Title: The Good Old Times
Author: Seer M. Anno
Pairing: brotherly!Norman Bates/Dylan Massett
Genre: AU, since I add some little details which, I think, doesn't exist in canon.
Summary: This motorcycle ride eerily reminds Dylan of something… something in the past.
Warnings: possible OOCness, slight child abuse
Disclaimer: Bates Motel and its characters (c) A&E and the associates. No copyright intended.
Note: Written for my older brother Sam, because I love you and this really happened when I was a kid. Also to meanshesmine (for his/her 'Riding on Bikes with Boys') and siriuspepsicola (for his/her 'Brothers') for being the inspiration of this fic.
I haven't watched all the episodes yet, stuck in What's Wrong with Norman?, thanks to the damned people who took my decoder, but the series seems amazing. I've caught this scene's GIFs and fall in love with them, so I made this, although I haven't watched this episode yet. So enjoy!
Word – past/flashbacks
The Good Old Times
Seer M. Anno
It was cold, so cold you can see smoke from your breathing. That was why Dylan Massett was surprised to see a lonely form walking. He wondered where he'd ever seen that blue shirt and those brown shoes. The shirt looked formal, even from such a distance, and deep inside Dylan knew who it was. To be precise, who he was.
He rolled his eyes inwardly when he reached the boy's side and saw Norman's pale face. His younger brother looked at him and stopped walking. He breathed, and white smoke was formed between them. Dylan was no dumb; he could figure out that something happened between his half-brother and his mother. The offer to take him home had been already on the tip of his tongue, but Norma's face floated in his mind and he shut his mouth; not wanting to do things that could piss her off.
Instead of doing that, he asked, "What are you doing out here?"
Norman looked pretty exhausted, and Dylan realized that his theory was true. "Mom kicked me out of the car."
He couldn't believe what he had just heard, even though he had suspected it. Norma kicked her precious gem of a son out of the car? But he knew how strained their relationship was nowadays, and he found himself sympathizing with his baby half-brother. He could remember that day, when he was nine and Norman was five, and the incident with that bike. It happened almost like this.
Nah, Norman hadn't answered back then. He had been too shy to open his mouth, but Dylan was one of the few people that could make him talk, back then. Back then. Even Norma couldn't always achieve that, even though she spoiled her youngest son, flooding him with gifts and things that actually more suitable for Dylan than for him.
Dylan wanted to laugh. But exhausted expression on poor Norman's face shattered the will, and he asked a rather stupid question. "Way out here?"
He stared at Norman's face and couldn't help but to grin. Norman's face reminded him of that eventful day, as if he were taken to that day once again. Norman had looked exactly the same, exhausted from doing his longest run, with Dylan riding his bike next to him, encouraging the boy to go on.
"Are you tired?"
He had said that, when he was nine and Norman was five.
"Welcome to the doghouse," he said instead of repeating the question he had asked years ago.
Norman had nodded, his usually pale face flushed and slick with sweat. He had insisted in doing this after seeing Robbie, the boy who lived next door, called him 'chicken' (Dylan had told him what that meant) and challenged him to run around the nearby park for at least ten laps. Norma had heard it and came to Robbie's house and who knew what she had done there.
The night before Norman did this 'running', Dylan had heard Norma trying to comfort her youngest son, telling him that Robbie wouldn't call him names again, and he didn't need to run, but apparently Norman had been determined, even for a five year old. The night ended in Norma's black temper for Norman's persistence of doing the run, and Dylan heard her threatening him for the first time.
What the threat was, Dylan couldn't remember.
Norman hadn't cared, and that had surprised Dylan to no end. Not caring of what their mother said had been Dylan's job, not Norman's. He had sneaked into Dylan's bedroom long after Norma had fallen asleep, asking him to run together in the park.
Dylan had explained that Robbie was no comparison to Norman, he was older and bigger, and he had known exactly what Norma would do to him if something happened to her precious son. Norman had pouted and Dylan had realized that there was nothing he could do.
What Norman wants, Norman gets, Dylan thought, rather bitterly.
"Mom works," Norman had whispered, burying his face in Dylan's small pillow. He had sounded petulant, and Dylan had thought he was going to cry.
Eventually, Dylan had said fine, alright I'll go with you, and Norman had giggled at him. He hadn't even said anything when Dylan said he would ride Norman's new bike and not running like his baby brother would be.
Dylan blinked, hoping Norman didn't see him musing, and stared the seventeen-year-old Norman as he patted the seat behind him. "Hop on."
Norman was happy to comply—
Norman had been happy to comply. Dylan had been an expert of riding bikes, at least in front of Norman and the neighborhood. The bike had been a big one, too big for Norman's small legs, yet Norma had bought it for him on his fifth birthday, and glared when Dylan had touched it. Later that night, Dylan still remembered, she had lectured him how precious the bike was to Norman, and he wasn't allowed to use it even though Norman hadn't seemed to like it.
Norman had jumped to the seat behind his older brother, and—
—Dylan could feel Norman's hand circling his waist. He smiled. Just like good old times, he thought, happiness seeping into him. It had been a long time since he was close to him, since all these times were filled with awkwardness and fear (Norman with a meat tenderizer was a scary thing to think about). He wondered where the good old times went, and he knew Norman didn't remember about their 'good old times' together.
Norman, still panting from exhaustion, had said merrily, "Ten, Dylan! Ten!"
That was another thing that left Dylan wondering. How on earth someone as… frail, pale, and small like Norman Bates could run ten laps around the park? Dylan didn't remember how big the park was, but it was big enough, let alone for a five year old with an overprotective mother who would kill Dylan for letting him out the house.
The cold wind swished on his face, and Dylan could hear Norman laughing behind him. Maybe it tickles, he thought. Norman's laugh hadn't changed. It sounded heavier with puberty, yes, but it sounded exactly like when they were kids. The arms tightened around Dylan's waist, and he didn't mind, since it reminded him of the good old times.
Norman had laughed behind him, his thin arms had tightened around Dylan's waist. He put his head on Dylan's back, his sweat had smeared on Dylan's shirt.
Dylan remembered he had worn a bright green shirt, actually belonged to Norman but too big for him, so Norma had gave it to him. There was a picture on the front of the shirt, but Dylan didn't remember. A superhero, he guessed, between Hulk and Green Lantern.
"Home?" Norman had asked.
Dylan had glanced to the huge clock at the center of the park and said, "Not yet."
Norman had laughed, so sudden but loud and happy and childlike and free. Dylan had followed, because it was normal for brothers to laugh together, because it had been so rare for them to do so. Besides, this moment of freedom had been so rare to get, if you had had Norma Bates as a mother.
Norman laughed behind him, as loud and as happy as he had been back then, and Dylan decided to give him a bit of fun. He swiveled the motorbike a bit, surprising his baby brother. Norman tensed, stopped laughing, but Dylan laughed and he finally followed. Dylan did a small spin and Norman laughed again, finally getting used to it. He had done this before, back then.
Dylan had ridden his bike around the park, and Norman had said words to him. Norman hadn't been the boy with sentences, only words. But Dylan had understood everything he had meant.
He wondered why he didn't right now. But back then, Norman had been rather normal, if not spoiled, before Dylan went away at the age of eleven and Norma took over his brother completely. He swiveled again, but this time his mood had gone, he did that only to hear Norman's carefree laugh, which did emerge.
He breathed, and he could see white smoke. This was the difference, the major difference with that time years ago, with little Norman and the bike. It had summer back then, and it had been hot as hell. Dylan couldn't stop wondering how Norman had managed running like that without fainting.
They had stopped for a while, and Dylan had bought Norman a cone of ice cream. Only a cone, because he hadn't had enough money to buy one for himself. Even though Norma loved Norman a bit too extremely, she hadn't let him to have any money by himself.
Dylan had gotten his own pocket money since he was seven, thanks to his biological father (back then he hadn't known who he was) who had forced his mother to do so. Dylan knew his real father had supported him with a bit of money, and for that he was grateful. He wasn't sure if Norma would give him some money from her own pocket.
Norman hadn't seemed to want to share the ice cream with his older half-brother, so Dylan had had to think of something. Playfully, he had bitten the top of the cold food, and Norman had stuck his tongue to him in annoyance. Dylan had laughed, and Norman had laughed, and things had been alright again as Norman shared the ice cream with his brother.
Dylan's mood darkened. He glanced at the rear window and saw Norman still smiling peacefully, a so very rare expression of his. He couldn't deny that he loved to see that expression on his brother, who was so tense all the time it was frightening. But still, seeing Norman's serene expression did nothing on brightening his mood, because he remembered what had happened next.
They had been on the bike again, and Dylan had been riding it towards their home. They had been going across the street, when suddenly a car passed in front of them, shocking him. The bike fell, along with himself and Norman. Dylan, acting instinctively, had pushed his arm to hold Norman's head so it wouldn't hit the road. His, however, had hit the road, and the stars had been dancing in his sight until Norman shook him awake, calling his name in panic.
Dylan did, and he had been petrified. Norman's face had been scraped, and also his arm and leg. He had known Norma would kill him. He had managed to stand up, pull the bike upright, and together with Norman, staggered home. Despite his scraped leg, Norman had insisted on walking, and Dylan had been too terrified to tell him to just sit still on the bike.
It wasn't a pleasant memory, what happened from there and afterwards, and Dylan could see the sign of Bates Motel looming near. He could hear Norman sighing softly, as if not wanting to go home just yet. He realized he didn't want to as well. So he let the motorbike went even faster, making Norman gasp in shock.
Norman obeyed and tightened his arms around Dylan, showing his older brother that he was glad Dylan let them be outside longer. It eerily reminded Dylan of the past, the good old times when they had been so happy to be outside the house.
But Dylan wasn't happy. He was terrified.
He had been terrified, and his fears were confirmed true. After treating Norman's cuts, he had convinced him to wear long sleeved shirts and his pajama pants, to cover the scars. But after all he had done, he couldn't cover the scar on Norman's cheek. It hadn't been a big scar, but it had been pretty noticeable.
And of course Norma, always the 'seeing what people don't see' kind of woman, had noticed.
Dylan had told her that Norman had gone to bed, which had been true, but she had wanted to check on him. And then all hell had broken loose.
Dylan, already lost his concentration, almost hit a tree. He swiveled again and Norman laughed, thinking it was part of an act to make Norman Bates laugh. He still liked to hear it, but now his mind was filled with something darker.
Norma had lectured, scolded, preached, and lectured again about how on earth he could be so reckless—I shouldn't let him alone with you—he doesn't need a babysitter!—what kind of a brother are you, Dylan?—he isn't allowed outside the house, he's too weak!—where did you take him, Dylan?—and the list went on. Dylan hadn't told her where they went, of course.
Dylan had felt dizzy since they arrived home, and his mother's voice had worsened it. He had been asleep on his seat when Norma slapped him awake, screamed about how he shouldn't sleep when she's telling him his wrongs. Norma's voice had drilled into his brain; and he had stopped caring what she said.
Finally she had told him to get lost, and Dylan had gone into his bedroom. Sometime later, Norman had come, bringing him dinner, but Dylan had been too dizzy to sit up. Norman had ended up feeding him, and the rest of the day went in silence. Dylan had thought he had had a concussion, but after Norman had found a medical DIY book on the bookshelf, he found himself just fine. The hit hadn't been hard enough.
He was lucky. He was grateful for that.
Dylan turned back, taking a shortcut towards Bates Motel, because now he wanted to go home. He didn't know why, he just wanted to go home. It took them ten minutes to reach Bates Motel, and he suspected Norman had fallen asleep. He was so quiet back there.
"Ride's over," he announced, and Norman slowly, almost reluctantly released his hug on his waist before jumping down the motorbike. So he was awake after all.
Norman reached out for him, as if to pat him on the shoulder, but he pulled back and Dylan exhaled as he watched Norman walked towards the house. He heard him muttering a small 'thank you', but probably he only imagined it. It wasn't that easy. He knew it would take more than a motorcycle ride and carefree laughs to understand this 'new' Norman. But at least he knew one thing. Or believed in it, he wouldn't know.
The old Norman, the child that had hugged his waist on the bike, the boy who had run ten laps around the park, was still there.
A/N: Wow that was quite long. 3 hours in making this, I guess?
Oh, does anyone record any Bates Motel episodes? I really want to see it! Please? ^_^