I do not own Bates Motel.

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

Yeah, Whatever

For Anything

He hadn't been expecting her, hadn't asked her to come.

Didn't recognize her driving a rental car.

Five hours away, she must have gotten up before four.

So when he saw her stomping over the snow toward him, deep purple coat, stylishly torn jeans, clunky boats, blue colorful scarf, hair twisted up in a knot, her new style, face worried and pinched, probably at the sight of his water glass bashed face, he thought he was the one having the hallucinations now.

Oh shit, Emma, you shouldn't be here, why are you here-

"Dylan, what happened?!"

Oh, you're really here, I'm so glad you're here-

And his carefully honed reserve cracked a little and he grabbed her and hugged her, clinging to her as he had never done before.

Oh Jesus, you're going to hate me but I'm just so glad you're here-

Feeling her surprise, her hugging him back.

Speaking words he desperately wanted to hear.

But was afraid of all the same.

"Katie's with my dad. I'm with you. We'll figure it out. I wanted to be here, help you with this."

Compounded by an instant feeling of loss.

You're going to hate me now cause I can't lie through this-

As he forced himself to let her go.

Suddenly on the verge of tears, knowing what he was about to say . . .

"Emma, I don't know how to tell you this."

. . . would tear her apart.

But no more lies, right, oh god-

But if he waited, if he paused, even for more than a second, he wouldn't tell her at all.

And if he had a chance at all of keeping his wife and daughter, he had to be completely and absolutely honest.

Forever.

Especially about this.

"They found your mom's body up in Falls Lake."

She looked at him in shock. Incredulous.

As if she could never quite believe anything had really ever happened to her mom.

"She was murdered. I know it was Norman."

And she did break little then, stumbling, groping for him for safety.

As if on the edge of a faint.

But tough Emma didn't.

She wavered.

Let him go, walking back a little and stopping again as if lost.

Staring at him as she processed the horror of it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I can just live in denial."

She had said that once.

At the cabin, when he came to find her to make her go get new lungs and not die.

Denial.

A comforting turning away from the truth, from the real world, from harsh, cold reality.

Reality that she now faced . . .

". . . dead. I'm sorry."

. . . and could not turn away from.

Norman had killed Audrey who was dead and gone forever.

Just like Norma.

And Emma . . .

"This is all so surreal."

. . . was very not okay.

He had convinced her to come back into the motel room, take off her jacket.

Sit down on the couch.

He sat on the edge of the bed across from her, thinking she probably wouldn't want him to touch her just then.

And he had told her everything that had happened since his arrival back here in the ninth circle of Hell.

About Norman's weirdness.

The pharmacist saying the doctor had gone missing.

Norman turning into Norma and braining him with the water glass.

His confession.

The lawyer.

And sheriff's damn dental records.

Emma sat frozen and aghast as the entire horrible story came tumbling out of him.

She sat there, face twisted and pale.

Then she started talking, voice empty with shock.

". . . isn't real . . . isn't happening . . ."

He felt bonded to her in the insanity of it all.

"I'm so sorry, Emma. I never wanted to bring you anything but happiness."

And Emma, being the Decoy she had been raised to be, once more put the blame on the person who rightfully had earned it.

". . . not your fault . . . didn't bring Norman into my life."

She blinked heavily as if sleepy and weighted down.

"He was so sweet when I met him."

Already killed Sam though. But yeah.

". . . sweet. Just out of his mind."

Emma's face hardened as she looked over at him.

"Doesn't make it better for me."

The idea that she had spent time with, been infatuated with, made out with a complete psycho must be humiliating for her.

And for him to know all that probably made her feel like a miserable fool.

Oh, and Norman killed her mom.

Oh and I helped Norma cover it up.

And Dylan waited for emotions to process and rise.

Waiting for her to-

"I need to go home."

- leave him.

Disappointment wasn't the word to describe Dylan's Massett's surge of emotion.

He was devastated.

"Please, Emma, please," he begged weakly.

"Don't pressure me, for anything."

Rising to his feet, reaching out for her, his wife, his rock.

". . . please don't go, stay with me, please, don't go . . ."

Desperate for her not to evaporate, leave him alone.

Even though he deserved it.

Stay, please, stay, oh god don't go-

Holding her gently in his arms-

"Don't pressure me. For anything."

-desperate to feel her warmth and love.

-please, Emma, please-

"I'll stay and take care of my mother's body."

While he still . . .

"But I don't know if we're going to make it through this, Dylan."

. . . could.

Please, Emma, please, no, please-

"Don't pressure me for anything."

"I understand."

His family around him would help.

Give him strength to face this.

Figure it out.

Regain focus.

See the hope.

But Emma was in fullout mother tiger mode.

Effectively shutting him out of any and all decision making processes involving . . .

"My daughter."

Our daughter, Emma . She's my daughter too, right? You've always said 'our'.

And she always had been.

Up until now.

". . . help if Will brought her up here."

Emma's gaze nailed him to the wall even as her voice stayed quiet.

"Who would it help? Me? You?"

Yes. Yes.

"I'm not going to bring her up here just so we can feel a little bit better about Norman murdering my mother."

Skewering him with the truth. In a low, barely hysterical tone.

And Dylan completely cowed, waved the white flag, rubbing his neck and op lowering his head in defeat.

"Okay, I got it."

And up until now they had always talked things out.

Calmly.

Quietly.

Reasonably.

Together.

Looking at each other.

Talking.

Considering.

Diplomatic. Mature.

Very unBates/Massett-like.

But now . . .

"Look, there's no other way to say it, Dylan! It is what it is!"

Everything was topsy turvy.

And he felt lost, spun around, driven under.

"I know."

Like he had . . .

Shit.

. . . before he had met Emma.

Emma.

His wife.

Here before him now.

Right there.

Yet could not be reached.

And he was very, very scared.

Emma, I need you.

Please don't turn away. Please don't . . .

"Don't pressure me. For anything."

. . . leave me alone.

Dylan's desperation just made me almost cry here, gosh.