Dean says it all the time. In-between sarcastic remarks, or casual conversation. Not with hesitation, or cringes, instead comfortably cropping up over and over again:
“Here to play the hero?” He asks when Cas walks through the door late for a hunt.
“Well aren’t I the hero?” he says when he finds the last box of Sam’s favorite cereal at the grocery store.
“Very heroic,” he says sarcastically to the villian on the TV show they’re watching.
Cas isn’t even sure Dean knows he’s doing it, but he picks up on it, anyway. Cas knows the way words find themselves inside you, sticky and demanding.
It’s late one night when he finally says something. It’s exactly the wrong moment. Dean is commenting about Sam’s “hero” shakes, packing a bag for their trip tomorrow.
“You hate it, don’t you?” Cas says plainly, cutting Dean off.
“Sam’s snobby health kicks? They’re annoying as hell, but hate…?”
Cas sits down on the bed.
“Not that,” he says. “Hero. The word. You say it all the time, but you hate it. I can tell.”
Dean gulps, and Cas watches the way his neck ripples in effect.
“I dunno,” he shrugs but his hands have gone still where they hold his gun, eyes staring forward.
“It’s just a word,” Dean finally says, shaking himself out of it, putting the gun back in the bag.
“Like angel?” Cas says. “Or demon?”
Dean, looks up, eyes falling on Cas for the first time in the midst of their conversation.
“Or like the word human,” Dean says. “I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t realize this was about…”
Cas smiles. “It’s not,” he says. “I’m happy as a human.”
Dean shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door.
“So why do you hate the word hero?”
Dean doesn’t answer right away. He zips up the duffle bag, puts it on the ground and softly kicks it under the bed. Running his hands through his hair, making it a mess, he sighs.
“I used to steal comics from the gas station.” he finally starts after a long, long pause.
Cas smiles again, picturing it.
“It’s,” Dean continues. “It’s just an idea, I guess.”
“Heroes don’t fuck up,” He finally says to the door and not to Cas. “They fix things.”
Cas stays where he is, fingers threading through the folds in the comforter.
“You fix things,” Cas says. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all along?”
Dean stares down at his shoes, now. He nods. “We fix things we’ve broken.”
The lamp flickers, the room dimming then resuming its light. Cas starts talking carefully, fingers tightening their grip. “What is it you want to fix, Dean?”
Dean is still. He’s continues staring at his shoes, every muscle on hold. Cas knows how he feels, everything tight in anticipation.
“Us,” Dean whispers so soft, it’s barely there. He doesn’t move or look away from the spot he’s staring down at. Doesn’t look at Cas. Nothing happens as Cas’s lungs ache for air while he wonders if he imagined Dean saying it at all.
“You’re free of Michael. I’m free of Lucifer. The world is safe. You’re a hero,” Cas says softly. And, for the first time, Cas watches Dean cringe at the word. Like it’s the filthiest thing in the world. Like all the real weight of it has finally broken free.
“I don’t want that,” Dean says. Then, he looks up, shaking his head. “I mean, I want that, but I want…”
“Be the hero, get the guy,” he finally says so softly and to himself. Cas’s eyebrows raise in surprise and Dean looks humiliated as he realizes what he’s said. He grabs his coat, putting it on, barely able to look Cas in the eyes. He practically bolts to the door, but Cas is there, grabbing an arm, stopping him.
Dean finally looks up at him, face vulnerable.
“It’s just a word,” Dean tries to shrug, voice cracking.
Slowly, Cas’s hand makes its way to Dean’s shoulder, then neck, then cheek, softly thumbing it.
“I love you,” Cas says softly. “I always have.”
Dean’s eyes close tight, and when he finally opens them, he’s blinking faster than before.
“Damn it, Cas” he says. His face is torn. Cas can see it. The longing he’s felt, too. But he can see something else. The breaking desire for Dean to earn this. To do something, anything, to finally let himself feel like he deserves it. Suddenly, Cas understands. He pulls Dean in to him, hands wrapped around his neck. He can feel Dean’s breaths, his fists tight against Cas’s back as if he’s getting ready to bolt again at any second.
Then, in Dean’s ear, very gently, Cas whispers. “You don’t have to be a hero.”
It’s instant. The way Dean’s hands relax against Cas’s back. Dean pulls him in like he’s hungry for the touch. Tight. They’re only hugging but it feels like the first time, Dean finally letting Cas in, holding him like he’s terrified of ever letting him go.
“I’m here,” Cas says. “For good.” He repeats this over and over, quietly. When Dean finally lets Cas go his hands go soft, green eyes lined up with blue, a depth in them Cas has only dreamed of connecting with.
“I love you, too,” says Dean, voice hoarse and filled with intensity. He kisses Cas softly, their first kiss, and Cas feels like he’s coming home for the first time.
And neither of them need to fix anything, or be a hero. Because in that moment, Cas knows, Dean Winchester is already his salvation.
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