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: *insert A/N here* I defend Raphael's later immature comments by reminding readers that he IS a teenager. And he's TRYING to be irritating. Plus, it was a fun bit to write.
Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
...
CH 32
[Foot Central]
The infirmary, with it's white-white walls, so pristine, unblemished, immaculate. Even after it had been regularly lived in by the same single occupant for a lengthy period of time, it still retained the scent of disinfectant. That hospital smell, minus the added aroma of sickness. Despite the initial discomfort that could be drawn from the scent, Raphael had gotten used to it. He subconsciously drew in the anti-bacterial pungency and associated it with residential possession.
He still acknowledged that the room was entitled: Infirmary, but in an almost wordless sense, he'd claimed it as something personal- in the way that humans can be lent something, have that something for so long, and eventually refer to it as their own- as if they've forgotten its origin. There is no thought to it; it simply happens. It is not a tempt at theft, nor is it an abolition of who said item belongs to. It is simply a misplaced ideal that warps and weaves itself into one's brain.
A distorted thought with equally distorted values.
In a sense, the infirmary had become Raphael's room. There were no posters tacked to the walls. There was no stack of magazines. There were no weights, collective junk with varying worth, or... anything that would hint at the occupant's personality or preferences or hobbies, unless you count the notebooks...
But Raphael would just as soon forget about those spiral-edged books. If he didn't need to think about them, he wouldn't. Those books were cages for his demons, and the less time he spent with them, the better.
He stashed them habitually beneath the bed. There were only a couple, and he hadn't written in them in a while, but he liked knowing where they were, knowing that he could avoid it if he chose to do so. He liked having it beneath him rather than above him, surrounding him, suffocating him, closing in... The very idea left him feeling unsettled, and he briefly considered claustrophobia, but he pushed the thought aside.
He didn't mind closed-in spaces, not really. His own room- the infirmary- its door was shut more often than not, and he never felt too closed in. Hell, even the too-white walls weren't too much of an issue anymore.
The room was as bland as ever, but at least it was constant, static. The room was mostly empty, save for the turtle's bed, heat lamp, an outdated stereo that he never bothered to mess with, a few medical tools and doohickeys (not necessarily his; they were simply there. Furniture. Part of the scenery. Something to look at when the white walls made him nauseous.); then there was a plastic cup at the sink, along with the little planner full of pills that he ventured to routinely, and of course... Raphael's gear was scattered along the counter.
That gear, it was all so different from the red mask and brown leather belt and pads he once wore.
A new respirator. Shin guards and bracers. His spiked shoulder armor. His RTG heat-belt. His fully-stocked utility straps. His newly-upgraded headset. New elbow and knee pads of coiled metal and black leather. And now... a helmet.
The array of protective-wear was getting rather extensive and, while he appreciated it, it was always a relief to strip down for a bit of rest, regardless of how fitful that rest might be.
That night, as he lay in bed beneath the inviting warmth of the UVB rays coming from the lamp, he found himself once again drifting off. His mind slipped away and he found himself once again staring at paper walls that had become entirely too familiar.
The dome, even while torn enough to allow him a view of the sky, still seemed too much like a prison to him. As far as he knew, it was inescapable. The paper walls were as cold and strong as any steel.
The turtle's spiritual self was undoubtedly tired of the scenery, yet he was beyond kvetching.
Unlike usual, there was no power struggle with thought or contempt or worry. There was just himself, his name, and that hole that called to him. The same hole that recently had a forest-green hand reaching toward him, but now... it was empty. Whereas last time, he could hear a familiar voice calling to him, speaking words of comfort, now he could hear nothing.
He found himself futilely reaching towards the opening, hoping that hand would come back and touch his, pull him through.
But as time passed and no hand or voice came, he realized all to plainly that he was alone.
Confused at the anomaly, he looked to his crudely scripted name for guidance, but there was no solace to be had. In fact, the longer he stared at the red letters, the lighter and less prominent that script seemed to be.
Could it be a trick of the light? A play at his imagination? Or... was it fading? In this impossible world of vibrant colors, red skies, and plumes of cosmic radiation, was it possible that his blood-stained name had begun to fade like an ordinary ink?
Was time a genuine factor in this place? Somehow, he doubted it.
Curiously, Raphael traced his fingers over his name, one line at a time.
R. A. P. H.
He stopped after the H despite the instinctive desire to complete the word, his hand falling to rest at his side. He kept his gaze trained on the letters.
It didn't make sense to him. Something was missing. And he couldn't fathom what it was. And if he were to be truly honest, he was tired of trying to figure things out.
Things could be so easy, if he would allow it. But he'd never taken the easy route- not intentionally. Apart from his flight-tendencies, he never considered an 'easy way' to be an option. Simplicity was scarce enough in the life of a mutant, let alone a mutant ninja.
But the idea was there. The thought. The temptation. If presented with an all-encompassing solution that was decidedly easy, could he take it?
Should he?
Was it really okay? In a life that had always been wrought with difficult lessons and decisions, was the term easy something the turtle could understand in context? Or was the meaning of the word just as elusive as the long-winded babble that often went in one ear slit and out the other without process?
It was too trivial. His mind, heart, and soul was already stretched too thin. And he was tired of trying.
Tired. Exhausted. Downtrodden.
He fell to his knees. His head rolled, chin lifted, gaze traveling to that ripped hole to peer at the impossible skies above, as if an answer lay just beyond. Just out of reach. Just a little too far for him to grasp.
After a moment, he dropped his gaze.
He was tired; he felt as if he'd been trying for an eternity, and he wasn't even sure what he was trying for anymore.
Trying to understand himself? Trying to save his brothers from grief? Trying to assure his place in the world? Trying to run from a questionable evil? Trying to just... make it through?
It was too much. Too confusing. He was running a race with no finish line.
There could be no end, so there was no point in participating.
So, he stopped trying. As far as he knew, everything was fine. There was no need to strain himself over trivial matters. Not when he could just... let go. Ignore the obvious and just... accept everything for what it was.
And so, that's exactly what he did.
Acceptance allowed his mind to rest. And with that rest, he found a sense of quiet peace, foreign but welcome.
...
Morning came. Raphael awoke feeling surprisingly well rested. He kicked off the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He turned the lamp off and got to his feet. He took a moment to fix his blankets, tuck the corners in and make his bed.
One more task, complete.
Then, heading over to the counter, he considered his gear. He acquired his radioactive belt- his sais in their slots- and put it on. After having worn it so many times, he could almost tell exactly when the reactors registered his naturally cool body temperature and began to generate warmth. He focused on the feeling of spreading heat until it became almost natural.
Then he allowed his gaze to sweep over the entirety of his equipment before resting solely on the helmet. He didn't understand the lure, but he was inexplicably drawn to it. It was just a trophy, taken from a crook on a whim. But it fit, and it felt right when he had worn it. After several long seconds of aimless contemplation, he tore himself away from the counter and over to the sink.
He filled his plastic cup with water and sought his pill planner. He flipped the AM tab and... rather than the 8 pills he usually took, there was 14. He curiously noted the difference before shrugging it off, tossing the handful of pills into his mouth and chasing them with water. Then he replaced the cup and turned towards the door. He didn't need a clock to tell him the time. He didn't need a reminder to meet up with his human-master for an important discussion.
With only his own circadian rhythm tattling the time and urging him to start his day, he made his way to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the hall.
He half expected to see Shredder waiting for him, as he did often enough, but instead he was greeted by little more than the sound of muttering coming from the opposite direction.
Raphael had every intention on ignoring the soft voices in favor of meeting up with Shredder like he was supposed to, but a thump and a startled yelp pilfered his attention. Without a second thought, he tore down the hall toward the source of commotion.
The scene he happened upon was unexpected; it confused him, caused him to halt in his tracks and stare dumbly as he tried to process what he was transpiring before his eyes.
Several Foot ninja, all masked, were huddled close with a single Foot on the floor and encircled by them. The one on the floor was curled up in defense, breath labored as the others took turns kicking.
Whatever was going on, there was no mercy. No tact. This was no friendly spar, nor a fair fight. This was unjustified brutality.
After a small eternity, something in Raph's brain clicked and his vision blurred at the edges. He pressed a hand to his head and reigned in his focus, refusing to let his natural aggression control him. He drew in a deep breath and assured his self-possession before making a conscious decision to act.
He rushed in, slamming a shoulder into one ninja and an elbow into another. He kicked the feet out from under a particularly tall teen and followed it up with a roundhouse kick to whoever was in range. He planted his feet solidly and clenched his fists in warning, teeth bared. "What the fuck d'ya think yer doin'?!" he ground out. He could feel anger burning through him like wildfire.
No one answered his question. Instead, the small group of ninja collected themselves and slowly began to back up, leaving their victim unattended.
"Answer me, dammit," Raph growled. "What d'ya think yer doin'? Ya can't- You don't just beat on people fer no good reason!" He pulled his fist back, ready to strike, but he stopped upon hearing a choked sound coming from the individual who'd been previously attacked by alleged comrades. Glaring at the other Foot, Raph hissed: "Get outta my sight before I shove my sai down yer throats." The threat made, he watched them retreat before reaching a hand towards the fallen ninja... only to have his hand batted away.
The black-clad teen slowly helped himself up, one arm wrapped around his middle and the other moving to the hem of his mask; he rolled the mask up enough to expose the lower half of his face as he drew in heaping breaths. After only a few gasps, he started to choke and cough and bloody spittle flew from his mouth.
Raph watched with an expression of concern, and that concern only deepened when realization struck a chord within. "...Gunner? What the fuck is goin' on?" Without warning, he reached over and roughly ripped the mask off the teen's head, revealing a familiar face that was usually less swollen and mottled with bruises and welts. "Why ya lettin' them losers beat on ya?"
Gunner scowled, but the expression was pitiable with the busted lip and blackened eyes. He winced with the slight contortion and snatched his mask from the turtle's hand. "Don't worry about it. Okay? It's not your problem."
"It kinda is, Gunner. You're one of my Footies. We're bros, right? We-"
"You're... a mutant. A freak. Okay? I'm a human. Just because we're lumped together here, doesn't make us bros."
Raph set his jaw tight and narrowed his eyes. Any worry or sympathy he had felt was gone in an instant. "So, ya really feel that way, or did them assholes beat those thoughts inta yer head? Because, I gotta say, usin' that F-word makes me wanna bust yer head myself."
Gunner was quiet for a moment, pensive. Then, he took on a pained expression that went beyond physical distress as he whispered a hurried confession. "Your name, it's Taboo here. Everyone is calling you Freak. I tried to tell them to stop, and... well, you saw what they did!" The volume of Gunner's voice increased as he spoke. "It's wrong. You're supposed to be one of us. We're all outcasts here. You don't need to be singled out among us. Central is supposed to be a home and haven to people like us..." Gunner grabbed one of Raph's hands between both of his own, squeezing in a manner that suggested urgency. He held the mutant's hand firmly, refusing to let go. His own eyes bore into Raphael's as if trying to convey some hidden meaning. Something important that he couldn't say... Then, as if nothing had happened, he pulled away, backpedaled a few steps and forced a grin. His teeth were lined with blood but he chuckled with feigned humor. "Whatcha gonna do, right? It's life. I, uh, gotta brush up on some studying. School, y'know? Might go to the mall later too. I'll, uh, see ya later. Maybe." He made an awkward breathy sound, then turned and briskly walked down the hall, taking the first left turn available and leaving Raph gawking in confusion.
"Gunner, wait-" he started belatedly, but the sharp voice of another cut him off.
"Raphael," the Shredder's voice commanded the reptilian teen's attention and he turned to face the unarmored human who once again sported the awful duck-themed robe and quacking slippers. "You were taking longer than I expected, so I came to retrieve you. Please, come with me."
Raph hesitated, tempted to turn back and go after the rookie Foot, until-
"Now, Raphael. Do not keep me waiting." The assertive tone left no room for disobedience.
Still partly reluctant, the turtle followed after, brain muddled and thoughts corrupting before any semblance of understanding could form.
The trek was unusually quiet with only Gunner's misshapen face and tone of voice echoing in Raph's mind. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. Angry? Yeah. Pissed? Definitely. Confused? More than he'd like to admit. But... there was something else there, something underlying and indistinguishable.
Before Raph knew it, he was sitting at a familiar marble table across from the human he called master. This part was normal. What wasn't normal was the absence of the banquet and the servants that usually asked their choice of beverage; instead, between them rested a checkered board, upon which were 32 wooden pieces- elegant with just enough imperfections to show that they were carved by hand.
"Do you fancy a game of chess, Raphael?" the human queried.
Raph stared blankly at the board and pieces. Then he shrugged. "Never played," he confessed
The human grinned, perfect teeth glinting in the artificial light. "I'll teach you. That is what a master does for his pupil, right? He teaches. And a pupil learns, just as a son learns from his father, correct?" The words, bait. With this sort of converse, he was creeping into familiar territory. "Let's start with the basics. The object of the game is to capture your opponent's king, or at least put him in a position in which he cannot win; all the while, you must protect your own king." He pointed the to the king.
Raph picked up his own king. "So, the one with the funny hat is the king?" he deadpanned. It was too early for him to force his brain to understand Gunner's situation and listen to jargon about fancy board games.
Heedless to Raphael's plight, Shredder continued. "The king can go anywhere, after all, he is the king. Without him, there is no kingdom. However, he can only move a single space at a time."
"Gotcha. The king is an egotistical douchebag with limited mobility," Raph commented, setting his king back on the board and shifting to get more comfortably in his chair.
Shredder next pointed to the queen. "This is the queen. While she is not the most vital piece on the board, she is certainly the most powerful. She can move however far she wants, in any direction."
"Sooo, she's a bitch."
"Raphael, language."
If Raph heard the scold, he paid no heed. He picked up his own queen and looked it over. "Mine's broken," he said with a frown.
Shredder reached over and snatched the piece for himself to take a look. "No it isn't..."
"Yeah-huh," Raph insisted. "She's the queen, but she doesn't have any... uh..." he trailed off, cupping his hands and moving them in front of the bisected pectorals of his plastron, palms facing his chest. "My queen ain't got any... boobs," he stated bluntly, dropping his hands after a moment. "She ain't even an A-cup."
The human sighed loudly and set Raph's queen in its proper place. 'It's going to be a long morning...' "This is the bishop."
"Bishop?" Raph interjected. He snatched up both bishops from the board, held them in his hands and lightly ran his thumbs over the small perky nubs on top. "...These look kinda like boobs," he said thoughtfully.
The five-fingered male face-palmed. "I was unaware that you had a libido, Raphael. Now is not the time to display-"
Raph set his pieces back. "I'm gonna call the little boob-guys 'scientists'," he declared. "Because Bishop was a scientist, and these guys are bishops."
Shredder fought to hold back pending comments. This morning wasn't going quite as planned. It was supposed to be a five-minute discussion and a High-Stakes version of Chess. Still, he drew in a deep calming breath and proceeded. "This is the knight."
"-You forgot to tell me that the scientist moves diagonally."
Shredder nodded. "You are correct. The bishop moves-" he paused, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "How did you know that the bishop moves diagonally?"
Raph smirked and leaned forward in an antagonizing manner. "I said I ain't never played chess. Doesn't mean I don't know the rules. I've watched my br- uh, the other reptiles play."
"Then why-? -Oh, nevermind. Raphael, just make your first move."
"But, Soupy, my color is black. White goes first in chess. Go ahead and move your soldier (pawn) to C3, or your horsey (knight) to-"
The human huffed in exasperation and made his first move. He had a feeling it was going to be a long and tiresome game. But, before the mutant could make his own opening move, he allowed a cynical smirk to warp his features before speaking up with intrigue. "Since you seem to know what you are doing, Raphael, why don't we make it interesting?"
"I'm listenin'..."
"For every piece you take, you get to either insult or ask a question, and your opponent either has to take the insult without complaint, or answer the question with complete honesty."
Raphael didn't look too enthused. "That's it?"
"And the winner will be able to make a single demand that must be obliged without question," Shredder quickly added.
Raphael still failed to look impressed. "Don'tcha already kinda have that ability? Can't ya just assign me somethin' whenever? Yer the boss-man. You're my master, right? My sensei, my mentor, my fath-"
"Yes, but even I can't make you do anything. You have freewill, Raphael. I have never made you breech ethics on my account, have I? You've always had a choice... If I win, that will change for a single task. If you win, you will have perfect authority to demand something from me, and I will not refute. Consider the possibilities..."
And Raphael did think about it. And think about it. And think about it. He remained silent and emotionless as he turned the possibilities around in his head.
Minutes passed.
The human grew restless, planting his hands on the table and leaning forward. And just when he was about to speak up and demand an answer...
Raph chose that exact moment to answer, to steal his human-master's thunder. To disarm him. "Alright. But when I win, I won't show no mercy on ya; I know what I want." He moved his first piece.
Shredder moved next. "I expect nothing less."
Then Raph. "I've learned from the best, pops."
"Did you now? Raphael, I am most flattered."
"Don't be. I never said I learned from you."
The exchange of moves and words went back and forth, neither pausing for a second. Each seemed to be plotting their own course and trying to anticipate that of their opponent. Whatever stress had been bred unto either player faded away soon enough, and both were fairly relaxed, despite the stakes.
Then... "My knight claims your bishop. I choose to ask a question. What would it take for you to part with your choice weapons?"
Raph snorted. "My sais? Nothin'. 'Cause it ain't happening." Raph grabbed his pawn and moved it diagonally. "My soldier captures your bitch." (pawn takes queen) "Ya sure ain't too bright. Now, I've got a question fer ya. What the fuck's goin' on with the Foot?"
"My foot?" Shredder jested. "I believe it's called a bunion, and-"
"The Foot, dumbass. The Foot. Y'know, as in the Foot clan. All the ninja around here. They were beatin' up on G- uh, one of the rookies this mornin'. And I wanna know why."
"Hazing?"
"If yer not gonna follow the rules and answer truthfully, then-"
"Your rookie friend broke a rule. He was being punished. I claimed your name, did I not? He used it; therefore, he was punished. It is as simple as that."
"That's bullshit, and you know it. Soupy, yer better than this. Don't act like a vindictive prick."
"Raphael, save the insults for the next piece you capture." Shredder glanced at the board and smirked. "Well, maybe next game?" He moved his rook across the board before declaring "Checkmate."
Raph blinked and looked at the board with a quizzical expression. "Nuh-uh."
"Yes-huh, Raphael. Look at your king."
"Nuh-uh," the turtle persisted, narrowing his eyes and continuing to scan the board. Then, to prove a point, he made his move. "It's called 'castling.' It's when, if the douchebag (king) and at least one castle (rook) haven't made a move yet, and if there are no pieces between 'em, they can switch places. It's in the rules. Look it up." He rolled his eyes. "Fuck, I'm a brother to a genius. Don't ya think Donatello played chess? When he first learned, he just kept yammerin' on and on about it."
Shredder thoughtfully drummed his fingers against the table. "I suppose I was hasty to assume that your knowledge of the game was less... thorough, and I surmised that you would lack awareness of that move. My apologies for underestimating you." With a soft hum, he made his own move.
The exchange continued.
Back and forth.
Questions and answers presiding over insults.
Minutes became nearly two hours and both players were losing patience.
Raph had both elbows planted on the table, his cheek resting in one palm while his other hand worked the pieces from square to square. "Finish dis before I flip the board."
"Flipping the board results in forfeit."
"Forfeit this, Soupy. This is how it's gonna play out. Scientist takes yer soldier. Your soldier takes my soldier. Scientist moves to that square there. You're put in check. That's the only move that pulls you out of check. My move. Your move. My move. Then you move here. And then-then... Then I'm check-mated." Raph dropped his head to the table hard enough to shake the board and allow a few pieces to fall over. "I'm done here. I'm tired and hungry, and I just want-"
"You lost, Raphael."
"So?"
"So, I am allowed to ask a limitless task of you," Shredder spoke calmly, but his eyes gleamed with malicious intent. "I want you to acquire an item."
Raph's head never left the table. He groaned loudly. "Ugh, not dis again. That's all ya want from me. Steal this. Get that. It's a little boring. The novelty has worn off."
"But, Raphael, you didn't hear what I am asking."
The turtle slowly inclined his head, eyes contacting that of his master's. "Ya want me ta steal somethin'."
"I want you to get me a gift."
Raph's browline creased at that. "A gift? Father's Day is a long ways away..." he grumbled.
"I want a sword, Raphael."
"Ain't ya got enough of those?"
"Yes, but I only want one. More specifically, I want a single katana from the one called Leonardo."
...
[Another one down! Awesome. Next one is on the way.]