I do not own Bates Motel.

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

Yeah, Whatever

Different Person. But Still the Same

It was surprisingly easy to be an entirely different person.

Once he got away from all the people who had known him in the 'before' time.

With the exception of Emma and Will.

The two people who knew him at all willing to let him evolve into what he wanted to be.

"I want to cook some steaks for us tonight. Mind if I go out and buy a grill?"

"That's sounds great, Dylan! I'll make some potatoes and salad."

"And I'll, uh, I'll take care of the beer."

Friends.

"Hey, I'm Dylan."

"Nick. Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Where you from?"

"Uh, all over. South Dakota. Arizona. Oregon. Here."

"Wow. And now you've landed in Seattle. What do you think of the weather?"

"It's, uh, damp."

"Haha, yeah."

Clients.

"Good morning, I'm Dylan Massett."

Like to buy some wee-, uh, hops?

"Oh yes, Mr. Massett, hello."

But as much as Dylan was choosing to embrace the new life he had somehow been lucky enough to be allowed to pursue with the most amazing girl in the world and her mild mannered, supportive father, he could not quite set down and let go of the heavy lodestone of Norma and Norman Bates.

I abandoned him.

I abandoned my brother.

I left him.

With her.

He'll never get better with her 'Mother'-ing him to death.

And it ate at him.

He couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep.

He couldn't fully enjoy Seattle or Emma or his new life.

Not really.

"What's wrong, Dylan?"

Because it was always in the back of his mind.

Whispering.

Niggling.

Gnawing.

He's never going to get better.

Not with her doing her thing.

And I just gave up and ran off.

Again.

He tried to push it aside, let it go.

Live in the moment.

"Talk to me."

But apparently he wasn't quite as good at being an island as he thought he was.

Emma, always Emma.

There.

Caring about him.

Loving him.

Supporting him.

"What is it?"

Seeing right through him.

I abandoned my brother, Emma.

Just like when we were younger.

I just left him to save my own skin.

It's not really his fault the way he is.

I don't think he can help it.

I don't think he really knows what he does.

Might have done.

"I'm worried about them. Norman and Norma. I don't know if they're going to be okay."

Emma, sitting on the couch behind him sitting in the floor.

Emma.

Massaging his neck and shoulders.

His head.

"I . . . I don't know what to do."

"You could reach out. Make contact."

"Do you think I should?"

"I think you should do whatever you need to do to have a clear conscience about all this."

Her fingers were strong and warm and soft on his tense muscles.

"Because . . ."

Kiss on the neck, sweet and light.

". . . you've got too good a start of a life here . . ."

Continued kissing migrating to his earlobe, breath surreshing into the canal.

". . . to make youself miserable over this, Dylan."

He had told her everything about the fight.

His worry over Norman's mental condition.

Norma's safety.

Norma's refusal to see the truth and logic.

He had told her everything.

Except about the earring.

And his very real fears about her mother.

"You do what you've got to do for you to be okay, Dylan."

Another kiss, traveling around now to his throat.

"For us."

I don't deserve you.

I will deserve you.

I will be a good enough person to deserve you.

She ended up in his lap.

And he held her tight.

I love you, Emma.

And so, he did do what he needed to do to clear his conscience.

One day while he was alone in the apartment.

The smell of fresh paint and wet Seattle air clogging his Arizona sinuses.

He called . . .

"Hey, Norman."

. . . his baby brother.

"Mother said you were gone."

And it still hurt like a bitch.

Guess a part of her is happy now I'm out of the way finally.

No matter hard he had worked, everything he had tried to do make it okay, he had always been the incest, unloved, bastard son.

She just wanted everything to be nice.

He was a reminder of an entire era of her life when things had not been nice.

When they had moved, she cast aside everything that reminded her of the misery in which she had lived for the entirety of her life previous.

Everything except Norman.

Who, if their names were anything to go by, completed her.

And Dylan was no part of any of that.

And therefore, unwelcome.

The end.

Roll credits

Dylan guessed he understood.

He wouldn't want Caleb, his mother raping, emotional trainwreck of a father-uncle to show up on his doorstep now.

Or ever again.

"Yeah, well, I guess I'm gone to her."

He had promised himself it was over between him and Norma.

Finally.

For real this time.

But then a little part of him had whispered that was so absolutely irrecoverably brutal.

So . . . final.

Forever. Damn.

And Emma was showing him the future could hold almost any hopeful possibilities.

And so he . . .

"For now anyway."

. . . relented a little.

At least enough to soften the blow to Norman.

"I doubt she'll reach out to me."

She never has before.

Norman seemed to concur.

"No, I mean, not for a while."

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

But he couldn't really be mad at Norman.

Not anymore.

The kid was hopelessly entangled in the twisting labrinynth of his own pyschosis.

And the strangling web of his mother's as well.

Jesus.

There was just almost no chance for him to get better.

Especially since Norma had folded and let him out of the one place that had done him any good.

But the time for all that discussion had passed. He had tried to talk, to both of them.

Nobody had listened.

Except Romero.

But his puny little determination was nothing compared to fierce, crushing steamroller of Norma and Norman's codependent love for each other.

So Dylan wasn't even going to try this time.

He was just going to . . .

"Well, anyways, I want you to know I'm here for you."

. . . reopen the lines of communication.

"I got a new number . . ."

Yes, he had.

A brand new phone, using a few dollars more of that fifty thousand Caleb had stolen from the beaten nearly to death Chick.

Not to blow money, although he did spring for as much data storage as he could.

To fill up with his new life.

And toss away the old.

The dealer numbers. Weed connections.

Calls from Bradley.

Desperate texts to Norma the night she abandoned Norman for the first time ever.

That stuff he was relieved to lose.

Also regretfully releasing the messages from Emma. The phone calls from Emma.

The first digitally recorded connections with Emma.

Reassuring himself it was all still in his heart.

I'm the guy who thinks like this now.

Can think like this now.

Cool.

Forever.

And reassuring himself that he was starting a new life.

And going to fill it up now with all the good, hopeful things he was beginning to hesitantly envision for himself and his new family.

All the things he was beginning to envision.

Because of Emma.

". . . so you won't be able to reach me at the old one."

But Norman, Norman was his brother.

And still sick.

Still dangerous.

And still . . .

"You and I can still talk."

. . . needed him. Somebody stable.

Dylan couldn't just drop him.

He was his brother.

"If you need anything . . ."

And that meant . . .

". . . just let me know."

. . . carrying the burden of him.

Caring.

As long as he needed him.

Because that was what a good person did.

A good person . . .

"Yes, uh, well, I appreciate that, Dylan."

. . . like Dylan Massett.

Okay, okay, good.

"But I think it is probably best if we don't talk anymore. I think that's just what she needs me to do now."

What?

"So perhaps we should just remember all those moments when it was good for all of us. I am sorry and I will miss you, Dylan, but goodbye."

And then the line was dead and he was gone.

Oh.

"Hey, you okay?"

He tried to put on a brave face for her but it felt forced and brittle and sick. Like Norman's whenever he had tried to defend Norma.

So he gave it up and just talked to her straight.

"Yeah. I guess. He just shut me down."

His voice came out quiet and slightly clogged as he spoke.

He rubbed an errant hand across his nose, trying to push across way the aching emotions filling up his throat and his chest.

Emma face, full of compassion and concern, filled his vision as she drew near.

Taking his hand and rubbing it comfortingly with her strong, gentle fingers.

Listening without interruption as he told her the entire conversation.

Still trying to swipe away those emotions that wouldn't go.

No matter how much he pretended they weren't there.

Amd when he was done talking, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug he never wanted to let go of.

Pressed the side of her face to his.

"I'm sorry, Dylan. That sucks."

Yeah, a little.

Then she let him go and stepped back to look eye to eye.

And spoke again.

Quiet.

But full of assurity.

"You did what you could. If he wants to let go, let him go for a while. Concentrate on taking care of yourself and enjoying your new life away from all that craziness."

Then she smiled a little sadly as she reached out and caressed the side of his face with a warm, loving hand.

"Don't waste time on someone who doesn't want you. I want you. I love you."

She kissed him sweetly then and . . .

That's like what she said when you gave her the letter from her mom that Norman probably killed.

I know.

That's exactly what you said to her to make her feel better about not being able to find the mom that Norman probably killed.

I know.

You're a liar and a cheat.

Shut up.

. . . he tried to let her.

Okay, so I lied.

This is the end of season 4.

And quite a long chapter for this story, I know. It all just seemed to flow together.

Next time, well have more fun and fluff. I promise. ;)

Thanks to Lana Brown for your repeated reviews and all the time you take for this story. You are so very gracious!

See you again next week!