Dexter turns sharply toward me, and there is an oddly pale appearance to his skin that I swear hadn't been there a few seconds ago. It makes him look like he's just seen a ghost or something.

He lightly pulls the door closed and advances on me without so much as a word, placing a hand on my chest and forcing me to stumble backwards until the back of my knees are pressed against the bed and I fall down onto it.

"Dexter, what the fuck?" I agitatedly ask, sitting upright on the bed.

He stands over me, wringing his hands together in a rare display of nervousness.

"Deb, I need you to listen to me very carefully." He whispers.

I nod at him, trying to hide the fact that I'm scared out of my mind. I'm sure he sees right through me, though. He always does.

"There are cops outside our room," he gulps, still keeping his voice at a minimal volume. "I'm not exactly sure how many, I didn't have enough time to get a good count. All I know is that it can't be more than six."

"Fucking phenomenal." I mutter under my breath. "Jesus Christ, Dexter. What the fuck are we supposed to do now?"

"Just…let me handle it." Dexter says. "Everything's going to be fine. We're going to get out of this if you just let me handle it."

It seems like he's trying to come off as assertive, but all his feigned confidence manages to do is put me even more on edge. It's clear to me now more than ever before that we've really fucked ourselves into a corner this time. I don't know that there even is a way out of this nightmare anymore. Was there ever? Or have we always just been doomed from the start?

"You know me better than anyone, bro. So you can't possibly believe that I'm going to sit back and let you handle this by yourself. We're in this mess together, Dexter. Always." I declare. "We're in this together and we're going down together. No heroic bullshit. Are you with me on that?"

"Okay, fine, no heroic bullshit. But I'm not going to let you go down for any of this, Debra. I told you that I was going to get you out of this, and that wasn't a lie. You have my word on that." Dexter insists, stepping aside to reach into the bag that has all of his tools and shit inside. "I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

"No!" I protest, probably shouting a bit too loud considering the fact that there is a squad of fucking cops only a few feet away from the door. "No! Absolutely not. Listen to me, Dexter. You're not thinking straight. Step away from the fucking bag."

He pulls a frighteningly large knife out of the bag and turns to meet my gaze. I stare at him, trying to appeal to the humanity that I know has always existed somewhere inside of him.

The vacant look I'd seen in his eyes when he did what he did to Quinn is nowhere to be found, but I'm scared that the monster – this so-called dark passenger – is lurking somewhere close, waiting.

My brother has showed me that he can be good, but was it all just an act? I want to believe that he's changed, but like the song says, you can't always get what you want.

"Deb…" he whimpers. "Deb…I don't know what else to do. I-I'm lost."

"Well I can tell you what you shouldn't do. You shouldn't go out into that hallway wielding a butcher knife at a group of cops like a fucking lunatic!" I caution him, my voice half a whisper and half a scream. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You already murdered a detective, so what, you figure that you might as well slaughter half a dozen more cops too while you're at it? Jesus Christ in a blender, we are completely fucked."

"I'm not…Deb, I was not going to kill them." Dexter says, trying (and failing) to convince me.

"Oh? So what was the knife for, then? You planning on carving up a Thanksgiving turkey in the next five minutes?" I scowl, folding my arms over my chest. "Goddammit, Dexter. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know!" He snaps, his harsh tone sending shivers down my spine. "Just give me a second, Deb! I'm going to fix this!"

"There is no fixing this, Dexter." I sigh. "This is it. It's over."

"It's not over." He says, letting the knife fall out of his hand and onto the floor with a clank. "It's never over. We're going to make it, Deb. I'm going to find a way. I promise."

I get off of the bed, sitting sit down on the floor at Dexter's feet, and he sullenly comes over to lay down beside me. He rests his head in my lap and I bring my hand up to it, tenderly rubbing his scalp in what I can only hope is a soothing gesture.

He closes his eyes and buries his face into me deeper, sighing serenely.

"I'm scared, Deb." He murmurs. "Being with you…it's what I want more than anything in the world. I only wish that we had more time. But even a thousand lifetimes could never be enough. I love you. I'm so sorry."

"Me too, Dex." I reply. "Me too."

"But you don't deserve this. I don't deserve this. I've fucked up your life, Deb. I don't deserve you here by my side, ready and willing to give up everything for me only to end up in prison for the rest of your life." He says, his voice trembling with the threat of tears. "I wish we could just make it stop. But I'm afraid that we can't do that."

I wish we could just make it stop.

I wish…I wish…

Yes, I really fucking wish…but how?

A sudden knock at the door brings me back to reality.

Dexter abruptly lifts his head out of my lap and goes to stand up, but I raptly yank him back down to me.

"Deb," he whispers. "We can't keep waiting around like this. Those police offers are going to come and bust that door down, sooner rather than later. That is, if they don't already have a key. And right now, we're sitting ducks. You have to let me do something."

"I know," I answer, the realization of what has to happen coming to me in an instant. "But what if you were wrong? What if we can do it? What if we can just… make it stop?"

"Well, I'm open to any suggestions you might have on making that happen. Because I'm sorry to say that I've got nothing." He says, a queasy smile spreading across his face.

"I know that you love me, and I know that you once told me that we'd always be together. Did you really mean it?" I ask.

"Of course I did." He answers, studying my face and probably trying to figure out where exactly all of this is headed. "I still do. I always will. You know that."

"Well, what if we…" I start, hesitating for only a moment so I can blink away the few tears that have started to form. "What if we make sure that that's how things go? You know…make sure that things happen on our own terms."

"Deb, I don't know what you're saying." He says, looking into my eyes, his own full of worry. "You're scaring me."

I take a few haggard breaths and start to lower my hand until it connects with the cool steel resting against my hip. I withdraw the gun from its hiding place and unsteadily cup it in both of my hands.

"We could make it all go away. It would be quick, Dex. It would be fine." I say, feeling my bottom lip quivering as the tears start to flow faster now. "Don't you think so?"

"No!" Dexter loudly shouts with absolutely no regard to the lurkers outside.

"No." He adamantly repeats, forcefully grabbing my face in his hands and locking his eyes on mine. "Shut the fuck up, Deb. Do you hear me? Shut up, I'm not going to sit here and listen to this."

"What the fuck else is there to do!? We're all out of options, and I'd rather die with whatever dignity I have left than be forced to rot away in a prison cell for the rest of my life, or worse." I hiss, breaking away from his hold.

"Deb…" Dexter pleads.

"No! I'm not going to sit and watch as the state of Florida murders you, Dexter! Because you and I both know that that's what's going to happen. We're going to be dragged through a trial, a fucking highly publicized trial, and everyone will be demanding your head on a silver platter. Do you want Harrison to see that? What about Astor and Cody?" I cry.

"Once the jury finds you guilty – and they will fucking find you guilty, so don't you even dare give me any of your 'what ifs' – you're going to spend years, maybe even decades, sitting in a maximum security cell on death row, waiting. Of course, I'll never see you again. No, not until one day when I turn on the news after fighting some homicidal bitch for control of the remote, and they announce that you've finally been given the lethal injection. So tell me, Dexter. Is that what you want? Is that what you fucking want!?"

I hold the gun in my left hand and use my right to punch him firmly in the gut. I do it again and again and again, hurting the one person who matters more to me than life itself as I try to let out all of my pent up fears and frustrations. But why can't he see? Why won't he accept that this is all that is left for us? This was never going to end any other way. Since page one, our story was destined to end in tragedy.

I'm sobbing uncontrollably now, and I still can't bring myself to stop this relentless attack on my big brother. He lets me throw a few more punches, and then finally he grabs onto my arm and twists it slightly, restricting me from doing any more damage.

"Please," I beg. "Please, Dexter. Make it stop."

Tears start to rapidly fall from my brother's eyes and I instantly feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. But I can't stop. I need him to see.

I reach out for his hand and tentatively place the gun on his outstretched palm. He's sobbing almost violently now, but I don't let up.

"You'll make it quick, I know you will. And it won't hurt. You'd never hurt me on purpose, Dexter." I say, trying my best to smile through my tears and let him know that everything is going to be okay. "Or if you don't want to see…I-I could do it myself."

"I never should've put that gun in your hands. Fuck. I don't know what I was thinking." He sobs.

"You were thinking that you wanted to do whatever it took to protect me. So protect me, Dexter. Protect us. Please." I plead with him.

"Stop it, Deb!" He hollers, slapping his hands over his ears like a child.

As if attempting to block out what I'm saying will somehow make it all any less true.

The gun falls down with his action and I fling myself down stomach first onto the carpet, crawling over to the one thing that will finally make it stop.

Dexter, still hysterical, latches on to my leg and drags me back over to him, but not before I'm able to grab the gun.

He sits me upright in his lap and wraps his arms around me, his embrace so tight it's almost suffocatingly so.

He rests his head in the crook of my neck, moving my hair aside so he can start peppering kisses on my skin, unusually warm because of how worked up I am.

"I am going to find a way, Deb." He whispers into my ear, following up his words with a few worried kisses in the same spot. "We are going to find a way. But not this. Never this. Do you hear me?"

I look down, staring at my shaking hands. I'm crying so much now that my vision starts blurring in and out, in and out, distorting the image of the gun and seeming to take away all of its power all at once.

Dexter reaches for my left hand, tracing my ring delicately with one finger.

"What about this? What about our future? Deb, please." He begs, his voice cracking right along with my stupid fucking heart.

I toss the gun down to the floor and hide my face in Dexter's shoulder, staining his shirt with the wetness that continues to fall from my eyes.

"I'm sorry." I cry.

And I am. But still, that doesn't magically make it all better. We're still fucked, and we're still dead. The only difference is that now death won't be coming on our own terms. It won't be fast, nor will it be peaceful. No, now it will just be slow and agonizing and unfair.

But I don't blame Dex. Not even a little bit. I understand him not being able to pull the trigger. I understand that he'd rather slaughter every last one of those cops outside than put a bullet in my head and watch as I bleed out. I understand all of that, but…

"Wait! W-what about those cops you saw?" I sniffle, raising my head to look my brother in the eyes. "Just one knock at the door and that's it? Shouldn't they have busted that motherfucker down by now?"

"You're right. I'll go check. Stay here." Dexter says, staunchly kissing me on the forehead.

He wipes away as many of my tears as he possibly can and tucks a few runaway strands of hair behind my ear before standing up to walk over to the door.

On the short walk over to the door, Dexter bends over to pick up the gun and shakily shoves it into his back pocket. Normally I would hound him about not trusting me enough to sit here for two seconds without blowing my brains out, but he still looks…well… really fucking upset, to say the least, so I keep my mouth shut.

Once he's at the door, he carefully looks out of the peephole. He stands there for a while, just staring, and the longer he goes without saying anything, the more anxious I get.

"Dexter! What do you see?" I ask.

"Nothing." He says, turning to me with one eyebrow raised in confusion. "I don't see anything."

"Are you…are you sure?" I question, unable to wrap my mind around the fact that I might have almost convinced my brother to commit a pointless murder-suicide with me because of a few cops who hadn't actually been looking for us in the first place.

I mean, talk about acting prematurely.

"I think so…?" Dexter replies, the inflection in his voice making his answer come off as more of a question than a statement.

"Here, let me check. Maybe you missed something. Considering the fact that you're an old man, and those eyes just aren't working the way they used to." I inappropriately tease, forcing a smile and trying to bring some light into a very dark situation.

"You're the one who had to wear glasses all through high school." He replies. "I haven't been to the eye doctor is a while, but I'm pretty sure I've still got 20/20 vision."

Dexter doesn't look any less traumatized now than he did before, but at least he's playing along with me. Even if it is just a half-assed attempt at making me feel better, I will gladly take whatever I can get.

I make my way over to the door and stare out of the peephole. Dexter stands directly behind me, practically breathing down my neck.

I don't see anyone in the hallway. I don't even see any signs that someone had been there at all. I slowly turn the knob and open the door a few cracks, peeking my head out to get a better look.

It's quiet out there, almost too quiet, actually.

Dexter clutches onto my shoulder, trying to hold me back just in case I decide to run out into the hallway like a fucking spaz, and I groan. Please, as if I would do anything that stupid.

I stretch so that I can be able to see a bit further down the hallway, and initially I don't see anything out of the ordinary. But then I squint, and I notice what looks like a shadow spread across one of the walls.

"Someone's out there." I whisper, pulling the door closed and placing a hand on Dexter's chest.

I gently nudge him backwards until I feel like we're far enough into the room so no one will hear us.

"I think they're trying to corner us or something. One of the cops is standing guard at the right end of the hallway, and I'm sure there's another one at the left end. The others are probably waiting in the lobby just in case we manage to sneak by the first two." I explain. "I'm out of fucking ideas, Dexter. We need to do something, fast, and since you weren't exactly a fan of my proposal, I'd love to hear what you have in mind."

Dexter doesn't say a word. Instead, he stares blankly at something in the corner, frustrating me almost to the point of forcefully grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking some sense back into him. But that won't solve anything, unfortunately, so I hold off of getting physical.

"Hello…Dexter…" I say, stepping in front of him to wave my hand around in his face. "What the fuck are you staring at, bro?"

"I think I have an idea." He says, a genuine, knowing smile spreading slowly across his face.

"Well don't just leave me here in suspense. Fuck! You could at least give me some sort of clue to what's buzzing around in that thick head of yours, Dex. Jesus!" I pout.

"Over there." Dexter answers.

He spins me around and points at some weird looking grate in the corner of the room.

"Um, what exactly am I looking at here, Dex?" I ask.

"I'm pretty sure it's a crawl space vent." He says. "It should lead to the basement of the motel. Or maybe even out into the parking lot. If we're lucky, that is."

"Well then this baby is definitely going to end up leading us outside, because we're the two luckiest motherfuckers on the planet, right?" I snicker. "But it's worth a shot. I'm just not so sure that the both of us can fit in that thing."

"We have to." Dexter answers. "What other choice do we have? I'm going to go first, just in case something isn't right. I think we can manage carrying in one bag each, but we're going to have to leave the rest. I hope you're not too attached to any of your clothes."

"I think I'll manage without them." I say, rolling my eyes at him.

Dexter hands me the smallest bag of the bunch, the one that has our IDs, pictures of Harrison, and other important stuff in it, and I watch as he mulls over which one he should take for himself.

He studies the bag that has his tools in it, and I'm more than a bit surprised when he decides to skip over it in favor of one of the bags that has some of my clothes in it.

"Dexter, what are you doing?" I ask in disbelief. "Are you…are you sure?"

"I think I'll manage without them." He says thoughtfully, a look of pure satisfaction on his face. "Things are going to be better, Deb. I promise. Now come on. And make sure you stay as close to me as possible, okay?"

I nod in agreement and Dexter heads over to the vent, throwing the bag he's holding inside first and climbing in after it. I do the same, feeling a very real sense of claustrophobia as I make my way through the cramped, dark space.

Crawling through that dusty ass vent seems to take hours, but in reality it probably takes no longer than a few minutes.

When the sunlight finally hits my face and gradually begins to wash over my entire body it feels like I'm being baptized, and I do a quick Hail Mary before collapsing onto the grassy surface below.

I throw the bag out of the vent first and it falls on top of Dexter with a light thump. He tosses the bag to the side and then I jump out of the vent, narrowly missing Dexter's stomach and landing right on mine.

"I don't think I've ever been this happy to smell that obnoxious grass smell in my life! Thank the baby fucking Jesus!" I exclaim.

"Jeez, Deb, do you think you could be a little louder? I don't think the cops back in Miami heard you." Dexter teases.

"Message received, asshole. Come on, enough of this. Let's get the fuck out of here." I reply.

"That's the best idea you've had all day." Dexter says, handing both of our bags over to me.

He starts to walk away and I silently follow behind, taking in our surroundings. It looks as if the vent actually did spit us out into the back of the motel like he'd hoped. I spot the paved parking area a few feet away, and Dexter hesitantly turns around the corner to have a look.

"I only see one cop car," he announces. "It doesn't look like there's anyone inside."

"Dexter!" I protest, grabbing onto his hand when he starts to walk away from me. "What if it's a trap? We can't just walk over there!"

"Well, why not?" He asks.

I notice the return of his usual cocky, self-assured nature that is put on display whenever my brother is feeling especially sure of himself.

"Well, for starters, since your best friend from the car rental place decided to place an anonymous call to the fucking police department, I'm sure they know what car we're driving." I say.

"Okay, so pick one." He smiles.

"Pick one what?" I snap, more than a little annoyed with him.

"A car. Which one do you like?" He asks.

"You're such a dumbass." I snort. "I'm not stealing some poor family's car."

"They'll get it back. We're just going to drive it to the airport, Deb." He says. "Fine, suit yourself. I'll pick."

He makes his way over to a plain looking gray car with tinted windows and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small pin-like thing. He then proceeds to pick the lock and I brace myself for the impending sounding of the alarm, fully prepared to start running down the block in a pointless attempt at fleeing from the police. But the door opens without a sound and I quickly duck into the passenger's seat.

Dexter sits in the driver's seat and actually manages to get the car started. I don't bother asking how.

Soon enough, we're really on our way. The airport is only a ten minute drive from the motel, and when I see it appearing not very far off in the distance, I have to fight the urge to pinch myself. Surely I must be dreaming.

Dexter finds a parking spot a block away, but he doesn't get out of the car. Instead, he turns to me and puts one hand on my cheek, using the other to reach into his pocket.

He pulls out a syringe that is all too familiar and hands it over to me. I take it without a word, but truthfully, I'm scared of what he's about to say to me now.

"I'm going to have to change our flight to an earlier one, so I need you to wait here until I get back. Can you do that for me, Deb?" He asks, putting his other hand on my bare cheek.

"Fuck no." I answer, aggressively shaking my head. "What if someone sees you?"

"That's a chance I'll have to take." He says.

He drops one hand again, taking a second to reach into his back pocket and pull out the gun.

"This is only for just in case, okay? I don't expect you to pull the trigger again. I don't want you to pull the trigger again. But if someone tries to hurt you…" he trails off.

"No, Dex. I'm coming with you. We're in this together, remember? You're not getting rid of me that easy." I smirk.

He sighs, but ultimately acquiesces when he realizes that I mean what I say.

"Okay," he nods. "Okay. But we can't bring a loaded gun into an airport, so what are we going to do with this then?"

"Just leave it." I say, reaching out to take the gun from him and carefully placing it in the glove compartment. "Whoever this car belongs to now has a free gun for all of their troubles. How nice. Come on. It's now or never, bro."

We exit the car and flow into the sea of people much easier than I thought we would. I remember hearing about some sort of storm that's supposed to be hitting the area in the next couple of days, so I assume that all of these people are trying to make earlier flights to avoid that headache.

Dexter clutches onto my hand as we wait in the long clusterfuck of a line, the both of us keeping our heads down while still trying to look as unsuspicious as possible.

When we reach the front of the line, Dexter explains to the woman that he'd like to trade in our tickets for an earlier flight, and I come pretty close to squealing with glee when she tells us that there's a flight to Argentina departing in forty-five minutes.

Dexter exchanges the tickets and we head over to the waiting area, sitting as close to our flight gate as possible.

"I can't fucking believe this, Dex." I whisper, my grip on his hand almost brutal. "We did it."

"We did." He says, giving me a light peck on the cheek.

I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes for a few moments. Apparently, that's all it takes for everything to turn to shit.

"Deb." Dexter says, nudging me back to the present. "Wake up. It's almost time to board the plane."

I let my eyes flutter open and I spy an asshole, no excuse me, a well-dressed asshole, walking towards me and Dex. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time it takes him to make his way through the enormous flood of people, but Dexter seems none the wiser.

"Fuck!" I exclaim, sitting up straight in my chair. "That's that piece of shit Jacob Elway. He's a fucking PI, and he'd always pop into the station trying to leech off of us if we had a lead on a case. All he cares about is money. He –"

"Debra, it's been a long time." Elway says, sitting down in the chair beside me. "I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of meeting your brother, though. Whenever I came down to Miami Metro he would always be hidden away in that office of his, working hard to take down the bad guys that littered the streets of our fine city. Though nowadays I'm hearing that Dexter liked to do a little littering of his own, is that right?"

"What is this, a fucking citizen's arrest?" I ask, hopefully sounding more confident than I feel. "The last time I checked, Jacob, you weren't a cop."

"And the last time I checked, you were. But the things that I've been hearing about you don't exactly scream protect and serve. Well, not when it comes to anyone but your brother, that is." Elway tauntingly adds. "You two are looking pretty cozy, if I do say so myself."

"Flight 103 for Argentina is now boarding…." I hear someone call from the gate.

Dexter tightens his grip on my hand and starts to stand up, but I let go of him. Instead, I reach into my pocket, smiling when I feel the small syringe I put there earlier.

"Well, Jacob. This has been fun, but…" I whisper airily into his ear. "I really must be going now."

I slide the syringe out of my pocket in one swift motion and bring it up to his neck, giving him a hefty dose of M99.

Elway is knocked out almost immediately, and I decide that it would be funny to stick the syringe in his suit pocket. Why not leave him with a little something to remember me by?

He's slouched in his seat like any other person trying to catch a few Z's before their flight would be, and no one around has seemed to notice our little confrontation.

He'll probably wake up in a half hour or so, but by then, we'll be on our way to Argentina. To the future.

"Last call for flight 103 to Argentina!" The person calls out again.

"You ready?" Dexter asks, taking my hand in his.

"What the fuck do you think?" I smile.

"Dex, could you come here for a second? I can't reach the fucking Fruit Loops." I explain.

Dexter rushes over to me in a flash, and I prepare myself for one fuck mother of a scolding.

"Deb! What were you thinking?" He asks, blowing up right on cue. "Get down from there. You could've hurt yourself."

Dexter raises his hand up to me and I take it, carefully stepping down from the chair I'd been using to reach the highest shelf.

Once I have both feet firmly planted on the kitchen floor, Dexter climbs onto the chair and grabs the box of Fruit Loops. He hands them over to me and I reach into the cabinet for a bowl and a spoon.

I start to pour the cereal and Dexter reaches into the fridge, pulling out the bottle of milk and handing it over to me.

"Don't do that again." He says, standing so close behind me that I can feel his abs pressed up against my back. "You scared me."

"I'm not that fucking fragile, Dexter. Relax." I declare.

He brings his arms around me, resting his hands on my protruding stomach.

"Does every other word out of your mouth have to be a curse word?" He asks, resting his head in the crook of my neck. "That type of stuff will probably rub off on the baby, and that can't be good."

"See, that's where you're wrong, Dexter. That is good, because this kid would be no child of mine if it wasn't born with the gift of a colorful vocabulary". I laugh.

Dexter places a few soft kisses on the tender skin of my neck, rubbing my belly with all of the adorable eagerness of a father to be.

"I look like a fucking beached whale. And don't even get me started on this constantly needing to pee thing." I groan. "I can't wait until this kid decides to finally crawl on out of here."

"You look beautiful." Dexter says, without even a hint of sarcasm. "It won't be much longer now, Deb."

I pick up my bowl of cereal and waddle over to the couch. Dexter sits down beside me and reaches for the pile of mail on the coffee table. He rifles through it, stopping at a familiar envelope.

"They send that one back, too huh?" I ask, placing a hand on his knee.

"Yup, along with my other three letters." Dexter replies, defeated.

"Don't worry," I assure him. "They'll write back when they're ready, Dex. Just give it time."

"I know." He answers. "I just miss them is all."

"And they miss you too. They're your kids, Dexter. They love you. That hasn't changed." I say, resting my head on his shoulder.

"I hope you're right. But they're better off without me, really. If they do ever forgive me, then I'll be here for them with open arms. In the meantime, though, I have you. Us." He says, rubbing his hand across my belly. "And right now, that's enough."

Well, there you have it! I hope their semi-happy ending wasn't too cheesy for you guys :) I typically like darker stuff, but I thought that these two have been through enough, and they deserve some happiness. (Okay, arguably Dexter may not deserve one, but I'm tired of Deb having to suffer because of him. She's done some terrible things but I still believe that she's a good person. She's my favorite character of all time, though, so maybe I'm just biased haha)

Anyway, thank you so much for going on this journey with me. I love you all 3