A/N: This is my first Dexter fanfic. I've spent some time wondering if I was a good enough writer to even write Dexter as a character, and I'm fairly confident now, that I can do it. I hope you all enjoy, and please review! It helps me to know whether or not I am doing a good job.

Spoilers for end of season 4 – if you have not gotten that far, do not read this fic. Also, I am writing Deb, whom we all know has an aptitiude for foul language. If you are offended by excessive foul language, please turn back.

It was like a flashback – an incredibly vivid flashback. The child sitting in blood, screaming, was not Harrison. It was him – he was in that shipping crate. His mother was, all over, and his brother was screaming. The screaming – it was all he could hear at that moment. The screaming would not go away. It was then he realized that it wasn't really himself he was hearing. It was Harrison. It was reality.

Reality hit him slowly and he saw his son – sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor, reaching for him. The image of his mother faded, and gave way to Rita. He needed to get his son out of here. He could not – would not – let his son have a memory like this. Harrison would not inherit Dexter's Dark Passenger.

He reached down and scooped up Harrison into his arms, smearing Rita's blood on his shirt as he pulled his son close. As he turned and left the bathroom, he shakily took out his cell phone and called in the scene.

When Deb found him, he was sitting on his front porch, Harrison held close, wrapped in a blanket. He'd fallen asleep in his father's arms, a good thing. But the screaming still radiated through Dexter's ears, like it had never stopped.

"My God, Dex, are you all right?"

He only had to look at her to give her answer.

"Fuck," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "The fucking bastard isn't gonna get away with this. I'm gonna hunt this fucker down—"

"Deb," Dexter interrupted, attempting to stand once again. His legs felt heavy all of a sudden, not wishing to bear his weight any longer. "Let it go. The bastard is long gone. We'll never find him."

"Let it go? Dex, he—" she stopped herself, taking a step backward. She'd almost forgotten the horrors her adopted brother had seen in his life. All of it was reflected in his face at that moment.

"Okay," she finally said. "Okay. It'll be okay, Dex."

Dexter could only nod. He knew it wasn't going to be okay. Trinity was in a trash bag at the bottom of the ocean, but he had to go on without Rita, and he wasn't sure how he was gong to do – everything – without her.