Disclaimer: I own none of the fandoms mentioned or hinted at, as there may be something about Skyfall in here. Thank you for not suing me or taking down my story.

Note: This started as a randomly given prompt, in which I was given a line of dialogue to use. The line given: "Honey, there's a call from the daycare! It can't be good" So, I screwed with the line slightly and with the push of a friend, who really wanted this crossover, you get this monstrosity. I have no regrets, but I really hope it's good. It should be noted that the grown up monsters in this are not mentioned by name, because I made it a personal challenge of mine.

AN: This story incorporates three fandoms, so to say that the timeline was nearly impossible to keep straight with what I wanted to do with it is an understatement. The timeline is screwy, I am aware, but I really wanted Dexter as a child. Your choices for the story is to accept it as an AU, or just ignore the fact that Dexter should be an adult. Your choice. Personally, I like the idea of them being one crazy psychopathic gene pool.

ANN: There is a hint at the end that Will knows about Hannibal. I haven't thought too much into the implications of that, so just roll with it. OR, come up with your own ideas and send them to me in reviews :)

Dedicated to the crazy friend who wanted this crossover, YOU BETTER BE HAPPY WITH THIS.

One last thing: If you are unfamiliar with any of the fandoms mentioned in this story, those being Hannibal (the television show), Sherlock, and Dexter, may I direct you to Wikipedia and their fabulous articles. It will make more sense if you read those first.

In any case, I welcome you to this story and I hope you enjoy!

XxX

He, the professional that he was, made it a point to turn off his phone when in a session with a patient. The goal of therapy was to ensure that a person felt safe enough to share and work through the issues plaguing the mind. By limiting the connection to the outside world, his office and workspace became a pocket of disconnection that made the the room an ideal space for healing.

Even though the person before him was a friend, or the closest he had come to one, and the words being said were part of a conversation rather than a confession, he followed the same principle. They were not even in his office, but rather in the humid air of Florida, but the habit stayed true. His attention was solely focused on the specimen before him and the secrets locked deep within the psyche; his attempts to unlock it, without alerting the highly strung agent before him, has been successful to an extent.

The newest case was horrifying, as most were, and while he hardly tensed at it, the same could not be said for Will. The man was currently folded over, the white still present in his face from the experience of the crime, and his words of logic were slowly bringing the man back to earth. Mentally, the man was disturbed, but incredibly gifted; the control fascinated him, which is why he had agreed to come.

His own phone was off, but then again, his was not the one being called. Will fished the phone from his pocket, his hand shaking unsteadily as he handed it over to the other man. The doctor glanced only momentarily at the owner of the mobile, silently asking for permission to answer the potentially personal call. It was a choice that he was unsure that Will was ready to take, as the issues that were involved were more that extreme empathy to serial killers, and allowing a relationship to become personal was something so subtle that could push the man off the edge.

The answer, he found in the dark brown eyes of Will, was an slightly unstable yes, but a yes all the same. He answered calmly, as it was his default to do so and for the benefit of the man beside him.

"Hello?"

The voice of the caller seemed to sigh in relief, if it was possible. "Good, I'd thought you'd answer"

It was an unexpected call, as he was not in contact with his family overseas as often as he needed to be, for good reason of course, but if he were to say that he was surprised, he would be lying. His tone relaxed, as was custom when speaking to those on the same intellectual level as him; there was no reason to play games now. "Cousin, to what do I owe the contact? I doubt that it is time for another round of tests again."

It was a challenge they put each other every few years, to compare puzzling enigmas and taunt the members of the gene pool of incompetence. There was rarely a clear winner, as negotiations and debate came into play due to a difference of styles and logic, but he personally had won the last year, to the irritation of his blood brothers.

The other end of the line was oddly absent of quickly returned quips and retorts, which made him furrow his eyebrows. The answer to his questioning, of what could be the issue at hand, came a moment later. "There was a call from the school"

He breathed deeply, a move that did not go unnoticed by a recovered Will. The man seemed to move closer, ever so slightly, as if to comfort him or at least offer support. It was such a human thing to do, which told him that the invading darkness of insanity had vacated for the time being.

"Nothing good I assume" The caller sighed and he was glad for once that he was in the heat of the south. He would reassure the caller of such, but it was extremely unlikely that the man did not already know his location.

Instead, he asked "Your brother?"

"He is to be informed after the end of this call"

He hung up, as to allow his cousin to be told that much faster. The caller understood and there would be no hard feelings. Now, instead of wandering on the information he had been told, he sought out the man in charge of the task force. After obtaining permission from the head Agent and keys in order to drive, he pulled himself into the driver's seat of an unimportant vehicle.

"Where are we going?" Will, who had silently followed him into the car without question, asked, the mussled brown curls fluffed by the heat.

"Miami"

The journey was silent from that point forward.

X

Grumbling steadily from his place in the best chair, about murders and the desire to find his stash by any means necessary, a curly haired man was, for the most part, dissociated from reality. He had no reason to be aware of his surroundings, as nothing but routine movements by his flatmate was occurring, and frankly, that was boring.

Said flatmate was up and moving around due to his inner clock, which was trained strictly to rise and set as according to the sun. John was his name and he had no qualms about doing his own grumbling under his breath. And if said words were directed specifically at a certain genius, due to him not picking up the milk again, well, that was no business but his.

Currently, John was cleaning his cup from yesterday in order to make a new batch of tea. He, unlike another occupant of the room, liked to keep a tidy flat. He liked to keep messes contained, not spread them all over the bloody place in the name of science and a case. He did not like eyeballs being discovered in the ice dispenser at five in the morning nor did he enjoy the company of blood stains wherever he went, unlike someone.

His near silent complaints, which of course broadcasted loud and clear by the twitching of his shoulders, were cut off by the ringing of the phone. Setting his cup down gently in the sink, still needing to be rinsed, he glanced quickly at the boiling water before answering the phone.

The call lasted less than a minute, before John turned to his flatmate.

"Do you know someone by the name of Dexter?"

Coming back to fully realized consciousness, the taller man nodded slightly before verbally confirming that, yes, he did. "A second cousin of mine in America, why?"

Reciting the details given to him by the distinctive voice of the caller, John said "Your brother says that there's been an incident. Plane tickets are booked, leaving in thirty minutes, if I heard him correctly"

The other man said nothing in response, instead rising quickly, before effectively shrugging into his coat and tying his scarf. Nothing needed to be said, only movements needed to fill the silence. He was not panicking, as he did not panic, but there was a slight twinge of concern. If he was required in the United States, then there must be a serious reason as to why.

There was only one question on his mind, which he asked flatly to his friend "Has my cousin been informed?"

John knew not what he who he was talking about, but a answer had been given to him by the caller, who was no doubt wielding an umbrella at some time during the call "Uh, yes. He has been informed through Agent Graham."

"Excellent"

The door to the flat closed soundly behind them.

X

He was not confused as to why he was seemingly sentenced to permanently sit in his room, the blood still dried underneath his nails. Not even Debra, his partner in the form of a tottling sister was able to sneak him cookies like they had in the past, not this time.

The door was not locked, though it might as well be in regards to what guarded the door. Like a sphinx in the popup book of Egypt he had been reading in class only what seemed like an hour ago, his father had been stone faced. Etched into the forehead had been a line that he recognized not as disappointment, but deep worry and the voices he heard outside his door did not ease the idea he had in his head.

There had only been two in the beginning, the pleads of his sister to see him and why could he not play? In response was the low dodging of an adult, the undertone that of the same worry he had seen. It had only been two, but now there were four.

Newly arrived, both voices were male. One was calm, but only just so. While his father breathed control, as was his occupation, this one seemed frazzled. It was only to an extent, but it seemed similar to a cornered animal, like the one who had tried to scratch him a few weeks ago; trapped and uncertain. It's companion was smooth and accented; the familiar control of his father's voice may have seemed to be fleeting in the moment, but the third adult voice seemed to always possess it. There was no lapse and such was a trait that he himself wished he possessed.

If he had, then the scissors would have never been gripped so tightly until he nearly split his own skin with the pressure. Then, he would have been able to fight off the perplexing, yet insatiable factor that had just appeared in the moment. Then, he would not have stabbed his classmate in the art room, where just the two of them had been gathering supplies for the class situated outside, and enjoyed every drop that had caked his hands. The grin would not be on his face, even now and he wouldn't be thinking of doing it again.

If, then. Yet it was now.

Now there were six voices, five seemingly speaking over each other.

The hours had turned into a day and now there were two more, still male. He shuffled against the bed, where he was sitting on his hands for the need to do something. He thought that maybe, if he hid his hands, he wouldn't see the blood, and he would feel something other than joy; maybe he would feel bad for it.

It was a false conclusion, so he allowed the blood flow back into the limbs and listened closer.

The new voices were similar to those who had arrived before. One was smooth, yet rigid with the tone given; the control was evident, but it was colder than the other. The words being spoken were a mixture of insults and acutely executed assumptions, the only one responding in time was the calm one from earlier, while the others seemed to be too late or early to accurately speak with it. The last was tinged with irritation, exhaustion, and a surprising lack of curiosity; even the voice which seemed on the edge of control had seemed remotely interested in the situation, while the newest voice seemed used to it.

No, he was not confused with the situation, but rather perplexed at the arrival of those he was not familiar with. The ideas he could come up with range from fellow police officers to neighbors that had the misfortune of meeting the neighborhood on the specific day, but none seemed to fit. The process of attempting to assign faces to the voices helped pass the time, until he did not have to wonder any more.

The door opened and he focused on two of the six that filled it.

A presence of knowledge, which had the capacity to be dangerous, surrounded and accompanied them and he had no trouble believing what they told him next. They were similar to him, quiet and yet ready to speak, correct, explain; the only question he did have was "So, you're like my uncles?"

"No" The brown haired one replied, lacking any sort of remorse for the quick response. The short companion of the man glared, seemingly irritated with the behavior, but said nothing.

"We are your cousins" The older one explained soon after, his tone slightly softer, but still firm in the answer. The one who stayed close to the light haired man, yet kept his distance, seemed to hesitate, before speaking. "You could, if you wanted to"

"I can?" He asked

The glaring man changed expressions, nodding fiercely despite the slight displeasure it seemed to cause the slender man he had been angry at. "That's right. There's nothing wrong with calling them your uncles"

The two were called Will and John, if he had heard the introductions correctly. He liked them, as did Debra if her hanging off of the dark haired of the two was any indication, but the two did not compare to the ones they had arrived with. There was just familiarity that he was not used to, that surrounded the two and he felt closer with the minds before him.

He accepted them, despite knowing little, because the control radiating off of the two was intoxicating. No matter if it was flawless, as displayed by the blonde, or becoming increasing chilled and curled as the dark hair of the taller; he wanted it, so he decided to surround himself with it.

There only seemed to be one question in the whole situation. It came not from him, or his father, who seemed accepting but cautious of it all, but from the youngest.

"Are you our Uncles too?" She gazed sweetly up the leg she had attached herself to, to a pair of brown eyes that widened in surprise. It was obvious who she was speaking about and the reaction was amusing; John nearly choked on nothing, while Will seemed to stop breathing for a moment. On the other hand, the tall one had a slight smirk that he hid from his shorter friend, while the older held back a chuckle and came closer to him.

A hand on his shoulder, the other man's eyes looked over his blood stained nails. His other new found family member oversaw this, but came no closer as the examination continued. Nothing was said, even though in the background, it could be heard that the men were agreeing to Debra's assumption.

Finally, the words heavy with accented practice, he was brought to his feet.

"Let's go wash that off"

And despite the want to have it all over him, all the time, to see it splatter over the walls and world; he agreed. The two on either side, they went to dinner and discussed the past that he had missed. He heard of his other cousins, two of which worked in government, both of which worked from behind cameras, although only one had a single letter in his used name.

He learned that one, the older, was a doctor, while the other was a detective. John was a doctor as well, just a different kind, while Will was a teacher among other things. Debra adored the two, her presence seeming to calm the frazzled tone he had heard, even if temporarily.

His father seemed uneasy, not yet content, but at least the line had dissipated slightly. He was easily involved in a conversation with John and he was glad that the tension had flowed out of the situation.

Before the day, he was unaware of family or what of what was to come. Now he had an idea and while it was perplexing, not confusing, he was not alone in it.

And even that got rid of the blood, even where the soap and water had not.

X

In the end, all was well.

The puncture wound healed nicely and the shared family trust between the cousins had only suffered minimally. The family of the stabbed boy, who remembered nothing of the event other than the face of Dexter aiding him, had received the monetary donation well. Little to say, they moved out of the humid state, overseas if the cameras told the truth, which they did, and were not heard from again.

The youngest of the intellectual was concealed in domestic bliss, kept out of the public mind and eye. It had been been determined to be the best situation by the three elders after careful deliberation of accounts for the psychological and mathematical possibilities for the future. The conclusion had been accepted by the guardian of the boy, who was accepted as an appropriate parent despite the lack of familial bond, after a conversation with a doctor and detective. The officer's idea of therapy, and possible exposure were quickly discarded and replaced by smooth voices. Such had to be done, no matter any possible risk, as they were the family of his charge. With only minimal threatening, the cousin was ensured safe passage through life, specific instructions compiled and given to the father for the future. Someone had to teach, even though they lived elsewhere; the man, Mr. Morgan, agreed.

The next meeting of the four, all four instead of one speaking over the phone, was the following Christmas. Held at the Morgan home, which seemed best for the children instead of traveling, the turkey was substituted with an expertly roasted loin. Flavorful and juicy, there were no complaints, not even from Debra, who nearly cried when she heard there was to be no drumsticks. The chef, who had paused from his discussion of anatomy with a certain soldier with similar knowledge, himself cut and served the meal, to be enjoyed.

After dinner was cleared, the kitchen cleaned, and the sugar plums danced in the heads of the young ones, morning dawned. Squealing and incomprehensible words were heard throughout the slightly crowded home, mostly on the part of the only female, but there was a smile on her brother's face. Presents ranged in subject and manner, but each did not fail to receive a smile from the children in the room.

The ones to be noted, apart from the plush bear and little bake oven that had been gifted by Will and the eldest cousin respectively to the sister, were the ones given to the brother. The urge had returned, stronger than before, and it was recognized by all in the room other than the youngest, who was already trying to bake a cake for Uncle Umbra (as in Umbrella) as she called him.

Gifted was a set of delicate tools, made of silver, and an instruction manual on the care and use of them. Gathered by the exquisite and critical eye of two doctors, they promised to be sharp and effective in use as a cooking set, or so they told Debra. To complement it, a set of glass slides enclosed in a sturdy wood box was given from the personal collection of a detective, and a forensic kit compiled by Jack Crawford and those who worked with him as they had been told he showed interest in the field.

Such was given by the cousins, who were called uncles by Dexter .

The smiling boy was unaware of the true purpose of the tools in hand, but it was not said aloud by those who knew, as he would know soon. The boy cared not for the unknown, for he was not alone.

The other memorable gift of the day, which was devoid of snow due to the hemisphere, was a bleached hand. Fully preserved and undamaged in the journey to Florida, the bone nearly shined in it's created shape. Completely with all the fingers, the detective fondly accepted it from his cousin and remarked how Mrs. Hudson would love it.

John paled at the insinuation made and Will soon followed with less of a reaction due to a lack of details, but the mood overall was happy and cheerful, as the holidays should be. The chef was thanked for the gift, to which he replied it was no issue for him to obtain it.

All four cousins, and the other unrelated members, at least by blood, agreed that other meetings was a must. The day ended with goodbyes as flights were due to leave, but with promises that help was always a phone call away.

And if the true relation of the hand, and it's connection to a certain skull, were only known to four people that had been in the room, well, then all had ended well, regardless of possible missing bodies.

XxX

The end.

Reviews, thoughts? Mischaracterizations that I butchered? If you don't tell me I don't know, simple as that.

I hope you all enjoyed this chaos.