(A/N: I recently rewatched the Psycho series. Well, the first three anyway, I didn't care for the fourth. Anyway, this is a short one-shot I wrote that offers an alternate ending to the second movie and dismisses the third one completely. It's fine if you haven't seen the third movie, but if you haven't seen the second one, this story may confuse you a bit. I suggest reading the plot on Wikipedia before reading this. Anyway, I hope you like it.)

"A BOY AND HIS MOTHER"

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The smell of freshly made grilled cheese sandwiches was heavenly. Norman Bates truly loved that smell. Not just because he enjoyed the meal, but because, as he said to an old friend so long ago, they were the only remaining good memories he had of his mother, of how she made them for him when he was sick. They were the only good memories because the doctors at the institution had taken away all the others, leaving only the bad so he could work through them, and not cling to the happy memories, wanting to maintain that connection.

But that's what happened when you develop a split personality that takes on the persona of your mother. After committing seven murders, five of which had been done by this other personality, he had received treatment for 22 years to cure his insanity. But at long last, the state had deemed him cured and released him. It was as relieving as it was heartbreaking, having lost all good memories of his mother. Except for the cheese sandwiches.

And now he was making them. For his mother.

Yes, his mother was alive. It had been confusing at first, trying to figure it out. What with the phone calls from someone claiming to be his real mother, not Mrs. Bates, and with Lila and Mary Loomis trying to drive him insane again, not to mention Emma Spool trying to convince him that she was his real mother and Norma Bates was actually his aunt who just raised him, it had made it very difficult for Norman to figure out what was true, and what was even real at all.

But he had finally figured it out. His mother wasn't dead. The doctors were wrong, the police were wrong. He hadn't killed her when he was a child, just her lover. No, his mother was alive and well. Well, maybe not well, but she was alive. Old, sick, disabled, but still alive. And she wasn't just in his head, but physically here, and it was time for her dinner.

With a tray of cheese sandwiches and milk, he made his way up to his mother's room. He always made sure to keep it clean for her. After all, she couldn't do anything on her own; she was a sick old lady, unable to do much of anything other than sit and stare, like one of his stuffed birds.

But unlike his birds, his mother needed to eat, and so he set the tray down beside her chair. His mother liked to look out the window since she couldn't get around anymore, though he was much more careful so she wouldn't be seen by anyone outside. If anyone discovered her, she would be sent to a home, or worse, and he couldn't have that. No, it was a son's duty to take care of his mother, and that's exactly what he would do.

"Look, Mother, I made grilled cheese sandwiches for you, just like you used to for me when I was sick."

There was no response, but he didn't let that bother him. His mother tended to get angry frequently and tell him false things, but he knew it was the sickness talking, not her. So he just put a smile on his face and picked up half of the sandwich, holding it to her mouth.

"Do you know what today is?" he asked her. He didn't wait for a response as he continued. "It's the 22nd anniversary of when I was released from the institution. I had 22 years in, now I've had 22 years out. I'm so glad that you can share this time with me."

Still no response, and she refused to eat the sandwich. That's ok, she was just being stubborn; she'd eat eventually. He could wait. Business was usually slow anyway, and there were no customers at the motel right now. Fortunately, he still made enough to get by, for both him and his mother.

"All we have is each other," he told her. "But that's ok, we're all we need, 'cause I'm your son, and you're my loving mother."

Finally there was a reaction, a very violent reaction as his mother moved as much as she was able to. "Damn it, Norman, I'm not your mother!"

He frowned, stung by what she said. She had said this many times before, but he knew it wasn't true; it was just the sickness talking. He would just ignore it like he always did. After all, he had been sick for quite awhile, he knew how it could affect the mind. So he forgave, like always, because that's what a son did.

"N-Now, I know you're upset with me, Mother. I don't like keeping you up here anymore than you like being here, but you have to stay here. You know what will happen if they find you."

"Norman, please, it's me, Mary! Mary Loomis! Why can't you see it?!"

But Norman just smiled at her as he held the sandwich up to her mouth. He truly didn't see her, only his mother. Truthfully, Mary didn't know why she bothered anymore. They had been living this way for… good God, had it really been 22 years? She couldn't comprehend that. For over two decades, she had been living in this house, tended to by this psycho, whom she herself had helped drive back to insanity.

She still remembered it. The phone calls her own mother had been making to Norman, of which she herself had been an accomplice to. But while she wanted to leave Norman in peace, her mother refused, unable to let go of her hatred for Norman after he stabbed her sister to death in the shower back when he was still crazy.

That moment with the doctor, that had led to this. He'd grabbed her from behind, startling her, and she'd stabbed him on reflex with the butcher's knife she held, killing him. Norman, lost in his delusions, upon discovering the doctor's body, and seeing her, Mary, dressed as Norma Bates and wearing her wig, came for her, to hide her in the fruit cellar so no one would find her.

She'd backed away, unwillingly backing into the fruit cellar he sought to hide her in. She'd tripped going down the stairs, landing on her head and breaking her neck. She hadn't died though, but had ended up paralyzed from the neck down. She could barely even manage to move her head, or even speak, let alone call for help so anyone could hear her. Hell, even her shouting at Norman a moment ago had barely come out more than a small mumble.

She had been unconscious when the police came. Already convinced of Lila and Mary's guilt in the murders in their attempt to send Norman back to the institution, it hadn't taken much for any suspicion on Norman to be dismissed. Norman had gone along with their suspicions, blaming his injuries on Mary before saying how she had fled once the police came. As far as the general public knew, Lila and Mary Loomis were murderers at large that had fled once their plan failed; the two never found. It was easy enough to believe, there was no doubt that Mary had killed the doctor after all, even if it was an accident.

She had awoken in the fruit cellar hours later, unable to move so much as a finger. She had been hidden away when unconscious by Norman. After coming to, she had then spent the next several hours screaming for help, her voice coming out as nothing more than a raspy whisper, the only thing it had ever sounded like since.

Eventually, Norman had come home. He then brought her up to his mother's room, cleaned her up, and began tending to her. She tried speaking to him, reasoning with him, but he seemed deaf to the truth. His insanity had indeed returned, but different from before. He seemed only to hear certain things she said, the voices in his head making him hear other things, things Mary didn't say, but he seemed to think she did. He was truly convinced that she was his mother, and nothing she ever said could change his mind.

Then had come that visit from Emma Spool, an elderly woman clearly just as mad as Norman. Mary couldn't call out to her in a voice the old waitress could hear, but she heard the conversation between them. She claimed that she was Norman's real mother, that Mrs. Bates was her sister, who took care of Norman since Miss Spool was too young. That she too had spent time in an institution for insanity, and how after getting out had tried to reconnect with Norman, killing everyone that had been tormenting her son, including Mary's mother.

Then Norman had killed her, whacking her over the head with a shovel. Mary still remembered the bone-crushing clang, could still hear Norman's accusing tone when he raged at Miss Spool's corpse that she was a liar who was trying to come between him and his real mother, who was safely tucked away upstairs. He then disposed of her body, and things began settling into a routine where Norman took care of Mary, just as he would have had she been his real mother.

Miss Spool's disappearance didn't go unnoticed, but the only real problem came from a snobby reporter who wouldn't stop snooping around. Even after the sheriff sent her away, the reporter had snuck back into town and broken into Norman's house to investigate. She had discovered Mary in Mrs. Bates' room, moments before Norman killed her. She had been the last person Mary had seen other than Norman in these past 22 years.

Sometimes Mary wondered if, perhaps, this was an ironic form of divine punishment. Norman would have been fine had she and her mother had just let him be. But no, they had to drive him mad once again, and now this was their punishment. Her mother had been living her life for dead people, and now she was one. And Mary, she had been doing the same, at first, but then wanted to let Norman live his life. Was that why she had been spared? Was this being spared? Could one call this living?

A tear ran down her face, one of the countless she had shed over the years. She hated this, this shadow of life she was living. A part of her wished she had died that day when she broke her neck. She sometimes thought that maybe she could somehow still kill herself now. But she was paralyzed, how could she? She couldn't even muster up the strength to bite her own tongue off. She'd thought about just not eating or drinking, had tried it several times, but the thirst and the hunger always beat her resolve, not to mention Norman would not allow it, even force feeding her if it came to it.

No, it seemed that her only hope would be that she would one day be discovered and saved from this hell. But she didn't see how it was possible. Norman kept everyone away, was very careful. He wouldn't even let anyone get close. No one would ever find her here.

But Norman was getting up there in years. He would be 64 now, and he had a good 20 years on her. She depended on him entirely to keep living. Once he died, she would too in a matter of days. The human body could only last about 3 days without water. Once Norman was gone, that was all she would have. Her only hope for survival, for having any hope for a life outside of this room, or that accursed fruit cellar he sometimes hid her in when he became paranoid, was to convince him that she was not his mother; something she had been unable to do even after all these years.

"Norman, please, look at me," she begged, trying to convince him, for the millionth time, that she was not who he thought he was. "I'm telling you, I'm Mary. My mother and I tricked you. You're real mother is dead. Norma Bates, or Emma Spool, whichever one is your real mother, are dead. It's not me. Just look at me!"

He did, his eyes sad, but still smiling. "Oh, Mother, why must you say such hurtful things?" He reached up and stroked her cheek. She wanted to pull her head away, but she couldn't even do that. "But I know that you really love me. I love you too. Now here, eat."

He held the sandwich to her mouth again. Slowly, Mary's mouth opened. The sandwich was soft, almost soggy, and even with her limited biting strength, she was able to eventually bite through the bread and cheese. From there it was a long process slowly chewing. She thought about just swallowing it whole and possibly choking, had even tried it before, but Norman took precautions, never giving her more than a little bit at a time, not enough to choke on. Most foods he brought her couldn't even be choked on anyway, like soups or yogurts. And those that weren't, he was very careful in feeding to her.

It was a long so process, but Norman was patient until she had eaten everything. Then he gave her the milk to drink, before cleaning up after her. Giving her a smile, he gathered up the dishes, and placed a kiss to the top of her head.

"I have some work to do in the motel. I'll be back later."

Her eyes pleaded with him as he headed for the door. "Norman, please, just listen to me. I'm not your mother. I'm Mary. Mary!"

"I love you, Mother," he said, slowly closing the door. And even though Mary didn't say it, Norman heard in his head his mother's voice, telling him that she loved him too.

"Norman!" Mary shouted as best as she could after him. "Norman!"

But it was no use. He was already gone. They had gone through this routine tens of thousands of times, and the result was always the same. Norman may not kill people anymore, but he was still as crazy as ever. And Mary knew it was all her fault. She had pretended to be Norman's mother, and now… she was.

THE END

(A/N: That's irony for you. Actually, when I first saw the second movie, this was what I thought was going to happen. Well, something along those lines. Anyway, that's my story. I hope you liked it. Feel free to review, and be careful in the shower. Bwa, ha, ha!)