A/N: Alrighty, so thanks torchil, islashlove, and Mitarashi for reviewing... I really appreciate it. So here's chapter three, and please peeps, if you like it, review it... Reviews make my day... Lack of reviews makes me sad... Anyways, this is a bit of a short chapter, when I posted this on psychfic, the chapters were a little bit different, and I messed them all up when I started them over here, so... Oops. Anyways, if I'm not too busy, I'll throw up the next chapter later tonight.

It was almost an hour later when Gus stood in front of what had been one of the oldest pizza joints in Santa Barbara. He felt like an idiot, standing around, waiting for Shawn to show up, but he stood there anyways.

"Gus!"

Yelping in surprise, Gus spun around, relieved –but slightly confused –to see Shawn standing in the doorway of the old building.

"Shawn! What're you doing?" He hissed. "That's trespassing!"

Shawn grinned. "Not anymore, buddy. I'm renting it. This is my new apartment. Well, at least until the old woman finds somebody interested in buying it. Come on in!"

Gus glanced around as he stepped inside. "Not very… apartment-y," He commented, taking note of the sleeping bag, and the two backpacks lying next to them, the only things in the large dining area.

Shawn shrugged. "When you're traveling the country on a motorcycle, you learn to pack light," He said uncomfortably.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Gus cleared his throat. "So… uh, how long you planning on sticking around?"

Shawn flashed Gus his trademark grin. "As long as this town can hold me," He said, using a horribly fake villain's accent.

How long had they stayed up talking? It seemed like forever.

It didn't seem nearly long enough.

Granted, Gus had done most of the talking, which was a little unusual. But Shawn had interjected small stories here and there, enough to keep the conversation going, and the playful banter had kept things light and fun.

But Shawn had fallen asleep almost half an hour ago. Gus glanced at his watch. Three thirty. He should have been asleep already, but he was afraid. Afraid of waking up, and finding Shawn gone again. Or worse, that it had all just been a dream.

He smiled as Shawn mumbled, and rolled over, rubbing his head in his sleep. It was something he'd done since they were both kids. A kind of nervous tick. When the two had first become friends back in second grade, it had kept Gus up for hours during sleep-overs. But after a few months, he'd gotten used to it. Now, he realized just how much he had missed it.

His smile faded as he looked closer. When Shawn had rolled over onto his stomach, his shirt had rolled up in the back, revealing…

Gus nearly puked when he realized what he was looking at. He crept closer, and examined what he could see of his friend's back, and could only stare.

Long thin scars covered the few inches of skin that Gus could see. But the raised white marks disappeared down below his jeans, and up under his shirt.

Gus had seen scares like that before, on pictures of his great-great grandparents. His parents had shown them to him to hammer home the injustices of slavery. Told him the story that had been passed down through five generations of Gusters. How Marcus Guster had been a young slave who was beaten half to death for learning to read. How he'd been whipped with a bull-whip for almost two hours.

The scars in the pictures were nearly identical to the ones on his best friend's back.