Shawn's master was Weird, with a capital W. And even that word didn't begin to encapsulate the tangled up ball of insanity and not-making-sense-ness that was Gus.

It had been a full day since Shawn had been yelled at for pretending to be a friend, and Gus had kept his word. There weren't any punishments for talking back, being mouthy, or arguing. If anything, it seemed like his master was finding every possible chance to start an argument, just to make sure Shawn would do as he was told and argue back.

Insanity.

Shawn had spent the whole church service trying to understand it, and he was still coming up short. Even going to church had been an argument, with Gus reassuring him that he didn't have to come with. Shawn had finally had to admit that kneeling in a new place was better than kneeling in the same house he saw every day. Seeing new things was always better, even with extra rules attached.

The car stopped in the garage and Gus' parents climbed out, still chatting about the sermon. Gus waited until they were gone before saying, "I rescind all orders. Sorry I couldn't talk Mom into not using them…"

Shawn kept his eyes on his clasped hands as the car door closed. New orders always felt like an invisible weight settling over his body, his tongue, and his mind. But the orders being taken away didn't lessen the weight like it should.

Gus let him out of the car, and he followed his master silently into the house.

"Mom said we have the afternoon to ourselves," Gus told him as he unhooked the leash. "Go and… We'll be walking some trails, so church clothes won't be the best to wear."

Shawn nodded and walked to the stairs. Gus had probably wanted him to say something, but the words wouldn't come. He needed to get faster at 'switching modes' as Gus called it.

He changed and carefully hung his good clothes back in their spot, making sure they didn't touch any of his master's things. It felt important, even though he didn't know why. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he stared for a second, trying to figure out why the person wasn't just coming in. He suddenly remembered the answer -because his master was insane- and shook himself out of his shock. "I'm changed."

"Ok, good," Gus said as he let himself in. "I've got everything put together, so you can go to the car while I get changed. You can sit wherever you want."

Shawn really should say something; why was saying things so hard all of a sudden? He was thinking too long, he should just go… "Does that include sitting on the hood?"

"I'd rather us both be alive at the end of the drive," Gus answered easily with a small smile. "So, sit wherever you want inside the car."

"Yes, sir." Shawn winced at the same time as Gus. Stupid reflex.

Gus rubbed the back of his neck with a small groan. "I rescind the order, but I do really want you out of the room while I change."

"Sorry, I'll go to the car," Shawn said quickly, leaving the room before things could grow more awkward. It wasn't until he was at the car that he realized he hadn't been afraid of being hurt when he'd talked. It was Weird.

"I don't want to have to tell Daddy that you're being a bad boy again."

He sighed at the memory and focused on the car and his next decision. It was an easy one to make; Gus wanted him in the front seat, and the front seat was the best one for looking around. It shouldn't be something to hesitate on but he had to keep rethinking everything these days.

He gave himself a small shake and reached for the door handle. Fear prickled across his shoulders as he opened the door and let himself into the front seat. He was doing what his master wanted; it shouldn't feel so wrong.

"People sit, slaves kneel."

Shawn sighed again then let out a growl, just because he could. Gus was different, and he wanted Shawn to be different. Shawn had been fighting to stay different for five years; it shouldn't be this hard to let that part of him out now.

It didn't take Gus long to come back and climb into the driver's seat. "I was thinking it'd be good to get away from people for a while. We'll walk a few trails and take lunch with us. Hopefully we won't run into anyone else."

"That sounds good," Shawn answered, watching carefully for signs that he was supposed to do something different. He wasn't supposed to argue with that, right? But Gus probably did want him to talk as they pulled out of the garage. "Do you hike a lot?"

"Not too much. Don't worry, we're not doing anything crazy like rock climbing." Gus shuddered and Shawn added a possible fear of heights to his list of Gus-traits. "I usually prefer indoor stuff. Less chances of being eaten by a bear."

Shawn huffed a laugh; it wasn't fair that his master was actually kind of funny. It made it too easy to let his guard down. But Gus wanted him to be himself, and this part of himself probably couldn't be used against him. "Bears are fine; it's the raccoons you really need to be worried about."

Gus' jaw dropped. "Oh my god, please tell me that's not a slave thing."

Shawn followed the order easily. "That's not a slave thing. They have masks, and little hands that can open things, and eyes that judge you while they wash their food."

His small voice roared to life, shooting from zero to sixty instantly and flooding his mind with Ranger Rick and Rascal references. Shawn gritted his teeth and stayed in control of his words; he still needed to be careful.

A gag was held in front of his face. "Your mouth gets you into a lot of trouble. This will help with that."

"Yeah, but they're washing their food," Gus pointed out. "They're not planning on you being food. Bears are clearly the worse threat."

Shawn barely stopped himself from reflexively agreeing with his master. The small, challenging smirk on Gus' face made it clear that he was testing him. Gus wanted him to be himself. He took an extra second to double check his words before arguing, "Racoons eat everything and lull you into a false sense of security with their fluffy little faces. Then when you least expect it, they're on you. At least bears are honest about what they're doing."

A strap ran lightly over his shoulders. "You wouldn't be disagreeing with me now, would you, Tom?"

Shawn shook away the voices of his old masters to hear his new master say, "Raccoons are small; I could definitely take one in a fight."

"But what if there was more than one?"

They continued the meaningless conversation as Shawn fought the memories saying he wasn't being good.

"Good, it doesn't look like anyone's here," Gus said as they parked in a small, empty lot. "Let's get going. I'm hungry."

It was close enough to an order that Shawn didn't feel too strange opening his own door. He stopped before standing up as he realized Gus had forgotten something again. "Uh, Gus?"

"No, I didn't forget the leash," Gus answered as he opened the trunk. "We don't need it."

Shawn's stomach dropped; he'd thought Gus didn't like the idea of him in the trunk. Had it all been a trick?

Two backpacks hung from Gus' hand as he closed the trunk again. "No one's around, and I think it's dumb. I've got it in my pocket if we hear anyone coming."

The rush of relief was so strong, it almost made Shawn sick as he stood up and held out a hand for the bags. It was a dangerous feeling.

"A slave doesn't want things; it's grateful for what it's given."

"Thank you," Shawn said softly as only one of the bags was handed to him. He mimicked Gus and put it on, feeling the grounding weight settle on his shoulders.

"You're welcome." Gus' face tightened as he looked Shawn over. "Last time we went out, things didn't go well because we both had different expectations." He sounded like he'd practiced the speech as he continued, "I want to try to avoid that this time. You don't have to worry about other people or how a slave should act. Unless you physically attack me or someone else, there's nothing you can do that will get you punished. I only have two orders I want you to follow. One, tell me if you need a break. Two, tell me if anything starts making you feel panicked. Do you understand them?"

They followed the pattern of Gus not making any sense as a master, but that was probably the point. Shawn nodded as he pushed against what he was supposed to say as a slave. "Yes- Yeah, I understand."

"Good." Gus turned towards the dirt trail. "There's an area that opens up a bit into the trail. We'll stop there for lunch."

Shawn stayed where he was as Gus started walking. The trees around him sharpened in detail and he could feel the open road at his back. He wasn't leashed. There wasn't anything stopping him; he could turn and run, feel the rush, taste the freedom… Until Gus used the collar to bring him back down.

He shook the reckless thoughts from his head; he had a plan, and this wasn't the right time. He wasn't stronger yet, or faster. He hadn't figured out where to go. He only had one shot; he couldn't throw it away on a whim.

He followed his master, leaving the open road behind.

Gus was right; they only walked for twenty minutes before the trail widened and the forest opened up onto a wide field. Several logs had been rolled over to the edge of the trail as a makeshift resting spot, and Gus looked them over carefully before sitting on one. He nodded to the one next to him as he slid his bag off. "There's food and water in your bag, plus the usual safety stuff."

The lack of an order was obvious, and oddly frustrating. Shawn sat and opened his bag, looking at the containers inside. Was this a test? Gus wasn't like his other masters, Gus hadn't stopped him from eating the popcorn, Gus had never taken food away…

Electricity surging through his neck as he reached for an offered plate, rolling over on the carpet to earn a dry treat, constant emptiness aching in his stomach, staring at a piece of bread that was tossed just out of reach, fingers shoving down his throat, a partially eaten apple rolling across the ground…

Shawn's hands locked in place as his heart pounded in his throat. He couldn't do what his master wanted.

"It's ok. You can eat; everything in that bag is for you," Gus said gently.

"Thank you, sir." Shawn's shaking hands were able to move after Gus' permission, and he reached in and opened the first container. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich sat inside, and the reminder of his first night with Gus helped soothe his nerves as he took a bite. Gus was his master now, and he was different.

"So… this might be a stupid question," Gus said after a few minutes of quiet eating. "Would it help if I just gave you a blanket statement of permission to eat?"

Shawn tried to parse the strange words. "Blanket…?"

"Like if I told you, 'You have permission to eat anything that's in my room.' Would that help?"

It couldn't be that simple; surely Gus knew better than to give a slave that sort of freedom. But he looked earnest, and he'd never taken food away, and he didn't like that Shawn waited to be told to eat…

"I can do better." Shawn shook his head; that wasn't what Gus wanted to hear. "It… would probably help."

"Alright," Gus said, sounding happier. "You can eat anything in my room, at any time. And if I'm handing you food, it's for you. I won't take it back."

"Thank you." Shawn finished his sandwich so he wouldn't have to think of what else to say. Permissions could be taken away, and a promise from a master meant nothing… Which didn't explain the way his heart had calmed after hearing the words.

He reached in for the next container, finding a handful of pretzels inside. His lips twisted up as he realized what food must be in the last container and he started to eat quickly.

He tried to eat the scraps from his master's plate as fast as he could, but it wasn't fast enough. It was never fast enough. The back of his collar was grabbed, dragging him from the food. "Come, slave. I have some calls to make."

He needed more time to be able to eat everything. Maybe he could slow Gus down… and Gus liked when he talked. Shawn swallowed his mouthful of food and asked, "So, why did you decide to learn tap dancing?"

Gus gave him a suspicious look before dryly answering, "Because I always choose the wrong hobbies." Shawn winced at his words being used against him and Gus sighed, "Sorry, that wasn't fair."

Shawn focused on his food; 'fair' didn't mean anything to a slave either.

"The short answer is that I like dancing and music; tap lets me do both." Gus looked over the field in thought. It didn't take long for him to make his decision. "The longer answer is that you were right. About everything. Mom and Dad took me to a show when I was a kid, and the first act ended on this fantastic solo. The man was singing and tapping, and he managed to keep up with the music even when he was going up stairs, or kicking in the air… There was even one part where he flipped off of a wall and landed on beat." His smile of admiration darkened to a more self-deprecating smirk. "He got a standing ovation when the curtain fell, and he deserved it."

"You wanted that," Shawn guessed.

"I wanted that." Gus shrugged and went back to his food. "Which probably sounds really entitled."

Shawn remembered how jealous he'd been of the boy in class who could squirt milk out of his eye. "It sounds normal."

He opened the last container and his chest grew warm as he saw how much pineapple Gus had managed to cram into it. He made sure to show his enjoyment as he started eating the delicious fruit.

"Ok, my turn," Gus said after a bite of pretzels. "And you have permission to not answer if you don't want to. Do you have any hobbies?"

"I'm a slave," Shawn pointed out. Exactly how bad was Gus' memory?

"Yeah, and 'slave' isn't a hobby," Gus said with a completely straight face.

Shawn snorted. "I've never been able to focus long enough for hobbies. Drove my dad nuts."

He clamped his traitorous mouth shut; he couldn't talk about his dad with his master. His dad deserved better than that.

"Would you be interested in having one?"

Shawn frowned; what was he supposed to do with that? "I don't understand the question."

"It's a straightforward question," Gus said in his insanely sincere way. "You have time to yourself during the day and evenings; is there anything you'd like to do during that time?"

The explanation didn't make any more sense. It offered too many options, too many pitfalls, too many ways to do wrong. Shawn fell back to what he knew. "A slave spends its time-"

"Serving his master. Yeah, I know." Gus shrugged and looked back over the field. "I had to try."

At least Gus didn't seem angry. His disappointment was obvious, though, and they finished the rest of their food in silence.

Gus liked when he talked:

"So, what are you going to college for?" Shawn asked as they walked.

"Well, I'm getting a business degree, but I figure if I take a range of 100 and 200 classes, I'll be ready for any sales job that's available."

Gus liked when he argued:

"If you eat it with a spoon, then it should be called soup."

"You don't cook it," Gus argued back. "Cereal is definitely not soup."

Gus liked when he asked for breaks:

"S- Gus? C-Can we stop for water?"

"Yeah, of course."

Gus liked when he asked questions:

"Do you think Star Wars will ever get a sequel?"

"They better. Can you imagine how good the special effects would be?"

Gus liked when he talked back:

"Can I ask you a question?" Gus asked.

"Only if I can ask one first."

Gus liked to be surprised:

"Why do you ask if you can ask me a question?" Shawn asked.

"I, uh, don't actually know. I guess, since you have to answer questions, I feel like I should give you a heads up."

Gus liked when he was mouthy:

"So, you give me a heads up… By asking a question?"

"... Good point."

Gus asked about him, instead of what he could do:

"Yes, you can ask me a question," Shawn said in the following silence.

"You're scared to be mouthy… So why were you willing to do it the night I bought you?"

Gus probably wouldn't like the answer…

"Masters aren't good or bad, they're just masters. I couldn't figure out what kind you were."

"So, what, you were trying to get me to hurt you?"

"It's better if you can see what's coming."

Gus cared:

"I hate that that's why you acted like that… But I'm glad you did."

Gus was a Weird master.

"I swear, that last one was a bear," Gus grumbled as he pulled the car back into the garage.

"It was a squirrel… Just like the other five times."

The garage door closed behind them, cutting them off from the outside. Shawn clasped his hands together and tried to push his small voice back into its box. Gus was strange, but his parents weren't.

"Do you need a few minutes?" Gus asked, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

"No, s-" Shawn gave his head a sharp shake. "No, I'm ok."

"Alright. We'll head upstairs and get cleaned up before dinner."

"Ok."

It took Shawn several seconds after Gus left the car to realize he was supposed to let himself out again. By the time he was closing the car door, Gus was already carrying both bags into the house. Shawn followed with a grimace; hopefully Gus' parents wouldn't be paying attention to who was doing the work.

"A slave exists to be useful to its master."

"How was the walk?" Mr. Guster asked from the couch as they walked to the stairs. His face didn't change when he clearly noticed the bags hanging from Gus' shoulder.

"It was good; we didn't get eaten by bears."

"Well, that's always the goal."

Shawn kept his eyes down and his mouth shut around the words that wanted to argue how the bears they'd seen had all been shrink-rayed with fuzzy tails attached.

Gus finished the conversation and told Shawn to take his shower first once they were upstairs. Shawn scrubbed quickly as the cold water rinsed the dirt and dry sweat from his skin. He actually agreed with his master, which was strange all on its own. The hike had been good. He'd been able to talk more than he had in years, and he'd been listened to. They'd even raced at one point, letting him feel the ground rushing past, the wind in his face, the blood pounding in his veins. He hadn't even had to make himself slow down; Gus had beat him fair and square.

He squeezed his eyes closed and scrubbed a washcloth around his neck and collar. The trip hadn't just been good… it had been fun. Which was a word he hadn't expected to ever use non-sarcastically again.

What was he even supposed to do with that feeling?

Shawn shut off the water and shivered as the air hit his chilled body. He was still a slave; Gus being nice didn't change that. Slaves were happy when they made their masters happy… Was that what was going on? Had Gus been able to do what all of his other masters had tried and failed at?

Was this what being a good slave felt like?

"Slaves aren't to be seen or heard."; "People sit; slaves kneel."; "Masters lead, slaves follow."; "A slave is only happy when it makes its master happy."; "A good slave is a quiet slave."

Shawn withstood the memory onslaught and shook his head as he pulled on his clean clothes. He wasn't a good slave. He didn't know what he was, but it wasn't that. He gave his hair an extra rub with the towel before carefully hanging it back up and grabbing his comb.

"A slave exists for its master."

His hands still felt clunky when he handled the hair gel, but the results were looking better. He looked in the mirror and checked that he looked how Gus wanted him to look before leaving the room.

Gus looked up from the chess board he'd set up as Shawn walked through the door. "You're like the Flash, you know that? Or, maybe a vampire…"

"I don't think I can be a vampire," Shawn argued like his master wanted. "Slaves never get invited into places."

"That's true." Gus waved at the board as he stood up. "You can practice against yourself while you wait. I'll try to be quick."

"Ok." Shawn acknowledged the silent order as his master left the room. He stared at the game and rolled an imaginary coin over his knuckles. It hadn't actually been an order. His eyes slid over to the still-packed bags leaning against the desk. Gus was Weird, but he was also nice. He deserved the benefits of having a good slave.

"A slave doesn't think; it obeys."

Shawn shook away the voice that was being extremely Not Helpful. There wasn't an obvious right answer. Doing what Gus wanted, doing what a slave should do, arguing with Gus, wasting his time…

"I don't want anything from you."

Shawn let out a breath and walked away from the chess board. He wanted to help Gus.

It wasn't until he was stacking the dirty food containers together that he realized the shower had only run for about a minute. Before he could understand why that was important, the door opened, and Gus walked in with a very deliberate-calm look on his face.

Shawn stood up and automatically clasped his hands behind his back; his master was angry.

"Shawn," Gus said, his voice matching his expression. "Can you explain why it took over a minute for the water to warm up in the shower?"

How was that his fault? "Because water takes time to warm up?"

"Not if the person who used the shower right before you already warmed it up…"

"I was supposed to warm it up for you?" Shawn asked in confusion. Gus never said he wanted that… Why would that be what made him angry? Was this seriously going to be what made him stop being nice?

Gus squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath, clearly fighting to stay calm. "Ok. Let me ask you another way… Why were you talking cold showers?"

What the hell was this conversation? "Because you told me to take a shower…"

"Cold, Shawn. The important word in that sentence was 'Cold'." Gus' shoulders slumped and he shifted from being an angry master to being an eighteen-year-old trying to hold up the weight of the world. "Can you at least explain the logic that's running through that head of yours?"

A phantom weight pulled at Shawn's shoulders, insisting that he kneel and beg forgiveness. He kept his legs locked and answered the question. "A slave is-" Gus bared his teeth, and Shawn swallowed his trainer's words. "It's… not good to waste what a master gives you, sir."

Water ran down his face as he gasped for breath. The man holding his hair growled, "You're lucky to be allowed to breathe. Don't waste that gift by talking."

Gus sighed, sounding exhausted. "You're not in trouble; you don't have to go into slave-mode."

Shawn blinked and realized he was staring at the carpet in front of his feet. There were too many pressures telling him what to do, what to say, how to think. He couldn't fight them all. He kept his eyes down and let his mouth move. "You're angry."

"At the situation, not at you. Do you remember what I said earlier today?"

He remembered everything. "That I can eat anything in your room."

Gus huffed a laugh. "Not the one I had in mind. I said you wouldn't be punished unless you attacked someone. I still mean that."

There was a part of Shawn's mind that wasn't surprised he wasn't being punished, which was surprising. "What did I do wrong?"

"It wasn't… wrong, exactly. I just forgot how differently we see things." Gus' voice sounded different, and Shawn risked a quick glance up to take in the conflicted look on his face. "Thank you for explaining. You're allowed to let the water heat up; you can have hot showers if you want."

His master chose very strange things to fixate on. Though not having his breath knocked out of him whenever he started a shower did sound nice. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Gus said, almost begrudgingly. "You don't have to clean up the bags, either, you know."

"A slave doesn't want things. It does what its master wants."

"I'm ordering you to be yourself."

Shawn swallowed, thankful that his hands were still behind his back as they started to shake. He'd known what Gus had wanted him to do. "I- I know. I… w-wanted to."

"... Really?"

"Yes, sir."

Shawn held his breath, waiting to be told that he wasn't acting right, that he needed to do what Gus wanted.

"Uh, ok. The safety stuff is stored in the bags, so only the food containers need to come out. Do you know where the bags go?"

"Coat closet downstairs," Shawn answered, remembering his first day he'd explored the house.

"Go ahead, then, if that's what you want. You can wait until we go downstairs for food, though."

Gus left the room after a few seconds of silence, and Shawn stayed staring at the floor. He'd really been expecting to be corrected, if not disciplined, for acting on his own. For not doing what Gus wanted. His master just refused to do what was expected.

Shawn shook his head and went back to work, throwing away the water bottles and zipping up the emptier bags. He could wait, but then Gus would probably want to help him put things away, which defeated the purpose of having a good slave.

He gathered everything up and went back downstairs. Mrs. Guster was already busy in the kitchen, and Shawn gave her a respectful nod as he put the containers in the sink for him to wash later. She didn't say anything as he left the room again to hang the bags in their spots.

The closet was visible from the living room, and Mr. Guster watched him from the couch. The TV played a tearful plea for information on a woman's dead sister, but she was silenced by a button press from the remote as Mr. Guster said, "Shawn, come here."

Shawn did as he was told and stood at attention in the middle of the room. Was he about to be inspected, or punished, or did his owner just want something to talk to…?

Mr. Guster stayed sitting as he looked Shawn over. "You've been with us for two weeks now."

So it was an inspection. That was fine; it meant he wouldn't have to think about any of his answers. "Yes, sir."

"What do you think of your new home?"

"You have a lovely family and home, sir," Shawn answered, giving the time-honored slave response.

"Burton has really taken a shine to you," Mr. Guster said, moving past the usual script. "It seems like he's either doing school work or playing with you."

Shawn stayed quiet; was he in trouble? Did Mr. Guster think it was his fault that Gus didn't spend enough time with his family?

"The boy's got a good head on his shoulders, but he has some… unique ideas. As most kids his age do." Mr. Guster's voice was mild and didn't offer any insight into what he was thinking. "I know those ideas could be very confusing to a slave in your position."

Was that a threat? Or some kind of concern? Silence settled after the words and Shawn realized he was expected to answer. He chose the safest response. "I know my place, sir."

"Glad to hear it." Mr. Guster sat back and grabbed the TV remote. "You've been good for us so far. Keep it up."

"Thank you, sir. I will." Shawn stayed in his place, waiting to be dismissed.

"You've got a good master." A note of warning colored Mr. Guster's words. "Make sure you treat him right."

"Yes, sir."

"You can go."

Shawn ducked his head in a small bow and turned to go back upstairs. Mr. Guster's words echoed in his mind as the TV started playing again. He had a good master. Something felt wrong about the words, and it wasn't because masters were just masters.

Most slaves would think Mr. Guster was a 'good master'. He didn't ask for anything that couldn't be done, he gave praise easily, he wasn't cruel. He'd used Shawn exactly how a slave was meant to be used, and it was the best Shawn could have hoped for as a house slave.

Gus was different. He didn't use Shawn, he gave him his voice back, he treated him like a person. Gus wasn't a good master; he was a Weirder master.

He was a better master.