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: Had this chapter done for a couple days, but personal circumstances delayed the edit and posting.

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

...

CH 54

[Leo]

The weather had calmed, but the night air was still colder than a witch's tit.

Yet, Leonardo couldn't focus on the icy chill; he could barely focus on breathing. His mind seemed to empty itself as he stared down at the young man pinned beneath his own reptilian body. He pressured the blade of his katana, searing it into the column of flesh, drawing a thin line of blood.

Testing the waters, so to speak.

"You have one chance," he said, voice cold, almost menacing, foreign to his on ear slits, "to amend your claim. I value my brothers above my honor, and I will not hesitate to-"

"He died." The simple statement. Grim, and flat. Uncaring.

Leo took a moment to gauge the human's sincerity. Finding no fault of dishonesty in the horrific claim, he drew in a breath, steeled his nerves, and bore down his blade.

...

[Raph]

It felt like forever before those two days came to an end and Raphael's punishment was lifted.

Strangely enough, he had been guided by a stranger. A new voice, strong- yet soft. Firm, and undeniably... feminine. And the aroma that accompanied this stranger was almost non-existent with an echo of sakura blossom and copper.

Raphael paid close attention to that alluring combination of scents as he followed behind the young woman who beckoned him, directing him towards the elevator.

He noted her steps, gauged the length and speed of her stride and matched her step for step, playing it by ear.

From one hall to the next, the young woman sped up, moving faster, and the turtle mimicked. From hall to hall, this continued on: a childish game that bore no name.

She darted left, faster.

He followed, never more than a few steps behind and often finding himself directly by her side, inhaling that sweet scent that drew his curiosity.

Upon entering the elevator, Raphael stopped- not because the woman had also stopped... but because he knew where he was.

He could smell the earthy smell of the potting soil of the plant that decorated the corner. He could feel the fibers of carpet beneath his toes when he curled them or scuffed his feet.

He heard the doors slide shut.

He felt the shift in gravity as the lift was activated.

And... he could hear the young woman breathe. Soft, steady.

He controlled his own respiration to mimic that as well, almost daring the woman to say or do something- but she did nothing.

She simply called haughtily: "This way," when the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open.

And again, the turtle followed.

He didn't need to see to know that the atmosphere had changed as himself and the female entered the infamous Throne Room.

Then...

"Kneel," the command came in Shredder's voice, and Raphael obeyed without thought.

He dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

In the presence of his human-master, he felt oddly at peace. His breath didn't even hitch when he heard the sound of a blade sliding from its sheath. Nor when he felt the cool steel brush against the side of his head.

In half a heartbeat's time, the blade had cut the blindfold, and the material fell, freeing the turtle's face from its own brand of oppression.

Even with the cloth removed, Raphael kept his eyes closed out of instinct. Having relinquished his sight for a couple days, opening his eyes almost felt impossible; though he was quite aware of his ability to do so, it somehow seemed unlawful.

"Rise, and open your eyes, Raphael. My son." The words, so firm. The voice, familiar, grounding. A siren's call.

Raphael did as ordered. With no hesitation. Complete authority and credence was given to the man that once haunted his nightmares. In one swift motion, he pulled himself to a standing position, his posture perfect, shoulders squared, chin raised with unwavering confidence. Without a second thought, he peeled his eyelids back, almost surprised by the dim lighting that met him.

Though he was well aware of his location, he almost expected the blinding whiteness of the Infirmary to greet him in a vicious assault of the senses. But that was not the case. Instead, the Throne Room's lights were dim, offering an almost warm glow to the surrounding blackness that reached the far-stretched corners of the room.

The lighting could be considered soothing.

Raph blinked several times as he adjusted to the nuance of sight. He took in the view of his armored master, standing as tall and sharp as ever, sporting a new pair of bladed gauntlets.

Bright, gleaming, polished, and deadly.

Raphael's gaze rested on those blades momentarily, determining the incisiveness.

A quick shift of his amber eyes, and Raph's focus turned to another nuance about his master. A familiar relic, golden and radiant, resting around the human's neck like a pendant.

The Golden Shuriken.

The mutant couldn't help staring at it. He'd almost forgotten about the relic. He'd secured the magick item for his master so long ago...

'Was it that long ago?' Between then and now, there seemed to be a stretch of eternity.

It was hardly something he openly pondered, for it brought up other memories best left buried. It reminded him of the preparation for the heist. The nervous energy that had him on edge. He remembered the weight of the bladed shoulder armor; the feel of the respirator encasing his beak. He remembered the surge of adrenaline from encountering the land mines. The mutant dog he fought and slayed- and later buried.

He remembered the odd mesh of pride and disgust he found within himself upon completion of obtaining the item.

Ultimately, he'd slaughtered. He'd stolen. He'd rebuked everything he'd ever been taught under the rat's tutelage.

And, while this invoked a number of conflicting emotions, somehow, pride always seemed to overtake the negativity.

Pride always aided him in his quest for repression.

...

Raphael couldn't be sure how long he'd been staring at that mystic relic once his attention had turned to the gleaming golden object, but it was probably too long considering the abruptness of his master's call of: "Focus, Raphael." The human paused for the length of three breaths. Then, "You served your punishment without complaint."

'Right, Master Shredda summoned me,' Raphael mentally chastised himself before processing what had been said. Shredder's praise came and easily stole the turtle's attention. Adjusting his footing and flexing his fingers to quell a sudden wave of restlessness, he gave repose. "No reason ta complain," Raph said with a cocky tone, his amber eyes locking with his master's jade-colored ones. "The only regret I have, is that I couldn't do anythin' productive fer you or the Foot while I as servin' my punishment."

With his words, Raphael knew he was sucking up. There was little honesty to what he'd just said, but he'd hardly consider it a lie. And he'd delivered the line so carefully, so believably...

Shredder raised a hand and placed it firmly on the mutant's shoulder, showing his praise through the simple action.

And Raphael basked in the feeling. The warmth. The pride.

Yet, for a split second, Raph's focus dwindled; strayed away and honed in on the thought of his former Leader. There was a twinge in his chest that he couldn't decipher, but he pushed the feeling aside to be contemplated at another time. Because, his human-master was right there, demanding his attention.

And Raphael was disrespectfully ignoring the human in favor of sorting through a pile of memories surrounding the reptile called Leonardo.

The memories hurt- not just emotionally. Accompanying the internal grief was a sharp pain in the turtle's head.

Somehow, it seemed important.

Because, for as long as he could remember, despite their differences, he and Leo had been bound together. Not as brothers. Not as comrades. Not spiritually. But, on a more selective path that bordered telepathy.

In the way that twins could allegedly feel one another's pain, Raphael and Leonardo had a unique connection.

It had always been that way. Though, when the subject was breached, Raphael had openly dismissed it, always; likewise, Leonardo had stubbornly claimed to have the same connection with each of his brothers, favoring no one.

It was a contingency that they agreed to disagree on without prompting argument. Yet it was undeniable that some kind of bond was there. Something deep that the emerald-skinned turtle often tried to overshadow and ignore.

In a world where the four turtles only had each other, it was surprisingly easy to feel over crowded, suffocated.

And, with Leo's gain of Leadership and Raphael's gradually growing distance from the others, that bond had weakened. It became buried by years of condescension and jealousy.

In time, despite its niggling existence, the bond was mostly ignored -if not forgotten.

Except in particularly hard times.

On more than a few occasions when Raphael had found himself in over his head, topside and fighting a losing battle, Leo had wordlessly raced out of the Lair, drawn by an internal pull and almost guided to his brother's aid.

Whenever it was questioned how Leo knew to look for Raph, or where to find him, Leo's answer was always a calm and confident: "I'm the Leader; it is my job to know-" but he never really knew. Not truthfully. It was purely instinctive.

As expected, almost justified, Raphael never returned the help with a grateful attitude. Not when Leo used his role as Leader like a crutch. An excuse. Had Leo been more open and less stubborn, perhaps Raph would have done the same.

But, in most cases, when the subject of Leo's aid came to light, Raphael would respond with snark, or simply reply: "I ain't never asked for yer help, Fearless."

And Leo would forgive Raph.

They'd fight and disagree. They'd push each other's buttons. They'd say words they didn't mean and worry about consequences later.

But, that's just what brothers did.

'Brothers...' the mere thought of the word hurt Raphael. Because he couldn't be sure if he still had brothers. He knew they weren't biologically related, but they were raised together. They lived and trained together. They did everything together.

And then, Raphael left.

While this was nothing new, this time... he stayed away.

At the time, he thought he was doing the right thing. At the time, it made sense. At the time, he was so certain of himself and the path he'd chosen. But, in retrospect, he had to wonder if he wasn't being just a tad bit selfish. Petulant. Ignorant. And downright stupid.

Because, he'd done so many things that could never be un-done. He'd weaved himself into a web and gotten trapped. Willingly.

He'd stepped into this life through some imaginary portal, and he'd tried to find happiness. He'd searched for acceptance among an enemy. He'd forsaken the only family he ever knew...

And, part of him had to wonder, if his interlude with Shredder was something genuine and just, or if it was merely an attempt at gaining the praise he'd been denied for so long.

Greed for an starving ego.

A chance to be the golden boy, for once. A chance to be like his big brother. Just for a while, a moment in the spotlight.

If so, was it really that bad? For him to want a little appreciation? A little piece of fame in a world that refused his existence?

...

[Leo]

The turtle grit his teeth and shut his eyes tightly in despair. His hands futilely scooped at the pooling red liquid and splashed it over the gaping wound he'd created, trying to return the life-essence to the source... as if the act would put this Humpty Dumpty together again.

Deep down, he knew it was impossible.

Deep down, he knew what he'd done.

Deep down, he felt something inside break.

...

[Next chapter, mid-outline.]