Note: As usual, thanks for commenting Rollerparty! To answer your question, the Instant-Block-Ice-Maker machine is in the Batcave, not in Batman's utility belt. ;)
The Batcave:
"I don't understand it, Alfred. He sounded frightened on the phone last night – and was cut off mid-sentence – then terrified and desperate in the morning. However, he was peacefully sleeping, or falling asleep, when I was there tonight. Even his breathing was steady, like he didn't have a care in the world."
"I don't know what to say, Master Batman. Perhaps something happened last night or this morning but it was resolved sometime during the day."
"Maybe," Batman murmured. "I'm going back tomorrow night. I'm going to get there earlier, though. The sun disappears completely around six so I'll be there by five-thirty. It's nearly dark by then."
"Of course, sir. Just please be careful and don't do anything rash."
"Am I being paranoid, Alfred? Or just missing Dick so much that I'm pulling excuses out of thin air?"
"I'm not sure yet, Master Batman. Today was very unusual. We'll have more information tomorrow after your visit, sir. We will figure it out."
"So…"
"I don't believe you are being paranoid, sir, nor do I believe that nothing untoward is going on at that house."
"It's going to be a long day," the hero sighed as he removed his cowl.
"Undoubtedly, Master Bruce. For all three of us, if our intuitions turn out to be correct."
Dunston's house – two in the morning:
Dick had fallen asleep at midnight but was now screaming in terror. Jasper was startled awake but Matilda was already out of bed and rushing toward the basement. He heard her open the door so, shrugging, the man went back to sleep.
"Sweetie!" Matilda called as she turned on the hall light. "It's okay, honey, I'm coming."
She ran back to the laundry room and grabbed the flashlight. Then she raced down the basement stairs as fast as she could without falling. Dick was curled on his side, shaking, and his arms were wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes were squeezed shut and tears were leaking out of the closed lids.
Matilda put the flashlight on the last stair and then sat down and pulled the boy into her arms.
"Shhhh," she whispered soothingly. "It's okay, it was just a dream."
He heard a calming voice, but it wasn't the right one. The voice was feminine, meaning it definitely wasn't Bruce or Alfred. Dick continued crying loudly, refusing to let go of himself and refusing to snuggle into Matilda's warm arms. This wasn't right, she wasn't right.
"Bruce," he cried in a wobbly voice.
"No, sweetheart, it's Matilda. You don't need Bruce, I'm right here. Calm down so Jasper can sleep."
The words of warning passed over his head. Dick was focused on finding Bruce and couldn't understand why some woman was attempting to comfort him.
"Dick, honey, I don't want to have to get Jasper," Matilda warned, already tired of the crying. "If you don't stop wailing and blubbering, he'll give you something to wail about."
This time the words registered. Dick immediately forced himself to stop crying. He carefully rolled away from Matilda's embrace and laid on his stomach again.
"Thank heavens," the woman muttered as she stood up.
Matilda grabbed the flashlight and walked up the stairs. She closed the door behind her, turned off the hall light, and went back to bed.
Dick was wide awake. He realized that he had just barely escaped trouble. Going to sleep meant nightmares so he decided to stay awake. He needed to think of something for breakfast anyway. But his plan didn't work. The ten-year-old was so drained that he fell asleep without even realizing it.
Three and a half hours later, a shrill beeping woke him up. The alarm clock, he realized as he slowly opened his eyes. It was ringing, and he didn't know what to make for breakfast.
His entire body was stiff but Dick pushed it all to the back of his mind. If he didn't have something different for them on the table by seven o'clock, the pain would get worse. So, ignoring the protests from every muscle – and every raw nerve on his back – Dick sat up. He turned off the alarm clock and found his way to the stairs. At least his hamstring didn't hurt as much as he thought it would after hearing that 'pop' yesterday. It was merely sore, making it his least troublesome injury.
One excruciating minute later, he quietly opened the door and crept through the hallway. He made it to the kitchen and looked at the clock – 6:03. Enough time to find something to make, as long as it was quick and easy.
Dick began searching through the pantry, looking for a box of pancake mix or a bag of muffin mix or anything that didn't require starting something from scratch. There was nothing he could use in there, so he moved to the fridge. He noticed something as he reached for the handle. On the counter right next to him was the recipe book.
The book was open to a page with a star. There was a tiny but bright sticky note: Dick, honey, make this for breakfast.
He looked at the list of ingredients and was relieved that it was fairly short: potatoes, shredded cheese, bacon and several small spices. Dick noticed that it needed baking, so he immediately went to preheat the oven. The boy turned it on and off three times then checked inside. The power light was on so he turned it up to four hundred degrees.
And then he read the directions. First, peel the potatoes and slice them into small squares. Second, fry the bacon to desired crispness. Third, mix the potatoes with the shredded cheese, spices and one cup of water. Fourth, break the bacon into bite-size pieces and add to the potato mix. Finally, put in an oven-safe dish and bake for thirty minutes at four hundred degrees.
Thirty minutes?!
It was already ten after six. He had less than twenty minutes to peel and slice the potatoes, fry the bacon, shred the half-block of cheddar cheese, put everything together and get it in the oven.
Dick started to panic. He hadn't seen a potato peeler or a cheese grater when he had been memorizing the kitchen. And he had never fried bacon in his entire life. His mother had always shooed him away from the popping grease so he wouldn't get burned.
Then he began berating himself. He was ten years old, not some helpless, weak, idiotic, naïve spoiled brat! The potatoes were sitting on the counter, the bacon was in the fridge, the skillet was in the drawer next to the stove, there were sharp knives that he could use to peel and shred. It was time to get to work.
It took him fifteen minutes just to peel and slice two potatoes with one of the knives. The recipe called for three but he didn't have time. Frying the bacon took another five minutes and by the time he was done with that he had grease stains all over his shirt and several small blisters on each arm.
He glanced at the clock and quickly went to the Dunston's bedroom door. Loudly, he knocked three times. There was no answer, so he did it again. And again and again until finally Matilda called out that they were awake. That had taken three precious minutes away from him.
Dick measured out the spices and water then threw those into the bowl with the potatoes. Then he remembered the cheese. It wasn't even sliced yet, much less shredded! He crumbled the bacon into the bowl and grabbed the cheese and another knife. Slices would have to do; the mix was already supposed to be in the oven.
The ten-year-old spread the potato bacon mixture into a casserole dish and laid slices of cheese on top. Maybe they didn't know the recipe well enough to recognize that the cheese wasn't properly placed. He glanced at the clock – 6:37 – and put the dish in the oven. It was going to have ten less baking minutes than it was supposed to but he needed it on the table by seven. It was going to be, had to be, fine.
Jasper and Matilda came out of their room at six-fifty. Dick had the table ready with two place settings instead of three. He couldn't remember if he was allowed to eat breakfast and decided it was safer to assume that he wasn't.
"Something smells delicious!" Jasper exclaimed.
Matilda nodded in agreement as she sat down.
"Dick, go change your clothes, honey," she lightly commanded. "You look like a grease monkey."
Dick nodded and obeyed. It took him nearly five minutes just to get his shirt off. His back was so sore that it hurt to raise his arms higher than his shoulders. And it felt like he was tearing away his skin, again, when he pulled the shirt off his body. Two minutes later the oven beeped but Dick was only halfway into one of the old t-shirts.
Gritting his teeth, the boy yanked the shirt over his torso and, panting in pain, returned to the kitchen. He grabbed two potholders and pulled the casserole dish out of the oven.
"I said your clothes, Dick, not just your shirt. Off you go!"
He glanced at the clock – 6:58 – and sprinted away. Ignoring the pain on his bottom, the boy changed his pants into shorts in less than thirty seconds and came back just as the clock moved forward a minute. With a sigh of relief, Dick took the dish to the table, where he had already placed a potholder, and set it down.
Dick stepped away and stood near the counter, waiting in trepidation for their response. Jasper served them and they both began to eat. Matilda look confused for a split second but continued to eat. Then Jasper, while chewing his second bite, looked at Dick and raised his eyebrows. The ten-year-old didn't know if that was good or bad.
"Are the potatoes supposed to be a little firm?" Matilda asked. "I could have sworn that recipe called for steamed potatoes."
They both stared at Dick, who bit his lip. She had asked a question but it wasn't the last thing she had said. Was he supposed to answer?
"Well?" Jasper said.
"Um, no, ma'am, the recipe didn't say to steam the potatoes."
"Oh. Well it wasn't the one I was looking for, I guess. This is still pretty good."
"I agree, good job, Dick."
Dick released the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. It was undercooked and the cheese wasn't shredded but they liked it. He watched them eat, hoping they would tell him to join them, but that didn't happen.
"I'm glad you remembered," Jasper suddenly stated, "because I didn't. I thought we hadn't said anything about missing breakfast but I've never known a kid to accept a punishment without it even being given so I'm glad you remembered."
Dick dropped his head and wanted to cry. He had just skipped breakfast without it being necessary. Chairs scraped against the floor and the boy lifted his head.
"Do the dishes and the rest of your chores," Matilda said. "Then maybe you'll have some time to yourself today. Won't that be nice?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"No, Matilda, he's under the porch today. After chores, of course."
"Oh, that's right, I forgot. Perhaps he should have a few bites to eat then, since he won't be having lunch."
Dick's stomach growled loudly and Jasper chuckled.
"Perhaps you're right, Matilda. You can have what's left, Dick, and then do your chores. After you're done with those, go jump on the trampoline until I'm ready to put you under the porch. Understand?"
"Yes, sir, thank you," Dick whispered.
They went to the family room and Dick went to the table. There were four good-sized spoonfuls left and he quickly devoured them then did the dishes. He realized that the slower he did his chores, the less time he would be under the porch. And all the reaching for windows and bending to baseboards was going to hurt anyway, so he decided to go much slower than the first time he had done his daily chores.
It was eleven o'clock by the time Dick had finished the entire list. He had saved the family room for last, hoping that Jasper would notice he was done and head outside. That would save him from having to jump. Dick thought that he would probably collapse again if he had to jump with his back hurting like it was and the hot sun beating down on him.
He got lucky. Jasper did notice, and he was outside by the time Dick had put away the washcloth he had used on the baseboards. Dick carefully walked down the stairs and Jasper pointed under the porch. The ten-year-old obediently crawled under and held out his wrists. Every movement stretched the welts on his back but he remained completely silent.
Jasper chained him up and left. The top of the porch was too short for even Dick to sit comfortably, so he was forced to lay on his side or stomach. Several hours passed, the boy had no idea how many. He was hungry and thirsty and the small grease blisters felt like little hot needles dancing across his arms.
Dick eventually fell asleep but, only five minutes after he did, Jasper was reaching under the porch. The man began fumbling with the chains, and the boy could tell he was nervous.
"I don't know why, but Makov's on his way," Jasper growled. "You've been playing outside, that's why you're dirty, right?"
"Yes, sir."
The man finally got the chains untwisted and he pulled Dick out. Shoving the boy in front of him, Jasper went up the stairs and into the house.
"Wash your face and hands, sweetie. Mr. Makov wants to see a bright, happy boy. That's what you are, right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Dick said softly as he turned on the kitchen water.
By the time he had scraped the last of the spiderwebbed dirt off his face, it was four-thirty and the doorbell was ringing.