( there are certain chapters of dean's life that he's never properly put to rest, left buried for years, always on the verge of having them come back to haunt him. (others will haunt him until the day he dies; torturing souls in hell isn't something you just get over, though it's certainly gotten easier to compartmentalize as the years have passed.) he's made more mistakes than he can count, has mountains full of regrets, carries all that baggage with him every day. so it seems inevitable that the ghosts of his past will one day need salt and burning like everything else — and when it comes to his past relationships, well. he's burned those bridges, but never the memories. he's never let himself forget, or forgive, because it serves as a reminder that he isn't built for being a couple. he scarcely ever thinks he deserves happiness at all, in whatever form it might take.
that, and healthy communication has never been one of dean's strong suits, so to find himself having a conversation about his exes with bev is ... new. it's not like talking with sam, who knows him better than he knows himself, but dean has to admit she's just as good at calling him out on his bullshit. she can tell almost as well as his brother when he's holding something back, when something's bothering him — when there's something he doesn't want to talk about without a little gentle nudging. because, sometimes, he needs to talk about things, but he's always been too proud to have those conversations. with sam, they usually turn into arguments, dean always playing the big brother card and sam inevitably relenting until they blow up at each other. (admittedly, they've gotten better at talking to each other, being more honest, but there's still a decade or so of baggage they've never even touched because neither of them wants to dig up old trauma if they can avoid it.)
but bev hasn't been there for most of his life, is coming into it at a relatively good time. she's an outsider, so of course he feels like he owes her at least a little bit of context. he can be mad at sam all he likes for opening this particular can of worms, but, in a way, it's a little like ripping off a bandaid. he was gonna have to air this out eventually — he's heard the horror stories of bev's marriage; she deserves to hear about the only other serious relationship he's ever had in his life, deserves to know why this, them, might not work. why it's gonna be hard work if they really want to try. but he thinks he might be willing to if, after everything, she's still all in.
they're sharing drinks in one of the library's nooks late one evening, sam having retired to his own room for the night. he's not even sure how they got to this particular subject — how three words (who was she?) have unearthed the bones of something he buried a long time ago — just that there's no real backing out of it now. he considers saying none of your business, but it doesn't quite feel right. he respects her enough to tell her the truth. )
Lisa. ( he hasn't said her name since he threatened to break sam's nose if he ever mentioned her or ben again. hasn't said it since the last time he last saw her, lying in that hospital bed, ben scared and confused at her side. he remembers asking cas for a favor, how much it ate him up inside to know he had to let her go, and that was the only way to do it. he had to keep her safe, and that meant cutting himself out of her life entirely. out of her memory. i'm dean. i'm the guy who hit you. sometimes he wonders if their life did get back to normal after that. sometimes he wonders how they're doing. but he can't afford to let himself dwell too long on it, or go chasing after what could have been. ) Her name was Lisa. We were together for about a year. It wasn't ... a good time for me.
( he takes a sip of whiskey. he hasn't even told mary most of this story. even as he tells it, he's staring mostly at the whiskey in his glass, and there's a vulnerability to his voice that might come as a surprise. )
Sam was in Hell, trapped with Michael and Lucifer. Every night I'd have nightmares, wake up screaming, must've drank myself half to death a dozen times at the beginning, but she stuck with me through all of it and I did my best to keep her safe. Her and her boy, Ben. ( something nostalgic, melancholy, settles into the curve of his mouth. ) I loved that kid. Taught him everything I could. Got a job working construction, tried to — be normal. For a while, it was like living a Dolly Parton song. I found some kinda balance. I might've even been happy for a stretch. ( he huffs dryly. ) As happy as a guy can get when he knows his brother's being tortured in the Pit the whole time. ( he takes a breath, exhales slowly. ) But I made a promise to Sam I'd quit the life, that I'd get out if I could. That whole year I kept that promise and it was almost good. The thing is, the life never really lets you quit for long. Eventually, it caught up to us.
( he finally glances over to bev, trying to gauge her reaction. there's clearly more to the story by the way he looks at her, eyes heavy with sorrow, but he's leaving it up to her if she wants to hear the rest. winchesters don't get happy endings. )
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that, and healthy communication has never been one of dean's strong suits, so to find himself having a conversation about his exes with bev is ... new. it's not like talking with sam, who knows him better than he knows himself, but dean has to admit she's just as good at calling him out on his bullshit. she can tell almost as well as his brother when he's holding something back, when something's bothering him — when there's something he doesn't want to talk about without a little gentle nudging. because, sometimes, he needs to talk about things, but he's always been too proud to have those conversations. with sam, they usually turn into arguments, dean always playing the big brother card and sam inevitably relenting until they blow up at each other. (admittedly, they've gotten better at talking to each other, being more honest, but there's still a decade or so of baggage they've never even touched because neither of them wants to dig up old trauma if they can avoid it.)
but bev hasn't been there for most of his life, is coming into it at a relatively good time. she's an outsider, so of course he feels like he owes her at least a little bit of context. he can be mad at sam all he likes for opening this particular can of worms, but, in a way, it's a little like ripping off a bandaid. he was gonna have to air this out eventually — he's heard the horror stories of bev's marriage; she deserves to hear about the only other serious relationship he's ever had in his life, deserves to know why this, them, might not work. why it's gonna be hard work if they really want to try. but he thinks he might be willing to if, after everything, she's still all in.
they're sharing drinks in one of the library's nooks late one evening, sam having retired to his own room for the night. he's not even sure how they got to this particular subject — how three words (who was she?) have unearthed the bones of something he buried a long time ago — just that there's no real backing out of it now. he considers saying none of your business, but it doesn't quite feel right. he respects her enough to tell her the truth. )
Lisa. ( he hasn't said her name since he threatened to break sam's nose if he ever mentioned her or ben again. hasn't said it since the last time he last saw her, lying in that hospital bed, ben scared and confused at her side. he remembers asking cas for a favor, how much it ate him up inside to know he had to let her go, and that was the only way to do it. he had to keep her safe, and that meant cutting himself out of her life entirely. out of her memory. i'm dean. i'm the guy who hit you. sometimes he wonders if their life did get back to normal after that. sometimes he wonders how they're doing. but he can't afford to let himself dwell too long on it, or go chasing after what could have been. ) Her name was Lisa. We were together for about a year. It wasn't ... a good time for me.
( he takes a sip of whiskey. he hasn't even told mary most of this story. even as he tells it, he's staring mostly at the whiskey in his glass, and there's a vulnerability to his voice that might come as a surprise. )
Sam was in Hell, trapped with Michael and Lucifer. Every night I'd have nightmares, wake up screaming, must've drank myself half to death a dozen times at the beginning, but she stuck with me through all of it and I did my best to keep her safe. Her and her boy, Ben. ( something nostalgic, melancholy, settles into the curve of his mouth. ) I loved that kid. Taught him everything I could. Got a job working construction, tried to — be normal. For a while, it was like living a Dolly Parton song. I found some kinda balance. I might've even been happy for a stretch. ( he huffs dryly. ) As happy as a guy can get when he knows his brother's being tortured in the Pit the whole time. ( he takes a breath, exhales slowly. ) But I made a promise to Sam I'd quit the life, that I'd get out if I could. That whole year I kept that promise and it was almost good. The thing is, the life never really lets you quit for long. Eventually, it caught up to us.
( he finally glances over to bev, trying to gauge her reaction. there's clearly more to the story by the way he looks at her, eyes heavy with sorrow, but he's leaving it up to her if she wants to hear the rest. winchesters don't get happy endings. )