#characters backstory

[rattlebear25]

Little Update of my Headcanon Version of Dimentio:

I changed a bit his story:

• I like the theory of him being the Shadoo's brother so he was the prince of a evoluted Phanto's family (the masks from Super Mario Bros. 2). His sister was Shadoo/Pixel Queen and she was originally called Dimania.

• He married one of the Ancients (Merlumina) to enter in the Ancient's Sanctuary, gain their faith and then destroy the Pure Hearts. Nothing more. So they can't interfere with his plan of awakening the Chaos Heart.

• He started to have a crush for one of Merlimbis' creations, Mimi. He just faked of love Merlumina so he can keep her distracted by jis charm and realize his plans easily without getting troubles and make.

All of this Past SPM events. Maybe i will make some comic panels about this things idk bye

[ren-is-real]

You know when

[lordspoooky]

Ice king is a really good character because they intoduce him and you're like "haha what a freak what's wrong with him" and then the show goes "oh! You want to know? Let me show you :)" and you end up just sitting there like

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hey now, Let her cook!

[callonpeevesie]

I'm onto something I'm telling you

[kumzorg]

ooooh how i adore 3d models on 2d pictures im transporting myself there mentally

[olis-inkwell-symposium]

Developing Backstory: Bringing Characters to Life

1. Where It All Started: The Character’s Origin

Place of Birth: Where did your character first see the world? Think about the impact of this place—was it a busy city where they had to fight for attention or a quiet village where everyone knew everyone’s business? This location doesn’t just say where they’re from; it shapes how they see the world.

Family and Upbringing: What was their family like? Were their parents loving or distant? Maybe they were raised by someone other than their parents—a mentor, an older sibling, or even alone. Family (or the lack of it) is usually one of the most significant factors in shaping who someone becomes.

Society’s Expectations: What was expected of them when they were young? Possibly, they were born into wealth, with all the pressure to continue the family legacy, or maybe they were raised to be invisible in a world where survival mattered. How does this influence who they are now? Do they accept or reject those expectations?

2. Childhood Events That Left a Mark

First Taste of Conflict: Think about the first time the character realized the world wasn’t a perfect place. Maybe they witnessed violence or faced betrayal. What was that moment, and how did it stick with them? This moment usually lays the foundation for the character’s emotional landscape—fear, hope, ambition, or distrust all come from these early life lessons.

Childhood Dreams: When they were young, what did they want to be? Every child has dreams—did they want to be a knight, a scholar, or even just someone who could travel the world? Did they have to give up these dreams? How does that lost dream shape them now?

Formative Relationships: Who was their first best friend, mentor, or enemy? Childhood friendships and relationships often create deep bonds or wounds that last into adulthood. Did they have a mentor who taught them everything, only to betray them? Did they lose a childhood friend that still haunts them?

3. The Teen Years: Where They Start to Become Who They Are

Trials and Tribulations: What’s the biggest challenge they faced as they grew up? Was it losing a loved one, failing at something important, or maybe being forced into a role they didn’t want? These teenage years are where the emotional armor starts forming—how did the difficulties they faced shape them into the person they are now?

Education or Training: How did they learn what they know? Were they formally trained by an institution, learning everything by the book, or did they learn through experience, like a street-smart survivalist? What impact does their education or lack of it have on how they interact with others?

Teenage Bonds: Did they have a first love or a first major falling out with someone close to them? These experiences often create emotional scars or connections that they carry with them into adulthood. How does that past friendship or romance influence their behavior now?

4. Key Life Events: The Big Moments That Define Them

Trauma or Loss: Was there a moment that changed everything? Think about a significant loss—maybe a loved one, their home, or a sense of identity. How does this event affect their worldview? Do they build walls around themselves or dive into relationships with reckless abandon because they fear losing more?

Victory or Failure: Did they experience a moment of triumph or devastating defeat? Success and failure leave their marks. Were they celebrated as a hero once, leading them to overconfidence, or did they fail when everyone was counting on them, leading to crippling self-doubt?

Betrayal: Was there a betrayal that shaped their adult relationships? Whether it is a friend, family member, or lover, betrayal often changes how we trust others. Do they close themselves off, constantly expecting betrayal, or try to rebuild trust, afraid of being left alone again.

5. Where They Stand Now: The Present Moment

What Drives Them Today: What’s the one thing pushing them forward now? Is it revenge, the need to restore their family’s honor, or maybe even just survival? Whatever it is, this motivation should tie directly back to their experiences.

Emotional Baggage: What unresolved emotional wounds are they carrying? Everyone has scars from their past—some are visible, others not so much. How do these emotional wounds affect how they treat others, how they react to conflict, and how they move through the world.

Current Relationships: Who’s still in their life from their past, and how do they feel about it? Did they reconnect with someone they thought they’d lost, or are they haunted by unresolved issues with people from their past? Do they have any ongoing tensions or regrets tied to these people?

6. Tying Themes to Their Backstory

Cultural or Mythological Influence: How does their personal story tie into the larger world’s mythology or culture? Do they carry a family legacy, a curse, or a prophecy that hangs over them? How does this influence their interactions with others and their perception of themselves?

Recurring Symbols: Are there objects, dreams, or people that keep showing up in their life, symbolizing their journey? Perhaps a recurring nightmare haunts them, or they carry an object from their past that’s both a source of comfort and pain

7. Character Arc: The Journey from Past to Present

How Does Their Past Shape Their Growth?: Every character has emotional baggage that needs resolving. How does their backstory drive their arc? Do they need to forgive themselves, let go of the past, or accept who they’ve become to move forward?

Unanswered Questions from the Past: Are there any mysteries in their backstory they need to solve? Maybe they’re unaware of their true parentage, or maybe there’s a forgotten event from their childhood that will resurface and change everything.

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] New character: the old guardian of the Huffman siblings! + LORE and COMICS

Sir. Wallace Kingsman. A retired hitman/boss in his late 80s who's a father figure to the Huffman siblings

He's rather old fashioned and stoic, only ever showing his much softer side towards the two kids, a few other close companions, and nobody else. He's both well-respected and feared by the people who knows him.

His stance on the relationship between the Toons and the Huffman siblings are vague. He does not reveal his true thoughts and feelings, only quietly observing them. However, by the end, he sees that being with the toons makes Gavriel and Grace happy so he chooses to just leave it be.

[Background Info and Comics:] (Warning: Injury, blood, dark topics.)

As little children, the Huffman siblings found Kingsman in the slums when the old gentleman was collapsed due to his injuries from a gunfight nearby.

Gavriel Huffman, accustomed to the violence, planned on leaving the dying man alone, not wanting to take the risk of potentially getting into trouble with his involvement. Grace was able to [hesitantly] change his mind due to her persistent begging to save the old man.

(7eleven background drawn by @meiitenn) Gavriel Huffman during this time was 16 years old, with Grace Huffman being 7 years old. Both children have no parents and they live on their own, alongside the poor/homeless population of the area they reside in.

After the Huffman siblings saved Sir Kingsman's life, he eventually gets well enough to leave on his own and come back later to repay the kindness that was shown to him by the people of the slums, especially the Huffman siblings.

He takes the Huffman siblings under his wing and raised them as his own where they grew to become elite members of their organization through their unexpected talent and incredible hard work.

The three initially did not consider each other as family, more like friendly acquaintances. However, there were signs of their relationship developing to that route, which accelerated after a particular accident happened.

They only ever referred to each other with formality. This was the first time they've called each other familial terms.

Grace Huffman, upset at having experienced such a harrowing event, swore to become stronger so her old brother doesn't have to get hurt protecting her anymore.

[unreachedgalaxy]

some anastasia the first for your tl today. i have always thought anastasia's was the first tongue to be sewn and her jaw-only facepaint is why the ninth house skull is jawless. anyway can't wait for alecto the ninth to release and prove me wildly incorrect

[rissiekind]

Updates will be posted here.

[abd-illustrates]

🧡 Lance 🧡

I’ve been bitten by the “I need to draw my OCs or I’ll explode” bug once again 😔🙏 It’s been too long since I’ve drawn Lance - but I have a much clearer idea of who he is and what he’s about nowadays, so I tried to put plenty of attitude into this one! ⚔️🐉

[DO NOT EDIT OR REPOST TO OTHER SITES / ACCOUNTS] ♻️reblogs are lovely tho!♻️

[rattlebear25]

I was thinking about making Blumiere's skin lighter than Count Bleck, because when he lost his girlfriend he went into depression and became darker and crazier as a character so his skin tone is darker. When he was with Timpani, his mood is more optimistic and sunny, so his skin was clearer and brighter.

[egophiliac]

I don’t think we’ve ever seen you draw knight of dawn before 🤔 what are your thoughts about him? Or take?

I've drawn him a couple of times, just really little/in the background. but I should draw him more, I love this guy a lot! I have many, many thoughts about him and the way he parallels Silver...and also I think it is extremely funny that his ghost is stuck in a ring. especially considering where that ring has been for the last 16-ish years.

[haveihitanerve]

The comments were usual. Frequent even. Bruce bore them all with a smile, either acting like a bored teenager forced to attend the events he had planned, or blushing, sculpting the Brucie persona before he had even reached his twenties. 

“Oh Brucie!!!” They would twitter at him, women and men alike, pawing at his arms, his shoulders, chest, some even boldly reaching for his ass, snaking an arm around him, pulling him closer. “You look delicious baby.” They’d murmur, pur, coo over him. 

Alfred would get rightfully angry over the comments, when Bruce told him, but after the anger led to nothing, Bruce stopped coming home with the stories. He just went to bed, showering off all the handprints and touches. 

And then Dick came along.

“Bruuuuuuuuuce!” The nine year old whined, hissing the ending syllable like a snake. “I wanna gooooo!!!” Bruce chuckled lightly, fixing his cuffs in the mirror. 

“I highly doubt it chum.” He murmured, glancing over at his ward, seated on the foot of his bed. Dick pouted, the full package; lip out and arms crossed, and Bruce laughed, walking over to grab his tie and ruffle the boys hair. 

“Its a boring Gala, bud. Not too exciting.” Dick huffed, watching as Bruce expertly wound the tie around his neck, swinging the sides over and through. 

“Its a pARty!” He pointed out. “And I wanna go.” Bruce hummed to show he was listening, buttoning up the bottom two buttons of his suit, before letting his hands drop to his side. 

He sighed. “Do you want to wear a suit?” Dick’s eyes sparked up with excitement before he wrinkled his nose. 

“Do I hafta?” He complained. Bruce laughed, turning to face him. 

“Yes. Its a formal event. Suit, or you’re not coming.” The threat of a suit made the words take a moment to sink in, but once they did Dick rocketeded across the room, flying into Bruce’s arms. 

“For real???” He squealed, all excitement and little kid energy. “Hell yeah!” He bolted out the door to his own room before Bruce could so much as open his mouth to chide “language.” 

The car ride over was a new level of annoyance Bruce didn't know existed, as Dick bounced around in his seat, eagerly looking out the window for the first glimpse of his first “real adult party”. Still, he couldn't help but smile at Dick's unbridled joy.  

Hank, Bruce’s chauffeur, bore all of it with a smile, regaling Dick with stories of picking up Bruce when he was a teenager, and all the college hell, while Dick cackled and Bruce rolled his eyes. But, then again, Hank had his own three kids at home, and was marginally more used to the watts of energy than Bruce was. 

“Here ya are Mr. Wayne.” Hank finally cut off all of Dick’s peppering questions about Bruce’s college stories, a relief, as Hank was really getting into the bad stuff, or in Dicks mind, the good stuff, and Bruce hopped out, opening the door for his son. “Thank you!” Dick twittered as he leapt out, waving. 

Hank chuckled, dipping his hat. “Of course Mr. Wayne, hope you have a fun night.” Dick grinned back, and it surprised Bruce that he was so okay with hank calling him “Wayne.” But, then again, his boy and the driver seemed to have an easier relationship. Bruce certainly wasn't going to call him out. 

It did something to him, flooded his body with something heavy and warm, to hear Dick be called “Wayne”. Maybe a primal thing, an old animal instinct, the need to claim and own and have Dick. Dick was his son, maybe not by blood, but by… everything and anything Dick allowed him to have. 

“B!” Dick chirped, already a few feet up the steps, a frown on his face as he looked back. Bruce realized he’d been lost in thought at the side of the road. 

“Coming chum.” He agreed quickly, hurrying to his wards side before the entered. 

“Woah.” Dick breathed, the second they breached the door, and Bruce silently agreed. Gala’s weren’t fun for a plethora of reasons, but they were always beautiful. 

Almost immediately though, camera’s swarmed him, not only flashes of light but also of sickeningly white teeth, too wide mouths, pale skin pawing for his attention. 

“Brucie, darling!!!” One man twittered, and they successfully separated them, dragging Bruce over to one gaggle of rich twats while a few others circled Dick. Dick seemed to be taking it remarkably well, nodding politely and smiling, shaking hands, but his eyes darted to Bruce every few seconds, questions in his eyes. 

“Excuse me-” Bruce brushed past his virus of people and forced his way beside Dick, kneeling so he was at eye level.

“Everything alright?” he murmured quietly, tucking Dick into his space, warding off others. He almost wanted to say “i told you so” but figured it’d only do more harm than good. Pointing it out when Dick was clearly overwhelmed would not be helpful, or nice in any capacity. 

Dick nodded, shoulders imperceptibly dropping in relief as he allowed himself to be caged by Bruce’s body. “Y-yeah. Fine. Better now.” Bruce let the unspoken words hang between them, “-that you’re here”, and nodded instead, standing. 

“Stay close.” he flicked his fingers and Dick obediently stepped closer, pushing into Bruce’s space with hardly a thought.

And, Bruce realized quietly, he didn't mind either. Having people in his space… touch had never been his thing, after his parents death. Especially not when that touch came from unsympathetic elites after his parents money. But with Dick… it was, easier. Nice. 

The rest of the night went by a little better, and Dick even stepped away a few feet, always close by, but straying enough that he wasn't hiding behind Bruce’s legs. In his shadow. It was then that it happened. 

“Oh aren’t you just beautiful.” The words came from Mrs. Braught, a well known widow with enough wealth to compete with the Drakes, if not Waynes. She was… known for her affinity to younger men, boys, really, and Bruce had only managed to not make the cut because he had known, as a boy, and avoided her, and wasn’t as “appealing” to her, due to his depression. 

Dick stiffened slightly at the words, but still offered her a smile, polite, as always. The reaction made Bruce relax marginally. He was okay, he was handling it, just like Bruce had. 

But… but Dick’s smile was strained, his shoulders inching near his ears, and there was a definite tilt to him, a lean away from Braught that was easy to miss. But not to Bruce. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Bruce was at his wards side- no, in front of him, shoving Dick behind his legs. Dick stumbled, lightly, at the sudden push, but quickly straightened, grabbing the back of Bruce’s coat. The trembling Bruce could feel through the fabric was enough to make him see red. 

The Brucie persona was gone, slipping off without a singe thought, fast enough that Bruce wondered for a fraction of a second if it had even been on when he had entered the Gala, and Bruce realized it wasn't just Dick’s hand trembling, but Bruce’s whole body. 

His fists curled, hard enough that his knuckles turned white, jaw clenched to the point where his teeth squeaked, entire body quivering with rage. 

Mrs. Braught glanced up, surprised, almost caught off guard even, as she realized Brucie Wayne wasn't there for a pleasant hello, but Bruce was there, a man- no, a father, furious at what was being said about his son. 

Bruce could hear, faintly, as though through water, people beginning to whisper, eyes wide as the elites gathered around, no one bold enough to step in, and no one truly believing Brucie would do anything. 

Bruce didn't care. Dick was his, and he would not allow the traumas of the past to repeat, though he had failed to stop him from being orphaned. No more. He vowed, hands fisting at his sides. He had failed Dick in the one, true way that mattered, keeping his family, but he would not fail him any other way. Not in the ways Bruce was failed. 

His hand began to move back on its own accord, when a tiny, stubborn hand caught it, grabbed his wrist. Bruce looked down in surprise to find Dick staring up him solemnly, shaking his head.

Before Bruce could say something, another woman, another widow Bruce recognized as Mrs. Kershaw, stepped forward, fire bright in her weathered eyes. 

“You go on and git out of here Gertrude, before I tar your hide.” She hissed, and Bruce recalled how her own daughter had been raped and murdered when she had been barely thirteen. Gertrude knew it too, and backed away, scurrying for the exit. Mrs. Kershaw made sure she left, eyes kind when she glanced at Bruce, a subtle nod of solidarity her only acknowledgement. 

Dick tugged on his hand, but Bruce ignored him, sending a viscous glare at anyone who dared step too close. 

“Dad.” Dicks voice was soft, so soft, but proud too, grateful. That finally dragged Bruce from his never ending anger, and he looked down. Down at those wide blue eyes, that head of messy black curls.

“Come on Dad.” Dick whispered quietly, eyes darting around nervously at all the people, the cameras, but always going back to Bruce. Meeting his eyes. 

Bruce bent down and scooped his son into his arms, uncaring of who saw, who cared. He blocked his son off from the world, heading for the exit, one of the waitstaff, Aisha, nodding at him to inform him Hank had been called. 

“Thanks Dad.” Dick murmured, face buried against Bruce’s neck, and Bruce’s arms tightened around him, heading out into the streets of Gotham with his son cradled to his chest. 

“I’ll always protect you chum.” He swore, and something in his heart lightened at the Justice he was doing for his son, but also for his younger self. “I will always protect you.” 

thanks to @frownyalfred and @astorianyxkings for the idea!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Ghouls night out

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Ellie and Dan, but Danny was reincarnated as Damian Wayne

Danny Damian because he was Damian now, wasn't he? He remembers now the Fentons, the GIW, Sam and Tucker, jazz. He wonders if they could have also followed him here. A part of him longs to see his fraid again, but are they his fraid still? He was a new person. Son of The Bat and Heir to the Demon Head. Something Dami he remembers reminding people of. If only Sam could see him now, he knows she'd love that. "Who's edgy now?" He can picture her saying. He can almost see Tucker laughing so hard he'd fall out of his seat.

Crack

The sharp sound of the thunder brings him to the present. He looked over at his clock, 3:00 A.M. The witching hour he can hear Ellie tell him with a mischievous smile on one of their flights around Amity Park. She loved to drag him and Dan sometimes Vlad if he was feeling friendly. Dan, his future evil self tormented by the deaths of all his family and friends, so hurt he got Vlad to rip his human half out so he didn't have to feel the pain. Ellie, his clone, created by Vlad to be the perfect son, too bad she was a daughter. Looking down at his stomach where their cores are now incubating, he couldn't help but wonder if Vlad had anything to do with this.

He shook his head as if that would rid himself of that thought. Vlad was a real fruitloop,but he would never purposefully endanger Dan or Ellie. Vlad, in his twisted and weird ways, did love them in his own ways like kidnapping and keeping him hostage to save Ellie. He had forgiven vlad for the desperate attempt to save his daughter, but incubating Ellie and Dan's cores would make him their father now, too. Ew, coparenting with Vlad does not sound like a fun time. He glanced down and lifted his shirt hesitantly. If he focused on his stomach, he could see a faint blue and red glow emanating from his stomach. Red, Vlads' color, he thought distantly. Hopefully, it didn't mean much. As if signaling him, the envelope they had carried with them to him fell off the bed carried to the floor by the slight breeze.

Lighting lumineating the bedroom, making the crisp white color shine for just a second. He tentatively reached down to grab it. He was being a baby. He was a trained assassin from birth, and his fear trained beaten out of him a long time ago. Some part of him whispered his father and Richard's teachings of being brave but not without fear.

He paused. Father would want to know everything. His past life, Ellie and Dan, the ghosts, being a halfa. He wouldn't understand, Richard would try to, but not even he could never really understand. He couldn't subject his babies to that. He couldn't live with the threat to being ripped apart molecule by molecule. His father's lack of emotional intelligence certainly would not help young halfas. He was fourteen again the age he was killed in his first life. The age he started facing ghosts from another dimension.

He started younger in this life. Killing younger, he learned to fight his whole life. Jazz would hate that. Jazz... he wondered if she was alright if she survived the attack... no, there's no time to think of that right now. He ripped open the envelope( like a band-aid, Richard would remind him), and he noticed Vlad's familiar fancy fruitloop writing immediately(he had fancy fruitloop writing now, instead of the chicken scratch Jazz chided him over). So he was right about one thing this had vlad all over it.

Dear Daniel,

Though I understand you might not be Daniel when this letter finds you. I have been reincarnated into another life as I believe you have as well. My new name is Alexander Luther. I own a corporation called Lexcorp. I unfortunately can not change the name according to my board. The idiot lot of them.

He snickered at that. His smile dropped immediately. Vlad was Lex Luthor, the archnemesis of Superman. Jon would most certainly not like this. He forced himself to read on before he spiraled further.

I regained my memories after an experiment went wrong. I know how original. My new incarnation was able to open a small portal that grew in size, and eventually, somehow Danielle and Dan fell through. The portal then exploded, and I regained my memories. Unfortunately, it destabilized their clone bodies. I couldn't grow working bodies in time, and eventually, I had to hope they could find you. I hoped somehow that the yeti doctor would have imparted some of his strange knowledge onto you that might save them.

Vlad, no Lex still wrong. Vlad was somewhat right about that. During one of his all things ghostly lessons from Frostbite, he told him of how in the old ages ghosts often incubated their ghostlings. A protective measure back when magic and spirits were more prevalent. He didn't really understand it back then, and he doesn't understand it much now, either. Apart from the fact he was doing it, he supposed. What if he did something wrong and he lost them? He doesn't think he could live out his half-life if he lost them again. He needed to get to Vlad, and quickly too so they could start building a new portal to the infinite realms.

If this letter finds you. Come find me immediately at these coordinates. I've gone deep underground to escape my new archnimesis's suoer senses. I've m started research on a new portal, but I'll need your endeneering skills. This world is severely lacking in ectoplasmic science and engineering. I am once again forced to start from scratch on my own. Once we get the portal open, you'll need to go straight to The Far Frozen.

It's as if he's reading my mind, I think jokingly.

P.s. One of my experiments may or not have regiven then my new DNA in an attempt to restabilize them.

Only Vlad.

Well, it looks like they actually were going to be coparenting after all. This was going to go great.

I sigh and lean my head back down on my pillow. He committed the cords to memory before lighting the letter on fire with the lighter he kept in his bedside drawer. Point to assassin training. Jason would be proud. He supposed he could stay for a month or so before leaving, which would give him enough time to get away or think of some kind of mission to give himself. He shoots up. Todd had died and came back. He was a revenant. He couldn't stick around if he were to visit he'd know something was wrong immediately even if he didn't understand it.

He sprung out of bed quickly, but quietly, his foot steps perfectly silent despite his rushed mood of packing a bag. He packed a few pairs of clothes and lots of hidden weapons, some snacks he kept hidden for that should keep him fed on his journey but leaving any sentimental things behind. He glanced longingly at his sketch pad, but Vlad was most likely under the water judging by the coordinates he was given. Who knows if it would survive.

He checked the pack, making sure he got all he needed. He promptly checked it again. Twice. After deeming it sufficient, he willed himself to open the door. He mentally cataloged everyone in the manor. Pennyworth was most likely still in Father's room, making sure he actually listened to his insructions. Richard and Todd in Bludhaven and Crime Alley, respectfully. Cain and Brown in Hong Kong. Thomas was sleeping after his dayshift.

Everyone accounted for except Drake. He was most likely using Pennyworth's attention on Father to work cases. He just had to take the risk. For his ghostlings, for himself, Vlad. He crept down the hallways. He was opening the grandfather clock in record time. He went slower this time. He would use his powers, but his father had supernatural wards of all kinds in the cave. Who knows what they did. He was also admittedly trying to save his little energy for his voyage on the open sea. Light snoring hit his ears as he peered around the corner.

Thank ancients.

Drake was sleeping at the batcomputer, still in his Red Robin suit sans mask surrounded by his poor choices. Empty coffee cups and files spread around. He would still need to be quiet, Drake was a light sleeper, as was everyone else in his family. He grabbed the keys to his bike quickly, sneaking by. If he wasn't ditching his bike at Gotham Bridge, he would have disabled his trackers. He checked the gas and made sure he could make it. That's when he made his first mistake.

Putting the gas jug back down, he accidently hit another of one of his siblings' tools to the floor. He tried catching it without success, but it fell anyway, the loud clang echoing. Mistake number two.

Shit.

"Huh? What's happening?" Drake arose sleepily rubbing his eyes.

He froze. Mistake number three.

"Damian? What are you doing down here?" His eyes landed on him, and he spoke confusedly with his voice heavy with sleep or lack thereof.

He panics. He's blaming the pregnancy hormones on this.

He runs.

"Damian!" Drake responded to his dead sprint with his own. "Stop!"

He reaches his bike, and he turns the keys and prays. Luckily, it comes to life. He fumbles with his helmet it would hide his tears he needed it. who knows if he'll ever get to see them again. He shoots off down the tunnel. Flicking the cave door open remotely.

Another bike rears to life behind him. "Damian wants going on?" Drakes voice echoes in his ears. He can almost taste the concern in it amplified by the helmet. He ignores it and accelerates. He ignores the returned acceleration behind him.

----------------

Tim has no clue what made Damian panic enough to run away. He quickly ran to his own bike while swearing. Damian is already gaining distance on him. After another attempt at getting Damian to calm down and talk, he calls the only person Damian would actually listen to.

He hopes Dick will forgive him for waking him at five o'clock in the morning on his day off.