Endings are hard.

No matter what the circumstances – happy, heartbreaking, or anywhere in between – it is always difficult to say goodbye to something that’s been a part of your life for years, possibly even decades.

There are a lot of endings happening in my life right now. Just last month, I watched with a pang as James Holzhauer, who’d become a comforting Jeopardy! staple, finally lost to a fellow competitor. Less than a week later, I sat in a crowd of over a thousand people, a huge smile stretching my face as my oldest nephew graduated high school with honors. (A happy ending for sure!)

Sometimes we choose for things to end – like when we quit a horrible, soul-sucking job that was putting us on the fast track to Ulcer-ville. Other times, life makes the choice for us, like when fate snatches away a family member, or a beloved pet leaves us for good.

As I was walking out of Avengers: Endgame, I was thinking about the kind of endings we experience as fans of TV series, books, and movies. More specifically, I was thinking about what obligations the writers of a popular, well-loved franchise have to their fans.

As I left the dark theatre, cool air conditioning, and popcorn-scented air behind me following Endgame, my chest felt hollow – empty. Certainly not the way I wanted to feel after being a loyal Iron Man and Avengers fan for years.

I began to wonder: If I had been writing the story, what would I have done differently? If I’m ever lucky enough to have a series even half as well-loved as Avengers or Harry Potter or Game of Thrones, how do I want my fans to feel at the very end of it all?

In a word: happy.

I want people to close that last book with huge grins on their faces. I want fans to not walk but skip through that parking lot outside the theatre with their hearts full of hope. I want readers and viewers alike to feel satisfied, like the journey we took together led up to something wonderful. Something that tied up all the loose ends. Something that was every bit worth the wait.

With the 15th and final season of Supernatural looming, I’m trying not to think too much about the end and how hard it’s going to be. Avengers: Endgame may have broken my poor, Iron Man-loving heart, but Supernatural has the power to do even worse. The Supernatural writers could crush our souls as easily as Thanos could snap his fingers.

Let’s be honest: losing Supernatural is going to be devastating no matter what happens on our screens in the final moments. There’s no changing that. For me, it will mean saying goodbye to characters who were with me when my mom was in the hospital, seriously ill, and the doctors didn’t even know what was wrong with her.

These are characters I would quote to myself when I was scared or lonely or just plain sad. Characters who’ve made me burst out laughing and ugly cry (sometimes in the same episode!). Sam, Dean, Cass, Jack, Mary, John, Bobby – these people are real to me. They are family.

So, in this time of endings, I implore the Supernatural writers: be gentle. Most fans will be hanging by the thinnest of emotional threads as it is, so please don’t make it worse than it has to be. Don’t pull an Avengers: Endgame. Instead of dropping your fans’ hearts into an industrial-sized meat grinder, reward us for staying with you ’til the very end.

The finale doesn’t have to be some sappy, Log Cabin syrup-fest – that type of ending wouldn’t fit the show, anyway. But it should give some sense of hope…because that does fit the show.

No matter how bleak things got, as long as Sam and Dean still had each other, then there was always a chance. Leave us with that feeling. Leave Sam and Dean alive, and let us imagine that their next adventure is right around the corner, even if we won’t get to see it.

Please, please don’t break our hearts.

There’s enough of that in the real world.