Dylan's cries could be heard through the thin walls of their little house.

   Norma pulled the comforter up over herself, shivering. Her wrists were purple and pained by every movement. She sniffled, hearing her son arguing with Sam.

   "Give it back, it's not yours!" he demanded, pulling at Sam's shirt. The balding man was holding Dylan's water gun away from him.

   "Your mother shoulda never bought it for you, boy. We can't afford it," he drawled. Norma knew that if she was at Dylan's doorway now, she would probably smell alcohol on her husband's breath.

   "It's not fair," Dylan grumbled, glaring up at Sam angrily, "It's not fair that you get to have all the fun."

   "Shut up, boy."

   "It's not fair! Mommy just wanted to look nice, that's all."

   "She looked fine before she chopped all her hair off," Sam grunted, walking away from the boy. Dylan still followed him. Norma envied his persistance.

   "Can't I please have the super soaker back?" he pleaded. "I'll work for it. I'll help Momma take care of Norman, and I'll clean the house, and..." he trailed off, not knowing what else he could possibly do to get his toy back. "Please?"

   "Go away," Sam said, switching on the TV. He cranked up the volume, but Dylan wasn't having it. The little boy stood in front of the television, making faces at his mother's drunken husband.

   "I told you to go away!" he yelled, gripping the boy's arm tightly. Dylan howled.

   "Hey!"

   Sam turned.

   "Get your hands off my son," Norma said, holding Samuel's pistol between shaking hands.

   "Now, Norma-"

   "Let him go, Sam!" she yelled, cocking the firearm. Her husband let go of the boy, and Dylan remained silent, watching the scene with an expression of fear. "Go to your room, Dylan," he stood, frozen. "Dylan, go to your room!" she demanded, using a harsher tone than usual with the boy. He ran upstairs without hesitation.

   "If you ever put your hands on my son again, I'll shoot you. And when the police come and ask me what happened, I'll tell them that Samuel Bates was a stupid drunk who put his hands where they didn't belong," she turned away with the pistol in hand before Sam's fist met her throat.

   The back of her head met the wooden floor with a thud. Everything was strange and colorful for a second; she saw her own fingers loosening on the firearm before Sam's own hand picked it up, unloading it and placing it on the coffee table.

   She came to moments later, remembering only that Sam had punched her in the throat. The area burned; there were knuckle marks printed on the exact spot he had hit. She sobbed. It was a wonder that she wasn't dead.

   Sam was nowhere to be found. Norma assumed that he'd probably taken off to the bar, perhaps to drink away the memory of socking his wife in the throat. She sucked in a breath, remembering why he'd punched her in the first place. "Dylan...Dylan, sweetheart, are you okay?" she called, walking upstairs to check on her son. All was silent.

   A stream of water shot out at her the moment she stepped foot near Dylan's bedroom. "Ha! Got ya!" he'd said, before noticing the marks that scored his mother's body. "Mom- what happened?"

   "Nothing, sweetie," she said, vainly trying to cover the bruising on her neck. "I just...fell, and hurt myself pretty bad," she explained, kneeling to her son's level.

   "I've been standing guard over Norman," the little boy pointed out. The newborn was laying in in the middle of Dylan's room. Norma's stomach filled with dread upon realizing that a drunken Sam could so easily have hurt her sons. "Oh," she paused, "Thank you, honey, I'm glad," she said, making her way over to the baby.

   Norman's skin was as soft and pink as usual; there were no signs of abuse on him. She sighed gratefully. "I'm so glad you're okay," she whispered into her newborn's ear. He stirred, and opened his eyes, looking up at his mother groggily.

   A smile blossomed between her cheeks. "Hey there, little fellow. Momma's got you," she said, rocking him gently. Dylan's head tilted in a puppy-dog sort of way.

   "Hello, Norman," he said, following his mother to the nursery. "I'm your big brother, Dylan," he held up his super soaker triumphantly. "And this is my super soaker. Maybe when you get a little bigger, you can play with it, too."

   Norma chuckled. Dylan reached for his brother's little fingers. "Do you think- do you think he likes me?" he asked, glancing up at his mother with serious concern.

   Norma fought the urge to laugh. "He loves you just as much as I do," she promised, hugging her son tightly. "See, with you here, he has a protector," she told him. "When I'm not around, he knows he'll be safe because he has you." Tears glistened in her eyes. She remembered when her own brother used to protect her from their father, who had been a troubled, abusive man.

   "Really?" Dylan asked, holding his head a little higher. He clung onto the super soaker tightly. His mother nodded. "I'm gonna go stand guard," he told her, trodding over to the door.

   "You go right ahead," she encouraged, before starting to nurse the baby.

   The circumstances were hard, yet Norma was determined. That night, she and Sam slept in the same bed. He hadn't said two words to her since the incident, and she shied away from him without question. "Norma," he started.

   "Yes, dear?"

   "I'm sorry. I- I don't know what came over me. I want to make it up to you," he said, turning over to look at his wife. She rolled over, feeling vulnerable.

   "Yeah, how so?" she asked wearily.

   "Well..."

   "Sam, I'm not doing this tonight. I'm tired. I appreciate the offer, but-"

   His arms enveloped her gently, and she found herself laying against his chest. "You're mine, Norma Bates," she thought she heard him whisper. "Tonight, you belong to me."