Chapter Text
"Some place cold?" Dexter says, getting more into his new normal. It's been three days since he woke up this way, and although there's some things he's confused on, so far, he's adapting. For example, he can still do his job. Learning how to properly use all the fancy equipment and supplies is hard, but his basic hunting skills and killer instinct apparently made up the bulk of his adult self's work.
"That's my theory. Thought about what the coroner told me yesterday. The cells look cold damaged, so I'm trying to figure it out." Debra replies.
He thinks on it. Remembers the dream he had, the barbie doll head hidden under his pillow at home alongside a gun with one bullet. Cold…
"The body was different, aside from the no head problem. Like meat packing cold."
Dexter had seen the pictures, and wishes he could have seen it in person. He's looked at all the pictures taken, the beautiful bloodless bodies chopped into neat even pieces. What a way to flirt, the dark part of his mind whispers. He needs to think of a name for it. Unfortunately it seems the adults only want him to look at the crime scenes after bodies are removed. Something about trying not to traumatize him.
"Dex? You okay?" Debra's voice shakes him, and he blinks. "Maybe I shouldn't discuss this with you. You're not ready."
"No!" He says, louder than necessary. "I can handle it." He fidgets with his hands. He has to remind himself. Act like he's not a monster underneath his human skin. Like the fabric of his pants doesn't make him want to scream, or like the buzzing light in the corner doesn't exist.
"Okay, but if you really start freaking out on me, then you're only looking at photos of blood spatter." She says, matter of factually. "Any ideas then?"
Cold. Isolated. No where to run or hide. Like his dream. Cold, walled in, contained. "…A truck."
"Huh?"
"Like uh, like an ice cream truck? I think…" He fumbled through his words. "The bodies are super cold right? A truck that has the refrigerator stuff in it could keep them that way… easy to move around, and generally goes unnoticed because this is Florida." Dexter explained hastily. "A cold truck. Contained, a small space…easy to move around and hide…" He feels the excitement bubble up in his stomach again.
Just thinking about this guy is driving him nuts. He has to wonder if he'll leave something else. Does he care if Dexter's a teen? Probably not, and he doesn't care either. He's old enough, he could handle it. From what he remembers a lot of teens had lost their virginity's around his age.
"Why a small contained space?" Debra's voice breaks him from his spell, and he blinks.
"It just… makes sense." He replied dumbly. He realizes he's thinking like those articles like in those dumb magazines she used to buy. Does he— have a crush on this killer person?
They've shown clear interest, they're practically courting him, and the dark voice in his head is practically all over itself with the desire to go play with them.
Oh no. This could be very very bad for him. "How was your girls night with Rita?" Dexter blurts out suddenly.
"It was…" Debra pauses to think. "Really nice. I might hang out with her more." she doesn't say anything about the subject change, so it worked. "I hope you don't mind Astor and Cody too much, because I think I might plan a few more girls nights with her."
"They're fine. Good at cards, they can sorta keep up with me."
That makes her smile. "Maybe you'll teach them your crazy card tricks."
He gives a lop-sided smile.
When he's back at the office, there's a meeting of sorts, but he's not allowed to attend. Doakes's stops by his desk before it's set to start. "You've been doing decent for a kid, so you better keep up the good work. I want that spatter report once I'm out that meeting. You got that?"
He nods quickly, starting to type. "I'm almost finished, sir."
That makes the lieutenant smirk. "I like you better this way Morgan. You actually listen to orders." He then turns and leaves.
Dexter rolls his eyes as he walks off. All the cool stuff is happening without him now and that's super lame. He wants in, badly. That and he finished the report hours ago, and was just looking busy.
He opts for finishing his spatter report quickly, and sitting right outside the door, listening in. No one seems to question him, so he's free to snoop. Multiple people walk past him and say nothing, so he's in the clear.
They're talking about finding a witness which is dumb because if there was a witness, how would the killer have had the time to gift wrap the body? That idea comes from LaGuerta, the Lieutenant apparently and she's the big boss in charge when Captain Matthews isn't around.
Then he hears his sister sputter over her words— that hasn't changed— and suggest the cold truck idea. Dexter winces. If you're gonna suggest an idea, you better say it with a lot more confidence than that.
He honestly just feels bad. And what was that LaGuerta said about hookers?
When the meeting ends, he's called into her office, and he hands over the report he finished forever ago. Doakes is there too.
"I'm just saying… it looks like a crime of passion to me. Like a soap opera. Why kill the guy so easily, but take a lot of time with the lady? It has to be an ex-boyfriend or something…" Dexter says, wringing his hands. "I know I'm just a kid in your eyes, but sometimes you adults over complicate things."
He gestures at all boards in her office, covered in the pictures he took the other day.
LaGuerta smiles at him, kindly. "Okay. We'll hear you out. Sergeant Doakes will check it out."
The man doesn't look pleased, but he won't do anything under the watchful eye of the lieutenant. "Fine… You better be right." Doakes all but storms off, leaving him alone with the head lady of the department.
"How are you adjusting?" She asks, all polite. "You've been doing good on your reports. Nicely typed and everything."
"I read some of my old ones to see how they're formatted." Dexter replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. "And I looked at the crime scene. It wasn't that hard."
LaGuerta nods approvingly. "That's good. I know this is an… awkward situation, and that you're confused. If you ever feel like you can't handle anything you see, you're free to not be at the scenes. No need to traumatize you."
Technical he was already traumatized, but she didn't know that and he didn't even remember what happened. He was confused though, he'd heard about how mean she was from Debbie. Why was she being so nice?
"I can handle it. I swear, I wanna keep doing a good job."
"That's the spirit! Listen, legal is still working out the kinks with this situation, but, you're fine as long as we follow child labor laws. So if anyone tries forcing you to do anything, you come to me. Understand?"
He nods quickly. "Uh… Lieutenant?"
"Yes honey?"
Dexter suddenly understands, and feels like grinning like a madman. Which he is, a madman. Looks like big boss lady has a soft spot for children, and as he is the youngest here, and under the age of eighteen, he is automatically a child in her eyes. Oh, he's getting so much mileage out of this. "I wanted to ask about my sister… why is she pretending to be a prostitute?"
She paused, and grit her teeth. "That's… complicated. See, they're in danger right now, so we're helping protect them."
"But why Debbie?" He makes his voice as soft and innocent as possible. Hook, line, sinker.
"Ah, Don't worry about it, don't tell any one just yet, but Captain Matthews wants to bring her into homicide. As long as she keeps up the good work, she'll never have to pretend again."
"Oh, phew." He smiles, and sees her shoulders relax. "It's just… she's my sister and my only family. I don't want her to get hurt with a killer on the loose. Thanks Ms.LaGuerta."
"Oh Dexter. Please, call me Ms.Maria." She pats his shoulder gently, and he nods.
"Uh-huh! Thank you Ms.Maria!" And then he's free to return to his own little office space. Alone at his desk again, he grins like a madman. That was too easy, no wonder he's stayed working here as an adult!
Sure, some of the people here are weird, but they're easy to play. Except for Doakes sort of. The man seems to be able to see through his mask, even his adult self's mask which was probably way better than him currently. So, that may be a problem…
But social norms won't let the man touch him. And neither will LaGuerta, or rather, Ms.Maria.
So, Dexter walks back to his desk with some extra pep in his step.
That night, Debra goes to hang out with Rita. Another girls night.
"Wanna come with and stay with the kids? Or you wanna just stay here and sleep?" Debra asks, putting supplies in her purse.
"No, I'm fine."
His sister looks at him, and pulls out a few dollars bills. "Pizza money. Use it wisely."
"Thanks Debbie." He continued typing away at his computer. It seems that he had a list of potential prey. Prey he's kept tabs on still, but he knows that he can't pursue. He doesn't have his adult self's physical prowess, his practice skill. He'd be like a penguin trying to fly.
Dexter hates that. But it's not like he has much choice in the matter. It's moments like these where he wishes his dad were still here, to guide and teach him. His training is incomplete, and it always will be now.
Debra shouts good bye one last time.
He sighs, and closes his laptop. He waits until he hears her car leave, and then, he gets changed. He puts on dark pajamas, so in-case he gets caught, he has the excuse of sleep walking.
Dexter turns out the lights, and puts his key, one of his many hunting knives and his phone in his oversized pockets. He pauses, and then pulls the Barbie head from beneath his pillow, and puts it in his pocket too.
Then he walks out into the night, and begins to walk. He is not the only predator in Miami, but he is the only one here on the street tonight.
Debra hasn't given him much time alone to map out his surroundings. To memorize all the side alleys, the hiding spots. She's practically been stuck to his side like glue.
He's been waiting for the chance for days, to look, to roam.
Dexter thinks he lives in a decent enough neighborhood. Not to dangerous. Just average, normal really.
An hour in, as he's investigating an alley, he feels a shiver go up his spine. All the natural noises, the bugs, the barking of dogs has stopped. He turns slowly, and sees a truck, a meat packing truck. A refrigerated truck.
He blinks, and thinks it's weird for a truck looks that to be riding around this late.
Before he can really think on that further, a gloved hand comes out the driver side window, and launches something at him. Instinctively he catches it. It's cold. And it has hair and eyes and—
Dexter turns his head to the side, and immediately throws up.
"Thanks Debra. I know that this was probably a stretch but…"
"Rita please. You have the house to yourself, and you wanted to relax and have a glass odd wine with a friend. I'd be doing the same thing in your shoes." Debra replied, swirling her glass.
Rita smiled at her, before sighing in relief. "I missed just having friends. Ever since Paul went to jail, everyone has been so distant…" All the moms she used to talk to when waiting for Astor and Cody to get out is school or at the park, no longer even looked in her direction.
"Well screw them!" She says loudly. "You're like, practically a super hero. You've endured more than most people experience like, ever. Fuck anyone who looks down on you for being a survivor."
"I wouldn't say that… just that maybe they should try walking in my shoes." Rita replied, sheepishly.
"If they did, maybe they'd all shut up."
"Maybe." She sat a little closer, so that they're knees and thighs were touching. Debra felt the other woman put a hand around her waist.
"Thanks. It's good to have someone in my corner, especially because…" Rita hesitated, thinking of a certain red headed teen. "He was in my corner, and now he doesn't remember me. And of course he's too young."
"Well, I'll always be in your corner. I promise."
They snuggled close together, reveling in their shared warmth. The comfort of another person, of not being alone.
Debra allowed her to bury her head in her neck, pressing ever closer. Maybe it was the wine talking, but right now, Rita looked … attractive. Curled up against her.
The moment was cut short by two phones ringing at once.
The two jumped, and scrambled to separate.
Rita picked up, and then sighed. "It's Cody, he threw up all over her couch…"
Debra picked up her phone next. "…I have to go. Dexter … is in trouble."
"You go be a good sister."
"You go be a good mom."
They smiled at eachother, a private smile. and then rushed out the front door.
Debra stood nearby as LaGuerta questioned her brother again.
"One more time, explain what happened."
"Well, I went out dor a walk. I know it's late but I wanted to get familiar with the neighborhood again. As I was walking, a meat truck drove past me. Window opened and the driver chucked something at me." He frowned, thinking of that cold human head. "I caught it, and then I realized it was a head, and I threw up. Then I called the cops."
Both women frowned. "Did you see that guy? anything?"
"i just saw a gloved arm. The windows were all tinted, so couldn't see inside either."
Maria paced, thinking. "That guy had to have the head in his passenger seat or something…"
"This might be our guy, everything matches. A cold decapitated head in a meat truck?" Debra whispered. "Give me the word, and I'll go searching all of Miami for this truck."
The lieutenant looks at her with a thinly veined scowl, but spots Dexter right behind her. He has one of those metal heat retaining blankets on him, and he's shaking.
This is her issue with having him on the force. He's not ready for the intense stuff, and this incident proves it. Sure, the odds that he would run into the hooker killer and get a severed head tossed at him while on a walk were low, but not zero.
She sighs, and looks back at Debra. "I want that truck found."
"Yes Lieutenant." Once LaGuerta had left, she rounded on Dexter. "What were you thinking? Walking around in the middle of the night, alone, defenseless?"
Her brother looked down, guilty. "I was bored, and I was fine… no one bothered me. Well, up until… But I was getting cabin fever Debbie! I just wanted to explore."
"You can explore during daylight hours on your day off. Not during the middle of the night completely alone! You could have died." She hissed. "Never do that again!"
"I'm sorry Debbie…" He frowns, and looks up at her again. "So that was definitely the guy right? The hooker killer?"
"Definitely."
Dexter's cheeks began to burn, and he looked sickly. She sat next to him on the curb, and sighed. "We're going home, okay?"
"Okay."
Alone in his room, Dexter could immediately tell that the mysterious person had been here again.
He crept alone slowly, checking everything over. His heart began to thud heavy in his chest, and he approached his bed.
He checked underneath it and found nothing— obvious hiding spot of course— and then checked under his pillows. There was the rest of Barbie, all chopped into pieces. Like the hookers. That, as well as a glass slide with a single drop of blood.
And lastly, a note.
' Hi Barbie. I've run some errands for you.'
Something began to burn in his stomach, as he looked at the items before him. No names on the slide, of course. But he knew… the man he'd been keeping tabs on was likely dead. He needed to keep his eyes on the missing persons reports in the coming weeks.
But his main thought was clear.
The other killer, the other monster like himself, was still very interested in him.
They wanted to dance that sultry tango and suddenly Dexter imagined himself with a faceless person, one hand around his waist as he was dipped with grace. A blood filled deadly dance. A beautiful dance.
"I wanna play." He whispers, hoping the other could still hear him somehow. "Let's play, please."