A/N: I hope everyone likes this new story. I've fallen in love with The Boondock Saints and The Walking Dead crossovers. I have a lot planned for this one. I'm looking forward to what ya'll think.

Well . . . here's the first chapter.

She wouldn't ever complain about the cold in Georgia, ever again. Teeth chattering as she shivered against a particularly cool wind, she was glad to be free of all the people in her shopping group out that afternoon. They had found a lot of things to take home, even got some stuff for Christmas for her sister and brother and some people in the church.

The bells from the large Gothic cathedral across the street tolled for the hour of 4 or 5, her attention was elsewhere. It was getting late and she didn't want to go back in just yet.

Watching the other shops across the street by the cathedral, she saw some of her friends leaving a shop and wave to her. Leaning against the building, her arms wound around herself and she took in how old the city felt. Boston, Massachusetts was filled with a long, rich history. She wondered if she could take a tour of Boston University and the Irish influenced areas of the city, get a feel for her Father's people. Her people.

"Maybe Mama will let me. Bring Maggie along. She's been talking about trying to go back to school," she murmured to herself as she pushed off the wall. She pulled the thin cardigan around her tighter and made to go back to the group, which was heading back toward the hotel down the street.

Sweat dampened hands gripped her arm and pulled her in the shadows of the alley just before the hotel. She caught sight of some men waiting for her friends, the other girls in the group, that had been coming to meet her on the walk back to the hotel. She tried to scream and warn them to run, but one of the dirty hands holding her in place came up to cover her mouth, anticipating her reaction with an amused and sarcastic, "Sorry girly. We can't have you doing that now."

"L-let me go!" was all she was able to get out before her words were cut off.

What self-defense training she had (classes taken at the insistence of her father as part of the agreement to let her go on the trip with the Church group) was forgotten. Fear took over, crawling up through her like the hand on her arm moved to grip her more tightly across the waist. To keep her arms down and prevent her from twisting away with her struggling.

One girl ran down the sidewalk, trying to get away, her scream for help cut short as she was caught and slammed into a wall. The man growled and grumbled to himself about the incompetency of his fellows. There were only four women. How hard was it to keep four bitches quiet? Much wasn't missed by him, except for the door of the cathedral opening across from the alley as his back turned and he watched his men drag the other women into the darkness the fast setting sun was providing.

Such movements were not missed under the eyes of those who care. Stepping out of the cathedral, one of two men noticed a flash of light from the corner of his eyes. He looked up from lighting his cigarette just in time to see a flailing arm being pulled out of the light of the streets and into the into bleakness of the alleyway across from them. He nudged the man next to him with an elbow, tilting his head in the general direction. As one, they moved.

"Now wha'er we doing, brother?" One thick voice, laced with an Irish brogue spoke, curious, but not really questioning. He had no reason not to follow, regardless of where the other was taking him.

"Saving a couple of wee lasses," the first answered with an equally thick brogue, adrenaline already spiking through his blood, anticipating the likely fight to come. "A princess and all 'er ladies, perhaps."

Grinning, the other man walked forward, taking the lead as they crossed the street, "A coupla regular knights in shinin' armor 'nd all that shite, aren't we?"

"Aye. We are."

At the opposite end of an alley sat a nondescript white van, ready to transport their next set of deliveries. The bitches would pay well. Young enough to be trained by whoever bought them, pretty enough to be bought for a high price. Him and his boys, they'd be living nicely for a while. He sat leaning against the door of the van with the blonde sitting tied at his feet. That bitch was his and he wanted her put in last so she could be dragged out first. The rest were being hastily bound and loaded up.

He checked the time on his watch before pulling another drag from his cigarette and yelling, "Hurry up, boys. You're ten seconds behind." The grime on his face didn't do much to hide the ugly sneer on his lips.

The two crossed the street and entered the alleyway at a casual, if slightly fast, pace, taking in the scene in less than a second. They separated the first girl, who was just being shoved against a wall to have her hands bound behind her, from the man doing the binding. He was beaten in a quick series of blows the brothers couldn't really enjoy. Just a simple hair grab by one while the other kicked him in the ribs hard enough to break something before he was dropped to ground and a final kick made to the head to knock him out.

They didn't have time to do anything more fun. There was a whole alley between them and the van where the other girls were being pulled. The less noise the better. Less chance of the assholes being able to run.

They moved onto the next man, mentally noting the other three men loading the two of the women into the van (where still more women already were) while another one was trussed up at the feat of some fucker smoking against the side of the van. He was the obvious leader, so of course they would save his judgement for last. Sneering and exchanging a glance, they kept moving. Their years from scrapping in the roads of Ireland, and later fighting to pay their way to the US, made them quite a team when it came to small spaces and multiple opponents.

With twists and punches they brought down a third man, two well placed hits in the solar plexus took him to the ground. By then, they'd been noticed. The men didn't cry out or yell. They knew they were at more risk of being seen (and later identified) if the cops got called on the mess their pick up had become. The brothers counted on it to keep things quiet.

The two had to duck for a second as the remaining two henchmen went after them with a pipe and some weird staff thing. Both being swung at them like makeshift baseball bats. Brute force over kill.

Eyebrows reaching his hairline, one brother looked to the other, before they snickered. The first tossed a question to the second, "Ist, dass ein... stock, bruder?"

"Ja, ich denke, es ist." The other answered and the two laughed even harder before focusing on their opponents again. Both of whom stood there looking at them, obviously confused and thrown off by the unexpected German.

Pissed at how long it was taking and the two stopping, the man with the cigarette yelled, "Move your asses. Stanno cavalcando shetlands, ha colpito basso!" His voice carried across the alley, Italian accent thick with anger and some shame at the showing his men were giving to a couple of skinny assholes.

Snapped back into the fray with the order, one of the thugs grazed Murphy in the shoulder before Connor came barreling down on him. The man got knocked into the brick of the building behind them. Murphy grinned and dodged another wing from the other thug, pushing him over the second of the fallen bruisers to send him flying on his ass.

The brothers' eyes met and they grinned as the Italian accent flew through their ears. Boss man yelling and cursing up a storm as he finally joined in, "Oh! Voi stroga stupidi! Devo fare tutto da solo?"

The shouts of the kidnapped women already in the van over-road the last of the Italian's words in Beth's ears. The sounds of the fighting had scared them all as they sat huddled in a group of six. Some Beth had been with and a few she didn't know based on numbers alone. They were crouched together, whimpering in the darkness of the vehicle, eyes covered, wrists and ankles bound. Beth moved amidst the women, trying to shush them and tell them it would be fine. That she was going to untie them so they could get away. She couldn't see what was going on beyond the van, the sun had set sometime during the fight and the alley wasn't well lit. She didn't know if their would-be saviors were winning or not and she feared the sounds of whimpering would draw the men's attentions back toward them.

Beth had managed to get her gag off and hands out of her restraints when the man standing next to her smoking had joined the fight. He'd thought her cowed, and she was. Mostly. Right up until she realized that with him distracted she had a chance to help the others. She was in the van when she heard the first gunshot and her head snapped up. A matched set of storm-grey blue eyes from two faces met hers as she watched the man, the one who'd been smoking, get dragged into the dark beyond her sight. His gun already forced from his hand by strong fingers on his wrist.

Later, she'd pinpoint that moment as the point when her life changed completely. At the time though, all she could feel was lightheaded. The sheer weight of the situation, the details of what was going on, rushed in on her and her focus was broken. The help she'd been trying to give went undone as her body gave out on her and she fainted.

The other women heard the Italian beg for his life and the soft sound of two clicks echoing each other as his words ended abruptly. But not Beth. Shock had set in and she was catatonic while the two brothers made their way to the van. The other women still bound, blindfolded, whimpering. Her body laying on the garbage covered ground in front of it. She'd clearly rolled off when she clocked out.

The two men knew the horrors they just saved the young women from. It wasn't a lead they'd ever gotten much info on, human trafficking. But they knew of it. Had seen the results before. It was by the grace of God they'd been there to stop it this time.

The two crossed themselves before making their way back through the alley to ensure all the men were dead and the other girls were safe. They'd get back to the van after the prayers were said.

A/N:

German exchange: "Is that a... stick, brother?" , "Aye, I think it is."

First Italian statement: "They're riding shetlands, hit low!"

Second Italian statement: "You fucks! Must I do everything myself?"