Danger Lurks Behind, W/ Strangers Out To Find Ya!

Rainbow Connetions!

A/N: I apologize. Also young Scrooge. Also exposition? Thanks @zenthefirst for your help! Hope you enjoy!

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*DING!!*

*DONG!*

*Ding!*

*Dong*

Ringing filled my ears. My phone. No, not my phone. I groaned awake and made out church bells. Strange? As far as I knew, there were no churches with bells like that in Duckburg. The tone faded, small voices came into focus. None of them were familiar, though.

"I don't think it's breathing." "She. It's clearly a girl. Look at the dress." "He's coming." "Rennen."

"Oi! Out with the lot of you!"

That voice I knew.

"Scrooge?" I leaned up on the lumpy cot I was lying on.

My back was killing me with raw, aching pain. I was surprised the children had been able to tell that this piece of cloth had indeed, at one point, been a dress.

I blinked around. I was in a small tent. The cot took up most of the room in the tent. There was still enough room to allow a stool, a backpack, and jug. Scrooge was at the entrance watching me. I whipped my face and sighed when I saw my hand was still burned.

Della! Penny! Where were they?! When were they? When was I? My head swam with questions and pain.

"You're awake," he said.

Slowly, he walked in and sat on the stool. He made a cup of water from the jug and held it, watching me. He was wearing a thick brown coat. His hair hung in his face, and I couldn't help but think he looked like a teenager. He couldn't have been over twenty.

"Scrooge?" I asked again. He blinked.

Was this was the first we were meeting? We hadn't actually talked about the first we met.

"Do you speak English? Ya've been mumbling in your sleep for days." When I didn't respond, he sighed. "No, ya probably mimicking what those miserable miscreants were saying about me."

"Miscreants?" I could've decked him. "They sound like children to me."

He was shocked for a second, then smirked. "Ah, same difference."

"Miscreants, depraved, or villainous. Child, a person between birth and full growth. Big difference."

"Ah, well educated too," he laughed. "However, in these parts they might as well be the same."

"Where'd that be?" I tried to look out the small slit in the tent but could only see snow.

"Do ya not know where ya live?" He held the water out towards me.

"I live at 1787 Barks Rosa Hill Duckburg, Calisota. I don't now where I currently am," I deadpanned. I glanced at the cup.

"Calisota?" The only word he recognized. His eyes gleamed and scooted forward on the seat. "That's in America, right? What's it like? What are ya doing here?"