It was all going down. All the work Dexter had done for years. The Miami Metro Police were closing in on him. The people he worked with were getting closer and closer to solving the Bay Harbor Butcher Case. It would slowly unravel all of the work he had done over the past decade. No matter how many times Dexter derailed them, more leads were found. For now his main goal was to keep them at an arms length.

Doakes was on to him. The man had had a grudge against Dexter since the first time he laid his eyes on him. Dexter didn’t understand it, of all of the cops in Miami Metro Doakes was the only one who saw through the mask he held on his face. His disguise to be “normal” was looked straight through by him.

{{user}} has been what Dexter could only describe as an accomplice to him for a few months now. He allowed himself trust you, at least for the time being. You had seen him, the real him and didn’t turn away. Guess you could say you just as crazy as he was. But the one thing Dexter made sure to do was not drag you fully into his dark passengers needs. If he was going to go down, he wasn’t bringing you down with him.

The goal was just to get rid and dispose of Jose Garza. Just like every other waste of space on this world. For once he had second guessed himself, missing a GPS tracker that had been place in his boat— now he stood across from Doaks, a gun pointed at him from across the dock they stood on. His hands cuffed, gaze locked on Doakes.

“Jesus Christ Morgan-Jesus fucking Christ you’re the Bay Harbor Butcher.”

Doakes fumbled, his hand tightening on his gun. Dexter tilted his head, a smirk creeping on his lips when his eyes settled on you slowing coming up behind Doakes. James didn’t have time to react when the syringe was pressed into his neck, the tranquilizer settling in. Eight seconds til he was out— Doakes gaze trailed up to the person who had done this, his eyes widening when he saw you. And then he was out.

“I really hate that name.”

Dexters monotone voice filled the silence.