Archive of Our Own ^beta

In the beginning, there was always blood. And in the end, there will be blood, he is sure of it. Everything repeats, again and again and again. Surely, each of them is destined to drown in blood. It's everywhere: on his hands, on his body, in the formless mass lying half-wrapped in bags on the table before him. His father and uncle are standing over these pieces of flesh. They are like dark archangels over a sinner. It could almost be called beautiful. He looks at his hands, gripping the knife. In the back of his mind, a thought flashes that this is a dream, because in reality there would be less blood, it would be darker and colder, not as pretty and clean. In reality, Uncle Brian looks older, and not like a vampire with sharp fangs. In reality, his father doesn't look at him like that, at least not openly, sometimes even in front of his own brother, as if he's still shy and ashamed. In reality, Harrison himself doesn't feel so brave. In reality, everything is different.

There, everything is much, much worse.

Because the three of them crossed that line long, long ago—the line that was supposed to keep them within the bounds of the familiar, with its clear rules, the old, rotting world. They went beyond what is normal even among killers. They are beyond everything, it seems, in their own orbit, obeying entirely different, higher laws, inaccessible to all other people. If Harrison were offered to relive his entire life again, with all those disgusting events that led to this, he would agree without a second thought.

Today he wakes up in his room, checks the time on the alarm clock, and hears sounds from the kitchen downstairs through the open door. It's most likely Brian. He's usually the first one up.

When Harrison goes downstairs for breakfast, he sees his uncle making an omelet. They take turns cooking, but Brian genuinely enjoys it, which is rather strange, though Harrison never objects. For a second, he wants to press against his uncle and just stand with him for a few minutes. He still can't explain even to himself what the hell Brian is doing in his life. In his and his father's life. But apparently, age reconciled the Moser brothers, and they managed to coexist somehow. Not that Harrison was happy when he found out about a relative who shouldn't have existed in his life, but with time... Brian knew how to invade, if not the soul, then the brain, rearranging neural connections and reshaping his thinking to his liking. Sometimes Harrison thought his uncle was like a virus. Once, he voiced this theory to his father. Dexter said that in that case, he had been infected many years ago and that would explain a lot.

It's hard for Harrison to describe what he feels for his uncle. It's such a strange mix of contempt, admiration, inexplicable attraction, and quite understandable jealousy that it can only rival his conflicting feelings for his father. But one thing he knows for sure: his uncle loves him as a direct continuation of Dexter. As if he is the purest embodiment of Moser blood, cleared of the rotten influence of Morgan. Sometimes Harrison even wants to believe in the sick notions of his insane uncle, because he has much more in common with him than he'd like to admit. They both know what foster families, orphanages, life on the streets are like, and that indifference people show to those they don't notice. Those they want not to notice. They are both more impulsive, sharper, and less restrained, unlike his father. And both hopelessly love him, despite all the nightmare Dexter turned their lives into. At first, Harrison didn't like it. But with time, he realized that Brian is his distorted reflection, and there's something symbolic in that. He must do everything in his power not to end up like him. Because Brian is one hell of a bastard.

They don't greet each other, barely say a word to one another. Not because there's tension between them. Simply because they can be silent, and it doesn't make anyone uncomfortable. When Harrison finishes breakfast, he figures he can be a little late today, and his uncle can definitely linger for another fifteen minutes. He gets up from the table and approaches Brian who is turning on the coffee maker. Harrison presses his lips to his uncle's neck and just stands there. Waiting for a signal, permission. Not because he isn't allowed. He just wants Brian to ask for something himself.

"Was the night before last not enough, kiddo?" Brian says in a voice slightly hoarse from sleep, yet even and emotionless.

"That was a long time ago," Harrison shrugs and reaches for his uncle's trousers.

"There were times when I could touch your father once a decade," Brian gently but firmly pushes his nephew's hands away. Not that he doesn't want him. Just not here and not like this.

Instead, he gets on his knees, even though at his age it can be quite painful. Anything for family.

"To be fair, I know what that's like," Harrison says and lowers his hands onto Brian's hair, gripping the graying curls authoritatively. "But I'm not my father. That would be too little for me."

"Oh, I know," Brian says quickly, before running his tongue along the shaft. "You take after me more, don't you?"

Harrison doesn't answer, just pulls him closer. Brian's lips close around his nephew's cock, and he thinks that's exactly right. Only his surprisingly caustic, rude, and headstrong nephew could be so damn perfect for him and his brother. He never thought he could love anyone like he loves Dexter. He didn't even know it was possible.

They are both so busy for a while that they don't notice the footsteps on the stairs until a slightly disapproving voice interrupts them.

"Usually people your age manage to run to the nearest coffee shop before study, not waste time on..." Dexter gestures with his hand at the scene before him.

"Dad..." Harrison exhales, sharply pulling Brian's hair.

"Good morning, son."

A light kiss on the top of his head, while his uncle's lips are still touching the head of his cock. A wonderful morning start.

Dexter lowers his hand and touches his brother's temple with his fingertips. Brian looks up completely shameless, still with his nephew's cock in his mouth, and the sight is too much for them. Harrison comes and hopes his uncle will take it all, because he doesn't want to stain his clothes. In some matters, he's quite squeamish. He even knows who he got that trait from.

Brian pulls away and rests his head against the thigh of his brother standing nearby. It would be almost touching, if they weren't who they are.

"I need to go," Harrison says and puts himself in order.

He attracts his father by the shirt and, despite being in a hurry, kisses him on the lips slowly and sensually, because he still can't believe he can do this. That he won't be pushed away. That he'll be kissed back.

Dexter gently squeezes his cheek in farewell.

"Have a good day."

"Could've wished me the same," Brian grumbles after him, getting up from the floor.

Harrison flips him off on his way out, which, according to his father, makes him look like Aunt Deb, which pisses Brian off even more. Sometimes he's a real little shit himself.

Later, Brian drinks his coffee, washing away the taste of his nephew's semen, while his precious brother has breakfast with him as if they were a normal family. He hardly ever thought his life would turn out this way, and not that he dislikes it.

They all coexist in one reality, like mismatched puzzle pieces from different times. They all still maintain their fabricated, false lives, hiding what happens behind the closed doors of their home and those houses they break into at night. Sometimes it's easy to get confused. When the truth is so hideously attractive, it's hard to believe.

Brian doesn't kill by the code. He kills those they offer him. Perhaps Brian feels as if they are presenting him with victims. But Harrison defines it as his uncle being like a mad dog on a leash, obeying only their commands. Dexter is just glad that he and his brother have lost the last of their stubbornness. He feels happy. He literally has never been so happy, having everything he wanted. Sometimes he feels like he's dissolving as a person, his essence flowing between his older brother into his son, because these two are the only ones in his entire life who have seen right through him. Perhaps he's still not what they wanted him to be, but they both accepted it. Stayed. He doesn't need more.

Harrison likes the thought that they kill those who deserve it. The code is still complete nonsense, but it still protects. And in the end, he doesn't think innocent people should die. He sees, like his uncle, that all this bullshit about guilt is relative, and Dexter has proven it dozens of times. But he feels an abnormal pleasure in knowing that it's precisely those they decided to deprive of life who die. It's their decision. Their will, before which all others must bow. Sometimes the feeling of this power in his hands makes him so dizzy it's hard to breathe. He knows this confidence borders on a superiority complex. With delusions of grandeur and everything else that could be diagnosed if they were sent to a good psychiatrist. He probably should feel at least some semblance of regret for the sake of society for what the three of them are doing. And yet, Harrison believes that some people quite deserve to leave their heart on the edge of his father's knife.

Brian just likes to kill. The fact that he's finally doing it with his brother, even if he's tainted by that damn code, still thrills him. Now he has a nephew who is on his side. Who at least doesn't hide behind empty words like Dex. Sometimes he feels almost young, getting a high from every kill, because he sees with his own eyes how Harrison is evolving, finding himself, his own approach to the art of killing in the streams of blood and the victim's screams. In those moments, Harrison even overshadows the image of his younger brother. Harrison gets hopelessly hard every time his father teaches him some trick right in front of the dismembered body on the cold table. He desperately tries to hide it, because he clearly knows that Dad wouldn't approve of part of his blood circulation diverting from his brain for memorization to somewhere else. Brian, as always, knows and senses him better and quietly chuckles, playing with the corpse's pale fingers. He loves his family so damn much he would break the spine of fate itself to be with them.

Harrison, in a hurry and a bit nervous, gets ready for a date, while Brian and Dexter consider candidates for their joint pastime over the next month. Not that Harrison isn't interested in what they do. But on one hand, he wants to maintain his cover, as his father taught him, and on the other, he genuinely wants to keep up with life. He has two perfect examples of where complete detachment from normal human interests leads. He hardly wants something like that for himself.

"Don't stay out too late," his father calls out to him in farewell.

"Better be back by twelve," his uncle adds, without even looking at him.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Harrison really hopes they're both joking.

"Harrison, watch your language," they are definitely messing with him. Harrison gets agitated like a typical teenager.

"We literally killed a man together three days ago. And you're forbidding me from staying out past midnight and swearing? You're both fucking sick bastards."

He slams the door and hears Brian's phantom laughter in his head. Most likely, Dad was worried about him in his own way, and his uncle just can't help teasing him, knowing full well how sharply he reacts to everything. Sometimes Harrison doesn't understand why he still stays here and puts up with both of them. Probably because his father has always been a kind of fucking lighthouse for him, shining from beyond the waves. That unattainable figure he still looks at with unconcealed admiration. If Dad ends up with just Brian in the end, Harrison won't stand it and will kill them both. That would be so bloody symbolic.

He takes his new girlfriend to a pretty shitty production of Heathers. Harrison chuckles to himself, trying not to draw parallels between J.D. and Uncle Brian. He doesn't succeed very well.

He deliberately stays out late just to piss off those he left at home. Although he understands perfectly well that they probably don't care when he returns, and that thought makes him hate everything around him. In his time, he traveled endless hundreds of miles to get to his father, risking everything. When Brian found out, he stated in his categorical manner that if Harrison were his son, he wouldn't let him take a single step away, considering what they'd all been through. Harrison wouldn't admit even to himself how warm that felt to hear. Dexter, as always, couldn't come up with a worthy response. At times, it seemed to Harrison that his father could only feel three emotions: guilt, anger, and arousal, whether from killing or sex. And better the latter two than that perverse self-protective guilt on which Dexter Morgan's entire humanity is built.

Of course, he understands they don't worry about him only because they know he can stand up for himself. That they would start to worry if something truly dangerous happened. That calms him down a bit. Just enough to be able to focus on the girl, whose name he can barely remember now, even though they're almost in her bed and already undressed.

"Do you like it?" her voice sounds the way any girl her age in this situation should sound.

Harrison whispers that of course he does. She is very sweet, and Harrison would never stoop to behaving with women like his damn uncle. He's really trying to push all extraneous thoughts out of his head. To focus on her tender skin, firm breasts, the warm inside enveloping him. This nice girl, Rose—he finally remembers—is absolutely not to blame for him being such a sick psychopath that he's not thinking about her at all right now. Instead, Harrison remembers that night before last. Remembers himself on his father's cock, how his uncle entered him at the same time as Dad. Harrison used to think it was practically impossible. Turns out, it's just painful at first. They both refused him until the end, until he practically extorted it with threats. He so desperately wanted both of them inside. He remembers his uncle's hands on his shoulders, father's heavy breathing, his own fingers on father's scar, the scar he himself had made. It could have driven him insane. He runs his fingers through the girl's hair and thinks it's the same color as his uncle's hair when he was younger.

An hour later, he walks home through the dark streets and thinks that he just slept with a very cool, pretty girl. All he dreams of now is being squeezed between two men, the younger of whom is literally three times his age. Maybe a couple of years ago, he should have listened to the psychologists who said he had certain issues.

At home, he takes a shower and should go to bed, but instead of his bedroom, he goes to his father's. He isn't too surprised to find Brian sleeping there. Sometimes he wonders what his uncle and father do when he's not home. He's not thinking about sex; there's enough of that. But their relationship is so complex he finds it hard to understand how they can coexist. Nevertheless, he sees those warm looks they exchange. Looks full of understanding. At the same time, nothing is forgotten between them, and quarrels flare up over past grievances and misunderstandings. When he thinks there's something really wrong with him, it's enough to remember them, and it gets easier. Though it would be more accurate to say that there's something fucking insanely wrong with all of them.

He climbs into bed with them and presses his cold hands against his uncle. He could turn to father, but he doesn't want to bother or wake him. But Brian is fair game; Harrison essentially doesn't care about disturbing him.

His uncle wakes up almost instantly—it's their shared hunter's trait—and, assessing the situation, clearly calming down, whispers quietly to him.

"C'mere, kiddo."

He hugs him with one arm, and it's so unlike his usual sarcastic and caustic uncle that Harrison is lost for a couple of seconds, then buries his face in his chest. Brian slowly falls asleep again, while Harrison keeps his hand on his chest for a while, feeling the heartbeat.

He's thought dozens of times about killing him. To punish Dexter. To please Dexter. To kill him along with father, just to make sure that instead of Brian, Dad would always choose him. If Harrison still doubted that, Brian would already be dead. But Dexter has quite eloquently proven that his son comes first. If Harrison could eradicate this poisonous, baseless jealousy, he would. But the thought that he finally has his father, and there is someone who could take him away again, is simply unbearable. It's a good thing Brian doesn't even try to do that. Harrison thinks he mocks him for his jealousy. That's how it would be, if Brian didn't know from his own experience how insufferable it is.

Harrison slowly calms down in his uncle's embrace. He doesn't trust him in everything, but he knows Brian would die for him. Because the elder Moser has a completely twisted concept of loyalty to his family. He falls asleep thinking that Brian has lived a damn cruel, meaningless, unhappy life. At times, Harrison is very glad his empathy threshold is practically zero, otherwise he wouldn't be able to look at Brian without thinking about what bloody nightmare of a fate could create such a man.

When Brian first appeared, Dexter was insanely afraid his brother would lead Harrison down the path he himself was trying to shield him from. He never truly understood jealousy until he saw how his son, his own flesh and blood, sometimes looked at the way Brian operated. His older brother had always been something idealistic to him. The perfect killer, whose mimicry of a normal person reached incredible heights. Dexter himself never knew how and would never learn. And his body, his hands at work—a work of art in itself. He can't blame son for being impressed. He himself literally fell in love with Brian many years ago, even before he knew who he was. But he needs Harrison. Needs his son. He doesn't want to share him with anyone, especially with Brian, who knows all too well what family means. He would never let Harrison go if he preferred Brian. To all his concerns and quite obvious aggression, his brother just laughs. He calls him blind and points out what Dexter truly fails to see. How Harrison looks at him. He probably would never have believed in his son's love if his brother hadn't pointed it out. He wouldn't have crossed that line Harrison so persistently pulled him towards if he hadn't seen that his son desperately needed him. And Dexter was always ready to do anything for him.

Perhaps this is also something in the blood. Because Brian had looked at him with longing from the moment he saw his brother for the first time after their childhood separation. Looked with a desire to consume him, preparing all those little gifts, like the dismembered woman on the roof of the house. Dexter himself experienced something similar only years later, following the beautifully bloodless bodies along the Tamiami Trail. Should he blame his son for also failing to separate his admiration between blood and body? In any case, Harrison is perfect. There isn't a single flaw in him, and Dexter would give everything that remains in him to prove it to anyone who doubts.

He waited for Harrison's first family-style kill with an indescribable sense of anticipation. He simply had to see it all from start to finish with his own eyes. Harrison isn't like him or Brian. At least, not entirely. As if he took a little from each of them and wove it into something completely new. His father's method of choosing victims, but with the much more impulsive manner of his cold uncle. The perfect embodiment of their own brand of justice.

Something deep, satisfied, and sated blooms inside Dexter, full of pride and delight, when he first sees Harrison attack. How he acts just as he was taught. How his beautiful, perfect-in-every-way son fights someone bigger than himself, how he wins, how he plunges the needle and does everything cleanly, quickly, correctly. He and Brian are nearby in case of trouble, but he barely notices his brother's presence, completely absorbed in the sight of his son. They take the unconscious body and prepare the room. With three of them, it's much faster than he's used to. This is their first time together, and he wants everything to be perfect. He feels Brian's grim impatience, his dark shadow behind his back, like a living embodiment of his own Dark Passenger, waiting for the feast. He himself is focused not on the victim for the first time, but on the others. This is incomparable to those clumsy joint kills with Miguel or the too emotional ones with Lumen. Here, everything is different.

When the victim comes to, he doesn't even hurry to explain his guilt. He takes Harrison's hand and places it under the ribs, lets him feel the apical impulse and explains about the heart's projections. He says Harrison can act as he wishes. That he can let the blood out here, and here, and here. Can make him suffocate, can make him scream and lose consciousness from pain. He explains all this under the intense, greedy gaze of his older brother and feels exposed. Dexter likes it, as if every nerve in his body is bare and tense, and everything happening feels a hundred times more intense.

"Put your hands on the carotids," Brian advises when Harrison is studying the body of the man twitching beneath him. "Feel it."

Dexter understands what he means. He begins to explain to the useless piece of flesh on the table why he's here, that he can't escape, that his life will end in a few minutes. Harrison feels the accelerating pulse under his fingers. Then his son, as if mesmerized, runs his hands over the victim's arms, reaching the veins on the forearm. Perhaps it's an echo of the Trinity. Perhaps he wants to let all the blood out that way, slowly, but Dexter really hopes that's not what his son needs. He should hate blood just like him and Brian.

Harrison continues studying the body with cold interest. Presses on the main arteries here and there, feels their pulsation, and contemplates what he wants most. He casts an almost indifferent glance at the knives laid out nearby and thinks about a little torture before death. This scum deserves pain. He even takes one of the thin blades, thoughtfully running it along the linea alba, imagining how the body would open before him if he pressed harder. Then his gaze meets his uncle's studying look, and Harrison changes his mind.

"I want to do it like you," Harrison says to his father and looks at him so openly, so trustingly and admiringly, that for a second Dexter feels like he's losing his balance.

"Good choice," Brian softly approves, his voice slightly detached, as if he's not quite saying what he's thinking. Nevertheless, he doesn't stop watching them for a second. "Your father must be proud of you."

Dexter slowly nods and sees his son's pupils dilate even more. He even blushes slightly.

He hands over the knife and sees his son's fingers tighten firmly on it. Without a word, he and Brian stand behind Harrison's shoulders, like a caricature version of an angel and a demon, watching his every move. This time, Dexter doesn't even let the victim answer; he doesn't care, he doesn't want any voice but those of his family members in his memories.

For a second, he thinks that Harry and Deb would kill him for what he's doing to his son.

Harrison sharply brings the knife down, aiming straight for the heart. He doesn't let go of the weapon while the blood flows, but with his other hand, he reaches for the pulse on the neck. He breathes heavily in time with the fading heartbeat. His hands don't tremble, but his shoulders shudder slightly, as if he's trying to contain an impatient tremor throughout his body. His son is more beautiful than anything Dexter has ever seen in his life.

"Harrison..." he says and acts completely involuntarily, on pure instinct. His hand drops to his son's cheek, and he gently lifts his face to the light. He savors the boundless delight reflected in his eyes. There's something holy in this.

As if to remind them that everything they do belongs to the opposite realm entirely, his brother emerges from the darkness like a shadowy tentacle of Hell. His hands drop onto Harrison's shoulders, and he leans into his ear, quietly whispering that he did excellently.

Dexter covers his brother's hands with his own and kisses his son on the forehead, paternally gentle and proud.

"Will you help with the rest?" Harrison asks quietly, turning away from them and looking at the blood spread under the duct tape. Its smell is everywhere, and he thinks he can even taste the metal in his mouth. He knows blood should taste the same, but for some reason he remembers biting his uncle's lips a couple of days ago and the way his blood seemed special to him. As if putridly sweet.

"You want us to help?" Brian asks instead of answering, moving to the other side of the table.

"Yes," Harrison nods and turns to his father, waiting for his reaction, his consent.

"Of course, son, whatever you say," Dexter agrees with a grim smile, throwing a quick glance at his brother. He must understand his elation. And he does, answering with a light but warm smile, completely out of place, as he picks up the bone saw.

Harrison is trying so hard it's simply adorable. Brian knows his brother's style and doesn't interfere, only slightly guiding his nephew when he hesitates, but otherwise giving his brother full freedom to teach his son how to do everything with his own hands.

When they finish, Harrison looks drained. Pure, empty, hollow. Dexter has only seen him like this after an orgasm. Sex for Harrison isn't just sex; he's realized that by now. Of course, like any young man, he's quite demanding, but his son clearly invests something more into this primitive activity. It's like a means of communication, a pledge of loyalty between them, because if they've crossed this line, there's no return to their previous relationship. There's no room for anyone but them.

They burn the body. He liked this method. The three of them stand and watch the blazing flames before them, taking away the remains of what was once a very bad man. To be fair, his brother and he himself deserve to be in that furnace too. Each of them deserves it, except Harrison. He's the one who could send them there. But his son doesn't strive for that. Instead, he stands next to him and his brother after their first joint kill and looks completely happy. It's such a sacred, profound moment that he feels life should just stop here, because this is the absolute apex of his existence. He finds it hard to believe this could happen many more times.

For two days after that, Harrison doesn't speak to either of them. Dexter is terrified that he's put too much pressure on him again. That it will all end like in Iron Lake. He wants to talk to his son, though he knows he's not good at it, but Brian persuades him to give him time. Dexter doesn't understand what for, but he has to agree. Unfortunately, his brother does understand Harrison better than he does.

When they are alone with his son two days later, Harrison climbs onto his lap. Dexter has no idea what to think until he feels the straight razor on his neck.

"Tell me you're not going anywhere," his son's voice trembles. His face is pale and determined, with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hasn't slept these nights. "Or I swear, I'll kill you. I'll kill your brother. You can't do this to me. Again."

"Harrison..." he tries to answer, swallowing and scratching the skin over his Adam's apple on the blade. A thin trickle of blood runs between them, staining his shirt, and Harrison's gaze slips from him, following the red drops. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

"If I could fucking trust you after all this," Harrison exhales through his teeth and looks at him with that completely unhinged gaze again. "Something always happens as soon as things start getting better. Since childhood. You always disappear."

Dexter can't make any promises to his son. Words mean nothing now because he's lost the right to use them. But he doesn't want to make his son think he would even for a second consider leaving him now. He even thinks he's no longer capable of it, even if it were for Harrison's own good. They've gone too far to retreat.

He moves slightly, and the blade scratches his skin again. His hands drop onto son's hands, not pushing them away, just supporting, showing that Harrison can do whatever he wants. Death at the hands of his own son would suit him just fine if Harrison decided he'd had enough again.

Harrison growls, hisses through his teeth that he hates him, and throws the razor onto the sofa. His hands drop to his father's neck, and he reaches for his lips, kissing him deeply and greedily, wanting to push out all thoughts. To be the sole focus of his attention.

Look, look only at me, I'm here only because of you, I'm here only for you. I'm your better half. Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, one lineage, one family, one curse, seeping from generation to generation.

Blood pounds in his temples, their shared blood. His father's hands drop to Harrison's lower back, and he shamelessly squirms on his knees and pulls closer. They kiss for so long and desperately, as if they haven't been through all this before, as if it's the first time all over again. One single thought hammers against the walls of his skull, bypassing his brain.

I can, I can, I can. I can have everything.

He thinks he loves his father so much it's killing him. It's truly a virus; it changed something deep in his genetic code, made him vulnerable, sick, greedy for the affection of his own father, hopelessly wanting to have him completely. Needing his hands, voice, gaze, mutual attention and desire. He wouldn't want anything else in his life if it meant giving this up.

Harrison wants his father's cock deep inside him right now, but he knows it will take time. He'll save that for later, for the evening. For now, he lets his father's hand drop to his own cock, squeeze it the way he likes, give up control of the situation, and remember how these same hands worked on a body, carefully slicing flesh. Hundreds of people, Harrison thinks, hundreds those hands have deprived of life. He could worship his father, if his decision to abandon him hadn't put Harrison through Hell on earth. Or because of it. He reverently brings his father's other hand to his lips and kisses his broad palm, runs his tongue between his fingers, and his father looks at him as if he's something fragile, sacred, perfect.

Harrison can't bear that gaze; he still feels he doesn't deserve it. He buries his forehead in his father's shoulder, and Dad continues to hold him. While one hand caresses his cock, the other gently grips his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with careful little movements. He knows the strength this man possesses. He knows what these hands can do. He's seen it. And the realization that his father is so delicate with him, only with him—even Brian doesn't deserve such care—as if Harrison is something so important he has no equal.

"I've always loved you the most, you know that," his father says, and Harrison moans uncontrollably. "No matter what."

It takes a couple of firm strokes from his father for him to come in his hand.

He knows what's happening between them is damn bizarre. But none of the three of them ever knew what normal was. They weren't built for it. Harrison doesn't even see any dirt in it, which would inevitably come if he tried to put it into words. With his father, he feels pure. He feels whole.

When in the evening Brian sees the razor marks on his brother's throat, he doesn't even try to find out what happened.

"You're such a greedy dark creature, Harrison," he kisses his nephew on the top of his head. "Funny how that only makes you more like me."

Harrison wants to swear and argue that it's not true. Though he understands it is. Brian was in love with Dexter long before Harrison was even born. Who better than him to know what it's like to be deprived of those crumbs of warmth Dexter can give to those he loves himself. What it means to value them above all else in one's life.

Harrison intercepts the look his father gives Brian. And suddenly understands that if Brian weren't here, he'd have no idea what his father looks like when he's vulnerable. Harrison knows that at best, Dad looks at him with indulgence, love, and devotion. But he wouldn't show weakness in front of him, because he has to be better, to protect him. But Brian exposes in him what Harrison wouldn't have dreamed of seeing under other circumstances. If you look closely, you can see through Brian's eyes the defenseless, easily influenced younger brother. Despite all his hardness, too kind for a heartless serial killer. Harrison never thought he could love his father even more, but this realization makes his lips stretch into a foolish smile. His father is actually good. And he really likes that.

At times, Brian feels a little like an outsider to both of them. It would affect him more if he hadn't gotten used to this feeling his whole life. He watches as Dexter shaves his son because Harrison asks for it and because he loves it when his father stands over him with a straight razor. It's clearly some kind of fetish, but given everything else, it's a trifle. If Brian were younger, he might have acted like Harrison. He did act like Harrison when, many years ago, he decided to go after Deborah instead of retreating but staying close to his brother. He could have been a silent shadow watching over Dexter, instead of being forced to flee the state and his life. To remain nearby and continue playing his role brilliantly, but tell his brother everything. Watch him suffer, seeing how one could live. Slowly but surely corrupt him, then lead him to the line, crossing which there's no return. Instead, in all these years, there's only been Nebraska and a couple of almost accidental meetings. Madness, when you think about how much connects them and how little time they actually spent together. So now Brian cherishes what they have between them. Perhaps this is his piece of Heaven before he goes to Hell for all eternity. In any case, he hopes to say hello to Harry Morgan there.

Even though Dexter was initially wary of him because of Harrison, he sees perfectly well that his little brother actually misses him. That he still loves him. When his son isn't around, and Dexter allows himself to be more open, when all his attention isn't taken by his precious Harrison. Brian doesn't blame Dexter for loving his son. It's one of the few things he's really able to understand about his brother's life. What's going on between them right now is not perfect. And yet it surpasses his best and wildest dreams. Dexter doesn't hide in front of Harrison. He doesn't hide in front of himself. His younger brother is finally with his real family, free and happy. That's all Brian has ever wanted.

"When did you first sleep with Dad?" Harrison asks him once when they're alone.

This doesn't happen often, and they study each other. Wary and slightly hostile, like wild animals, on guard. With him, Brian always feels younger, yet more experienced. He is condescending but understanding of all the mess in his nephew's head. As if he hadn't gone through the same thing many years ago.

"Sometime after your mother's death. He needed support."

Harrison raises a skeptical eyebrow, looking him up and down mockingly.

"Support?"

"Something like that," Brian smiles. "I had won him over much earlier, but a lot happened then that kept me from getting to him."

"Why am I not surprised by how arrogant that sounds?" Harrison almost rolls his eyes, looking at him with youthful insolence.

He adores his father so much he can't imagine him admiring anyone but himself. Or rather, he can't stand it. Brian almost pities him, because he knows exactly what that's like. At times, he's insanely venerating of the resilience of this deadly, caustic entity called Harrison. In those moments, he realizes he truly loves him.

"Kiddo, I went through the same as you much earlier. No point pretending with me. I've lived long enough to at least admit to myself that my wayward little brother is damn imperfect. I went through a lot because of him. I can understand, though not accept, why he rejected me. But the fact that he left you enrages me."

Perhaps this is the first time they talk about these topics openly. Harrison frowns comically. His face clearly shows him wrestling with the instinct to defend his father, but he falls silent in the end. Brian knows how painful this realization is.

He approaches his nephew and takes him by the chin, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"Just in this, it's not your fault, boy. Your father is a selfish man, but he has no idea how to live any other way. But that's not his fault either; he was raised that way, and he can't help himself. He definitely loves you as much as he can, believe me. He just didn't have the courage to face the pain that the fact of something happening to you because of him could cause. He's protecting himself because he is much more fragile than you think."

He leaves his nephew, giving him time to process everything. A few hours later, Harrison shows up at his room and demands to be told everything. From the beginning to the very end, omitting nothing. Starting from the dismembered mother to their last meeting. Brian tells him. He isn't Dexter. He doesn't believe the truth needs to be hidden, even if it's lethal.

Harrison listens to him in silence, without interrupting. Until the very end, Brian has no idea what he is feeling. But the next time they kill, Harrison kisses him for the first time. In front of his father, next to a body that hasn't yet cooled. Brian knew that his nephew and his brother have indescribable in a normal society relationship. It would have been hard not to notice. Given his and Dexter's past, it was to be expected that they might come to this sooner or later, but when his nephew's tongue is in his mouth, he is momentarily taken aback. However, a couple of hours later, he enters him for the first time, and Brian understands that they have come to the end, which will be a new beginning. Everything has changed since that moment. There were really three of them, in everything. It was strange to realize that most of Harrison's aggression against his uncle was not a particularly well-hidden suppressed sexual attraction, however, in their family it was rapidly becoming a variant of the norm.

A few days after that, Harrison accuses him of being the reason he caught the Moser virus. Brian has no idea what he is talking about. But his brother looks at Harrison with pity and understanding. Their shared life becomes increasingly tenser, coiling like a noose around the neck of the ghost of the moral foundations upon which the entire world around them is built. In the end, it ties into a knot when all three of them fall asleep in one bed. Brian sees that Harrison desperately wants this, and he himself does too. Dexter, as always, is too afraid of ruining everything, so he and his nephew act in unison. For most of his life, sex had been either a punishment or a means to an end. It was truly pleasurable only with his brother, and now he realizes that with Harrison's appearance in his life, it has really changed. Before this, he never thought he would allow anyone this close to his brother, with his own permission, but here they all are, bound by blood and a sick attachment. And it feels so right that it seems as if his whole life has been slowly leading to this moment.

Once he calls Harrison "doll" during orgasm, and with a poorly concealed feeling of confusion, he realizes that the last time he called someone like this that was Dexter, many years ago. His nephew looks at him not so much with judgment, but with clear bewilderment. Dexter remembers, and a threat flickers in his gaze. But this is not a sign of menace. This is a complete breakdown of the foundations. Because it was the first time Brian had compared someone to his little brother, subconsciously using the words that had been running through his head during the years of his intense obsession. It's so amazing that it scares him. As if Harrison had managed to get under his skin and settle in his brain much deeper than Brian had ever intended to allow. Usually, only he himself would act on someone in such a way. Perhaps he forgot that family resemblance works both ways. Love always stupefies and exposes. He remembered that after the first time, when the person he had adored all his life got rid of him like a disease.

But now everything is different. Because as soon as Dexter realizes what has happened, he kisses him with maddening tenderness right in front of his son, which he does rarely, even though they have been sleeping together for some time now. Harrison, still with Brian inside him, gently runs his hands over his chest. Brian closes his eyes and allows these two to own his life. It feels like a real, physical addiction, slowly driving him crazy. Because he knows he can't give them up. He never could have.

After they start sharing a bed and knives, Harrison feels that he holds the two most dangerous people he has ever met in his life on a short leash, under his complete control. He doesn't even know how much of this thought is his vanity and how much is a sick fantasy. After all, his father would do anything for him, and Brian would do the same for Dexter. The cause-and-effect chain would be quite attractive if it didn't turn into an ouroboros, considering the fact that Harrison himself would do practically anything for his father. So, at other times, he feels like a lost child being raised by monsters. And he is ready to drown in the blood with which they are quenching his thirst.

Once, he throws a fit when his dad tells him about the savings—Harry had always prepared him for the possibility of having to run and have means of subsistence outside their familiar environment—that will go to Harrison after his death. Harrison hates the thought of it. He has already lost his father once, and he feels like laughing hysterically at the thought that the third time shouldn't hurt too much. He pushes these still unformed fears deeper inside himself and tries not to think about it. He'll have enough time for reflection someday later. For now, he just wants to enjoy what the three of them have in their bloody bubble outside the whole world.

None of them ever really try to figure out what is going on between them. Harrison is too young to dwell on such things for long. Dexter and Brian are too old to try and call things by their proper names. Behind them lies most of a life that can hardly be called happy. Now they both want one thing—to do everything so that Harrison takes the best from them. They teach him, passing on all their lived experience bit by bit, sharing mistakes and successes, revealing every scar they've earned and telling every forgotten story that Harrison wants to hear.

Perhaps they don't love each other. It's difficult to talk about love when two of them are, for the rest of the world, clinical psychopaths incapable of feeling. But they are bound by blood, one thick, viscous blood with strands of DNA weaving them into a single line, deadly and strong, stretching through the years. Harrison is terrified to the point of his heart stopping of the day when his father will be gone. Sometimes he thinks he won't be able to live. But at the same time, he knows he must. He must carry this Moser-Morgan virus into the world, poisoning and healing whatever he encounters on his path. Perhaps it's his destiny. Or maybe he's just gone insane.

Harrison thinks they will go to Hell, if it exists. He knows that then he will find the Trinity Killer and those bastards who killed Laura, his grandmother, there, and he will try to drown their souls in primordial fire. Harrison hopes that his mother in Heaven will forgive him and his father. He even hopes that if there was ever a person in this world who loved Brian Moser before he became a monster, that person would forgive him too.

His life is stained with blood spatter and rushes forward like an uncontrollable torrent. He tries to build his future, get an education, make friends. He tries not to be too abnormal, while anticipating the next murder of another scumbag who doesn't deserve to live. He remembers the feel of father's and uncle's hands on his body and understands that he will never feel safer than when those two are near. He hopelessly loves and unrestrainedly hates, feels jealousy, desires forbidden things, and slowly goes insane, all the while looking back at something immutable so as not to lose control. He would like his father to be that constant item. Instead, he can only grow deeper into something indescribable, into which his life is turning. Perhaps it's worth thinking about the obvious idea that everything that happens is a curse. God's punishment for everything they've been doing for years. Well, in this case, he can even believe in an Incomprehensible Plan. Because if it's a punishment, then he doesn't need any other reward for what he does to this world. Because at the same time, he thinks it's a blessing for all the things the three of them had to go through. This is an apology from the world, God, and fate for dragging them through Hell and making them monsters.

He goes to study in the morning and looks at the cut on his hand, which he got during a struggle with a restless victim. He remembers the taste of his own blood in his mouth when he licked it off his hand. He remembers his father's kisses and his uncle's light bite on that very spot. Everything comes back to blood again. Life goes on.