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Splintering Bones.
The first thing he registers when he wakes up is cold metal seeping into his skin.
He's in a warehouse somewhere and he's tied to a table and he's going to die.
Ironic isn't it really? Is this how his victims felt before he ended them? Helpless and scared?
His breathing is coming out to fast and he's going to die.
He can't. He's getting married, he's going to be a father. He can't die now.
"You're awake." A voice calls from the shadows.
George King; the skinner. And maybe the last person Dexter will ever see.
No. He can't think that. He can't, he won't die.
"Y'know, a little someone told me you knew where Freebo was." King said methodically fiddling with a machete.
Miguel. Miguel said that it wouldn't end with his death. Dexter wasn't surprised at that, the man always kept his promises.
What surprised him was the heavy dread that filled his complex and swallowed him whole.
"And I won't stop until you tell me where he is."
But he can't tell King what he wants. That Freebo's dead. His body half way out of the Gulf of Mexico by now.
"I should warn you. I don't crack easily." He says. And it's a half truth. He doesn't break easily but right now he's not sure if that will be true.
George comes right up to him, looming over his face. "You will." He sneers. And Dexter's never been more scared in his life.
He feels like a child all over again. Stuck in a shipping container, full of his mother's blood. Pathetically crying out for his mom but she won't answer. Can't answer.
Because she's in bits and pieces and her blood is seeping into the floor and into Dexter's eyes. And all he can see is blood.
Red blood.
And it consumes and swallows him until there's nothing left but a monster pretending to be human.
But here. In this warehouse. Dexter feels very human.
And he's shaking.
When did he start shaking?
He looks up at his unmaker. George King. He's smiling as he raises the machete.
---
Pain. Stinging, unforgiving pain. That all he can hear is the pain and the blood. He feels it. Feels it run down his back and uncomfortably sit on top his skin.
King is screaming and yelling at him asking him "WHERE THE FUCK IS FREEBO!?" He's desperate.
A dog who's latched onto a bone and is gnawing at it until it breaks. And Dexter's the bone
He shudders in another breathe. And he doesn't cry. No, he doesn't cry but he has to blink hard.
Because all he can see is Rita, and Deb and Astor and Cody.
Dexter Morgan. Father. Husband-to-be. Brother. Beloved.
Dexter Morgan the monster.
The machete slices into his skin again and he lets out a hiss of pain. At this rate he'll pass out of blood lost any minute.
He suppose that would be a mercy.
But monsters don't get mercy taken on them. And George King injects him with something.
"I'm not done talking to you yet. You'll crack soon."
"Fuck you." He hisses
He feels another drag of a blade across his shoulder. It's deep and long and it hurts. Hurts so, so bad. He didn't think anything could hurt this bad.
"You better watch that fucking mouth of yours. Dexter Morgan."
That's the last thing he hears before he gives himself to unconsciousness.
He absently wonders what Rita's doing as he drifts off.