I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
Acceptance
Big tough bastard incest son of Caleb and Norma Bates was drinking tea.
Real British tea.
Made by a real British person.
As in English professor British.
Because Dylan was in love with the British man's daughter.
The daughter who had just survived a double lung transplant.
And was now a living miracle.
And loved him . . .
Maybe. Eventually.
. . . back.
So yeah, Dylan Massett sat and drank the steamy Earl Grey tea in their cozy little kitchen with them upon invitation.
It's not bad. It's . . . hot . . . flavored . . . liquid.
Ahem.
But he didn't care.
He'd snag a coke later from a seven-eleven on the long drive to Seattle.
For now, he was content to down the hot English tea that was really no worse tasting than some of the cold engine coolant that had passed for beer he had swigged in times past.
Because it meant he got to be with her.
Emma.
And her dad.
Together.
They were good, normal people.
Not the fake good, normal people Norma tried to pretend her and Norman were.
Not the unhinged psychopaths hiding under the surface.
But honestly good, normal people.
They cared for each other.
Not unhealthily so like his mother and brother.
Love and hate all mixed up and rolled into one, big, unpredictable mess of crazy.
But just truly cared for and loved each other.
Will DeCody raised his daughter to be as independent as possible so that she could live so as long as she lived.
Which now, with careful care and good luck, would be significantly longer.
Norma raised Norman to be dependent on her. Revolve around her. Give her value and worth and attention.
Hold her up. Make her complete.
Because she herself was incomplete.
Maybe that was why she had named him Norman.
To complete her as a person.
And to be the son Dylan could never, would never be.
Thank God.
A wreck.
A stifled, nerve wracked, beyond mama mama's boy.
Someone Norma could remake in her own image and look upon and be proud of.
Who was possibly . . .
"I told you not to do that!"
Nobody hits me anymore and gets away with it! Do you hear me?! Nobody!
. . . completely homicidal.
But Will and Emma.
They were real human beings.
To themselves. To each other. To the world.
And they . . .
"So, Dylan, how was the drive?"
"Ah, you know, traffic and all. Construction. But fine."
"Sounds better than I would have handled it. Surely the bobby wouldn't ding an old Brit for ploughing over a few unsuspecting drivers, eh?"
"Dad!"
"Haha, no. You could just quote poetry at them and they'd let you go."
"Dylan!"
. . . even accepted him for himself.
Little fun bit here. Hope you enjoy!
Thanks, Lana Brown, for reviewing all these sweetie!