Validation Ch 38, a ninja turtles fanfic

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: Another short one (longer than the last). This chapter is Don's.

-A Big Thanks To All My Readers/Reviewers/Supporters! With myself being new to the fandom, your support has been quite a warm welcome!-

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

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CH 38

[Don]

It was busy work, similar to that of a queen's drone in a hive. He was such a busy bee. Busy beaver? How did that expression go? Regardless, he was one busy turtle.

There never seemed a proper time to relax. There was always something to do, something that needed done, friends or family that required his assistance. And really, that was alright with him. Any notorious lack of activity spurned his mind in the worst way, and he would not allow himself to be idle.

The purple-banded reptile knew the repercussions well.

Ironically so, he often tried to multitask, which was a myth all its own. An impossibility. Because, even the simplest of tasks required 50% of the brain at any given time. Ergo, it was virtually impossible to do two or three, or even more things adequately. As a thought rattles through the mind, it is a single and only a single thought; though it possibly branches off into others, it is all cognizant of one. One single element. One track. One line of thinking.

It could be described, that the brain itself is a house with several rooms. You might drift from one room to the other to complete a single task, and throughout the day, you'll visit most- if not all- rooms in the house. The brain is very much the same way, constantly taking information, relaying it throughout the various 'rooms' and eventually processing thought and action before making said action possible.

It is a lengthy modus operandi, one that Donatello understood well, yet he often challenged the cosmic rule. Despite his understanding of function and statistics, there was always that innate desire to accomplish multiple things at a time- and though there were drawbacks to having his attention divided, he often succeeded.

It was a matter of will and mental development. He knew this. He could draw a up a diagram or a color-coded chart and explain it all in great detail, but it would be a waste of time. Out of all his brothers, only he actually cared for the whys and hows, the nature of any and all components that made up the larger picture that everyone saw as a general vice.

According to Don, it wasn't enough to know that a computer had a power source and a button to turn it on and off (improperly). To understand it fully, it had to be dismantled, thoroughly investigated, and then put back together again. Holy Motherboard. Sister Circuit. Little things that made him smile when the rest of the world would sooner gawk or roll their eyes.

Don could fondly recall hours upon hours of reading and writing code...

'Oh...' His thoughts got away from him. 'Where was I?' It had happened again. His mind, wrapped up in a memory of a memory. His thoughts, so potent and strong that they could pull him from conscious reality and into something surreal. A world of equations, chemistry and physics. Quantum mechanics. Or even something as simple as a preliminary anamnesis.

It was something that rarely amounted to trouble, but it was certainly distracting. His focus could be primed on one subject, but the moment his attention began to drift, the entirety of his mind would corral around the new subject, which was partly why his lab at the Lair held so many projects he'd started but neglected to finish. His attention, so raptly caught on whatever appeal, was easily cut and pasted onto something else.

One moment, he's reading up on various psychological disorders, wondering if he might have an attention-related disorder; the next moment, he's reading a manual to a dishwasher he doesn't have- but the manual had been fascinating enough... until one of his brothers had called for him to fix an alarm clock or radio.

'Back to the present, Don,' the intelligent turtle mentally chided himself, blinking hard and trying to reign in his focus so that he could concentrate on the task at hand.

Raphael laid before him, sleeping soundly. Too soundly. Unresponsive to anything he said- not that he was speaking anything of importance. However, it was slightly odd, if not worrisome, that the emerald-skinned mutant failed to show the slightest disturbance at the physical contact Don exerted for his current task of examining his brother.

Really, there was really no immediate need for the impromptu checkup, but Don had been determined, adamant to at least have a look. He had to be sure that Raphael was healthy and safe with little to no anomalies.

He continued his observation with little strain.

From what he could tell, Raphael appeared to be in good health, aside from an increase in body temperature and some slightly swollen glands particularly in the lymphoid area of the throat; it was hardly a thing to worry over, considering the lack of fever- which usually meant a lack of infection. Every wound, some new and some old, had been well tended and healed. There was nothing remotely wrong.

This alone was considerable proof that wherever Raphael had been staying, someone had been taking care of him. Assisting him. Treating him.

For this, there was a slight pang of jealously, but Donatello tried to quell the swell of emotion. He forced himself to remain calm and collected. He kept his wits and ignored the negativity.

Because, he should be grateful; he should count his blessings and be glad that Raphael wasn't rotting in a ditch or strapped down awaiting dissection. And yet, he was discomforted by the idea of someone else being Raph's caretaker and doctor.

Someone else stitching the would-be gaping wounds. Wounds that, though healed, still beckoned curiosity.

Still, without being invasive or drawing blood, there was only so much Don could observe.

He, at least, managed a good look at Raphael's carapace, the way the plates had split and new ones were in the process of forming and shifting to bridge the slight gaps. A deformity in the making. A telltale sign of some phenomenal change and the body's adaptation to it.

In turtles of the non-mutated variety, such a change could be due to bacterial infections. It could also be caused by rapid growth due to changes in diet and habitat. And, while Raphael's physique had always been large and muscular, there was no mistaking the difference. His biceps alone had nearly doubled in girth, and every bit of him was rock hard, even without him flexing.

Raphael was clearly getting more than enough exercise, though the rapidness of muscle expansion did raise suspicions.

Anabolic steroids come to mind, but the intelligent turtle knew better than to make assumptions.

And when he'd done all he could with a simple physical evaluation, Don moved to inspect Raphael's gear. It had caught his attention early on, but he hardly found it something worthy of questioning when his missing brother was suddenly... not missing.

Now, he focused on the nuance of armor.

'I sincerely doubt that Raphael salvaged or made this himself. And it fit him too well for him to have taken it from a human...'

Picking up a piece of the armor, he took in the luxuriously padded interior, the cayenne-colored steel plates that were jointed together to allow full-ranged motion at the elbow crease, and it was finished off with adjustable straps of black leather with unnecessary embroidered designs.

'Someone either put too much time or too much money into something with so little function.'

It was peculiar, but that only raised more questions pertaining to where Raphael had gotten it.

When there was nothing else worthy of noting with said pieces of armor, Donatello set it aside and grabbed the strange belt Raph had removed prior to taking his rest.

The belt itself was odd in shape, comprised of 3 rings, a hidden enclosure, a 6-panel corefront, and added slots to accommodate Raph's sais.

As he turned the belt over in his hands for speculation, it was easy to notice the sudden heat that permeated his palms and fingers when he held the belt for too long.

An expression of surprise and curiosity took hold of his features, and he furthered his observation.

Whenever the underside of the belt wasn't making contact with his skin, it cooled. When it touched his leathery flesh, it gradually heated and the panels mutely radiated.

A chemical reaction.

Gamma radiation, however faint.

The possibilities began to run through the genius reptile's mind as he probed for a power source and tried to understand just how it worked; curiosity got the better of him and pulled him into a world his brothers would never understand. Mechanics and engineering. Something truly fundamental and necessary, yet completely undermined.

Looking over the belt, the device was fascinating- a radioactive, self-contained and self-generated heat source with an auto-pilot configuration...

But again, as fascinating as it was, it only brought more questions to the surface. Namely, why Raphael had it to begin with, and who could have made it for him.