#if someone I trusted told me they got raped HONESTLY I might’ve murdered even with the killing game mess

[robininthelabyrinth]

anything with jin zixuan marrying into the jiang sect, instead of jiang yanli marrying out?

ao3

It wasn’t that Jin Zixuan didn’t love his mother – he did, he truly did. He loved her, he supported her, he stood by her side in every argument. He would do anything within his power to help her get everything that she wanted.

It was only that he took a very reasonable look at the circumstances and realized he couldn’t. He couldn’t get her the one thing she’d always counted for.

He couldn’t win the right of succession to be Sect Leader Jin.

Maybe if his mother had managed to stop his father from bringing home all his bastards – there were nineteen of them, all together, and those were just the ones that were willing to admit it so who even knew – he might’ve had a better chance, given that he was after all the sole legitimate son. But legitimacy only took you so far: he was neither the oldest of the children, nor the most capable, nor the most cunning. He wasn’t even the best connected, despite his maternal family’s support; that honor went to another one of his siblings, born to an especially well-connected family through unspecified circumstances that might or might not involve rape but which sufficient money had plastered over.

The only thing Jin Zixuan had going for him was his legitimacy, but his father had long ago taught him - however inadvertently - that there wasn’t anything magical about a wedding ceremony that made him better suited to the role of sect leader.

What’s more, in his heart of hearts, Jin Zixuan didn’t even want it.

He wasn’t – he didn’t really like fighting. Or politics, or scheming, or any of it. It just wasn’t his personality. He didn’t like games of influence, he didn’t like backstabbing people that trusted him, he didn’t like gossiping and slandering and not being able to believe in people’s good faith and any of that, and no matter how much his mom pushed him, he didn’t think he’d ever like it. 

But that was what Lanling Jin did, what Jilin Tower was like, and if he wanted to take up the Sect Leader’s seat and reside in the Fragrant Palace, he had to get over himself and accept that that’s what the rest of his life would be like.

Forever.

Until someone murdered him and took his place, anyway. It almost felt inevitable, sometimes. 

Or, because he really truly didn’t want the job, because he really truly didn’t want to die, he could try to think of something else. Some way out.

For example, he could, and did, go to Jin Ziyao and ask him for help.

Jin Ziyao stared at him, eyes narrow and calculating as they so rarely were – he was very good at keeping a bland polite smile on his face, the best at it of all the people Jin Zixuan had ever met, and he’d met a lot. 

“That’s an interesting thing to say, brother,” he said, gently eliding as always the fact that they were the same age, born on the same day to different mothers. “Very interesting indeed. I must ask, though - why are you saying it to me?”

“Because you’d be the best at the job,” Jin Zixuan said honestly. He really thought so: Jin Ziyao was smart and clever, cunning enough to wear a kind face and tricky enough to actually pull off the impression of actually being kind, since people were more willing to forgive kind people, but also ambitious and ruthless enough to survive and maybe even thrive in the political world the way Jin Zixuan wasn’t. “And because you’re smart enough to come up with a way for me to get out of this without dying, if you wanted to.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Why would I want to?”

And that was the rub, wasn’t it? Jin Zixuan was the legitimate son, the rightful heir, and his father, their father, was just as likely to name Jin Zixuan as the next sect leader no matter how unfit for the role he was on nothing more than that basis as he was to name anyone else with a much stronger claim. 

It was in everyone else’s best interest to kill him, if they were ambitious.

Maybe not his sisters. They wouldn’t inherit no matter what happened to him.

(Sometimes Jin Zixuan wished he was lucky enough to be born a nobody, little Jin Ziyu, who just wanted to play with make-up and avoid all contact with his maternal Mo family. Nobody cared about Jin Ziyu, and everyone liked it that way.)

“You know my position,” Jin Zixuan explained. He didn’t need to say it out loud; he was bitterly aware that it was basically his only personality trait: legitimate heir of Jin Guangshan, the rich boy everyone thought would be the next sect leader unless someone else got in the way. “My support could be worth something to you.”

“Especially if it’s sincere,” Jin Ziyao murmured, looking thoughtful, contemplative. It wasn’t an outright no, anyway, or at least not yet. “And you would be sincere, wouldn’t you?”

“There’s a reason I said that I’m not fit for the role,” Jin Zixuan replied, his voice dry to hide the fact that his heart was in his throat. Jin Ziyao was the one most likely to succeed in finding a way to get him out of this mess, but he was also the most likely to figure out a way to kill him without being blamed for it, too.  There was a reason he’d come to him, but that reason was the danger - who was to say that Jin Ziyao wouldn’t decide it’d be safer to kill him, and to use this to accomplish it? He could be signing his own death warrant. “And even if you’re smart, competent, good at managing things, well-connected, and well-liked, you can still use my help.”

Jin Ziyao had only a single fault: his mother had been a prostitute. People still judged him for that, something which made no sense to Jin Zixuan whatsoever – it wasn’t Jin Ziyao’s fault what his mother did before he was born – but it meant he lacked legitimacy even more than the others. 

Having the legitimate son backing his claim would be a strong argument in favor of overlooking that.

“You know your mother won’t like it,” Jin Ziyao said. Testing, probing; he hadn’t agreed yet.

“I know,” Jin Zixuan said simply. “But I hope that she’d like me being dead less.”

He wasn’t actually sure about that. His mother loved him, yes, but he had never entirely determined if she loved him for himself or as an extension of herself – a symbol of what she would be fighting towards. A sign that her struggles with her husband had a purpose, that all her humiliation would one day be worth it.

That one day, when he was sect leader, she would become the true power in Lanling through him. 

(Jin Zixuan didn’t know what she imagined would happen to all his illegitimate brothers and sisters in that situation, and he didn’t want to; it put a sick feeling in his gut to think about it – which he supposed meant he did know, after all, what she would want, but was instead choosing to ignore it.)

Jin Ziyao studied him for a long moment, presumably trying to analyze his sincerity and how firm he was on the idea. 

Jin Zixuan didn’t rush him, knowing it was a gamble on his side as well: it would be worse for him to help Jin Zixuan out of the line of succession only for Jin Zixuan to change his mind down the road. It would make him look bad, make him a target for the others, and the backstabbing nature of Lanling politics meant that luring someone in with a request for aid was exactly the sort of trap someone might lay out.

Sometimes, Jin Zixuan was really, really tired of Lanling.

Maybe something of that showed on his face, because just when he was starting to lose hope, Jin Ziyao abruptly nodded – almost to himself – and said, “All right. How about your marriage?”

“What about my marriage?” Jin Zixuan asked, puzzled. 

He’d been engaged to his mother’s best friend’s daughter since before he was born, and amazingly enough the engagement had held despite everything – probably because they had barely met, to be perfectly honest. And also the fact that being surrounded by brothers that hid daggers in their smiles gave Jin Zixuan enough experience to realize that he was being deliberately incited when his so-called friends started telling him that he deserved better than a girl most often described simply as being nice.

After all, he’d already started doubting by that time that he even deserved the accident of his legitimate birth, so forget deserving any girl.

Also, being nice sounded…rather nice, actually. Certainly a relief, assuming she was actually nice rather than just pretending to be the way so many of his sisters were.

(None of them liked her, which suggested she might be.)

“You should get to know your intended better,” Jin Ziyao said. “Visit her more often.”

Jin Zixuan really wasn’t seeing the connection between that and his request for assistance, and Jin Ziyao’s gaze softened a little bit, though Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure if it was with sympathy or merely pity.

“It’ll make it easier for you,” he clarified. “For when you marry in.”

Marry in?

Marry in. The Jiang sect was a Great Sect, with enough power and influence to make unreasonable demands – and his father desperately wanted the alliance with them. If they could be convinced to demand that he marry in rather than having Jiang Yanli marry out, pointing to their smaller numbers or the tragedies that had befallen their sect…

Jiang Cheng would like having his sister around. He was also notoriously standoffish around women, and had viciously rejected any effort to be matched with one of the illegitimate Jin girls; it might even be possible to suggest to his father that allowing Jin Zixuan to marry in would mean that there was a chance that Jiang Cheng would be willing to leave his sect to a nephew surnamed Jiang, winning the Jin sect both an alliance and inheritance all at once.

Best of all, it had to be him. The Jiang sect had only agreed to the engagement because of Madame Yu’s friendship with his mother, not for any political reason; if his father tried to substitute him with someone else, they might break it entirely…

And someone who married out couldn’t be the heir.

“You’re a genius,” Jin Zixuan told his brother, who smiled crookedly in acknowledgement. “What should I do? Do I just – go over there? Send a letter? I can’t write letters…”

“Let me think about it,” Jin Ziyao said. “I’m sure I can come up with something more subtle than you.”

[thorne93]

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 29)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 3951

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy​​​​​​, @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​ - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So he’s tracking us,” Rossi concluded, sighing. 

“That wouldn’t be too hard to do, but why’d he leave the victim’s body for us? That’s a first,” Batista noted. 

“Probably didn’t take too kindly to the idea of Olson imitating him,” Debra remarked. 

“You think it’s a message to all the possible copycats?” you inquired.

Batisa nodded. “Yeah, I hate to say it, but I think he kind of did us a favor. Take the law into your own hands and the Bay Harbor Boogeyman’s gonna get you.” 

You bobbed your head. 

“Well, this is the first time we’ve ever been where the unsub has actually been, so let’s get busy,” Rossi ordered.

From there, forensics swept over everything. Dexter was there, taking pictures. There was blood. Rossi had Spencer map out neighborhoods the unsub might live in, he had Luke get with Garcia to check on any connections Olson had. 

Once the investigation was done, Spencer told Dexter that you two were coming over. It wasn’t a request, and Spencer barely kept his anger out of his tone. You were worried someone might’ve seen the tense interaction but both men were moving so quickly towards their cars you didn’t even have time to scold them.

Like always, you three got to Dexter’s apartment, and the instant the door shut, Spencer’s frustration was firing at all cylinders. 

“I said we needed a plan, that didn’t mean you had to kill him,” Spencer said in Dexter’s face before pacing nervously. 

“First of all, I was trying to break in so we could get legitimate evidence on him. Then I found out he’s murdered before. He saw my face, I had to kill him.”

“Or you could’ve still gotten the evidence on him and we could’ve turned him in for the murders! Framing a murderer for other murderers isn’t so bad. Why didn’t you at least tell us where you were? What you were doing? Maybe before you did it? We could’ve at least talked about it--”

"Why didn't you just tell YN about JJ? huh? Maybe it's because you do have feelings for her? While we’re on the topic of not talking to people about things that matter."

Surprised, you glanced at Dexter. You had no idea he’d bring that up ever, let alone right now. 

“That has nothing to do with this right now. That’s between me and Y/N,” Spencer tried to coolly dismiss. 

You were about to step in, but their conversation was flying so fast, you didn’t even know what to say. To be honest, you were angry with Dexter too. 

"That's what it is, isn't it? You were worried if you told Y/N, she'd see through your bullshit and see that you actually do have something to hide about JJ."

"That's not.... That is none of your business," Spencer rebutted once more. 

“It became my business when I had to talk your wife down. Last I checked, between the serial killer in the room and her husband, only one of us was there for her emotionally... and it wasn't you." His eyes were dark on your husband and the entire room’s tension made you incredibly uncomfortable.

“Dex, this is hardly the time or place,” you began. “We need to talk about the fact that you went and killed a suspect, instead of consulting us.” 

“Consulting you? This isn’t a board meeting for a fortune 500, Y/N! This my life. This is me. This is who I am. These are people I need to protect.” 

“So you just killed him? We could’ve framed him! We could’ve talked about it!” Spencer lashed out. “We have people we’re trying to protect too. This isn’t just you, you know.”

“I don’t need anyone’s fucking permission. I’ve been doing this for years, just fine until you came along,” he hissed, pointing at you. “I never should’ve let you in. trusting a fed. What the hell was I thinking?”

“You can’t honestly make this my fault? I’m not the one who killed most of those criminals out there. Your victims were exposed by some scuba divers, not by some slip up I had,” you countered. 

“You’re right. It wasn’t your slip up. It was mine. It was mine when I agreed to teach you. I should’ve just trusted my instincts and told you that you were wrong.” 

“You wanna turn this around on me? Fine. But we said we’d all be in this together. I told Spencer the truth. He’s being good enough to help us and not turn us in. And you’re repaying us by just going out and doing whatever you damn well please? Everything we discuss gets back to you. I keep you updated on every lead, every shred of evidence. I keep Garica off your tail and I cover your tracks. And you want to turn this around and say that it’s my fault your in deep shit? I’m not the one digging up tapes on my dead parents at work.” 

You grabbed your jacket and purse and stormed out, having Spencer follow right behind you. He didn’t say anything, wise to the fact that he needed to let you cool down. 

The two of you got back to the hotel and you were spent. This investigation, Dexter, Spencer… you were beyond tired and exhausted. 

Spencer sighed as he started to get undressed. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked quietly as you began to take your shoes off. 

“Nothing, just tired. This is all… it’s a lot, that’s all,” he softly responded. 

“I know, and I appreciate it,” you said. 

"It's already a lot trying to cover your tracks on this case, but having to fight him every time I go in a room...." He let the tired idea trail off. 

Under your breath, you muttered, "Well it's not like he starts it..."

Spencer stopped getting ready for bed as he looked at you. "Are you seriously taking his side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side. I'm just pointing out that you aren't making it easier. Any time you see him, you make it very clear you don't like him."

"Well I don't, Y/N."

"You act as if you blame him for the reason I started killing."

"Well he is, isn't he?" he questioned, as if it were the only possible answer. 

"No, if it wasn't him, it would've been anyone else. Any other vigilante." You sighed. 

"That's not how I see it," he confessed.

“I’m sorry if that’s not the way you see it, but it is. It could’ve been any one else,” you informed matter-of-factly.

“I just wish you had come to me first, tell me you were having these feelings, these thoughts. We could’ve gotten you help... “

“Spencer, I don’t want help. I want these people gone and off the streets. No red tape, no year long trials. I just want these scumbags gone, for good. I know you do too, and I know you don’t want me to be the one to do it because of the risk it poses, but it is what it is. I’ve done what I did. I can’t change that.”

“I know, but maybe I could’ve helped you, protected you.”

You took a deep breath. “I know that you think Dexter is a fuck up. I know all you see are about twenty bodies that he didn’t properly dispose of and now we could be caught, but I see a man who has killed way more than twenty people for nearly fifteen years. He’s been stealthy enough to break into homes, abduct people, make people disappear -- all without being caught or suspected of, even from inside a police station. He is good, he is savvy, and he is intelligent. I know you’ve been trained to see criminals as all they are - criminals. But it’s not all black and white, past what Dexter does, he’s a good person. He takes care of Rita and her kids. He worries about Deb. He worried about you when you were taken and he offered to come with me, states away, just so I had a friend because he knew I’d be a mess around JJ. He likes to cook great tasting food, go to the beach, go to barbecues. He isn’t some unfeeling monster that hides in a basement waiting for people to hurt. He’s a good guy, trying to keep Miami safe in a way he was raised to. We were trained to lock them up, he was taught to stop them.”

“It just kills me to see you go through this. I blame him because… if he’d done something different, done it better, we wouldn’t be here.” 

You nodded. This made sense. Dexter was the best and only target for Spencer’s feelings. He probably felt betrayed, confused. 

“I mean, you went to him, a random unsub to ask him how to do this. You could’ve been killed. I could’ve lost you to this. Instead of coming to me with these feelings, you went to him. If you felt anything like this when I told you about JJ, then I’m sorry.” 

You gave a soft half smile, finally understanding where his anger and pain was coming from. It wasn’t so much about what you hid, it was about the fact that you hid it. 

“It was. Ultimately, we’ve both betrayed each other. You’re right. Hindsight says I should’ve gone to you. But I think I knew that you’d either just get me a therapist or talk me down from doing this. This was something I wanted to do, and I knew you wouldn’t approve or even entertain the idea, not that I blame you. You shouldn’t. What I did isn’t normal, but I don’t feel bad. I feel the world is a better place from what I did, what we did, together. You kept the thing with JJ from me, and I kept these dark desires from you. I’m sorry for lying, and I’m still sorry for putting you in this travesty of a situation.”

He nodded, looking down. 

“I just want us to be us again. I can get past the killing, and I understand why you lied and kept it from me. I just want us to know that going forward, we can be honest with each other,” he said softly. 

“Well we’ve faced murder and infidelity, I’m not real sure there’s a whole lot we can’t tell each other,” you teased.

“That’s true. I think any topic is fair game at this point.”

You two gave each other wistful smiles before getting into bed together to face another day of this double agent work. 

--------------------------

When you got to the station the next day, Luke and you worked on the report for Olson while Debra helped. They had tons of evidence they wanted to go over and part of you was bursting at the seams to just scream, “Dexter did it! There! Happy? Can we go get lunch now?”

It was mind numbing having to pretend to be this naive about something that you already knew the answer to. 

Dexter did minimal work for the blood work. Masuka mainly gathered the physical evidence and Dexter just ran some blood they’d found, but of course both of you knew he’d find no trace amount of anything leading to the killer. 

At one point, Dexter caught you outside as you grabbed two cold drinks from a food truck for you and Spencer. 

“About last night…” he started and you stood there waiting for the drinks. 

“Yes?” you dragged out, waiting for him to finish it. 

“I didn’t mean to… This is all still… I’m not used to sharing the steering wheel, alright? I’m used to having one on the steering wheel and my Dark Passenger has the other. But now with you and Spencer in the picture, I’m not used to including anyone on my decisions, ever. I’ve been alone and independent for years, ever since Harry died. Things happened quickly the other night. I was there, he confessed things, and I just… I knew I could use him. I didn’t really have time to call you two.”

“As far as apologies go, that’s the worst I’ve ever heard,” you said with a bit of a smile. 

“Come on, don’t make me do this.” 

“Don’t make you do what? Dex,” you sighed, rubbing your head. “I didn’t make you train me. It was very clear what my intentions were. I’m pretty sure I even told you you could tell me no and I’d walk away with no hard feelings. But you didn’t do that. Because we both know you’re desperate to have a friend that knows you for who you are. So I don’t appreciate being the bad guy here. I didn’t pick the dump site. None of the things happening now are due to mistakes I made, they’re ones you made. I don’t hold them against you. Shit happened and we're dealing with it. I just want the same courtesy.”

“You’re right, I know,” he acquiesced. “I am sorry. It’s just all the frustration and tension with this god damn case.” 

“You’re tellin’ me.” 

“Friends?” 

“Always.” 

You two parted ways, smiling before getting back to your work. 

With no new real leads, and the profile very broad and hardly anything to go on except criminal victimology, there wasn’t much else to be done. Dexter left at a reasonable time, and Rossi dismissed Spencer. He still wanted you to finish up the report though, so you didn’t get out until about two hours after they left. 

At this point it was an unspoken agreement that every night would be spent at Dexter’s unless he had to spend time with Rita or his sponsor. So, without you there, Spencer and Dexter were together at his apartment. 

“What do we do next?” Spencer asked while standing near the kitchenette, Dexter sat in his computer chair.

In a casual voice, Dexter answered, “I’m not sure.”

“I was hoping you had a next step after slaughtering that guy.” The venom in his voice was very thinly veiled. Despite not trying to actively start a fight, Spencer couldn’t keep his contempt for Dexter under wraps. 

“Not exactly. It was a spur of the moment thing,” he informed. 

“Great. A meticulous serial killer with compulsions. That’s what we need right now,” he sarcastically responded. 

“I’ve got to ask, do you hate me because of what I do, or who I am?” Dexter finally asked, anger in his voice. 

“What does that even mean?” Spencer fired back, frowning. 

“I mean do you hate me because I’m another criminal in your eyes, I should be locked up, and you shouldn’t be helping me. Or do you hate me because I’m your wife’s friend?” 

“I hate you because without you, she wouldn’t be in this situation. Without you, without your consent, your teachings, and your existence, she wouldn’t be doing all of this. She wouldn’t be in this horrible position,” he angrily said. 

“I keep having to remind you that she came to me.”

“And the word ‘no’ doesn’t exist in your vocabulary?” 

“If I had said no she’d have gone to someone else. And would probably be dead right now. Hell I considered killing her. But I listened to what she had to say, instead. Also, she's innocent. Or… was.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?” he asked incredulously, the ferocity in his face and body evident.

“Yeah, a little. I could’ve turned her in to begin with and been rid of her. I could’ve killed her. I could’ve turned on her when the bodies showed up. But I didn’t, because whether you like it or not, and more importantly whether you believe me or not, I give a shit about her.” He took a deep breath. “If she's discovered, so am I, and vice versa. I don't want to see either of us go down for this. So maybe you could stop being a fucking dick to me, and help me save her life?"

“If you cared about her, you never would've put her in this position," Spencer retorted in a low, firm voice. 

"If I could fix it for her, I would..." 

"You know, she asked me to pretend like I didn't know anything.... if she's.... She begged me to say I didn't know anything about it... maybe you could take the fall for her."

"You want me to take the fall for people I didn't kill? People that aren't part of my victimology? It'll never work. Why would I do that?"

"If you care for her the way you say you do, you'll do this. You'll spare her life. A few victims against your twenty or so is nothing. I'm sure there are some bodies they haven't found, am I right? Just pretend you're taking punishment for the ones they didn't find."

Dexter looked down in thought. It was an idea. He did care for you. In the back of his mind, he’d always prepared for getting caught, but not you. You were just someone who was fed up with seeing good people and animals hurt and you wanted to stop it. Dexter, as he’d been led to believe all his life, felt he was a monster. So if he was arrested and charged for all the killings, it would be punishment fit for the crime. 

In a way, he felt it was right to repay you. You’d set him free from Harry. Making him realize that he was a product of Harry, not himself. You’d shown him he wasn’t evil to the core. You’d been his friend, you’d had beers with him, you sat and ate and talked with him as if you two hadn’t just killed someone. Deb and Rita loved him, but they didn’t know him. You knew him and loved him and he didn’t know the first thing about how to repay this. But perhaps doing this, taking the fall, he could do that. He could give you back your life. Give you back your marriage. He could be a good person, for once, even if it was just to you, his very dear friend. 

Finally, you arrived at the apartment, bracing for whatever was on the other side of the door. 

But you were pleasantly surprised when they were quietly sitting there. “You’ve managed not to kill each other… So what’s our next move? You killed Olson, but now what? The team thinks you did this and we looked into the train car, but now what?”

“I think it’s time we stop waiting for evidence and leads to fall and take action. Steer the investigation instead of it steering us,” Dexter offered.

“What? I don’t know. Where would we even lead it? We don’t have anyone to frame,” you responded.

“Doakes.”

“I know you don’t like him Dex, but that’s too risky. Doakes already suspects you of shit so we can’t do that.” 

“Well, what if we didn’t point it at someone, but in general?” Spence suddenly suggested.

“What do you mean?” Dexter asked.

“Well, it’s been known that killers in the past send something to the police or the media once the victims have been found. Zodiac did it. It creates quite the guessing game for people.”

“He’s right,” you agreed, looking at Dex with a knowing look. 

“You want me to turn in some kind of serial killer note? No. no way. I'm not going to be a cliche.”

“This isn’t about your image right now. This is about protecting both of you. Some kind of letter addressed to no one will have everyone scrambling. We could make it absolutely arbitrary. It won’t point to anyone in particular. It’ll give the BAU and the Miami PD something to dig over for at least a couple of days. It buys us time,” Spencer implored.

“Yeah, and then what happens when someone realizes it is just something to chase our tail? Debra’s smart. She’ll figure it out, or any person on our team could as well,” you stressed. 

“Well, we’ve bought some time then. And it won’t mean anything. It won’t be the first time a unsub has sent in propaganda for the sake of propaganda. It won’t narrow anything down to any one in particular, the teams are no better off than they started, and we’ve bought some time,” Spencer argued. 

“Hate to say it, but he’s right,” Dexter said. “I think we should just do a totally typical serial killer note. Point to politics, environment, daddy issues, mommy issues--”

“Profiling is more than just--” Spencer started, but Dexter cut him off. 

“I know, but let's say for the sake of the run of the mill serial killer, this note is going to hit everything. It’ll seem like it has one seamless, unified message.” 

In seconds, Dexter was hitting up various blogs with different meanings and agendas. Soon, he and Spencer were formulating a well structured essay littered with what appeared to be a higher purpose, but was actually just nonsense. Spence even threw in some literary references. They were sure to include victims names that the press hadn’t released anywhere. They had to be sure this was coming from the real killer or no one would waste their time on it. 

When they had quite a bit and Dexter was polishing the opening lines, you pulled Spencer aside, in the living room. 

“Thank you, for continually doing this, helping me. I know you could’ve turned me in, or at the very least, just let me deal with it on my own. You'll never know how much it means to me that you’re sticking by my side this entire time,” you said earnestly, holding his hand. 

“You’re still my wife, and I still love you. You still love Star Wars, right?” he asked with a bit of a smile.

“Yes.”

“And you still love chocolate chip pancakes, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you were still hell bent on getting me out of prison, right? Still spent day and night either trying to free me or visiting me, right?”

“Yes, but--”

“But nothing. You made a choice that I don’t entirely agree with, you’ve agreed to stop, and now we are doing what we can to protect you. I’m just repaying the favor you gave me.” 

“I don’t deserve you. The two events aren’t exactly the same, either.”

“I did something illegal, made choices that hurt us, and endangered my life and career. It’s no different. I’m not here to quantify or qualify what either of us did. Marriage is being there for the mistakes and rough moments. I made a vow, and I’ve never regretted making those vows to you.”

You peered at him with a tender gaze as he did so with you. You were just about to kiss, your lips touching his, but in a swift second, Dexter broke the spell. 

“Hey, genius, come read this,” he requested. 

Spencer’s jaw set before he walked over. It took him about 10 seconds to read the whole thirty-two page note. “You’ve got three grammatical errors.” Spencer leaned over Dexter and keyed in the corrections. “There. It’s good to be sent in.”

“Newspaper?” Dexter asked.

You and Spencer traded a quick look before nodding and mumbling a verbal confirmation.

“I’ll call it the Manifesto,” Dexter said with a smile. 

Spencer rolled his eyes but you smiled back at Dexter. 

“Well, good night, Dex,” you said sweetly, placing your hand on his arm before leaving. 

As Spencer was walking out, Dexter stopped him and said, “Thanks for helping on this.” 

“I’m doing it for Y/N, not you,” he sharply told him, his tone and gaze steely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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