I do not own Bates Motel.

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

Yeah, Whatever

Surviving the Tiger Shark

I don't want to be like them anymore, Emma.

I want to be free and normal.

I want to be okay.

And I can't be like that here with them.

It was weird, all evening he had felt like he and Emma were the adults.

Trying to pretend everything was okay. Trying to get through it.

And Norman, his little brother, and Norma, the actual adult of the group, were fighting like little kids.

Hey guys, don't make me turn this truck around.

He had talked to Emma beforehand.

"I don't really want to do this but maybe it'll be okay? Like a final goodbye before we go to Seattle? I don't know."

Emma nodded.

"Yeah, well do it and we'll be together and then it'll be over and we can go, okay?"

He nodded, drinking her in like a reviving drought of water in the burning desert of the Bates/Massett Circus of Disturbing Dysfunction.

"Thank you for agreeing to come with me, Emma."

She smiled.

"Of course, Dylan. How bad can it be?"

Oh god. Never ask that question with my family.

But she had been there when Norman had gone crazy and catatonic.

Suppprting him and standing by him.

Giving him the courage he needed to not run screaming from the house.

Wheezing and coughing and hacking up thick, yellow phlegm on the bathroom floor.

Scaring him with her fragility.

Impressing him with her resiliency and strength.

Making him want to be more.

Because she was more.

So surely they could make it through one night of Norma's strident, shrill 'I'm fine, we're all fine, everything's is freaking fine' falsehood.

And Norman's rigid, brittle 'everything is fine, oh dear, silly mother's at it again' delusion that set everybody's teeth on edge.

And every time he started feeling the tidal current of crazy pull him under, Dylan Massett would look over at Emma.

She would smile at him or he would simply catch sight of the line of her cheekbone and feel like he could survive the tiger shark a little while longer.

But that didn't mean he was going to take it all seriously.

"So," Dylan had cleared his throat nonchalantly on the short drive back to shop afterward. "Norman? Really?"

Emma shrugged, slightly sheepish. Playing with their intertwined fingers in the dark.

"I thought he was sweet and vulnerable, not crazy. And he used to be much better."

Yeah, Dylan thought forlornly. That's true.

Norman had devolved so badly lately Dylan was genuinely afraid for him and Norma.

But as he had told Emma, he was beginning to believe they could not be helped.

And he just wanted to escape the black hole of their insanity.

And then Norman had gone and thrown up and Norma had turned into the doting mommy all over again.

"Poor thing. He just doesn't like change, you know."

And Dylan had been caught between pity.

Jeez, man.

Disgust.

Please don't throw up in my truck. I like my truck puke free since I stopped drinking.

And an overwhelming sense of flight instinct.

Seattle. Seattle. Two days from now. I'm running like hell. I'm going. We're going.

He could not be grateful enough that Will had agreed to let him come with them.

Live with him and Emma.

Dylan had been planning to somehow afford his own place, maybe find a roommate.

Anything to be close to the woman who wanted him, loved him.

But Will . . .

"Sure you can do that if you prefer. Or you could just stay with us where Emma wants you."

. . . had encouraged a path of less resistance.

"Life doesn't have to be so hard all the time, Dylan. Once you get the right people supporting you and you supporting them, it can actually be quite manageable."

And Dylan had decided he wasn't going to cry in front his girlfriend's . . .

Girlfriend. Like, real girlfriend. With flowers and candy and stuff?

I gotta buy Emma flowers.

I'll do it when I go get her Tacrolimus 'script filled.

. . . father who had already helped him . . .

"You're too good to be selling pot, Dylan."

. . . so much.

All he had to do was take the risk at trying to improve his life.

So Dylan was going to start his new job of working as the assistant hops distribution manager.

Will was going to start teaching eighteenth century literature again.

And Emma was going to be, for the first time, unleashed on the world.

College.

Even if she was commuting three days a week with her dad.

After she finished her three month mandatory healing process anyway.

Dylan felt hope blossoming inside him.

Not the determined god, shit has got to get better than this hope.

But real hope.

Hope he wanted to grow into a real, stable, normal life.

If he could just . . .

Get the hell out of White Pine Bay.

I have heard a very close version of Dylan's Christmas tree shopping speech there in real life.

I teared up then too.

Anyway, thanks to DinahRay again, you sweetie.

And to my silent readers. :)