A/N: Yay for me not taking another month to update! lol I actually set a goal for myself to update this by the 4th, but the past two days kind of got away from me, so I apologize for that! Also, I kinda sorta intended for this to be the last chapter but of course it isn't :P
ROSEY cheeks, so glad you were a fan of the last chapter. I too love Debster sex and fluff, and I'm glad to have found people to share that love with :) I hope you like this chapter! Tom, I am so happy to hear that because whenever I get an email letting me know that someone has left a review I smile too, so it's nice to know that we're on the same wavelength here lol. Actually, if I'm remembering correctly, when I got the email for your review I was waiting for the bus and I had to try to keep a straight face in order to not look like a weirdo who randomly smiles at her phone. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Guest I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter! Don't worry, I hate Saxon too ;) DLovesDexter I hope this update was soon enough for you, and I hope that you dig this chapter!
I know that I broke my own pattern by using Deb's POV for this chapter, but she told me that it belonged to her and who am I to argue with her? haha! As always, I can't wait to hear your thoughts! xo
Seeing a person that you supposedly killed a few days later; not being lowered into the ground where they belong but standing a few feet away, alive and in the flesh, can have quite the effect on a person.
While Deb was still on the force, she was regularly confronted by men twice her size, which would then force good old human instinct to kick in. In times like those, she had no other option but to answer the oldest question in the book. What's it going to be? Fight or flight?
Well, flight has never really been Deb's style. Not when found herself trapped in that bald piece of shit's twisted little maze, not when El Sapo decided that chivalry really was dead and beat the living crap out of her over some stolen jewelry...not even when she walked in on her dear big brother doing something that would change the both of them in ways that neither one of them could've possibly imagined. Yes, for as long as she can remember, Deb has always been a fighter, and she prides herself on that.
But something about being unarmed and possibly having to face Oliver Saxon again gives Deb pause. She's seen Dexter in action more often than she would have ever liked to and she's sure that between the two of them they can muster up enough strength to take that motherfucker down (again) and end this once and for all...but flight is an option for a reason, right?
Before she even has the time to make her final decision Saxon is gone, retreating like a cloud of smoke back into the abyss from which he came.
Though it's still fairly early in the morning the house is poorly lit, the curtains pulled tightly together, barely letting any light inside. She can hardly tell which direction Saxon disappeared in. It's eerie, how fast the menace can move, and for a second Deb finds herself questioning whether or not she'd actually seen him at all. Is it possible that he was actually all in her head? These past few months have been a whirlwind, and seeing things that aren't actually there could just be a natural extension of that stress. Or maybe she's just finally lost it.
But even if Saxon is some sort of apparition that has returned from the grave just to haunt her, the blood at Dexter's feet certainly isn't. It's very real, and by the looks of it, still very fresh.
"I should've killed him when I had the chance." Dexter declares, stepping protectively in front of Debra as if preparing to shield her from the invisible danger.
His voice is low and unusually calm, all things considered; but Deb can feel the quiet storm howling in the pit of his stomach. Being around him like this would probably scare any normal person, someone who doesn't know Dexter as intimately as she does. But how could she possibly be scared of him when his storm matches the one growing inside of her?
"Fuck, this is all my fault." She insists, placing an unsteady hand on her brother's shoulder. He turns around, his gaze automatically locking on hers. "I thought I killed him. No, I did kill him. I washed his blood from my hands. He was fucking dead, Dexter!"
"Your lacerations must have been a bit shallower than I initially thought. Surviving something like that isn't impossible with the proper medical attention, but it isn't very realistic, either. I didn't think that was a possibility for him. I was going to finish him off anyway, just to be sure, but I decided to let him suffer instead. I thought he deserved as much, after all of the grief he's caused…after everything he said about you. Fuck...fuck!" Dexter explains, slamming his hand against the wall mere inches away from where Deb's head rests.
She flinches, though she knows that he'd never dare hit her. "I'm so fucking sorry, I-"
"No, no, don't apologize, Deb. I'm sorry. None of this is your fault; you never would have even been in that position if not for me anyway, so what do you have to be sorry about?" Dexter asks, tucking a few stray strands of hair lovingly behind her ear.
"Besides the homicidal maniac that just rose from the dead? Oh, nothing, I guess." She answers. An inappropriate giggle falls from her mouth and no matter how hard she tries she can't contain the others that follow. "On the plus side, at least you won't have to worry about me breaking bad anymore. I can't even commit murder correctly."
"Stop it." He tries to fight the laughter but a few traitorous chuckles manage to escape his parted lips. He chokes them down and puts his serious face back on; quickly turning away to survey the dimly lit room and make sure that the coast is still clear.
"Christ, is this guy a fucking cat or something? I don't think I've ever heard of a man having nine lives." Deb says after her brother turns around to face her once more. "Well, one down, eight more to go I guess. Great."
"Let's hope he isn't that lucky. I think one more try should do it. I'll ensure that he's carved a little deeper this time."
"Oh yeah? With what knife? Look, Dex, we need to get out of here." Deb whispers, sliding her hands up his the length of his chest and to his shoulders. "I don't want to see you get hurt, or worse. You know I could never handle losing you."
"Nothing's going to happen to me, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you either. But I'm also not going to let Saxon get away from me again. This ends now."
"A couple of days ago, that deranged fuck managed to get the upper hand and stab you, Dexter. Tell me again that nothing's going to happen to you, but I can guarantee you that it won't mean shit to me, because you're a fucking liar and you have no idea what Saxon is capable of. I love you, but you can't fool me."
"None of that matters right now, Debra. Vogel is still in here somewhere, and I can't handle knowing that I could've done something to save her, but instead I just...ran. Don't you think it's about time that I do something right for once?"
"I'm not suggesting that we just abandon her, you know I'm not that person, but how much use can we be to her right now?" Deb asks, desperately trying to bring Dexter around to her way of thinking. "Saxon's baiting us; no, baiting you. He's clearly trying to lure you to him, and he won't do anything to Dr. Vogel if you're not there to witness it. How about you don't give him what he wants? Call the police, bro. Let them do their job for once."
"You know I can't do that. It isn't just me that Saxon has information on. He can implicate you in all of this, and I'm not about to take that risk out of fear." Dexter says, wrapping his arms around Deb's waist so he can bring her body closer to his. "Saxon is the one who should be afraid, not me."
Deb opens her mouth to speak but Dexter shuts her up by pressing his lips hard against hers. The kiss is quick, too quick, but his passion helps to get his point across. He needs something from her. Something that she already knows she has no desire to do.
"Deb, I need you to do something for me..." He starts. "There's a vial of M99 in the glove compartment of my car, and there's a knife in there too. Bring them here, leave them on that desk by the staircase, and then wait for me in the car. I'll see you soon."
Dexter starts toward the stairs, putting a good amount of distance between the two of them. Even though Deb is a bit out of practice when it comes to running she still catches up with him before he can even make it to the first step, grabbing him by his forearm and forcing him to turn around and face her.
"No, I'm not leaving you."
"Debra..."
"How could you ever ask me to leave you? Do you even think about me at all when you spout that stupid macho bullshit? You know that I could never just stand back while you go and slay the beast. That isn't what I do. I stand and I fight, but I also trust my gut, and my gut always tells me when it's time to walk away. Forget your amygdala, or whatever the fuck you called it. I think you need to follow my gut on this one."
"I'm always thinking about you," He sighs. "Everything I do is for you, haven't you realized that after all this time? I'm thinking about you right now, which is why I need you to do what I asked. I'm not going to let that animal get anywhere near you ever again, do you hear me?"
Deb knows that she should stay and fight things out, or better yet leave and fight things out, but she also knows that Dexter is the only person on the planet that is capable of surpassing her level of stubbornness. There's no changing his mind, and if it came down to it, he'd probably throw her over his shoulder, get the shit he's asking for on his own, and lock her alone in the car to wait for him to finish doing what he has to do. So for once she decides to swallow her pride and leave.
She reaches into his pocket and retrieves the keys to the car, stealing another quick kiss from him before she turns to leave. Dexter mumbles something low in his chest just as she's about to open the front door and she immediately does an about face, turning towards him with one eyebrow raised.
"What did you just say?"
"I said...if I'm not back in ten minutes, you have to leave without me."
"Fuck that," Deb snorts, taking a few steps closer to where he stands with his arms crossed over his chest, unflinching. "I'm not letting you go on a suicide mission, Dexter."
"It isn't a suicide mission! Precautions have to be taken, that's all. This is only for just in case."
"Then why does it sound like you don't think you're going to survive this?"
Deb can feel the tears flooding to the surface, blurring her vision and distorting the image of the man before her. The tears build up and soon she can barely see Dexter at all. He fades away like a phantom, and it's as if he's leaving her even though that is the very thing he promised he would never do.
"Deb, please don't cry."
She wraps her arms around her middle, crumbling into herself and denying his request as the tears continue to fall. Dexter glides over to her, wrapping one arm around her waist to pull her in closer and pressing his forehead against hers.
"I am going to survive this. I'm going to come back to you like I always do."
His breaths come even and deep, and the feeling of his body so close to hers gives her something to hold on to, something to drag her back from the darkness. To lie to her and tell her that everything will be fine if she lets him walk away.
Deb tries to mimic the steadiness of his breathing, keeping time with each warm exhalation that passes from Dexter's mouth to her face.
He leans in closer to kiss her on the cheek, and his lips gradually travel higher to collect the last few tears that fall from her eyes. His soft lips find her forehead after that, with one hand cupping the back of her head and the other still holding tightly to her waist.
When he finally pulls away, he offers Deb what she thinks is supposed to be a reassuring smile, but to her it doesn't seem that way at all. To her, Dexter looks more like a scared little boy than a hardened killer. He looks like the little boy that she'd first met decades ago; the little boy who was forced down a nightmare path before he was even given a proper chance in life.
"Okay," Deb sighs, holding both of his hands in hers. "Just...tell me again that you're sure about this, I mean really sure about this, and I'll do what you asked. I still won't like it, but I'll do it. For you."
"I'm sure about this." He replies, giving her hand a light squeeze. "Really sure. I'll be back before you even have a chance to miss me. But if I take any longer than ten minutes, you have permission to punch me in the shoulder or something. Deal?"
"You bet your perfectly round ass we've got a deal!" Deb teasingly declares. "Oh wait, did I just say that first bit out loud? My bad."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear a word of that sentence." Dexter says, dropping her hand as if suddenly repulsed.
He laughs, and his open-mouth smile accentuates the slight wrinkles beneath his eyes, which oddly serves to make his entire face light up. Deb bites down on her bottom lip, mulling over whether or not she should steal another kiss from the unsuspecting man before sulking back outside to the car, but a bloodcurdling scream makes the decision for her.
"Vogel." The Morgans state in unison.
"Go." Dexter whispers, his hand flying to the small of Deb's back so he can push her toward the front door. "And forget what I said about the tools. Don't come back inside, just stay safe for me."
She watches Dexter disappear into another room; the kitchen, if she remembers correctly from the few days she'd spent living in this very house under the doctor's care. Her brother returns seconds later with a knife in hand, his grip on the handle tight and assured.
He tilts his head to the side, gesturing over to the door with an added annoyance, and Deb finally does what he'd been asking her to do all this time. She leaves him.
She makes her way to the car on two unsteady feet, silently mumbling to herself that her brother is going to survive this, because of course he is.
Her mind starts to travel to dark places as she walks a few feet over to the car. She doesn't like to think about Dexter killing; but some days her mind does wander. When she does think of him in that way, she sees strong arms raised slightly over his head, two hands wrapped around his knife.
She sits down in the passenger's seat, locking the door behind her and the image of Dexter burying his knife into his victim's chest, all the way down to the hilt, becomes all that she can see. When her mind goes to this place the figure on the table is almost always Travis Marshall, the thought of his grizzly fate transporting her right back to the very moment where it all began for them. But truthfully, didn't it start before? Before, with Brian Moser?
Deb closes her eyes and sees Brian's staring back at her. They're hazel like Dexter's, something that she hadn't really paid much attention to all of those years ago. She thinks that's why he may have been able to force his way into her heart as effortlessly as he had. Even though she didn't know it back then, she'd spent her entire life holding Dexter up as the ideal; so when Rudy Cooper came along, so perfect and such a stark reminder of Dexter in so many ways, like an idiot, she jumped at the chance to love him and to be loved by him. It's like Brian knew just what to say to get her to bare it all. He knew just what to do to get her to trust him, to make her feel loved and secure. He molded himself into the ultimate object of so many women's affections, and he was damn good at it, too. Maybe if he wasn't such a sick fuck he could've put all that talent to good use on a fucking movie set or something. 'Oscar Award Winning Actor, Brian Moser' has a nice ring to it. Better than 'The Ice Truck Killer, Brian Moser' does, that's for sure.
Though Deb wasn't there when Dexter made his final choice, she finds herself trying to imagine how it all went down. She can almost swear that she sees the way the life drained from her brother's eyes just as the blood drained from his own brother's veins in a beautifully grotesque shade of red.
Dexter chose his needy foster sister over his own flesh and blood, over the only person in the world who would allow him to be the feral killer he'd long thought himself destined to become.
Dexter chose her because he loved her, but he also chose her because deep down, he always knew that she was his best chance at being something else. Something better. That's a hell of a lot of responsibility for one person, but she'll shoulder it gratefully.
Some part of her even thinks that Dexter always knew what the two of them were meant to become, even way back then, and that brings a smile to her face despite the worry still coagulating in her chest. His promise to her, his desire to be a better man, not only for her and Harrison but for himself this time, gives her hope. If he can make it through the scorching hell of these past few years, then he can make it through this, too. He can make it through anything. He's coming back to her, and things are going to be better this time. All there is left to do is wait.
But the problem is, Deb doesn't much like waiting.
Her nerves soon get the best of her after what can't possibly be more than a couple of short minutes lost in thought; and so she finds herself reaching into the glove compartment for Dexter's knife and the needle of M99. She shoves the M99 into the pocket of her jeans for just in case, though she prays she won't have to use it.
Deb holds the knife tight by its handle, pointing it downward in a closed fist. She opens the car door as quietly as possible so neither Dexter nor Saxon (though she hopes to fucking God that the bastard is in the process of drawing his final breath) can hear her coming, opting to shut the doors but leave them unlocked just in case they have to make a quick getaway.
The front door to Vogel's is unlocked just as she left it minutes before and she lightly pushes it open, letting herself inside of the house.
The first thing that she hears is actually what she doesn't. The house is filled with an eerie kind of quiet, and there is no sign of Dex, Vogel, or Saxon anywhere in sight. Deb takes a deep breath and starts up the steps, lifting the knife protectively in front of her. The blade gives off a sinister gleam as she climbs the stairs one at a time, keeping her ears peeled for even the slightest noise.
She can hear her heart pounding in her ears and almost immediately has second thoughts. Maybe she would've been better off keeping her ass planted in the car like Dexter instructed her to. But surely he didn't expect her to just sit back and behave? He should know better than that by now.
When she makes it to the top step her foot slides and she almost falls and impales herself on her own knife but reaches out for the railing at the last second and manages to keep her balance. She chokes back a laugh, thinking on how absolutely ridiculous it would have been for Dexter to discover that she'd accidentally killed herself because she decided to come after him like a moron. She takes a deep breath, regains her composure, and clears the final step.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a dark figure appears before her. Deb gasps and yields her knife, swinging it out in front of her and at the person. They lurch forward as if to challenge her and she jolts back, her foot slipping out from beneath her for the second time. She extends her left arm to grab onto the railing and lift herself up again, but this time, the person in front of her comes closer and lashes out, putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing. Deb's slick hand slides along the wooden bannister and her attempt to steady herself is all in vain, the force of the push sending her flying down the winding staircase.
Debra tumbles down the stairs before she has the chance to keep her limbs at her sides like she was taught to do during her training, and her rogue left arm ends up twisted behind her back in an extremely unnatural position. She hears a sickening snap when she lands at the foot of the stairs, and once the pain actually sets in, it becomes all she knows. A familiar ache shoots up the length of her arm, that very same ache that she felt after she was sent careening off the road courtesy of Hannah McKay, miss poisoner extraordinaire. But she shouldn't be thinking of Hannah right now. No, she should probably be focusing on her broken fucking arm.
"Fucking cocksucker!" She says, screaming as loud as she can manage through gritted teeth. "Jesus fucking shit!"
The dark figure advances on her, running down the steps two at a time. Deb tries to back away but it must make for a pathetic sight as she slides her ass backwards across the carpet, feeling around with her good hand for the knife that she dropped on the way down. The knife is nowhere to be found so she has to make do with what she has; kicking out her leg at the unwelcome intruder as they continue their relentless approach of her.
When they make it to the final step and finally come into Deb's full view she lowers her leg, feeling like an absolute idiot as the woman's petrified face comes into view.
"Debra?" Dr. Vogel gasps, falling down to hers knees in front of her former ward. "Oh, Debra! Are you alright?"
"I'm just fucking fabulous." Deb replies, testing out her injured arm to see if it can bend.
It can, but just barely. She would never admit it out of fear of appearing weak, but she knows that the pain deep in her joints is too severe to do much of anything. She isn't even sure if she can manage to lift herself up off of the floor on her own. But if she knows one thing for sure it's that she won't be asking Vogel for any help. If she has to crawl out of here like a fucking spaz, then that's what the fuck she's going to do.
"Debra, you can't possibly be alright, look at your arm."
"Am I remembering things wrong? Were you not the one who pushed me down the fuckin' stairs?"
"Yes. I'm sorry about that, you startled me."
The woman's gaze is a caring one, but hidden beneath the surface is that icy coolness that Deb has come to expect from her. She always trusts her gut whenever she meets someone new, and rarely has she had a first impression turn out wrong (but when it does, it's almost always disastrously wrong). The problem with Evelyn Vogel is that Deb still doesn't know where she stands with her. She has never been able to get a good read on Dr. Vogel, what with her calm demeanor, her perverse sort of curiosity towards anything and everything Morgan, and that fucking accent, but she doesn't think she has any ill intent. After all, they came here to save her.
By the looks of her, though, she isn't in need of much saving. Her hand appears to be bleeding quite a bit but compared to Deb's arm, she's fucking golden. There's also a rather large wound at the side of her head, dripping blood so dark it almost looks black, and Deb assumes that it is responsible for the spatter that she and Dexter had noticed when they initially entered the home. It doesn't look too hot, but she'll pull through.
"I startled you? You startled me!" Deb insists, shifting her hips and forcing herself to sit up straight. She cradles her left arm in her lap, taking note of how a single bone protrudes to the side. It doesn't look too bad but she figures that she'll have to set it into place somehow before she has the chance to cause any further damage. Great, that should be fun. "I didn't realize it was you up there. I thought you were that fucking experiment gone wrong."
"Daniel." The doctor acknowledges with a nod, her face a little too content for someone whose son came back from the dead all so he can have his revenge. "I don't...I don't know where he's gone off to. He put me in the storage closet but I managed to escape. I didn't want to hurt him, but he was intent on hurting me, that I know for sure now. That look in his eyes...he isn't my son anymore. He's something monstrous. So when I finally managed to escape and I saw you coming, my first reaction was to strike. I thought that he had returned for me. I apologize, Debra."
"Yeah, don't mention it...I guess. It's just an arm."
"Here, let me have a look. We need to determine whether it's a sprain or a true break."
"It's definitely a break." Deb replies, flinching as she tries to flex the arm. "I've broken the same arm twice now, what fucking luck! Maybe that means it'll heal twice as fast or something."
"That's some fairly questionable logic." Evelyn replies, a sly smirk working at the corners of her mouth.
"You're a psychiatrist, you deal strictly in the mind, not the body. So I'd say we're about even in this case."
"I did have to attend medical school in order to get my license, you know."
"Touché." Deb smiles, extending her good hand so the woman can take hold of it. "Okay, first I'm going to need you to help me up. And then you're going to help me pop my arm back into place. Got it?"
"I don't think that's such a good idea, Debra. We need to get out of here before Daniel returns. Call 911, leave the medical work to the professionals."
"It isn't a good idea but it's the best one we've got, because I'm sure as fuck not going anywhere without my brother."
"Your brother?" Vogel asks, getting back on her feet and then helping Deb back onto hers. "He's here too? Of course he is. He wouldn't let you come here alone."
"Could you maybe try to not psychoanalyze me and Dexter right now? Yes, he's protective of me. And yes, we're fucking. Happy?" Deb snaps, flashing an irritable grin as she limps back over to the stairs to search for the knife she'd dropped. She finds it a few steps up and slides it into her pocket with the M99. "Alright, now that we've gotten that out of the way, come over here and make yourself useful."
Evelyn makes her way over to where Deb stands, thankfully no longer intent on being a complete inconvenience. Deb thrusts her arm out, screaming when the pain surges through her entire body.
"Hurry up." She grinds out, feeling a tear trickle down her cheek as Dr. Vogel grabs onto the arm and tugs.
"Hold still." The older woman shushes her, grabbing hold of Deb's shoulder with the hand that isn't resting on her forearm. "I don't want to do this but you insisted. Scream, if you must. But don't bite down, you could sever your tongue."
"Good to know. I - AH!" Deb shouts, caught off guard by Vogel's sudden movement. There's a ghastly sound as her arm pops back into its socket - well, she hopes that's what it did, anyway.
The pain is still there but it isn't as severe now and that's at least something she can work with. She yanks the knife out of her pocket and bolts up the stairs, refusing to waste any more time. She hasn't heard so much as a peep from Dexter or Saxon since she set foot in this hell hole, and in her mind, that is the very opposite of a good sign. She'd much rather hear silence than her brother crying out in pain, but at the very least there should be some sign of struggle, right? Unless, of course, Saxon is toying with them both. But Christ, hasn't this cat and mouse game gone on long enough?
"Debra," Evelyn whispers, so close that Deb can feel the woman's breath on the back of her neck. "Be careful."
"Fuck careful." Deb answers once she safely reaches the second floor. "Careful hasn't been working out for me as of late. We're going to try something else now."
Dr. Vogel comes to stand beside her and Deb immediately brings her fully functioning arm around the woman's chest, holding the knife just shy of her throat. She isn't going to hurt her, she never could, but in order to trap a cat, sometimes a lure is necessary.
Saxon clearly planned on killing his mother, but what he really wanted was an audience. Specifically he wanted Dexter, her new surrogate son. But would seeing the source of his madness in the arms of another formidable foe make him think otherwise? Will this successfully lure Saxon right where she wants him? Well, there's only one way to find out.
"Debra, please." Evelyn begs, her voice strained thanks to the way Debra's arm is resting on her windpipe. She sounds terrified and that's great. That's believable.
"Shut up." Deb states, her face hard and determined as she begins to walk the two of them down the long stretch of hallway.
"I don't understand..."
"Show yourself, Saxon!" Deb demands, her voice echoing through the corridor. "Show yourself, fucker! And I won't have to do anything crazy. Show yourself, and the bitch is all yours!"
Dr. Vogel whimpers in protest and it's almost enough to make Deb rethink this entire thing and let her go. Almost.
"What? You too chicken shit to face me again? I killed you once and I'll kill you again, you fucking -"
"Debra, behind you!"
Deb immediately does a complete 180, tightening her hold on Vogel's shaking form and pressing the knife closer to her neck when her eyes meet Oliver Saxon's for the first time in days.
His eyes sparkle with a twisted sort of joy, the corners of his mouth curling up into a grin that's almost as ugly as the crusted over wound on his neck, Debra's gift to him. By the looks of it the flesh has only just begun to heel, the makeshift stitches he'd probably done on himself in some seedy garage making him look more like a refurbished rag doll than a man.
Saxon pushes two fingers to his throat and licks his lips as he attempts to speak. It would be a pitiful sight if Deb could bring herself to feel anything but hate for the man.
"Debra..." He croaks, his voice pitchy and grating to her ears. "H-Hell...Hello." He struggles to get out even the simplest of words, his face reddening with the effort.
"Fuck you." Deb replies. "Now, I see that you're having a little trouble with your words so I'll make this nice and easy for you. Tell me what the fuck you've done with my brother, and the good doctor is all yours."
He doesn't say a word in response, only shakes his head.
"Oh, so you think I'm fucking bluffing? Then why don't you try me, asshole."
Deb shifts slightly so that the knife is pressed just above her hostage's throat. She grazes the blade against the bottom of Vogel's chin, prickling her flesh with the tip of it. The skin breaks there with the pressure she applies, and Deb watches with a tinge of guilt as the blood oozes from the elder woman's skin.
She expects Saxon to react somehow, but she can't say that the Grinch-like smile that owns half of his face is quite what she had in mind. He reaches one arm behind him and Deb immediately takes cover, lowering the knife to her side so she can safely release Dr. Vogel.
Saxon wields his weapon - a pretty standard looking handgun - and aims it at Debra. She throws herself to the ground, careful of her throbbing left arm, and seconds later she hears the bullet lodge itself into the wall mere inches above her head.
"Go, go!" Deb shouts, nudging Vogel further. "Go into another room and lock yourself inside, now!"
The woman remains frozen in shock, staring straight ahead at the man she once called son. She squints at something in the distance and then smiles, her hand coming to rest on top of Deb's. She's running low on stamina and even lower on patience and so she pushes Dr. Vogel again, harder, hoping that she'll finally stop actually like the town retard and finally move her fucking ass.
"Dexter." Vogel mumbles low under her breath, looking hopeful and more assured than Deb has ever seen her.
Deb turns to face the staircase and her brother comes into view. He looks a little scratched up but otherwise unharmed; and though she badly wants to go to him, she won't allow herself to react at all in fear of alerting that mute piece of shit to what's coming for him.
Saxon starts up the steps towards Deb and Dr. Vogel with his gun cocked. He just shot at her and there's the possibility that he'll do it again, but for some reason she doesn't think he will. Not yet. If it's a family reunion he wants, then it's a family reunion he'll get; but in his mind, there's one important thing that the party can't start without.
Dexter advances on the unsuspecting man as quiet as a mouse, raising one finger to his lips in hopes of keeping the two women quiet. He keeps a safe distance between himself and Oliver Saxon, so light on his feet that the man remains absolutely clueless as to what's about to happen. He thinks he's got them cornered. How cute.
With a jerk of his head Dexter silently communicates with Deb, telling her to get the fuck out of there. He looks a little annoyed to see that she came back for him but of course he isn't the least bit surprised. This is what she does, after all.
Deb forces herself to stand and brings Dr. Vogel with her, yanking her by one arm and forcing them to walk together. She doesn't want to turn her back on a man who's armed but she takes her chances, sprinting down the long hallway with a panting Vogel by her side.
The sound of heavy work boots pounding up the stairs gets louder by the second, and Deb knows that Saxon is close now, seriously close.
"To the left." Dr. Vogel says. "My study, we should be safe in there."
"I pray to fuck you're right." Deb answers, veering to the left when the woman at her side dictates.
Vogel turns the knob of the door to her study and lets herself inside as Deb lingers close behind. Before she can make it into the room she feels a hand tangle itself into her hair and the man takes hold, harshly yanking her head back and throwing her down to the floor. Saxon stands over her, smirking as he lifts his leg and brings his boot clad foot down hard on her injured arm. She yelps out in pain, automatically bringing her good arm across her chest to cradle the other. Saxon decides to take advantage of her vulnerability, stomping down viciously on her stomach. He does it a second time and then a third and she cries out, her entire body throbbing as if someone dropped a bag of bricks on her. The metallic taste of blood builds up in her throat but she chokes it down, not quite ready to let Saxon see her sweat.
"What, that all you got, Ollie?"
Before he has the chance to act again he's thrown fiercely against the wall by Dexter. Debra's first instinct is to yell at him for taking so long; but the terrible ache throughout her entire body coupled with the fact that all Dexter has to defend himself is a small knife that is clearly no match for a gun gives her pause.
"Don't you ever fucking touch her. Ever." Dexter growls, emphasizing his point by banging Saxon's head against the wall again.
She watches from the floor as the two men fight, searching for a possible point of entry where she can slip in and grab Saxon's gun before he has the chance to take her down. He's shoved it in his back pocket, out of anyone's reach, but she suddenly remembers the vial of M99 that she'd left in hers after she decided to go after her brother. She can't make out any uncovered skin anywhere on Saxon's body, so she'll have to try to stick it through his clothes instead. A more difficult task, but doable.
Deb reaches for the forgotten savior with her good hand and crawls over to where Saxon stands, shakily raising her arm so she can position herself and attack the man at his weakest point. She lifts herself up as much as possible, running solely on adrenaline as the pain threatens to take control of her.
She jabs the needle into the boniest part of his legs and pushes, but her effort isn't good enough and the needle slides right out. She tries to reach for him again Saxon immediately stumbles backward and out of her reach; an inhuman screech roaring from his mouth. He reflexively knees Deb on the forehead and she falls down, the back of her head knocking hard against the floor. He lifts his foot and for a second Deb thinks he's coming after her again, but instead he stomps down onto the vial of M99 and crushes it, sending the liquid seeping into the carpet.
Deb sees Dexter lunge at Saxon with murder in his eyes. He drives his knife deep into his side, in the very same place that he'd been stabbed by the man days earlier.
What happens next is all in a blur.
She feels herself growing dizzy but tries to stand anyway, falling flat on her butt. Vogel's hands grab onto her from behind, dragging her into her study. She lifts Deb up and sets her down on in a chair after a few tries, and then hurries to the door. She tries to close it but it's too late as Saxon forces himself inside, Dexter's knife still protruding from his side.
He slams the door shut and Deb immediately hears Dexter throwing himself up at it, the frame shaking as he puts all of his weight against the closed door.
Saxon quickly gives up on trying to keep Dexter out. He's worn down and decidedly no match for Dexter's superior strength. Her brother comes catapulting through the door, falling down to the floor in surprise. He recovers almost immediately, bolting at Saxon like a raging bull.
Never one to sit around and do nothing, Deb forces herself out of the chair. She brandishes her knife, baiting Saxon to leave Dexter alone and come after her instead, but he doesn't go for it. She was never the one he wanted.
He reaches for his own weapon, clicking the safety and pulling the trigger before Deb even has the chance to realize what's happened.
The sticky redness is glaring as it bleeds through the left side of Dexter's shirt. His eyes are focused on Deb, widened in shock, but he still somehow manages to smile for her. He places his hand over the gunshot wound but the blood is getting everywhere much too fast, seeping through his fingers in a steady stream.
Deb calls out for him, unable to even hear herself think over the sound of her own screams.
She has to go to him but pure hate motivates her to lunge for Saxon instead. She promised him that she'd kill him for real this time, and she isn't in the business of telling lies.
Deb viciously thrusts her knife into his chest, barely missing his heart, as if the fucker ever had one to begin with. He comes after her on wobbly legs with both her knife and Dexter's still implanted in his flesh, giving him the look of a human pin cushion. That demonic smile is a permanent fixture on his face and if she weren't so angry she thinks she might be afraid of the rabid dog that is intent on killing them all for reasons she still doesn't completely understand.
From the corner of her eye she notices Evelyn approaching. The doctor gives Debra a curt nod and she returns it, silently hoping to herself that they are on the same wavelength. This could be disastrous if Vogel doesn't pick up on the message Deb is trying to give off.
Deb backs up further and further until she reaches the open window and Saxon is right on her, his laughter insidious and his eyes glimmering with intent. When Deb sees Vogel closing in she quickly pivots to the side and both women take hold of each of the man's shoulders, pushing with all their might until they finally send him on his descent to hell. He hits the ground with a sickening splat, his arms and legs spread out to his sides in an abnormal position. Deb has the urge to go and check if he's actually dead this time, but the brain matter splayed around his fractured skull answers that question for her.
Deb's last thought before she loses it all is that he'll end up making a great chalk outline for the boys in blue.
Her eyes dart back to Dexter's and her world turns to ashes. The man she loves more than life itself is still conscious but barely so; blinking rapidly as he struggles to stay here with her.
She runs as fast as her feet will take her, throwing herself to the floor in front of her dying brother. Dying? Dexter? No, that's impossible. He isn't meant to die. He's meant to live and spend forever with her and Harrison.
"Evelyn, what the fuck are you doing!?" Deb shouts, desperately pressing her uninjured hand over top of Dexter's so she can help stem the bleeding. The doctor stands motionless by the open window with a vacant sort of look in her eyes, and it worries Deb that she still can't quite tell where the woman's loyalties lie. She helped push her own son out of a window and now she's upset that he's splattered across the concrete like an egg in a frying pan? What the fuck did she think was going to happen?
"He's actually gone." Dr. Vogel says, turning to face Deb.
Coming to terms with the fact that she aided in the murder of her own son can't be easy for the doctor; but the fact that that same son beat her ass not even twenty minutes ago surely has to ease the guilt somewhat. Still, Deb can hardly find the strength to care. Not when she's too busy trying to save Dexter's life.
"I can't believe that he's gone. Again." Dr. Vogel mutters to herself.
"Yeah, but my brother, he isn't. So stop standing around like a mental patient and fucking call 911!"
"No...No 911." Dexter protests, his eyes glossy with the threat of tears.
"Ignore him and move your fucking ass." Deb orders the woman through gritted teeth.
Vogel does as she's told; using the phone a few feet away to alert the authorities that there's been a shooting and that immediate attention is needed. She doesn't mention the dead body splattered out on the sidewalk, but Deb figures that they'll see that for themselves soon enough.
After giving a few more details to the person on the other line she mumbles the address and hangs up the phone, coming over to lean beside Deb and give Dexter the once over.
"He's looking very pale." She acknowledges, the worry she must feel for her surrogate son finally becoming apparent in her wide eyes.
But Deb can't bring herself to feel anything but malice for the woman kneeling beside her. If it weren't for her, Oliver Saxon would've never been in their lives in the first place. If it weren't for her, she wouldn't have to struggle to keep her brother's lifeblood in his chest where it belongs.
"Fuck you! You don't know what the hell you're talking about! – Dexter, no, please, keep your eyes open for me, okay?" She goes from shouting at Vogel to speaking softly to Dexter in record time, trying to choke down the tears that she feels bubbling up inside. She presses frantic kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, and finally, to his lips; as if she can somehow breathe life back into the lungs of a dying man. Deb has never been one for miracles, but she could sure use one right about now.
Vogel migrates over to the corner of the room and goes to sit in an empty chair there, cradling her head in her hands. She doesn't say another word. Good.
Debra's throat is sore and her body is sorer but she forces her wounded hand on top of the other one, pressing down hard on her brother's chest. She's hopeless to stop the bleeding but she's going to try anyway, because she can't think of a world without Dexter Morgan in it. The thought of all of the months she'd spent ignoring him after New Year's and even wishing that she'd dealt him this very fate leaves a poisonous taste in her mouth that she knows will never fade.
What is she supposed to do without him? He's all that she's ever known, the only one that she's ever been capable of loving this deeply. She hates to imagine what will possibly become of her once he's gone. She'd like to think that she could pull through for Harrison's sake, but as she lays in the void trying to keep her brother whole, she doesn't know that she's strong enough to go on without him.
They really are fucked.
"I-I'm…" Dexter mumbles, sliding one of his hands out from under hers and using it to weakly cup her cheek.
There's blood all over her now but she doesn't much care about that. His hand still feels warm against her skin, letting her know that he's still here. She tries to focus on that small shred of light in the dark instead.
"What was that, Dex? I didn't hear you." She asks, leaning in closer to him.
"I said…I said that I'm sorry. I couldn't let you become another one, another victim. I tried."
He sees her as one of his victims and though on some level that may be true, how many times has he saved her?
If she is a victim then he is one, too. Of circumstance or of fucking fate, Deb isn't sure which.
A fit of coughs overtakes Dexter and he soon goes limp in her hands. Deb's entire body feels numb as she places two fingers at the side of his neck in desperation; expecting the worst but still holding out for the best.
She feels a faint pulse throbbing at his jugular and can't help but smile. He hasn't left her. Not yet.
"You have to stay with me, Dexter." She sniffles, the tears finally starting to fall from her eyes. "I-If you leave me…then what the fuck was this all for? I've spent my entire life fighting for you. I have to know that it means something."
"Deb, listen to me…It…It meant everything."
"Means, brother; it means everything." She corrects him. "Present tense. Alright, Hercules?"
"Hercules?" He repeats, erupting into another coughing fit. "That's…that's funny. Hey, do you remember when we were kids and we went…we went to the uh…"
He abandons the sentence all together as his eyes flutter closed for the second or third time now, a peaceful smile washing over his face and softening his features. She has flashbacks of Lundy, remembers how he slipped through her fingers despite how much she pleaded for him to stay.
Vogel was right before. Dexter's skin is even paler now, dangerously pale. She reminds him of Rita on the night she died; sanguine splotches stained across smooth alabaster skin. It's a sight she never thought she'd see again.
"Dexter…? Dexter! Stay with me, okay? Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She cries. "Evelyn, go get some fucking rags or something, he's bleeding too much, and I don't think I can't stop it with just my hands. He's going to bleed out! Please!"
The woman looks frightened and she scurries out of the room like a dog with its tail between its legs, returning almost immediately with a few thick scraps of fabric. She thrusts them into Deb's expectant hand and Deb moves both her and Dexter's hands out of the way, bunching up the material and pressing it hard against the steadily leaking wound.
Dexter flinches as she places one of his hands back on top of the cloth and adds her good hand on top of that.
"Dexter, are you there? Dexter? Say something!"
"I'm here, Deb…and 'm not going anywhere." He answers, his smile falling as he stares at her tear stained face.
"That's right, Dex." She nods. "We're Morgans, and us Morgans, we fucking fight, alright?"
"R-right."
"Good. Now, just keep listening to the sound of my voice, okay?"
"Mmmhmm…"
The sound of an ambulance approaching somewhere not too far off in the distance makes Deb feel legitimately hopeful for the first time since she set foot in Vogel's place. On any other day she would plug her ears and wait for the obnoxious noise to pass; but now she thinks that she'd be perfectly content to hear that blaring signal for the rest of her life just as long as Dex was there to hear it with her.
"Deb…" Dexter says; his breath heavy on her face. He reaches his sticky hand out to feel her again, smoothing down a stray strand of hair and tucking it back behind her ear where it belongs. "I love you."
"I love you, too…more than you will ever know." She replies, leaning in closer to his touch. "And that is exactly why you can never fucking leave me, Dexter. You promised, remember?"
"I know." He adds. "I know. But I haven't been a good brother to you. And I've been an even worse…whatever I am now."
He winks at her – or at least she thinks that it was supposed to be a wink – and it makes her laugh. It's a nervous laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
"You know…" He starts, clearing his throat before continuing. "I was never into religion, or God, or divine purpose, but it's like I was put on this earth for you. So please, don't be mad at me, Deb. I tried…I wanted to try, for you. It was always for you."
She's known her brother to wax poetic on some occasions, but this bit worries her. It is said that people tend to get sentimental when they die, but Deb won't allow herself to acknowledge that that is what this is.
Dexter closes his eyes and it seems as if he's slipped away from her again. She leans in closer and places a kiss on the tip of his nose, a single sob tearing through her when he doesn't do anything in response.
"Oh God, no. No."
"Ma'am? Ma'am, please, I'm going to need you to step away from the body."
Deb hadn't even heard anyone come in, too concerned with Dexter's waning condition to think of much of anything else.
"The body!? He's alive, you fucking dipshit!" She screams, wet hot tears streaming down her face with no sign of letting up. "No thanks to you!"
"I'm sorry, we got here as fast as we could. But please, I'm going to need you to step aside now. We're no help to him just standing around."
She reluctantly separates herself from her brother's lifeless form so the paramedic can do his job. She watches him with bloodshot eyes, hanging on to his every move.
Two other guys come in with a stretcher and they lift Dexter onto it as carefully as possible, strapping him on and placing an oxygen mask over his mouth. One of the men begins to roll him out of the room while the other steps over to Vogel to look her over.
The original man, the one who'd so considerately referred to Dexter as the body, sets his sights on Deb. He makes his way over to her, placing a hesitant hand on the arm that isn't all fucked up. She violently shoves him away, limping past the doorway so she can go figure out where they've taken her brother.
The paramedic catches up to her almost as soon as she makes it out into the hall, which is not that impressive of a feat considering the condition she's in. He looks her up and down, taking note of the bone that protrudes from her arm and the bruises that have started to form all across her skin.
"We have to get you to the hospital," he says. "The arm is definitely broken and judging by your limp, that may not even be the worst of it."
"Alright," Deb agrees, letting the man guide her carefully down the stairs. "But I want to ride with my brother. I have to know that he's okay."
"They've just pulled out now. The shot appeared to cut it very close to the heart, and he's losing blood fast. They had to rush him to the ER."
Everything sounds so calm coming from his mouth, so routine. He speaks as if he doesn't even know that he's just made her whole world come crashing down.
"I'm supposed to be there with him!" She exclaims. "I'm meant to fucking be there! What if something goes wrong, what if…what if he fucking dies and I'm not there to say goodbye?"
"Miss, please –"
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Her cries ripple throughout her entire body and she collapses to the floor, cradling her broken arm close to her chest. The pain has started to border on unbearable now, but she can't go to the hospital and let them look at her. Every minute she spends being fitted for a cast is another minute away from him, another minute left dangling on the edge of life and death.
"I don't want to force you, but I'm going to need you to comply. Your judgment is impaired, you've clearly just been through a traumatic event, and I'm worried that you're mentally not at the place you need to be to consider what's best for you." The medic explains, trying a more caring approach. She likes it better than the robotic voice from before, but he isn't fooling her any. She's a grown woman, she has the right to refuse medical care if she so chooses. "We're going to do everything in our power to help…?"
"Dexter." She informs him. "His name is Dexter."
"Dexter, yes. We're going to do everything our power to help him pull through this. But this is not the way to handle things. I'm sure Dexter loves you very much, and he wouldn't want to see you hurting. Please ma'am, come with me."
Deb wants to protest but she simply can't do that anymore. The man is right, Dexter wouldn't want to see her hurting. So she decides to give up fighting and actually do what's best for herself once.
She uses all of her strength attempting to stand again but finds that she can't anymore, the adrenaline fading away and leaving nothing behind for her to feel but the pain. The truth is, she hadn't realized how beat up she truly is. If she had to guess, along with the broken arm, Saxon may have left her with a broken rib to match.
The paramedic ushers in another stretcher and gingerly lays her out on it. He wheels her out of the house and into the bright morning sun, trying to make general conversation with her as he loads her into the back of the ambulance. He asks her things like her name and her medical history but she ignores him. It's nothing but background noise to her.
She feels herself slipping because there is left to do but wait, and Deb doesn't much like waiting. It's the waiting that's the hardest part.
Her lids feel heavy and her heart feels heavier. With each minute that passes she feels another piece of her resolve slip away until there is nothing left but the darkness. She slips into it gladly.
