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 is mostly a filler. Can't wait to get further into the story. There are scenes I'm anxious to write. -There was a delay in my writing for several reasons, but I won't bore you with excuses. Instead, just enjoy, and know that I'll try to update more timely.

MAJOR THANKS: To readers/reviewers/supporters. While I strive for self-motivation, it's always nice to know my work is being enjoyed.

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

...

CH 34

It was oddly quiet. Too quiet. Of course, ninja were supposed to be stealthy and silent by default, but even Central wasn't known for this degree of audible restraint. Contrary to what one might think, Central was often just as alive as any other place that might be bustling with teenagers and young adults. Usually, conversations drifted from room to room, bits of information and gossip, a joke or two.

Laughter and tears and everything in between was the unfolding norm as the young Footies would dote on one another in a brotherly fashion. Because, ninja or not, they lived together. They fought together. And one day, hopefully in a far off future that they rarely dared to dwell upon, they would die together, for one another. Caught up in some cosmic and magnetic pull that kept them honor-bound.

This was their life. The life of many amateur martial artists from varying backgrounds. Hidden histories. Different schools. Different friends, cliques, crowds. People who would never publicly associate with one another under any other circumstance, all brought together and united under a single master.

In Foot Central, a gamer who excelled in advanced calculus could easily be on par with a Varsity jock who flunked basic Algebra. Wearing the common black threads, donning the familiar bandana with the Foot insignia, two polar opposites could find equality and camaraderie.

Brotherhood.

One minute, perhaps they're walking away from school, purposefully going separate ways. The next minute, they're meeting up at a predetermined location to relay messages about pending Foot activity.

A charity event. Cleaning up litter and recycling. A smuggling operation. Feigning ignorance over human trafficking... It wasn't all good, nor was it all bad, but after a while... it was all the same.

A law was a law, and if one was worth breaking, so were the rest. It was something understood. If their activity would aid their imaginary cause or please their master, they did it without question. If they failed, they paid the price.

The Foot clan was almost like an after school program, but more dangerous. More fantastic. More adventurous. More purposeful. While some people gathered to play baseball or discuss literature, others gathered to hone their martial arts or plan a raid.

The Foot had it all. The work, the reward, the risk, and the secrecy. The cunning of con artist and the pride of a police officer. The ethics of the middle-class and the goals of a realist. All functioning together under the jurisdiction of the pragmatic sort.

These outcasts- cast out of society's norm for whatever reason- found sanctity at Central. And among these outcasts, a particular emerald-skinned mutant found himself at ease. Hidden along the fringes of society, among the shadows. Alongside countless others.

This was Raphael's stead.

For once in his life, he fit in among the masses; he was not the reject of society. His words were heard and his work was praised.

He felt as if he mattered. His actions directly affected those around him. He didn't have to hide who or what he was. The Foot looked to him as a comrade and a superior, depending. And his master doted on him with pride and expectations.

At times, those expectations had a tendency to be overbearing, but after mulling it over, Raph decided that he preferred it- the assiduity, as opposed to ignorance or disparagement.

He recalled with contempt how often his former rat-master would cast that disapproving and distrustful glare. He recalled the words of dismay. He recalled the punishments. The flips, how humiliating they were. The revoked privileges...

The mere memory could cause Raphael to seethe with a burning hatred he never thought would be directed at his paternal figure... but the rat was not his father. The rat had been too focused on favoratism to be an effective mentor. And despite the years Raph had spent with the rodent, the rogue turtle couldn't call forth any fond memories of him.

Had he any, they'd been snuffed out by time, stewed despair, and degradation.

The appearance, and even the smell of Splinter was something Raphael could recall easily enough, and it made him ill. How he loathed the memory of that voice, the sight of that lashing tail and those twitching whiskers... His stomach knotted and his teeth clenched. A deep emotion- something strong, akin to agony buried itself within him, and he felt only contempt for the rat.

At some point, though he'd never speak of it, nor would he write it down, a strange fantasy entered the turtle's thoughts.

His hands. A fur-coated mutant body. That acrid odor of rodent and sewer... intertwining with that of decay and copper. His fantasy, vivid as any, centered around slaying the animal that scolded him for false allegations.

Of course, after the fantasy had played out in his head, there was an overwhelming sense of guilt for having said thoughts, but he always managed to quell the grief. Pushed it down, deep, to deal with them another day. A day that would never come, if he had anything to say about it.

It's funny, how drastically things can distort and alter when something as simple as environment changes.

Only months ago, Raphael would have proudly fought and given his life to protect the hairy mutant. He would have cared or his opinion. Would have given the world for a hint of approval from him. And now, he couldn't care less.

Though, he admittedly missed the other turtles, whom he struggled to claim as family. He had weak moments when he toyed with the idea of going home. He imagined their warm greetings, despite the fact that he'd act moody and indifferent. He imagined gathering in the kitchen for a meal. Michelangelo would have cooked up something crazy that would either be fantastic... or disgustingly inedible. Some days, it was a tossup. Then, after idle conversations that held no strain, they'd retire in front of the TV for games and movies.

The four of them, united, like some great tale as old as time.

It was a nice thought. It was something he deeply missed and wanted. An idea he cherished more than he'd ever admit. It was something he'd taken for granted. But every time he considered locating his brothers or making a beeline for the nearest manhole, he was always slammed back into reality when he recalled his missing mask.

Gone was the red fabric that he once held dear.

And, instead of that, he bore the Foot insignia, usually in the form of a bandana or scarf...

He used to avoid mirrors because he hated seeing a monster staring back at him, but at least his old reflection was something familiar. Whatever he glanced at when he passed a reflective surface now, it wasn't recognizable. His expression, far more cynical than it ever had been. His eyes, too narrow. His face, maskless. Even his body-shape, the proportions had changed; his legs were thick and powerful as ever, but his upper body held an unbelievable hulking mass that promised destruction if his energy wasn't given a proper outlet.

He often worked hard, harder than he ever had before, trying to burn himself out, push himself harder. Just... trying... to keep going until he couldn't go anymore.

No one told him to stop. No one got in his way.

And, against all prior thoughts, he wasn't sure if he liked that or not.

Still, he would not allow that to be his primary focus.

He needed a level head. His human-master, whom had yet to steer him wrong, sought his attention and compliance; diligence over delinquency.

He was wanted in the Throne room. Called forth by a someone who, for once in his life, favored him, his actions and capabilities.

Raph focused on anticipation. Part of him hungered for whatever was to come. Be it newly offered gear, some form of praise, or a relay of information for future assignments. He wanted it. Whatever it was. Whatever it would be. Because, surely, it was something he earned. Something to prove he'd done well and his achievements were worth acknowledging.

As he journeyed, Raphael's stride was carefully measured- not in the arrogant way that he sometimes strutted when he was in a good mood or feeling particularly cocky; rather, this time, he was pacing himself. Trying to move at a fair speed without rushing towards his destination.

As he walked, he kept his hands at the hilts of his sais that had been previously reinserted into their respective slots. For each new breezeway or hall he happened upon, his progression was marked by the surveillance cameras overhead.

He briefly looked into the eye of each one as he passed, knowing that someone was on the other side. Someone was watching him. This fact seldom bothered the turtle; he'd almost grown used to being part of some unscreened documentary.

'A Day in the Life of a Mutant Turtle. -Oh and that turtle happens to be a Ninja who denied his original master and sided with the enemy...' So, maybe the plot wasn't original, but that hardly mattered. Raphael wasn't exactly a cinematic connoisseur. 'Heh, as if anyone would pay ta see a movie 'bout a mutated turtle that talks and does heroic ninja-stuff. Sounds stupid. But it might make a half-decent animated series... Or comics. Might be a better comic. Yeah... Definitely a comic. I could see that.'

Raph found himself chuckling at his musings. It was ridiculous. But it was just the right kind of ridiculous that made him think it could be done. It would just have to be done right. Delivered a certain way and directed at the right audience.

But it was impossible. Too few people knew that mutants existed, let alone were willing to make it into a profitable franchise. But the idea was there...

Raphael's light-hearted thoughts were fleeting, leaving the moment he stepped inside the elevator. He folded his arms over his plastron in time to watch the doors slide closed. Almost as an afterthought, he reached out towards the vertical panel of buttons, ready to select the top floor, but before his large green finger ever made contact, the button lit up on its own and the elevator proceeded to rise.

In the roomy elevator, he suddenly felt closed-in. And he loathed that feeling. Feeling trapped. Feeling stuck. It made him long for open spaces and cool night air.

For a moment, he was anxious for the dark hours that would grant him access to the city.

Rooftops and alleyways, they called for him in ways he couldn't describe. A haunting lullaby. A siren's song.

With a snort of derision, Raph managed to pull away from his thoughts and look around.

With disinterest, he noted a Ficus that had been freshly potted; the soil that held it was moist. He couldn't help breathing deeply through his nose and taking in that earthy scent, however faint. He stared at the plant for an unnecessary amount of time, until the sight of it grew stale and he rocked back on the balls of his feet before correcting his balance and curling his toes.

His gaze traveled downwards to look at the fibers beneath his feet. The soft woven carpet with a monochromatic color scheme to go with the pattern of diamonds.

Raphael almost felt like he was standing on a large coarse sweater vest.

He grew bored of that acknowledgment and was just about to question the lack of classic 'elevator music' when said elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to allow access to the highest portion of the tower.

He took a moment to draw in a breath and crack his neck before stepping into the overly posh room.

The antiques on display, the woven tapestries and oriental rugs. The priceless heirlooms and paintings. The statuettes... All leading up to the extravagant seat that cushioned the Shredder's posterior.

The young mutant too in his surroundings. Then he made his way towards the throne and stopped several feet away, dropping instinctively, kneeling before the armored human.

"I trust you know why I have summoned you, Raphael," Shredder said, speaking through the filtered grate of his mask.

Raphael allowed his gaze to meet that of the human's. "Is it about the katana?"

"Yes, but not in the way you are thinking. I believe I have made an error in assigning this task to you. It is too soon; you are not ready to face-"

Call it instinct. Call it habit. Call it anything in between, but Raphael rebelled against the nay-saying on what he was capable of doing. He moved to his feet in an instant, drawn at full height, body radiating discontent and amber eyes narrowing.. "Ya think I can't face Leonardo? Think I can't kick his shell and take his precious sword away from him?! Think I can't-"

Shredder held up his hand in a placating gesture. "Do not put words in my mouth, Raphael." His own eyes mimicked and met Raphael's heated set, oxide green warring with iridium gold. "I said nothing of the sort. I have no doubt in your potential to succeed, but I believe it would be foolish to act so soon. Your emotional wounds are too great; you are too raw." He moved his hands to his kabuto and menpo, removing both and placing them on their designated stand before getting to his feet and closing the distance between himself and the mutant. "Having an ego, Raphael, does not grant you permission to be foolish. You are working under my tutelage, and I will not allow you to fall prey to recklessness coupled with an enemy's lure. -You may be able to overpower the turtle in blue, but can you resist your former bond with him? That is my concern..."

At those words, Raphael drew in a breath and held it. He'd been wondering the same thing, but on a different level.

Indecision and insecurity equaled weakness. And as this human's heir, Raph could not afford to be weak. So, with a quick and haughty huff, he gave his response with an even tone. "He ain't even my brother. Not biologically. We were... bound... by circumstance. That's it. We were raised together. By a condescending rat who wouldn't know a good deed if it bit him in the ass." His expression soured further. "Master Shredda, ya gotta understand, it wasn't meant ta be like dis. We- them and me- we were a team... We were the good guys. We protected the city."

"Well, Raphael, what happened? What changed? Surely there is a reason you no longer call yourself a Hamato. The sooner you truly understand that reason, the sooner you can put them behind you."

Raph finally averted his eyes, gaze traveling downwards. "I... He... We..." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Leo and I were brothers, just like Don and Mike- all of us. And Splinta tried to teach us. But we were trapped."

"Trapped?" The human coaxed, tone too soft, too inviting. Too calm for the overbearing tyrant he was known to be.

If Raph detected the oddity, he showed no signs. Instead, he nodded in response. "Trapped. Together. In our own world... never ta have a chance at normalcy. We were stuck. The walls... The walls closed in. The days were too long, nights too fleetin'. Leo, too busy leadin', forgettin' how to be a brother. Don, too smart. Mikey, too fast. And me- I was nothin'. I was the one who fucked up. I was sensei's failed little project. Splinta never said that to me, but I could see it in his eyes. He tried ta fix me. Tried to teach me ta meditate', but... I ain't never been able to do that. Can't do the spiritual shit. I'm not calm and composed. I ain't fast or smart. I ain't-"

Shredder placed a hand on Raphael's shoulder. "Look at me," he said.

Raphael didn't respond, apart from shaking his head.

"Raphael, look at me," the human repeated, voice more stern. "Now," he added.

Hesitantly, Raphael looked up, his eyes meeting that of his master. "I just wanted ta belong somewhere, ta be accepted. I wanted ta be somethin' more than their own personal bulldozer. But they pushed me away. And I accepted that."

"And, what of Leonardo?" Shredder coaxed further.

Closing his eyes tightly, as if pained, Raphael took the bait and ran with it. "Leonardo pushed me, and I pushed back. We were always fightin'... He was brave. Fearless. But I was strong. And I'm even stronger now." Trying desperately to force away the onslaught of bitter feelings that threatened to devour him, Raphael released a low rumbling growl and forced his attention on something less disheartening and more threatening. Because anger was easier than regret. "If ya don't think I can take Leonardo on, yer wrong. I can take anything he can dish out. If it comes to fightin', I won't lose, Master Shredda. Ya want a sword? I'll get ya the damn sword. Scout's honor."

Shredder quirked a brow and his mouth twitched, but he hid his amusement. "Were you ever a scout, Raphael?"

The turtle shook his head. "Nope. But I keep my promises."

Shredder moved his hand from the turtle's shoulder to the carapace; his other hand moved to rest on the back of Raphael's smooth bald head; in one swift motion, he forced the mutant closer, into a mockery of a hug. Despite the gesture, there was no sentiment or comfort as he held the turtle against his metal-plated body, yet he spoke in a soft, soothing, unfiltered voice. A voice that was entirely too human to be anything but trustworthy. "Raphael, you will make me proud in your endeavors. You will succeed, in my name. For our clan's honor. For the sake of your own retribution. My son, my prodigy, my heir. You will follow in my footsteps, and the Foot will kneel before you."

Cold metal pressed against Raphael's cheek and plastron as he fought for an understanding that managed to elude his grasp.

Though he struggled to fully understand, the offer of reward was processed clearly enough. And it was tempting. He could have true authority and recognition. His own place in the world firmly secured. His worth, proven. His skills, acknowledged by the masses.

And all he had to do was take one sword from a former ally who berated him more often than not.

It seemed so simple. Somehow.

His master was asking so little. It was just a sword. It meant nothing.

Leonardo was just an obstacle. An opposing force that stood in the way. This was nothing new for the emerald-skinned mutant.

All he had to do... was put aside his pesky emotions. Complete a simple task.

Find victory.

Earn praise.

The very idea registered with all the simplicity of a rat working through a maze to earn cheese.

A task and a reward.

So simple.

Raphael could process that much. His brain, hard-wired to be goal-oriented. For a moment, he truly wanted that katana. His body still pressed awkwardly and uncomfortably against the metal form of his master, he didn't bother pulling away or struggling, despite his dislike for contact.

In his mind, he worked to banish regret and guilt and fear. He worked to dispatch his apprehension. He fought to empty his mind until all that was left was task and reward.

And fuck, he wanted that reward. He wanted to earn it. He deserved it. And it would be his.

Finally releasing the turtle and stepping back to put distance between them, Shredder spoke. "My son, success is yours. Make me proud. Show me how strong you are. Show me that you, Raphael, are worth more now than when you first set foot in Central." Hands once again planted on Raph's shoulders, he gave the turtle a rough shake to assure that he had the mutant's full attention.

Raphael felt his whole body jolt from the simple movement, but his balance remained firm. So close to such a powerful man, he felt weak, but the fact that his master was confident in Raph's abilities was a power-trip all its own. The conflict tugged at his insides, and the power-hungry feeling inside overwhelmed the weakness and fear.

Shredder watched the transference of emotions as they flashed through Raphael's eyes. The human could read the mutant like a book; he was so open and raw, especially now. He held the turtle's gaze for a prolonged period of time, watching those flitting emotions until all that was left... was hunger.

Desire.

Muted necessity.

Raphael had to remember to breathe. His head hurt. His chest felt tight, but he knew what he wanted. He didn't necessarily like what he wanted, but he made a promise. And he'd keep it.

...

[Journal Entry]

I like ta think there's some invisible line that I won't cross, but I dunno. I've got all these thoughts in my head, and I want 'em gone. Too much ta think about.
Goin' back to the Lair and playin' Ninja with the other reptiles, it's impossible. It's not even worth the consideration anymore. But... that just leaves me to wander in the other direction. And it makes me question: "How strong is my loyalty to Master Shredda?"
I've been thinkin' about it... and I'm afraid of the answer.
I don't wanna hurt anybody, but I know I'm capable. I'm like Jekyll and Hyde, but I'm the real deal.
I gotta wonder, which part of me is gonna pull through?

...

[Next chapter is In-Progress!]