CHAPTER TWELVE - DEAN

Dean Stansfield had made peace with the moment he chose to die.

The wave had loomed above him, an unstoppable force of nature. Vista had been frozen in place, distracted and utterly defenseless. Without thinking, he’d shielded her with his body, projecting every ounce of his power to create a barrier of calm around her. The impact had come—forceful and immediate, splintering his armor and sending him ragdolling across the street.

And then—light. Warmth. The impossible.

Superman’s hands, steady and sure, had been there to save him from a watery grave. In that moment, after the rush of the water, after everything that had come before, it felt like a distant memory. Like something from a world he no longer belonged to. He felt… small. Insignificant.

Safe.

“I’m Superman,” the alien had said, his voice soft. Reassuring.

Dean remembered the sensation of weightlessness as he was whisked to safety—the immense strength of the man who could fight an Endbringer toe-to-toe and win. It had him gripped by an even heavier feeling, one he’d realized later: the feeling of being taken out of the fight, taken away from the only thing he’d ever thought he could do: help. To be the hero in his own small way.

But that day, he hadn’t been a hero. He’d been a casualty.

He had told himself that saving Vista was enough—but was it really? Weeks later, what lingered wasn’t a sense of accomplishment. It was the gnawing emptiness in his chest and the lingering question of what his survival even meant.

Gallant—the shining knight in armor—looked back at him from the cracked remnants of his reflection. His visor sat crooked on his face, the white of his armor dulled and scuffed from battle. Beneath it, Dean saw himself—Dean Stansfield, the boy who had been utterly useless against the Endbringer.

His heart raced, though the numbness of the near-death experience still clung to his bones. Not from fear of Leviathan—not anymore—but from the fear of something far worse.

The fear that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t cut out for this.

A part of him hated himself for it. Another part tried to tell him that he’d done what he could. That people—Vista—were alive because of him. But it didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be the hero he wanted to be. That he couldn’t stand beside the titans like Victoria, whose strength could halt Leviathan in his tracks—even if just momentarily.

Dean pressed his hands to his eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. It felt like a betrayal of everything he stood for—of the promise he’d made to himself to always do more, to always give his all.

He’d been so sure—certain, even—that he was done for. That the world he’d tried so hard to save had swallowed him whole, just another nameless casualty of the Endbringer’s rampage. But now, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Or how to move forward from the broken pieces of himself that had been exposed in that storm.

If he even could.

. . . . .

“Dean, talk to me,” Victoria’s voice broke the silence. She was perched on the edge of his bed, her golden curls catching the light of the setting sun. Glory Girl, his best friend, his girlfriend—his anchor. She hadn’t been there to see him almost die, and Dean was thankful for that. She wouldn't have been able to handle another of her loved ones dead.

“What’s there to say?” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“You almost died,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “You’ve barely talked to anyone since the fight. Not me, not the team, not the Protectorate shrink. That’s not like you, Dean.”

Dean clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “If Superman hadn’t been there…” He shook his head. “I wasn’t a hero. I was a liability.”

“You were up against a freaking wave, Dean. No one expects—”

“I expected!” he snapped, his voice rising. “I expected better from myself. Gallant is supposed to stand for something. For bravery, for strength. But out there? I wasn’t brave. I was just lucky.”

Victoria flinched, and guilt stabbed at Dean’s chest. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

She shook her head, reaching out with her hand for his. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Dean. You’re not just Gallant. You’re Dean. Human.”

Dean stared at her hand on his, her warmth cutting through the storm raging in his mind. But instead of feeling comforted, he felt exposed, raw. “Human,” he repeated bitterly. “Yeah, and look where that got me.”

“Don’t do that,” Victoria said firmly, squeezing his hand. “Don’t turn this into something it’s not. You saved Vista, Dean. You did what a hero does—you acted, even when it could have cost you everything.”

Her words hung in the air, their weight undeniable. Dean wanted to believe her. He wanted to accept the idea that his actions had mattered, that saving Vista was enough. But the image of Superman’s steady hands pulling him from the wreckage wouldn’t leave his mind.

“I acted, sure,” he said, pulling his hand from hers and turning his gaze to the floor. “But what did it accomplish, Victoria? I bought her a few seconds. Superman saved her. Superman saved me. All I did was… stall. I’m not the one who makes a difference.”

Victoria’s expression hardened. “You think Superman didn’t notice what you did? You think he doesn’t see the importance in people like you?” She leaned forward, her voice sharper now. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Dean. You’re not going to outpunch Leviathan, and no one expects you to. That doesn’t mean you didn’t matter.”

Dean stood, pacing the room as frustration bubbled over. “You don’t understand, Vic! You never have! You are the person who makes a difference. You can fight an Endbringer, and survive. I—” He faltered, his voice cracking. “I’m just the guy trying to keep people calm while everything falls apart.”

“He continued, on a roll now. “I was just dead weight, Vicky. I wasn’t enough—not for you, not for the team, not even for myself.”

“That’s bullshit,” Victoria said, her voice hardening. “You’re more than ‘enough,’ Dean. You’ve always been. And you’re allowed to need saving. Do you think Superman doesn’t need saving sometimes? Do you think I don’t?”

Dean’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, searching for any hint of insincerity. He found none. “You?” he asked, incredulous. “You’re… you. Unstoppable, unshakable.”

Her laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating. “That’s what I want people to see, sure. But I’m not invincible, Dean. None of us are. Not even Superman. We just hide it better.”

Her words hit him like a blow, but he shook his head. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, I’m saying it because it’s true,” she shot back, stepping closer. “Dean, I watched you—felt you—hold everything together during that fight. You didn’t just save Vista; you saved those people. You saved me, because if I didn’t have you, I’d fall apart trying to carry everything on my own.”

Dean froze, her words piercing through his doubts. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t respond. He wanted to push back, to dismiss her faith in him as misplaced. But deep down, he knew there was truth in what she said.

“Then why does it feel so… empty?” he whispered.

Victoria’s expression softened. “Because you’re human, Dean. And because you care.” She reached out again, this time pulling him into a firm embrace. He hesitated before sinking into her warmth, his armor of self-recrimination cracking just slightly.