Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or Vampire Hunter D. I also do not own the song "Jingle, Jangle, Jingle". It was originally written by Joseph J. Lilley and Frank Loesser, and it is an awesome song in any version.

Also, I again apologize that this took so long to upload. Unfortunately I have not heard from Aldedron lately, and have been rather busy with other papers and whatnot. I give this to you all hoping it remains an interest to you, and if you see any issues and would like to become a "backup" beta reader just in case I don't get into contact with her again, let me know okay? Love to have someone fix my silly mistakes and make this story better :D

Chapter Nineteen: After The First Crossing

The pavement they meandered across was damp from the dissipated fog; smaller boughs on the trees bent as a gentle breeze passed through them. At the present, the city that lay before them was filled with muted color under the gray sky. They were shivering, but the cold now came mostly from their drying clothes. The temperature had become mild, the wind keeping it so. They had passed by many houses, and while they did not vocalize their feelings, they did not need to. It was disquieting; not one person had emerged from any of the houses. The quiet that they had been surrounded with following their ascent into developed land trailed them as they made their way further into the city.

The boy, although apprehensive, viewed everything with a kind of awe. Before going with Bakura to Domino, he only had fleeting memories of being allowed outside to play. They had been that few and far between, further when he had collapsed from Heat Syndrome, and never in a suburban area. He had marveled at the wreckage of Domino City, at least after getting used to the unusually grimy appearance of those who lived there, but this was different. It was untouched somehow. D wondered to himself if it was possible that they could live there. Was it really that bad if no one lived there? The child could think of a few reasons, good reasons, but none of them outweighed the naïve relief he would feel about never again having to reveal what he was. Bakura was the only company he wanted.

They passed by a sort of shopping center, completely devoid of life once again. There was a familiar fast food chain, McDonalds, and on the other side of all the shops was a Burger King. Thinking that there might be food in either one, still edible for all of the preservatives left for people who were not there, Bakura was torn between amusement and depression, his face contorting into a semi-pained grimace which alarmed D.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice seeming unusually loud in the silence.

The man nodded. "Just thinking stupid thoughts," he said, crossing his arms.

"Well, don't do that," D chided, "you worried me."

Bakura looked down at the boy, and the child's expression made him smile. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "I'll try not to. My mind just likes to run off with me sometimes. Either way, I don't see a clothing store anywhere, do you?"

D shook his head. "No, but maybe if we go down Main Street or something we'll find something."

"Seems like a logical choice," Bakura agreed, "I didn't see a main street tho—"

D pointed behind them to the strip of road that led past a gas station. "Just an educated guess but I think that the road that says Main Street just might be the road that is the main street."

Bakura gave D a look that made the boy laugh in spite of the serious look he was trying to relay back. The man could not help but laugh in turn as the child's half grave, half mirthful face was amusing. They were still laughing as they made their way down the deserted Main Street, past the stores that had no use to their immediate predicament. By the time the sun had finally peaked out from behind the clouds it was afternoon. Their clothes were dry but stiff from the salty water, and they had still not found what they had been looking for. Bakura squinted at some of the signs as if that would divulge more information from them as D sat sulking atop the hood of a now useless car.

"Not so fun now is it?" his parasitic hand mocked, and D had a sudden urge to break the windshield of the car he sat on and impale his hand upon a broken shard. His hand sensing the child's further displeasure snorted laughter, but was silenced when the boy raised his hand to do as he had thought. "You're as bad as he is…" it sulked.

"That's fine by me," the boy grumbled.

"Well it's not for me," it grumped right along with him, "He's self-destructive."

"How do you figure?" D said rolling his eyes but was startled out of the conversation by a pathetic groan. The boy turned to see Bakura slap his forehead and curse himself. "What?!" the boy exclaimed with worry, "What's wrong."

"What's wrong is that we've been walking past clothes the entire time!" the young man spat, but his distemper was not aimed at the child, "These houses are empty!"

D blinked, momentarily pulled from his poor mind-set. "Is that all?"

Bakura threw his arms in the air. "Is that all?!" he snapped, "I've been dragging you every which way, practically freezing you when we could have gone into one of the houses and fixed the problem immediately. I'm an idiot!"

At that moment D felt foolish for having been in such a bad mood. Apparently Bakura had noticed, and not only had it traveled to the man, but had become three times worse. He was livid. "It's not that bad, really…" D said, trying to calm him, "I mean, at least we know what's around here, right? And you're not an idiot."

Bakura snorted, turning away. At first D thought he was mad at him, but upon catching a glimpse of the man's face reflected on the store window, he realized he was embarrassed. Here he was trying to be everything D needed, and still he was coming up short. Well, in Bakura's mind at least. D admired the man's resilience; if he was feeling somewhat drained, the man most certainly was exhausted. By no means was he coming up short.

After some time of silence where Bakura stared down at the pavement and D looked around uncomfortably, the man finally looked up at the sky that was now darkening and spoke. "So much for today," he sighed.

"We have all the time in the world," D replied, sliding off of the car's hood and taking Bakura's hand. "It's not like anyone's waiting on us."

The young man looked at the boy and crouched down to his level. It was more of a semi-crouch as the child was a bit taller than those his age, but it still left an impression on the boy as Bakura brought their foreheads together. He was smiling again. "You're right. And what will we do?"

D looked at him bewilderedly. "I don't know," he said, shrugging, "Anything we want?"

"Precisely."

It was then that D understood what the man had meant earlier that morning. Why at such an odd time he would never know, but it made him smile, which seemed to pull Bakura out of whatever bad mood he was in. D marveled on how their emotions played on one another and he wondered if that was how it was supposed to be when you were with family.

That thought made him want to cry; when Bakura hugged him, he nearly did.

They returned to wandering the town, both in better spirits. Another quarter of a mile down, they came to an antique store. Both looked into the shop with great interest. There were plenty of interesting things, but what caught Bakura's eye was a well worn leather bag, large enough to carry what they would need instead of lugging around the backpacks that they were carrying along. What caught D's eye was an old record player, one that looked like it didn't need to be plugged into anything to work. The door was locked, but with a few good tugs from the pair, the lock gave way and the musty smell old items left to sit hit their noses. The sky was darkening slowly, but they still had just enough light for Bakura to find a few candles and matches in the register area. He offered one to D who took it with a delicate gesture that made Bakura tilt his head, wondering where he would have learned to take something in such a way. The boy did not seem to notice, but wandered off into the mass of aged items.

"Be careful," Bakura called after him, knowing he should not be worried, but being so anyway.

"I will," D replied, paused and then added, "This place is neat!"

"It is," Bakura agreed. Making his way to the bag he had seen from the window, he lifted the flap of the leather and carefully put the candle before it for light. It closed with a drawstring made of leather. He noted it looked worn on the outside, but inside it seemed to be in good condition. The man very much doubted the outer worn surface had come from any use, but at any rate he placed it upon the ground and began to empty his larger, slightly heavier bag. Looking at what he had, he put the food aside, noting that he had not eaten much that day, and sorted through the other items he carried. They had searched his bag before they had sent them overboard, and had taken the knife from him, but none of the pots or other utensils. He studied them and surmised that he would only need one, as he would only really be cooking for one. He took the medium pot and set the rest aside. They would keep the sleeping bags, but he could sling them over his shoulder if he really needed to. He checked the large flashlight to see if it functioned, is intuition telling him it would not be so, and it made sense. Why else would he have gone for the candles first? He clicked the button, and waited for light. It never came. He nodded, it seemed the water had gotten into it somehow, and noted to himself to pay more attention to his gut feelings. He packed what he felt was necessary and it fit perfectly into the bag. Bakura slung it over his shoulder and smiled. It was lighter as well. Looking back at the register he took the rest of the emergency candles and matches, and sighed. The smell of the place was not unpleasant, and Bakura noticed that the sky was darkening not just due to the sun's decline, but for the clouds that had reappeared. He didn't think it would rain, but it seemed like it would be a good idea to rest there for the night before deciding what to explore tomorrow.

He let out a yelp when there was a loud scratching noise that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and his hand lay over his heart when a song he had never heard before began.

"Yippie yayyy, there'll be no wedding bells for todaaayy…"

The beat was bright, but being a little rusty with his English, he caught every other word at first. As the music carried on his heartbeat began to slow, and he wondered who had started the music; all of the electricity would logically be down so where was it coming from? "D-kun?" he called, clutching at the leather strap of his new bag, "D-kun? Where are you?"

"Over here!" came a gleeful reply. It seemed to be coming from where the music was playing, or where Bakura thought it was coming from. The boy seemed to be happy, which made the young man less apprehensive. He was probably the one who started the song.

"I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle…"

He made his way over to the boy who was looking at a pile of records. His candle was carefully perched by the record player, emitting a warm glow that showed the small, contented smile that graced the boy's countenance. It raised Bakura's spirits to see him so at ease.

"They have Billie Holiday, I like her music, and some classical music and stuff, and Frank Sinatra, and Journey, and…" the boy chattered on, listing off more names that the young man recognized (more than he would have imagined at any rate), and Bakura found a spot on the floor to sit, listening to D as he went on about those he liked and disliked, a gentle smile playing on the man's lips. The boy's interest in music was a new topic for him. They had not really spoken of it, but he supposed that since the boy had not been allowed to do much in his previous life, that he must have taken interest to something and that something seemed to be music.

"Have you heard of any of them?" D asked, still sorting through the haphazard piles.

"Some," Bakura said, "My father once had a record player…" Pausing, he wondered where his father was, if he was even alive. D seemed to pick up on the changing mood, and looked down, apologies forming in his mind, but Bakura changed the topic, and the bad atmosphere dissipated. "I've never heard of this song though, who sings it?"

"This rendition is by Kay Kyser and his Orchestra, or Band, depending on who you're talking to," D replied, inwardly relieved.

"Kay Kysah?" Bakura asked, his accent prevalent to himself as well as the boy, who at the moment was covering his mouth and trying not to laugh. He rolled his eyes and added, "Maybe I should try to speak more English, so I can get the hang of it. I feel like I sound ridiculous."

"You don't sound ridiculous," D sniggered, "I like it, but it is funny to hear you say it."

"Funny thing is, I did well in English at school," Bakura mused, "I guess it really has been a while since then, though." The candle flickered and his eyes were drawn to a glimmer across from where they were sitting. He squinted and what he saw made him slap himself across the forehead.

"What?!" D cried in alarm which set Bakura into a fit of laughter, which confused the boy, which set the man off further. "What?!" He repeated with irritation.

"I…I'm sorry, you just have a tendency to say that a lot, and…and…" Bakura gasped for air and snorted instead which made him laugh harder.

"And, what?" D said, unable to find the humor.

"Clothes!" The man sniggered, "There are clothes right there! We gave up looking for them and there they are!" He fell into another fit of laughter and D could think of nothing to do but shake his head. Sometimes what Bakura found funny was lost on him. Adjusting his candle to make sure that it would not fall, he left it beside the record player as he made his way to where Bakura had mentioned there were clothes. He could have saved Bakura the effort of even giving him the candle, but he had felt just a little more normal, a little more human when Bakura had lit one for him.

Bakura's laughter died away as a small gust of wind parted the door from its frame sending nearby magazines into a fluttering frenzy of pages and his body into shivers. He had completely forgotten how cold he had been, and as he went to shut the door of the antique/thrift store, he wondered how cold D felt. He could hear the boy muttering something either to himself or his hand as he shoved a nearby chair under the handle, creating a substitute for the broken deadbolt and latch bolt. With a quick glance into the crack between the door and its frame, he was in shock to see how completely broken it really was. Shaking his head, making his way to the boy, he wondered just how strong the boy would become. Certainly it could not have been he who had the strength to do such a thing. Never mind that they had been pulling at it with the same amount of force.

Reaching the aisle where D had once again disappeared to, Bakura noted two things. One was that nothing was in style, but that was obvious, to be expected, not to mention irrelevant. The next was that D had managed to find something to change into, but what he wore made Bakura cover his mouth to stifle a giggle. His choice was all at once unprejudiced, adorable, yet oddly coordinated. He wore a black turtleneck similar to the one that he had recently cast aside, but it hung upon his neck in such a way that made it obvious that it did not fit. It was neatly tucked into his grey jeans, which seemed to be the only thing specifically child sized, that were held up by a black belt. On his feet he wore black boots with a very low heel, yet they had an oddly feminine look, and Bakura was sure that where they were supposed to end mid-calf, they probably reached to just below the knee for the boy. He could not tell because they ran under the jeans. None of this however topped what the boy wore over it all. A woman's pea coat (of this he was positive), which he was sure was used to both cover the ill fitting top and give him warmth, was the boy's choice, synched at the waist of the coat yet more at the hip for him, just enough to give it a slight flare behind him. Of course, it was also black.

With his fingers still pressed over his mouth he asked, "Are you comfortable?"

D looked down dubiously at his attire, shrugged, and replied, "The shirt's a little baggy, but otherwise everything else is fine." He paused, looked up at Bakura and added, "You don't like it?" while seeming both hurt and nonchalant.

Bakura chuckled. "It's fine, especially if it's comfortable. But if you strapped on some fake guns and added a black hat, you'd look almost like you were dressing up to play the bad-guy cowboy."

D raised an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. "Funny. Would you rather I have gone with these jeans, the 'I like Burgers!' shirt, the scuffed up sneakers, and the lime-green windbreaker? They were in my size."

Unable to stop himself from sniggering, Bakura shook his head. "I said you were fine, D-kun," he said, grinning, "You look good." The boy frowned, and the man raised his hands as if surrendering, "You do! You look very well put together, almost formal, with a practical air. I was just joking."

D rolled his eyes. "It doesn't really matter anyway," he stated, "I'm just glad I don't smell so much like fish anymore. And I guess almost dressing like a cowboy is pretty neat." He looked down at his clothing again, and smiled a little. "But isn't it a duster jacket I should be wearing?"

"What you're wearing is long enough, no reason to get too picky," Bakura playfully chided, now holding his candle in front of the clothing rack to get a better look at his options.

"Me, picky?" the boy snorted, "I would have worn that windbreaker, I just don't particularly like the color lime-green."

"Can't say that I blame you…"

Bakura did not spend much time looking for clothes, but chose jeans, a t-shirt, and a long sleeved shirt that he wore under the t-shirt, more for convenience than style. There had been an old leather jacket behind an array of jean jackets and coats that made a person wonder what the designer had been thinking, and Bakura had taken it without much thought. It was warm and would last longer than his other choices. That night they slept more comfortably, using the clothes that they did not choose as a makeshift bed, finding a choice number of sheets for blankets. After blowing out the candles and turning off the record player which had most recently been playing "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple (a song D seemed to like, but which left Bakura with foreboding thoughts) the young man watched as the child fell asleep, the boy's hand unconsciously gripping the fabric that was Bakura's shirt. Lifting his own hand, he gently brushed a bit of hair out of the boy's face. He felt a great swell of love for the boy as the child shifted and scooted closer to him. It was a pity that D was almost out of that stage of life and he had only just found its comforts. Bakura sighed, knowing full well that it was more beneficial that D functioned the way he did; his maturity enabled him to handle the drastic changes that they would face. Whether this was fair or not was irrelevant.

Resting his head against a makeshift pillow, Bakura refused to let his emotions slip back into despair. Before, even in the midst of everything going wrong, he had promised himself to be a person that the boy could have for support, and thus far had allowed his emotions to still get the better of him. It was unforgivable; he did not have a choice, he had to be the one who could control himself. The boy would not suffer for his incompetence. Letting out one final frustrated sigh, the man closed his eyes, and tried not to dream of better times that night. He did not want to dream of the past, but of the future.

The morning greeted them with its gray chill, the gentle breeze smelling of the sea. Unlike the first morning, they were quite comfortable in their new/old clothes, and as Bakura ate his sparing breakfast, he felt better prepared for the day. D listened to one more record before conceding that it was time to leave, wondering aloud if they would hear music any time soon. As they waved goodbye to the empty store with their new apparel and bags (Bakura had found a smaller backpack for D that would hold whatever items he wanted to keep), both felt in such better spirits that even the parasitic left hand had nothing to say that would change their minds.

They had a grand first half of a day. They found a store with the necessary items to brush their teeth (which seemed like a treat), took some drinking water (using some to have a tepid bath with soap) and canned food from the grocery store, and made a little map of places where they had been for a better sense of direction. As noon time rolled around they sat together in the truck bed of another useless vehicle, reading books that they had picked up along the way. It was when D was dozing, his book still half opened in his hand, and Bakura could feel himself slipping into a light sleep that the trouble began.

His eyes were half closed, blankly staring at the pages while his mind contemplated the idea of a brief nap when his ears picked up the oddest noise. It was definitely not one he had been expecting. Eyes snapping open, he cocked his head, listening intently. D stirred, and glanced up at Bakura with confusion. Before he spoke, Bakura put a finger to his lips and motioned for the boy to listen. The child did and his eyes widened.

"Is that a horse?" He asked and before Bakura could protest, the boy sat up abruptly, facing the way of the sound. Bakura did likewise, more to pull D down to safety if need be, and his face gave away his shock. It was a horse and someone was riding it. Not riding it hard; even though he was not used to the equine breed Bakura could tell that the person cared greatly for it. D watched with interest as the person rode closer, but for once Bakura noticed something the boy did not. He did not blame him for not noticing, he doubted if the child would have seen it from his angle, but a gun was looped around the left side of the saddle, made for easy reaching. Bakura tensed, knowing full well that he had no weapons available. D looked up at Bakura with a hesitant smile that dropped as soon as he saw the man's face.

"What?" D asked, worry spreading across his face.

"Don't move!" The man riding the horse yelled, more or less answering D's question.

The pair froze, neither of their faces showing fear exactly, but both knowing it was there. They sensed the apprehension between them. The man regarded them, face scrunching in deep thought and his own tension, making the lines in his face more prominent. Bakura assumed that the man was in his mid forties; what hair that was not hidden by the cowboy hat was a deep brown mixed with white and gray around the edges. Between his thin lips was a half smoked cigarette that bobbed as his mouth worked while he studied the two. "Strangers," he said, pulling the cigarette from his mouth as he acknowledged them, "I want your names and where you come from."

Bakura had no idea how to answer without sounding suspicious. His accent would be a dead giveaway that he was not a native, but the thought of sailing across the ocean during these times seemed unlikely. He would have attempted to pass off that they came from somewhere in the U.S. but he did not know much about the surrounding area. So he simply spoke the truth, hoping that the man would understand. "My name is…" he paused; anxious he would make some mistake, "Ryou Bakura. This is D. We—"

"Hang on a second," the man snapped, removing the cigarette from his mouth to tap away the ashes, "you expect me to believe this kid's name is D?"

"It is," Bakura replied before D could respond. The child was grateful for the young man's calm demeanor and remained silent. "It is a little difficult to explain."

"Well, start explaining," The man snorted, "I've got all the time in the world."

Inwardly, a battle between Bakura's fear and anger raged. Fear for D's life that was at stake, and anger for this man's arrogant nature and the fact he was so afraid. He was tired of being terrified when the child who sat beside him needed his strength. So outwardly he remained composed. "His father was an…eccentric…man."

"You aren't related?" Bakura felt the man's incredulous stare just as much as he saw it.

"No, yes, somewhat…"

"Which is it?"

"I am his…"

"Adoptive parent," D replied, startling the two adults. The boy, while proud of Bakura's attempt, knew that he was too unpracticed in the English language to keep his mind clear for long. Not to mention, he doubted that Bakura knew just what to call him. The tears that welled in the corner of his friend's eyes provided the knowledge that D had not been too presumptuous. Yet they were blinked away quickly, to keep the façade of a calmer image.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," D replied, and was surprised at how quickly he was able to add the lie Bakura could not, "My father died a few years ago. I would have as well, if it hadn't been for Bakura-sama."

"Bakura-sama?"

"He's Japanese. He was a friend of my father, who came to visit just before the bombs hit."

The man eyed them both again, still suspicious. "How old are you?" he asked Bakura. He responded as he placed a gentle hand on D's shoulder. The boy could not tell who he was trying to comfort. Again, the man seemed to disbelieve.

"If that's the case, you were nineteen when all of this happened. How exactly did you know his father?"

This time D was unable to assist him. Not only was the man directing his full attention at how Bakura would react, but the boy could think of no response that would sound realistic. What came out of Bakura's mouth was something D would have never thought of, but fit so well that there was no need for worry.

"When I was sixteen there was a card game tournament in the city I lived in. It was called Battle City," the young man began, speaking with great care. The man looked at him curiously, but he nodded, as if he recognized the event, motioning for him to go on, "It was well publicized, and people from all over were coming to either compete, or watch the tournament first hand. His father had come to watch. I was late to sign up, so I was out late, searching for opponents." Bakura's eyes brightened, as if remembering something fondly. D found it curious, as he had been told by his friend that he could not remember much of the day due to an injury he had obtained. It had been his other half running around when he should not have. Either the man was getting better at lying, or there was something wrong. "I was ambushed by this group of so called gamers who preferred to steal rather than duel their way into getting the locator cards necessary to get into the finals. His father was there by some strange chance and watched as I beat them at their own game. I noticed him after I found out the location I needed to go to, and asked him for a ride. He agreed, and we talked on the way there."

"You got into the car with a complete stranger?"

Bakura tilted his head, trying to translate a good response in his mind. "Yes, it sounds dangerous, but considering it was getting late, and there was no taxi nearby, I took the chance. It worked out. He was impressed, and I was interested in the travels he told me about. My father was an archaeologist, so I get really interested in these things. We became friends and wrote letters after that. He knew I liked traveling, so he invited me here. I met D, and after his father died I promised I would take care of him."

The horse stomped and nickered, twitching its tail. The man brushed his fingers through its mane as he sat silent in the saddle, his face pensive. D looked between him and Bakura, wondering if the story seemed believable enough, if it even mattered, and just how true Bakura's story was; for although he knew Bakura had not met his father before that fateful day in the hallway of their "safe-house"; something about the mentioned encounter seemed more akin to the truth than intended.

Finally the man spoke. "So you've just been wandering?"

"Yes," Bakura replied, "Why stay where memories can only cause pain? Or where there are people who only want to cause you pain? I do not know much about this country, and I wanted to show D what we could see, before death takes either of us."

Again the man was silent, but only for a short time. He glanced down at D and uttered his last question for them. "Where'd you live?"

"Los Angeles," the boy responded. Given time to create a story in his mind to match Bakura's, he felt that city (which he had only read about) would suffice. "It was getting too dangerous, so we left."

The man snorted. "I don't doubt that." Bakura and D felt utter relief as the man seemed to relax, flicking the butt of his cigarette on the concrete as he lit another to replace it. "Forgive me. It's difficult to trust people these days, 'specially two people you've never seen before in your life, regardless if one's a kid or not."

"I do not blame you," Bakura said, a tentative smile on his lips, "I was thinking the same thing when you rode up."

"Well, I'm still sorry about it," the man stated, sliding off of the saddle, keeping the reins in his left hand as he held out his right, "The name's Matthew Ellis. Call me Matt. Never played that game you were talking about, but I know what it is. My son's friend played it, was trying to get him into it, if I remember right."

"It is nice to meet you…Matt," Bakura said, taking the man's hand and shaking it, unable to resist bowing slightly as he did so. Old habits would die hard. D also shook the man's hand and said his piece.

"Great," Matt said, his face becoming more pleasant as he smiled. "I'm going to do you a favor and introduce you to my family. Then at next week's meeting we'll introduce you to what's left of the city. If you're going to be around here, the people ought to know you, so they don't think your some thief or murderer roaming around."

"There are people in this town still?" Bakura asked, shocked.

The man chuckled. "Yes, not a whole lot, though. Most left when they heard bombs were dropping on San Francisco. Thought it was too close for comfort and got the hell out. My family didn't budge though, and neither did a number of other families. Some called us stupid, but I'd rather die at home than anywhere else."

"I see," Bakura said, climbing out of the back of the truck. He offered a hand to D who took it and helped him out so both stood on the concrete in front of the man that had seemed frightening only moments ago. "We would love to meet them."

"Good to hear. Now I warn you, the town's reception should be fine, but you might get a little flack for not being native."

"Flack?"

"They might give us a little bit of a problem," D whispered to Bakura, who nodded.

"I hope we will not be too much trouble for you," he said, "Have there been many problems?"

"The wildlife is coming back full force, but that's not much of a problem. Our issue is that people are starting to go missing. One or two a year, we'd all understand and cut our losses, as awful as that sounds. But like I said before, we aren't a big city anymore. Hardly five hundred now a days. We aren't losing two or three a year, but two or three a month. If this keeps up, we'll have to leave, but where would we go? This is where our homes are, our lives."

"That is awful!" Bakura exclaimed, "They're just disappearing?"

"Yeah, and none of us have a clue where to. We were going to talk more about it come next meeting."

"Maybe we could help?" Bakura said before his mind caught up with what he was saying. D squeezed his hand in warning, but it was too late. The offer was there.

"Well, I can't see it hurting much. A new perspective on it might be a good thing." The man frowned, and then nodded. "Of course, this has to be decided at the meeting. I can't promise you anything except for a spot in my house for now. But if I do that, I expect you to help with chores and other things of that nature."

"That is fine," Bakura replied, happy enough that they had a place to stay and that the people there would not try to kill them immediately.

"Oh, I should mention, I live on a ranch. How good are you with horses?"

"What—?"