I do not own Bates Motel.

But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.

Yeah, Whatever

The Freakin' Warrior

The room was so still it was like time had stopped.

Not that stupid things like time mattered to him anyway.

All that mattered was that Emma was still alive.

And breathing.

And she was.

Right there in front of him.

In the hospital bed. Tubes and wires hooked up to her.

One was a heart monitor. It beeped rythymically, letting him know she wasn't going into cardiac arrest.

God, he hated Google.

From the second her dad had started talking about lung transplants, Dylan Massett had worn out his data plan ruthlessly reading and rereading information on cystic fibrosis and lung transplants and organ rejection and dietary restrictions and-

And sudden cardiac arrest due to pulmonary venous thrombosis.

Dylan was nothing if not a realist.

And always prepared for the worst case senario.

And, in the case of anything above a seventh grade reading level, an avid fan of online dictionaries.

So he was on a high state of alert.

She had to have the lung transplant.

She had to.

She was young, healthy (save for CF, of course), and strong.

An excellent candidate for a successful double lung transplant.

And of course, the bravest person he had ever known.

And now here she was.

Drugged up with immunosuppressants and painkillers.

Still on oxygen to support her newly transplanted lungs and weakened body.

Chest drains and IVs and catheters and oxygen saturation monitors.

Hospital gowns and pale limp hands and purple shadowed eyes.

It was terrifying for him. He couldn't imagine what it was like for her.

But she was brave and so he was brave.

He and Will had been trading shifts, neither of them wanting her to ever wake up alone even for a second.

Hating to even . . .

I've never peed so fast in my life.

. . . take a bathroom break for fear of leaving her side.

But the doctors and nurses said she was doing remarkably well, better than expected.

White blood count low and hemocrit healthy.

X-rays clear and blood pressure normal and temperature average.

Peak flow measurements within normal levels.

Dylan hadn't told anybody but he kept a little notebook in the back pocket of his jeans along with a short pen, recording the little rows of numbers that meant she was okay.

Recovering in fact.

Reassuring himself that there was nothing to worry about.

That she was healing and going to be fine.

That that terrifying moment when her new lungs had stuttered and she had gasped futilely for air.

Pain etching her face, shrieking out of her panicked eyes.

Like the time he had fallen from his buddy's tire swing and had the wind knocked out of him.

Laying on the ground hitching for breath.

Scared and hurting, body screaming for oxygen.

Like that. Only a million times worse, he was sure.

And he had freaked and he didn't know how the doctors and nurses and Will hadn't freaked.

But that was over and she was fine.

So much so that they were letting him and Will stay at her bedside.

And Dylan, to keep himself from going crazy watching the monitors, had visited the gift shop.

And bought a book.

A book.

I know, right?

He could read, he knew how.

But there was always better things to do.

More important things.

More exciting things.

But right now, he was over all that and only wanted Emma to be okay.

Music might keep him from hearing an alarm.

YouTube videos of the latest epic skateboarding fails might distract him from noticing her eyelids moving as she woke up.

And so he read.

He sat and he read and he waited for Emma to wake up.

Because she would.

She would wake up.

And she would be okay.

He believed that.

He had to believe that.

Because she was Emma.

And she was going to be okay.

". . . mmm . . ."

As alert as he was, he almost missed it.

". . . uhhh . . ."

Her tiny whisper of breath as she swallowed, feeling the discomfort of the tender throat still recovering from the breathing tube.

And he closed the book, jamming down next to his hip as he eagerly leaned forward.

A hopeful smile on his tired face . . .

"Heyyy . . ."

. . . that she was okay and not in too much pain.

He reached out a careful hand to cover hers, hoping it wasn't too cold from holding the book.

She smiled drowsily at him, warm brown eyes moving under purple tinged lids.

And he thought his heart would burst.

It wasn't the first time she had woken up under his watch.

Sometimes it was him and sometimes it was Will.

But whenever it was him, his heart pounded and his stomach fluttered and his brain sighed with relief.

You're alright, you're alright, okay, you're alright . . .

And just like now, nothing else mattered.

Her liquid eyes moved to look at the jug of water on the nightstand and he instantly responded.

"Oh, yeah, here-"

Pouring a half glass into the Styrofoam and setting the pitcher down.

Rising to lean over her, trembling fingers bringing the straw up to her lips.

Other hand gently stroking the top of her head as she swallowed a few sips.

And setting it back down within easy reach when she was done.

He edged back to give her space, smiling like a doofus.

Then she spoke. Her grin broadening as she spoke, voice barely more than a raspy whisper.

"You're reading."

"What? Oh, uh, yeah."

A little embarrassed now. Though there really wasn't a reason to be.

It was Emma after all.

His hands fumbling a little with the paperback.

"Oh, just something to pass the time-"

He kept his voice low and quiet, not wanting to overwhelm her with too much stimulation.

"What is it?"

He shrugged, now more embarrassed to admit . . .

"Oh, uh, The Counte of Monte Cristo. I don't know, figured it was time to educate myself or something."

She smiled gently, her beautiful face putting him at ease like it always did.

Even as his heart stammered and his mouth went dry.

God, she's so beautiful. How are you be so beautiful in a hospital bed?

"Will you read to me?"

He glanced down, even more embarrassed now but unable to find a way to . . .

"Yeah, uh, sure."

. . . refuse her.

"Don't ask me any questions though, okay? I need a Wikipedia link to understand all this stuff."

She smiled then, a slightly more forceful exhalation of breath deflating her chest than usual.

The best she could do for a laugh at this point.

And Dylan dropped his eyes away from her beautiful hospital face.

He was glad he was at a good part.

Something positive to encourage her.

He had to back up a few paragraphs to find it again but it was on the same page and it was important so he focused his eyes and found it.

"Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next."

His reading was imperfect and halting. Reading had never been a problem and he wasn't dumb just . . . rusty and too nervous to make fluency his strong suit.

"What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm amd shout as you did in Rome. 'Do your worst, for I will do mine!'"

He thought that part reminded him of Lieutenant Dan shouting at God in Forrest Gump but he didn't want to ruin the moment of the speech for her so he kept going.

"Then the fates will know you as we know you."

He paused, glancing at her and found her smiling softly at him, tears glistening in her deep dark eyes.

And his heart swelled and he knew he had chosen a good part for her.

He read on.

And when he looked up the next time, her eyes were closed and he thought she was asleep again.

Dylan Massett continued to read in what he tried to make a soothing, relaxing tone while still maintaining some interesting tenor to his voice.

When he got to the end of the chapter he stopped.

I love you, Emma.

And closed the book.

Okay, so, I don't honestly know what book Dylan was reading in that scene. I tried to figure it out but I couldn't. So I gave it my best interpretation.

What do you think?

As you can tell, this'll be one of those bounce around stories. Here and there and everywhere. And you're more than welcome to offer your opinion on that as well. I like opinions. ;)

Most appreciative thanks to solveariddle for graciously reviewing a story that wasn't his/her particular ship. I'm very grateful for the welcome and I hope you enjoy whatever you do choose read.

Also thanks to LOL Guest for making me chuckle. If you decide to stick around, I hope to make my storytelling an enjoyable past time for you. If not, I understand and happy reading of whatever makes you happy.

Thanks to the silent readers as well and I hope you come back for more. :)