Nothing Ever Really Ends: Thoughts On The Final Season of the TV Show, Supernatural

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Season 15 will be the final season of Supernatural. It’s the final year. The final page to this chapter of this story. There has already been so much final talk. It’s final this and final that, and as a fan, I wonder how I will take another nine months of this.

It’s already been an emotional year.

Im March I was at the Supernatural convention in Las Vegas. The first convention after the final season announcement. There were tears. On stage and in the audience. It’s not that the fans asked the questions, it was that stars, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki gave the answers. Like they needed to talk about it, and we were the first group of fans they’d seen since announcing they were hanging up their boots.

I attended Jensen’s meet and greet and cried. It was always going to happen. Talking about his character Dean Winchester’s journey, and both of us being so thankful for it…how could I not tear up. How could Jensen not tear up? That meet and greet was all about the end. But once again, that was Jensen. Like he needed to talk about it.

I was at the Chicago convention a couple of weeks later, and thankfully, the subject of the imminent final year barely came up! That convention was full of another kind of emotion. There was a freak snow storm and flight cancellations. I was on a rollercoaster. I was on my own and exhausted from a long holiday. Then my flight out of Chicago got cancelled, meaning I couldn’t make my flight home to Sydney. In amongst this trauma, Jensen and Jared decided that this would be the convention they’d call me by my name. It only took meeting them 20 times! It was Amy this, Amy that. I nearly laughed out loud when Jensen greeted me at his autograph session with a hollered, drawn out, AMYYYYYYYYYYY. The fact that he blew me a kiss and told me he loved me just kind of ended me. I was already on the edge. His kindness pushed me over. I cried a lot in my hotel room that night. About my show. About my guys. About who I’d be without this thing in my life. About being stuck 9000 miles from home. About the friends and strangers who reached out to help and comfort me.

In May I was in Melbourne when the boys came here for the Australian convention. Yes, I asked Jensen and Jared a question about the end. Sorry. They tortured me over it. Poking fun at me mercilessly. Thanking me for bringing down the mood. It went on and on. Bless their hearts. But they answered honestly. Eventually. I hugged them every which way I could that weekend, because I feel the need to hang on to them right now. Hang on tight. Like they’re slipping away from us….

In July I was in San Diego, at Comic Con for the final Supernatural Comic-Con panel. I was anxious all weekend. I was terrified something would happen and I wouldn’t be there. I was stressed and fretting. I don’t know how my friends put up with me. But they did. And there I was. In amongst the nearly 7000 people. There to celebrate this thing we all love so very, very much. I cried. A lot. When the cast came on stage. When they cried. When they couldn’t talk for crying. When my friends were crying. When the cast got a standing ovation. When they left that stage for that last time. I cried. So many tears. Then my friends and I all went for food. But mostly drinks. And we all cried some more. I think we were crying sad tears for the loss of something so monumental in our lives, and how scared we were about what that means, but also happy tears, for ever having had it, and for having each other. In that moment, one of the shiniest moments of my life, my gratitude just kept running down my face. I will always be thankful for that day.

Now I sit in my home in Sydney, reading the quotes from the last Supernatural Television Critics Association panel. It’s final this and final that, and I wonder how I will take another nine months of this. But then I think about what Jensen said, “This is a long journey that I don’t think is ever going to be over…”

It is a long journey. It’s the best of journeys. From that Monday night in 2006, when Supernatural first aired in Australia, to now and on into the future. The best of journeys. A journey through a story that has both lifted me up and crushed me. A story that has led me all over the world. On road trips through Texas, up Mount St Helens, down the waterways of Chicago in freezing sleet, up mountainsides in Vancouver, to the beaches of Hawaii, and next year, the grandeur of Rome. A story that has brought into my world so many friends. The best of friends. The kind that understand me on a level most people never will. The kind that reach out to me when I’m hurting, even if we’ve never met in person. The kind that will forgive me when I rant, will hold me when I cry, will make me laugh until my drink comes out of my nose. The kind that knows how to sit silently with me, because we don’t need words to connect what’s between us.

This story, this epic story has changed my life and the trajectory of my life in ways that sometimes I can’t even fathom. This spectacular story. It has opened my heart and my mind. It has brought a world of diversity into my world. A world of charity. A world of creativity. I am better for this story. In every possible way.

So how do I say goodbye? How do I say goodbye to the defining experience of my life? How do I ever let it go? I don’t. Because there are no goodbyes. These characters, they will always be with me. In my mind. On my TV. Alive in my soul. Their hearts beating in mine. These friends, they will always be with me. They are lifelong friends. They are forever. These actors, they will always be with me. I will follow their paths, where ever it takes them. I will champion them until the end of my days. Because they deserve that. Because they gave me so much. These memories. These beautiful, rich, and magnificent memories, they will always be with me. They will carry me through my future, with the downs it’s bound to bring, and the ups that will come along with them. Golden, emotion dripped memories. The memories that are still being made.

I have learned so much in the last 14 years. About myself, about people, about love, about loss, about the world, and one thing has been ingrained into my very being… Endings are hard, but then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?

We’ll carry this precious cargo with us every, single day.

It’s going to be a tough year of final this and final that, but I feel so blessed to feel so sad about this au revoir.

Supernatural Season 15 - The Final Season airs from October 10 2019.
Listen to Amy's thoughts on Supernatural, along with Jules Wilkinson
from the Supernatural Wiki, on The Women of Letters Podcast, available
on iTunes.

 

 

Still Us, Just Different: A Supernatural Fan Fiction

“I’m still not sure this feels right, Dean.”

Sam Winchester looked at his brother; worry lines swirling on his forehead.

“Dude, we talked about this.”

“I know, I know, but…” Sam chewed on his lip. “We know not all monsters are bad. We know some good ones out there; there must be more.”

“Yeah, sure, and most of the good ones we knew are long dead,” Dean shrugged. “Look man, I get it, but that question we keep asking, what if we could stop all the evil in the world, this is it, this is our chance. This is what we’re here to do, our purpose, or whatever, and neither of us has to die or sell our damn souls. This is a freakin’ gift. To us and humanity. Right?”

The brothers sat in the bunker, nursing a couple of whiskeys; a piece of parchment on the table between them. Sam turned the document to face him and looked at it.

“Could it be this easy? I mean. This seems too easy, Dean.”

Dean nodded. His brother was right, it seemed too easy, but they’d researched it every which way, and it came up good every time.

“Sammy, we’ve looked into it. You’ve gone through every angle, and I trust you. It’s legit. You know it, I know it. This is what we’ve wanted our whole lives, right?” he looked at Sam for reassurance as much as anything else.

“Yeah. It’s what we’ve always dreamed of, I guess.”

Sam and Dean sat in silence for a moment; the weight of their decision settling into their bones.

“It’s just,” Sam said. “What do we do then…”

That was it; what do they do then? Dean had been wondering exactly this for days, for weeks, ever since they found the spell locked in a box in an old shed. They’d been chasing down a demon making bad deals in a small town, when Dean literally tripped over the thing, spilling the contents across the dirt floor. It was Sam who realised it was something special. He spent sleepless nights translating it. They spent sleepless nights discussing it. They’d run the spell past the witch, Rowena and she said it was the real deal. She said she’d heard that such a spell may exist, but she always thought it was a fancy. Sam and Dean talked through the ethics of casting the spell; is it the right thing to do, is it taking what they do too far? For weeks they hashed it out over and over, always coming back to the same place; now they have it, how could they not use it? How many people would continue to die if they didn’t? How many lives could they save with just a few words of Latin.

But it wasn’t just a question of right or wrong that was keeping them awake at night, it was their mutual existential crisis; what would their lives be without this thing driving it? This thing that was their every, single day, their whole lives, their whole world, their constant. Everything they know, everything they were born to be, everything their father taught them. If that went away tomorrow, what then? Who were they if they weren’t hunters?

Dean drained his glass and reached for the bottle. “I dunno Sammy, I dunno what we’ll do when it all stops, but we’ll work it out together, like we always have.”

“I know we will,” Sam sighed. “And I know it’s right, I know it Dean. But all this…” he waved his hand around the bunker.

“This is our home, it’ll still be here, we’ll still be here, that’s not gunna change, what we’ve built that’s not going away, what we’ve achieved together, that’s always gunna be us. It’s just… It’ll be different…”

Years ago, Dean thought, if you’d have asked him or Sam if they had a chance to get out of the life, both of them would have jumped at it. But that was before they’d carved out a place for themselves, and understood their reason for being. That was before they accepted who they were, and were good with it. That was before they’d saved the world, twice.

“We keep saying there’s no cost to this spell, no deals, no downside,” Dean said. “But this is the cost, I guess. The world we built; our identities. We have to give part of that up for the greater good, and it ain’t gunna be easy. But it’s the job, man; just on a bigger scale, and it’s right.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, running a hand down his face. “And Kate, Garth, Mia are we sure they’ll be okay? They’re not just monsters, Dean. Are we sure we’ve looked after everyone?”

“Hopefully, Rowena’s spell will hold,” Dean said. “But we’ve warned them, that’s all we can do. It’s bigger than them, they know that. We’ve protected who we can the best we can. Sammy, I know you’re worried, but we can’t do any more.”

Sam nodded at his brother, before picking up his glass and gulping down the rest of his whiskey. Standing up, he grabbed the parchment from the table.

“Right. The longer we wait, the more people die. We got work to do.”

 

Sam and Dean stood in a grove of trees behind the bunker. A small fire burned in a circle, a bubbling pot suspended above it, the pungent aroma of herbs filling the chilled, night air. Dean held a piece of paper covered in glyphs. He turned to his brother.

“This is it, Sammy. We do this, it’s the end of everything we’ve ever known. You ready for that?”

“No,” Sam said. “But I know it’s right, and I know you and me, that doesn’t change.”

“No, it doesn’t, and it never will,” Dean said. He tossed the paper into the fire.

Sam held up the parchment and chanted the incantation, “Abominationes impietatis animalia quae non. Qui non ex simplici. Ad te ab abyssum irent. Ab hoc mundo. Et abierunt!”

He threw a small, leather pouch Rowena had prepared for them, into the flames. There was an explosion of white, blue light. Then silence.

“That it?” Dean said. “Every evil son of a bitch… gone?”

“That’s it, Dean…”

The brothers stood for a long time, should to shoulder, quietly watching the dying embers.

 

Dean woke up and stretched his back, wincing at the loud crack. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he stood with a groan. He grabbed a pair of discarded jeans off the chair in the corner of his room and pulled them on, before taking a clean, black t-shirt from a draw and slipping it over his head. He picked up a pair of socks off the floor, holding them to his nose, before tugging them onto his feet. Putting on his boots, he grabbed his Colt 911 from the nightstand and tucked it in his pants. Opening his bedroom door, he walked down the bunker hall. He found Sam sitting in the kitchen, a steaming coffee mug in front of him, his laptop open.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said, heading directly to the coffee pot. “What’s happening in the world?” He slid onto the chair opposite his brother, pulling his Colt from his belt and setting on the table next to Sam’s gun.

“Usual crazy stuff.” Sam said.

“Our kind of crazy?” Dean said, eyeing his brother.

“Just normal, human crazy,” Sam said. He closed his laptop.

Dean nodded. “Good. So… What we doin’ today?”

“I still have a whole bunch of boxes of lore from the back room to go through and catalogue,” Sam said. “So, I might as well get into that. You?”

“Baby could do with a clean, might give a few of the other cars a once over too.”

Sam nodded. The pair sat, drinking their coffee, the occasional slurp echoing in the silence.

“Before I do that though,” Dean said. “I might run into town, pick up some supplies, this kitchen is getting a bit low on just about everything. Fancy going for a ride?”

“Sure thing,” Sam said.

Standing up they both reached for their guns.

“Wait,” Dean said, his hand hovering over the weapon. “Do we still need these?”

Sam looked at him.

“Probably not.”

They stared at each other across table.

“Nah,” Dean said, sliding the gun into the back of his belt.

Sam laughed and did the same.

“See Sammy, still us.”

“Yep Dean, still us.”

-FIN-

(c) Story by Amy Hutton based on characters created by Eric Kripke.
    Dedicated to Supernatural and the Supernatural fandom, after the
    announcement that Supernatural will finish after it's 15th season.
    More Supernatural Fan fiction by Amy can be found here

Scammed: A Supernatural Fan Fiction

Dean Winchester drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel of his beloved Impala, his right hand pressing his phone to his ear. The heat radiating across his cheek.

“Come on,” he said, moving the phone in front of his face to glare at it.

The Impala door opened with a groan, and his brother, Sam, folded himself in, sliding onto his seat and tucking his long legs under the dash. He was nursing a tray with two large coffees and one sticky looking pastry.

“Still on hold?” Sam said, handing Dean a cardboard cup.

“With the worst freakin’ music ever!” Dean grumbled.

He turned his phone towards his brother and hit the speaker button. A crackling, muzak version of Afternoon Delight filled the car.

“Geesh,” Sam said, with a grimace.

Dean hit the speaker button again, silencing the cacophony of electronic notes. He put his phone back to his ear and grabbed the pastry from the tray on Sam’s lap, shoving a large bite of it into his mouth.

“Mm sthick ov wating,” Dean said, through a mouthful of food. “Ib beem ober thirby munmits”

Sam stared at him. “Dude, I didn’t understand a word you just said.”

Dean took a loud slurp of coffee and wiped his face along his sleeve.

“I said, I’m sick of waiting, it’s been over thirty minutes!”

“So, hang up,” Sam said with a shrug.

“And lose my place in the queue? No way.”

Dean angrily packed his mouth with the rest of the sugary treat at the exact moment a customer service member picked up his call. Quickly taking a gulp of coffee, he attempted to choke down the remnants of pastry while motioning wildly for Sam to hold his cup.

“Yes. Hello,” Dean spluttered into the phone, as he struggled to swallow his breakfast. “I want to check my credit card ……… Because I just went to use it, and it got rejected!”

He turned to Sam and rolled his eyes with exaggerated exasperation.

“What. Oh yeah. Hang on.” Dean scrambled for his wallet, lifting his butt to extract it from his back pocket. Placing the wallet on his knee, he held it steady with an elbow while he pulled out his MasterCard. “Okay. It’s 5555 6466 8132 0000 ……… Vincent Cooper. 12 September 1979,” he said, then waited silently.

Sam watched his brother, eyebrows raised, an amused swirl of lines clustering in the middle of his forehead.

“My last transaction?” Dean carried on. “Um.” He glanced sideways at Sam. “It was an online purchase ……… You need me to confirm the purchase? But why? Can’t you see the purchase? ……… Oh. Right.”

He brought the phone closer to his face, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece and twisting inwards towards the window beside him.

“Anime Heaven,” he whispered into the device.

After a beat of silence, Dean closed his eyes and repeated himself, this time in his normal voice.

“ANIME HEAVEN.”

Sam let out a snicker followed closely by an “ow!” as his brother expertly reached across and thumped him without even looking.

“Yeah, that’s been the only purchase,” Dean mumbled. “The card was brand new ……… No. I definitely didn’t order forty pair of Nikes.” He turned to Sam, “Son of a bitch,” he said. “I knew it. Someone scammed my card!”

Before Sam could respond, Dean held up a silencing finger.

“A-ha. Okay,” he continued down phone. “Yup, absolutely, cancel it. That’ll screw up the fitness freaks.” Dean gave Sam a triumphant thumbs up. “And just to clarify, I’m not responsible for that money, right? …… Awesome. Yeah, okay, no that’s it. Thanks.”

He ended the call and turned to face Sam.

“Can you believe it. Freakin’ credit card fraud! Scammers. What ass-wipes. At least we don’t have to pay for it.”

Sam gapped at his brother.

“Dean, we never have to pay for it.”

“What? Yeah, well. That’s not the point.”

“That card was a scam. Vincent. Cooper. We live on credit card fraud!”

“Not the same.”

“Technically it is.”

“But we’re not stealing from anyone.”

“Technically we are.”

“Banks don’t count.”

“Technically they do.”

Dean glowered at Sam, before turning away and starting the car. She roared to life with a satisfying thrum.

“Anime Heaven, Dean?” Sam said with a smirk.

“Shut-up.”

“Really?”

“It’s an art form!”

The noise of screeching tyres mixed with Sam’s raucous laughter, as Dean floored the gas.

-FIN-

(c) Story by Amy Hutton based on characters created by Eric Kripke.
    Dedicated to all the Supernatural fans who had their credit cards
    scammed this past week in the Great SPN Credit Card Apocalypse. 
    More Supernatural Fan fiction by Amy can be found here