A/N: While there's no specific CW, just be warned that the flashback is a master we haven't seen yet and he's a dick.

(2 years ago)

"Tom, get in here!"

Shawn's heart sank at his master's sharp tone, and he stood up from his corner with difficulty. The backs of his legs seared as he straightened them, and he hoped against hope that the whip marks wouldn't start bleeding again. He stopped once he was in the next room and made sure to keep his posture as submissive as possible. It hadn't taken him long to learn that this master liked to find reasons to punish him.

"Look at this," his master ordered.

Shawn looked up, carefully keeping his eye on his master's hand. The hand was pointing to a set of katanas displayed on the shelf, and as he watched, the stand was angled up so his master could run his finger under it. A light coating of dust was visible when he lifted the finger up for inspection.

White teeth flashed through his master's dark goatee as he asked, "Didn't I tell you to dust earlier?"

"Yes, master, you did." Shawn had dusted, but even slaves without stabbing warnings weren't allowed to touch weapons. He'd thought he'd worked around the swords, but he also remembered zoning out at one point with thoughts of cougars and samurais fighting each other.

His hands started to shake and he didn't try to hide it. His fear made his master happy.

"And what do you have to say for yourself?"

The cougar head mounted to the wall snarled soundlessly at Shawn as he fought the frustrated words that wanted to be said. It wasn't fair, but when had that mattered since he'd been collared? "I'm… sorry, master. I'll do better next time."

"Not good enough." His master's tone sent chills down Shawn's spine. "Tell me what you did wrong."

"I got distracted and didn't do my job, master." The tremors in his hands grew and ran through the rest of his body. He shouldn't have said it like that; he knew better.

"Got distracted, huh?" His master asked, sounding amused. Shawn froze in his spot, even as his instincts screamed to run away. "Why don't I help with that…"

Bright pain shot from Shawn's neck through his body, searing deep through his bones and crashing him to his knees. The back of his legs burst in agony at the hit, the sharp pain overshadowing the ache left in the shock's wake. He gasped for breath as he trembled, somehow still remembering to keep his head bowed and hands behind his back.

"I think a shock every few minutes should remind you to stay on task. Won't they be helpful?"

Shawn squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of having to feel that over and over all day. But he couldn't make it worse. "Yes, master."

The pain in his heart hurt almost worse than the shock when the collar didn't think he was lying. He wasn't sure if he was lying. A dust rag landed in front of his knees as his master ordered, "Get up and do it again. The right way this time."

Shawn picked up the rag and stumbled back to his feet. He could do this; he just had to survive.

His master watched as he ran the rag along the shelf again, paying extra attention to the area under and behind the katanas. Shawn eyed up the weapons as he tensed, waiting for when the next shock would hit. His dad had taught him a bit about knives; surely swords weren't that different. He could grab one, try to take out his master, never be hurt by him again…

And all it would take would be one word from his master to bring him to the ground. And then he'd really have a reason to be punished.

Shawn finished the area behind the katanas and moved on. It wasn't worth the risk. Not while his master was awake and aware. And his master was smart; he always made sure Shawn was restrained before going to sleep. He'd have to come up with a different plan to survive.

The pain from the collar hit him again, and he barely caught himself on the wall as his legs buckled. A whimper escaped his mouth before he could stop it and he pushed himself back upright. His master was still watching. A low chuckle sounded out behind him as he forced his shaking hand to run the rag over the shelf.

"Good boy."

(Present Day)

Shawn knelt in the back of the church, listening to the preacher's voice rise and fall over the quiet murmurs of the congregation. The words didn't matter much to him, he'd never been particularly religious, but the man's directing of the crowd was always interesting to watch. And the crowd gave him plenty to look at.

The young man who always sat near the back only showed up to keep his parents happy, the woman with the large hats had made pancakes that morning, the girl who looked like she was taking notes was actually doodling. At his next glance up, he looked over, taking in his neighboring slaves. They hid themselves better than the free people, but there were still things to see.

The female that was always the first one there listened intently to the sermon, her eyebrows creased in concentration. The older male next to Shawn enjoyed the break and typically tried to take a quiet nap. The younger male on his other side was squirming slightly, like he had injuries that made kneeling painful.

If Declan had been there, he probably would have had his stupid small smile on his face that said his master wanted him there, therefore he was happy to be there. Stupid Declan.

It would suck if Declan had a cruel master now…

Shawn shook the thought from his mind, earning himself a side-eye from the squirmy slave. High-end slaves were expensive, which meant they were less likely to be damaged. He had enough to worry about without thinking about a slave that he barely cared about.

Namely, that something was wrong with Gus. And he didn't know if it was his fault or not. Nothing had obviously changed; Gus still acted like an insane master and Shawn still found himself less and less afraid around him. But something was still different.

Maybe it was the constant pauses, where Gus seemed to be weighing what he was about to say instead of speaking unguarded. Maybe it was the way Gus kept sneaking glances at him when he thought Shawn wouldn't notice. Maybe it was how Gus kept getting lost in thought or how he seemed extra worried all of a sudden.

Slaves weren't supposed to be self-centered, but Shawn couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. Gus was still the same around his family, he seemed to be in similar moods when he came home from school, it was only with Shawn that he was different. But the change had come around the Fourth of July when Shawn had done everything Gus had wanted… It should have made him happier.

It was aggravating not knowing what was going on in his master's head. It usually only took him a week or two to pin someone down, but it had been over a month, and Gus still refused to be understood.

He had to know what his master wanted, so he could make his master happy, because happy masters were nicer… And maybe if he said it enough times he'd actually believe that was his real motivation. He needed his master to be happy. He wanted Gus to be happy. They were the same thing.

It was a good thing the collar only reacted to vocal lies…

The sounds of the congregation grew louder as everyone stood up and sang with the organ. Shawn looked around in surprise; he hadn't realized he'd been lost in his thoughts for so long. He needed to be more aware of his surroundings.

But he also needed to figure out Gus…

The rest of the service passed by in a blur, and in no time, everyone was talking and gathering their things. Shawn kept his head down, not risking looking up now that people were likely to look their way. The squirming slave stopped moving, the older slave woke up silently, and the female slave smoothed her face into a bland look. They all waited for their owners to gather them.

Ever since the first Sunday, Gus had always been one of the first owners to come back. Today was no exception as he gracefully danced through the moving obstacles of the crowd and worked his way to Shawn. "Hey, how are you doing?"

"I'm ok, sir," Shawn answered as his leash was unhooked from the wall.

Gus' eyebrows tightened in an almost-concealed wince, but all he did was jerk his head to the side as he said, "Come on, let's get out of here so you can stop having to say that."

He didn't actually have to answer… "Yes, sir."

Gus' eyebrows stayed steady; either he was in better control or it wasn't worth a wince that time. Which still didn't tell Shawn anything that he didn't already know. Gus had always hated being called 'sir' and 'master'.

He rolled an imaginary coin over his knuckles as he was led outside and the orders were revoked. Could he just ask Gus? He liked when Shawn asked questions, afterall. But, he'd tried to ask a few days ago, and Gus had clearly sidestepped the question. Should he ask again?

Before he'd made up his mind, the Gusters exited the church and Shawn ducked his head down. Mrs. Guster had been happy with him since the client meeting, and he planned to keep that going for as long as possible. He still had information on her if he ever needed it, but with luck that wouldn't be for a very long time.

Mrs. Guster's quiet laugh reached his ears right before a surprised yelp. He looked up and saw her clinging to Mr. Guster to keep from falling to the ground. Concerned people rushed over, only to be waved away as she stood up with a flustered look on her face.

"No, no, it's alright. I'm fine." She reached down and took off one of her shoes, showing the flat spot where the heel had been just seconds before. "Goodness, I swear these are made to break after only a few months."

"Of course they are, dear," Mr. Guster said as he patted the hand still resting in the crook of his elbow. "Just like they intentionally don't put pockets in your pants so you have to buy a purse."

A white shoe was brandished warningly at his face as Mrs. Guster told him firmly, "You know that one's true."

Mr. Guster wisely held up his free hand in surrender and didn't say anything else. Mrs. Guster held the position for another second to make her point before reaching down and pulling off her other shoe. Her head stayed high as she walked to the car with her arm still linked with her husband's.

Shawn couldn't stop his lips from curling up in amusement as he looked down at the shoes on his feet. He was getting along with her, but it didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the fact that he wasn't the barefoot one now. Gus' head turned, and Shawn looked up in time to see the small smirk being sent his way. Gus clearly thought the same thing.

Gus' expression suddenly shuttered closed as he seemed to realize something, and he looked away again.

Shawn's amusement faded as he followed his master. What had he done wrong?

"Three apple, two pecan, and four chocolate…"

Shawn listened to Mrs. Guster's muttered list as he gathered up the dirty dishes in the kitchen and added them to the sink that was filling with water. It was a pie day, which meant it was a dishwashing day. His fingers were going to be so pruney by the end of it… Which really wasn't something to complain about, but there it was.

"Shawn, get that mixing bowl done first, I'm going to need it again," Mrs. Guster ordered as she rolled out a large circle of dough.

"Yes, ma'am," Shawn acknowledged as he reached into the hot water and found the bowl she was looking for. It didn't take long to wash it and put it back on the counter for her.

Gus was at school, so it was just him and Mrs. Guster working. It should be a relief to not have to worry about his master, but he couldn't stop his mind from gravitating to the unsolved mystery.

An insane thought occurred to him as he rinsed off a whisk; could he ask Mrs. Guster what was going on with Gus? It had been several days of weirdness now, and he still hadn't figured out the answer. He quickly dismissed the idea as he kept his hands busy; she was always looking for reasons to question how Gus acted as a master. Shawn wouldn't give her any extra ammunition.

Maybe that was it… maybe Gus was finally tired of being a master. Shawn's heart skipped a beat and his hands froze at the following thought. He'd been what Gus had wanted, and Gus wasn't happy. Maybe he'd realized Shawn couldn't ever make him happy. Maybe he'd realized he didn't want Shawn anymore.

His collar beeped, and he flinched at the reminder before getting back to work. Mrs. Guster didn't say anything, clearly used to the sound by now. Gus was probably used to the sound too; Shawn couldn't ever be a good slave. He got distracted, he had stubbornness issues, he was mouthy, he had flashbacks… That was probably why Gus had brought up freeing him again; it was a nicer way to get rid of him. It wouldn't be the first time an owner had gotten rid of him once they'd lost interest…

Hot water suddenly hit his stomach and flowed down, soaking his shirt and pants in a soapy wave. Shawn came back to himself with a gasp and frantically scrambled to turn off the faucet before any more water could overflow out of the sink. The sound of water hitting the floor was overshadowed by Mrs. Guster's barked yell. "Shawn!"

Shawn stared at the mess with wide eyes as water seemed to replace the air in his lungs, making it impossible to take a breath. He'd made a mess. He'd made a mess in front of an owner. He was going to be punished.

He immediately snapped to attention, ducking his head further as he forced himself to breathe in enough to say, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm so sorry."

"What happened?"

Different master's voices clashed and blended together, and Shawn fought back a whine as his whole body trembled. Masters liked when he knew what he'd done wrong. "I got- I forgot to turn off the faucet, ma'am, I'm so sorry, I can clean it up."

Some masters liked when he begged, others wanted him to just shut up and accept the punishment. Which one was she?

"For Christsake, of course it had to be on a busy day…"

His shaking grew harder to control as he heard her move around and open a drawer. Did she have a strap in one of them? Or maybe she was going to improvise with something in the kitchen? An insane image of the whisk hitting him popped into his mind and he had to keep his lips closed around his hysteric giggles. Now wasn't the time.

A towel was suddenly held out in front of him. He stared at it, trying to understand what was going on. That would be even less effective than the whisk…

"Clean up your mess, then get back to work," Mrs. Guster ordered in a sharp voice.

She was frustrated, he'd made her frustrated, he needed to be punished. Why wasn't she punishing him? She understood how slaves worked…

Shawn took the towel numbly and knelt to start drying the floor, his wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to him. The damp chill turned ice cold, freezing him in place as he realized why Mrs. Guster wasn't punishing him. She wasn't allowed to. She'd agreed that Gus would do the punishments.

Gus didn't like punishments; it would make him unhappy. Shawn had already made him unhappy, had already failed, had already messed up being the slave he was supposed to be… Gus shouldn't have to deal with punishing him too.

Gus couldn't be the one to punish him.

Shawn knew what he had to do. He was going to be hurt either way, but at least he could keep Gus from having to do it. The words were scared to be said, his throat tightening around them like a noose, but they had to come out. "D-don't tell G- Burton."

"What did you say?" Mrs. Guster asked in a dangerous tone.

It was the right thing to do. Shawn's voice was stronger as he looked up towards Mrs. Guster's feet. "D-Don't tell Burton. Don't make him punish me."

Her hands stilled on the rolling pin as she let out an indignant gasp. He needed to push her the rest of the way. She had to be the one to punish him.

He stood up slowly and forced himself to lock eyes with her. He kept the shaking out of his voice as he told her, "Don't tell Burton, or I'll tell him about your gambling."

Rage overtook every other expression on her face. Shawn clenched his hands behind his back and refused to look down; this was what he'd wanted. "You go to a bookie every other week to a bar downtown. Last time you made money, but how many times have you lost? How many times have you lied-"

"Be quiet!" Mrs. Guster snarled as she stalked towards him. His mouth automatically clicked closed as he trembled at her wrath. It was fine; it would hurt, but he'd be fine. And Gus wouldn't have to deal with him.

"You dare speak to me like that? You think you have the right to make demands, to… to…" Her face twisted as she dissolved into angry sputters. Shawn flinched away from her flailing hands and she stopped, frozen for a split second before her expression smoothed into something more calculating.

Her voice was deceptively calm when she spoke again. "Burton likes you. I've let him have his little pet project because it made him happy. But make no mistake… it's because I let him." Despite her small stature, she filled his whole vision as she stared him down. "You were bought with our money, not his. His name isn't anywhere on the bank account. If you do anything that threatens this family, I will take ownership of you, and I will sell you to the darkest, deepest hole I can find. Do I make myself clear?"

Shawn nodded as his collar seemed to squeeze his throat, making it hard to breathe. Invisible forces collapsed on him, shoving him back into his place as his gaze dropped to the ground. He'd thought the worst that could happen was a beating. He'd been wrong.

"Get down."

The order was a relief as his knees buckled and the weight of his mistake pulled him the rest of the way down. He'd known looking through her purse had been a bad idea.

"I know Burton is filling your head with ridiculous ideas, but that's no excuse for forgetting your place. You're here to serve us. Remember that."

Mrs. Guster walked off, leaving him kneeling in the soapy puddle next to the sink. He waited, trying to get his breathing under control as he listened for clues on what was coming next. Was she getting his remote, a belt, something else? The coat closet door opened and closed, and all hopes of being able to breathe left the room when she came back with a bucket in her hand.

It wouldn't leave a mark; Gus wouldn't have to know.

He made himself as small as possible as she walked up to him and turned the faucet back on. Water hit the bottom of the bucket loudly and dark memories mixed with the strangling pressure around his throat, making his lungs burn. Shawn squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to stay still; he had to be good and not make things worse.

The bucket was placed on the floor, and something splashed into it, spraying water droplets into his face. He flinched violently at the contact, and the blood pounding in his ears nearly drowned out his master's words. "Make yourself useful while you're down there. Get to work."

Shawn's eyes snapped open at the order, and he took in the sponge floating in the bucket's soapy water. He looked up in surprise, but Mrs. Guster was working on her pies again, her disobedient slave already out of mind. The bucket wasn't a punishment?

His collar beeped and he frantically tried to reorient himself as his hand reached for the sponge. When was she going to punish him? Was she going to tell Gus? Was she just waiting for him to not be seconds away from passing out?

The insides of the sponge squeezed and warped as he wrung it out, mirroring his twisting emotions. The pain could start any minute, but he couldn't focus on that; he had to prove he knew his place. He stayed on his knees and began to scrub the floor.

It was four o'clock, and Mrs. Guster still hadn't punished him. He was starting to suspect that she wasn't going to. The only times she'd even seemed to remember he was in the room was when she'd ordered him to clean in front of the stove while she ate lunch and when she'd ordered him to get back to the dishes once the floor was done. His stomach grumbled at the missed meal, but it was a small price to pay.

She still hadn't allowed him to talk either, and questions still burned in his mind. Was Gus going to have to punish him after all? How was he going to explain himself? Would Gus be willing to give him another chance? He'd given Shawn so many chances already… he had to be getting tired of it by now.

The sound of water spraying the bottom of the kitchen sink hit harder than a slap to the face, and Shawn focused on how he was the one controlling it. He was just rinsing out the soap residue; it was fine.

"Shawn, finish that up then come here," Mrs. Guster ordered from the table where she was writing in her business notebook.

Shawn chased the last of the bubbles down the drain before walking over to her. His jeans were stiff where the soapy water had dried, and they pressed into his legs uncomfortably as he knelt at her feet. He had to show he understood her warning; he knew his place. Maybe it would prove Gus didn't need to punish him.

"Burton will be home soon." Her feet tapped as she paused, and Shawn's heart raced. This was the moment; had he failed Gus? "Remember what I told you: make Burton happy and don't disrupt this family." A finger under his chin prompted him to look up. "Today stays between the two of us, understand?"

Relief crashed through his body as Shawn nodded quickly. She was giving him another chance; she wasn't telling Gus.

"Good. The stove needs wiped down, the trash needs taken out, and the sink needs properly cleaned. Take care of it."

Shawn ducked his head in a low bow and stood up to go back to work. She didn't tell him he was allowed to talk until they heard the garage door open. Shawn stayed quiet afterwards, determined to show that he'd heard and understood her message. He'd grown complacent. He couldn't think he was safe.

He had to remember his place.

Gus tried to catch his eye all through dinner, but Shawn kept his head down, knowing Mrs. Guster was watching carefully. Gus stayed in the kitchen as he cleaned up after dinner, and Shawn stayed as obedient as possible as he did the nightly routine. He was a slave; he did what he was told.

He followed Gus upstairs once he was dismissed, keeping his eyes locked on the floor. This was the best he could ever hope to be treated; why had he been thinking he could push that? Why couldn't he just be grateful and be as good as possible? Why did he always have to mess things up?

Gus was quieter than usual as he led the way into his room. Shawn paused as he walked through the door, eying up the bed and the floor in the corner. He was a slave, he knew where he belonged, masters sat and slaves kneeled. He'd been growing complacent, thinking he belonged somewhere different…

And his master was watching him, and he knew what his master wanted, and a slave was whatever its master wanted. Shawn sat on the edge of the bed, his hands fisting in his lap. He was doing it wrong again.

The chair next to the desk creaked quietly before Gus asked, "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Why did he have to be bought by an observant master?

Which wasn't what he was supposed to think. His master had asked a question. But he couldn't answer it truthfully, or Mrs. Guster would sell him. And he couldn't lie, because Gus would know and he'd sell him. His collar tightened, cutting off his air. He didn't want to be sold.

"Don't answer. It's ok, you're safe. You can breathe."

Shawn's chest burned, and a frantic giggle escaped his lips in a breathless whine. He hadn't been able to breathe since a ring of metal had been snapped around his neck. He was never going to be able to breathe again. He was never going to be safe again.

"Shawn, I'm your master, listen to me." Gus' words cut through the haze spiraling around him. "Breathe in, slowly."

Shawn's lungs inflated without him telling them to. It made sense, it was his master's body, not his.

"Hold it… Breathe out, slowly."

The air left his lungs, taking some of the fearful haze with it.

"Breathe in… Hold… Breathe out."

Shawn followed the orders, knowing each one was another nail in his coffin. He'd been able to do this for himself just a few days ago. Gus had to be tired of having to help him like this.

He existed for his master; his master shouldn't have to help him with anything.

Gus stopped talking after a quiet, "You're doing good; you can breathe on your own."

Shawn kept breathing on his own, like his master wanted. He had to be good; he couldn't be sold. Not yet.

The room was quiet as Shawn breathed, and he studied his hands to keep from looking anywhere else. He'd been right; they'd gotten pruney. Even after coming upstairs, the skin was still misshaped and weird.

A breath was let out that wasn't his, and Gus spoke again. "I'm not going to make you say anything, but I know something's wrong. If I know what happened, I might be able to keep it from happening again."

Shawn started to shake his head before stopping himself; a slave didn't disagree with its master. But Gus shouldn't make promises he couldn't keep. Gus' mother was the one in charge, not him. He couldn't keep Shawn from being bad, and he couldn't keep Mrs. Guster from acting appropriately to a misbehaving slave. He couldn't keep her from selling Shawn if she decided to.

But Shawn had to do what his master wanted, and his master wanted him to say something. It was the wrong thing to say, he was doing everything wrong, but it was the only safe thing he could come up with. "I'm sorry, sir."

Gus groaned and whispered to himself, "What the fuck did she-"

Shawn flinched, even though he knew he wasn't going to be hit. Gus wasn't supposed to know something had happened with his mother. If Gus said anything, she might think Shawn had said something. He needed to make it right, give Gus an explanation so he wouldn't start a fight.

Now he just had to convince his mouth that it was allowed to talk again.

A blood pressure cuff squeezed his arm, wires wrapped around his chest, and his dad sat across from him, watching the read-out. "Don't sweat. Feel your heart… Breathe."

Tell the kernel of truth. Shawn breathed and answered, "I was doing chores, sir, and got distracted." He winced at the words, but continued. "The water overflowed the sink and I remembered some… stuff."

"This is all from a flashback?"

He always had flashbacks. "Yes, sir."

Gus thought for a second before asking quickly, "Did mom yell at you?"

He hated when his master did the fast questions. "Only because she was surprised, sir."

"Did she hit you?"

"No, sir."

"Did she hurt you?"

"No, sir."

"Did she threaten you?"

He hesitated and his dad's voice filled the void. "Shawn, I knew you were lying. You have to believe the lie."

Mrs. Guster didn't threaten him, she reminded him. "No, sir."

The collar didn't shock him, but Gus didn't seem convinced. He was never letting a master know he could lie again…

Gus sighed after a second and nodded towards his computer. "Movie night?"

Shawn fought to keep the relief off of his face as a distraction from the dangerous conversation was offered. He refocused on the question; his master wanted to watch a movie and liked when Shawn watched with him.

Shawn could do what he was told. He had to be safe. "Yes, sir."

A/N: Both of Henry's (Shawn's dad) quotes are from Shawn Rescues Darth Vader.