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: Quick followup on things here...

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

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CH 47

[Presently / Shortly after Raph's episode of psychosis and subsequent flight...]

Hobo-Joe, also known as Big Carl, hadn't been able to make it to April's due to a meeting with a contractor that couldn't be rescheduled. Instead, he acquired a bottle of Tequila, to which he attached a tag inscribed:

TO: FROG PRINCE / RAPHAEL
Drink up, but don't drink alone.
FROM: HOBO-JOE

Knowing that he couldn't make it to the little gathering he'd been invited to, Carl had parted ways with Casey, promising to be available next time, assuming there would be a next time.

Casey hadn't minded one bit. While he was exercising surprisingly fair mannerisms, the obese human had smelled like a mix of rotting tuna, onions, and day-old chicken. Comparatively, the sewers smelled more pleasant, less gaseous and stomach-churning. So, Casey harbored no ill will when he took the Tequila in one hand- and cradled a box in under his opposing arm.

The box, wrapped in birthday-themed paper, had that distinctive size, shape, and weight that made kids groan on holidays: the dreadful 'Aw, man, it's clothes!' box...

This box, in particular, was the housing of something special Casey had taken from his own home: a present he bought for his emerald-skinned friend; he couldn't wait to give it to him. He'd never put so much thought into a gift for someone in his whole life, and now the excitement left him almost feeling like a kid at Christmas time. Giddy with gift-giving excitement. He couldn't stop grinning ear to ear at the mere thought of how Raphael might react.

Casey could only imagine...

He wouldn't tell Raphael how much money went into it (cough-$539-cough), and he'd gotten a deal on it. The authentic sweater that mirrored the black and silver jersey worn by Raphael's favorite NHL player.

#11, Anze Kopitar... center for the LA Kings.

Sure, Casey could have gotten it for half the price, but it wouldn't have been tailored to accommodate Raphael's shell, nor would it have that glorious signature scripted so boldly by Kopitar himself. An autograph, worth every hard-earned dollar Casey had saved and put into it.

'Raph's gonna be stoked, I just know it!'

-He easily made the trip back to April's, intent on giving Raphael his gift... only to enter the apartment and find everyone in a state of turmoil.

Because, much to his dismay, Raphael had fled. Again. Only, this time, he'd fled during the daytime when the streets were jam-packed with busy people migrating from coffee shops to bookstores, from work to hotels, from cabs to courthouses, etc.

Casey could only imagine the blind panic that would have sent Raph running at such a time.

And, sitting the Tequila bottle down on the table, Casey stood stock-still, expression unreadable as he considered the brightly wrapped box that he clutched just a bit tighter than necessary. A feeling of woe tore through him, but his face remained passive, blank. He hadn't considered that Raph would run off again, but he should have. He should've been prepared. He should've stayed to prevent it. He should've done something other than run off to fetch a stupid box...

Now, he could do little more than stand there in the living room, dumbstruck, muddy shoes pressing prints into April's carpet; he couldn't help wondering if he'd ever see his friend again. It was a terrible feeling, and he was sure the others were feeling just as bad.

With possibly more care than he'd ever shown another inanimate object, Casey placed the box next to the bottle on the table. His gaze swept over the other occupants in the room as he fought to work out a solution at his own pace; there had to be something he could do.

-April was sitting at a computer chair, Don looming over her shoulder as he backseat-researched. The journalist was pressing her lips together in a firm line, forcing herself to keep the slight annoyance to herself; after all, it wasn't the genius turtle's fault; stress was an ill accessory for anyone.

"Raphael's new gear was engraved with the TGRI logo," Don said for the umpteenth time, eyes darting left to right as he scanned the useless information on the page. "That has to mean something. There has to be a lead there, somehow... Of course, I don't expect the company to have their dirty laundry easily accessible to public view, but-"

"Donnie," April cut in, keeping her voice as level as possible. "I know how to use a computer. I'll find something, just give me a minute."

Don shook his head slowly, eyes closing in distress. After taking a deep calming breath and steeling his focus once more, he, snapped his eyes open and grabbed the back of April's chair, wheeling it out of the way before moving to stand directly in front of the computer, hands poised over the keyboard.

April looked affronted, but before she could voice a complaint, Don was stepping away from the computer and turning the printer on. She watched him momentarily fiddle with the leather strap that crossed his chest while the printer came to life and awaited its queue. Then he stepped back to the computer and clicked a small print icon.

In the disheartened silence of the apartment, the printer was obnoxiously loud, inking the paper and spitting it out bit by bit.

"April, I need you to do something for me," Don said quickly, eyes locked onto the paper as it came into view.

"I'll help however I can, Donnie. You know that," April answered without missing a beat, eyes full of sympathy and concern.

The printer completed its task.

Grabbing the paper, Don skimmed over the contents before thrusting it in April's direction. "Jordan Perry. His contact information is all here. Fax, email, phone, address- You can't so much as Google TGRI without his name popping up. I'm not expecting much, but any information is better than none."

"What kind of information are you hoping to find, Donnie?"

"I... I don't know, April," Don confessed, voice strained. "But if Raph got his gear from TGRI, then there must be some link between himself and the company. And if so, we'll find it. Any lead will be helpful. I'm concerned; Raphael suffered a breakdown of some sort, and he needs help. I don't know where he's running off to, where he's been, and I don't like the numerous unknown variables. We need answers... If he's suffering a psychological disorder-"

Michelangelo chose that moment to pop in from the kitchen, arms crossed and an expression of utter hatred marring his would-be innocent face. "If you hadn't freaked him out, Don, Raph would still be here, I bet. And we wouldn't have to find him!"

"Mikey, I didn't-" Don began to defend, heart clenching at the implication.

But the sea-green mutant wasn't done. He jabbed a finger over at Leo, who sat behind the couch in the lotus position, eyes closed as he attempted the losing battle of meditating under the excessive stress. "And-" Mike piped up, voice growing louder, harsher, "if Leo wasn't being such a dick-!"

"Michelangelo!" Leo barked, eyes snapping open to glare at his youngest brother. "Your language is-"

"Shut up, Leo! I mean it! You're being a dick! We should be out there following Raph right now! He needs us! And you're keeping us here just because of a little sunlight! Well, Raph didn't heed the sun, did he? Nooo, he just ran out there and- Leo, he's all alone! He's upset! And if we don't go after him, he's gonna think we don't even care! This is the same thing that happened last time! You think you know best, but you don't! You don't, Leo!"

The blue-banded turtle rubbed his beak, trying to quell his frustration. "Mike, listen to me. Exposing ourselves to a mass of humans isn't going to help anyone. Raph ran for the same reason he always runs. He felt threatened, and if he hadn't ran, he would have lashed out at us. Wherever he's going, I'm sure he's going there with the intent to find safety. If we chase him, it'll only make matters worse."

"You're stupid, Leo," Mikey spat, turning away and stomping off, but not before shouting "I hope your next gulp of tea goes down the wrong hole and makes you choke!"

Leo sighed heavily, worried and weary for the situation, but he wouldn't second-guess his judgement. Daytime exposure just wasn't something they could afford. He glanced at his purple-masked brother, trying to pull together the right words and assure the support of his intelligent younger brother. "I'm sorry, Don. You know I mean well. And you know-"

"I know a lot of things, Leo," Don said simply. "I dutifully agree with you on an abundant of things. I never question your leadership or judgement. Your plans for going into battle are always sound. In terms of training, I have nothing but praise to sing for you. However, this is an entirely different subject, and I must say that Mikey's right."

Hearing this, Leo was taken aback, expression perplexed.

"When the subject involves Raphael, you- Leo- tend to be a major dick." Don's words. Don's voice. Uncharacteristically crude and exceptionally honest.

Having been a bystander amidst the drama, Casey found his voice and spoke loud and concise. "I'm goin' out to look fer my pal. You guys are welcome ta come."

"Daylight," Leo reminded, throwing his arms out in a spastic gesture. A migraine had long since formed, and it was only adding to his exasperation, his usual brand of stoicism lost among the upheaval of emotions and stress.

Then...

"Grab a hat and coat. Stick to the rooftops and back alleys if ya gotta." Casey rebutted, eyes narrow. "Raph wouldn't hesitate ta run after any of us. Yet we're sittin' on our asses while he's strugglin' with all this stuff on his own. Tch, pisses me off. I'm goin'."

April looked thoughtful before giving an insistent nod. "Guys, I've got several coats in the back. They were in the closet when I moved in. They smell like mothballs, but they'll do the job. You guys go, and I'll keep an eye on the news and try to contact that associate from TGRI."

Mikey poked his head in again, but this time... an embellished Richard Nixon mask hid his face. "Couldn't help but overhear," he said, tone bubbly in absence of the malice expressed prior. "I'm ready. We've got some more masks too; I found 'em in a box, along with wigs, stockings, vibrating wands, and-!" he rattled off a list that left April horrified and the others paling. Then he jumped back to the subject of masks. "We've got Michelle Obama, Garfield, Homer Simpson- Oh, there's a pimp hat! Seriously! If we're gonna find Raph, lets go already! My face is gettin' sweaty under this latex-thingy."

...

[The point of this chapter? I needed to set up an upcoming event later, plus... I couldn't jump in with Raph and leave so many loose ties over here.
-Next chapter will follow Raph, FINALLY!
In-Progress! 3/4 written and needs editing! You have no idea how long I've been waiting to get to this upcoming chapter... Just hope it's a good one!]

RANDOM QUESTION!
Has anyone ever written or read a TMNT prison-fic? *curious*