I do not own Bates Motel.

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

Yeah, Whatever

*Warning: 'M' for dark themes, direct mentions of rape.*

Haunted

There was this thing.

He didn't know if it was a memory or a drunk dream.

Being sick, being so very sick.

Right after Norma had screamed that her brother was his dad.

Right after she had screamed, shrieked that Caleb had raped her.

And he had shouted back that she was a liar.

And Norman had attacked him, beaten the shit out of him.

And they had all stopped dead in their tracks.

That Caleb was Dylan's dad.

That Dylan was an incest born mutant freak.

He had staggered up off the kitchen floor.

Blood painting his face, nose swollen and thick.

He had stared without blinking.

Wide eyed and overwhelmed with the sick, rotting, putrid revulsion of it all.

And they had stared.

Norma and Norman.

They had stared.

And he had stared back.

Until he had turned and in a zombie stupor, fled their presence.

I'm a rape.

Rape and incest and how am I supposed to live now?

He decided he wouldn't.

He numbly piloted the big double cab truck he had been so proud to pay cash for down the road.

Never quite veering far enough onto the shoulder to plunge off a cliff.

Never far enough into the median to smash head first into a semi.

And so he eventually arrived at and stopped at a bar.

Went in with his wallet full of pot cash.

And drank until he lost awareness of himself.

But even in his inebriated haze, he heard them.

Words echoing in his ears.

Refusing to die away.

". . . Norma's brother."

". . . know how Norma is."

". . . just wants to talk with you."

". . . no one to protect me!"

". . . anything to get your way!"

". . . gotten my way . . . your damn mother!"

And he saw horror blurs.

Caleb holding Norma down as he thrusted, tearing her apart. A sick, hungry look on his face.

Norma screaming, crying. Helpless.

Unable to stop her attacker, unable to break free.

He had never been there, never even seen someone get raped in real life.

But he saw it in his mind's eye all the same.

"No! Stop! Please stop!"

Sometimes the bell curved and suddenly he was Caleb.

Looking down on Norma's tear streaked face.

As he violated her in the worst way.

As she screamed and cried and begged and pleaded.

Him, teeth gritted, lips drawn back in a sick, horrible grin.

Unable to quit, unable to stop.

Or even close his eyes against the horror he was doing to her.

And then it all faded.

And he felt cold.

And hot.

Thick.

Sick.

Movement.

A distant voice, vaguely familiar . . .

"Dylan? Dylan, wake up!"

. . . one he should know.

But couldn't place in quagmire of his drowning haze.

Then it all faded out again.

Until he heard the thought . . .

I'm all wrapped up like a burrito.

. . . connected to his body.

And then a different sensation.

Softness. Gentleness.

Warmth.

Soothing caress.

And a voice.

Norma's voice.

His mother's voice.

Alway so harsh and short and dismissive of him.

Now he knew why.

I'm a rape bastard.

An unforgivable monster.

All the time.

Never see me.

Just Caleb.

What he did.

In my face.

But now, his mother's voice.

Different.

Quiet. Calm.

"I never wanted you, Dylan. I hated even the thought of you."

"But I couldn't kill you. I didn't have any money for an abortion. But I wanted to."

"I was too scared to do it by myself. So I ran away and had you."

"And every time I looked at you or thought of you all I could think of was him."

"Then I had Norman so I could have a child I liked. So I could have someone to love me."

"So I could pretend he was my only son and you didn't exist."

The voice paused and Dylan thought it had gone away.

"And I hated you, Dylan. I hated you so much."

But he was wrong.

"And I'm sorry for that. You should have had a mother who could love you."

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be her."

And the voice did stop and the gentle touch went away and he was alone in the void of space.

Warm and sick.

And all wrapped up.

In a thick, suffocating wet blanket of his existence he could never manage to fight his way free of.

The Bates nuts and their pure, unblemished, incest-free DNA.

Trying to act all normal and not crazy . . .

". . . be strong and put this behind you."

. . . as hell.

Yeah, like you have, right, Norma? How's that working out for you?

And he just knew she was full of shit and the dream voice had been real.

Especially . . .

"Why did you have me, Norma? Why? "

. . . when he confronted her in the kitchen later.

Come on, Norma. Tell me you wanted to love me. Tell me you wanted to make something good out of something bad.

I dare you.

Tell me something. Anything.

And she couldn't even answer.

Could barely look at him.

And he knew . . .

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

. . . there was no reason for him to be living and breathing and existing on the planet at all.

But he went on doing so.

Just the same.

At least for a while longer.

This an extension of the episode in season two when Emma, Norman, and Norma care for Dylan in the motel room after he finds out Caleb is his dad.

It made me sick to write it.

And I apologize for you having to read it.

But it's part of Dylan. And I can't let it eat him alive alone.

Emma will make it better in the next chapter, if that helps.

Thanks to Lana Brown for reviewing. Keep holding for some more sweet stuff, it's on its way!