A/N: I know. You've probably given up on this. I actually had too! But somehow the muses were smiling today. I've got a few last things to write but things are looking good. So I'm going to publish as soon as they're ready!

Prompt: One makes a comment considered a low blow/trigger

"I don't love you." Her voice is flat. She holds his gaze steadily and doesn't even have the decency to look sad.

His brow furrows in confusion. "Yes you do." Dexter counters. After all this is what she's always told him. The one thing he always counted on. Of course he had presumed many things that he now knows were foolish.

"No. I love who I thought you were. Turns out that person never existed." She is surprisingly detached when she tells him this and it frightens him.

"Deb, you may know things now that you didn't before, but nothing's really changed. I'm still the same person you cared about."

"The fuck you are." She replies frostily. "The person I knew wasn't a fucking serial killer."

She turns then, putting the last of Harrison's clothes into the luggage and zipping the bag closed.

Dexter watches her movements; sure this was some sort of bad dream. What he saw before him seemed impossible. Harry had warned him. She'll never be able to care for you. But in the back of his mind, in the depths of his cold heart, he had always thought his adoptive father was wrong. Harry understood many things, but this? No. Harry could never really understand what Deb meant to him or how much he meant to Deb.

Or so he thought.

But now the hard truth was staring him in the face. Literally.

"Get the fuck out of my way." Deb faces him, eyes burning angrily. In the middle of Harrison's bedroom the image is out of place. He glances down at the suitcase hanging from her right hand, her left clutching Harrison's favorite stuffed animal. He thinks about tucking Harrison in, snuggling the scraggly item into his son's arms.

"Dexter." Deb's voice sneers at him. The sound of his full name is strange on the contours of her voice. It sends a shiver down his spine. He lifts his gaze back to her, the same disconnected look on her face. He can feel himself spinning out.

Deb's irritation reaches breaking point and she shoves past him, knocking him into the doorframe as she moves out to the living room. He watches half dazed as she puts the suitcase by the door, grabs another bag and starts tossing in an assortment of toys.

Dexter finally finds his voice. "You can't do this."

"Fucking try me." Her response is sharp, biting and it only serves a reminder of how far they've come.

"I'll follow you." Dexter replies urgently.

Deb pauses, whatever bravado she showed of these last moments seems to leave her. But it's fleeting. She squares her shoulders, looks him dead in the eye. "I'll turn you in."

"You wouldn't." He's not sure if he believes her, but the fear at the thought is causing his heart to beat an unrecognizable pattern.

Deb moves closer to him. "I thought about it before. But I decided not to. Not because I care about you. But because I care about Harrison. He doesn't need to feel what I'm feeling now. He doesn't fucking deserve it. But I swear to fuck, Dexter. You come near us and I will handle it."

The threat in her voice is real. And in a moment of blinding rage he feels himself reach for her, the intention to harm her clear to Deb before Dexter can even fathom it. She steps away quickly, trying to mask the fear in her eyes as she shakes her head. But Dexter sees it and the look snaps him back, adrenaline coursing through his veins at the horror of hurting her.

The swallows back the fright. "How am I supposed to trust you? With me or with Harrison. After all the fucking lies do you really expect me to still care?"

He can't form a response because she's right. She deserves better than him – always has. And this is what he deserves. To be left, abandoned. He can't even hate her for it.

The weakness starts in his joints and he stumbles to the couch, dropping onto it and taking his heavy head into his hands. Deb pauses, standing a few paces away, staring down at him.

"You've brought this on yourself, Dexter." She tells him gruffly. "You and Dad and all your shitty lies and excuses."

He can't bring himself to look at her. He presses his palms harder into his eye sockets, the black in his view flashing with greens and reds.

"Just stay the fuck away from us." She instructs coldly.

He waits until he hears her pick up the bags, open the door and slam it behind her. He waits as her footsteps recede. He waits while the walls close in on his existence.

He pulls his hands away from his face and takes stock. She was right of course. It was his own fault. It was time for the lies to stop. It was time to be what Brian had always told him he should be. Forget being a hero. Forget the people who had tried to love him. Look where it had gotten them.

It was time to embrace who he really was. The monster, the killer, the fiend. He wonders why he ever waited so long.