#15x20 fix it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tomoyorecs · 2 years

Text

Splendor

Title: Nothing Equals the Splendor & Trained to Make Your Mark

Author: RurouniHime

Rating: E & M

Word Count: 7,865 & 6,748

Summary: Maybe it’s the cynic in him. The hunter, always under the surface of any quietude he ever found. Or maybe it’s just that he has always had trouble with blind faith. But after a while (a blink? A decade? A century?), Dean raises his eyebrows, looks around, and says—

“Uh. No.”

It’s so close. Just so slightly imperfect. And maybe, he analyzes, maybe that’s the final knell of this bell called contentment. Dean’s experience with happiness has always been that last rise in the road, right before it turns. Right before fate comes barreling around the corner head on.

He turns in his spot on the bridge, and suddenly Sam is like a cellophane film through which he can see the light streaming, and the taste of cheap beer on his tongue is much, much older a memory than it should be.

“Oh, you’re good,” he says, and means it.

“I just think we should start making some kind of, I don’t know, backup plan because the way things are going—”

“Sam.”

“Once wasn’t a big deal, this place has held up against a lot, but it’s been two days now—”

“Sam.”

“—and if there’s much more of this, the walls might literally come down around us, without a grenade launcher.”

“Alright.” Dean might actually laugh, uncontrollably. This is the fifth time—fifth! He’s still counting on his fingers! Like a giddy kid!—the fifth time he’s had sex with Cas and this, this… this-ness, the shaking brick and sizzling iron, the shattering windows and the protesting alarms, it was supposed to stop after the first, but it hasn’t even slowed down.

Commentary: Double feature! This story begins with a fix-it of episode 15x20, but the true beauty of it lies on the interaction between the characters after Dean and Cas meet in part 1, and in the conversations Dean has with Sam and Cas in part 2. As well as Dean’s internal narration, which is in character and greatly done! Dean reflects about his relationships, about himself, about PTSD, about Cas, about Sam...

The author did such a good job with their style of narration, I felt connected with the characters, specially Dean, in every decision they made. I can’t get over Dean talking about his mental health in part 2, it’s so real! There’s such a good scene with Sam that you guys have to read! This is one of those (as well as many of the fanfic I recommend here) that I fell like tie in great with canon and helps fill some of the holes the finale left.

#destiel fanfic rec #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #under 10k #splendor #rurounihime #ao3 #rated m #rated e #finale fix it #canon universe #15x20 fix it #sam #jack #spn fanfic rec #supernatural fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

wellofdean · 5 months

Text

Happy third anniversary to an episode of television so bewilderingly, gobsmackingly awful that it felt like it was formulated in a lab to exemplify the very concept of narrative malpractice! Literally the worst hour of television ever committed! Number one in being an utter, irredeemable shit sandwich! The superlatively worst ending of anything ever!

#spn #supernatural #spn 15x20 #fix it jensen #we beg of you

223 notes · View notes

destielwarmsthecocklesofmyheart · 3 months

Text

clicked on the article ONLY to see if they included spn

glad they did

i dont really agree with the Lisa and Ben part but everything else is damn right

burns me up

#dean deserved better #he wanted a normal life and you cant convince me otherwise #he wanted to be with cas and be like the new bobby #he filled out a job application for fucksake #jackles please fix this #season 16 #he did not deserve erasure of 15 years of character development #fuck 15x20 #finale what finale #jensen ackles #destiel #dean winchester #deancas #castiel #supernatural #spn

140 notes · View notes

unanimous-anonymous · 1 year

Text

A digital piece from 2021 done for a DCBB season 15 fix it fic. This is Cas pulling Dean’s ass off that damn rebar 🥲🥲🥲🥲 Lots I would change about this now, but I still love the highlight of Cas’ face.

Wish I had more patience for digital works — my setup sucks 😂

#supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #jensen ackles #destiel is canon #fanfic #spn final season #misha collins #spn spoilers #spn season 15 #spnfandom #artists on tumblr #spn 15x20 #15x18 #digital art #fix it fic #canon divergence

246 notes · View notes

angelcasendgame · 1 year

Text

It's almost creepy how empty and devoid of emotions and heart the 15x20 script is. Like from the dialogue on its own to the directed actions, it's like staring into an empty husk of what the show was. Like even at its worst episode, spn still held true to what the show is but god, that finale was like watching a whole other show

#the finale fuckery is still something that has a grip on me unfortunately #which is all the more reason why im SO curious about spnwin trynna fix it #15x20 #renu rambles

380 notes · View notes

highfunctioningflailgirl · 6 months

Text

Just A Trick

It’s a fucking joke. A trick. Loki’s at it again.

He’s going to snap out of this any second now, whole and well, definitely not impaled on six inches of rebar right through his back.

Dean palpates his chest, puzzled that it looks fully intact. He must be imagining the pain inside, that eerie feeling of metal grinding against bone, of cartilage and flesh shredded and bleeding.

This cannot be happening.

“AHHH!” he barks, furious, and Sam in front of him flinches.

His little brother looks frozen in shock. Dean told him not to move him, that the stupid piece of rebar that cannot be real is holding him together right now. Sam seems at a loss what to do, and Dean knows he has to take charge.

“Call 911, Sam,” Dean tells him through gritted teeth. “Now.”

At the command, Sam snaps out of his stupor.

“On it.” His fingers fly over the display of his phone.

“Tell- tell them to bring rescue equipment,” Dean rasps through the burning in his chest. There’s a mounting pressure behind his breastbone, and breathing is becoming more difficult. “They’ll have to- to cut me loose.”

Sam nods, and when the operator picks up, Dean hears Sam rattle down the five w’s in quick and coordinated order, emphasizing the fact that Dean is fucking impaled on a fucking metal rod and that there is no time to waste. Thank God the woman on the other end knows her job: In the next few minutes she does her best to keep Sam calm and Dean alive while ensuring them that help will arrive in a matter of minutes.

Hopefully, that’ll be fast enough. Dean’s lungs feel like they’re filling up with sand (although it’s probably blood), and the pain from his injury radiates through his torso in bright-hot rays.

“…him awake,” Dean catches the 911 woman’s voice through the speaker. (Did he zone out for a moment?) “And keep him still.”

Dean almost has to laugh. Keeping still won’t be a problem, pinned as he is, like a fucking butterfly in a glass case. The staying awake part, though, may become a little too much to ask. He’s tired, so very tired, and, really, who wants to be lucid with a metal rod rammed through their insides?!

He feels Sam pet his cheek and hears the urgency in his voice when he tells him to “open your eyes, Dean, stay with me, stay awake, come on, eyes open!”

Nevertheless, he feels his eyelids droop. But as his gaze wanders down, earthbound, he catches sight of one of the bodies strewn on the floor, and-

“Sam!” His consciousness snaps back to red alert. “Shit, Sammy, the- the bodies!”

His brother, eyes wide and fixed on him, shakes his head. “I don’t care, Dean. I don’t care what they’ll think. We’ll figure it out. Doesn’t matter now.”

It’s Dean’s turn to shake his head. Fuck, even that hurts. “Sam!” he urges. “You’ve got to hide- put them into the-“ He tilts his head to indicate the boarded-up stall in the corner of the barn, where the vamps had hidden the children.

Sam looks but doesn’t want to listen.

“No, Dean, it’s no use. And I’m not leaving you.”

Only now does Dean realize that Sam has gripped him under the elbows, supporting him as best as he can. Not that it’s doing much, and it doesn’t have to; the rebar is keeping him upright well enough, and Dean can still feel his legs underneath him, stubbornly holding his weight.

“No, please, you-“ Dean quickly squeezes his eyes shut against a stab of pain. “I’m not surviving this to rot in prison,” he croaks, his fingers digging into Sam’s forearms. “I can’t do it, Sammy. You can’t.”

“But-“

“We’ve gotta try, Sammy!” Dean is desperate, so desperate a stupid joke bubbles up in him. “You look like crap in orange.”

Miraculously, that works. Maybe Sam believes that it’s not as bad as it really is because Dean’s still cracking jokes. In any case, he lets go of Dean’s arms and drags the bodies, cut-off heads and all, into the stall one after the other, and he padlocks it. Then he quickly spreads straw over what little blood there is on the floor - their luck that vampires don’t bleed much, what with not having a heartbeat.

“Okay. Okay.”

A little out of breath and sweating, Sam’s back in front of Dean, back supporting him, and Dean vaguely wonders when his little brother became so strong and fast.

Everything is becoming kind of vague and cottony in his head. Flashes of panic, flashes of pain - it all bounces off a veneer that seems to lay itself between him and the world. He’s running out of time, and it’s a scary thought, and shouldn’t the ambulance be here by now?

“I’m fading- I’m fading pretty quick,” Dean manages to articulate.

Sam’s eyes flare with fear, but dammit if he isn’t trying to be brave about it.

“You’re not,” Sam says stubbornly, his grip on Dean intensifying. “You are not dying on me, you hear me? You are Dean fucking Winchester, you’ve been through worse, and you’re going to make it out of here alive! And when you’re out of the hospital, you’ll hang out in the bunker for a few weeks and watch soap operas while Miracle sheds all over your goddamn sheets, and I’ll be pissed at you for drinking beer in bed. You’re going to pull yourself together now and stay awake, or I’ll have to slap you in the face!”

Dean wants to grin but isn’t sure if it shows on his face. Everything is growing a little numb.

“Easy, tiger,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper, his throat scratchy and tight. “Take it easy on your old-” He has to cough and, Jesus Christ on a stick, it hurts like fucking hell. His ribcage clenches around the rebar, his heart hurtling into a frenzy as the pain starbursts through him. He hasn’t lit up in agony like this since his days in Hell.

Choking helpless coughs, Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ride it out.

“Dean! Breathe! Come on, just breathe!”

Dean latches on to Sam’s voice until his ravaged lungs can pull in enough air again to at least keep him conscious. When the fit is over and reality returns, Dean’s cheeks are wet, and his mouth tastes like copper. Sam’s face is his anchor, his hazel-brown-green-blue eyes searching and holding Dean’s gaze as if he could tie him to this world with the love and the iron will Dean recognizes in them.

“There you go. That’s it,” Sam says firmly. “You’ve got this.”

He’s not got this. “I- hnnngh”

Dean’s legs give out, and pain tears through his chest when the rebar takes his weight like a meat hook. God no, Dean thinks, not this again. Memories of Hell flood him, red-hot and blinding.

“Dean! Hang on!”

Sam is there, ducking under his right arm and pulling it across his shoulders, his other hand on Dean’s belt. It hurts, pulling on everything that’s torn in him, and through his own choked noises of agony he hears Sam’s “I’m sorry, Dean, I’m sorry”, but at least Sam’s manoeuver keeps him from being cut in half.

I’m not going to make it, Dean thinks. And: Cas. Please. Help me!

It doesn’t make sense. Cas is gone, absorbed by the Empty. The angel cannot swoop in to save him this time. Dean’s heart stutters at the memory of his loss, of Cas’ sacrifice. Of Cas’ love for Dean. That stupid, stupid, soft son of a bitch.

“Come on, Dean, stay with me! They’re almost here!”

And Dean hears it: The wail of an approaching ambulance - no, more than one? A cacophony of sirens closes in on them.

“Hey, hey! Dean! Stay with me!”

And somehow, Dean does. He’s wheezing, and his vision is a narrowing tunnel. Blood pools in his mouth and dribbles down his chin. His heart is a piece of burning coal, his whole chest on fire. His legs don’t belong to him anymore.

But he can’t do this to Sam. He won’t do this to Cas. The angel gave his life for him. He’s not going to die like this - a stupid, senseless, idiotic death. It’s not going to happen.

The barn’s bathed in light now, and Dean distantly wonders if Cas has come after all, but then there are voices and uniforms and gloved hands on him. Sam’s warmth leaves his side, and Dean finally loses consciousness to a chorus of questions and medical lingo washing over him.

xxx

It’s not the first time he’s woken up choking on a breathing tube, but it never gets any easier. At least he knows the drill - alarms blaring and people rushing in while he gags and bucks and panics. They put him under again, and the next time he comes to, the wretched tube is out, and he’s left with a nasal cannula and the feeling of a cut-up throat. They’ve draped him on his side, propped up by pillows, and he doesn’t even want to know where all the tubes and wires lead that disappear under his hospital gown. It burns here and itches there, and his chest and back feel like hamburger meat held together by duct tape.

“Dean? Hey…”

Sam untangles his long limbs from where he’s folded himself into a chair by the bed, a blanket slipping to the floor.

“Hey, you’re awake!”

“S- … S’my”

It’s a pathetic attempt at pronouncing his little brother’s name; he sounds like a rusty door hinge. But it seems to be good enough for Sam whose eyes - Jesus, when was the last time he slept - light up in his tired, scruffy face.

“Man, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

Sam reaches for Dean’s hand, carefully, as if he were made of something breakable. But his grip is warm and firm, and Dean doesn’t shrug him off.

“How’re you feeling? If you’re in pain I can call the nurse and she can give you more of the…” He waves at one of Dean’s numerous IVs.

“Peach-... peachy,” Dean croaks, forcing one corner of his mouth into a smirk.

“That can’t be true,” a different voice says from the door, a deeper voice, and Dean almost stops breathing at the sight of the hallucination that walks into his line of vision. It must be a hallucination; it can’t be Castiel, Angel of the Lord, in his rumpled trench coat, tie loose, beardy, with a paper cup of coffee in his hand.

“You’re recovering from complex cardio-thoracic surgery. They had to crack your chest and resuscitate you - twice. You’ve been on a ventilator for eight days. I don’t believe “peachy” is an accurate term to describe your physical condition .”

Dean stares at the angel, uncomprehending. His heart throws a drumroll, for everyone to hear as it beep-beep-beeps in agitated spikes.

“Cas?” His voice cracks.

Castiel hands the coffee to Sam and steps closer until he’s right by the bed, standing there in typical Cas-fashion - a little slouched, arms at his sides, head slightly canted, blue gaze intense and ethereal.

“Hello Dean.”

There’s no saliva in Dean’s mouth. Something twists in his chest, both painfully and warm. His head is swimming with half-bred thoughts, clouded by too many fucking drugs. He doesn’t know what to feel, how to deal with this sudden, bright blue shock of elation.

“How…?” is all he manages.

Sam has risen to his feet, smiling through the exhaustion etched into his features.

“He showed up while you were in surgery. When your heart stopped. We don’t know exactly how, or why. If Jack was involved. We think that maybe it was you who brought him back.”

Dean licks dry lips. “Me?”

“I heard your prayer,” Castiel elaborates. “I wanted to come. But I was stuck. The Empty - it had me pinned down. I couldn’t even move. But when your heart stopped, I felt it, and something - something happened. It shook me loose. I felt a surge of power. And then…” He gestures around the room. “Then I was here. Human. I think you pulled me out.”

It’s all a little too much for Dean. His body is a mess, and his brain is bubble-wrapped. Words want to surface from where Dean tucked them away, rehearsed over and over, certain he’d never get to say them. His throat hurts, his chest tightens, and he is not going to fucking cry.

“I’ll give the two of you a minute,” Sam says, running a hand through his too-long hair. “And I’ll go get your doctor. She’ll be happy to see you awake.”

His brother leaves, and Dean is left with a staring angel and blinking tears away.

He lifts a shaking hand to wipe at his eyes, but the movement is pulling on tubes, and he’s weak as a kitten, so he lets his arm sink again.

“There’s so much-” he starts and stops, sandpaper for vocal chords. He can’t look at Cas anymore; he wants to look at nothing else for the rest of his life. He’s been such a damn fool.

The angel reaches out a hand and gently lays it on Dean’s left shoulder, where it’s always belonged.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he rumbles softly. “We will figure this out when you feel better. You need to rest now. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s the permission Dean needed. Exhausted and overwhelmed, he closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, he thinks, Cas’ hand still warm and safe on his shoulder, tomorrow I’m gonna say it back.

37 notes · View notes

supernatant · 7 months

Text

Rolling up to AO3 and browsing the Supernatural ending fix-it fics like I’m at the supermarket

37 notes · View notes

wildcreator · 2 years

Text

I see your blurry wifey I raise you blurry husband

#supernatural cw #supernatural #sam winchester #spn edit #gabriel spn #sabriel #rip blurry wifey #blurry husband #fixing 15x20

178 notes · View notes

pangolin-dreams · 5 months

Text

Help! Lost Fic

Please, I am desperate. I post drifted across my For You page with a Destiel fic rec on Ao3. Post-canon, fix-it, with a fairly hefty word count. I read the first chapter without realizing I hadn't opened Ao3 in my browser, and then this hellsite of an app crashed and I lost it. Here's what I can remember about the first chapter:

Dean is in Heaven, talking to Sam and realizing that Sam is cold, almost emotionless. When Dean points this out, Not-Sam tells Dean it's his memories and his fault this isn't working right. Overall, a whole sense that something is wrong. Then, I THINK Dean wakes up and realizes creepy Not-Sam Heaven was a dream?

I'm so sorry for being vague, I had just started to read the first chapter when everything crashed. If anyone can point me in the right direction, I would appreciate it! Otherwise, I resign myself to trying to sift through the Ao3 catalog, looking for a needle in a haystack.

#spn #deancas #supernatural #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #destiel #spn 15x18 #spn 15x20 #fix it #destiel fic #fic rec #spn posting

10 notes · View notes

youarethedancingdean · 11 months

Text

It all began with a touch, didn't it? You grabbed my shoulder and pulled me out of the big hole, saving me. You touched me many more times after that; to heal me, to greet me, console me or encourage me. I touched you, too. Brotherly slaps on your back or arms, holding you back, pulling you from harm. We touched a lot, but it never meant this much. We never admitted it.

It was my turn to save you again and here we are on the ground, you in my arms more human than you've ever been. I comb my fingers through your hair and tell you, "And I you, my love. I always have." It took losing you one more time to make me say it and I promise I will not stop again.

#dreamydrabble #day four: touch #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #pov: dean winchester #15x20 fix-it #my writing

25 notes · View notes

ineffableuser · 2 years

Text

«Hello, Dean. »

For a second, the bottle feels like it’s about to crash under Dean’s grip. I mean, it probably wouldn’t be of much harm to him, being in Heaven and all, but he wouldn’t have cared.

Cas silently makes his way in front of them from behind the house, hesitantly coming into view. He looks fine. Alive. Happy. The fucking piece of shit. Him and those damn beautiful eyes giving him that awkward look he didn’t think he was ever going to see again. They have him motionless for a few seconds.

Bobby breaks the silence.

«Since Jack dragged him up here, we had the chance to chat. He just wouldn’t shut up about y— » those were enough seconds.

«You son of a bitch, » the bottle does break, shattered on the ground, but he couldn’t care in the slightest; not as he pulls his angel to him by the coat’s lapel and holds him in a hug that, he can feel, takes Cas’ breath away. It’s soon reciprocated, as they both laugh and tear up, pressing their faces in each other’s shoulders, breathing in, relishing in the blessed warmth. Bobby smiles and takes another sip, but they don’t see him.

After who knows how long—not long enough—Dean slightly pulls away to look into those reddening eyes.

«Don’t you ever even think of pulling off something like that again, you hear me? Don’t you dare, » his voice breaks, and he shuts his lips.

«I- I don’t think it will ever be necessary again, Dean, » Cas laughs, pressing a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and—oh, rubbing his thumb against it, is he trying to kill him again?

«I don’t give a shit, ok? » He reaches for Cas’ cheek, wiping his tears away, «You gotta promise me, Cas. You gotta promise me you won’t ever leave me again. » He can see himself reflected in his eyes; no mirror had ever made him feel as good.

The angel nods, unable to keep the corners of his lips from raising to form a grin—but why would he hide that, now?—That have Dean’s eyes fill with a new set of tears, a warm feeling growing and blossoming and bursting in his chest and behind his eyes.

«Of course. Of course, Dean, I promise. »

He inhales. His breath is shaky. «…good. Good. »

They don’t move.

«Then I guess I don’t have any excuses now, do I? » he goes on. «Cas, I… » his lip quivers.

Cas’ brows rise in understanding.

«Oh, Dean, wait. You don’t have to say anything-»

«Shut up, of course I fucking do, or I’ll regret it. I already do. I… »

He looks down. He’s suddenly very aware of Bobby’s look burning on his back, of Mum and Dad’s house down the road; his eyes shoot beyond Cas’ shoulder, his hand clenches on his coat, but he shakes the doubts away. This is his moment. His Heaven. No one, not Dad, not some monster, not even himself would ruin this. Not this time.

Their eyes meet.

«I love you, Cas. Of course I love you, and I’m so sorry, man, I’m so sorry it took me so long, I…»

«It’s fine, Dean. »

«No! No, it’s not, because I should’ve told you years ago, but I didn’t have the balls to accept that I’m… I’m…» he shakes his head, almost dizzy, «oh, I love you so fucking much. »

His voice is strained, his stomach clenches while he says it, but once it relaxes, oh, Dean is in a glass case of emotions, but he is free.

Castiel looks at him, eyes swollen, lips shaking, until he can’t keep himself from letting out a breathy laugh, basically shoving his face against the hunter’s chest, Dean’s hand rising to hold his head against him, running his fingers through his hair and oh, why has he never done that before? It’s so soft, he thinks, as he lowers his head to let his lips brush against it.

«I… I…» he can’t say anything. He can’t say anything else. I love you, I love you, I love you, such simple and sweet words, why had he been so scared of them?

His hands slowly slide to cup Cas’ cheek, making him raise his head, their faces close enough to have them feel each other’s rapid breaths on their skin, though that quickly fades into the background as they finally close the space between them.

The kiss is eager and a bit awkward. The eagerness of two men who had been waiting for over a decade to do this, to accept themselves as part of each other, shamelessly; the awkwardness of not quite a very first kiss, but of a new way of experiencing something old, like a piece of clothing that you have kept in your closet for a long time, scared of wearing it, but once you do you think this, this is meant for me.

Suddenly everything is right. Their lips keep moving against each other, starving for the other’s touch, and Dean’s brain is flooded with excitement, with realization as it keeps thinking that yes, this is what he’s been looking for all this time. That is the answer to all that longing: not fights, not revenge, not rage, this, he found it.

He found him.

84 notes · View notes