Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He couldn’t even hear his restless heart drumming in his ear as he delivered chest compressions and performed mouth-to-mouth CPR on the motionless body of his wife on her living room floor.

“C’mon, baby,” he panted over and over again. Waiting for a sign, a hint, any pulse he could gain from her that would restore the life she lost within her. She wasn’t dead, not on his watch. He refused to believe that the only woman he’s ever truly, finally, loved was taken away from him, and in the most malicious of ways.

When he stopped, it wasn’t because he deliberately concluded his rescuing mission. No, it was because his body couldn’t physically keep up with him. Romero sobbed, something he hadn’t done ever since the death of his late mother. What Romero had not done in decades, he did then and there. He wept into Norma's hair, cradling her cold body close to his chest, inhaling her nightly scent for the last time ever. She was but a sleeping angel, never truly of this Earth, now departed into the great, heavenly beyond.

A pair of red and white lights flickers from across the distance. The sound of the ambulance was no match for his gut-wrenching sobs and pleadings of her name. As he leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, something starts to tingle. It’s his fingers. It’s not often they just fall asleep, but that wouldn’t stop him from holding his Norma — Except that it would. Suddenly, his fingers were gone. Vanished, as if they had melted right off him, then his knuckles, his palms were all vanishing before his very eyes. He was able to lay Norma to rest with what was left of his arms before those vanished, too.

The same was happening in the opposite direction; his legs were gone, and then it was just his face melting away into... nothing.

The moment seemed to have ended as soon as it started. He had been transported to a completely different place. Yes, transported, not awakened. The image of Norma’s spiritless body was fresh in his mind. But he could only ponder for so long. He felt a chill all over his body. Strange, because he wasn’t usually the cold type. Until he looked down and realized… he had no clothes on. His shirt, the dark leather jacket he had arrived in to Norma’s house, his jeans, his socks, his shoes, even his gun — everything was gone. He had to think fast. He’d duck under the covers if only it weren’t for the fact that he had no fucking clue whose house he was in.

To hell with context. He was just in a room. A room that didn’t appear to be Norma’s house or even his. Next to him, a pile of clothes that he was positive weren't even his. But it was all or nothing, and he had no choice but to throw them on. Basketball shorts and a red 49ers t-shirt, a little too tight for him, but it'd save him from being arrested for indecent exposure. Of course, how could he forget the only pair of black Jordans? The whole outfit screamed teenage high school boy who only uses Axe deodorant and antiperspirant — smelled like it, too. Geez.

And suddenly he heard it. The loud crashing from downstairs. He might be dressed as a Reddit-using adolescent, but he still had a duty to protect. So he made his way cautiously downstairs.

“NORMA LOUISE,” the blood-curdling shout of a man rang from downstairs, which only hurried his steps. She was alive, his wife was alive and in that house with him, and he was ready to take down whoever that was raising their voice at her with his bare hands.

Yet as he reached the bottom of the stairs of the dim house, concealed by the shadow of the corner he had frozen in, what he saw was... not at all what he thought he’d see. Assessing the scene, he could conclude that it was a father and his daughter. She appeared to be dressed in a school uniform with a little red stain on the back of her beige skirt. Clueless and scared, the girl sobbed to her father about how none of it was on purpose. She didn’t know she would start bleeding, this was her first menstruation cycle ever.

“Save it. Do you know how much another uniform is going to cost me, Norma?”

There it was again. That name. Norma Louise. It only belonged to one woman, and this little girl looked nothing like her. She was little, blonde, with soulful yet tearful and fearful blue eyes — She looked exactly like Norma.

“I’ll get a job and pay you back. Please dad,” the girl sobbed, stumbling backwards, and falling on her butt.

Alex caught sight of Norma’s dad unbuckling his belt. He was going to take out his frustration by slinging that belt around and letting the metal of his buckle strike her until he was satisfied. Whoever this guy and little girl were, he’d be damned if he let the man’s abusive behavior progress any further.

“Leave her alone—” Alex’s shout rang through the house as he dashed from his corner. But as little Norma and her father turned to the sound of the stranger’s call, they were met with nothing. There was nothing, but they had definitely heard something.

Norma’s father walks past her, examining the ill-lit house, but he sees no one.

“Go to your room,” he turned his head to the side before walking deeper into the direction of the house where the voice came from.

Norma didn’t need to be told twice. She picked herself up and locked herself in her room, and would not come out until the next morning.

Her father, belt still in hand, took one more step and felt something beneath his boot. It was Caleb’s clothes. Just randomly piled in the center of the house. There had been no indication that Caleb had returned home from his game, nor was it his voice that was heard throughout the house. Perhaps it had been all that booze he had before arriving home that was finally getting to his head.

Little Norma lay curled up in her bed, hugging and sniffling into her pillow, sure that her guardian angel had finally intervened and saved her from the merciless wrath of her father.

As for Romero, he was suddenly in a prison cell. Once again, in his birthday suit.

Seriously, why does that keep happening?

Panic flickers on his features. He’s not supposed to be here. It’s supposed to be that murderer scoundrel of his wife’s son if Norman had lived. He could feel himself searing, throwing his body full force at the barriers locking him in.

“Hey,” he called out into the void.

“You got the wrong guy,” he continued to rattle in his cell, determined to get someone’s attention.

“Relax. You’ll work yourself up,” came a voice from behind. Oddly enough, it sounded just like himself. Alex gave a sharp turn, hands immediately going to shield the limp member dangling between his legs.

He couldn’t believe it. He was looking at his own reflection in real time. Not in a mirror, not in a window, but a physical version of himself on the top bunk bed. He looked older, with a full-grown beard with scattered white hairs. His skin looked rough, His prison uniform utterly wasted, like he’d been wearing it for years on end.

“Identify yourself,” an agitated Romero demands of his imposter.

“Alexander Romero.” The man chuckled at the roof rotting right above them, “That’s no way to treat your future self for the clothes I got you.”

The bottom bunk, a gray inmate jumpsuit. Romero raced to put it on. It was something, at least. This was seriously starting to get annoying.

“I know what you’re thinking,” started the older Romero.

“You don’t know shit about me, pal,” Alex still couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that he was seriously in the same room with none other than himself.

The gray man didn’t take it to heart. For he, too, was once in this man’s shoes before. Of course, he knew there was no better way to shut up a Romero than by proving one wrong, even if it was his damn self.

“You’re wondering why you can’t be with your wife anymore. You’re wondering what is happening to you. Why you keep vanishing in one area and appearing in another. You’re wondering why you can’t take your clothes with you—” Actually, older pirate-like Alex has not been able to figure that one out, either. Nevertheless, he continued, “You’re wondering if you can control yourself from time traveling—” There came a wry scoff from present-day Alex. It sounds incredulous, but it’s true. Alex Romero is now cursed with the gift of time travel. His senior reflection continues, “You’re wondering why that son of a bitch Norman lived.”

“He’s alive?” Alex’s eyes widened with fury, feeling his adrenaline rush through his blood, making him even more impatient to break out and transport to wherever the fuck that little repugnant pig was and dismantle him until he was nothing but shreds.

“Ah, so it snuck up on you early,” mused the older man, sharing another cackle with the moldy ceiling.

“Can you stop with the laughing. Nothing is funny about this shit. I need to get to my wife and tell the investigator on the case the truth.” That seemed logical. His source? The old version of himself.

“Necio Cubano,” older Romero laughs. Foolish Cuban man. “They’ll call you crazy and lock you up in the same room Norman was put in at Pineview. You have to accept this is your new life. You’ll get used to it, smarter, faster. You’ll learn to control the impulses and you’ll get to see Norma again—”

“Really? My Norma?” His eyes shimmer with newfound hope. But the shimmer drains just as fast at the man’s revelation.

“Sure,” the man shrugged, crossing his arms and tucking them behind his head to rest on them like a pillow. But there’s a catch, “There’s a chance she might not know you yet, depending on what timeline you’re in. The important thing to know is that you’re only ever taken to very significant parts of her life and yours, too. Like, big events. The time and place you show up at holds deep meaning, even if you don’t get it in that moment. Understood?”

And just like clockwork, Alex was once again disappearing, “Uh… uh-huh.” Even if he didn’t get it, though, he’d figure it out as he went.

“Where to next?” He asks the man resting above, the tingles in his body spreading before they vanish into thin air.

“Only time will tell,” the man just closes his eyes, letting the younger version of himself get drawn to his next destination, knowing that soon, his time will come as well.

Romero appears to be behind a bookstack, a wall of books that seems to stretch out for miles. Behind him, another one. And there’s more to be found across the entire building.

A library. No way. What could possibly be so important about a library?

Beside him, a book cart. Finally, a pair of clothes and shoes his size and something he’d actually wear. Basic jeans, a solid black shirt, and a brown jacket. Now to figure out why the fuck he’s here. He searches for clues, anything that would give him a sign of himself, of Norma, anything.

That’s when he felt it, a light tap on his back.

“Excuse me, do you work here?” The voice of one curious woman asks from behind. Why else would he be standing next to the cart full of books?

Does he look like he works here? Alex is about to snap, when he turns around and catches sight of just who is asking for a moment of his time.

“Norma,” uttering her name in pure disbelief, astonishment.

She looks to be around 30 years younger. Twenty-one perhaps, give or take. There’s a kid holding her hand. It’s not Norman. This one is blonde and looks every bit of her, impatient to find the children’s section and have Mommy read him his favorite caterpillar book. Dylan.

The blonde smiles, blushing at the pronunciation of her name, “Have we met before?” Tilting her head curiously. She had the most beautiful puzzled look on her features.

Oh, shit. He's given himself away. That old bastard warned him. Inside, he was punching himself, but he was careful not to translate that on his face.

“No, you just, uh, look like a Norma. Sweet and gentle,”

Oh, God, she looked even more captivating this way. Blushing at his words, forgetting her initial intention.

“Uh... uhm — children’s books, please?”

Little did Alex know, she’d be there all day. That’s how Norma spent her days on the weekends when Dylan didn't need to go to school. Visiting every library she could find, reading every book on the children’s shelves to Dylan until it was time to get him some lunch. Then she’d take him to the park, let him exhaust himself, and take him home for dinner before rocking him to sleep. She was really just trying to give him the most normal childhood he could have.

“Walk with me, Norma.” He walks alongside her, keeping a sharp eye for the children’s section while also mesmerized by the young and innocent beauty that she is. Who knows where the children’s section is, but she trusted him to take her there, so he’d find it even if it was the last thing he’d ever do.

And he did. He found it soon enough. Bright and colorful, including a little playset. How delightful.

“Thank you, uh…” She’s yet to know his name.

“Romero,” he offers his hand. “Alex Romero, at your service.”

“Are you here every weekend, Romero?” Batting her eyes up at him without even realizing it.

“I’ll try. Just for you, Norma.” That’s an oath.

Dylan has long gone off to the playset, dumping Lego pieces and puzzles everywhere, waiting for Mama to come and join him any time now. Unfortunately, timing couldn’t have been more perfect. He could feel his fingers start to tingle, and he shoves his hands quickly into his pockets.

“I’ll see you around, Mrs.?”

He already knows this answer, or so he thought.

“Calhoun. Norma Louise Calhoun — almost Bates.” She’d spent a total of two years unhappily married to her husband, and he was now insisting on a name change.

If Alex could get her to vanish with him, he would, without question. Alas, his departure awaits.

“Until next time, Norma Louise Calhoun-Almost-Bates.” Cue a charming grin, one Norma could easily fall for, as he begins to take slow steps backwards.

“Yeah,” responded a giggly, bashful Norma. She turns her back, only to hide the cherry colored tint forming on her face. This gives Alex the advantage to jog back to his hideout while he still can, leaving the clothes there for the next time he appears around here.

Time traveling, as already proven, would be a blessing and a curse.

Chapter Text

He remembers everything.

She remembers nothing.

He cannot choose when or how to find her. Fate is erratic.

Something brought him here, to the movie theater. He's seated at the very top, at the very last section, eyeing the almost non-existent crowd. Alex Romero looks almost out of place with a polished, classic evening look. His dark, tailored coat was worn open. Underneath, his suit jacket was paired with a light-colored dress shirt and a patterned tie, matched with his dark trousers. Too sleek, too professional . . . all to watch Forrest Gump.

Truth be told, if quizzed, he would not be able to tell anyone what on earth the movie was about. All he knew was who he was searching for. And in the moment, Norma Calhoun was nowhere to be found. Damn this curse. Damn this fate. All he wanted was to be with Norma again. A life without her did not matter.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he spots a familiar golden blur. He knows who that little golden blur is. It's none other than his Norma. His. At last, here.

But she's not alone.

It's 1994. Just a year before that scoundrel Norman Bates was born, he didn't have to calculate much to know who that man at her side was. Why, it was none other than the bastard himself: Samuel Bates.

He'll kill him. Before the year is over, Alex Romero will kill him.

He can't help but notice how they're thirty minutes late to the movie, crouching and trying not to get in the way of the screen while finding their seats. At least Norma is. Sam strolls on by like he owns the theater. It's plain to see who wanted to see the movie and who didn't.

Alex Romero sat there for two damn hours, watching them-- watching her, above all. Making sure she was okay, enjoying her movie. The guy didn't even bother to buy her a treat.

He snuck out as the credits rolled, in dire need to see Norma's face in proper lighting. And as she walked out with her pink shawl draped so sadly around her shoulders, head hung low from disheartenment because she couldn't enjoy the movie without worrying that Sam was still mad at her, Alex was left astounded.

The sight was unbelievable. She was so young. So sweet. And yet, so sad, so drained of life. His heart ached for her. He wanted to scoop her up, flee to a different state with her, marry her again, and make her the happiest woman who ever lived.

The next thing he hears is Sam reprimanding Norma for not "fixing" her face. He warns her to drop the long face, or she'll take a cab home all alone.

"I'm sorry, Sam. It's just that . . . I don't like it when you're mad at me." Poor thing was so helpless, just about ready to break down crying.

The despicable man grunted at her, told her not to make a scene, but when he heard the first sniffle from her, he was already marching towards his car. Norma followed right behind him, trying her best to keep up with his large steps, and calling out to him.

"Sam? Sam . . . Sam!"

He locked her out, didn't even hesitate to put the car in reverse and drive away as she continued to cry out his name.

Alex knew he needed to jump in then, before she did anything irrational or caught the attention of someone else. He walked up to her, measuring time and his steps, careful not to scare her or make her run away from him.

"Norma . . ." he susurred, full of wonder and wistfulness.

Norma felt herself stiffen, slowly turning to the voice calling to her. Her shimmering ocean eyes immediately lock on his warm, earthy eyes. It's like she's seen him before, but she also holds no recollection. Something in her soul, however, feels attached at first glance.

"I'm sorry," she presses a hand against her unsteady frame, "have we met before?"

Yes.
No.
Maybe.
God, what does he even say?

Yes, we were once married, and your son killed you, and you vanished from me; I'm a time-traveler, and I want to prevent your death from happening again.

He has, however, planted the seed, so he has to proceed diligently.

"Library," he answered softly.

"Really?" Her eyebrows furrow just a bit in contemplation, trying hard to remember.

"You had a kid named Dylan--"

And that's where she stopped him.

"You've got the wrong girl. I don't have a kid."

He's silent, and a shocked yet proud look forms on his face. He'd successfully stopped Dylan from happening. Not that he wasn't fond of Dylan, but because of the history that had to happen for Dylan to exist.

Time as a time-traveler can move too fast or too slow, but damnit, he kept little Norma safe and will now make sure to keep young adult Norma safe as well.

"But I did go to the library. A lot."

At least she wasn't trying to actively get away from him.

"You're right," he corrected himself. "My mind must be elsewhere. But if memory serves me right, you came up to me and asked for different sections and categories."

Norma laughs with eyes still rather watery. That does sound like her. Up until now, she has had no reason not to believe him. One thing still remains true, though.

"I'm sorry. I would love to keep chatting, but I have to figure out a way to get home. And I'm so cold."

Quick, Romero. Now is your chance.

"Allow me," he offers without a hint of doubt, offering his arm like a true gentleman. And Norma-- how could she ever refuse? Not even Sam treats her like this. No man does, actually.

His car is neat, cozy, and safe. Feels like she belongs there more than she belongs on a date with Sam Bates. Silence settles, but it's not the awkward kind of silence.

The moment he claims the driver's seat, and before he can even turn on the engine, Norma takes a moment to thank him for his generosity. She'd probably be wandering down a dark, scary, abandoned street if he hadn't been there that night.

"Thank you. For . . . everything. For making me feel safe."

Romero turns to her, really looks at her. She looks too sweet then and there. It reminds him of that one rainy day at the motel, just as he had paid for his long stay and was ready to drive off, Norma expressed her gratitude at his car window.

“You deserve better,” he says quietly.

The atmosphere shifts. Norma studies him, lips parting as she seems to get closer and closer to his face.

That's when she remembers--

"I don't remember your name," she blushes, feeling so guilty, so small, and so juvenile, but even that doesn't stop her from continuing to lean in.

He's kicking himself internally. How could he forget to introduce himself? He can't just be the 40-year-old man with a 20-something-year-old in his car.

"Alex," he says, feeling his chest tighten. To kiss her or not to kiss her--

Come on, man. She's only in her twenties. He's forty. And yet, he already knows her in every possible way. He doesn't have it in him to push her away; it's been far too long since he's had his wife. Still, all at once, this present Norma really has no clue who this man is.

"Alex," she repeats it in awe, tasting it.

That's what did it. Whatever turmoil Alex was experiencing, it was tossed out of his mind the second he heard his name spill from her lips. No matter what timeline he was in, the unmistakable, unnegotiable truth was that Norma was still his wife. His, all his.

She leans closer, hesitating only a little since she hasn't seen Alex move yet.

He gave her time. Gave her a choice; Then, he closed the distance. She's just as soft and as sweet as he remembers. The kiss is soft. Tentative. Real, so real.

She chose him. In this lifetime and the one he came from.

Now, to get rid of Sam Bates.