Dislcaimer: I don't own Bates Motel or the characters.
Warning: well, it's a Bates Motel fic, so be prepared for mention of incest and incsestuous undertones.
Summary: After 2x04, Dylan comes back to the motel to get the rest of his stuff while Norma and Norman are away. He is pretty drunk and runs into a worried Emma. Friendships are build, secrets are shared and theories are tested.
Dylan waits in his car, from a distance, drinking beer after beer until they both have left. It takes a while, and maybe he shouldn't drink so much after last time, but it's just beer and the whisky he had before getting into his car doesn't really count. So he drinks until he can see Norma get into her car drive down the road. Quickly after a girl in some old beat up car comes and picks up Norman. Dylan doesn't really sees her but from the hint of dyed red hair he can catch and, more telling, the fact that Norman is hiding her from Mother, he can tell Norma won't like her. That makes him smile.
He watches them drive away and wait, nursing one last beer, before driving up to the house and stepping out of his car. He must not be walking as well as he thought because he has barely left his car, when Emma comes out the motel office, running toward him, a worried look on her face. He wants to tell her that she is the one she should be worried about (if that makes sense). She's the one dragging after her an oxygen tank. He's fine. He's just drunk, not a beautiful sick, dying girl.
"Dylan, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he says, staggering toward her in what he hopes is a straight line to prove his point.
She reaches him, and tries to stabilize him by holding onto his arm, just in time to prevent him from falling face first on the ground.
"You don't look so good."
"Are you kidding me? Are you even allowed to run?"
She just shrugs, and it's kind of disheartening to see the bite in his words just roll away from her.
"Let's get you into the house, and…"
"Wait."
"What?"
He nods toward his car and she finally notices the cardboard on the passenger seat. "The boxes. I need them. I only came here to pack."
"Why? Are you leaving?" When he doesn't answer she sighs. What is it with this family? "Anyway, you're in no state to be packing right now. You should probably just lie down and drink some water or something. Maybe I should get you something to eat to? If that wasn't clear before, I don't really know what to do with drunk people."
She struggles under his weight, and shifts around so that his arm his around her shoulders and hers comes around his middle. She would feel intimidated, touching Dylan like that—Dylan whom despite all the time she spends here she barely knows—touching him in what feels like such an intimate way, if she hadn't dragged his passed out ass across the parking lot the other day.
They struggle for a few steps, holding on to each other, but she can't really help him and carry her oxygen tank at the same time. There is no way they're going to make it up the stairs. When she points this out to him, he nods, resigned.
"Just bring me back to my car. I don't want to be here when she comes home."
"You're in no shape to drive. You need some sleep, and water. Maybe a shower too," she adds wrinkling her nose. "I can put you up in the motel for a few hours, until you're feeling better."
It's not far and there are no steps to climb. It's definitely the most reasonable thing to do, and either Dylan can see that too or he is simply in no shape to argue, because he lets her drag him to a vacant room.
"You should be fine here," she tells him as she leaves him in front of door number 5 and go find the key. He watches her, sprawled in one of the rocker, the girl with the oxygen tank but always smiling, always helping. He should be the one helping her, he thinks, but with what? It's absurd, but it's there, this sudden impulse to take care of her. Maybe it's because is not used to people taking care of him, god know Norma never did. It feels like he should repay the favour.
The best thing he could do for her would be to get her away from here, from his family. Just thinking that word hurts.
"Are you alright?" Emma asks. She bites her lips, cursing herself inwardly for the stupid question when she sees the look on his face. She hates it when people ask her that too.
He tries to get up, but can't seem to even do that, it's fucking pathetic, he thinks. She helps him, and guides him into the room.
"Wait," he says stopping on the threshold.
"What is it?"
There's genuine worry in her eyes, and he feels so selfish for putting her in the middle of all this, but he as to ask.
"You can't tell Norma. Seriously, you can't tell her I'm here."
"Don't worry. She left for the night. She doesn't need to know."
"Oh. Well, good. You can't tell Norman either."
"Fine, whatever it will be our secret, just get in the room."
She drops him on the bed and lets herself fall next to him exhausted. She has never been on a boy's bed, except Norman's. Some part of her, somewhere buried deep, is both nervous and excited at the idea of sharing a motel bed—no matter how innocently—with a man. Because despite his angelic face, that's what Dylan is. A man, not a boy. And a dangerous one, she knows what he does, who he works for. She is in a bed with a dangerous man, one she barely knows. There's something thrilling about that, she thinks, as she struggles to catch her breath and does her best not to cough.
He turns around and seems surprised to find her by his side, studying him carefully.
"You're not going to puke, are you?" she asks.
His lips curve into a small smile. "I don't think so."
"Good," she says, sitting up. "I need to get back to the front desk. You stay there and I'll come and check on you later, OK?" She's up and assessing the situation like a general preparing for combat. Her seriousness is delightful and he can't help himself as he watches her from his half-closed eye-lids.
She darts into the bathroom and comes back with a fresh glass of water. "Here," she says, presenting the glass to him. "You need to drink."
When he makes no move to take it, she gets back on the bed and kneels by his side, her willowy figure hovering over him.
"Dylan?" she calls softly.
His eyes find hers, so big brown and trusting it hurts to look at them, knowing what he is.
"Here, get up, you need to drink. I can't leave you like that."
She snakes one arm under his shoulder and helps him get up enough to drink, and with her other hand she holds up the drink to his lips.
He doesn't need her help, but it feels too good to be taken care of like this, her gentle hand rubbing circles on his shoulder, so he lets her. He lets her believe it. When the glass is finished she eases him back onto the mattress and his eyes close instantly. With one last gentle touch to his hair, she leaves and he falls into a strange sleep. When he wakes up, there is another glass of water ready by his side.
When she comes back, he has had some time to drunkenly think on his decision to help her by getting her away from their fucked-up family. This girl is too good, too nice for them. She'll get hurt or worse. Every time his gaze wanders back to the empty glass, his resolve is strengthen.
"Hey," she says. "Norman is back, but I managed to sneak you some food. Here, you need to eat," she says seating by his side.
"Thanks," he says, kinda taken aback.
Either she actually made him a sandwich or she's giving him her lunch. He's dumbstruck either way. Too good, indeed. She watches him with happy, smiling eyes as he devours the sandwich.
"Are you feeling better?" she asks, and he doesn't know how to answer.
Because, even though the effects of alcohol are dissipating it doesn't make much of a difference, he hasn't been in his right set of mind since he found out. A dark, red haze is clouding his mind, and having something, someone, to focus on is the only thing that makes him feel slightly better. Maybe if he can help Emma break away from Norma's hold, he won't be such an abomination after all.
"Wanna talk about it?" she asks, and he sees her for the curious girl she is. A glimpse of who she really is.
"Why are you helping me?" he says finally, but it's not what he intended to ask and he's not proud of the scathing tone he uses.
But it just rolls past her, and she shrugs, because why would she not help him? It's a stupid question.
"You're Norman's brother and Norma's son. Plus you're the one who shot that asshole Deputy after he killed Jiao, so I guess I'm grateful for that."
Dylan doesn't ask her how she knows that last part, he's just grateful that someone outside of his family knows.
"And why on earth would any of that make you want to help me?"
Her eyes get impossibly wider. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not a good man. I killed Shelby, and I didn't do it because I'm some kind of hero, or to avenge some poor dead sex-slave, I did because he was menacing my family. A family that I've never really been a part of, and a family that I'm not really sure deserved saving."
"Is this some kind of survivor guilt, PTSD thing? Because I know you did the right thing Dylan. And of course your family deserves to be saved, Norma is so nice, even after all she went through, and Norman—You're so lucky to have them."
He chuckles darkly. "Norma is the least kind person I know. She's selfish, everything she does serves her own interest. She doesn't even like you."
It may hurt her know, but the sooner she knows the truth, the sooner she'll leave. So he continues
"She's exploiting you. She's using you. She's using your little crush on Norman to get you to work here at the motel, and to make sure you stay close to him because she thinks that this way it will limit the risk for him to date a more threatening girl."
"Why are you being so mean?"
She sounds so young. But also, more genuinely surprised than offended.
"Your mom is not using me," she says, "do you know who else in this town would give a job to a disabled teen? So stop making assumption. I don't work here because I have a crush on Norman. I like him, but not like that. And I like your mom too. I like working here. Being part of the family business."
"Why do you want to be part of this family so bad?"
"OK. Touché, I guess. But you know, I don't have a mom, and it's hard to see a relationship like Norma and Norman have without wanting to be in on it.
He mutters something about tea party that Emma doesn't really understand.
"Oh god, you're still drunk, aren't you? Why am I having a serious conversation with you? You should sleep some more. Or get a shower or something. You kind of smell," she adds with a smile.
He takes a sniff of his shirt, and indeed she does have a point. He needs to calm down anyway. He's getting worked up, and the frontal approach doesn't seem to be working on Emma.
"A shower sounds good," he says.
She smiles, happy to see him drop the subject. "Which do you need more, help or privacy?"
He raises an eyebrow. Is she really offering to help him undress? Not that the offer isn't tempting, she's pretty, he's always noticed that. Just thinking of her hands on his naked stomach, undoing his belt-
"I think I'll manage," he says.
"Great," she replies, "I'll give you some privacy then. Do you think you can get to the bathroom on your own?"
He's pretty sure he can, but he doesn't really want her to leave yet. He doesn't lie exactly, because all it takes is his hesitation for her to offer her help one more time. She leads him gently into the bathroom, making sure he doesn't fall, looking him over with a protective glance. Maybe she doesn't even realize the way she holds his hand. She makes him sit on the edge of the bathtub and starts the water running.
She runs a hand on his forehead, pushing back his hair. She doesn't seem fazed by the physical closeness. It's not mothering exactly, he doesn't think it's sexual either. It's just nice. Like she cares, like he matters.
"You probably shouldn't stand. Maybe you could take a bath instead?"
He nods. There is so much warmth on her face, he would probably do anything she suggests.
"Okay, I'll leave you to it, alright? I'll come back later when Norman leaves to tell you when it's safe to come out. You'll be okay?"
He considers for a moment, asking her to stay. Telling her he needs more help than he thought. Would she really do it? Take off his clothes and give him a bath? It would be laughable, if a part of him wasn't so thrilled at the idea.
"I'm fine," he says, his voice hoarse and he knows even Emma can tell it's a lie, but she still nods and leave him be.
It's too late, though. His thoughts are infected. All he can see is her, and he gets lost in fantasies of her kneeling down on the cold white floor to help him take off his jeans. It's only when the water threatens to overflow that he finally moves, close the faucet, take off his clothes and get in the tub. There he falls asleep, still thinking of Emma.
"Dylan?" the voice calls, "Dylan? Oh, you're still in there, I thought you might have already left," Emma says, closing the door shyly.
He opens his eyes, the water is running cold. What time is it? He's pretty sure he had to be somewhere at some point tonight. Zane's orders. But he can't remember. Somehow, he feels drunker than he did when he first got here.
"Hey, Emma," he says. "You can come in, I don't mind."
She does, her oxygen tank trailing after her. She sits down by the tub, making a point of keeping her eyes on his.
"I didn't even notice you had this earlier," he says nodding toward the tank.
Her heart misses a beat. She likes the idea of being seen as a normal girl. Not sick, not soon-to-be dead, just Emma. But does that mean that now that he remembers, he's seeing her differently? Less ready to let her take care of him? She's not sure why this upsets her so much.
"Well, I can't really do without it," she says with a forced grin.
"I used to wonder whether you had to keep it or if you took it off when you and Norman made out."
She bites her lips. He knows he's being a jerk, and he's not too sure why he's doing it, but he wants to unsettle her like her kindness unsettled him.
"Well we never made out, so it's kind of a moot point."
"Yeah, but you know, when you do make out do you take it off?"
"I guess I would have to keep it."
"You guess?"
"I never really had the chance to test that theory." She tries to shrug it off, but her blush doesn't get passed Dylan.
"Do you want to?"
She's startled. For the first time since she's entered the room her eyes leave his to trail his beautiful shoulders and his naked torso. She swallows.
"Are you making fun of me?" she asks, getting up and ready to leave the room.
He has no fucking idea what he's doing. "I didn't mean to," he says, "you just didn't seem to mind my mom's inappropriate questions that time. Sorry, I guess I have no filter right now."
"Never mind. You should probably get out and leave. Here," she says ending him a large towel. "Do you want me to go get you some fresh clothes?"
"That would be great, yes. Thanks."
She just wants to get out of here, away from his alluring nakedness. By the time she reaches the house she realizes that a Dylan with no filter might be more interesting than she thought. If it is true, he could answer some of the questions that Norman won't. Like what the fuck is happening in this family.
She knocks but doesn't wait for an answer. He's wearing nothing but the towel she gave him, and it's distracting. She can see tattoos. She does her best not to stare.
"Here," she says, "I brought you a bunch of stuff. That's what you came for anyway, right?"
He nods. "Thank you."
"Why? Why are you moving?"
"Family shit."
"The same shit that made you pass out in the motel parking lot and again that got you fucked up today?"
It's strange to hear her swear. Somehow she manages to make it cute.
"Yep."
"And you're not going to tell me anything about it?"
"Nope."
He's going through the clothes she brought him, he finds a shirt he likes, puts it on. Maybe getting changed in front of her might distracted her enough to make her drop it, or embarrass her enough to make her leave. But it doesn't work, she just turns around without missing a beat and keeps talking.
"Even though I helped you today, and I was the one who found you unconscious in your car?"
"It's a family matter. Oh, but I forget, for some reason you want to be a part of this family."
"So what if I do? We've already been over this. I like Norma. I wish my mother care about me half as much as she does about her kids."
He scoffs. "You really want a mother like Norma?"
"Someone strong and passionate, who take care of her kids and would do anything for them? Yes."
He doesn't feel like pointing out that this only applies to Norman, not him.
"And a brother like Norman?"
"You mean kind and sensitive? Smart and caring? Yes I would."
"What about me? Do you want a brother like me?" he asks.
She turns around then. His shirt is unbuttoned and his hair is wet, but the sadness and intensity in his gaze leaves no room for distraction. Is it that he feels that he doesn't deserve a family? That he doesn't deserve to be loved? She takes a step toward him, and then another, getting closer as she speaks.
"Someone who puts himself on the line to protect his family? Who cares so much, and who believes them and trusts them? I don't know much about you Dylan, but I know that much. I know how you look after them. I know that when Norman told you about Jiao, you believed him and you offered to help. So yes, I would like a brother like you. Someone who would look after me, care for me, protect me as unconditionally as you do with these two."
She's so wrong, he thinks. So, so devastatingly wrong.
"You know nothing," he says, his voice trembling with barely contained anger. "You have no idea who I am, how awful it would be for you to be my sister."
He's close, towering over her. If she wasn't so trusting, so sure that he is good, he would look menacing. But for her, he just looks upset. So she reaches for his arm, to touch him, to sooth him.
"Don't," he whispers dryly. "Don't you know that I'm like my father? Don't you know what happens to the little sisters who get too close? Is that what you want? Because I don't want that to happen to you. I don't want you to be hurt."
"Dylan," she breathes, "what are you talking about?"
He kisses her then. It's easy. They're so close that by the time she realizes what is happening she's already kissing him back. She doesn't even have the time to think about Cupcake Boy, because Dylan and his hungry mouth are demanding all her attention.
For all his tough man posturing, his body feels soft against her. She traces the curve of his shoulder with her fingers before trailing down to his warm exposed stomach. He moans in her mouth and she's afraid she might have hurt him, but his tongue is pleading against hers, and soon she's moaning too and she doesn't want it to stop.
He eases her down onto the mattress gently, and she feels like their earlier role are somehow reversed now. It's escalating quickly, but she lets him. She lets him push her down onto the bed, and she lets herself feel him, feel his weight and his warmth, on top of her. She lets him kiss her neck as she closes her eyes, and she lets his hands slip under her shirt, but when they move too far, she stops.
She tries to break away but he has her pinned on the bed and it's hard to move with the oxygen tube limiting her movements.
"Dylan," she says. She cups his cheeks and try to meet his eyes. He seems in some kind of haze still. "We should stop."
He nods gravely and gets off of her. She can't read the look in his blue eyes. What were they talking about before it got to this point?
She sits up, arranges her clothes and tries to catch her breath. She has no clue what he is thinking, no idea what to say.
"You should go, before they get back," she suggests.
Again, he nods, grab the bundle of clothes she brought him and leave without even buttoning up his shirt.
"Bates Motel, Emma speaking, how can I help you?"
There's a silence at first, long enough that she thinks it might be one of those prank calls. But then someone talks.
"Hi."
"Hi?"
"Err. It's Dylan."
"Oh, Hi Dylan, do you want to talk to your mom or something? Wait—you're not actually calling for a reservation, are you?"
"What? No. I just—I don't have your phone number."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Listen, I wanted to apologize. About last time."
"Oh. Don't worry about that. It's fine. I wasn't even sure, you would remember it, you were so drunk…"
"I wasn't that drunk. I was just—upset. But I remember."
Her lips form a perfect and silent o and her stomach is full of butterflies batting their wings. It is true then. It's a real thing that they share, this kiss.
"Listen," he starts again, "I'm sorry about, about my behaviour, and the way I talked to you. I was completely out of line."
"It's fine. I don't exactly dwell on this kind of things. We're good."
"I hope you'll still feel that way after what I say next, but I really have to ask. You said you and Norman never- made out. Is that true? You guys never…"
"Why are you asking me that, Dylan?"
"I guess, I'd like to know that there's at least one line I didn't cross. Plus I'm pretty sure Norman is still mad at me about the Bradley thing, so if you guys were involved too—"
"Wait, what Bradley thing?"
"Oh shit. I thought you knew."
"What Bradley thing, Dylan?"
She doesn't know why it upsets her so much, but the idea of being second best after Bradley for both of the brothers makes her want to throw up. It's stupid. She doesn't even like Dylan, not really. It's just a weird thing that happened. He is attractive and she does like him in a way, but not like that. Right?
"You know I work for the same guy her dad used to, right? Well I helped her get some of her stuff back, and I guess she did get some kind of crush on me and Norman got upset by that. But nothing happened. I mean, she is—was—really pretty but I could never do that to Norman. It would have been wrong on just so many levels. She was his first, and she had just lost her dad, and she wasn't even eighteen—Oh shit!"
"I'm almost nineteen, if that's what you're freaking out about."
"Yeah?" he asks, hopeful.
"Yeah. I ended up missing a lot of classes because of my lungs, but that's the only reason I'm still in high school. And there nothing ever happened between Norman and me. I mean, I did like him at first, but I don't anymore and he never did. We're just friends, if anything."
He doesn't say anything but she can feel the answering relief.
"So I don't think you have to worry about any line being crossed. Now, why don't you explain to me what the hell you were talking about? You know, about your father? Or anything else you feel like explaining, because I don't need an apology but I really need some answers."
"Trust me, you're better off not knowing."
"Listen, I'm going to find out one way or another, and you seem like you really need someone to talk to so I think this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement, don't you?"
What he pictured when she said mutually beneficial arrangement is probably not what she has in mind but he still caves in. He would have agreed anyway because, even though he hates himself for it, he can't stop thinking about her since they kissed.
"Fine."
"Great. Maybe I can come by your new place after work to talk."
"That's not a good idea."
"Why? What are you afraid of?"
He sighs. "Let's just meet somewhere, OK? Give me your number and I'll text you a location."
She complies. Just after they hand up, her phone buzzes.
Now I won't need to call you at work anymore, it says. She smiles, and saves the number.
She follows his direction and finds herself in the middle of nowhere, at the edge of the woods. She's faintly reminded of that time she and Norman went looking for the Chinese girl's grave, and her stomach twist. But then she sees his car.
He gets out to meet her with a shy awkward smile that looks strange on his face.
"Hi there," she says.
"Hi."
"Are you ready to talk?"
He shrugs, "It's kind of a long story."
"Then I guess it's good that I have plenty of time."
She takes his hand, he doesn't stop her, and as they walk aimlessly around the woods, he starts talking. She never interrupts him, only nods and holds his hand a little tighter. He doesn't look at her, but it's okay. They walk slowly. Both because they're not going anywhere and because even with her oxygen tank in her bag she can't really hike like a normal person.
By the time he has worked his way through the whole story, she has no idea how far they are from the car, they're pretty much lost in the woods, and they're both crying. But none of that matters.
She hugs him, holding him as close as she possibly can. He wraps his arms around her, clinging to her as much as she's clinging to him.
"You're right," she says after some time, "your family is seriously fucked-up."
He laughs because she doesn't know the half of it. He didn't tell her about Norman's black out and murdering impulse. "You were right to, I guess I really needed to tell someone, even though I still can't believe I told you."
"Why not? I'm a good listener, aren't I? And I know how to keep a secret."
"I guess," he says, but that's not really why he chose her as his confidant. It had more to do with the way her fingers are trailing patterns on his back as she holds him close. It is strange how this small, frail girl can make him feel safer, protected.
"Can I say something? This doesn't change who you are. I mean I understand that it does affect the way you see yourself, or who you thought you were. But it doesn't change who you are at your core. You're a good person Dylan."
He laughs, darkly, and tries to swat her away but she holds on, pressing her face against his neck, as close to his hear as she can before continuing in a soft, compelling voice.
"No, listen to me. I know you killed at least one guy, and maybe more. But did you ever hurt someone who hadn't hurt or threatened someone you loved? Someone you care about? Or yourself?"
"No."
"Did you ever take advantage of someone who trusted you? I know you didn't, after what you told me about Bradley."
"And what about you? I took advantage of you, didn't I?"
The pain and fear in his voice broke her heart.
"Dylan, no. No you didn't."
"But you were helping me and I— I got carried away and-"
"I didn't do anything I didn't want to. You stopped the moment I asked you to, before things got too far. And maybe I'm the one who took advantage of you, who ought to have stop you before, because you clearly were not in your right mind."
"I told you before, I wasn't that drunk."
"So? You were upset. I probably shouldn't have kissed you back."
"Then why did you?"
"It felt—It felt good. No one had ever kissed me like that before. And I have no idea when or if it will ever happen to me again. I thought I should enjoy it. And you looked like you might have needed to enjoy it too. Plus I really wanted to test that theory."
"What theory?"
"About my oxygen tube. Whether I should keep it on or take it off."
He laughs but it's not quite carefree. He still feels guilty for this stupid remark he made. "So in, right?"
"I don't know. For my theory to be really thoroughly tested I need to try both ways. You got to respect scientific protocol and all."
She detaches herself from him just enough to be able to take off the tube from her nostrils. He has never seen her without it. She doesn't look different, really. She looks beautiful like she always do.
"Now?" he asks, surprised. It's not that he hadn't hoped this would happen but he figured it would be off the table the moment he said the words "my father raped his sister who's also my mother". "Is it because I look like I might "need to enjoy it" again?"
Both of their eyes are red, and they probably look pathetic as shit, but he has never been more attracted to a girl than he is to her in this instant. This beautiful courageous and generous girl.
"Well, you kind of do," she says. "But really, it's because I want to. Do you want to?"
He answers her with a kiss. It's slow this time, he's not sure how much she can really breathe without the tube, and he doesn't want to hurt her. So he kisses her as softly and as gently as he can. It's different from the first time, more intimate. She kisses him back with the same tenderness until she can't breathe anymore and has to pull away before she starts choking.
He helps her put the tube back on, and holds her as she recovers.
Once she does, she kisses him again.
FIN
AN: It's my first fic for this fandom and the characters are kind of hard to write, so I'd really appreciate some feedback. After the way last episode ended I really needed to "make things better" for my baby Dylan. It's the blue eyes, right? You feel their pain so much more when they have blue eyes. It's like Jesse Pinkman all over again. Anyway, this made me feel better and I hope it will for you too. Please review!