Note: Thanks for the comment Rollerparty! And thanks for reminding me that this story has evolved into much more than a K rating.

As a reminder, the next seven 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.

I'm posting another chapter quickly to get the last one out of your mind. There is a short but somewhat graphic description of Dick's injuries (two sentences) in the section that starts with "The next morning". Just wanted you to be aware.

Office of Greg Makov:

The phone call had been unusual. Matilda Dunston never sounded panicked, but her voice had been slightly uptight. Greg would almost call it panic. But why? It wasn't like Dick was a lot of trouble. Well, he had been rude to both Susan and himself so Greg thought that maybe he was getting on the Dunston's nerves.

Greg had been thinking things over all afternoon. Bruce had made many points, all of them valid. The millionaire had turned the situation into a personal one for the social worker, much like Clark Kent had done a few days ago.

Looking at it from Bruce's angle, Greg realized he had nothing to go on. The man's story had been plausible, and he hadn't looked or sounded nervous while telling it. In fact, he had seemed both confident and sad. Greg had noticed that Alfred's eyes were weary and Bruce's were streaked with red lines.

Perhaps Susan really had been holding a grudge. Perhaps she really was trying to use the boy to get back at Bruce. Greg needed to see the video, if it existed. He needed to see the interview for himself: the boy's words and body language, Susan's questions, and – he still couldn't believe it – to verify if she had slapped Dick.

That could be done tomorrow, after his visit with the Dunstons. Picking up the phone, he called Wayne Manor to set up an appointment for two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. He was informed that Bruce had an important meeting but could see him at ten the next morning. Greg agreed without prejudice. Bruce did have a job, as a CEO, and he couldn't be expected to just drop everything every time Greg needed to talk to him.

The Batcave:

Something was wrong, Batman could feel it. Dick was in danger; he had no proof at all but, somehow, he knew it. Alfred hadn't even tried to reassure the man because he was feeling the same way. But why would Dick be in danger with a 'nice family'? There was absolutely no reason that either man should be alarmed, but still they were.

There was no way for anyone to find out where the ten-year-old was currently living. The only people who knew were Dick, the 'nice family' and Greg Makov. Batman wanted to go confront the man but Alfred wisely stopped him. Why would Batman be interested in the case of a small child with whom he had no connection?

Of course, Batman had been the one to find Dick after Michael was done with him, and the one to stop him from killing Mr. Mack, and the one to confront Mr. Mercer about Dick's bruises. So, technically, he did have a connection. But Alfred said that Bruce Wayne wouldn't jeopardize his chances of getting Dick back by asking Batman to confront Greg Makov.

So the men were sitting in the Batcave, waiting for…what? They had no idea. The Manor phone began to ring and Alfred picked it up.

"Wayne Ma…Master Dick?!"

Batman sprinted to the butler's side and Alfred held the phone between them. The connection was bad and the boy's words were full of static. But there was no mistaking the sound of his voice. Dick was terrified and, from the wheezing and quiet grunts, in pain.

"Where are you, kiddo?!" Batman exclaimed.

"Dunst…no, I'm sorry!" he screamed and the line went dead.

The Dunstons had decided to go to a movie. Dick was lying unconscious on the back porch and probably wouldn't wake up until the morning. There was no need to worry about him trying to leave. So, at seven o'clock, Jasper and Matilda climbed in the car and drove away.

The loud noise of the old car startled Dick into awareness. It was almost dark and he was completely dry so he figured he could go inside. He expected to see someone at the table, or in the family room, or somewhere in the house. The place was dark except for the light in the Dunston's room.

Dick began walking, slowly and painfully and with a hand always on a wall, throughout the house. It was empty and quiet. He remembered the phone and decided to take the opportunity. As quickly as he could, the boy made his way to Jasper and Matilda's bedroom.

He stopped by the small table and listened carefully. Still no sounds or signs of life. So, Dick picked up the phone and dialed the number to Wayne Manor.

"Wayne Ma…"

"Alfred!" Dick exclaimed in relief.

"Master Dick?!" the man answered, surprise filling the words.

"Help, pl…please. I hate…."

The connection was bad and Dick couldn't tell if any words were making it through the phone. Then he heard a familiar voice say something he had never been happier to hear.

"Where are you, kiddo?!"

It was Batman, not Bruce Wayne, so Dick could tell him without Bruce getting in trouble with Mr. Makov. Dick was so focused on Batman's voice that he didn't hear the front door open or see Jasper stride angrily into the room.

"Dunst…" he began but Jasper grabbed him by the back of the neck.

"No, I'm sorry!" Dick screamed as he dropped the phone.

Jasper slammed the phone down, hefted Dick over his shoulder and stomped to the door leading to the basement. Opening it up, he tossed the boy down the stairs then closed and locked the door.

Pain exploded throughout his body as Dick tumbled down the flight of stairs. His head hit the cement and darkness consumed him.

"I knew it, I knew something was wrong!" Batman shouted. "Where is he?! What does Dunst mean?! And what are they doing to him?!"

"He was cut off and yelled 'I'm sorry', sir. He is obviously in danger."

Batman grabbed the Batphone. Commissioner Gordon answered after the third ring.

"I picked up some sounds on my Bat-radio," Batman lied. "It sounded like a boy and his voice was panicked. He said something about Dunst but I have no other information. Is there anything I need to know?"

"Not that I know of, Batman," the commissioner replied, confused. "I have no idea what it could mean."

"You've had no reports of missing children, or domestic disturbance calls?"

"No, Batman, nothing like that at all."

Batman hung up the phone. Dropping his head, he slammed his palms flat on the table.

"Put a search in the Bat-computer for the word 'Dunst', Alfred," he commanded.

"I already did, sir," the butler replied. "The machine is working on it."

"Where could he be?! I have to talk to Makov. Dick is in danger!"

"Mr. Makov said he plans on visiting Dick tomorrow morning. Perhaps Batman could trail him, sir?"

"Get me Makov's address," the hero growled. "I'll follow him from his house in case he doesn't stop at his office."

"Very good, sir."

The next morning:

Dick had woken up at midnight. He hadn't been able to move, but he had been able to feel the rawness of his back, the burning from the sun and the giant headache from the hit to his head. The boy had tried to go back to sleep but fear had taken over his mind. It had consumed his every thought and he had suddenly decided that he was actually going to die. At two o'clock, darkness had claimed him once again.

The alarm clock rang but the insistent beeping didn't penetrate Dick's brain. Even if he had woken up, he wouldn't have been able to get up.

Matilda, having said she would make breakfast, got up when her alarm rang at six-fifteen. She quickly dressed and walked to the basement door. Unlocking it, she rapidly descended the steps to check on the ten-year-old.

Dick was breathing, although it was slightly erratic. His skin was still hot and there was a small bruise under his left eye. And a large bump on the back of his head, the woman noticed when she rolled him over. A bump that was crusted with dried blood. She put a finger on his neck and felt a steady, although rather speedy, pulse.

Leaving him lying on the floor – she certainly couldn't carry him upstairs – Matilda went to make breakfast. Jasper came out ten minutes before seven and went down to the basement. He returned with Dick in his arms and took the boy to his room.

"I need help!" Jasper called.

Matilda walked down the hall and entered the room. Jasper had taken off the unconscious boy's shirt and shorts. He needed to have Dick in clean clothes for Mr. Makov's visit. Matilda gasped when she saw the boy's back. There were giant welts criss-crossing the pale skin and bruises were blossoming behind his underwear. There was also a bruise on the back of Dick's neck, where Jasper had grabbed him and jerked him away from the phone.

She had seen similar bruises before, but apparently Jasper was getting feisty as he grew older. Never had he thrown so many hits that a kid had completely collapsed. There had been children with a stripe or two across their backs but nothing like this. He usually stopped when the kid fell down. Of course, Dick had been extremely disrespectful so the lesson obviously needed to be extreme.

Turning away from the sight, but not bothered by it, Matilda took the suitcase down from the shelf and chose a pair of pants and a dark t-shirt. The bruise on his neck was dark but the blue of the shirt would hide that fact. None of the other injuries would show, so they were fine there. Just that dang sunburn.

Jasper began dressing the boy and Matilda went to her room. She returned with the lotion and, after her husband laid Dick on the bed, she began lathering him with it. Matilda planned to leave it on until nine-thirty, half an hour before Mr. Makov's appointment. Then she would carefully wipe it off with a cool washcloth so Dick would be all ready to present by the time the man arrived.

When they were done, they went and ate breakfast. Matilda did the dishes while Jasper checked on the boy. Dick was still completely unconscious. His breathing was better, but it was still an unhealthy wheezing sound.

"What about the one under his eye?" Jasper asked when he came back.

"I'll put some of my coverup on it," Matilda replied. "It's close enough to his skin color; it will be fine," she assured him.

Nine-twenty rolled around and the woman began the process of gently wiping off the lotion. At nine-forty, she dabbed coverup from her makeup bag onto his cheek. Jasper gently shook his shoulders but Dick didn't wake up. He carried the boy to the family room and sat him on the couch while Matilda went to the kitchen. She returned with a bottle of lemon juice.

Jasper stared at her, skepticism on his face, and she shrugged.

"It's the only thing we have. We don't exactly keep smelling salts around the house."

"Maybe we should start," the man grumbled.

She put the lemon juice under Dick's nose and carefully squeezed the bottle. Two drops flew up the boy's nose, startling him into awareness.

"Hello, sweetie," Matilda crooned, handing Jasper the bottle and motioning him away. "You fell down the stairs last night and got a bump on the head. You really should be more careful."

Dick only remembered a few things from yesterday: the belt, the phone, and a hand on his neck. He had a giant headache; had he really fallen down the stairs?

"That's what happened, right, hon?" she asked kindly.

"Um, yes?" Dick whispered.

"Good. That's what Mr. Makov wants to hear. But you don't speak unless he asks you a question. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dick replied softly.

He also remembered that – be polite and stay quiet.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Batman had decided not to use the Batmobile; it was too conspicuous. Greg would easily identify it and wonder why Batman was on his tail. So, the hero took the least showy car in his garage – Alfred's personal vehicle.

It was a run-of-the-mill, dark-blue Nissan Maxima. No bells or whistles or bright colors or flashy paint jobs. The only time Alfred had used it was when he had taught Bruce how to drive. Nobody would know it was the butler's car so nobody would suspect a thing. Alfred had splurged for dark tint on the windows, wanting to hide his young charge from the prying eyes of the media. But that had been over ten years ago and not a single person would remember such a forgettable car.

Greg Makov had indeed skipped going to his office. Batman had parked two blocks away from the man's house and was staying at a safe distance. The hero was surprised that they were going so far away from the city. One would think that a social worker would want the children in his charge to be close, in case of some kind of emergency.

It was nine-fifty when Greg pulled onto a street lined with cookie-cutter, rectangular homes. He drove all the way to the end so Batman stopped at the beginning. There were eight houses on each side with no side streets breaking the line.

The appointment must be at ten, the hero supposed, since Greg was now just sitting in his car. At nine-fifty-eight, Makov got out. Batman silently exited his car and waited for the man to be invited inside the house. Then he flew through the back yards until he came to the last one. He peeked through the window into the kitchen, but nobody was there.

Batman hated being in full view of anyone but Makov was probably in the room at the front of the house. It was too risky; instead of going around to the front, Batman carefully slid the window up so he could hear. He really wanted to see, but couldn't take the risk.

"Mr. Makov, come on in," Matilda said with a smile. "Right on time, as usual."

"Good morning, Matilda, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Greg, but you're not here to ask about my situation," she replied, the smile plastered on her face. "Dick was just reading a book but he politely put it away when he heard your car."

"Greg," Jasper stated with a nod and a handshake. "Have a seat."

He motioned to the chair opposite the couch while Matilda sat down by Dick and wrapped her arm around him. Greg lowered himself onto the chair and studied the boy. He looked fine, although his eyes were a little red. But that was to be expected after all the crying he had been doing. And Bruce Wayne had said something about nightmares.

"Hey, Dick, how are you doing?" Greg asked.

Dick stared straight at him and whispered, "Fine, sir."

"You've been reading, that's good. Keeps the mind sharp," the man said with a grin.

He was trying to put the boy at ease. There was some emotion in Dick's eyes that he couldn't quite decipher. Greg chalked it up to sorrow, but filed it away to ponder on later.

"Yes, sir," Dick replied. "I like to read."

"I see you're fitting in just fine. It looks like Mrs. Dunston is a good cuddler."

Dick's eyes flicked to his right side, where Matilda was sitting, then returned his gaze to Greg's eyes.

"Yes, sir," the ten-year-old stated quietly.

"So, what kinds of things have you been doing?" Greg asked. "Besides reading."

"I, um, jumped on the trampoline and worked on a painting project."

"You like to paint?"

"Yes, sir, Bruce and I were painting…" Dick trailed off and sniffled.

Matilda pulled him into a gentle hug but squeezed his arm just enough to help him remember that he was happy here.

"But now I painted here and that was fun," he continued.

"Were you playing outside for a little while without sunscreen?" Greg asked.

He had noticed the dark pink tint on Dick's skin. Usually the Dunstons thought of things like that so he was a little surprised.

"Uh, yeah, but it was my fault."

There was a short hesitation as Dick's intelligent mind worked quickly to come up with a plausible lie.

"Mrs. Dunston was, um, making lunch and I didn't think to ask her. I just went outside."

"And where was Mr. Dunston?"

"Um, in his bedroom working on something," the boy lied again.

"Well, after I leave have Mrs. Dunston show you where the sunscreen is so you can remember to put it on next time. We don't want you to get an unhealthy sunburn."

"Yes, sir," Dick agreed softly. "It was my fault, all my fault."

"It's okay so…kid…Dick," Greg stumbled, almost forgetting the boy's requests regarding nicknames. "We all forget things once in a while."

"Yes, sir."

This was very unusual. Of all the kids Greg had placed with the Dunstons, Dick was the only one who had ever used 'sir'. And he probably used ma'am for Matilda.

"You're so polite, Dick."

"Thank you, sir. I live with an English butler and a man who is very popular. And my parents taught me manners, sir." Dick felt a gentle squeeze on his arm and quickly added, "And Mr. and Mrs. Dunston help me remember to be polite, also."

A tiny particle of suspicion began wiggling around in the back of Greg's mind. This was not the boy he had talked to last week. Dick had been sullen and rude and very reluctant to talk. The boy in front of him, however, was polite and answering every question without hesitation. Except for that one flicker of his gaze.

"Jasper, Matilda, I'd like to speak to the boy alone, please."

Nodding, the two adults stood up. Before she did, Matilda squeezed Dick's arm one more time. It was more of a rough pinch and he gave her a tiny nod. They exited the room and went into the kitchen.

"Dick, let's go sit on the front porch," Greg suggested.

The boy's eyes widened slightly but then he slowly stood up. He walked carefully to the front door that Greg was holding open. The man gently laid a hand on Dick's back, guiding him to one of the two chairs on the porch. Dick flinched and stiffened at the touch, an action that did not go unnoticed by Greg.

"Okay, Dick, how are you really doing?"

"Fine, I'm fine, sir."

"You seem…different. From the time we last talked, I mean."

"Well, um, you were right, sir. They are, um, nice and they've taught me a lot."

"Like what?"

"Uh, like how to cook. I got to make scrambled eggs for breakfast."

There was a hint of pride in Dick's voice and Greg grinned slightly.

"And, um, I got to play in the hose after I helped with yard work. Sir," Dick quickly added.

"Wasn't the water hot?"

"Yes, sir, but I let it run for a little while until it cooled down."

There was something else unusual that Greg noticed. Dick was sitting straight as a board, not leaning against the back of the chair like most children do. And he hadn't moved his neck at all – he had just been staring at Greg the whole time. Except for that one flicker of his gaze in the house that was, for some unknown reason, sticking to the front of the man's mind.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

YES!

Dick screamed the thought in his mind but carefully shook his head. A tear flew out of his eye with the motion and he hoped Mr. Makov hadn't seen it. The man had seen the liquid but couldn't tell if it was sweat or a tiny tear. He filed that away, also, to ponder later.

"Well, I guess we're done then. You look like you're doing okay…"

"I miss Bruce and Alfred," Dick interrupted, desperation leaking from his voice.

"I know you do, Dick, and they asked me to tell you the same thing. But I have to make sure you will be safe."

"Safer than here," the boy mumbled, so quietly that Greg just barely heard it.

"Are you sure there's nothing else you want to say?" the man asked, his voice gentle.

Greg couldn't figure out the emotion in the boy's light-blue eyes and it was frustrating him. Dick looked like he wanted to say some more things but was locking it all away.

"No, sir, I'm…fine," he stammered.

Please don't leave.

Dick was begging in his mind and he allowed a little bit of fear to creep into his eyes. Not too much, but just enough that maybe Mr. Makov would reconsider this horrible decision he had made.

Was that…fear? Greg was a little confused. Dick was saying all the right things so he had no reason to be scared. A lightbulb went off in the man's mind. He was seeing very mixed emotions: determination and desperation and, now, fear. Dick, he realized, had very expressive eyes. Was he using them as a warning or was he just afraid that he would never be allowed to return to Wayne Manor?

Batman was completely silent, almost not even breathing, straining to hear every word. The conversation was pleasant but the hero immediately heard something strange. Dick would never cuddle a stranger after only three and a half days. He was very timid around people he didn't know and wouldn't be in the 'cuddling' arms of someone he had just met.

Glancing behind himself, Batman noticed a small exercise trampoline. There was no way Dick would be having fun on that tiny thing. And why was he saying 'sir' almost every time he spoke?

How bad was the sunburn? Why hadn't the woman noticed that Dick was going outside? She should have immediately reminded him to use sunscreen. And why had Dick hesitated before telling Greg why he hadn't used sunscreen?

And then there was his voice. To anyone else, Dick sounded perfectly normal, although a little shy with all the whispering he was doing. Batman, however, was not 'anyone else'. There was fear, maybe closer to terror, but also courage. An unusual mix of emotions, and they were so contradictory. Dick was hiding something, and he was doing it very well.

Batman heard Makov ask the adults to leave so he silently crept away from the window and down the steps of the porch. He heard the sound of a door opening so he moved to the eastern side of the house. Dick and Greg were on the porch, and Greg was asking for honesty.

Clearly the man had some doubts about this situation. And out here, away from the 'nice family', Dick's voice was full of desperation. It was obvious, to Batman, but he couldn't tell if Greg could hear it. Something was going on. Bruce and Batman had heard terror and frustration and sorrow and anger but never desperation.

Greg was getting ready to leave but Batman was thinking about staying. Now he could hear an edge of panic and Dick was practically begging when he stammered out that he was fine.

Batman made a different decision and sprinted away. He was going to come back tonight and stop whatever was happening. The hero couldn't be out here in broad daylight, in a civilian car with no plausible excuse. So, he was going to return to the Batcave, find out as much as he could about the Dunstons, and make something happen in this neighborhood that would cause Commissioner Gordon to call on the services of Batman.