I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
Gaslighting In The Name of Norman Bates
"I'm sorry, Dylan. I am so sorry. I'm sorry for the way you were born. I'm sorry for the way I handled it. I'm sorry for the way I shut you out. It was horrible of me. I am so sorry."
It was all he had ever wanted to hear.
A hearfelt apology for his life, the misery and emptiness of his childhood.
A confession of motherly love and a desire to keep him in her heart.
Norma was his mother and she loved him.
Then.
And he thought that would be enough to survive any future problems they faced.
Move forward.
Starting now.
Move forward.
My mom's not perfect. But she loves me. She really loves me.
And at that moment, she truly had.
She had loved him with all the jagged little shards of her fractured heart.
And he had willingly forgiven her for everything she had ever done or would possibly do.
Fought to keep her.
Because his mother finally, finally loved him.
Then.
But nothing, nothing, was as important as Norman.
He cam to realize that the times Norma ever really felt true, strong, positive emotion toward him was when he did something that protected or benefitted Norman.
And that her love was temperamental. Inconsistent.
Fragile.
And because he was Dylan and she was his mother, he tried to make that enough.
Because it was all he had.
But it was not enough.
And Norma's supposed love grew stale under the crushing weight of the constantly volatile situations he kept finding them quagmired in.
In the sick, shredded attacks on him anytime he threatened her twisted equilibrium with Norman.
And there did come a day when he had to make a choice.
To be crushed by it .
Or claw his way out of it.
And cast it aside.
So that he could live, survive on.
It was a difficult decision and hurt him very badly.
For a very long time.
Dylan Massett was at his absolute breaking point.
Practically running at Norman.
Norman who had once been a child just like him.
Manipulated, twisted, used by Norma.
Who had once been a child manipulated and twisted and used by the parents who had messed her up.
And on and on and on since the dawn of time.
It has to stop. It has to stop.
Now.
Desperation made Dylan feel like punching Norman, knocking him out cold, throwing him in the truck and driving like hell to get away from it all.
But it wouldn't work.
One punch to the head or a million wouldn't work.
Norman was beyond saving, so deep in Norma's manipulative hell.
And his own disturbing psychosis.
He's killed people. I really think he's killed people.
I mean, I have too but at least I knew when I did it.
But Norman Bates didn't. He had no clue.
He was crazy. Like really badly crazy.
He thinks he's her sometimes. He doesn't even know.
But Dylan wasn't crazy.
So long as he got away now.
Running away.
He was running away again, abandoning Norman to the fate of his mother.
Again.
And he felt such huge, crushing guilt . . .
But I just can't do it. I just can't.
. . . for it.
So he grabbed his brother.
Half, full doesn't matter.
Norma as a mother is like a POW camp.
He grabbed his brother who didn't understand . . .
". . . what's happening, what's going on?"
. . . and would never be okay . . .
"You need to check yourself back into Pineview, please. Mom's never going to do it for you."
. . . and hugged him.
Referring to her as 'Mom'. Trying to make that connection with Norman.
So maybe, just maybe, he would listen.
Or Dylan would know, one last time that he had tried.
With Norma standing and glowering, threateningly.
And Dylan knew it was the end for them. The last he would ever see them.
Because he just couldn't keep on with the crazy anymore.
He had given it one, last ditch all-out effort . . .
"Dylan, I am your mother!"
. . . that had once again gone askew.
"You have never been a real mother to me! Never!"
Felt all the emotions, old and new, always an inch below the surface, churning up all over again.
It had made him sick, it had always made him so sick.
I don't wanna be sick anymore.
I don't want to be messed up.
"Look, I've tried . . ."
And there was Emma's influence edging in on the viscious, spiteful person he used to be.
". . . and I know you've tried to. But, but . . ."
He was so totally done with her. With Norma.
It just never ends.
Emma and Will had shown him a different path.
A different life.
Not a perfect one.
But better.
So much better.
And he couldn't have that new life with his old one poisoning it.
". . . I can't do this anymore!"
He couldn't.
He just couldn't.
She wouldn't see how dangerous Norman was to himself and others.
Kept explaining away all the waving red flags that just kept popping up everywhere.
He was pretty sure Norman had killed Emma's mother.
Blair Watson.
God knew who else.
But all Norma wanted to do was put away the laundry, make turkey pot pie.
And protect Norman.
At the cost of everything else, everyone else.
And Dylan didn't have any proof of anything.
And he was scared.
Emma will hate me forever.
I can't go back to life without her.
I just can't.
And I . . . I . . . I don't even know for sure.
Coward.
And so he made a desperate, broken decision.
Way down in his sick gut and burntout brain.
His shredded up, blackened, ashy heart.
He was all out of fight. And the only thing left was . . .
"I'm done, Norma."
. . . complete flight.
And she did not care.
His mother did not care about him.
Not really.
Not enough.
All she cared about . . .
"Dylan?"
And he turned.
Expecting nothing at sll.
But vaguely wondering if a simple, sincere, heartfelt 'I'm sorry' would be enough.
Like the one she had offered before, so long ago.
"Please give me the earring."
. . . was Norman.
Always Norman.
Not ever one ounce of anything for him. Truly just him.
Or anyone else.
Logic or reasoning or common sense.
Or human decency.
Ever.
Thank you, Norma. For proving I'm right and clearing my conscience.
It still hurt.
Hell yeah, it did.
His eyes burned and that painful lump in his throat made it hard to swallow.
He fought it all the way back to Emma's house.
Tried to stuff it back inside.
But it was too big, too ugly.
And it hurt too much.
He thought he had it contained until he saw her.
Emma turning to him.
With those big, warm, brown eyes. That ready smile.
Fading as soon as she took in his face.
"Dylan, what happened?"
He didn't answer right away, couldn't.
Only crumpled in a living room chair, face buried in his hands.
And felt her hands on his back, felt her gentle caress.
"It's okay. Hey, it's okay."
Her voice was a whisper but it was enough to batter down his fortress walls.
She was standing and he reached blindly out to her. Wrapping his arms around her middle, his head to the outside of her right hip.
Squeezing his eyes shut as the tears flowed down his cheeks.
He cried silently, as he had done ever since he was a child and Norma yelled at him to shut up and quit acting like a baby.
Emma didn't speak anymore.
Only ran her strong, gentle fingers through his hair over and over, massaging his scalp, his tense neck. Over his ears that always seemed too big.
Offering her simple acceptance and comfort.
Her care without judgment or penalty or parameters.
He hung on to her, clung to her.
With her the only thing in the world holding him together.
And finally feeling the flow of mute outpouring ebb.
Gathering what remained of his willpower and pulling himself away from her patience comfort.
Sitting back, slumped and empty.
As he did so, her kneeling down to be face to face with him.
Her hands on his knees.
Quiet and waiting.
He gazed weakly into her deep brown eyes, so warm and open.
Worried and concerned.
For him.
And he couldn't figure it out.
"Why do you even like me, Emma? I'm . . . nothing. I've done really bad things in my life. I've been a really bad person. My own mother doesn't love me. Not really. Not enough. I thought she did. But . . . I was wrong."
And he couldn't go on.
Dropping his face away from hers, utterly defeated.
And Emma Decody made some sort of noise in her throat.
Reached out.
And cradled his face in her strong, gentle hands.
Tilting it back up her so she could look into his eyes again.
And make him look into hers.
Her voice trembled a little when she spoke, but it was still strong all the same.
Strong and confident and sure.
Softly. But with all the power of a tidal wave of love and acceptance.
"You're not nothing, Dylan. You never were. Your mother's crazy. But you can be okay. You're a good person. I love you."
She smiled then, comforting little smile that almost made him start crying all over again.
Then she kissed him, sweet and light.
And gentle.
And he let her.
And the next day, they left that White Pine Bay and went to Seattle.
Gaslighting - to manipulate someone by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.
Being gaslighted sucks and if it's done for long enough by the right person, you never truly get over it. You just learn to fight it inside you all the time.
So there's my knowledge and advice.
Thank you so much, Lana Brown, for your continous encouragement. :)