I need to know; is this real love? Or is it just madness keeping us afloat?

Madness- Muse

For the first time in months, it's quiet. No gunshots or screaming matches or pot smokers; just the two of them, sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast like normal people. Norma's left eye is still slightly black from her showdown with Abernathy, but besides that and a few other scrapes, she feels better than she has in a long time. The gun she used takes up space in her vanity drawer, silver and glinting like the smile of an old friend. Dylan's proud of her; he knows what it's like to hold that kind of power in your hands. It's the kind of thing that can really fuck with you, but Norma doesn't wear it like a badge. She did what she had to do and now it's over. Finally.

At least, that part of the nightmare is over. There's a whole other side that's even worse.

And, Dylan has to tell her. He just isn't sure how. He takes a long sip of his orange juice and watches her wearily over the rim of the glass. She notices, of course. She always notices.

"What is it, Dylan?"

Slowly, he drops the glass back to the table, listens intently to the soft thud that resounds when it hits. He glances in the direction of the staircase, hoping beyond hope that Norman stays asleep during this conversation.

His blue eyes lock onto his mother's face; he looks exhausted, worn down and defeated. It's the worst feeling in the entire world and he has to share it with her or he'll explode.

"I have to tell you something." He swallows, preparing himself for the inevitable. "Norman…" Dylan doesn't know why this is so difficult. Norma shared her secret about her late husband with him; this secret wasn't harder than that. Well, maybe it was.

Norma's eyes widen. "What about Norman?"

"He, uh…he had this dream a few nights ago. About that girl, Bradley."

"Okay." She seems displeased, maybe even disgusted. Dylan has to hold back a laugh. It's the same old song and dance.

"It wasn't anything…sexual, Norma. It was much worse. He dreamt that he was drowning her."

All he can see is blood. It drips from the ceiling, fills the cracks in the floor. It gathers around his feet and all he can hear is the slosh of his footsteps. Pictures hang on the walls; Sam Bates and Keith Summers and Zach Shelby and finally, Jake Abernathy. The victims who'd fallen, the blood that stains the room. Norman runs his fingers along the portraits, one to the other. These men paid the price, but not at his hand. That honor belonged to his mother and his brother, the alpha and omega of his fucked up family.

Norma's pupils seem ready to burst. "He did what?"

Dylan sighs. "He dreamt that he was drowning her, Norma. He dreamt that he killed her in a bathtub."

She glances around the kitchen, the movements frantic and desperate. She's looking for anything; anything she can hold onto in this moment; anything that could save her son. Tears spring to her eyes and she tries like hell to keep them at bay. She fails miserably.

Dylan feels helpless sitting there watching his mother fall apart for what seems like the millionth time in weeks. She rises from the table and he follows her with his gaze as she walks to the stove. She's still for a few moments and he wonders if she's breathing. Then, she slams her hand down hard as she can, again and again and again, her frustration coming to life and suffocating Dylan, who can't move.

The scene shifts and he finds himself in a bathroom, florescent and white. There's no blood here, but there will be. The bathtub looms, a porcelain whale. His very own Moby Dick. She's there again floating on the surface, her eyes closed, her blue dress rippling out around her in waves. Just like before, her eyes pop open and his hands find her throat. His grip is unforgiving and ruthless. It isn't long before she's limp beneath his hands and he smiles that satisfied little smile, admiring his work.

It's like being under some kind of trance when he comes to stand behind her and grabs her frantic hands. He folds her arms into her chest and circles them with his own, pulling her to him in an effort to comfort her.

Her voice is heavy with grief when she asks what their options are.

He can only shake his head. "I have no idea." He says.