Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles~

Warnings: this is Turtles in the Wild West. There will be religious views, there will be prejudice, there will be emotional conflicts, there will be blood, and gunfights, there will be a lot of stuff in this piece. There will be Turtlecest where that will include sexual relations between the turtles. It's heavy RaphXDon. There might be a lot of triggery things that could happen in this story, so I'm warning you now. Otherwise - I hope you enjoy because I've actually had a lot of fun writing this story.

Confessional

~Chapter 3~

-Part 2-

Friday

"Don, I'm tellin' ya, he ain't nothing but trouble and you can't honestly be sayin' you want to keep that wolf around." Casey hissed, pointing at the Doc's door.

Donatello sat on the porch in one of those rocking chairs LH had put out there for friends and family. Hands clasped tight upon his knees, knuckles white the longer he sat perfectly still, lost in his own thoughts like a bird in the clouds. His focus wasn't on his friend and helping him decide what was best for the town; it worried him that his sinful desires were winning.

Swallowing hard, Donatello lifted his head and stared directly at his friend with dust kicking around him from the puffs of evening wind as he blocked the sun from his eyes. "It's already in motion, Casey. Its better we keep a man around who's willing to do what we cannot against those men out on Jenkin's farm, than to lose a gun to our unfounded fears."

Tipping his hat back and wiping his brow, Casey shook his head, his free hand resting atop his six shooter. "I don't like this, Don." He hissed, glaring at the door, and no doubt imagining it was Raphael standing there. "He's no good. Ya said so yourself; he's a fox in a henhouse. He's done going ta destroy us."

"Not if we destroy ourselves first." Donatello said then snapped his mouth shut and bowed his head, his hands gripping all the tighter. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." He swallowed past the lie. "Besides, I believe you said that." The sun beat down on him, a ball of fire at the end of town, eating at him as if promising his own damnation if he continued on this path.

No. He wouldn't do this. Inhaling slow and deep, Donatello took a moment, pushing Raphael out of his mind and repeating a prayer. It soothed him, calmed him from the overwhelming desire to betray his vows. Raphael was fine. He would be gone soon enough anyhow and leave town forever. The Marshalls would be here any day now to clean up his mess. Raph was a stranger, a desperado wandering the plains. That wasn't how Donatello wished to live. He wouldn't give up his life just because his physical body was at odds with his immortal soul.

"Donatello, what's wrong? Did that fellow say somethin' to ya?" Casey stepped forward, resting a foot upon the first step.

Donatello shook his head, smiling to his friend. "I'm sorry. I think I'm just worried is all. I knew what he planned to do since he brought his horse to me this morning. I should have come to you, but I thought after he saw the number of men that giant of a mudsill had under his command, Raphael would change his mind and come back without having..." he swallowed, "gotten hurt." His fingers tightened around each other.

Casey sighed and bowed his head, hands on his hips. "I got ta say, I admire him. Makes me wish I had gone with him and taken down some of those murderin' sons-uv-bitches. Pardon the language, Father."

"I would have protested if you had gone." Don chuckled, forcing his hands apart and he wiggled his fingers, compelling some of the tension out. He couldn't act like this. He needed to focus. "Who would I talk too if you died?"

"Michelangelo?" Casey offered, a smile rolling over his angular face.

He snorted at that, waving his hand. "As much as I love Michelangelo, he doesn't have enough cents in his head to make a dollar. I would find myself running with the Indians before I had a sensible conversation with that one."

The two chuckled and the unease of the situation drained slowly from their shoulders.

Moving up the creaky steps, he took a seat beside him in one of the many rocking chairs. Casey thumped his foot up on the railing of the porch and stared out at their little town, the sun setting on the horizon behind the mountains. "We are goin' ta need to get ready tomorrow. I don't see that kind of man sittin' still after an ambush like this."

"I agree." Donatello bobbed his head, feeling far too warm in his priest outfit. "We should let the townsfolk have one more good night's rest. We can go and visit them tomorrow, let them know what happened and prepare them for the possibility of retaliation."

"Sounds fair enough."

Donatello smiled with the sun warm on his face. "I'll spend a little extra time in the church tonight, and I'll pray for us all. I know Raphael's arrival has stirred up trouble we don't wish to see, but I can't help but feel that his arrival is also what will be our salvation." Casey's face hardened, his mouth a severe line cutting across his face. Donatello looked away, wiping his palms against the knees of his pants. He could see him in his head, looking inviting instead of repulsed like he knew deep down he would be if he were to know his lusts. "It's not my place to question God and his plans for us." He smiled then, silently asking for strength. "I'm honestly only a vessel by which I remind us that God is close to us all if we so choose to reach out and accept his Grace. This is my reminder to you, Casey, that even Jesus loved those who hated him. He befriended those he met. Should we not do the same?"

Casey bowed his head and rubbed his face, his calloused palms hissing against his stubble. "You're right. I don't got to carry this load alone." Donatello patted his shoulder before Casey stood and moved down the steps. "I'll take the horse back to Jed, you just make certain Raphael gets back ta his room fine enough."

"Of course." Donatello leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, shoulders relaxed. "And you need to go pay your lovely fiancée a visit."

Casey's face turned red and he huffed, rubbing at his neck and shuffling in the dirt before he bolted for the mare and fumbled with her reins. "She's not my fiancée."

"Yet."

With a stumble and nervous half-wave, Casey tugged the mare after him and back to the general store.

Donatello chuckled and leaned back in his chair, looping his elbow over the back of his seat.

It was at least a plan. Not a very promising one, but something they at least felt like they could control. Prepare the town for the worst and hope for the Marshalls to arrive soon.

LH wiped his hands clean, glancing over his shoulder only once at the unconscious patient upon his table. Donatello leaned in the doorway, his arms folded along his belly with a smile on his face. LH didn't believe that smile for one second.

"He'll need plenty of rest. His leg should heal just fine, though he'll need to stay off it for at least a month. Though, I know better than to assume he'll do it. Keep him off it for a week at least." He didn't believe for one second a man like that would listen at all. He wouldn't be surprised if he was up and walking around town tomorrow morning. LH tossed the bloody rag into the wash basin, the medical tools rattled, and he snorted against the coppery scent in the air. He removed his apron with the bloodstains smeared across the front gingerly then adjusted his glasses before he settled a look upon his friend. "He needs to give his leg time to actually heal."

"I'll take him on as my charge, LH. Do not worry."

"I'm not worried about him. I could care less." LH hung the apron on a peg and approached his friend, his sleeves still rolled up and even after surgery, he remained blissfully spotless. LH was a master at his profession and he prided himself on that. "I'm worried about you, Donatello." He folded his arms over his chest and gazed down the length of his nose at his friend and got a raised brow in return.

They stared at one another, a fly circling past Donatello's head without so much as a swat as it curled its way into the room and alighted upon the rim of the wash basin. Donatello shook his head and looked away, his shoulders stiffening. LH snorted and took a seat on the bench he had nestled near the door beside a coat rack. "My friend, I respect you greatly, and my silence will never be broken. But you must listen to me when I tell you to keep your distance from this one. He is no good like an apple rotten from the middle outward."

Donatello grew smaller where he stood and LH saw the flicker in his smile, but just like an actor upon the New York stages, he caught his stumble and continued his lie with precision and ease. "I don't suppose you would be pleased to have Mikey caring for him? I could turn his care over for the saloon-"

LH rubbed his brow, "No, Michelangelo would possibly kill the poor man by doting all over him. I know the man will at least recover in your capable hands." His teeth clicked at the end of his snout and he stared at the floor, his tail twitching. "I am simply….giving my friend advice. If he wishes to listen, that is his choice. I just feel this man could possibly be bringing thoughts into his head that are dangerous for his well being." He tried to catch Donatello's eye, but the priest stared at the floorboards, his throat bobbing under his collar. He looked like how he did, that night so long ago, a mere boy on the cusp of manhood, asking him questions that he knew all too well were meant to answer his own inner thoughts. He looked so fragile then; he looked broken now.

Donatello scuffed his foot across the floor, his fingers digging into his arms. He finally nodded and LH returned the gesture, their eyes meeting for a flicker of a heartbeat before LH stood, slow and weary and waved him inside. "Thank you for the advice, LH." He whispered and LH frowned. How completely taken was he over this man? "And thank you for caring for him. I'll escort him back to the saloon now."

"I can walk jus' fine." Raphael slurred and LH folded his arms, watching the man struggle to sit up, his skin pale compared to the day he arrived, and his eyes drooped. Even his breath seemed so tired and weak.

"It would be best to keep weight off that leg." LH moved forward and without preamble, placed a hand on his chest and shoved him back down. The man groaned, eyes squeezed shut.

"LH-"

"Donatello." LH turned back to him and his hands curled into fists. He was a patient man, and this community had even helped him gain control, slowing his temper to a slow simmer; but a temper he had and he was at his wits end. His friend walked a razor's edge to destruction and he wouldn't stand by and watch him fall without at least trying to stop him.

Donatello smiled and it made LH pause because he saw it, there in his eyes. Resignation. "It's all right." He whispered and stepped forward, taking Raphael's arm and helped the stubborn man sit up. He helped him with his pants and slid one of the suspenders over his shoulder. He gathered up his belongings, slinging his shirt and gun belt over his shoulder and plopped Raphael's hat atop his head, and without another word, they shuffled from the warm surgery room, the larger turtle leaning heavily upon the priest.

He looked like a porcelain doll lying shattered on the ground.

LH watched them both go, struggling down the five steps of his porch and across the dusty lot toward the saloon. His friend molded himself to Raphael and tried to take as much of the burden as possible. He fit against him, his arms curled about him, his steps slow and strong, moving at the larger man's pace. His stomach turned and LH marched back into his clinic, filling a fresh basin with clean water and scrubbed at the bloodstains on the surgery table.

It took nearly half an hour to finally get Raphael up the stairs, not because his leg gave out on him or because he refused Donatello's help, but because he argued with Michelangelo for twenty of those minutes about not needing his help specifically.

Don pushed Raphael's door open and refused to allow him to pull away until he sat upon the edge of his bed. Amber eyes glared at him as he stepped away and he glared right back, arms crossing over his chest. "It wasn't right of you to do that. Going off and confronting that gang."

"It's none of your business, Padre."

"I have a name." he snapped lips pursed and hands balling into fists. He took a slow breath and stared out the window of the second floor at the crimson and pumpkin stained sky. "What I meant, Raphael, was that by confronting them and not finishing your business, you made it our business. Those boys are going to come for us because you drew their attention our way."

"Don't get yer panties in a bunch, Donnie." Raphael grunted and shifted on the bed, his face twisting with discomfort.

Donatello bit the inside of his cheek and peeked out of the corner of his eye at him. Raphael wiggled upon the bed removing one boot in the process. The second boot not being so willing as his injury stifled his movements. Rubbing his elbow and turning back to face him, Donatello caught his eyes and his face began to heat up.

The man's brows twitched and his mouth thinned to a harsh line across his face that proved neither welcoming nor dismissive. Raphael nodded and looked away, leaning back on his hands with a grunt and grumble. Donatello dropped to a knee, easing Raph's last boot off. The room was warm and heady, and it smelled like a male. The window did little to light the room and dust motes floated in the air lazily, twisting and dipping then traveling back up toward the ceiling. Donnie folded Raphael's shirt he had carried from the Doc's, placed it on the chair with his belt and gun atop that, and set his boots neatly beside the chair. His hat perched on a peg by the door.

When he turned back around, he encountered golden eyes that bore into him, and Raphael leaned forward with an elbow atop his good knee. He touched the square of white at his throat and smiled to Raphael, his other hand pressing to his belly hoping to calm it and persuade the butterflies to settle. "Doctor LH told me you need to rest for a week. I offered my services-"

"Padre, what the hell do ya want from me?"

Donatello's smile fell and his blood went cold like the unexpected attack of a bee sting. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. A prayer sprang to mind and he sucked in a breath of air. "I don't expect anything from you. I am simply here to look after the Lord's flock – even those who stray and wander in from the wilds."

Raphael snorted and his head bowing, staring at the floor, his shoulders bobbing as if he were laughing.

Donatello frowned, his fingers easing their grip. "You're a good man, I want to help you despite what you think-"

With an abrupt motion, he stood, hissing and hopping on his good leg as he snatched Donatello's arm and he tugged him close, his nose brushing across his. Don's heart raced against his ribs. "I ain't a good man, Donnie. Stop actin' like I am."

"No one is forever lost." Donatello whispered, the hand against his belly pressed in harder, his fingers gripping at his shirt. "Even the prodigal son – after doing so much wicked – was welcomed back home with open arms."

"Are ya goin' ta save me, Padre? Are ya goin' ta be the one to save my soul and cleanse me of my sins? I've killed men. Pretty sure that there ain't allowed in the Book."

"It's not for me to judge." Donnie whispered and Raphael's nostrils flared, his eyes consuming him. This stranger scared him and yet excited him. He asked the questions the good God-fearing townsfolk didn't. He looked him in the eye and wanted answers; and Donatello reveled in it as well as drowned in the fact he was answering questions he himself feared to address if he were to ever...

"I ain't a good man." Raphael's voice dipped.

"I'm not either."

"Better than me."

"No, I think we're about equal." He smiled then, fake and weak and he gripped all the tighter at his shirt.

Nose brushing against his, his breath tickling his lips, the strength in his hand upon his arm - he swallowed hard, reveling in it. But, this wasn't right. He turned his face away and sipped at the air. "It's not my job to place judgment. I am a voice and a guide, but I am not judge and jury. The Bible does say, 'Thou shalt not kill.' Yet, what if it is God's plan that you end the reign of an evil man? Was it not David's destiny to put a stop to Goliath? Why should it not be your destiny to stop that man?"

"You gonna tell me, Padre, that just because I catch a few bad men, that I ain't accountable for my actions?"

Donatello smiled and looked back to him, wishing he could reach forward and wipe that crease in the center of his brow away, "No," and with a quiver, his heart rapping, he did reach for him, his fingers brushing across Raphael's waist. "and yes."

Raphael's brows knotted, his grip on his elbow tightened, searching him as if they stood here, dancing with the devil.

"And it's Donnie."

With a hiss Raphael pulled back, his shoulders heaving, his face twisting in confusion – then he placed his weight upon his leg and he hissed, reaching for the wound.

He didn't ask nor coddle him. Donatello took his arm and helped Raphael back toward the bed. He drew the covers back, smoothing the rough sheets and he fluffed the pillow, patting it, ordering him to lie down. Raphael obeyed, watching him the entire time. Don simply smiled, whispering a prayer in his heart. He tucked him in, pulling the blankets up to Raphael's chin, a glass of water on the bedside table, and a lingering hand upon his shoulder. "I'll tell Michelangelo to bring you up some food. He'll worry until he knows you're settled."

"He's a busy-body is what he is." He didn't have the same fire in his voice and he stared past him at the ceiling.

"Perhaps, but he cares about everyone, no matter how long he has known them." Donatello patted his shoulder, offering him a smile. "Do rest, I would very much like to see you recover quickly." He turned, the floorboards creaking with age, and he moved for the door, his hand reaching for the doorknob.

"I ain't gonna promise you nothin'; and I ain't gonna do your confessional."

Donatello paused, his stomach flipping. He wanted to stay, talk. But he couldn't. He shouldn't. On so many levels he needed to ignore his comment and walk out that door. He brushed his thumb over the doorknob, smoothing the front of his shirt down. Looking back at this man, one suspender around his waist, the other cutting a striking red line along his exposed plastron and showcasing his broad shoulders, he wondered how life would have been if he had just remained a blacksmith and not taken on the responsibility of becoming a Man of the Cloth.

No. He couldn't think this way. It was better this way.

"Even if you don't, I hope that won't stop you from attending my sermon. I would very much like to see your face there on Sunday." He smiled.

Raphael looked away, his mouth thin and tight.

He closed the door behind him and shrank in on himself as his hands shook. He opened his mouth, trying to just breathe past the stifled pressure upon his chest.

Lust and greed, even envy. What would it be like to not care? It seemed so easy. It seemed so free and fulfilling. What if he gave it all up? Left his home, his town, everything he loved and left for one of the big cities. He had heard the stories, of men like him, of establishments where his kind could go and not be hunted down, beaten, or worse. He could indulge and allow his curiosity to experience the darker decadences he desired.

He forced himself to move, his steps heavy as he fled from Raphael's room and down the hallway. He didn't make it too far before he fell against the wall, slumped against it. He hid his face away and breathed deep and fast.

Yet, it was just that – too easy. No matter how easy or delicious it seemed, no matter where he went, he wouldn't truly be free, for that kind of freedom carried its own cost. Easy yes, but at the end of his days, would he look back and see the quality of life he wanted? Would he see selfish desires or selfless service? Would he look back and see fanciful wanderings of carefree days that led to nothing significant? Or would he look back on his life and know that he tried to be honest to himself. He tried so hard to uphold his values and beliefs, he didn't want to lie to himself and cheapen his life by pretending to not care. He was worth more than that.

He wanted it all in some corner of his mind. He wanted to walk away, leave his collar, his vows, and discover this other side to himself and yet...he knew himself. He didn't lock that side of himself away in a dark corner to never acknowledge. By facing it, he understood himself. By looking at himself as a whole, he knew he could never survive that life. He didn't desire the abandonment of self for the sake of experimentation. He wanted something deeper. Meaningful.

Donatello's face twisted up and he pressed his palm to his lips, holding back anything that could slip past him. He shook his head, for he knew he would never have that. He would never share his life with another…he knew Raphael wouldn't.

A door across the hall clicked as someone twisted the knob and Donatello jerked away from the wall and marched down the hall, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Author's Note:

I know~ I feel like by the time I got around to this part I was beating a dead horse. But I wanted to really feel out Donatello's feelings... his views and his conflict. This chapter I think was more for me as a writer to understand the character than was really needed for the reader... but having said that, i feel like I would lose something if I didn't include this part. Thus... splitting it up yet making it part of the same chapter as the last. I hope it wasn't too slow... i hope you enjoyed

~Melissa the Damgel