Thread: Cough Drops and Corpses: A Dexter RP (SevenxWine)

Normally Dexter slept like the dead - empty, dreamless rest that served only the purpose that physiology had meant for it, but on that particular night, dark images had managed to slink into his head and take up residence. It was familiar, if only because it was similar to the only other dream he'd ever had he was strapped to a surgical steel table - except, this time it was as though he had somehow stepped outside of his own body and was looking down on himself. The version of him on the table was wearing khakis, an obnoxiously yellow tropical shirt, and a lab coat. Stranger still, he could see a distinct look of horror on his own face, the appearance of - was that fear? Yes, it must be Dexter had never known that look for himself, but had seen it on so many others that he had no choice but to recognize it. He looked away from the Victim-Dexter and looked down at his own hands he clenched his fingers, and the tight leather gloves made a comforting squeaking noise. A glance to the right, and there was an array of tools for him, shimmering silvers and gleaming grays, all so perfectly sharp and clean that he reached for the nearest one and held it up to the light to watch it refract. He saw his own reflection in the knife yes, it was definitely still him. He turned his eyes back to his - victim - and Harry Morgan was staring back at him now, strapped to the table and looking grim. He opened his mouth, and rang. Dexter sat up in bed like Bela Lugosi and stared at the wall for a long moment before he realized he was hearing his phone he lifted it off the cradle, mind still misty from sleep and confusion, and raised the phone to his ear. Dexter His mind managed to work out that he was hearing Rita, and a glance at the alarm clock told him it was two in the morning. Someone tried to break into our house, I've called the cops, but how do you feel about a sleepover tonight? Please say yes, because I'm actually pulling into a parking space right now. Dexter was silent for a long moment as the breathy, hurried words slowly curled their way through the fog, and he finally managed to answer with, Uh. Yeah. And by the time he reached the door, having yanked on a t-shirt and shorts, he was clear-headed enough to remember that he should pull her into his arms, because that was what worried boyfriends did. Rita clenched her little hands into the material of his shirt so hard that her knuckles buried into his ribcage with surprising strength while Cody and Astor slipped inside, characteristically stoic and silent. The two made a bee-line for his couch, Hey, Dexter said, looking over his shoulder while Rita did her best not to show fear in front of her kids, You guys are already breaking the rules by being up this late. Cody and Astor stared at him in morose silence, too injured by a traumatic childhood to hear the playfulness in his voice - or maybe he just didn't sound playful. Maybe he sounded like a psychopath, he wasn't sure. So how about some ice cream? he asked, and he watched the two slowly exchange glances their little features didn't move, but they still managed to communicate. Do you have the green kind? Astor asked, the spokesperson for their little team while Cody continued to stare unblinkingly. I have the green kind, Dexter confirmed, drawing Rita into the condo and closing the door behind her, bolting it shut, and moving towards the kitchen. I'm so sorry to do this to you, Dex, it's just that I didn't know where else - Rita began, still clinging to his side. I'm just glad you're safe. Dexter replied he was getting good at this kind of thing and wanted a Tony Award. Or maybe a little golden knife, because if it was a stage show, he was sure he would make the cut. He also needed to stop making puns. Rita glanced down and finally recognized her iron grip she released him then, and backed herself to the counter, leaning back and gripping the edge of it instead she was still in her nightgown, robes hanging off her shoulders, barefoot and blonde hair dishevelled. Though she was quaking and appeared as though she hadn't slept for a week, Dexter somehow found he liked the way she looked right then. He decided not to inspect the thought any further. Pulling a block of unopened pistachio ice cream from the freezer, he doled it out into two bowls and handed them to a blank-faced Cody and Astor before returning to Rita he found her digging into the carton with a fork. I have spoons. Dexter said, mildly interested in the way she had set upon the dessert like an animal she looked up at him then, the fork hanging out of her mouth. There was a long moment of silence, during which Dexter began to suspect he had done something wrong and that Rita was about to attack him with the silverware, but then she was suddenly weeping tears and pistachio onto his chest and leaving him just a little more confused about the entire world. Cody and Astor didn't have time for the sugar rush to set in before they toppled over onto the couch, while Rita sobbed into his arms for another half an hour he put her to bed and laid beside her because she told him it would make her feel safe. You always make me feel safe. Rita said just before she fell asleep, confirming for Dexter that the existence of sensible people was pure mythology. He managed to nod off for another two hours before he had to get up for work he told Rita she could stay as long as she wanted to, told her everything would be okay, and left for the lab, desperate for a day filled with blood stains.