached the sofa; he took a seat, squeezing himself between his brothers and slipping an arm around each of them, pulling them close in a three-way half-hug. "We sure do need a leader! And we need our genius brother too! We need each other!"

Leo smiled kindly, the gears in his head spinning, trying earnestly to concoct a workable plan that would aid the search-and-retrieval of Raphael.

Don drew in a breath before adding: "Don't forget, we need the heart too, Mikey. We need all of us, together."

Suddenly, Leo pulled away from his brothers and fixed them with an intense steely-eyed gaze. His expression was stern, a hinted warning. "Be careful with this line of thinking, bros. I don't want anyone pressuring each other into-"

"It's alright, Leo," Don interrupted. "We know. Probably better than you. We know that Raph felt pressured into his role, and we won't force it on him... But I know my place, and I'm alright with it."

"Me too!" Mikey piped up, grinning widely. "But if it means bringing Raph home, I'll be whoever I have to! I'll be anyone from Scarface to Mary Poppins! But first- Leo, do the leader-thing! Make a plan! Lead the way!" He punched a fist into the air to show his enthusiasm.

Leo nodded and began to contemplate. After a moment or two, he spoke up. "Alright, I think I've got something. We know Raph is still in New York, which is good. We know he's still taking down criminals. Don, I need you to work your computer magic. Start paying close attention to criminal activities, locations, and how they're dealt with; it might clue us in. Mikey, you and Splinter can keep an eye on the NEWS for anything helpful- like that interview you found. In my spare time, I'll either meditate or help where I can be of use. At night, we'll patrol and search. We're a family. We need to act like it. That's the only way we can even hope to bring Raphael home. No more segregation among us turtles."

Michelangelo wiggled his butt in his seat in anticipation, hope suddenly skyrocketing at hearing Leo's preachy leader-voice. "All for one, and one for all, right?"

Don was smiling softly, true calmness washing over him as he nodded and, for the first time in far too long, he couldn't wait to get in front of his computer; his fingers twitched with muscle-memory.

There was hope. There was faith. There was determination. And now, there was a plan.

Leo summed it up with one last sentence. "No turtle gets left behind."

...

[Chapter done. Next chapter picks up with Raphael. It needs a minor edit and should be up tomorrow.]