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 about the strain between Leo and Don, along with the development of Jonatello!Friendship.
This was going to be edited out and tossed into an imaginary scrap heap of 'Deleted Scenes' I have for this story, but I decided to keep it.

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

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CH 46

Casey had the reckless nature and the boisterous ego, the tendency to jump headfirst into any situation no matter how dire. And Don was strong, smart, free-thinking, and loyal to a fault, with a sympathetic ear accompanied by the ability to keep his mouth shut.

The two had come together by pure chance months ago, crossing the line between acquaintance and friends- which, under any other circumstance, would have been unheard of.

How it began... was simple enough.

Donatello, like everyone else in their tight-knit group, had been grief-stricken, pushed beyond muted worry and well towards the understanding that a more active approach would be necessary for retrieving his lost brother. Having acknowledged and found disapproval in Leo's almost passive attempts as well as Mikey's new emotional outbursts, the purple-masked ninja vied for a chance to search for Raphael whenever possible.

Almost obsessively.

The moment the sun turned away, he was grabbing his bo and making a run. To search anywhere and everywhere, lurking high- fire escapes and rooftops- and searching low- slinking from shadow to shadow like only a ninja could.

Silent. Stealthy. Shhhh.

With the desperation only a brother could afford, it seemed like his only option...

He had tried the other route. Tried to wait it out, at first assuming that Raphael would be home on his own accord within a few days. Then, within a week. But it soon became obvious that his muscle-bound sibling had no intent to return to their homestead.

Don had tried being patient. Tried taking the technical route. Tried being methodical in his search. But all that went out the window once he took a moment to fully assess the damage that had been done to his family.

Because, it was just that. Damaged.

As much as it pained Donnie to admit, Michelangelo had, in a fit of newfound frustration that bordered genuine anger, said something valid.

"With Raph gone, it's like no one's even trying to be family anymore."

It was true, Mikey's words, blunt and astute. Heartfelt and full of hurt. The pain, somehow contagious, volcanic in its sudden eruption and spreading devastation.

While Donatello had, at the time, kept up his usual placid facade, the realization of Mikey's turmoil had been the straw that broke the camel's back- so to speak. That had caused the feeling of something deep and fractured and painful: a brutal gnawing on Don's insides. A new breed of heartache. And with it, a new determination: a reckless abandon that gradually overtook his logic.

There was one such night, when Don felt that determination flare- a fire in his veins, a desire to find his brother and make things right again- to fix everything, like he always did...

But as he moved to exit the Lair, he found himself face-to-face with an unexpected adversary.

Standing with him, toe-to-toe and beak-to-beak, Don drew in a sharp breath and stared reproachfully at leader.

Leo stood between his brother and the exit, acting as an immovable force. "Not tonight, Don. We've been searching nonstop almost every night. We're wearing ourselves out. Rest tonight, and we'll go out tomorrow."

The intellectual nearly balked at the instruction and attempt to halt his nightly plans. He didn't want to make a mountain out of a molehill, but he still had every intent to keep his agenda. "Raph's out there alone, Leo," Don answered, voice level but heart thumping at the idea of rebelling against his leader's wishes. Despite being cold blooded, his palms were sweaty with a nervousness he wasn't quite accustomed to. But his resolve was firm, unwavering. He carried his head high in a proud and defiant way reminiscent of his hotheaded brother. "I'm not tired, so there's no reason to rest when I could be out there finding him."

"Don, you're exhausted; we all are. Physically, emotionally, spiritually..." The blue-banded turtle's eyes held a mix of sympathy and sorrow. "I miss him too, but-"

"Leo," Don interrupted, voice just a pitch louder than intended, "you could never keep Raph here, and you can't keep me here either. Neither of us want to fight, so why don't you just sit here and meditate, then complain and lecture me when I get back? It's what you do, isn't it? When you can't solve something with honorable combat, you hide away in your head, meditating. When we don't behave the way you expect us to, you develop and spout this self-righteous tirade, as if your methods and points of virtue are the only correct ones. As if we can't-" Don's words caught in his throat then, halting mid-sentence. The voice was his own, but the words... sounded familiar; yet, they felt strange on his own tongue. These words, this attitude... foreign to his usually passive self. Easily deciding that this hostility was some form of coping mechanism, Don reevaluated the situation, his role, and his opponent; then, he changed tact. "Leo, it's who you are. It's your own static defense and natural inclination. You are this Zen master following in sensei's footsteps. That's who you are and how you handle whatever is thrown at you. But the rest of us aren't like that. Like our differential fighting styles, we handle stress in varying strategics. So, you shouldn't get upset when we utilize our own methods of coping." Don paused then, maintaining eye contact and gauging his brother's reaction.

Leo took several long moments to process what he was told- the all too civil yet somehow aggressive manner of attack through verbal means. It was unsettling, almost hurtful, but no less honest. He allowed and held eye contact with his younger brother, too prideful to look away, but he had no words to spare. No proper repose.

And Leo wasn't at all surprised when Don concluded the spiel with: "Leo, we're all hurting right now. But, Raph has been hurting like this for years, and none of us have ever taken the time to reflect on how we could help."

Leo did open his mouth then, an apology burning his tongue out of a reflex he only exercised for family, but before he could voice it, Don raised a hand in a gesture of silence.

"Now is not the time for self-depreciation or sorrow. It doesn't fix anything. Instead of apologizing or picking a battle over something you don't approve of, try to understand where we're coming from. It's something you used to do... But lately, you've been negligent. And that's not good for anyone. If you want to self-improve, then do it, but let us be, Leo. For a little while... Let us cope. Let Mike eat his cereal and yell a little. And let me do this. Let me find Raph. Even if he's a million miles from here, let me try." His voice, usually kind or clinical, cracked just a bit, baring the fervid emotions he usually held at bay. "Even if he's long gone, give me this chance. I need it. It's like penicillin for the heart."

As Leo listened and took note of the overwhelming aura of anguish that only seemed to spread, his mouth pressed into a firm line. Unable to call forth words powerful enough to make amends, Leo found himself closing the gap between himself and his immediate younger brother, slipping both arms around the intelligent turtle and pulling him into a tight hold, possessive and assuring. The type of hug he usually reserved for Michelangelo in rare moments of woe...

Don allowed the hug, for which Leo was grateful. He tightened his arms around his brother just a bit more, to offer a wordless reminder that they still had each other.

Don returned the embrace with a little less enthusiasm, offering mutual comfort while informing the other through brevity that he wouldn't change his mind. He was going. And no force on Earth would change that.

Parting from one another and trading expressions of understanding, Leonardo stepped aside and allowed passage.

Because Don needed this. This freedom to hope, to try, to possibly fail and try again. Like an experiment, theorize and test.

A wrong answer was still an answer. Behind every failure was a new opportunity. To learn from mistakes, and to try again. To not give up. To keep going until a complete understanding had been reached, documented, and shared.

In a strange way, science almost depended on the endurance of one's hope. And Don loved science, statistics and facts. Information that was solid and unchanging, permanent. Something safe, constant. Something he could count on to keep him grounded...

-The act of leaving the Lair solo, as simple as it was, could almost be described as liberating.

It was easy enough to see the appeal, the frequency Raphael had fled the Lair, through the tunnels, making his way topside. There was a light and excitable feeling behind it. A natural high with an underlying promise of hope and possibility.

And, logic be damned, Don wanted to keep that faith, that optimism. He needed it. Like the very air he breathed, he was almost desperate for that feeling.

He'd rationalized it all in his head, to alleviate pending guilt of the unfair truths he'd spoken to his brother and leader prior to his departure. Almost compromising, he decided that he would go to the surface and search for only an hour or so. Not too long, but long enough to put forth the effort and feel like he was doing something useful.

Once topside, he drew in that air. That excitement. That freeing sense of wonder.

He checked all the usual spots in an almost ritualistic fashion, finding nothing. No clues. No hints. No brother.

Before long, he found himself almost aimless in his plight, lost in his search, but he refused to be disheartened.

He was about ready to give in, go home, and save the last of his squandering ambition for another day. Store it away safely before it completely burned out.

But by the rule of some cosmic and imaginary force Don will never admit to believing in, something caught his attention, stopping him in his tracks, halting any and all progression.

Sounds sailed from a distance into his keenly focused ear slits, and he listened, instinctively trying to discern exactly what he was hearing.

Noise. Familiar noise. Grunting, labored breathing, a weapon cutting through the air and colliding with something solid- as if its wielder had missed the initial target and cracked into something less forgiving.

Happening upon the sounds of a fight followed by the well-known croon of Casey's accent, Don felt compelled to investigate. And he moved in to do just that.

As Don closed in on the scene, the first thing he noticed was the broken hockey stick on the ground. Eyes only resting on the would-be weapon for a fraction of a second, he stole his focus away and aligned it with the human owner of said stick.

The vigilante in question held a look of unadulterated rage on his unmasked face as he managed to pin a young punker to the wall before speaking in a low menacing tone: "Ya got about five seconds ta sing like a canary. Ya seen my pal? 'Bout ye' tall, kinda green..."

The punk rapidly shook his head, eyes wide, panicked, knees buckling and tears surfacing; he was just a kid caught up in the wrong business- that much was obvious. He was out of his league, in no position to fight Casey should it come to blows.

So Don stepped in, prior commitment stowed away to make way for better judgement. "Jones, he doesn't know anything. Let him go," the turtle coaxed.

Albeit hesitant, Casey relented, slowly loosening his hold on the kid before stepping away. "Ya don't know nothin'," he grumbled, half-speaking to the kid. "Get goin'. Move. Go home." He didn't watch, but he heard the frantic footsteps as the punk took off down the street. Once he was certain the kid was out of earshot, Casey looked down at his broken stick; he had swung it at the kid hard- and missed, hitting the wall with enough force to snap the stick. If the kid hadn't ducked in time... -Casey didn't want to think about the damage that could have been done. So, he focused instead on his response to Don's unexpected presence. "I just miss Raph," he confessed, sniffing and moving to collect the ruined sports equipment. Taking it into his hands, he added: "Life's been one suck-fest after another- Everything... right down the shitter since Raph ran off."

Don's face scrunched up at the crude words and unpleasant imagery, but after processing the desperate tone in the voice of his human companion, his expression mirrored sympathy and condolence. "I know, but... shaking down innocent kids isn't the best way to-"

"I know that, Donnie-boy. Dammit, I know! But you guys ain't found Raph yet. And if you guys can't, who can? I been lookin' real hard... My bud, he's just gone. My best friend...- And it ain't like he up-and-moved away. He disappeared. I don't even know if the bonehead is alive, or-" His face crumbled in agony at the mere thought. "He's my pal, Don. I know I got you guys, but it ain't the same. Raph gets me."

Don's expression turned contemplative then. "Jones- or, rather- Casey..." Don tried to loosen his tongue and ease up on the formalities. It was obvious that the human was just as distressed as himself and his brothers. "I'm sor-"

"Donnie, I miss Raph." Casey cut in, needing his words to be heard. He'd been moping since Raph's departure. Moping, or fighting with April. Then moping more. "Raph and me, we hang out, and he gets me. I talk, and he listens. He talks, and I listen. Sometimes, we ain't gotta talk at all, and we still understand." Casey looked down and kicked a dented old beer can before mumbling: "It ain't just Raph bein' gone that's got me feelin' like this. Fuck, that's most of it, but... there's more. I mean, I like April. Her and me, we had a good thing fer a while, but now April's sleeping with her boss- that's why she's so damn busy all the time! Charity, my ass. More like, she jack-hammerin' everyone at the station! And I ain't got no one ta talk to about it. I lost my pal and my girl, and I got no one." He kicked the can again and glowered at it as it skittered away. "I got nothin'. Even that can ran from me. Stupid trash. Stupid everything..."

Don had nothing to say, no words to give. And Casey was spent, too drained from the admittance to say anything more.

Thus, the conversation had verbally ended there.

Words could offer no salvation here.

Donatello took Casey's hand and led him out of the streets and back to the human's home.

That night, Casey went through a 6-pack by himself while he talked to Don- or, at least started to... until a Penguins -vs- Flyers game came on. The rest of the night was filled with Casey making boisterous shouts at the television from time to time, and explaining hockey rules, regulations, and statistics to Don during stoppages.

By the end of the 2nd Period of the game, Don could see the appeal. The tact behind each shot. The frustration when a ref or linesman made a bad call. He almost wanted to join in and shout when that unnecessary slashing took a player out of the game due to a fractured wrist...

Don was on pins and needles when, with less than 12 seconds left on the clock of regulation game time, the Penguin's player banked a shot off the board, caught it on the rebound and hit the puck with a snapshot into the net, tying the game and then sending it into overtime...

-The following morning, Don wrote a brief farewell note to Casey and left it on the table next to a glass of water and some aspirin before heading back to the Lair where Leo awaited his return but, much to Don's surprise and relief, gave no lecture.

That first night with Casey, along with his confession about why he and April had been fighting, was never talked about -the subject taboo- but many nights of camaraderie followed.

At first, Don told himself he was only going along with Casey to prevent the vigilante from going 'ape' on an undeserving punk like he almost had before. But, by the third or fourth time they met up together, it became less about the punks and more about a friendship that was beginning to form.

Together, Casey and Don would patrol and search the city during the dark hours. When that proved unsuccessful and fatigue bade them to stop, they retired to watch a game or plan another excursion.

Spending time together, they still missed Raphael, but neither felt quite as alone in their misery; and that made the pain more bearable.

...

[Next chapter, needs edited and will be posted shortly!- In case you didn't read my A/N: This chapter took place in the PAST, but I didn't want the entire thing to be in italics to emphasize that. Next chapter takes place in the present once more. Sorry for the impromptu backtracking!]