Disclaimer: I do not 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 will 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.
~Chapter 6~
Sunday
He just stood there, staring down at his notes, his throat bobbing behind the white collar with hollow dark eyes.
Raphael shifted in his seat. He was last in church, sitting in the pew closest to the door, but even he could see the circles under his eyes and the bloodshot lines circling his irises. He watched the townsfolk shift and glance at one another though they remained silent.
Coughing abruptly, Raphael pounded on his chest and raised his hand as he coughed a second time as the congregation turned and the Padre finally raised his eyes and caught his. A little smile touched his face and his shoulders relaxed.
"There's not much for me to say today. I know you all want words of comfort, but I find there isn't much I can offer you. The Lord though, he can help us all after our trial yesterday. He is the one we need to look to in order to overcome our difficulties. No matter what that may be; the loss we all experienced yesterday, sins we are not able to keep ourselves from, even our actions. We all will falter, we all experience pain and loss and…" he swallowed hard and gripped the pulpit, his dark eyes shining. "…and we will not heal as quickly as we would like. Some of us don't wish to be healed after what has happened. Some of us, we are just trying to get through each day without succumbing to our darkest thoughts." He looked down to his notes and fingered the pages.
Raphael shifted in his seat, glancing to the townspeople then back to Donatello, his hand gripping his knee.
"God would ask us to forgive – and that is the just thing to do." The priest nodded, taking each person in turn, "but I cannot forgive just yet. We lost our friends, family, we lost so many to these men and I cannot forgive…yet. I will, because that is what we are asked, but not yet. Not yet." He whispered.
His sermon roamed, moving from one topic to the other, covering every emotion Raphael knew that every member of the community was feeling at one point or another. Grief, loss, forgiveness, love, compassion, endurance and fortitude. Donatello ambled through the meeting, feeling out his congregation's mood till he nodded and bowed his head.
"The only comfort we can genuinely feel as of right now in our community is knowing the comfort our departed have been received into. They are in heaven. Is there not a better place to be? I would be go now if I did not know there is still work for me to do here on earth. We will miss them, we will mourn them, but we should not long for them to have lingered here in pain if their call Home was to such a beautiful place." He stopped then and stepped away from the podium and lingered then he nodded and stepped away. "Amen."
Raphael remained seated, his eyes staring at the floor between his feet as the rest of the session finished. He didn't remember anything afterwards. He couldn't even recall if the sacrament was held before or after. He just knew at some point he had listened to the priest's sermon and lost himself in the blood and gun smoke of home. His sisters' screams, his Pap's feet kicking, and his Ma's absolute silence as she was dragged off behind the cold shed. His brothers and him bound hand and foot in the smokehouse. He and his elder brother kneeling at the crack in the wall, trying to see what they could while their younger brothers huddled behind them. At one point, they untied each other, trying not to look at their Pap's boots just hanging there, and his older brother told them all to run for town. He shoved him hard, calling him a coward.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head and stood sharply, the church echoing. He choked on the pain in his leg and he grabbed the back of the pew in front of him, catching his fall.
"Are you alright, Raphael?"
He lifted his eyes and found the Padre standing across the church from him, holding several hymn books against his chest. The church was empty and Raphael clenched his fists, glancing behind him and then back to the priest. Back to Donatello and a pair of eyes he didn't expect to feel guilt for their lack of judgment regarding him.
Donatello set the books down upon the alter and quietly moved down the few steps and down the aisle. He glided, not like some dream, but every step was purposeful and cautious and Raphael swallowed hard, gripping the beck of the pew.
"Would you," the priest stopped two rows from him, placing a barrier between them. "Would you like me to walk you home?" he peeked at him and back to the wooden seats, his fingers smoothing away some dust from the backrest.
Raphael shook his head.
His eyes were so weary, and his olive skin paler than usual. Raph inched his way out from the pew and limped closer, noting the stiffening spine of the priest. His throat tightened and his words came out rough. "Just to the confessional."
Donnie blinked at him, brows rising. It was too warm inside the church, even with the windows open and letting in a breeze. Raphael rubbed his sweaty neck then wiped it off on the backside of his pants. A smile flickered over the priest's face and Raphael held his breath, watching Donnie transform from exhausted minister to an excited child receiving a new friend. He nodded and waved his hand, sliding easily beneath his arm and wrapping one around his waist, helping him limp up the aisle.
On the right hand side were simple boxes. Most other churches he had been too usually just had a section screened off to separate the priest and the penitent, but in Donatello's church, it was a fully realized box, two rooms connected by a screen. Inside, he could kneel, but there was also a bench along the back wall for the elderly or – as in his case – infirmed.
Raphael sat heavily and watched the door close on him, leaving him in darkness. It was cooler in the confessional than he expected, but it also felt stifling without any air movement.
Donatello's door opened then closed and the little door separating them opened – and Raphael listened to his heart beat in his ears.
Each thump against his breastbone pulsed through his body. The longer he sat still, the more he felt he could actually feel his blood surging through his veins. Even his bullet wound beat in time.
"I don't know where ta start." Raphael whispered and yet his voice reverberated around him.
"Take your time. We both are patience."
He snorted, but his belly flipped. What the hell was he doing? "Last time I did this was about six years back." He saw it, that day, in his head, his Ma in her blue dress and his sisters all wearing those matching flower dresses because his Pap got the whole forty yards of pattern on sale at the general store for three dollars.
"I'm angry at God." Raphael shivered at the admission and he looked away, staring at the blank wall to his left. "Got angry 'cause that son-uv-"he swallowed, "that man outside of town killed my family."
He waited, his ears straining to hear through the grate, but nothing happened and Raphael ground his teeth. "Killed my Pappy by hangin'; and my Ma-"he shook his head. "Don't rightly know what he did to my sisters, but my older brother told us ta run, and my baby brothers were shot down. I tried carryin' the littlest one, but he didn't make it. Died before I got ta town. They was gone when the Sherriff got there; took my sisters….shot my Ma…" his nails dug into his palms and trembled.
"Don't rightly forgive the bast- the man who did that. Ain't had much need to confess, seein' as how I'm plannin' on killin' him."
He waited, eyeing the grate, sweat gathering along his brow, waiting for those words to condemn him. But nothing. Silence.
"I don't forgive God for it all. Them little boys who died, they was good boys, better than me. They deserved ta grow up. Why did I get away? I ain't no good. I'm angry, I'm spiteful, I whore everywhere I go, I drink too much and I sin damn good- sorry." His jaw clenched.
Fingers suddenly appeared at the grate, sliding through.
Raphael's brow knotted and his eyes burned. He hissed, bowing his head and feeling his shoulder shake.
"Raph-"
He looked back to the grate, catching what little light filtered in through the air slats above the doors, and dark eyes glimmered back at him.
"I'm so sorry."
He stood and pushed the door open with a jerk and he burst out of the confessional, limping heavy as he rushed from the church as if burned and unable to breathe.
The air of the street, though it relieved him of the claustrophobia, did little to relieve the pressure in his chest. He nearly hopped in his haste, ignoring the calls of the priest behind him. He entered the saloon and nodded to Michelangelo's Sunday barkeep, and slid several cents his way and a shot of tequila was slid back. He downed it in one gulp and shook his head against the burn. The moment he felt one of the many silky women slide up to his side he grunted and turned with her, heading for the stairs.
As she cooed atop him and moved, making fake and obscene noises as she rocked the squeaky bed and her breasts bounced, Raphael closed his eyes and hissed; scared of what it meant that he thought of the reverent silence in that little booth as a pair of fingers reached for him and dark eyes stared back at him without any sign of judgment.
Author's note:
Short and simple - but there was a reason for that...and this chapter was the reason I named this story Confessional. I really love this chapter.
~Melissa the Damgel
(p.s. I love reviews :) thank you to all of you took the time to review. It makes me smile and makes me motivated to write faster. )
