Prompt: #23, Vicarious
Warnings: None besides the fandom.
Summary: It's a fine line, and some nights you have to search for it.
Spoilers: Spoilers for S1.
Word Count: About a hundred and fifty.
Killing was wrong. You knew that much.
Other than in the defense of self or others, taking a life was against the rules. Otherwise you had just replaced a killer with another, and you were supposed to be better than that.
Your father had raised you to be better than that. He had given you a code.
That code made no mention of containers full of body parts, orphaned kids, nightmarish drug deals. Killing was wrong, and that was all.
But that was then, and now is now, and when Dexter does it, it's nobody's fault. He's sick, and you are just saving the innocents he'd kill otherwise. You aren't breaking the code. You don't enjoy the knowledge that scum has died, that the streets are cleaner now.
You tell yourself that, and you say it to your son. You are dying, and its important, you feel, for both of you to believe in this.
Even if neither of you does.