Title: Perfection is God's Business (And Sam Winchester's, the Anti-God) Part 1/?
Author: hopefulwriter27
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/Dexter
Summary: Six months after Dean left Dexter bleeding, the serial killer finds him.
Author's Notes & Warnings: This is a sequel to The Perfect Man. Read that first. Also, none of the Supernatural or Dexter characters belong to me. Note, this is a dark fic! There will be graphic violence and death. Evil!Sam and evil!Dean.
Part 1 (1,840 words)
Six months after Dean left Dexter bleeding, the serial killer finds him. It's a Thursday afternoon and Dean's busy scarfing down tacos from a vendor in the park. The sky's overcast, and like most November afternoons in Miami, it's about to rain. Despite the oncoming precipitation, the park is crowded. A concrete boardwalk follows the curves of the beach; past the boardwalk lays littered sand and green-blue ocean. The water is rough today and large whitecaps crash into the beach.
A few tanning addicts are spread out on towels. Dean spent the better part of an hour checking out the hot girls in bikinis before his stomach rumbled and he wandered over to the taco stand. Currently, Dean's sitting at one of the eight picnic tables spread across the small grass clearing. It's late enough that the lunch crowd is over; there is only one other man in the picnic area. He's reading a giant paperback that looks boring as hell to Dean. Mostly, people are jogging, walking or biking along the path. There's a constant flow of movement, a feeling of peaceful energy in the park. It's become his favorite place to visit while Sammy's in school.
Dexter slides into the seat across from him and Dean has a moment to think, I guess the public park isn't the best place to hang out, and then Dexter conversationally says, "You're a hard one to find Dean." The last bit of taco falls from Dean's fingers and tumbles onto the wooden table below. His gaze darts around and though Dean knows he's in shit, he takes comfort in the fact there are so many others near.
"Yeah? Well, I've been around," Dean states, voicing a confidence he doesn't feel. He picks at a lose splinter sticking out of the tabletop. He takes in Dexter. The man looks surprisingly good. His hair's a little shorter, but Dean supposes that's because they had to shave it to give him stitches. He has no visible scars. The skin of his face is smooth and tan; there are no little pink lines marking the places where the glass sliced. He must have had a great plastic surgeon, Dean thinks. Or great genes. He's slightly disappointed. He probably has a scar under his hair. Dexter sports a dark pair of sunglasses and a smug smirk.
"I'd thought you skipped town," Dexter says. That this would have been the smart thing to do is left unsaid. Dean never claimed to be smart. "But then five days ago I decide to come get a hotdog for lunch, and who do I see in the very same park?" Dexter pauses, taps the table then points at Dean. "You."
Something hops inside Dean's stomach. He's not sure if it's excitement or fear. Possibly both. "What can I say? I like the food." Dean gives Dexter a sideways grin. Inside, he's worrying. What's he going to do? Dexter doesn't seem to be armed, but Dean knows that looks can be deceiving. He doesn't know what Dexter knows. Has he followed me home? Does he know about Sammy? That sends a jolt of fear through his veins. Dexter doesn't seem the type to hurt innocent boys, and God knows, Sammy pulls off innocent boy like a pro. Besides Dean and the animals, no one else knows what Sammy is capable of. Dean, on the other hand, makes people wary. He's only sixteen, but he can't pull off innocent. Sexy- not a problem. Dangerous- in one easy breath. Innocent- maybe in his sleep.
He would have broken into the apartment if he followed me home. He would have come at night, in the cover of darkness, to hunt me down if he knew where I lived, Dean thinks. The fact that Dexter has approached him at the park makes Dean think that Dexter's been waiting for him to come back. "You've been waiting for me to show up."
"I knew you would. You're a creature of habit." Dean doesn't understand how Dexter knows this, but it's true. After he had confessed everything to Sammy, they sat down and had a conversation about what to do next.
"You need to lay low," Sammy had said. Dean nodded. Sammy chewed on his bottom lip. "Maybe we should move cities."
"No way, you love Miami!" Dean said. "Besides, you only have a month of school left. You need to at least finish out the year." Sammy didn't bring up the dozens of times they had changed schools through the years with Dad. Dean didn't bring up that Dexter lives in Miami.
"Dexter will be in the hospital for a while," Sammy conceded.
"Yeah. So I'll lay low, you'll finish out school, and we'll figure out what to do then?" Sammy agreed on the plan. School rolled to an end, and Dexter was nowhere in sight.
"He's out of the hospital," Sammy said out of the blue one sunny day while swimming at the pool. "He's living with his fiancé and her kids. He doesn't seem to be looking for you." Dean hadn't asked how Sammy got the information. Dean wondered if Dexter thought of him.
The two brothers took a road trip to Disney World and spent a week riding roller coasters, eating funnel cakes, and getting sunburned. Dean complained about his million freckles and Sammy laughed. They drove around, stopped for Dean to hustle in bars and pool lounges, and gone to exactly twenty three movies. Dean had blown five random strangers in alleyways and watched as Sammy killed three raccoons and one dog. Eventually, the summer came to an end. Sammy got a letter detailing his seventh grade book list. They went Barnes and Nobles to buy the books and to Target to get Sammy some new clothes and a package of sweet-ass highlighters. There was no discussion of leaving Miami.
Dean stares at Dexter, unsure of what to do next. Dexter says, "I'm going to get up and walk to my van. You're going to come with me." There's a hint of monster that lies beneath that white, middle-class face.
"No way!" Dean quickly glances at his watch. Two-fifty-two. Sammy gets out of school at three-thirty.
Dexter notices the glance. He lifts an eyebrow. "You have somewhere to be? A parent coming home from work?"
Dean says nothing. I could make a run for it, he thinks. Dexter probably can't run as fast as me. Dean looks at Dexter's long legs folded under the table. I could scream. Dexter works for the police; he can't afford the attention of an accusing teen. Dean nibbles on his lip. He really doesn't want to bring attention to himself. He doesn't know what type of evidence Dexter has on him from the boat. Dean remembers cleaning up after himself, but he knows he didn't do the best job. He had been in a hurry at the time. Dean's feet tap impatiently. His arms tingle with apprehension.
Dexter startles him with the question, "Why did you let me live?" Dean still can't see the man's eyes, but from the tenseness of his shoulders and the way he's leaning forward, Dean thinks he's genuinely curious.
The clouds condense and suddenly, the sky's a lot darker. A rumble of thunder rolls through the park. Dean ignores the weather and picks harder at the table. The remains of his taco are splattered against the wood. After a moment, he says, "I think I'm a pretty simple guy." His eyes flick up to Dexter's face. The man is stoic. He continues with his eyes glued to Dexter. "I like driving and cars, sex and guns. I like blood and death. Not mine, of course." The words seem freeing, things that he's thought for years, but never said aloud. His fear evaporates. "I've been like that ever since I can remember." A droplet hits his nose; another his cheek. The storm is starting.
"I know that liking death, wanting to kill isn't normal; but being normal is something that I don't how, or want to be." Dexter shifts. "I have all these thoughts and needs. When I first saw you I knew you were like me. Seeing what you did to that man was the most freeing moment of my life." Dean lowers his eyes, lets emotion color his words. "Is it so much to ask to not be alone? Is it so much to ask to have one person who understands me?" Dean lets a tear slide down his cheek. He's grateful Dad taught him to cry.
A hand wraps around his fingers and moves him away from the splinters. Dean sees welling blood and realizes the wood had pierced his flesh. Dean looks out from under his wet eyelashes and focuses on Dexter. His sunglasses have come off- it's really too dark for them now- and he's staring at Dean with those intense hazel eyes. Rain catches in his eyebrows, his lashes on his lips. Dean flashes back to that night on the boat. He remembers the heavy trash bags filled with body parts and the room splattered with blood from the chainsaw. He can't stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his lips against Dexter's.
There's a moment of sweet pressure, and then Dexter's gone. Dean looks across the table in surprise. A faint flush brushes the older man's cheeks. "No sex," he says.
Dean's heart double beats. "What?"
"There will be no sex, nothing related to sex if we do this." Dexter's voice is calm and smooth.
"Do what?" Dean asks, smiling.
"If I take you on and teach you, let you follow me, you will obey my rules to a fault. No sex is the first rule."
Another crack of thunder is followed by a strike of lightning. The park is now empty except for the two of them. Dean barely notices the rain or thunder. "Deal!" He sticks out his hand. A small smile graces Dexter's mouth and he slides his palm along Dean's. They shake. Besides, Dean thinks, sex will come. It always does.
"Meet me here Saturday at six p.m." Dexter's hand slides away from his.
Dean nods. "Alright."
Dexter checks his watch then Dean immediately does the same. It's only three-eleven. Only twenty minutes. It's feels like much longer. Dexter slides from the picnic table and says, "You better get home." Sarcastic humor lilts his voice. The man turns and walks away.
"I'll see you later." He almost gives a little wave, but then remembered he isn't a little kid. Damn, you would think I'm twelve, not sixteen, he berates himself. He watches for a moment as Dexter walks across the field to his van. Dean feels silly for not noticing it earlier. Only when the man drives away does Dean turn and head back to the Impala. His socks squelch in his boots and mud sticks to his rubber soles.
Sammy will wonder why he's all wet, but Dean's not sure if he should tell his brother or not.
