I do not own Bates Motel.

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

Yeah, Whatever

Clouded Over

Dylan had heard the doorbell over the sound of birthday guests' chatter and the Spotify playlist Emma had cranked up for the party.

But he hadn't really thought it.

Might be Terry and Jim, they said they might be a little late.

It wasn't.

Instead . . .

"Caleb's here."

Emma's beautiful face, so happy and healthy and content even when . . .

"Come on, Katie, come on, baby girl . . ."

. . . she was tired and worn out and having a tough day . . .

". . . what is it, honey, hmmm, why're you crying?"

. . . was now carefully blank and her voice was even.

As she announced the advent of his estranged, wanted, rapist uncle-father . . .

Shit.

. . . suddenly back into their lives.

He looked the same as always.

Desheveled. Hungover. Beraggled.

Battered.

Like he had lived a rough and wandering life.

With no one to really care about what happened to him.

Except his sister.

Whom he had raped.

Had a son by.

And proceeded to wander in and out of people's lives like a shambling mess of a human being . . .

". . . wouldn't notice or something?! Well guess what?! I noticed! So go to Hell!"

. . . just screwing things up wherever he went.

What the hell, why are you here, Caleb? After all this time, why?

"Heyyy . . ."

The well-meaning bastard instantly . . .

Don't look at my daughter. Don't see her. Don't leech off her.

. . . latched his hungry gaze onto the tiny baby in Dylan's arms.

Shit.

"Yeah, she's ours."

It was the first time since Katie had been born, nay conceived, that Dylan had not wanted to show her off.

A picture . . .

"Hey, Dylan got any new pics?"

"Oh yeah, sure, hang on a sec."

Whipping out his phone in an instant.

A story . . .

"And seriously, she just, like, almost smiled, no kidding."

Any chance at all . . .

"Yeah, I think me and the girls are going to the SAM this weekend, you know get out of the house together for a while . . ."

. . . to be proud of his special little family.

But now . . .

Please don't. Please don't soil her with . . . you.

But the damn bastard's craggy face was so needing, so full of yearning . . .

Shit.

. . . that Dylan felt he had no choice.

Emma, help?

But to . . .

"Can I hold her?"

No.

. . . hand his helpless infant daughter over . . .

"Yeah."

. . . to the man who had repeatedly raped his own sister he professed to love.

"Hello, Kate."

Why do you know my daughter's name? You're not supposed to know my daughter's name without permission.

And accidently created . . .

And I didn't give you permission.

. . . him.

Caleb Calhoun was holding Katie in his dirty, mother-raping hands . . .

Don't make her dirty.

. . . and Dylan could barely register Emma's gentle, grounding palm caressing the back of his neck, supporting him, holding him up . . .

Give her back to me now please.

. . . because he did not like it.

At all.

"I was looking at pictures on Emma's Facebook . . ."

Dammit, Em.

". . . not to sound creepy . . ."

Yeah, no, you're way beyond creepy, Caleb.

". . . but it was a way to make sure you were both okay."

Calling, also. Oh, wait, right. Well, still, I didn't want you to do that anyway.

"And I saw the baby and I had to come."

No, you didn't.

Caleb smiled then and Dylan could almost believe . . .

No, don't do that. Don't be human.

. . . that guy wasn't going to screw everything he had worked so hard for here up . . .

"Oh man, Norma Louise . . ."

. . . just by being who he was.

". . . must be over the moon about this."

Well, about that-

And the thing was, she would be.

"Hey, Dylan, I hope you didn't mind, I made a quilt for the baby's room, is it okay if I bring it up one day? Stay the weekend? Maybe I can babysit and you and Emma can go out and grab a bite or go to a movie or something, just the two of you?"

"Yeah, sure, thanks, Norma. That sounds great. When would you like to come up?"

Except he hadn't had any contact with her or Norman since Norman had shut him down . . .

"Goodbye, Dylan."

. . . and Emma . . .

". . . clear conscience, you tried."

. . . had absolved him of any further . . .

". . . in the sun."

. . . Bates-based obligations.

But Caleb . . .

"What?"

. . . had been gone before the real shit hit the fan and had no idea of any of it.

"I, uh, I don't really talk to my mom or Norman anymore."

Caleb looked distraught.

Happy birthday, Em. I'm sorry.

"What happened?"

Well, let's see Norman is insane and Norma enables him and tries to make me do it too.

Oh and Norman might have done something to Emma's mom but I'm not sure.

Look, I really-

". . . don't want to talk about it."

Went almost an entire day without thinking about it, in fact.

Thanks, Caleb.

And then he just suddenly felt overwhelmed with all the shit that was still there, would always be there, every damn day of his entire damn life, infecting his family, making everything sick and ill at ease.

Sitting between them like a silent, festering deadhead.

And he couldn't stand it.

Dylan Brian Massett reached out and calmly took his pure, innocent baby daughter back from his unwanted, uninvited, intrusive, screw-up, deadbeat, mother-raping uncle-father's . . .

Been driving awhile, have you?

. . . slightly grungy embrace.

Caleb Calhoun and his slightly musty appearance wouldn't be deterred.

"But there's a grandkid involved now."

Dylan Massett clung to his baby girl protectively.

What makes you think I would want my child around those psychos?

And don't tell me what to do with my own daughter.

She's my child not yours. And not Norma's.

Neither of you was ever any kind of decent parent to me-

I'm sorry, Katie. You were never supposed to be involved with this nut.

Dylan laser focused in on Katie. Drinking her in.

Adjusting her hat. . .

Oh, I'm sorry, Katie, he messed it up, god. Let me just-

. . . so she wouldn't get cold . . .

You okay, baby? He didn't hurt you, did he?

. . . Emma tried to change the course of Titanic.

"Where are you staying, Caleb?"

Oh shit, Emma, no-

"I haven't checked in anywhere yet."

Of course you haven't. Because . . .

"Truth is, I'm running a little low on funds . . ."

Yep. And . . .

"It took a lot of effort to get over the border . . ."

Still wanted? Well, not by me-

". . . stay here for a few nights . . ."

Oh god, no.

". . . figure out what I was doing."

No.

"Yeah, of course, you can."

Dammit, Emma. What the . . .

". . . room, but I hope . . ."

. . . hell?

". . . couch is okay."

No. He'll rape it. And then cry about it.

I don't want him in my house, Emma.

". . . great . . ."

My life.

". . . stuff somewhere?"

Yeah. Not here.

". . . in our room."

What? No, I don't want him or his stuff in my house.

My world.

". . . down the hall."

The world.

"Thanks. Oh man."

And as Dylan Massett clung to his daughter, Emma Decody who usually understood him and supported him so well . . .

"Yeah, sure."

Went right ahead and invited that vampire . . .

'Cause he sucks up your soul, Em-

. . . bastard of an uncle-father . . .

I don't want him to suck Katie's soul, Em. She's not strong enough-

. . . right into their home and lives.

And Dylan Massett had let her.

And him.

And . . .

Shit.

. . . now there would be no getting rid of the scummy, needy, mother-raping weasel.

He was beyond embarrassed . . .

"I'm sorry, Emma."

. . . and ashamed.

She, however was just as gracious to him . . .

"No, it's okay. It's alright."

. . . because he was a manipulative, lying, scummy weasel too . . .

The hell it is.

. . . even though he tried to tell himself he had been trying . . .

He'll never leave now.

. . . to change and be better for Emma . . .

He touched Katie, Em. He touched her.

. . . and Katie.

But that didn't make it . . .

I can't believe he touched her . . .

. . . any better.

Okay, clearly, Dylan quietly becomes more and more unhinged as this scenario progresses. The poor baby probably has motion sickness there, poor thing.

But I get it I really do.

Seriously.

Thanks to Lana Brown and WordWeaver81 for your reviews!