Chapter 2. Fanfiction needs to make it easier to post on phones. Sick of the html.

Tell me would you kill to save a life?
Tell me would you kill to prove you're right? Crash, crash, burn, let it all burn
This hurricane's chasing us all underground

No matter how many deaths that I die
I will never forget
No matter I will never regret

Jason grabbed the boy as he slumped forward, those light blue eyes rolling back into his head. He groaned as he picked up the boy, who obviously wasn't that old, probably twelve, and tossed him over his shoulder. Todd was questioning what person would let a twelve year old run around fighting crime, then realization dawned on him. Batman. Must be Tim's replacement. Then he realized two problems with that. One, Tim was OK and still Robin, probably not wisely and two, this kid was not a Robin, having a white mask with red lenses, also the costume, a hoodie and shorts, the black shirt with a red wolf on the front, plus the name, Demon Wolf, so unless he stood up to Daddy Bats and told him that he wasn't wearing that stupid costume or taking that damn name, this was someone totally different.
Then he looked down at the dead bodies. There was that too. This kid obviously didn't mind killing, something Daddy Bats looked down upon deeply. OK, not Tim's replacement, if not who the hell was this kid? He decided to ask questions later. Right now he was focused on getting to the kid back to his apartment until he woke up, and without looking like a creep pedophile. The mask didn't help much.
He hurried back to his apartment, avoiding people as much as possible, which wasn't hard since the kid weighed next to nothing, making it easy for Jason to jump across the tops of the roofs. He opened the door, the noise of clutter being swept aside filled his ears. He was gonna kill Roy next time he saw the ginger, next time he was here. He shut the door with one foot, then dropped the black haired boy onto the couch. His feet barely hung over the arm of the worn and aged couch, which wasn't that surprising as the kid was almost his height, and rather lanky to be honest. If he was going to be Red Hood's partner he'd need to gain some muscle. Though he did already look as if he had muscle from working hard, not much though.
Jason released the air from his helmet, the rush of oxygen making a distinct hissing noise. He set the helmet and mask on the coffee table next to the couch, then proceeded to check the boy over for injuries, making sure it was nothing serious that made the boy faint.
His mask was ruined, and there was a long tear in his t-shirt, blood oozing out of the wound, not seriously at that point. Demon's black hair was short and spiked, reminding him of someone he'd seen in a history book when he went to Gotham North. If he remembered it was a kid named Derek Drake, Jason Hex's surrogate brother or some shit like that. Chaktaw Indian boy who was around ten years old. This kid looked a lot like him, accutally, like a clone.
Good thing Batman or Nightwing hadn't fucking found the kid, he didn't need that shit. Jason removed the bloodied hoodie, throwing it on the floor before cutting Demon's shirt off, revealing the massive expanse of brusing and scars along his body. His ribs were semi-visible through his tanned skin, the muscle not well definded but still there. The long red gash wasn't the only recent wound on the boy; there were obvious puncture marks from broken bones or god knows what else.
Jason started to seal the newest cut, trying not to picture the hell the kid could have been going through for who knows how long. Instead he saw the last moments of his life.

He heard the door slam shut. Pain exploded through his body with every breath, no matter how shallow. He was going to fucking kill the damn pyhscotic clown when he got out of the warehouse, and he wasn't on the verge of death.
He pulled his cuffed hands under his legs, wincing from the excrusiating pain as he struggled to stand up. He couldn't even stand without stumbling backwards. Robin took one step and collapsed onto the cold concrete floor. Bones were probably broken, which wouldn't be a surprise since he had just been beaten with a crowbar by a lunatic.
The young man started dragging himself across the floor; the pain was a cold burning feeling, like frostbite. Every jerk forward made it worse, to the point of unbareable. When he finally reached the door he was exausted and ready to pass out from the blood loss and the unbelieveable pain, but he stayed awake, pulling himself up with the door handle, twisting it and leaning back slightly, taking up most of the energy he still had left in him.
There was the familiar sound of a lock keeping the door shut. He groaned as he turned over into a sitting position, leaning his head back against the door to catch his breath. Tick, tick, tick.
The Boy-Wonder looked over at the sorce of the noise to find a god damn bomb counting down. Jason didn't know which thought was more appropriate at that moment, 'You're fucking with me.", "Fuck my life.", or "Of course." Damn it he was gonna die barefoot. The red numbers finally ended with 0:00 and Jason could see the bomb go off. Then nothing.

The sound of a soft grunt pulled Jason back to the present. The young boy's eyes blinked open just as he snapped the end of the thread that now held the wound together. "Ugh," he groaned. "Where am I?" As he looked up at Jason he didn't seem to panic. He must remember what happened, like Dick in that way. "Why am I shirtless?"
"Patching you up," Jason replied. He stood up and dissappered into his bedroom, returning with a black t-shirt, which he threw at the younger male. "How old are you?"
Demon sat up, sliding the shirt over his head, "Twelve."
"Real name?" Jason asked.
The black haired male thought for a second, looking at Jason. "Derek Drake."

There is a fire inside that has started a riot
About to explode into flames
Where is your God?
Where is your God?
Where is your God?

Do you really want?
Do you really want me?
Do you really want me dead or alive
To torture for my sins?