Note: Thanks for the comment, Rollerparty!

As a reminder, the next ten or so chapters of this story are very graphic. They involve an extensive amount of corporal punishment/child abuse so please don't read them if it's a trigger or becomes too much. These chapters were written when I was in kind of a crappy place in my life. I took it all out on Dick so parts of them are pretty dark. Sorry for the short-ish chapter.

Midnight – office of Greg Makov:

Bruce had decided that Batman was going to find out where Greg had placed Dick. Alfred had advised against it but Batman had broken into social services before. It would not be difficult to find the information since he knew it had to be in Greg's office, and that would make it a quick visit.

So here he was at midnight, in the office of Greg Makov. The information wasn't on the man's desk or in one of its drawers, where the hero had expected it to be. Batman opened the file cabinet behind Greg's desk and pulled out the thick file of Richard John Grayson. He opened it, and his eyes widened.

Susan had kept very good tabs on Dick. She had notes from almost every month of his life with Bruce Wayne. There were some pictures of Dick at school and, apparently, she had been at field day. In the photo from that day, the boy was in the middle of his tumbling run. He began reading through her notes, which were dated but not placed in chronological order.

'Dick in hospital – why?' 'Dick talking to Batman?' 'Dick is an impressive tumbler.' 'Wayne actually came to field day!' 'Why does Dick's hair have a dark stripe on the side? Are they dying his hair?!'

The last note was from the day Batman had received proof about Jerkins from the Bat-camera in Dick's classroom. She must have been outside the school, watching him get on the bus, and had noticed but not recognized the dried blood on his head.

'Dick's a bully; didn't expect that.' 'Mercer says he has to expel, no surprise, Wayne probably doesn't teach him respect.' 'Interviewed a friend, Dirk Grimhall. Boy says Dick is jealous of Michael, Dirk's older brother.' 'Mayor Linseed letting the poor child stay with Wayne. Commissioner Gordon must have been very convincing.'

And then, finally, a much longer note in a different style of writing:

'Placed Dick with nice family. Scared of detention center, with good reason. Said Susan was going to put him there last year? Check that out. Kent said Susan slapped Dick? And that Wayne has video. Have to check that. Dr. Thompkins obviously treated gunshot wound, knew everything about it, paperwork was all in order. Both she and Kent are positive that Wayne didn't do it. Dick misses Wayne and Pennyworth, Lisa currently holding him in her lap while he cries for them. Begin investigation immediately. Poor kid….'

A nice family, Dick was with a nice family. But who? And how long had his bright light cried for him, how long was Makov going to torture Dick like this? At least the man was going to do some fact-checking. Bruce needed to make sure that video was ready to play.

With a sigh because he had no clues as to where Dick had been placed, Batman closed the folder and put it back. A social worker wouldn't say 'a nice family' unless he had experience with them. Makov was good at his job and obviously felt bad for Dick. Perhaps the investigation would go quicker than any of them expected.

Midnight – house of Jasper and Matilda Dunston:

Dick jerked awake when he heard the creaking of his door. He didn't move, terrified of what would happen if he did.

"Have sweet dreams," Matilda whispered.

The door creaked closed and Dick realized something. He had no way to tell when it was morning. How was he going to wake them up at exactly six-thirty and have breakfast on the table at exactly seven o'clock if he wasn't even awake himself?

There was only one choice – stay up all night so he wouldn't get in trouble. And he did. Dick quietly roamed through the house in order to stay awake. He was limping slightly but he had decided that the pain didn't matter. All he had to do was get through two weeks of this and then he could have Bat-ice. Maybe he would take a bath in Bat-ice.

He grinned at that picture as he slowly sat down on the couch. Bad idea; he got halfway there and realized he wouldn't be able to get back up. Plus, if he sat down, he might fall asleep.

Dick wanted to just walk out the door and never come back. But he couldn't reach his suitcase – he wasn't going to leave anything Alfred had packed him in this horrid place – and he had no idea where he was. It had been almost an hour-long drive and he knew they were outside the city limits.

He thought about reading a book but decided it would help him relax, which he couldn't do if he wanted to stay awake. So, he roamed. Family room to kitchen into bathroom and back the other way. Dick stayed away from the hallway with all the doors.

Finally it was six-twenty. He decided to begin mixing the eggs and milk so everything would be prepared to cook. Dick was worried about using the stove. That flame yesterday had been huge and he was scared of being burned or, worse, setting something on fire. But he had no choice.

Remembering that he was not allowed to have breakfast, Dick decided on six eggs. Jasper looked like a man who could eat a lot. But maybe six would be enough to fill them up, causing them to throw the rest away. Then he could finish the scraps as he did the dishes. Hopefully, they would go in the family room after breakfast so he could actually do that.

It was six-thirty. Dick fearfully walked to the first door and loudly knocked three times.

"Okay, we're up," one of them muttered – Dick couldn't tell which one.

Quickly, he went back to the kitchen and, with trepidation filling his body, twisted the knob for the left side front burner. A small flame lit up and Dick sighed in relief. He already had the skillet and spatula ready so he placed the skillet over the low flame and poured in the egg mixture.

Twenty minutes later, the Dunstons were sitting at the table – which Dick had already set – and smiling at the smell of eggs and cheese. While the cheese was melting, the boy got out the salsa again, just in case someone wanted more flavoring. The cheese melted and the eggs were done. Carefully, Dick lifted the skillet and carried it to the table, where he set it on a potholder he had previously placed in the middle of the small table.

He glanced at the clock after putting down the spatula – 6:59. The Dunstons were serving themselves and they began eating at exactly seven o'clock. There were no complaints, no food flying out of mouths or being dumped on the floor, and no glares or sounds of anger. Dick quietly sighed in relief.

Jasper looked at him and said, "Good job, this is delicious."

Dick gave him a tiny grin, although it didn't reach his eyes.

Matilda then surprised them both by saying, "Perhaps the fence can wait, Jasper. I think this makes up for last night."

"I think you're right," Jasper agreed. "Or maybe let him eat instead of giving up on the fence."

"Hmmmm," Matilda murmured, her mouth full of eggs. Glancing at the skillet, she swallowed and stated, "Not enough left. I'm hungry."

Dick, whose heart had sped up in anticipation of food, inaudibly sighed in disappointment. He would much rather eat and have to paint than not eat or paint.

"I'm going grocery shopping," Matilda announced as she scooped the last of the eggs onto her plate. "I'll be back before lunch so you'll be able to make something much better than last night's slop."

Dick nodded, remembering that talking resulted in punishment.

"I guess that discipline taught you a thing or two last night," Jasper remarked.

Dick nodded again, more fervently this time.

"What do you like to eat, sweetie?" Matilda asked, looking at the boy with a smile.

The ten-year-old kept his mouth shut. Was he supposed to answer because it was a question or was he supposed to wait until they told him to talk?

"Oh, dear, I suppose we weren't specific enough. When we ask a question, you answer," Matilda explained.

Dick nodded then quietly said, "I like chicken."

He was too worried to give them a list. What if they thought he was selfish or too demanding or something like that?

"Only chicken?" Jasper asked. "There must be something else. We want you to enjoy your time here and that includes eating food that you like. So, what else?"

Enjoy my time here?!

"Um, salad and cheeseburgers."

"Any special drinks? Or desserts?"

Dick shook his head and said, "Just water is fine."

"Cookies, cake, anything?"

The ten-year-old shook his head again. He wasn't going to try to make cookies or cake or any other dessert unless he absolutely had to. Those things required the oven.

"Speaking of desserts," Matilda commented, "you don't know how to use the oven."

Dick was fairly certain that wasn't a direct question so he just shook his head.

"Come here, sweetheart, let me show you."

He went with her to the oven. She explained that he needed to turn it on and off three times before it would start working. As soon as he saw that red power light inside, that's when he should put it at the temperature he needed.

"Do you understand?" she asked when she was done.

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly.

"You are super polite," she stated with a smile. "No other child we've had has ever used 'sir' or ma'am'. Isn't that sweet, Jasper?"

"Yep," Jasper stated as he pushed his chair away from the table. "Do the dishes, Dick, then change your shirt and I'll show you how to take care of the weeds and bush."

Dick nodded and began cleaning the table. There was no dishwasher; he did everything by hand. The skillet took several minutes because some of the eggs had crusted on the sides. But he finished in less than fifteen minutes. He immediately went to change his shirt and practically raced to the backyard.

"Gotta pull them by hand," Jasper said, not wasting any time. "We can't afford a mower or whacker, or anything fancy like that. But we do have gloves; don't want bloody hands making our lunch."

Dick nodded and accepted the pair of gloves that were just a little bit big for his hands.

"Here's what the bush needs to look like," Jasper continued, showing him a picture.

The bush in the yard had branches sticking out all over the place. The bush in the picture was completely straight. Dick was sure this was going to result in punishment because there was no way he was going to be able to pull off branches.

"Now, I don't expect it to be perfect since you have to use the axe. But it needs to at least look cleaner. Got it?"

Both relief and fear filled Dick's body as he nodded. He had never used an axe, although he had watched the axe thrower many times back in the circus.

"Okay, since there's no way for you to know what time it is out here, I'll call you in at eleven to make lunch. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Matilda will be back by then so it will give you time to put away the groceries and decide what to make. It can be simple on Saturdays, since you have yard work. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Dick's voice was quiet and his eyes were on the ground. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to look at them.

"It's okay to look at us," Jasper said, as if he had read the boy's mind. "In fact, we prefer it if you do."

Looking up at the man, Dick nodded.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Try to be done before eleven so you can paint after lunch."

With that, Jasper turned around and walked back into the house. Dick looked around the yard and sighed. The weeds were spread out and there were a lot. It had to be almost eight; he had three hours to pick the weeds and trim the bush. Quickly, he got to work.