Sorry for the wait. Busy weekend. As for Dean becoming obsessed wtih power... hey, if you sudenly developed superpowers, wouldn't you go try to make the world a better place, especially if you had a major Hero Complex?

Chapter 9

I Don't Care How You Do It

Emmanuelle Baker had always loved living in Black Rock. It gave her the street cred that came with saying that she was a resident of New York (most people automatically assumed that she was from the city, and not just the state), as well as the security that she felt from living in a small town. Sure, there was crime, but nothing as big as what happened in the Big Apple.

That sentiment explained why she was so surprised when the dark figure that had been waiting in the alleyway approached her and pulled a gun. She had barely even noticed the figure of the man (or woman, again it had been a passing glance) before the glint of metal had caught her eye.

Emmy had started running after that. She didn't even bother to look back. She ran as if her life depended upon it, gasping out short cries for help until her lungs demanded that she stop. No one had heard her. It was late and all the businesses that lined the street had closed long before she had left.

Her breath caught repeatedly in her throat, but she could hear footsteps pounding out behind her, chasing her, waiting for her to tire. She was running out of steam fast, and although her fear had caused her adrenalin to spike, she knew that the rush was almost over and the crash was fast approaching.

Behind her, she heard the first gunshot.

o0o0o0o0o

The first bullet hit him in the chest, right about where the woman's heart would be. Dean barely felt it. He glanced down at himself, at the little hole in his shirt where the bullet had hit before harmlessly bouncing off his skin and onto the sidewalk. He looked up at the shooter with a confident smirk on his face, daring the man- it had to be a man, it was too tall to be a woman- to take another shot.

The woman behind him, the one he had saved, gasped. It's not everyday that a man gets shot in the chest with no resulting blood loss, and she was obviously impressed. Or scared. After all, he'd come out of nowhere to save her.

The man with the gun took a shaky step back, shaking his head from side to side beneath the hooded sweatshirt he'd hidden his face under. When Dean turned to check on the woman, he heard the shooter take off running.

"Good riddance," he said, stooping to help the woman, who'd dropped to her knees at the arrival of her savior, back to her feet.

"You got shot," she said, blinking slowly up at him through a haze of panic and confusion.

"He missed," Dean smiled, thanking his father- not for the first time in his life- for teaching him how to lie so convincingly, "by a mile. You all right?"

The woman nodded, allowing herself to be pulled up by the hero. "I don't know what happened. He just came out of nowhere. I didn't even see him."

"Well, he's gone now. You didn't get a good look at him, did you?"

The woman shook her head. "Sorry. I saw the gun and ran. I didn't see his face."

"That's all right. You, uh, want me to walk you home?"

She wrapped her arms tightly around her body and nodded. "This way." She started walking down the street with Dean trailing behind her. "How'd you… how'd you find me?"

"Right place, right time," he shrugged. "Guess we both got lucky."

She nodded. "I'm Emmanuelle, by the way."

"Jason," Dean replied, the alias coming from nowhere and rolling off his tongue before he could stop it. It took him a moment to place the name, as it wasn't one he normally used. He'd heard it at the comic shop, from the girl that Sam thought was his villain. Yeah. That Jason guy had been pretty bad, she'd said, up until he'd actually turned evil.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and followed Emmanuelle for about a block, completely lost in thought, wondering if maybe he should go to the local video store and pick up a season set or two of Smallville for research purposes. That, and the fact that the on-going strike in Hollywood had affected his nightly viewing more than he'd imagined it would. There could only be so many times Simon could call someone atrocious before Sam made him tune out.

The sound of the woman he'd saved screaming brought Dean hurtling back from the inside of his head. The shooter appeared to have followed them, taking advantage of back-alleys and side streets until he caught them. He rushed out from the shadow of a building and shoved Emmanuelle hard into a puddle of standing water that had formed near a stopped-up storm drain.

Water sprayed into the air as the woman fell, coating herself and Dean with murky liquid. Glancing once up the street, the would-be murderer fled back into the night. Emmy began to pick herself up from the street, swiping pointlessly at the water and mud that coated her jacket and pants, when Dean saw it.

Headlights flashed up the street, alerting him to the problem before she had even sensed it. Unfortunately, Dean's brain was still lagging behind his five senses after being so roughly pulled from his thoughts, and even Superman didn't have time to react.

The car hit her. It hit her hard and it hit her fast and he prayed that she hadn't felt a thing. Fresh blood spattered his clothing, his face, his shoes, he street. The car screeched to a stop, but it was too late. She was gone, nearly shot, shoved roughly into the water, and now dead.

He looked into the car, and even thought the darkness could see the driver fumbling with his phone. Dean knew he was calling the police, could hear the operator asking for the nature of the emergency. 911 meant cops, and cops were something that couldn't be added to the current equation for disaster that the Winchesters had stepped in.

Dean fled the scene.