a/n: I'm going to try and do another Dextural fic, hopefully this will be better than my last and contain more Dean (of whom I love) along with Dexter, it will be in his POV. The "Supernatural" in this fic will be alternate. As in Dean is not a hunter and that will be explained somewhere along the lines. No relation to my other fic "Passengers".

Summary: Dexter is haunted by a mistake that will change his life for better or worse.

Over My Shoulder

I took the camera from eye, finished with the photo's for now. There wasn't much blood at this scene, a home-invasion in Miami wasn't that uncommon, and it would seem that the owner of this current condo thought the same thing- a gun in the top drawer of his nightstand. It would seem that the thief picked the wrong house, did it on the spur of the moment- I never got that feeling. If the thief had wanted to do the job right, then he would have watched and waited, gathering the proper Intel before moving in. That was not the case, the front window was smashed, lamps knocked over, tables overturned, though that seemed the extent of the damage to the property as the owner had heard the commotion and come down that stairs armed. A few shot had been fired, admittedly not with any real control.

I heard a snort behind me, but ignored it.

One had hit it-

"Obviously," the owner of the snort commented rudely.

I didn't acknowledge him.

But it hadn't been enough to stop the thief, a trail of blood created a path of his escape through the back door, and over the back fence. That was where the blood smears were, after he touched his wound before grasping the edge of the fence.

"You know," he said again. "If you wanna play, then so can I."

I took a breath, my shoulders feeling tense.

"I'm sure Harrison wants to play."

Now I turned around to him. The current hallway where I was occupying- or should I say we- were occupying was empty of any officers-

"What are you so worried about?" he asked me. "It's not like they can see me."

It was true, of course. He was dead, I'd made plenty sure of that. Him being there was one thing, but talking to him would just draw attention to me, something that could never happen if I was to continue my life's work, blood spatter was just my hobby and source of in-come.

He scoffed, "Dude, don't get ahead of yourself, murder's your hobby, not the other way around."

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't you ever be quiet?"

"Say my name." he crossed his arms over his chest.

I breathed deeply a couple of times; in through my nose, out my mouth. I could feel the Dark Passenger inside me stir, as it always seemed to do when he showed up, which was nearly every minute of every day since that day.

"Dean," I nearly growled through my teeth.

He smirked a charming smirk at me, the one that I always lay on others. "Was that so hard?" he said before he vanished from sight.

Dean Winchester, that was him. Handsome and charming, a con artists. He was the only kill of mine that was a mistake. The Dark Passenger had been... emotional for Dean. So eager to have his blood on my hands that there was no time for waiting and there was no time for watching- no time to figure whether Dean Winchester was right for this, whether he was guilty- if what was in the system was the truth or just jabber. The Dark Passenger didn't have time for that, he wanted Dean like nothing I'd felt before. And so he ended up on my table, it was afterward, as I was discarding his body parts in my dump zone, that I found who he was.

Dean Winchester; witnessed his brother and mother's death at the age of four. His father a former marine with a dishonourable discharge in his pocket, drunken and abusive. Dean's schooling records were all over the place, didn't graduate high school, but passed the GED with flying colours, moved around so many places that I'd lost count. Then he disappeared off the grid when he father died, finally able to escape. The only times he showed up was when he was put in the system after being caught on the scene of murder after murder. He was a suspect, but the cops could never pin anything on him. But when he left town, the murders stopped and it wasn't a wonder how anyone with a cell in their brain thought that he was the murderer. Hell, even I did. The Dark passenger couldn't have given two bloody cuts whether it was true or not.

And then Dean arrived in Miami, murders arise. I dive in. Too quick. Against my will and against the Code. Because it turned out that Dean was like me, but with a soul- damaged as it was. He saved the innocent by killing the naught.

That was nearly a year ago, that he was on my table, on my boat and in my water and now he was at my side. My one regret and I was being haunted by it. I want to say that having him there doesn't bother me, but after everything in my entire life- it's the one thing that does. He might be a chatter box, he doesn't hold back when he wants to be noticed. Unintentionally, over the past year, I have gotten to 'know' him, whatever that really meant. When he was around, it didn't seem like he was there to try and guilt trip me for my mistake- though at times that was exactly what he was doing, trying to get a rise out of me- but he hung around because he had a fear, even after death. Something that I didn't get, but he had the fear of being left alone- well, not that exactly, more like abandoned. Which was confusing because since the age of nineteen, he'd been alone; no girlfriend, no wife, no kids, no pets, no nothing. Even I have those things, or at least I did; I couldn't do animals, they just didn't like me, I had Rita, but lost her, but I gained Harrison, my son.

And it seemed that I wasn't the only one who could see Dean, because Harrison saw him too. Dean wasn't a threat, and he did spend time with Harrison, though it was something that I disliked. I could tell that Dean was like me when it came to kids, but that was beside the point. He was still someone on my table, and if I'd learned anything, it was that Dean was a tad bipolar.

I closed my eyes for a brief moment and opened them again, I had gotten all that I had needed from the blood. It held no interest for me, there was no mystery to this, Dean had been right, it was obvious. I packed up my things and left the condo, giving a nod to the officer by the door as I left.

I was only in my office for barely an hour; typed my report, ran the blood. I printed out the results as well as the photo's that were taken. I put it all in a new folder and shut down my computer, I would hand this to Deb and I'd be off for the rest of the day unless another crime involving blood came about.

I came to her office and knocked on her door frame, making her aware of my presence. She gave me a relieved grin, I saw her blowing out a bored breath just before I came. She was bored. I waved the folder at her.

Her eyes widened in excitement like a kid with sparklers on her birthday cake, with her new promotion, she never got out anymore, that meant more dear old Deborah from me.

"Anything good?" she asked.

I shook my head as I handed her the folder. "Breaking and entering, homeowner shot the thief."

"Body?" she asked, perking up.

"No. Judging by what little blood there was, they were shot in the arm; nothing major."

"Fuck. And hits?" she opened the folder, flicking through the two pages and six pictures that were there.

Again I shook my head. "None. But our thief's male, Caucasian."

"That's it?" she asked, snapping the folder shut.

My silence was her answer.

"I dying, Dex." Deb said suddenly, though not so much; I'm sure that I hear this at least twice a day. But I let her vent, I'm her brother after all. "I'm withering behind this desk, buried in boring paperwork. I get to sign off on this cases and can't do shit."

"It comes with the promotion," I tell her. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

She glares at me. "Yes, it's what I wanted." she growled.

"Then suck it up, sis."

"Fuck you," she tells me.

I just smile. "So who's the lead on this case?"

"Detective Hess,"

I nod, the name sounds familiar, but I can't quiet place a face to it. But I don't tell her this, it's not as if I care either way, just practiced conversation is all.

"I'm going to head out, relieve Jamie of Harrison." I say.

"Have fun," she says, but her voice is anything but as she sinks in her chair.

"You too," I tell her as I leave and she sends me a face.

The car ride home is quiet, I leave the radio off and let the sounds of the Miami afternoon traffic hit me.

"I'm back," I call as I open the door.

"Your home early," Jamie says as she comes around the corner, Harrison in her arms.

"Yeah," I smile at her and Harrison as I set my beg down and go over to them. I ruffle his hair and he smiles, happy as only a baby can be. "Hey, buddy." I took him from her arms and settle him on my hip.

"You gonna need anything?" Jamie asked as she gathered her things.

"We're okay." I tell her.

"He's already had a bath today," she told me as she said goodbye to Harrison.

I nod. "I'll call if I need anything," I assure her.

"I'll see you later," she closed the door.

"'Kay," I smile down at Harrison. I go over to his little play area in the living room, and get out his cars. He likes to push them and I think he's quite fond. I smile down at him.

I felt the Dark Passenger stir just as it always does when Dean was around.

"You're back," I stated.

"Just thought I'd visit my grandson,"

I turned at the familiar voice, "Harry,"

Harry crouched down next to me, smiling at Harrison as he pushed the car.

"What are you doing here?" I found myself asking for some reason. I quite like it when Harry visits; he'd good company and he gives me advice when I'm waiting and watching- but I'm not doing those things now. I don't think that my Dark Passenger likes Harry all that much, but it's its loss.

"Do I always visit with reason?" he asked, not taking his eyes from Harrison. For some reason Harrison could see Dean, but not Harry.

"Always," I say.

"You're right," Harry agreed, finally turning to me. "I want to discuss Dean."

Of course, I should have known. I knew that both Harry and Dean knew of the other, just as they both knew the Dark Passenger and it them, but I was sure that they never talked. But I didn't know how any of this worked, though I was sure that Harry did.

"What about him." I ask.

"Dex, you're avoiding him." Harry tells me. "That's not the way to go about it."

"What other way is there?"

"He's here for a reason," he tells me. "There's always a reason."

"Yes," I agree. "He's here to remind of the mistake that I made, one that I will never make again. No matter what the Dark Passenger wants."

Harry shook his head. "No, Dexter. Remember when I told that I wasn't going to be here forever?" I nod, but he's still. "Well, now my time has truly come."

"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling as if I'm fourteen again.

"I've helped you with you're Dark Passenger, tried to help, but I haven't been able to, not since Dean's life ended. I know you've felt the change, Dex. In yourself, the Dark Passenger."

I'm quiet, I know what he's talking about, ever since my encounter with the live-Dean, the first time that my Passenger had gone completely out of control, everything had changed. I'd barely seen Harry, and for a long while thought he was gone. With Dean here, in my ear, I haven't had time to notice. But now I have no choice but to acknowledge the fact that Dean has been more help with the Need, than Harry had been. Harry was the one that gave me the Code, that the only ones that need to end at my hands and the Dark Passenger, were the ones that deserved it. Unlike Harry, Dean was there when I watched and waited with the Passenger. When that happened, he wasn't like that mosquito in my ear, but quiet and intense. He became my silent observer as I took people to my table, something that I'd unintentionally grown used to without realization until this moment.

"Dean is the new you," my voice was quiet as I stared at Harry, noting a unusual sadness accompanied by a suprised-excitment.

Harry was watching me, a look of understanding on his face. "It may be difficult at first, but you won't even notice."

I narrowed my gaze at him, Harrison didn't notice my sudden stress or the fact that I was talking with no one. When had I started to feel things, never before have I. Not until... Dean. This was his fault, he made me screw up. He won't leave me alone, acting as if we're friends when we're not- I don't have friends. That's not how it works. Just because we have a few things in common, that was all; a horrible thing happening in our childhood, of what we did to those who deserved it. That meant nothing, I don't feel things, that's not what I am.

"You're upset, Dexter." Harry told me.

I found myself clenching my jaw as I glared at him. Why was he doing this? Forcing this on me. I don't need it, nor want it. I don't need Dean, never did, I was fine before him, he was the one screwing this up, my rhythm. The perfect life that I had created for myself and my Dark Passenger.

"This is a good thing," Harry told me.

I didn't see any good in it. I didn't look at him either.

"This doesn't change anything," he stood up and looked down at me. "If anything, it'll help you; you know he's good for it." he gave me a pat on the shoulder and smiled down at Harrison before he disappeared- and this time for real.

I was upset... upset! It was like an insult. What was wrong with me?

I haven't seen Dean for what I was sure was the longest time all year. I didn't know why I was worrying, I didn't care for him, just as I didn't care for anything else. But now that time had passed, I was regretting what had happened with Harry. If that was the last time I'd see him, having ended it the way that I did... I owed that man more than I was able to give.

Now that so much time had passed, my Dark passenger was hungry for blood. I could feel it trill through my body, vibrating in my blood. I let my Dark Passenger lead me, picking out the one, it was usually good at this kind of thing- usually. I was sure that this is the way that women felt when they went out shopping, this was my type of shopping. After a few days, I was sure I found my man.

Andrew Tom, Assistant Funeral Director. He was in his forties, polite to all incomers, the alive ones at least. He wasn't married, didn't have kids, no girlfriend or boyfriend. He never went on dates and instead still lived with his mother- that poor woman, to have spawned such a creep. The Funeral Home was the perfect place for Tom because he was what the world called a necrophilliac; a morbid and erotic attraction to corpses. He didn't have a type; young, old, male, female- everyone that went in, would never be the same when they came out. And if they ended up like Dean when they died, I wasn't even sure what to think about that. Doing what I do, I've see a lot of people and the sick things they do, but in all that time, never once had I found someone like Tom. I was sure that this was the sickest thing. I suppose that I understood love, what it was and the concept. But this was not it, this was a kink, like pedophiles- and those were sick and the worst.

The Passenger settled inside me as I carefully packed Tom away, I drove out on my boat, the wind nice through my hair. I could breath, finally felt relaxed as if I'd been tense for the last while. I stopped the boat and turned off the engine. I started dropping him over the side, part by part.

"I can't believe you dumped my in the same place that you dump these douche bags,"

I fumbled with the package in my hands for a moment before I dropped it in as the last of the parcels into the water.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"Do you think I want this?" Dean asked. "To be stuck with the SOB that killed me?"

I didn't comment, just dusted of my hands, the drop was done. I'd been without Dean for nearly two weeks, and those were filled with relief and anxiety. Anxiety that made no sense, that didn't belong anywhere near me- ever.

Not until he came.

"What do you want from me?" I asked.

"It's not what I want," Dean said spiteful. "It's what you want."

"Than why are you still here?" I demanded, finally turning to him.

He had his arm across over his chest, in the same clothes that he's always in, the clothes that he was wearing when I took his life.

"What don't you ask yourself that, Dexter." he said. "I'll be home whenever you are." and he was gone.

I found myself grinding my teeth, something that's never happened before. He said that it was what I wanted and I wanted him gone, so then why wasn't he? I swore that I wanted him gone, but then Harry said that he was here for me, and he was there- all the time. He seemed to help with the Dark Passenger, find those who belonged next on my table. This was something that I didn't even have with Harry, it was different with my father than it was with Dean.

I didn't understand why.

If I ever ran into Dean on the street, before I killed him and knew what he was, I was sure that I wouldn't have liked him. Not that I liked him now or anyone- well, there was Deb and Jamie and Harrison, then Harry- but that was it. I wanted nothing to do with Dean, he was forced onto me and I don't know how to get rid of him. Usually, if this was any bit normal, he'd be on my table, but that had already happened and there was no way to do it again.

I wanted him gone, didn't I? I don't need friends, nor want them. And Dean Winchester certainly wasn't a friend. A unwilling stalker was more like it. And despite what he said about me being an SOB, and saying that it wasn't him but me; Dean had also said something to contradict that: I'll be home. As is my place was his. It wasn't.

For the first time I was confused. I was having feelings, conflicting ones at that. I felt relief when Dean was gone, like those two weeks, but anxiety because I didn't know where he was. I would be sure that if I owned a dog, this would be the way that I'd feel. Relief at being away from the house and constant barking, but freaked when I got that call that it was off the leash.

"I'm not a fucking pet!" Dean's voice snapped in my brain as if he were right next to me.

Even when he wasn't there, he might as well be. Over the past year he had integrated himself into my brain and it was now that I realized that no matter how much I was sure that I wanted Dean to just be gone, he was never going to be gone completely. I can kill him, cut him to piece and drop him to the bottom of the ocean and he was still going to be there; trailing me, making his opinion known. I'd killed him, ripped him from life, tethered his soul to mine- what more could I possibly do him, he wasn't afraid of me, just as he wasn't when he was under my knife.

I sighed as I steered my boat back to the docks, my grip tight. So I was never going to get rid of Dean, he was replacing Harry- replaced Harry. So it turned out I was no longer just heading home to Harrison, but it would seem Dean as well.

My life had never been so complicated.

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