Disclaimer: I don't own anything turtles. I am poor and i'm literally just having fun.

Chapter 16

Friday - Evening

Leonardo frowned, dismounted from the black gelding and crunched patches of dead yellow grass under his boots. Joining Usagi, Leo squat down to look over the tracks his friend discovered. He pushed his hat back on his brow, wiped at the sweat away and squinted at the harsh light of the sun dipping closer to the earth, blistering hot, and readying itself for the night. Usagi caught his eye, his lips thin and jaw tight.

They were thinking the same thing. Leo nodded and Usagi stood, looked back the way they came, and then forward to where the horse tracks in the dirt led. He slipped one of his sandals off and tested the edging of a horse track with his toe. The track filled in with dirt with barely any pressure at all.

"Bishop-San, I do not believe these tracks are what they appear." Usagi had his sandals back on and strode to Marshal Bishop's side, his hand gripping the hilt of his blades.

Leo stood, adjusting his hat a second time. He felt the lead weight in his stomach settle, his instincts rising up and screaming in agreement with Usagi.

"What do you mean?" Bishop dismounted and looked over the trail. Leonardo could see the calculations he was doing behind his eyes, his mind swift and sharp as he followed the trail and dropped to a knee to examine the footprints for himself.

"The tracks are far too light. They do not appear deep enough for supposed horses carrying men, and their hostages." Usagi motioned, showing Bishop the same trick with his toe.

"A ruse then?"

"A mislead, more likely." Leo hissed, arms folded over his chest. He considered the trail leading exactly where the boy had said it would. "If you were the leader of a gang like his, would you be off tellin' all your men your plans?"

Bishop considered the trail, adjusting his cuffs and straightening his jacket in silence.

Leonardo narrowed his eyes, shoulders stiffening. "If I were him, I'd be tellin' the underlings one thing, and an entirely different thing to my lieutenants."

"Has he done this in the past?" Bishop walked several paces ahead, his eyes still locked on the ground.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "No. He ain't never went to such lengths in the past."

"Do you think him capable of coming up with such an elaborate, detailed, time oriented plan that also shorts him men, horses, and time?" The Marshal locked eyes with Leo, challenging him, and though Leo liked to believe he kept a cool head, Marshal Bishop pulled something out of him that made his blood sizzle beneath his flesh.

"Yes, I do. He's a smart one. Though I ain't never been around for him hatchin' a plan like this, I can honestly say I believe him capable."

"I concur." Bishop said without hesitation, striding back to his horse.

It startled him, left him a little breathless.

"But, we can't ignore the trail we do have." Bishop said, turning his horse to face his men. "Finn, take Joseph and Connor and five volunteers to track these men down. They might be circling back as cavalry for Hun. The rest of you, saddle up. We're riding to the farm, and from there, we'll backtrack him and run those men down."

Leo hesitated, but he found himself swinging up onto the geldings back with Usagi following at his side atop his mare. Bishop set a hard pace, urging the party to move as quick as possible before night overtook them and shrouded the land in blind dangers.

They rode for an hour, watching the horizon for signs of Hun and his men. But nothing more than a coyote crossed their vision as the sun dipped lower, leaving the world in a hazy pale light, licking the swaying grass in hues of gold and purple.

They finally admitted defeat with a curse as the sun disappeared and left the hunting party still six miles from the Jenkins farm. They dismounted, and Leo glared at the horizon, daring God to give him some sign they were on the right track.

A fire sprung up, and the sharp scent of buffalo chips used to start the fire settled in his nose, familiar and old. But the night felt off, too quiet even while having intruders on the landscape as the Marshals were.

Then he heard the sobbing. Leonardo stiffened, his head swiveling around, nostril's flared. Usagi straightened at his side, searching the tall grass with him. He nodded, assuring him he heard it too.

Wading out into the grass, hands on his guns, Leonardo heard the Marshal's men hush behind him. He stood silent, listening, eyes lowered, breath slow and even. A crackle of grass to his right, boots scuffing crushed grass behind, and the stumbling of feet in front. He drew a single gun, side of his hand resting over the hammer, and he sucked in a breathe as the grass trembled and a frizzy red haired woman rose from a crouch.

They stared at each other, him wide eyed and her flushed and tear streaked.

"My name is April O'Neil and I need help." Her voice broke, and the shattered sound seemed wrong on a woman like her. She stumbled forward, hands reaching out toward him, and Leo rushed forward, catching her.

She felt small in his arms, bruises dotting her body, and in nothing but her night dress.

"Miss O'Neil, one of the woman kidnapped from Brookside town?"

"Yes." She nodded, her eyes impossibly dark and wide, shoulders shaking in the cooling air. "We escaped, ran when we could, hid when we thought we heard them following us. We just… ran…" She licked her lips, fingers squeezing his arm.

"We?" Leonardo prompted.

She jolted at his voice, struggling in his arm before she drew away, falling back where she walked with staggered steps. Leo followed, and saw her ripped stockings, bloodied up to her ankles were the blood soaked through.

"Jolynn, Debbie," she called; and like a hen gathering her chicks with a few cooes, the girls poked up further out in the tall grass. Between the older girl and the youngest, they led a ghostly shadow of a girl. Lips nearly blue and glassy eyes that stared into the distance, following only at their guidance.

The Marshals rushed forward, scooping up the young girls in their arms and carrying them back to the fire. The ghostly girl began crying, great heaving sobs that that shook her like a roof in a tornado.

Leonardo took Miss O'Neil, lifted her up into his arms and carried her so she no longer stood on sore feet. When he settled her by the fire, the girls curled around her, looking small and exhausted, with shadows beneath their eyes and blank expressions.

Miss O'Neil stroked the hair of the crying girl, but she looked as if she had little comfort left to give. "Amy Lee was the one who got us out. She gave us the chance we needed."

"Angel didn't get away." The older girl, Jolynn, if Leo guessed right, said, and she hugged the little girl to her side. "Angel was the one who distracted them long enough for us to get away."

"You have to save her. Please." Miss O'Neil raised her eyes. To him. Not Bishop. Not to one of the other Marshals. Him.

Leonardo swallowed hard, heart pounding. He didn't want to promise anything. How could he? He hadn't been able to save his sisters.

"Here, drink this." Usagi whispered, kneeling before the girls with cups of something hot. It didn't smell like coffee, too light and aromatic for that. It smelled weak, compared to the black sludge Bishop's men had brewed up, and he didn't know when or how Usagi had found time for tea.

Jolynn was the first to reach out and take a metal mug, holding it in her hands like it would answer some question for her.

"Where are they; Hun and his men?" Bishop hunkered down, and even squatting and bent over, the man remained regal, back straight, head held high and fingertips to fingertips where his arms rested along his thights. He looked nothing if not a proper gentleman even after a hard day of riding.

"I don't know. They left in the late afternoon. I think they rode west." Miss O'Neil said, taking her own mug from Usagi with a small nod of her head.

"Not east?" Bishop asked, raising a brow.

She hesitated, mouth parting to answer, only for her lower lip to tremble and she blinked her eyes several times. "I think so…"

"When was the last time you ate?" Usagi interrupted, red eyes never leaving hers, forcing her to hold his gaze.

She shook her head, straggly hair wisping about her shoulders.

"Then let us prepare a meal for you. Perhaps the men would be so kind as to provide blankets? Surely you must be cold." Usagi glanced over his shoulder.

There was immediate scuffling and hurried sounds of leather ties being wrestled open. Leonardo took one of the offered blankets and laid it over the top of the shaking girl with her head in Miss O'Neil's lap. He lifted her icy fingers in his, studying the dried blood and dirt under her nails. He met O'Neil's eyes, saw the minuscule nod, and Leonardo settled a hand on the girl's shoulder, rubbing her arm the way he might have one of his sisters.

"He was going to sell us." Miss O'Neil whispered, her arms tightening around the girls.

"I know."

Usagi knelt at her feet, a drinking cup full of steaming water. He gently sliced away her stockings at her ankles before he began bathing them with a clothe. She flinched, and tears gathered in her eyes; but Leonardo knew that look. It had nothing to do with her own discomfort and everything to do for the girl she had failed.

"We'll get her back." He promised, holding her red eyed gaze.

She sniffled, wiping at her cheek, and nodded.

Hun smirked at the town that looked worn out and patched together like a two-bit whore. He nodded to his men. Nearly a dozen dead now because of this one place alone, though, it wasn't as if he tried to get to know his men enough for him to care. But, it did leave him at a disadvantage.

"Don't go playin' boys. We're here strictly for business. Get as many girls as ya'll can wrangle up, and get out of there. We don't gots time to stir up chaos. Got it?" he eyed his men around him, raising a brow till they grunted in agreement.

Hun considered the town once more, hating it just a little more the longer he stared down at it. "If ya'll have ta kill to get what we want, do it." He said, then waved his hand and they charged forward, an avalanche of death falling upon the biggest thorn in his side he had ever come across.

He was looking forward to killing certain men.

The prairie has it's own distinct sounds at night, like a rolling breeze that turned the land into a slow and steady heartbeat lazy with sleep. As the moon rose and the starry highway in the sky lit the world in a soft glow, the sounds of life awoke with soft cooing, yips, and lonesome melodies as coyotes serenaded the stars.

Yet the sounds of shuffling horses, of men kicking up pebbles as they ran from one corner of a quiet town to another belied the safety of night. Doors splintered open with swift kicks, windows breaking with the swing of an ax, or hissed questions between confused men as they tore open wardrobes and flipped mattresses, looking for their victims.

Raphael watched, back pressed to the wall and leaning to the side to check out the window, a raised finger to his lips and he motioned the women back further. They were the more gentile of the feminine stock and they had agreed to lock themselves away in the jail cells in an attempt to garner safety. But, the prairie shaped a certain breed of women with steel in their backbones and a hardness in their souls which allowed them to stand their ground. Those were the women who volunteered to be out there, hidden away on rooftops, in attics, and cellars. They were hardy and strong of will, determined to defend their home and families. They lay in wait along with the remaining few men left in the town, with rifle in hand and knives between their teeth.

Miss Milo stood guard in front of the locked up women, a winchester rifle loaded and ready in her hands. She had changed into a pair of trousers - and Raphael couldn't stop a smirk from spreading because he could just see the look on his oh so conservative brother's face if he were to set eyes on her. The children had been bundled up and hushed in the far back cell, as far from the door and windows as possible; and the elderly were laid out in the sheriff's room to the right of the jail cells.

He hadn't dared bring Donnie here. Not with their hatred still visible on their faces. Doc and Mikey agreed to stay with him, barricaded inside at the top of the stairs, agreeing to not alert anyone who broke in unless they got too close for safety.

It scared Raphael to have him out of his reach. Away from his side. And it scared him even more knowing the world might burn around him, and Raphael would let it all so he might run off to the Padre's side and save him instead.

The people in the room watched him. Eyes wide and wild. They studied him like chicks to their hen, and he swallowed hard, resting his hand on his weapon.

They trusted him, and he prayed to God he was making the right decision.

Gravel crunched outside, and Raphael waved his hand, silencing everyone instantly.

"Ain't no one here."

Raphael heard a voice shout from across the street. He dared to peek out the broken window, spying the bandits trotting down main street, heads swiveling about like deer.

"No," Hun made a noise that rattled Raphael to his bones. Hun kicked the earth, roaring into the night with hands clawed and throat exposed. He stalked from one empty home to the next, throwing doors open.

"No, they ain't gone. No way for them to have gotten past us. Search the houses, the church. Check every cellar and every roof. They're hidin'. I know it."

Raphael shifted, scanning the rooftops and he spied Joy up atop the Saloon, a shot of blond hair poking out from atop one side of the burnt building. He raised his hand, nodding, and Joy fired a shot. A puff of dust hit the road at Hun's feet, Joy's shot landing wide from her target, before the crack of the rifle shattered the silence all in the blink of an eye.

Hun didn't move, though the rest of the bandits ran, scattering like jackrabbits into the brush. Hun stood still, eyebrow raised, and sneer twisting his face.

"So the women think they can fight back?"

Raphael nodded again, and this time, Buzz darted across the roof, away from Joy, and disappeared.

"Fine." He growled, and spittle flew from his lips. "Burn the place down!"

And every woman fired.

Gunsmoke choked the air, drifting in from broken windows and shattered doors. Mikey waved his hand to try and clear some air for him to breath, but it was a hopeless cause. He glanced over at LH, and the Doc shifted closer to Don, laying his hand on his friend's trembling form. The look he gave him told him enough. If something happened - if those men got in and found Don alive and not hanging by the neck like they expected, he would be killed faster than a rattler at a Sunday party.

Mikey peeked out the window, watching several of the women across the street helping each other load the rifles and passing them off to the better shots. They moved perhaps with a hint of clumsiness, but they moved with efficiency.

There weren't a terrible amount of bodies in the streets. But he saw blood. He saw a man holding his bloody arm, pausing to raise his pistol and shoot, and he saw one another man down with a shot in the back. He wondered if this is what his Buffalo Bill had seen when he was out in the wild west. Mikey knew what the west was like, but not the wild and lawless sort that good old Bill wrote about in his serials. Was the fights with the Indians like this? Or was this unique? Was this something that he would look back on as a dark stain in their town's history?

That's when the door downstairs was kicked open and men's voices filled the house.

Mikey cursed and LH pressed a large finger to his lips, hushing Don. That didn't stop his whimper though, and Mikey winced, hurrying over to door to peek out through the crack and down the stairs.

He wasn't sure how he felt anymore. He would do what he had to do, he wouldn't be branded a coward just because he was realizing that gun fights weren't as poetic as they seemed in his stories. He had imagined a fair standoff with men like Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday… like how their fight was retold at the OK Corral. He peeked out the window and saw the smoky haze of a real fight swirling down below, and it was ugly and chaotic. Mikey took a deep breath, glancing up at the ceiling, and he waited, listening to Doc hush his injured friend, and wished he could do more.

LH took his place at the foot of Don's bed. The big man wasn't much for guns, but the fists he brought up made Mikey damn glad he had never gotten into a fistfight with him. His fists looked like sledgehammers.

"Ain't no one here." A voice downstairs said - and Don hissed from under his covers.

Mikey waved a hand at LH, and the large man narrowed his eyes. He almost blushed at the reprimand, looking back to the stairs. He saw their shadows pass by, tall and slim looking with willowy arms reaching for something— and he saw a hand grasp the railing, his movements quick and searching. The man swung around the banister and was halfway up the stairs before Mikey could exhale. He jerked away from the door, his boots scraping the floorboards, and the man on the other side of the door stopped. Mikey's heart felt wild as he stood there, waiting.

He heard a noise, like someone releasing air from between his teeth. Raising his gun, Mikey drew a slow, even breath and relaxed the rest of his muscles. He held his position, waiting, hearing the scrape of the man's boots on the other side of the door.

"Frank," another voice said, and steps started making their way toward the stairs. "I done think this here is the preacher's home." He called up the stairs.

The man on the stairs laughed, his boots thumping closer. "Means the place is empty. Ain't no way he's alive after Hun-"

Mikey fired the moment the door opened.

By the weight in his stomach, Leo knew there was only a promise of nothing but tears in the morning. It was sharp, like a hot knife. The girls slept close to the fire, the men giving them their space while at the same time not moving further away than they needed too in order to keep the girls safe.

"They have a day's ride ahead of us." Finn said, one of the men who had signed his pardon. He lit a cigarette, a few broken tobacco leaves fluttering off his fingers as he flicked his match into the fire.

"What's the plan, boss?" another asked across from Leo with a large hat that did little to hide the fact his eyes bugged out of his head.

"We'll backtrack them, look for signs of intent and follow the evidence from there. Nothing more I can say until we see the farm."

Leo shook his head, scowling. "I should have known Hun would do something like this. I wasted our time by not thinking this through."

The men around the campfire hushed, and he felt their eyes on him. The sort of looks that only vultures gave creatures as they observed their injured journey through the badlands.

Usagi sighed beside him, eyes focused upon his swords and the whetstone he used at his knees. "Leonardo-san, you should not assume that you know all. Even the mouse outwits the fox now and then. Hun simply made a tactical decision that proved to be in his favor. We have chased after him for the last five years. A few more days will not sour the revenge we will receive when justice is served." He raised his blade and angled it toward the fire, looking down the length of its edge, and with the most careful of fingers grazing the side feeling for imperfections.

"The foreigner is right." Bishop said, and Leo wanted to wrinkle his nose and sneer at the man. Hearing it from his friend was one thing, hearing it from the man who had hunted him for months was another.

"I know what he did to my sisters." Leo's voice dropped, rough and quieted. He dropped his eyes to the fire, gripping his knees as a log cracked somewhere within the red coals. "I went looking for answers, and they were not pretty ones. I ain't ready to see him do it again to another family… to another town. Those women deserve the best, and I failed."

Bishop leaned forward then, pouring the dredges of his coffee on the edge of the flames, and a plume of smoke hissed and curled upwards. "Then do better." He said in that commanding and powerful tone of his. "Tomorrow morning, from the moment you awake, you give those girls everything you have; and don't allow that man to out think you a second time. Understood?"

Leonardo frowned, turning those words over and over again. Perhaps the Marshal was right. Starting at dawn.

Settling back on the hard slope of his brother's saddle, Leonardo crossed his ankles, soaking in the warmth of the fire. He didn't like not having an edge over Hun, but that didn't mean he had to overreact about it.

Usagi rolled to his feet, hand on his katana, and he stared into the darkness, intent on something.

Leo jumped to his feet, gun drawn.

There before him, to the west and back toward the town, an angry red glow highlighted the night sky, burning away the night like a beacon with black smoke blocking the stars.

"Shimata," Usagi whispered.

Bishop swore, the rest of the men standing to stare at the red haze before them. Leo felt as though he should be able to feel the heat from that fire.

"He circled around." Bishop said.

Leo could only nod, holstering his gun and held tight to the grip. "Either way, we're already too late."

He got to watch Mrs. Martin hit a frying pan over the head of one of the men trying to break their way into her home, and it was damn impressive. The woman who had been so fragile after her daughter was taken had stood herself tall and declared she wouldn't leave little Debbie's home unprotected. And from across the street, Raphael could see her holding up to her word. She hit him, and her husband shot him, then he put his arm around his wife and led her back inside with a little nod of triumph.

All of Hun's men had taken shelter, trying to hide from the bullets of the women and whores on the rooftops. Their plan was working, and a little swell of pride blossomed in Raphael's gut. The town was fighting back, and they were winning.

Gunsmoke, bullets, blood and screaming. Raphael didn't even notice it anymore. It was the people he was paying attention too. Fighting and dying was all he knew with this town; but he didn't want it to be the only thing. Then he saw the smoke at the edge of town. He figured Hun's men would start a fire at some point, and it didn't register at first, but the fire was at the end of the main street, across the church.

The blacksmith's shop.

Fire rose from Donnie's house licking out of windows and crawling up walls, and the barn belched heavy black smoke from the open doors like a steam engine getting ready to head out. Raphael felt his heart get lodged in his throat with a scream ready to burst from his throat. He moved toward the door, ready to run out of the jail house and forget about all the people in that instant.

He almost did it too. He gripped the door handle, knuckles white, but a firm hand latched onto his arm and Raphael jerked his head around.

Casey shook his head, sweat lining his brow, hair plastered to his skin. He still looked bad - worse even since April was kidnapped, but he had volunteered to stay with the women and children, and Raphael wasn't going to deny him that. Besides, it was still safer here than out there. But the man looked as white as a ghost and perhaps just as terrified, but for a different reason. "You'll give us away."

Raphael nodded, because Casey was right, he knew that, but looking back to Donnie's home, seeing flames of fire taunting him from his front window…

He had to go. He couldn't stay here. He was doing exactly what he knew he would do— he'd abandon everything for the Padre.

"Watch 'em. Keep 'em quiet." He said, looking Casey in the eye.

"Raph, no…"

Raphael hissed, ripping the badge off. "This why yer the Sheriff, not me." He pushed the badge back into Casey's hand and opened the door, stepping outside and into the fray. A bullet struck the wooden post in front of him and sent up a spray of wood splinters. He ducked, hand on his hat, gun in his hand, and he ran, down along the boardwalk, eyes set on Donnie's home. His home. He would never be able to not associate that place with anything less.

He jumped off the boardwalk, skirting the fire, looking for a way in. "Donnie!" he bellowed, pushing for the front door, shielding his face from the flames that broke through a window and lapped at the air. He kicked at the door, then had to retreat, his skin feeling tight and dried out from the flames.

No, he couldn't let it end this way. He rushed for the door, shoving his shoulder against the hot wood. At first, the hot burning pain he felt in his shoulder he thought he got from the fire, but as he grabbed it, holding his wounded arm, it came away with blood. He stared at th red stain, feeling the cool trickles of blood sooth his singed skin.

Another bullet grazed past his cheek, sounding like a whizzing bug by his ear before he jerked back.

How he had forgotten, he couldn't say, but as he turned and watched Hun walk up to him, gun raised and hammer thumbed back for another shot— only to click on empty, Hun's face twisted in rage and he threw his gun to the side, head lowered like a bull and he charged.

Behind Hun's bulk, Raphael could see Hun's men at the doors of the jail house pounding on the door and leveling guns on the women inside.

He did that. He led the bastards right to them.

Raphael ground his teeth, hating himself, hating Hun, grieving for everyone who would hurt because of him. The barn where Donnie did his work creaked and groaned, collapsing somewhere within, and the fire spread, jumping to the next building, the roof lighting up like a bonfire.

Everything he loved was burning.

Raphael curled his lips back, a scream exiting his throat, and he ran at him as if he weren't injured at all. There was no physical pain, just pain of the soul and heart and he loathed the man who had taken everything from him. His past, his present, and possibly a future here in this place that tolerated him and welcomed him, in this place that shunned him and fell into lies. He was nothing. It didn't matter. Leo was alive, that was more than he thought he would ever get.

He charged the man and threw his shoulder into his gut, pushing back the mountain of a man by several steps. Hun laughed. Raphael roared and punched him in the side and stomach, before what felt like a boulder slammed down onto the back of his shell and he fell flat to the ground, coughing into the dirt.

"I win." Hun snarled, kicking him in the side. He kicked and Raphael jerked or rolled with the force of his blows. He tried to get up, just to get another kick in the ribs.

"You have chased me for years, and what did it accomplish? Nothing. You are a weak and pathetic creature. You never were going to stop me. I bested you. You will lose today, and I will laugh as I sell off your women and children. I will hang all the men I find, and you will be the last to die at the end of a rope. Just. Like. Your. Father."

Raphael caught his foot on the next kick, and he raised his gun, shoving it into the man's crotch. "I'll see you in hell."

Hun grabbed his gun, and grunted as the hammer slammed down onto his thumb.

Raphael tugged at his gun, but Hun held him firm. A band of steel would have moved easier than Hun. And that's when the house collapsed behind them. Raphael stared at the smoldering pile of ash and charred remains of the house he had begun to think of as home. Gone. Just like that. No ceremony. No farewells. Gone in an inferno that seemed oddly right for a man who was a blacksmith and a man of God.

Raphael roared, a sound that tore his throat to shreds and echoed his soul, a sound so primal and heavy it stopped Hun short for a few brief heartbeats. Everything was gone. Everyone. He didn't even know if Doc or Mikey got out. The town would need Doc…

Then he looked up at Hun and he knew it wouldn't matter. Perhaps it was better the doctor not know what Hun would be doing to the people he cared for.

"I've enjoyed this. I don't even need to wait to kill the others." He yanked and Raphael's gun was pulled from his hand. Hun casually pulled the hammer out of his thumb where it bled down along his wrist. He cocked the weapon and leveled it on Raphael, his eyes seeming to glow with joy, a heady sense of reds and blues burning in his pupils.

Raphael spat at him.

"You filth." Hun wiped the spittle from his jaw and scowled down at him as the gravel along main street crunched. "Couldn't just leave well enough alone."

"Hun…. In the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, I command you to stop."

The voice was soft, weak almost, with a tremble to the man's name, and yet, it was as firm as iron, and as clear as the Sunday bell.

Raphael jerked his head around, staring up at Donnie, dressed in smoky black clothing and holding a big 50 rifle on the large man.

Hun laughed, booming and large. "What, are y-"

That's all he said before Donatello fired his weapon and blew half of Hun's skull off with the rifle.

Hun's body fell to the ground, and the town grew quiet.

Donatello shook, rifle still raised. Raphael eased himself up onto his knees, reaching out to touch Donnie's elbow. The man bowed his head, the rifle falling from his hands, and landing heavy in the dirt in a puff of dust. Raphael ignored the rifle, didn't care for anything else but the twisted face of the kindest man he knew as he pressed a hand to his mouth, choked on a sob, and fell to the ground as his knees gave out. Raphael grabbed for him, arms wrapping around his waist and he grunted as he eased him down, the fire burning all the hotter at their sides, singeing his skin, heating the night till fire, tears, and a scream were all that remained.

Raphael shook, shaking alongside Donnie as the priest grabbed at his shirt and jerked on his collar, gasping cries escaping his mouth from behind his hand. Raphael gripped the man's face and pressed their brows together, breathing him in, seeing him, feeling him between his fingers as tears ran over them in chill rivulets. Donnie was alive. Though the Padre smelled like smoke and sweat and pain, Raphael held him close and wasn't certain he would ever let go.

"You did it, Donnie. It's over."

Donatello hiccuped, grabbing blindly for his wrist next to his lips, and he sobbed, quiet and trembling with his fingers tangled in Raphael's shirt.

Author's Note:

Ironically this part of the ending changed the most - I was originally going to have Raphael kill Hun- after all, this whole story got started because Raphael has been hunting down Hun for the last several years for revenge... but it was the idea of a good man doing a horrible thing yet that horrible thing would end up saving thousands of lives in the long-run... that changed the way the way the last five chapters were written, it changed a huge chunk of plot, and it changed the ending drastically (well... except for one thing that has never once altered in this entire story... You'll read it very soon.)

I hope you liked the chapter! throw me a comment if you did.