Dexter - fic
Title: The road kill
Characters: Dexter - Dexter/Harry
Summary: Dexter POV, hopefully exploring how it could work out at some point of his life.
Thank you a million times to levitatethis for the help, the beta and to be honest your general awesomeness. I tried to get back to the story once you sent it back but somehow I felt like I couldn't add anything else. I just need to work on my patience...!
I'm not sure about this one being a one-shot really. I'm quite haunted at the moment but I'm not sure yet.
I just hope it makes sense.
Please, any constructive comment is very welcome, I really hope I get him quite right, the guy is...not the easiest guy to deal with, but fascinating to a certain extent. I'm curious about this part of his life, I'm really wondering how it would work out...I'm afraid of it as well, which proves how clever and well-written is the show.
The atmosphere is cold and strangely suffocating.
It’s a tiny space. The chairs are not what can be considered comfortable, not that they are expected to be, and while nobody says a word, it’s clear that everyone is aware of the weirdness of the moment.
Everyone must be here for a reason and Dexter can feel everyone’s glare, even through his father’s protective body beside him.
The tension is palpable yet hard to put into words. It’s something he never experienced before and it’s as if the tiny little space is becoming tinier by the second. The air is suffocating and time seems to flow differently in here, although he can’t say how.
Tiny little drops are falling on his hand. It’s quite unusual for Dexter, emotions rarely come out, so he quickly pulls his hand away, forcing any traces of anxiety to disappear.
He is better than that.
He shakes his head in an attempt to chase away the crushing weight of expectations but it doesn’t work that way. The place is too tiny and the walls keep moving in making escape futile. He’s trapped. It’s stifling in here.
Everyone is still looking at him…or are they?
Maybe he imagines their glares because his presence here has nothing to do with the man behind the window.
He knows what he’s doing here.
His darkness is telling the story. It’s beyond his control. That’s why his father insisted on bringing him here and as much as he would have preferred to decline the offer, it was never really his choice to make. He understands now that the light coming from his deepest and darkest instincts is infiltrating the place.
Somehow he belongs here.
His father’s hand on his shoulder is soothing and finally allows him to relax a bit, making him realize he was holding his breath for too long.
“Open your eyes”
He doesn’t remember when he closed them.
“Son, open your eyes,” whispers Harry, squeezing his shoulder affectionately.
“I know,” says Dexter slowly, finally looking up at his father with the big and haunted eyes Harry knows too well.
Harry smiles at him, a small smile that says more than any words in this situation. There are no right words for this lesson, Dexter only has to see.
“I know,” repeats Dexter carefully, softer this time so as not to draw attention “this is where I belong”
“Dexter…”
He lowers his head and refuses to look up at his father any longer, because he can see in his eyes that he’s right. That Harry can’t pretend otherwise even if wanted to desperately hide the horror with carefully chosen words.
But how could he? He’s supposed to be one of the guardians of the law, sacred rules upon which a society is built. He promised once to protect these rules, to make sure people respected them. He promised.
Once.
“I know what you’re doing for me,” smiles Dexter shyly. “I know and I’m grateful…but somehow I belong here, I belong to that chair, don’t I?”
“That’s why the first rule of the code is ‘never get caught’ son, never forget that. Never”
“Never,” says Dexter out loud to himself, his voice slightly trailing off.
“Never,” he repeats with a curious devious smile on his lips, his eyes lost, his head spinning around, unable to focus anymore on what he’s doing.
“Not now dad,” he yells suddenly taking his head into his hands as if he could force himself to really focus on what has to be done.
A painful groan reminds him that he’s not alone. Someone is waiting to be taken care of.
Forget Harry, focus, focus.
His eyes meet his victim, waiting for mercy.
It’s the first time that this word crosses his mind, he had never pictured this situation like that before and it might sound wrong to qualify what he does as an act of mercy. Killing was never that to him. He’s not sure he can think of it that way now, not that it matters anyway.
He locks his eyes on his victim and tries to force Harry at bay.
He cocks his head to the side and stares at the victim. The man is not moving anymore. He’s seen the truth and accepted what’s going to happen. It’s difficult to deny the inevitable when one is trapped, tied up and wrapped up in plastic, like a fucking morbid gift to god. He knows he’s just a body on this table, he has lost control and he cannot turn his back on his fate anymore. He can see it. He can almost smell it. It’s strange and quite unrealistic at the same time. But his eyes are not lying, they are filled with fear.
Dexter is connected now. He’s connected to another human being and it feels right. They’ve both accepted their fate at this point, in different ways, yet much the same. At the moment they are quite alike, except for the fear. Fear is Dexter’s companion. He feels its power, thrives in its control, he exists. Intoxicated by the moment, he is reminded him why his dark passenger keeps calling him back.
He needs it.
Others need chocolate, they say it’s comforting. Good for them.
“Chocolate is good, I wish you would have craved chocolate,” sighs Harry.
“I crave blood,” states Dexter out loud.
He closes his eyes again.
Lately Harry appears far too much to him, it’s like a mid life crisis. And like any other man trapped in an identity crisis, he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He can’t exactly say to his dad’s ghost to fuck off.
It makes him human to a certain extent he supposes.
“Not now dad,” says Dexter keeping his eyes closed. “I need this.”
Fear is calling him back to the moment. He needs to feel the adrenaline again. The juice. He craves the body rush.
Death is a funny companion to play with.
No fuck up is allowed. It’s a one way ticket to hell guaranteed otherwise. Even if he’s never been a good catholic boy, there are always beliefs the collective conscience likes to keep alive to slap you in the face when you least expect them. The truth is Dexter wishes he could just ignore them but for some obscure reasons he can’t. Some things are just there.
Like the code.
It’s always there. He experiences it every time he stands beside that table. He follows it, the closes thing to his Bible. And there’s no escape. He has to go on for now. He just needs to live this moment again even if his attempt to stick by the rules remains in vain.
He’s been a pretty good boy in his mind.
“Open your eyes son, look at him.”
The fear again.
Dexter looks at the man behind the window and he only sees fear.
“He’s afraid,” states Dexter expressionless.
“Yes he is. He’s going to die”
“Will I be like that? Will I be afraid?” whispers Dexter to his dad.
Harry puts an arm around his son’s shoulders and pulls him into a soft embrace.
“Follow the code, always. I pray that you won’t have to find out.”
“Back off. Dad, just leave me,” chokes Dexter once more, now slightly trembling. “Just back the fuck off.”
He stands up quickly, shaking his head in his hands vigorously to make Harry go the fuck away. His eyes closed tightly because as much as he needs this world, needs to hold onto it, he doesn’t want his dad there, not right now. Slowly he stops shaking his head and lets his arms fall, dangling helplessly. He knows he’s losing this battle but what can he do then?
“I just need this moment,” he whispers to himself.
“It’s gone Dex.”
Harry.
Fucking Harry Morgan.
Dad.
Of course he would not leave now.
“I miss the adrenaline of the hunt.”
“It’s gone. You are just like this man Dex. You are trapped.”
“How fucking ironic,” says Dexter quietly. “I still crave blood, I always did. Blood is my life, my job, my hobby. Blood is everything to me and without it…I’m nothing. I’m already dead.”
“I wish you would have craved chocolate son,” says Harry sadly.
“Sorry, dad, I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“I don’t Dex.”
He is thankful for that.
When he opens his eyes again, he only sees bars at the window in front of him.
It’s cold here. He shivers and sighs slowly. It’s nearly time to go. It all flows strangely here but he knows the clock is always ticking down.
He is where he belongs.
He’s just thankful that Harry never had to see him here.