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.


Chapter 1


He rode into town on Thursday; all quiet and dark with eyes blistering like the noonday hour and just as golden. The sun dipped toward the edge of the mountains, casting a lengthy shadow of grasping fingers across the dry landscape, and Donatello stood still, watching him ride by. A stranger in these parts wasn't rare, but his kind was. With a six shooter at his hip, a rifle in the saddle, and a fair sized scar across the side of his beak, proving he had earned his place in this God forsaken west, he was a desperado if he ever did see one.

Tipping his head back and reining his horse to a stop, he man glared at Donatello. The stranger raised a brow and flicked his gaze across Donatello's body, pausing momentarily on the white collar at his throat. He smirked, a glimmer bringing his golden eyes to life.

Donatello schooled his features, unwilling to allow this turtle to fluster his nerves from one smoldering look alone.

"Padre." The stranger husked, deep and gravely that sent a shiver up his spine. He nodded to Donatello, nudging his horse forward and the beast snorted in protest, slapping his tail against his flank and shuffled through the raw earth, kicking up little puffs of dust that scattered with the wind.

Donatello nodded back respectfully, but he gave no smile and instead folded his arms over his chest and watched the turtle rein his horse in at the local saloon and march inside on bowed legs.

Darkness hovered about the stranger as heavily as a shroud covered the dead. His arrival was only the prelude to something greater – for ill or good. Donatello knew deep down in his gut it was the former. Nothing good was going to come with this stranger's arrival.

"Father!" Sheriff Casey Jones waved to him before he jogged to his side, his dark hair tied back neatly under his hat, a hand resting upon his gun's grip. "Father," Casey grinned lopsided and turned, jerking his chin toward the saloon. "So what's yer take on that?"

Flashing his friend a smile, Donatello shrugged and draped his hands over his hips. "I'm thinking his horse needs a shoe." Casey rolled his eyes and Donatello held in a laugh by simply smiling at the man.

"You always say that."

"Maybe I'll be right today."

The glare Casey gave him spoke loud and clear at his annoyance. Don was usually right. "Anyway," With a huff and his finger tapping on his gun, Casey eyed him back, "so, this stranger,"

The priest sighed, shrugging his shoulders and looked back toward the saloon. "Perhaps he is an answer to my prayers." He grinned, "I do need help patching up the church."

A frown marred the sheriff's face as he shook his head. "I don't like the looks of him. Nothing but a fox in a henhouse if you ask me."

Donatello chuckled, bobbing his head in agreement. "That there is trouble if I ever did see some."

"How about one of the town Sheriffs and the local pastor go and welcome the new arrival and...explain we want no trouble." A heavy hand landed on Donatello's shoulder and he smiled at his old friend.

"I believe that would be a splendid idea." He patted Casey's arm.

Together, they crossed the dusty street, Casey waving down the folk staring worriedly toward the saloon. The last pounding rays of the sun, hot and imposing upon Donatello's back as though pushing him forward, promising with every step that if he walked in there, nothing would be the same for him again. The pair stepped inside, the squeaky hinges of the old saloon announcing their arrival and banging against one another as they swung back in place.

The dark wood of the saloon welcomed him, the room smoky and thick on the tongue. The tables lingered close together, cards shuffled hands, coins and laughter, drinks sloshing and the candles flickered from the ornate gold chandelier in the center of the building. The candles illuminated the second floor where red velvet curtains fluttered and hid the soiled doves gazing down from their perches, waiting for lonely clients to begin their night's work.

Mikey, glanced over his shoulder and grinned, blue eyes twinkling in delight as he waved a greeting and threw the bar towel over his shoulder all in the same motion. He leaned forward and slumped atop the bar counter, waiting for them to approach. Donatello adored Michelangelo, he had grown up with him and the barman was forever a roaring fountain of ideas and optimistic enthusiasm.

Donatello smiled and inclined his head to his childhood friend, and Mike winked back with a subtle tilt of his head, motioning toward the card table where the stranger sat with Angel on his lap. The girl, already fussing over the newcomer, whispered seductively in his ear. At least, Donatello assumed such by the way the stranger smirked at something she had said in particular and slapped her rump playfully in response. She giggled and leaned in again to whisper something to him, and Donatello supposed he should attempt a sermon in the near future concerning the Godliness of virtue.

"Well well," Michelangelo interrupted, drawing the priest's attention back to the bar. "You managed to drag old Donnie in here! That deserves a drink on the house if I do say so myself!" Mikey laughed and turned, grabbing for the sarsaparilla and poured Casey a shot.

The Sheriff laughed, a deep belly laugh that put the entire saloon at ease instantly and the humming chatter began once again. "You, Mikey, are a true stand up fellow!" and he took the drink leaning sideways upon the counter, turning to look at the stranger.

Donatello smiled and waved his hands in front of himself, declining a drink even as Mikey teased him, pressuring him to try at least one glass. It had become a game of sorts between them, but in the end, Donatello took his glass of warm water and perched himself upon one of the wobbly barstools and regarded the stranger at the poker table. He was tall for a turtle, and strong with a black hat looped by a red bandana around the center. The way his worn leather riding gear hugged him and the hints of extended comfort in his clothing said it all –just as the silver gun on his heavy belt stated clearly to all those near him- he was a tough son-uv-a-bitch and he knew how to work the saddle just as he did his six shooter. He roughed it out on the prairies working cattle just as easily as he worked the card table and the whiskey bottle to his right.

Casey glanced Donatello's way, raising a brow. Donatello simply smiled and shrugged his shoulder, taking a drink of his murky water and leaving the task of introductions up to the Sheriff. Grunting and rolling his eyes as though Casey truly thought him useless, he threw the rest of his drink in his mouth and swallowed hard.

"Perhaps a simple welcome would suffice?" Donatello tilted his head, looking past Casey and toward the stranger. He won his second hand and pulled the winnings toward himself, smirking at the attentions Angel gave him as she ran her fingers along his neck congratulatory.

"Don't rightly know what that means, but it should do well 'nough." Casey shrugged and smacked the glass down atop the bar and spun on his heel. "Seems we have a visitor!" he said and thumped his way through the smoky and too warm saloon to stand next to the stranger.

Angel's giggles simmered down till she finally whispered something to the stranger and slid off his lap, gathering her revealing skirts up all the higher and hurrying away. The turtle frowned heavily and tapped his cards on the table and tipped his head down, hiding his eyes from the Sheriff. Donatello could see the stranger from his vantage upon the stool and he stiffened as the stranger leaned forward, his elbows resting atop the table as he threw a half dollar into the pot. Bold; for a pair of six's and miscellaneous cards. "Yeah? What about it?" He peeked up at Casey from under his black hat, the red bandana brought out his eyes, creating the illusion of fire and coals licking at the stranger's soul.

Casey offered another smile and shifted back a step, his hand once again resting comfortably atop the handle of his gun. "'Nothin' about it, mister, just wanted ta know who the new fellow in town is. It's my job after all to know everybody in these here parts. Can't blame a Sheriff for being curious, now can ya?"

The stranger once again sat back and flicked his cards at the dealer; a clean and tidy barn owl with trimmed feathers; and Raphael announced he was out of this round while at the same time continuing to stare up at Casey with a raised brow and a strong set to his shoulders. "S'pose not." He gave a grunt and tipped his hat back finally, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. "Name's Raphael."

"Sheriff Casey Jones. You got a last name to go with that?" Casey asked, glancing toward Donatello with a little sway.

Raphael glared up at him, his eyes nothing but holy fire blazing within the dim lighting of the saloon as the setting sun flashed across his face. "You need one...Sheriff?"

Casey tipped his chin up, staring down his nose at Raphael, his nostrils flaring. Donatello took the thickening atmosphere as his cue to hop off the bar stool and join the two, He bowed his head to the stranger. "Sorry to interrupt," he offered Raphael a smile as he held out his hand. "I couldn't help but overhear that you are new in town. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. How long might you be staying?"

Raphael pulled his hat off suddenly, running a hand over his head and stared Donatello directly in the eye, a challenge glimmering there, and Donatello continued to smile. Yet annoyance punched Donatello in the gut and he refused to look away, daring Raphael to stand up and follow through with that challenge. He almost hoped he would, and Donatello refused to pull his hand away, because somehow, he had to win this moment that lay thick between them like his mama's beans and pork they had every year on the first day of summer.

A smirk spread across Raphael's face suddenly and he turned back to his game, setting his hat back atop his head and motioning for the dealer to deal him in as the jack rabbit across the table finished collecting his winnings. "Jus' passin' through Padre. Ain't plannin' on stayin' long."

"Then perhaps I'll see you for Sunday service before you set out once again." Donatello answered sharply and lifted his glass, taking a sip of the warm water that tasted like the well at the center of town.

Casey rapped his knuckles upon the table and nodded to Raphael, leaning a bit over Donatello's shoulder as he stared at him hard, "Pleasure ta meet you, mister, just would like ta ask ya to stay out of trouble now." He smiled then, a disarming grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. Raphael ignored him, placing another bet into the growing pot.

Angel walked by then, a bit slow and leisurely and she ran the tips of her fingers along Raphael's shoulders. Casey sighed and Angel immediately bristled and made a hiss in her throat, but that didn't stop Sheriff Jones from following behind her and cornering her as he talked to her, taking her by the elbow when she threatened to leave.

The stranger snorted, shaking his head and throwing another pair of dimes into the center. Donatello watched silently, hovering next to the man like the ghost of Christmas Past, lingering at his elbow and studying the tapping of his finger upon the edge of the cards. Raphael ignored him splendidly, placing his bets and pouring himself another shot of whiskey as he waited for the men around him to decide their strategy. Finally, the dealer called for their final bets and Raphael laid his cards out on the table. The dealer announced him the winner and he gathered the twenty five dollars in winnings. Donatello considered Raphael for a moment, watching the man stack the coins and bills before he took a seat as well at the table.

Raphael paused and stared at the priest as he was dealt in and offered a set of chips instead of money. The dealer cleared his throat, passing out the cards to the players. "The priest plays for free." He stared pointedly at Raphael.

"Fair enough." Raphael tapped his finger on the table, shifting in his seat and Donatello felt the man's eyes boring a hole through his skull.

Donatello smiled, gathering his cards up and shuffling them about between his fingers a few times, changing his mind several times as to how they should be arranged in his hand. "I suppose you aren't the type of man looking for work, are you?"

"Nope." Raphael considered his cards and tossed a few nickels into the pot.

He nodded and tilted his head, thinking for a moment over his cards before he laid a blue and red chip into the pot. "What brings you to Brookside town then? If not for work, I mean. There really isn't much else out here."

"Jus' passin' through, Padre. Ain't nothin' more complicated than that." Raphael's voice steeled over and he glanced toward Donatello, his shoulders stiff. "I ain't doin' one of them confessional things."

Donatello again tilted his head at his cards, his brows knitting together in confusion before he took a card out of his hand and slid it across the table to the dealer.

"Ah, no, Father, once you have made your bet, you cannot change cards until the next game." The dealer whispered; and the older jackrabbit with a hole in his ear smirked, shaking his head at the priest before he threw a few dollars into the pot. The mutt next to him doing the same with a scowl on his face.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Donatello put the card back into his hand, peeking from the corner of his eye as Raphael watched him closely, and he tried hard not to smile.

He turned back to Raphael and the stranger jerked his eyes back to his cards, tipping his hat back up his brow. "Hmm?"

"Ain't said nothin', Padre."

"Awe, I suppose not. You haven't answered my question either."

Raphael sighed and laid his hand down to turn toward Donatello, annoyance written into every feature on his face; and despite the thick cloud that practically vibrated the darkness that lingered next to this stranger, Donatello couldn't help but find him very pleasing to gaze at. Very handsome for a wandering gunslinger.

"Are ya goin' ta pester me till I say somethin'?"

"More than likely, yes." Donatello offered another bet as the dealer made the final call. Raphael practically threw an entire five dollars into the pot after Donatello's simple ten cent bet.

"My horse has a loose shoe. That satisfy yer naggin' ass?" he glared and laid his cards out, staring directly at Donatello and waiting, his brow twitching.

The dealer cleared his throat, shooting Raphael a warning look for language around the priest. But Donatello ignored it and looked instead at Raphael's cards, his brows rising up in surprise.

"Two tens and three Jacks are very good. Correct, Victor?" The dealer nodded and Donatello sighed, looking at his cards again. The other two players had already thrown their hands down, though neither looked as though they had hoped to win anyhow. Donatello frowned and laid his hand out. "I only have hearts."

Raphael snorted and leaned back in his chair, eyes hard and narrowed upon Donatello as he spread out his hand. All of them were indeed hearts, a straight run from six to the Jack of hearts.

"Father wins." Dealer chuckled and pushed the winnings toward the priest.

Donatello blinked in surprise and then smiled and bowed his head, his cheeks warming, "Awe, God's Will I suppose. I was worried I would not be able to get the roof of the church patched up before winter." He stood then gathering up the money and smoothing the bills out in his hand till he folded them and placed them in his pocket. "Thank you gentlemen."

"Wait, ya can't just win a hand and walk out!" Raphael objected, glancing to the other men at the table. The jack rabbit shook his head, waving his hand dismissively and looking away, and the old dog with the drooping eyes shrugged.

"He never loses." the dog said and Donatello grinned sheepishly.

He lifted his glass and gave the men a salute. "Thank you again, gentlemen. And Mister Raphael, if you wish to get your horse's shoe shod, I suggest the blacksmith at the end of the road. Mr. Malone is possibly the best in the whole county." he took a moment to study Raphael and the stranger stared right back, tapping his finger once again upon the table that Donatello was beginning to understand as a tick he possessed when he was angry about something. "And do come to confession on Sunday. It does the soul little ill to do so."

"No offense, Padre, but stop ridin' my ass." Raphael grunted and finally turned away. Donatello chuckled and the dealer hissed at him again, but with a little wave, Donatello turned and walked away, rolling up the sleeves of his priest shirt. He glanced back at the stranger, watching him continuing to shake his head and he felt a twinge of pleasure rise up in his chest. It was satisfying somehow to have unsettled the turtle so much.

"You playin' nice there, Donnie?" Mikey asked, taking the empty glass of water from him. He waggled his brows at Donatello and the priest felt a blush color his cheeks.

"Perhaps not. But Sheriff Jones and I wanted to be certain that Raphael would not be causing any trouble.

Michelangelo nodded, raising a brow with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "Uh-huh." He struck a match and lit an oil lamp, preparing for the evening now that the sun had sunk below the mountains and night crept in. "Raphael, right."

Not even bothering to answer him because he wasn't sure his embarrassment wouldn't reveal itself in the form of a squeaky voice, Donatello waved to his friend, wishing the turtle well. Stepping out into the chill night air, Donatello walked down the abandoned main road and to his church, a smile rising over his face as he felt the money in his pocket. Perhaps it wasn't saintly to cheat gamblers out of their money, but he supposed God would understand; after all, his house did need a new roof. Donatello knew for a fact it wouldn't survive another heavy winter like the one last year. It was a shame really that the stranger wasn't looking for work. He would have been pleased to give him a job, not to mention having a helping hand about the church to aid him in various jobs that needed more than one pair of hands would have been convenient.

Donatello stepped into the church and going through his nightly rituals of securing the property before he locked the doors and crossed the street to his lodgings above the stable and forge at the end of town. He prepared for bed, his belly twisting as he considered his prayers for the evening. He knelt at his bedside for a long time, wondering how he was to pray, knowing full well he was going to sin yet again by dawns light tomorrow without even attempting to stop himself. He supposed complete honesty was all God really asked of his children and he sighed, bowing his head and resting his brow atop his entwined fingers.

"God in Heaven, I thank thee for your hand in all that you bless your servant with; mainly for providing me a way with repairing your home." He paused and winced, inhaling deeply and resolving himself to his path, he continued. "I cannot in good conscience ask for your forgiveness; but perhaps I might ask for your understanding until the stranger, Raphael, leaves town. He is a very handsome man, and it has been many, many years since I have allowed myself to venture into simple indulgences that are rather pleasing to the eyes. I remain your faithful servant, and ask for your patience concerning my unnatural attraction." Donatello opened his mouth but nothing came out, his heart hammering in his chest, his lip trembling slightly before he smiled and he tilted his head, shifting on the hard wood floor against his knees. "But, Lord, you tempt me so; parading a man like that before me! Amen."

He had known since he was a teenage boy that he was attracted to the male figure. Donatello hadn't fussed over such things though, he had simply accepted it and gone about his life. He joined the priesthood out of genuine desire to serve God – though, the vow of celibacy hadn't hurt to reinforce his self-restraint either. Crawling under his rough and old blankets, Donatello hid his face behind his arm as though hoping for just a fleeting moment he would be able to block his thoughts from God and allow himself to enjoy a short lived fantasy that involved piercing golden eyes and strong fingers that tapped against his plastron insistently.


Author's Note:

I wrote this back in 2011. I was planning on getting it written and done before I posted it; but some things happened in August of 2011...and so all of 2011 and into most of 2012...I just didn't write the rest of that year. I just wasn't capable so it was put on the side-burner...

so I was going through some of my works back when I started getting back into writing - and using turtles as that means - and decided to get this work written and finished.

Hainju has drawn some awesome Turtle Cowboys and it made me excited to get this piece done. It still needs a few more chapters written in it, but I decided that I'm far enough into it that I can start releasing it.

I'm having fun playing in this world. It just seemed like a fun crossover

but...I guess I'm just not pulling my punches with this one. I'm trying to be time accurate...at least, as close as I can get with internet research to get me by. I hope you like it...

~Melissa the Damgel