Thanks for all the reviews! I had fun reading and responding to them. Thanks for the follows and favorites, too!

Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice.

The first part of this chapter takes place the night before Chapter 6, so, Wednesday night, while the second part happens at about the same time.

Enjoy!

Chapter 7

If the ransom was paid, why wasn't he on his way home? The kidnappers had done little to harm him or indicate that he wouldn't return home. Although, they had been moving him a lot… Come to think of it, where was he? He could hear the ocean lapping up against the docks, but the smell that accompanied that location in Gotham was absent. The air was stale in the prison he'd been in for the last day or so, but it did not smell of rotting garbage, human waste, and disease.

There was a creak from across the room to the right that Dick associated with the door. Four sets of footsteps approached him. He tensed and forced himself to remain still and not lash out with Robin's skill and wit.

Dick had yet to see his kidnappers again, despite the fact that a week had passed. It had been a week, right? They had bound his arms at the wrists and biceps and his legs at the ankles. Then, at each new location, they chained him by the neck to some point by or on the wall. They claimed they wanted no acrobatic level escape tricks from the circus freak. Dick wasn't really worried about that part. Batman had taught him how to escape all sorts of traps and bindings, and he had, in fact, learned some escape tricks from the circus. Unfortunately, he didn't think that escaping, or attempting to escape would work in his favor. After all, the first three tries were what led to this point… The bindings had been fairly simple before the attempts. Now, they were solid metal.

If he could be Robin, he would have gotten away by now, taken down his kidnappers, and called Batman for pickup. Maybe the Justice League if he was mad enough. Definitely Wally and Roy. Dick fantasized about watching them beat up the kidnappers, although they probably wouldn't be too mad because, minus a few bruises, he was virtually unharmed, for some reason.

The footsteps stopped next to him. "This him?" A rough voice asked. This guy was new. His voice reminded Dick of the grunts who often worked for bigger villains. Dick wondered again what was going on here. The ransom had to have been paid by now. Bruce wouldn't willingly leave him in the hands of kidnappers. Batman should have found him by now. Maybe, these guys were taking him home?

"Yeah, that's him. Wayne's runt."

"Excellent, prepare him." Two sets of hands grabbed Dick's forearms and legs as the neck chain was disconnected from the wall. "Hmm, medium sized will do." The rough voice said. Medium sized what? Clothing? He was a small in shirts and pants though, not a medium.

"Don't try anything, or you'll regret it," the now familiar voice of Dingbat 3 hissed in Dick's ear. Confused, Dick stayed perfectly still. To his surprise, the cuffs around his ankles were unlocked and removed. In one quick motion, he was flipped onto his stomach and the cuffs around his biceps and wrists were also taken off. The man holding Dick's arms, Dingbat 2, he thought based on the hand texture, moved his grip to Dick's wrists. Dick was hauled to his feet and his wrists were rebound in front of him with normal handcuffs. The gag and duct tape blindfold remained.

Without giving him a second's reprieve to gain his footing and thoughts, Dingbats 2 and 3 shoved him forward. Dick stumbled, and then moved forward with the men. His bare feet met the dirt of what seemed to be a warehouse, based on the echoes. After going 12 paces forward, 4 paces to the right, and another 3 paces forward, Dick bumped into something metallic and hard. Then, they stopped. Dingbats 2 and 3 kept a tight hold on their captive—probably due to experience—while the new guy and who he thought was Dingbat 1 because of the lack of speech, did something else. He wasn't sure what.

Dick jumped slightly when a loud, scraping sound sounded to his right. It was a slightly familiar, loud, scraping sound, like that of a heavy sheet of metal being moved, and then a loud crash as if the heavy sheet had been dropped to the ground. Unbidden, the hairs on the back of Dick's neck began to stand up and he leaned away from where the sound came from.

"Quiet, you idiot!" The rough voice barked out. "Do you want to get caught?"

"It's fine. It's not like we're in Gotham. No Batman breaking in here. We'll live," 2 replied. "'Sides. I altered the guard rotations to create a gap. No one is walking by here for another half hour." Dick's breath caught at the admission, but quickly calmed down. He knew they weren't in Gotham, knew from the smell. This was just a confirmation. He'd be home soon.

Yet, that little sprout of doubt was blooming in his chest. Something wasn't right here. He had been kidnapped almost a week ago, judging by the number of times he'd been fed. This was his longest kidnapping to date, and he knew Bruce would have paid the ransom as soon as opportunity allowed if it meant Dick would be home, and Batman had to be searching too. Wally and Roy and probably Artemis must be searching as well because they would have known right away. Maybe the whole team was searching, so why hadn't they found him yet?

Trapped in his thoughts, Dick was caught by surprise when an arm swept under his knees yanking him into the air. Dick immediately began to squirm and fight, but it had no effect on the man holding him. The week of starvation had chipped away his strength. Dick was placed down on a hard metal surface against a smooth wall. A box. He was in a metal box. He shot up, trying to escape, to get out, but was slammed back down, hitting his head on the wall and momentarily winding him.

The hands—he lost track of whose and how many—didn't move this time holding him down while other hands placed stuff in around him. Dick fought the hands with everything he had, fear overriding his typically logical mind. One of the hands released his arm and slapped him hard across the face. Dick instantly stilled. The other hands were still moving around him. The rough voice spoke like a snake entrapping his prey.

"Listen up and listen hard, boy. I have no patience for rich little snots like you. Fortunately for you, you're special order: delivery uninjured. Otherwise, I would love to spend a few hours breaking your pathetic little soul. Struggle too much, and you'll be 'accidentally' lost at sea." Chills ran down Dick's spine at the assertion. He could easily believe that this new man would have no qualms about seriously harming, or killing, him. The other hands stopped moving and withdrew. Although he couldn't see it, Dick could feel the intensity of his captor's gaze upon him. "Now, you aren't going to move for the next two minutes while we finish up. Understood?" Dick nodded his head slightly. "Good boy." The hands moved off of him, but he didn't move. A slight buzzing filled his head. He wondered if he might have a concussion from hitting his head on the wall. The rough voice was moving away, giving orders to the Dingbats.

A hand landed on Dick's head holding it in place. Dick tensed, but the man was simply removing the metal collar from his neck. Heh, why was it called removing anyway? They were taking it off and essentially destroying it and it probably would not be moved much after that so shouldn't it be demoving or unmoving or just moving or… or… something.

Against his will, Dick began to shake. He was in a metal box, near a port, far from Gotham. He wasn't stupid. He knew that there were multiple cases of child trafficking near the borders and coasts. The rough voice had said he was Special Order. That wasn't encouraging, although it would explain why he wasn't with other kids and hadn't been returned home yet.

Something rough and thick was dropped on top of him. Dick's trembling increased. Were they covering him up? Would he be overlooked by the crew because a tarp covered him? Hands tucked around him, but his head remained free. A blanket, he realized. They were wrapping him in a blanket. He slowly pulled his feet into the warmth, freezing, when he felt a glare upon him. A thick cylinder was dropped in his lap, and the rough voice spoke up again.

"In case you're too daft to figure it out, we just gave you a blanket and a flashlight. Use them as you may, there's enough battery power left for six hours of light. You have enough food and fresh water around you to last two and a half weeks, if you use it wisely. You shouldn't be in there that long, but you might be in there longer. I suggest you pace yourself brat. This is all you're getting. My buddy here is going to remove your gag. Don't try anything; there's no one around and they'd never find your body if there was." Dick felt the gag loosen and disappear. He was shaking so hard now that, if he were Wally, he'd probably be vibrating through the ground. He didn't doubt, special order or not, that the rough voice would follow through with his threats. Dick didn't make a peep. "Good boy." There was a prick on his right arm near his shoulder. Dick's eyes widened beneath his blindfold. "Rest now."

As Dick faded into unconsciousness, he heard one of the Dingbats ask, "If you had a sedative the whole time, why wait until now to use it?"

"He needs to be out until the ship gets out to sea, when there will be no rescue. Plus, I love watching them struggle and seeing the fear in their faces as they realize the truth of the situation. It's pure bliss."

A/N Thought about leaving it there. Decided against it. End A/N

When Dick next came to consciousness, he felt the ground rolling below him. Resisting the urge to puke up what little was in his stomach, partially because he needed the calories if he were to survive and because he didn't want to smell it for the next… how long had the rough voice said… two weeks or more? Crud. Dick hoped that Bruce would figure out what happened and soon. Even if he did know, though, it would be difficult for him to find Dick.

The ship was in the middle of the ocean, one of hundreds, and Dick didn't know where it was going or where it had come from. Bruce might not even know when it had left. Maybe if Bruce figured out what port he left out of, he could start somewhere, but there was no telling which ship he was on or, for Bruce, when he had left or if he had left at all. No, there could be no waiting for Bruce on this one. When he did reach the docks of whatever obscure location he was going to, there would be a very small window for escape and he would have to take advantage of it… if he could walk.

That was a while away, however, so Dick figured he better catalog his supplies. Fumbling with the flashlight he'd been given in his still handcuffed hands, he found the switch and flicked it. The change in lighting was so miniscule that Dick could barely see it at all. Slightly panicky, he flipped it again and again, and then forced himself to calm down. Why wasn't there a difference in lighting? Think, Grayson. There was probably a reasonable explanation.

He dropped the flashlight and lifted his hands to his head. Goggles, still not sure why he was allowed to keep them, but check. Hair, oily and in desperate need of a wash, check. Eyes, blindfolded, check. Wait… oh. Slightly embarrassed at himself, Dick unwound the blindfold from his face, tugging slightly but carefully so as to not accidentally pull his hair out. He estimated that it took him an eternity to get it all the way off. Dang Dingbats and their infernal skills at blindfolding thirteen year old boys.

His surroundings instantly sprang into view. He blinked a few times to adjust his eyes to the sudden light. The box was metal, as he predicted, but there were holes throughout. Tiny holes, that he couldn't even fit his pinky finger in, but holes all the same. Probably for breathing.

The rough voice hadn't lied. The thick sheet he had felt was, in fact a blanket. Shining his flashlight on it, he saw it looked red. Hopefully, that was the original color scheme and not from the blood of its victims. Umm… Maybe that thought process wasn't the best. Blood of those who escaped and returned home? Uh... A little better, but not much. Whatever caused the blanket's coloring, Dick didn't want to know. He struggled to pull the blanket tighter with his handcuffed hands.

The Dingbats hadn't given him new clothes to replace the ones they had taken from him when he was captured. They had probably been sent to Bruce with a bit of blood from the small, shallow cut he had on his forearm or destroyed in fear of trackers or something. The blanket—and his boxers—were all he had for warmth. The goggles he'd been able to keep giving off nothing. Dick wished that these had a beacon like the new ones they had ordered did, but he knew that they didn't. Well, at least Wally would have a simple way to identify him. Crap, he had those on during the ransom video, didn't he? Hopefully, no one made the connection and shouted it to the world, *cough* Artemis *cough*.

Looking around him, he saw two loaves of bread, some canned food with a can opener, thankfully, a few boxes of what looked like protein bars, and a ton of water. He counted 23 water bottles. That would last him a while.

Dick sighed and leaned back, then clicked the flashlight to off. Looks like he would be here a while. Might as well save his light. He closed his eyes, and listened to the boat rocking.

A/N

The plot thickens. Dick's a little weak already from hunger and stress, making it harder for him to fight back. Doesn't stop him from trying, but the men are also twice his size, strong, able to see, and unrestrained.

So, here's another one of my favorite chapters to write, and I actually originally wrote the whole thing in a notebook. (I was bored in AP Lit) For Trivia, I also wrote part of Chapter 2, Chapter 9, and an extra blurb in the same notebook.

Unfortunately, this is where I leave you for a few weeks. School just started back, and I have three new classes, which replaced the ones in which I mostly had free time. I don't mind because I like thinking while I'm at school, and one of them is film class, but I still need to get used to the increased workload and being a Second Semester Senior. Apparently, that's a big deal at my school. All my teachers are calling us Second Semester Seniors, the full title, now, instead of just Seniors. It's like we have a status above Senior status. Also, my team has a competition in two weeks, and there's a high chance that I'm participating. All my free time until after my 18th birthday will be spent reading, cleaning my room, and celebrating said date of birth. Luckily, this chapter was already ready, so I'm posting it now.

There's a three week time skip between this chapter and the next, so it seemed a good place to leave off for a while.

So, tell me what you think, please. Any theories, ideas, cries of anger, comments, suggestions, etc. are welcome.

For extra incentive, although you don't need it, review and I'll send you a short extra scene sometime next weekend, or sometime later if you review after I send it out. (Guests, just include your email in the review)