Hey everyone! First off, let me just say that I am so so sorry for taking this long to update. Just so you know, I'm really mad at myself, and if it's any consolation, I should have something new up very soon :)
Tom, your reviews always make me smile. It means so much to me to always read your kind words. I actually did consider not ending this story now, but I figured that ultimately I would be doing you guys a disservice if I churned out some filler instead of ending this story with 26. I hope you enjoy where things end up! ROSEY cheeks, I think you might have been here from the beginning, which is crazy to me because I've been writing this for a while! Seeing your reviews always brightens up my day, so thank you for always being here! f3arsentinel that is one of the best compliments I've ever received, and if I were a crying person then it probably would've made me tear up a little. Thank you so much, I hope this lives up to your expectations! Beth, i'm so happy that you've enjoyed my little story so much! Thank you for the compliment. Comments like yours are what have kept me going when I get down on my writing skills! And soodohnimh (I love your name, btw), I've already told you this, but your fics are some of my favorites, so I kind of still can't believe that you read mine and actually enjoyed it haha. Thanks so much!
Okay, I'm going to end this for now, but I'll have a few more author's notes at the end.
To quote the only woman who possess the ability to be less articulate than myself while still remaining just as profound…fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
Just as things finally seem to be going right, I'm dragged back to reality. My reality, where everything seems to exist in a constant state of wrong. I don't even know why I allow myself to be surprised at this point. Every time, just as things appear to be falling into place, the universe swoops back in to remind me that monsters just don't get to live happily ever after.
I can almost swear that I hear the faint echo of sirens somewhere far off in the distance, but I know that more likely than not, it's all in my head; an irrational auditory manifestation of my very rational fear.
I clasp onto Deb's hand even tighter, starting to mentally calibrate a viable game plan that can be utilized once the two of us make it back to the hotel. I've played it safe for much too long now. It's true that I'm changing now, but it clearly isn't all for the better. What happened to the meticulous Dexter? The one who covered all of his bases? The one who always had a plan? It's time to bring him back out of hiding.
If the cops really are on their way, then we have to think fast. In life, there is no such thing as a Deus ex machina to fall from the sky and save the heroes – or in this case, the hero – from their impending doom. But Deb and I have made it this far on our own, and there's no way in hell we're going down that easy.
Once upon a time, I made my sister a promise. I told her that I'd be the one to give her her happy ending, and I have no intention of breaking that promise. I won't ever claim to know much for certain, but the one thing that I'm absolutely sure of is that Deb's idea of a happy ending doesn't include us rotting away in a pair of his and hers matching prison cells.
"Come on, Deb. We have to hurry." I urge her, trying my best to maintain my typically calm, almost detached tone of voice.
I pull my sister along; ready to start sprinting down the final few blocks back to our hotel, but all of a sudden her body stills, her hand drooping like dead weight in the palm of mine.
"What's wrong?" I ask, releasing her hand so that I can turn around to face her.
"It would probably be easier to tell you what isn't wrong." She answers. "Everything's fucked, Dex."
I cup her face in my hands and two small tears glisten in her eyes. They fall, trickling steadily down her cheeks and tickling the surface of my skin.
I place a kiss on her brow and then another on the tip of her nose, sighing and leaning in closer to press my forehead tenderly against hers.
"This is my fault," she mumbles. "I should've used that fucking hair dye. Maybe then we wouldn't be about to be hauled off to fucking prison. Tell me, do you think orange is my color?"
She steps back and crosses her arms over her chest, trying to maintain her usual tough exterior and hide the vulnerability that's already started to flood to the surface.
"Deb," I begin, meeting her gleaming hazel gaze. "We both know that isn't true. None of this is your fault, okay? I'm the fuck up here, not you."
"But Dexter –" She whimpers.
"Sssh," I interrupt, grasping her left hand and placing a chaste kiss to her knuckles and then another to the ring that shines on her finger. "There's enough time for us to go back and forth about this later, in Argentina. Okay?"
"Okay." Deb nods tentatively, wiping the few remaining tears from the corners of her eyes.
I reach out to grab onto her hand again so that we can finally be on our way, but she unexpectedly jerks away from me to clutch onto her midsection, a pained wince rippling throughout her otherwise lovely features. After a brief pause, she turns away from me completely and doubles over with a guttural moan.
I reach out to place a hand on her shoulder, feeling myself grow gradually more concerned. Can this spontaneous stomach bug actually be something much more severe? Is there even a possibility that this is nothing more than a simple adverse reaction to a sip of spoiled beer?
But of course, my ever so stubborn little sister will never admit that something is wrong until it all boils over and makes an even bigger mess than it would have otherwise. It's funny, I guess we're kind of alike that way. It's odd to think of us as equally destructive.
"Debra, if something's wrong, you have to tell me." I insist. "What if it's serious? What if this is something major?"
"Fucking cramps," she mutters. "It's nothing, Dexter. And feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that there's something much more important we should be focusing on at the moment, no?"
"Okay, I guess you're right," I sigh, reluctantly giving in to her like I always seem to do. "But the first stop we're going to make after we get out of this shit storm has got to be to a hospital. Do we have a deal?"
I hold out my hand for her to shake and she promptly swats it away, a move that I've come to expect from her over the years.
"Sure. Fine. Whatever." She agitatedly replies, her declaration sounding more like one long word rather than a proper sentence. "Let's get this show on the fucking road, then."
This time she reaches out for my hand of her own volition and we begin to cover the distance between us and the hotel.
"You know," Deb says, slightly out of breath as she struggles to keep up with my brisk pace. "I didn't really count on being on the run involving literal running."
"You've got long legs. You should be able to keep up." I joke.
I stop dead in my tracks and spin around to face Deb. I crouch down and scoop her up in my arms, not really needing to adjust much in order to support the added weight. She isn't dangerously skinny, though putting on a few extra pounds definitely wouldn't hurt her. Still, I'm thankful for her lean frame as I carry her across the street, maintaining somewhat of a relaxed pace so as to not to draw any unneeded attention to the two of us.
I assume Deb is going to unnecessarily give me a hard time and demand that I put her down, but she only wraps her arms around me securely and leans in closer, nuzzling into the space between my neck and shoulder.
We make it back to the motel a couple of minutes later, and nothing seems to be awry. The woman seated at the front desk even greets us with a warm smile and a friendly 'hello'. I continue carrying Deb until we reach the door to our room and I have to set her down to reach into my pocket and get the key.
I rush inside and quickly start to gather all of our bags, only to toss them down to the floor again when I notice Deb plop down on the bed.
"What the hell, Deb?" I ask.
She flashes an annoyed look in my direction and reaches for the remote control that rests beside her on the nightstand.
"I want to see if they're saying anything different on the news." She answers, turning on the TV and finding the local news station.
I sit down on the bed next to her, staring intently at the television screen. Soon enough, the breaking news bulletin appears, along with two photos of Deb and I. They're relatively old pictures. I can't remember exactly when they were taken, so of course, the both of us have aged a bit since then. I'm hoping that will work out in our favor.
"Debra Morgan, the Lieutenant of the Miami Metro Police Department and her foster brother, Dexter Morgan, are still wanted for questioning involving several murders in the area, as well as the disappearance of Detective Joseph Quinn of the same department." The newscaster explains. "There have been new developments in the past few hours, including suspicions that the two may still be in the Miami area, having reportedly been spotted somewhere around South Beach, according to an anonymous phone call placed to – "
"Ha! You've gotta be shitting me!" Deb laughs, punching me playfully on the shoulder.
"Ow! What the hell, Deb?" I ask, rubbing my shoulder where she threw her unnecessarily hard punch. "It's nice to see you so happy but I'm sorry, I'm failing to see the humor in any of this."
I reach out to return her punch, though not as roughly of course. She dodges my fist and expertly maneuvers the both of us, forcing me onto my back so she can bring one leg across and climb on top of me.
"Well, the humor is that you're still a fucking retard, but it's actually managed to pay off for once." She answers, smirking deviously.
"What? Deb, I don't know what you're talking about. I-I….what?" I stammer.
"I thought you were just being an idiot yesterday at the car rental place, blabbing your mouth off to some stranger like you wanted to get our dumb asses caught and thrown in prison. But your little chat with that greasy piece of shit might've actually managed to buy us some time." She answers. "I can't believe he ratted us out though. I mean, I thought we were friends."
Deb giggles and leans in for a kiss, but I shrug her away and lift her off of me. I get up off of the bed and begin to pace around the cramped room.
"Not to rain on your parade or anything, but this isn't over, Deb." I say.
"Of course it isn't over. It'll never be over." She replies, her chest sinking with the realization. "But thanks to our friendly neighborhood douchebag, everyone thinks that we're still in fucking Florida. The task force is going to focus the search there, at least for the time being. I'm not saying that we should throw a fucking fiesta and declare that we're home free, but we can at least take a second to breath, can't we?"
"No, we can't." I answer, crouching down and reaching into one of several duffel bags strewn lazily by the door. "I don't think you were overreacting earlier. Most likely, that guy at the diner was calling the police, and his wife and kids are witnesses. They won't be able to tell the police where we went once we left the diner, but I'm not about to sit around and wait for them to track us down."
"You're right," she admits, surprising me with the lack of fight she just put up.
She gets off of the bed and sits down on the floor, cuddling up beside me.
"Hey, what are you looking for?" She asks.
"This." I answer, cautiously removing the gun from the bag and holding it out to her, careful to keep the barrel pointed towards me.
Deb's eyes fall down to my outstretched hand, staring wide-eyed at the gun. The gun that once belonged to her ex-lover.
All at once her smile fades, and the light that makes her so Deb seems to vanish from her eyes.
Handing over a loaded gun to my unstable and occasionally suicidal little sister obviously doesn't fall very high on the list of things that I'd love to be doing, but protecting her does. I have no way of knowing exactly how dire our situation is about to become, so I have to be sure that Deb will have the means to protect herself when the time comes.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing with that?" She asks me, the offense in her tone unmistakable.
"Deb, please just take it." I mumble.
She stares at me coldly without so much as a word until I ultimately reach for her hand with the both of mine and force her to grasp the cold, hard steel.
"Fuck you, Dexter. We're not having this fucking conversation, okay? Let go of me." She demands, trying her best to free her hand from my tight grip.
Of course, she isn't much of a match for me. I feel bad for holding her hostage like this, but I need her to wake up and finally do what's best for her.
We exchange a heated stare, neither one of us quite willing to be the first one to give in. Suddenly, Deb begins to scowl in pain. I feel terrible once I look down and realize that I'm clutching rather roughly onto her wrist; the same wrist that she'd injured when her car veered off the road not too long ago. I gaze at her apologetically and quickly loosen my grip.
She slides her hand from between the two of mine and the gun clanks down to the carpet. I don't take my eyes off of her, searching for some sign that she's alright.
The corners of her mouth curl up into a devious smirk, which isn't exactly the sign that I had in mind.
"You're too damn predictable," she declares. "I knew you'd fall for that."
"This is serious, Deb!" I try to convince her, even going so far as to pout for good measure.
"You can make that fucking face at me all you want, Dexter. But your little manipulation tactics don't affect me anymore." Deb states.
She bites down on her bottom lip and turns away from me, because she knows that I know that she's an enormous liar. Though I know that I'm going to break her down. Slowly but surely.
"Please, Deb." I beg, picking the gun back up and holding it out to her again. "Just take it. It'll make me feel a hell of a lot better if you do."
"And I should give a shit because…?" Deb sniffles.
She turns back to me for a brief moment so she can smack the gun out of my hand. It falls down onto the carpet between us, and I decide against picking it immediately back up in favor of giving her time to think and hopefully come around to my side of things. Debra can be hard headed and often unwavering in her truth, but after all of these years, I know her. She'll come around. She has to.
"Listen to me, Debra. It's only for just in case. We're going to be fine, I'm going to make sure of that. But I need you to work with me here." I plead.
I extend a hand and softly place it on her chin, turning her face towards me. Her eyes sparkle with impending tears, and when the first of them falls, I lovingly wipe it away.
"I can't do it, Dex. I can't kill again." She cries. "You don't understand. I'm not –"
"Like me?" I finish. "I know you aren't. You're decent, and good. You're a hero, Deb. You're my hero."
"When did you become such a fucking kiss ass?" Deb asks.
After a prolonged moment of silence, Deb must realize that her usual method of redirecting a serious conversation is no longer working. She fixes a scowl on her face and addresses me once more.
"I get why you want me to have the gun, but you have to know how hard this is for me." She says. "I see that gun and all I can think of is Joey's face right before I…I… Jesus. I can't do it. I can't kill again, Dexter."
"That's good. Because I don't want you to." I reply. "I could never ask that of you, Deb. You know that I never wanted to get you wrapped up in any of this, but it's too late now. I dragged you into my shit and now you're in trouble and it's all because of me."
"Well, in your defense, you didn't exactly drag me." Deb interjects, a hint of a smile returning to her face. "You tried to push me away, but I kept finding my way back. What can I say? I guess I never really learned what it meant to get out once the getting gets good."
"Don't start blaming yourself again." I obdurately reply. "Not even as a joke. If this is anybody's fault, it's mine. You wouldn't even be in this mess if –"
"Goddamnit, Dexter! We're not going to keep going back and forth about this shit. I don't ever want to hear the words 'it's my fault' come out of your stupid mouth again. Are we clear on that?" Deb asks, giving me a look that could lead even the strongest of men to cower painfully in defeat.
"Yeah, we're clear." I reply. "Crystal. But I just want you to know that despite recent…developments…I'm still your big brother. And it's my job to protect you."
"Yeah, well I guess you did fuck that one up pretty royally, huh?" She grins. "But you'll have plenty of time to make it up to me once we get out of this shithole."
"Deb," I start, holding one of her hands in mine. "When we finally get out of this shithole, I'll be forever in your debt. There's no way for me to truly make any of this up to you, but I'm going to try my hardest. Count on it."
"Yeah? Well, I just might hold you to that, bro." She gladly answers.
The playful back and forth nature of the conversation quickly fades, the sense of calm in the air replaced with a new, thick sort of tension.
All at once we're back to where we started, and I fear that we'll be here all night thanks to my sister's reluctance to put herself first for once. Wordlessly I pick up the gun yet again and hold it out to her. This time, much to my surprise, she takes it.
Deb rises off of the floor and shoves the gun into her pocket, untucking her shirt to conceal the exposed handle.
I remain cross-legged on the floor, staring up at her in disbelief until she urges me to "get the fuck up so we can finally get the fuck out". I happily oblige.
I decide against pestering her about why she gave in to me so suddenly. After all, I got what I wanted. I should be happy. Lately, it seems like Deb and I are in constant conflict; so a reprieve from that tumult is graciously welcomed.
I try to gather all of our bags in one trip, but it's a heavy load. One bag falls out of my hands and soon the rest follow suit, leading Deb into a fit of giggles that I definitely prefer to the tears she'd spilled just minutes earlier.
"Okay, Hercules. That's enough. How about you stop embarrassing yourself and let me help you with a couple of those bags?" She suggests.
I hand her the lightest of the bags and she lugs it over to the door, momentarily setting it down so she can turn the knob and exit the room.
"No, me first." I instruct Deb; stepping in front of her and raising a hand to hold her back. "You know, just in case."
"Just in case what? Just in case the SWAT team is posted up outside the door?" She asks. "Don't be ridiculous, Dexter. I'm a big girl. I'm capable of walking out into a hallway without a fucking bodyguard to protect me."
"I know you don't need protecting, Deb. You never have. But could you just appease me this once, please? I can't help it. I'm always going to want to protect you. Always." I say. "No matter how independent you think you are."
"Whatever." she says, rolling her eyes but acquiescing to me nonetheless.
The corner of her mouth twitches slightly upwards in that charming way it tends to do when she's trying to keep a smile at bay. She nudges my shoulder impatiently, urging me out of the door so we can finally get the hell out of here.
I step out into the hallway and my breath catches in my throat.
Deb was partially right.
The SWAT team isn't posted up outside the door, but a small group of police officers certainly is.