It’s Year Eight: Time for a Whole Post About Supernatural!

So, why, in 8 years of blogging, have I never before posted about this show that is, regardless of all its issues, in my top 10 of TV series, that has inspired my own writing, and will always have a special place in my heart?

Well, to be honest, at first it was simply because the show broadcast new episodes for so long — I mean, 15 seasons, wowser — and it’s hard to get a feel for your thoughts on the entire series before you know how it finishes. And I was way behind — since I didn’t have access to the CW after about 2008, I had to catch up on the reruns on TNT, and then when all the seasons finally came to Netflix, I found multiple gaps in my viewing.

Anyway, now that the show definitely has completed production, and I’ve now seen probably 80% of the entire canon (and what I’ve skipped has been deliberate, and I read up on the Wiki, anyway) — and we’ve all had a few years to digest this enormous banquet of lore and plot and characters — I feel like this is a good time to have the discussion.

Warning: Strap yourselves in. This is going to be probably my longest musing/gushing/rant yet. (Yup, probably even more than The Vampire Diaries.) Brew a whole pot of tea, get out the whole box of cookies, and don’t forget to schedule in a bathroom break.

So, Supernatural. I imagine, even if you weren’t a viewer, you’ve at least come across (it’d be almost impossible not to by now) some casual knowledge of the basics: Two brothers, raised to hunt and kill all the stuff that goes bump in the night, pulled against their will into the ongoing battle of good versus evil, for the preservation of humanity itself. Dean and Sam Winchester are the central characters in this mostly-drama, sometimes-comedy, often beautifully poignant, undeniably long-winded tale of monsters and folklore and theology and urban legends.

The show started as absolutely just Monster Of The Week, with a new ghost/creature featured most early episodes, occasionally devoting a few scenes to furthering the subplot of seasons 1 and 2 — which focused on the brothers finding their father, John, who had gone missing before the start of the canon. While all of this was well and good — honestly, “the boys” (as we were all calling them before the pilot was even over) had great chemistry and connection from the first second, and their live-to-fight-another-day ethos was so inspiring — eventually we did need a meatier and more consistent plotline.

So, I don’t think anybody was actually upset when the long-running narrative of one particular Big Bad demon having it out for the Winchesters was introduced. Especially since this quickly led to peeling back the layers on all the world mythology that built the backdrop of the show’s premise, and naturally coming to what every civilization has feared since the beginning of time: The End Of The World.

As with any show that is so popular that it becomes an instant season renewal, after 5 years, directors and writers are going to run out of ideas, producers and cast and crew will run out of steam, and plotlines that have played themselves out need to be shelved. And having a new Big Bad every year got a little tedious, even as it advanced the overall canon and universe. Apocalypse fatigue meant the show reached a point of needing reinvention and reinvigoration. Hence, by mid-season 8, the tone changed, a lot — we were given the key to the Men of Letters bunker.

I’m aware many fans weren’t sold on this storyline, and, in retrospect, they prefer seasons 1-5. There are also plenty of us who enjoyed what came before, enjoy the middle, and are okay with the end. Then there are those — like me — who have begun to wonder if seasons 1-7 existed in some kind of parallel dimension, and seasons 8-12 are the “real” show…and then seasons 13-15 are in fact bad fanfiction that somebody pasted on the Wikipedia page, and the actual ending is something completely different that got lost in the ether during the pandemic shutdowns.

So, what happened? How did we go from “This show is my drug, I need to inject a weekly dose of Winchesters into my veins,” to “I am creating my own final episode and proclaiming that garbage a Mandela effect”?

Well, a few months ago, I finished my…fourth, I think, watch-through of seasons 1-11, and around 5 a.m., a thought came to me that put it all in the perspective I’d been missing before: Although Sam and Dean live in between the mortal realm and the supernatural, it’s always been established that — divine intervention aside — they’re only human, and they have driver’s licenses and birth certificates and family records, and all this traceable paperwork attached to their existence. Therefore…unfortunately everything set down in the pilot…isn’t possible.

Before the fandom comes at me with the torches and pitchforks, listen: The opening scenes of the show tell us about Mary and John Winchester, young parents with two small sons, Dean and baby Sam. This is in 1983, in suburban Kansas. One night, while getting the kids to bed, a strange, sudden, possibly mystical/demonic/evil fire erupts in the house, and Mary is killed. Of course, the fire department and police arrive, and the audience can tell the official story will be that the fire started, the parents tried to get the kids out first, and unfortunately Mary didn’t make it afterwards.

The canon states that after this tragedy, John immediately takes up hunting, dragging his sons across the country, sleeping in cheap motels, and somehow raising them in the back of a 1967 Impala, with the occasional help of fellow hunters or members of the clergy who know about the supernatural. In 2005, we were all excited about this. It sounded new, cool, intriguing, and just a little scary.

Isn’t it a shame, then, that, with about two minutes’ of thought in retrospect — it all falls apart. If this was truly in 1983…there is simply no way this happens. Dean was about 4 years old and Sam was an infant when Mary died. You can’t travel like this with such small children in a society where Sam and Dean would’ve needed regular pediatrician visits and school and other kids to play with and a consistent address. The entire backstory of the premise can’t have taken place.

So, what’s the more plausible headcanon? Since it takes several seasons to lay down family roots for Mary or John, and grandparents or aunts and uncles, or any sort of extended family, aren’t even mentioned for quite a while in the script, this moth is left to craft the following narrative: Without the fourth wall knowledge that Mary’s family, the Campbells, were, in fact, hunters, how would John ever have figured out it was a demon who killed his wife? And we’re not even told that until season 6 — which is pretty bloody late to be changing universe lore, in my opinion. And the Men of Letters, the heritage on John’s side, is brought in even later, in season 8.

Hence, I present this much more solid foundation: Hunters would have heard about Mary’s death and determined it worth investigating. While John was staying with neighbors, or temporarily in a cheap motel, trying to put his life back together, somebody would’ve come around Lawrence, Kansas, asking John plenty of odd questions hinting at paranormal involvement. For the sake of cementing future plotlines, let’s say it was Bobby (we never are told how he met John, and Sioux Falls, South Dakota is pretty close to Kansas, certainly a reasonable driving distance). Bobby never would’ve let two motherless kids just be thrown to the winds, if there was anything he could do about it; so it makes all the sense that Bobby would offer John a job in the junkyard, while training in hunter ways, and they could find a nanny or nurse for the boys. A backstory like this explains how John got into hunting, made his connections, and it allows for the cold, hard facts that children need homecooked meals and constant school enrollment so social workers don’t get called.

After giving poor young Dean and Sam a plausible start in life — one which would allow them grace and compassion for their father, rather than the absolute trauma-inducing dumpster fire upbringing presented in the canon (and that’s always bothered me) — getting spoonfed the notion that John taught the boys to hunt ghosts and monsters is much more palatable. It also sets the stage perfectly for the boys’ separate personalities: Dean was just old enough to remember Mary, and wants to help his dad avenge her; Sam wanting to go away to college and become his own man is the result of someone raised by a nanny or a nurse and a family friend, and sees John as an absentee father who was always chasing his own vendetta.

Now, even for all my grouching on the overall trajectory of the early seasons (Meg #1 and the Yellow-Eyed Demon still make me gag, sorry-not-sorry), some of those episodes remain among my favorites. Some of the monster stories are just great (the Woman in White in the pilot is chilling to this day). The story guest-starring Tricia Helfer as a wayward spirit is terrifying and still provides a lovely and warm closing. The show’s first werewolf episode, “Heart,” stands on its own for the genre and in televised entertainment as a whole. Watching the bond grow between Bobby and the boys is what always keeps us coming back.

But… Well, if we were in that parallel dimension where the network wasn’t breathing down people’s necks with ridiculous deadlines, and writers were allowed a bit more time to cook, and I could transplant myself into the position of being a showrunner on Supernatural, then I’d axe a good chunk of those early episodes. Basically, 75% of seasons 2-5 would be on the chopping block.

Compared to other shows I really enjoyed in the 2010s — like Warehouse 13 and The Librarians — Supernatural quickly feels…stale and repetitive before season 6. Despite the absolutely amazing Castiel and the completely captivating Crowley, many things about the apocalypse (surprisingly) drags. The angels-versus-demons take is unique, doesn’t feel preachy, purely exploring the human condition — certainly fresh for the subject matter — and yet, I quickly lose interest. I’ve heard — through that dangerous tool of the internet — that I’m not alone.

Which is why I was relieved to be able to admit that I was SO happy about the introduction of the Men of Letters plotline.

To me, the Men of Letters is where the story should have started. When the boys find out their paternal grandfather belonged to this organization that invented cataloging the lore — basically Bobby’s library would’ve been empty without these guys — it all feels just right. The bunker seems to simply mold to their personalities and routine and motives. Abaddon is the first true badass enemy since Lucifer. The idea of the Demon and the Angel Tablets is what was missing from previous Biblical-themed arcs. Castiel’s back, Crowley’s back, and they have new subplots, new motivations, and new alliances.

Which is why it hurts my heart so much to have to admit this next stage of the show lacks in one major way: the side characters.

The fact Bobby isn’t around to join them in the bunker is a travesty. Ben and Lisa being dropped is…not cool, in my eyes. Killing off Jo and Ellen and Rufus probably wasn’t a smart move by the armageddon-era crew. We needed more Garth, not less. Jody Mills deserved a lot of additional screen time (and better plots). And, personally, I loved Benny, and to this day want more than a few appearances from him.

Whereas I really liked Ruby #1 (but not #2, and watching the boys kill her was intensely satisfying), Meg #2 (her sense of humor and bond with Cas always hit), loved to hate Bela, found Balthazar to be a good blend of comic relief and learning what honor really means, enjoyed when Gabriel was the Trickster, and even Chuck was entertaining at first. But Kevin didn’t do it for me, Frank was meh, Becky was just a silly addition, and Charlie Bradbury makes my list of top 10 most annoying sidekicks.

And this is where the show starts to feel even more like a spinoff of itself. We barely hear anymore about Mary, or Jessica (yeah, remember, Sam’s girlfriend killed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon?); it seems nobody recalls Lucifer’s in the Cage (until it comes out of nowhere in season 11 — mostly because of The Darkness {hahaha, The Darkness}); the notion that Sam was supposed to go to law school totally disappears for, like, 7 years.

When we reach Sam-about-to-close-the-gates-of-Hell at the end of season 8 — I mean, those scenes are astounding… However…when Sam asks Dean, “What should I ask forgiveness for?”, and he means the specifics, and Dean says, “I’d start with Ruby…” I went, What, we suddenly remember Ruby and Lilith now? And it hit me just how we’d strayed from the origins. We literally went from Sam drinks demon blood and has telekinetic powers to…he’s considered the more pure of the brothers, the better to complete the Trials. And on the one hand, yes — because Dean was the womanizer, he made how many demon deals? (like, four?), he often lied and went behind Sam’s back. But…Dean was also chosen to be Michael’s vessel, whereas Sam was deemed perfect as Lucifer’s. And early on, with the demon blood, and Ruby, and opening the Seals, yes, that paints Sam as the black sheep. But, after getting his soul back, he does nothing but try to achieve redemption. And after Lisa and Ben are out of the picture, Dean seems to be back to one-night stands and indiscriminately killing anything that bleeds.

However…that’s also how we like our boys. Sam is the more intellectual, the more scholarly, the more naturally sensitive. Dean is the tough guy, not who you’d bring home to your parents, but who you’d absolutely want in the foxhole with you.

By the time we start season 9, there’s a real concrete sense of what we’re here for, and the show does seem to become almost fourth-wall-ish aware of this. We want the boys, hunting together, and if they have a fight, for it to be about a real, solid reason, that still won’t pull them apart forever. We want Cas, strong and powerful, and naive and wonderfully genuine. We want Bobby’s influence and love stamped on every decision they make. We want Crowley to be snarky and clever and the King of Hell. We want the stakes high, but conquerable, and we need some dad jokes and innuendos served up with a decent dose of monster guts.

Oh, and don’t you dare forget the classic rock.

So much of seasons 9 and 10 deliver across the board for me. It’s my favorite incarnation of Cas, of Crowley; Rowena is just a fantastic villain; the whole Cain arc stuns me to this day. “Brother’s Keeper” is, in my opinion, one of the best season finales of the show, and the last 5 minutes makes me cry every time. Even though “the musical episode” is the one most fans of any program consider worth skipping, “Fan Fiction” is beloved among the Supernatural audience, and with very good reason. It weaves in the reality of dropped storylines and forgotten sidebars with all the true heart of the boys in the Impala trying to save the world, and gives Sam and Dean a slightly different perspective on their lives.

Unfortunately, for me, it really takes a (massive) tumble downhill after season 11. 12 almost did me in, and I caught up on a lot of 13, 14, and 15 via the Wiki. The Darkness was, I felt, a laughable villain; letting Lucifer out of the Cage was just foolish; Jack’s whole storyline felt like a copy-and-paste of Cas’ early arc; the alternate universe (and everybody dead being alive, gah!) was not my jam; and the British Men of Letters being plonkers really rubbed me the wrong way.

(And do not get me started on Chuck turning out to be God.)

By the later years, the show was suffering from having become the victim of its own tropes. (“How many times have you two died?!” Amen!) It was like whenever the writers got stuck, they’d have an intern rifle through past scripts and throw ideas in a hat. What should we do this week? Well, we brought somebody back from the dead already, so… Okay, we’ll suggest a side character can’t be trusted. After that? How about a wish that temporarily changes the present reality? Cursed object that makes someone not act like themselves for a day? Any chance we can work in one more time travel bit? Find a character to have some serious family conflict, quick!

Honestly, I didn’t even watch the episode with the wish that brought John back, because I was too worried it would absolutely ruin everything that had come before. As terrific a grouping as Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki is, part of what made it magic for the show was the notion that it’s past. John dying so early into the boys’ finding their feet as hunters was the driving force behind so much of their character arcs. The story needs John and Mary to be dead. Not that I support the “the parents are always kicking the bucket” trope in fantasy, but in this case, it’s one of the major cornerstones.

So, if I got my wish and had the chance to be the ultimate moth editor, what would my ending look like? I actually mentioned it once in a previous post (approximately six and a half eons ago, so please don’t ask me to find it now), and I believe it solidly works. At the end of season 10 (yeeesss), instead of introducing “The Darkness” (woooooo, I’m so not scared), Death could have agreed to kill Dean — to stop history repeating itself in the Cain-and-Abel way. And this happened just before Rowena completed the spell to break the curse on the Mark, so when she released that magic into the ether, Death’s erasing the Mark’s existence (with Dean’s death) would have created such a strong blowback to Rowena’s spell, it would’ve basically exploded the witch. (Now that’s a banger exit scene!)

Instead of closing up the bunker, Sam would have found other legacies and hunters to train as new Men of Letters; and now he and Crowley would have had a very firm agreement about what demons are allowed to do. And it would have been revealed that Castiel was, in fact, God.

Before the premiere of season 11, I read a Buzzfeed article exploring the various speculations among the fandom about the identity of God (since there were hints given at Comic Con that year that this would finally be shared with viewers in the near future). It was a very comprehensive look at all the theories; and one of them was that Castiel was, actually, the Lord of Heaven, but he’d made himself forget that fact, to protect himself and his ultimate plans from being hijacked by Lucifer, or one of the other angels.

It was a really well thought-out, interesting theory that made a lot of sense. It took into account how Cas was able to rescue Dean from Hell at the start of season 4, how he was strong enough to send Dean through time, defeat the Archangels almost singlehandedly, and why gathering the power of the souls from Purgatory was so important in season 6. (The whole point of that exercise was to amp Cas up enough to gain celestial levels of energy, and be capable of putting down the angel rebellions/in-fighting and restore balance/control in Heaven. Death hinted to Dean that only he and God knew this was even a thing.) The part of Cas’ arc when he Fell and was human for a while, and then when he lost his mind, are also big nods to plenty of world theology/folklore around gods having to live among/as the mortals, or questioning their own sanity in the face of being divine.

I easily got on board this train of mullings; it connected a bunch of dots and ironed out several of the kinks in the show’s framework. I got really excited for the possibility that these fans might be even a little close.

Not that I think you should let fans dominate your ultimate writing plans, but, in this case…taking some direction from the audience would have greatly improved certain things.

(Sighs loudly in the background. Fricking Chuck. Chuck, seriously, folks?)

So, at the end of it all, despite being disappointed by the final episodes, what keeps me coming back to Supernatural?

So many things. Of course, the boys, their bonds, the friendships, Bobby, the Impala, the enemies-to-allies like Crowley and Rowena, the jokes, the great one-liners, the quotes that practically meme themselves. The satisfaction of “doing a little bad so you can do a lot of good”; the tears that flow freely when that gunshot goes off to the background of “Silent Lucidity”; the lump that forms in my throat as Cain gives Dean the Mark and tells the elder brother, “When I call for you, come find me.” Cas announcing, “I’ll interrogate the cat,” or saying so calmly to a self-professed atheist, “I’m an angel of the Lord.” The precious reminder that “family don’t end in blood.”

And totally the fact that I used to sing the theme from The Greatest American Hero as a lullaby to my children; so when human Castiel does so to baby Tanya (S9 E6, “Heaven Can’t Wait”), I will take credit for that idea, please and thank you.

Although 15 years still feels way too long, there is so much good that came out of this show. Some stuff we’ll happily forget about, or pass over. But there’s also tons we’ll eagerly return to, share with others, discuss into the wee hours of the night. This production was comprised of a wonderful, dedicated, hardworking cast and crew, and none of them should be dismissed or forgotten too soon. (Well, maybe the Ghostfacers. And The Darkness. And Becky. And Chuck.)

Despite my undisguised disdain for particular arcs or seasons, the program has fed so many pieces into my everyday life. When I start a comment to the hosts of the We Have Issues podcast, “Hello, boys,” that’s my Crowley line. Bits of the King of Hell, Sam Winchester, Castiel, and the Men of Letters are there to be found in my own fantasy series. If I’m having one of those days where everything goes wrong, eventually you’ll hear me holler, “Son of a bitch!” in that tone.

So, hopefully you’ve reached the conclusion of this post without shaving 15 years off your life. Thank you for coming to my TED talk, because, holy cow, that’s definitely what this was. I hope I haven’t upset anybody too much with my unpopular opinions (ha ha), and that reading this has been worth the whole pot of tea and whole box of cookies. Have a great week, everyone!