A/N: I don't usually real-life-dump in my A/Ns, but this one feels relevant. Halfway through writing this chapter (ironically), my husband and I decided to get a divorce. It's all fine, we're both being adults about it. And I did keep writing through that initial fog because it was a mental escape. So, the disclaimer from that: Several canonical divorces happen or are mentioned in this fic. The characters' views on divorce, like everything else, do not necessarily echo mine. Thanks, all!

For the fandom-blind: Maddie, Shawn's mom, is a therapist who has "eidetic tonal memory", which means she can remember everything she hears.

(10 years ago)

"Henry, you are being paranoid!"

"You're living with your head in the clouds!"

Shawn sat halfway up the stairs, out of sight as he hugged his knees and listened in. His parents were fighting again. They always fought when his mom was home, but this time was even worse. This time, they were fighting about him.

"We've always known he was different." Shawn winced at the sharp tone in his mom's voice. "Now we finally know why, and you're refusing to get him help. All because you're scared of something that won't even happen!"

He shouldn't have told her about remembering the answers to the test. Then they wouldn't be arguing.

"You can't know nothing will happen, Maddie. I put my life on the line anytime I put on my badge. You risk your life whenever you talk to a nutso-"

"Henry!"

"We could both die in a car crash tomorrow. We have to think about these things! It's not like we have family around; do you seriously think Jack would take him?"

His Uncle Jack was really cool; Shawn wouldn't mind living with him. But why were they talking about dying? He thought they were arguing about his memory.

His mom's voice was softer when she said, "Look, I know you see a lot of death in your work. And that means that you have to think about it on a regular basis. It makes sense that it would bleed into your personal life, but you have to-"

"Don't go psychoanalyzing me. I'm not one of your clients. We both know where Shawn might end up if something happened to us. And you, of all people, should know where that would take him if his… gift was somewhere on record."

Shawn frowned. His memory was weird, and sometimes it made his head hurt, but why would it be bad for other people to know about it? Why was his dad scared? Nothing scared his dad.

The frustration was easy to hear in his mom's voice, even though she was staying quiet. "His 'gift' is something that needs professional help. Help that I can't give. There's a reason therapists don't treat their own family."

"I'm not saying you have to treat him. You've got some weird stuff too, you know? Don't you have some coping things? Or lessons? Teach him the skills that will help him. He doesn't need the couch and clipboard routine."

"Yes, he does need that. And I can't be the one to do it."

"Can't? Or won't?"

Shawn curled into himself, feeling sick to his stomach. His mom tried to hide it, but he knew she liked her job more than being home.

"You know that's not fair," his mom spat out.

"Isn't it? You'd rather risk him getting locked up and studied instead of doing your job as a parent."

Why would they lock him up? Why didn't his mom want to help? Why did they always have to fight?

Shawn choked out a sob and sprang up, sprinting up the stairs and back to his room. He buried himself in the blankets on his bed, letting them surround him and cut off the outside. Nothing else existed in here; it was just him and the little He-man pictures.

A soft knock sounded outside of his sanctuary. Shawn pulled his cocoon tighter around him. "Leave me alone."

"You were supposed to be asleep an hour ago, kiddo."

Shawn groaned; of course it was his dad. It was always his dad. "I'm already in bed. You're the one keeping me awake."

"Uh-huh." The bed dipped and a weight settled on Shawn's shoulder. "Your sneaking is getting better; I didn't hear when you started listening in. Now you need to work on leaving just as quietly. Remember-"

"I don't want to remember." Shawn hugged his blankets tighter as tears filled his eyes. His throat tightened, making his voice sound squeaky. "I don't want to remember."

It was all his memory's fault. Maybe if he was normal then his parents wouldn't be getting a divorce.

His dad squeezed his shoulder and cleared his throat. "You might not like your memory now, but you'll be thankful for it later. You want to be a cop, right?"

Shawn wiped his eyes before pulling the blanket down. Spencers were tough; they didn't cry. "Yeah?"

His dad looked at him with his lecture-face. "Well, this will make you an even better cop. You'll just… have to train harder. To master it."

Shawn groaned and debated pulling the blankets over his head again. They already trained all the time… "I just want to be normal."

"No you don't," his dad said with a smirk. "If you were normal, then you wouldn't be you."

There was a fight going on in Shawn's chest as something stabbed him and spread a soft warmth at the same time. His dad liked that he wasn't normal. But that meant his memory wasn't what made him weird. It wasn't why his parents always fought.

Tears started running down his cheek, and he gasped out a quiet sob. His dad sighed and shuffled around until he could pull Shawn into a side hug. His chest was solid, and his arm was a reassuring weight as he kissed the top of Shawn's head. "You're alright. We'll figure it out."

Shawn buried his face in his dad's shirt to muffle his continued sobs. They wouldn't figure things out. Their family was broken, his brain was weird, and even his dad didn't know what to do.

They weren't going to be alright.

(Present day)

Shawn couldn't believe it was only lunchtime. Gus glanced back at him as they walked down the stairs, and Shawn made sure to smile. He had to let him know that he understood the lesson. The lesson wasn't safe; if he decided to listen to it then he was completely at Gus' mercy. He wouldn't be able to push his small voice back into its box if he was sold again. But…

Gus promised not to sell him.

And Shawn believed him.

He followed Gus to the kitchen, staying quiet. Forty days was all it had taken for his master to earn his trust. Which was terrifying.

Masters couldn't be trusted.

"It looks like stew is all there is. Unless you want sandwiches," Gus said as he checked the fridge.

His voice was tired, like all of his emotions had been wrung out. Shawn winced; it was his fault. "Stew sounds good."

Gus liked it when he said 'like' but it was wrong. He didn't deserve what he'd like; Gus had been nothing but nice and Shawn had given him nothing but trouble.

Gus started to heat up the food, and Shawn's thoughts continued to twist themselves into knots. In some ways it would've been easier if he'd been punished. As it was, a lump of guilt was lodged in his chest where the warmth normally was. And it hurt worse than the collar.

The microwave dinged, and Shawn took the offered food with a quiet, "Thank you."

He barely heard Gus' answer as he knelt in his corner and started to eat, automatically tracking what his master was doing. Gus had his own bowl in his hand, and he was looking between the table and the corner Shawn was kneeling in with a conflicted expression. He eventually sighed with slumped shoulders and walked away from the table.

Shawn stared with his food frozen halfway to his mouth as Gus sat next to him on the floor and started to eat. Masters didn't eat on the floor. Gus was already weird for sitting on the floor sometimes, but there was a table right there…

"I don't want to sit at the table," Gus said, like he could read Shawn's mind.

"Why not?" Shawn asked before he could stop himself.

"Because Mom's rules are dumb."

Shawn remembered the rule, that only friends and family sat at the table, but it didn't explain his master eating on the floor. Unless Gus didn't think he was a friend or family anymore…

Shawn finished talking his bite of food -a slave didn't waste what it was given- and the lump of guilt grew, making it hard to swallow. It was his fault. Breaking up families was his specialty, after all.

He needed to make it right, but he'd already tried and Gus hadn't liked it. Gus didn't like when he acted like a slave.

And he was still getting it wrong, because he'd knelt in the corner of the kitchen without even thinking about it. Just like a slave was supposed to do. He could do better, he needed to do better. Gus deserved it.

Shawn put down his spoon and held onto his bowl as he shifted so he was sitting against the wall instead of kneeling. His leg muscles sighed in contentment as he let them stretch, and Gus gave him a small smile before returning to pick at his food. It wasn't enough, but it was better.

Gus liked when he didn't act like a slave. He didn't like Shawn thinking about it like that, but Shawn didn't know any other way to think. He'd have to work on getting better at that too. Gus had promised not to sell him, and Shawn believed him.

Gus was stuck with him.

Shawn was going to do his best to make sure he didn't regret that decision.

Gus decided they shouldn't stay downstairs once they'd finished eating, and Shawn privately agreed. It was nice that his master's plan meant they wouldn't see Mrs. Guster right when she returned home. Gus wasn't mad, but she probably still was.

They went to their usual spots once they reached Gus' room, and silence settled over them. Shawn fidgeted with the bedspread and eyed his master up, taking in how he was staring blankly at his homework. He wasn't happy, he was obviously tired, and it was all Shawn's fault.

Shawn looked back down at the floor; he should be kneeling again, asking for forgiveness for always making things harder. Then he'd be hurt, things would make sense, and Gus could be happy again. He shook his head and kept himself on the bed. Gus didn't like when he did slave things, and punishing him wouldn't make Gus happy like it had with his other masters. He needed a new way to make his master happy.

Gus liked when he talked, so what could he say that could help? Shawn glanced around the room and saw the small bookcase next to the closet. Gus still left comics out for him, but hadn't ever asked about them… But Gus had dealt with Shawn enough today, shouldn't he just stay quiet?

He'd messed up, he had to make it right, words were all he had left.

"Hey, Gus?"

Gus turned around with a surprised look. "Yeah?"

He should have thought of something better; slaves shouldn't be seen or heard… "Th-The Green Spirit. He doesn't have powers, so why can he still take on the bad guys that have super strength or weird ghost powers?"

Gus stared at him and Shawn winced. It was a dumb question, and Gus had enough on his mind, and why had he thought that would help…?

"Uh… Well, he kind of does?" Gus answered, looking like he was seriously questioning his slave's sanity. "Though, I guess I did start you on the early stuff so you could learn his backstory and all… They didn't really explain his powers until The Continuum Greaves arc." His voice warmed and his hands started to move slightly with his words. "Some people think his powers were just retconned in because, like you said, he fights supers all the time. He needed that edge. But there's actually hints of it all throughout the comics I've been leaving out-" He cut himself off with a wince and looked away.

Gus had strange reactions to things… But talking about the comics had seemed to help. Shawn thought about the ones he'd read and asked, "So, that's why he has weird dreams?"

Gus looked back at him with a calculating look. After a long moment of silence he shook himself and seemed to remember the question. "That's actually something different that'll come up in the next storyline. I'll probably start you on Continuum after that if, uh, you still want to read it."

Gus liked it when- The comics were interesting. And Shawn did actually want to read them. "That sounds good." He thought harder, bringing up the comics in his mind as he looked for the clues Gus said were there. "He took the Kool Aid man out, so he can hit hard. And he can take a hit; the rhino guy smacked him across a football field. Are those his powers?"

"Kool Aid man?" Gus asked with a small grin.

"He was red and he jumped through the wall…"

"Yeah, I can see it." Gus nodded in agreement. "He actually has a scaling power. The more injustice is around him, the more the green spirit fills him and gives him powers. Super strength and stamina, but also hyper senses and reflexes."

He launched into a lecture, explaining the lore lead-up, the writers who could never agree how the powers worked, and the blog that tracked all of the inconsistencies. Shawn couldn't help but smile as Gus' eyes lit up and his hands became more animated the longer he talked. He'd made Gus happier.

He asked what questions he could, keeping the momentum going as long as possible. The conversation died out when the garage door opened, interrupting Gus' explanation of a spin-off comic that included a previously unknown son who'd traveled through dimensions to stop a vampire apocalypse.

Gus' smile fell and a worry line showed up between his eyebrows as a door closed downstairs. Unease flipped in Shawn's stomach as he watched the transition; he'd done that too.

The silence in the room grew heavier as the stairs creaked, and he barely dared to breathe as Mrs. Guster walked to Gus' door and then past it. Gus let out a quiet sigh of relief as they heard her walk into her room.

Gus shouldn't be afraid of his mother.

Shawn looked down at his hands; they always caused trouble. It made sense now why slaves needed to be cuffed as well as collared. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything…" Gus sighed again, a more frustrated sound this time. "I guess I don't know that for sure. But I know you were scared, and I know you were trying to help. That's good enough for me."

The easy forgiveness didn't make sense. "It's my fault you and your mother fought…"

"Honestly, I'm starting to think we would have fought no matter what. If it wasn't you, it would have been something else."

A rush of water through pipes interrupted them, and they both looked towards the door in surprise. Mrs. Guster always took her shower first thing in the morning. Why would she be taking one now?

"Weird…" Gus shook his head and looked back at Shawn. "It wasn't your fault. I know you probably don't believe me because of slave stuff, but it's still true."

Would he still think that if he knew everything that had happened? "It's always my fault."

"Or," Gus countered, "maybe you're just the easiest one to blame."

There was a resonating truth to his words that relaxed the ball of guilt in Shawn's chest and let the warmth creep back in. It wasn't completely true, he knew he'd messed up this time, and there were other times he'd been intentionally difficult. But not all of the time.

Waves of memories threatened to overtake him; times when it had been his fault, times when it hadn't, and times there hadn't been any other options. He let out a breath and pushed them back. He couldn't deal with them now; he had to stay good.

They stayed quiet until the sounds of the shower cut off, and the only sound left in the room was the gentle rasp of Gus' pencil. Shawn listened to it, letting the normalcy of Gus doing homework ground him in the present. The past belonged in the past.

It didn't take long for them to hear the other bedroom door open again, and this time Mrs. Guster didn't walk past the room. Her knock was fast and impatient, and Shawn suddenly realized he was sitting on his master's bed. Which did he need to do, be good for Gus, or be good for Mrs. Guster?

Gus caught his eye and nodded in understanding as he called out, "One second."

Shawn sighed in relief at the silent permission and quickly moved to kneel in the corner where she'd expect him. Gus gave him an extra second to settle before opening the door. "Yes?"

"I… I'd like to…" Mrs. Guster paused before her voice shifted to a brisker tone. "It's still early afternoon, and there's still chores to be done."

Shawn saw a split-second of hurt cross Gus' face before it was smoothed away. "We'll be down in a few minutes."

"Good. Tell Shawn to get a load of laundry started first, our basket is ready." She paused for a long second but didn't move away. "You're… You've always had a good heart. And that's…" There was an even longer pause, and Gus seemed to be barely breathing. Mrs. Guster cleared her throat and continued in her brisk tone. "I'll see you downstairs."

The stairs creaked and Gus stood in place for several more seconds before closing the door again. He sat back down in his chair, deep in thought, and Shawn stayed where he was, not wanting to disturb the moment. It wasn't a slave's place to say anything, but he wouldn't know what to say anyway.

"I don't suppose you can do your Shawn-thing to make sense of that?" Gus finally asked in a grumble.

A rush of adrenaline rushed through Shawn as he tried to find the right thing to say. He wanted to help, but he didn't know the answer. He didn't want to mess up again.

"Don't answer that. Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

Shawn tried to calm his racing heart, taking a deep breath like Gus had taught him. It was ok, Gus was nice, he wasn't like his other masters.

Gus groaned and sat forward. "I don't really want to order you to do this, but I'm not sure you'll listen to me otherwise."

That caught Shawn's attention. Gus almost never gave real orders.

Gus had his 'I will argue until I'm blue in the face and we both know I'll win' face on. "If she threatens you again, you need to tell me. I won't risk your safety, but I still have a few plays left if she tries anything. I doubt she'd like it if dad found out about her gambling…"

Shawn's jaw dropped. "You know about that?"

Gus' jaw mirrored his. "You know about it?"

"I… figured it out a week ago." Should he tell Gus that his mother knew that Shawn knew?

"It only took you a few weeks… Damn." Gus looked at him in admiration. "Someday, I really hope you'll tell me how you do that."

A part of Shawn wanted to explain it, wanted to tell about all of the lessons and his memory. But he'd rather be sold to the docks than a lab; it was safer to stay quiet. But Gus deserved to know something. "She left her purse out."

"And you looked through it?"

Shawn winced, glad he was still on his knees. What was he thinking, admitting to that? "Sorry, sir, I shouldn't have."

Gus didn't say anything for a second, and when he did his voice had shifted to a carefully-casual tone. "Well, you know. If she didn't want you looking in her purse, she shouldn't have left it out where you could look through it."

Shawn looked up, taking in the small smirk that said Gus knew exactly how terrible that logic was. "You're not mad?"

"I already knew you snooped," Gus said with a shrug. "How else would you have known about my lockpicks? I figured it was another one of those things you did to survive."

The word 'survive' sounded odd coming out of Gus' mouth. Like it didn't have enough weight. But he wasn't wrong.

Gus sighed as he studied Shawn. "Sorry, but I do have to ask. Do you remember the order?"

"Tell you if your mother threatens to sell me again," Shawn answered promptly.

"If she threatens you at all," Gus corrected. Which was annoying, there was much less wiggle-room in that order.

"Yes, sir."

Gus nodded and picked up his homework. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes," Shawn answered, surprised to find he was telling the truth.

"Good. I'll see you downstairs in a few minutes."

Gus left the room, leaving Shawn still kneeling in the corner. Shawn took another deep breath and focused on switching modes. A slave was calm, a slave didn't fidget, a slave did as it was told. He needed to start laundry, and then find Mrs. Guster for new orders.

He nodded to himself and stood up, checking automatically that he didn't leave any mess to fix before leaving his master's room. Mrs. Guster had left their laundry basket right inside her door, and Shawn dragged it over to the washing machine to start a load. As he picked up the shirt she'd been wearing earlier that day, a faint smell caught his attention.

His shoulders tensed as he breathed deeply, trying to place it. Whatever it was, it was bad. And it was coming from his hand. He frowned and lifted the shirt up to smell it better. A flood of memories accompanied the stronger, acrid odor. A lighter held up to his arm, circles searing across his back, hidden burns on his neck, a closed casket, imagined screams as flames consumed a body, the black husk of a stranger's house…

Shawn gasped and threw the shirt away from him as his heart raced. Fire had taken everything from him. Why would Mrs. Guster smell like fire?

He stood frozen in place, waiting for his collar to beep to tell him to get back to work. But it didn't and his hands wouldn't move without the push. What was going on? What did she do?

The shirt was crumpled up unassumingly on the floor. If his master saw, then he'd be in trouble. He was trying to be good and not be in trouble anymore. He needed to move.

Shawn let out a shaky breath and reminded himself how to be good.

A slave didn't fidget. He forced his shaking hands to still as his feet moved towards the laundry.

A slave was calm. He forced his hand to reach down to pick the shirt back up as he smoothed his face into a blank mask.

A slave did as it was told. He forced himself to hold his breath as he loaded the washing machine, not daring to breathe in any more smells until the lid was closed.

He'd already learned his lesson; he needed to be a good slave for Mrs. Guster. He couldn't jeopardize what he had.

But what had she done?

Mrs. Guster and Gus were talking politely by the time he came downstairs. Gus gave him a small nod when he came into the room, and Shawn nodded back as he found a spot out of the way and stood at attention. He needed to keep Mrs. Guster happy; Gus deserved to be happy. He could do both.

He watched his owners carefully as he waited for his next job. Both of their smiles seemed forced, both of their tones were too-calm, and the silence was tense after their small talk was done. If they were pretending to be normal, they weren't doing a very good job of it.

"Shawn," Mrs. Guster said as she turned around and saw him. Her eyes scanned the room like she was looking for inspiration before she said, "I need you to dust. The stairs. Make sure to use the wood cleaning spray."

"Yes, ma'am." Shawn gladly left the awkward room and collected the cleaning supplies.

He knelt on the stairs to spray down the top step. The position was painfully familiar to yesterday when he'd scrubbed the floor through lunch. Had Mrs. Guster chosen the chore on purpose, to remind him to be good?

The question joined his pile of other questions that didn't have answers as he cleaned his way down the steps, making sure each step was perfect before moving on. He needed to work his way back to her good graces either way, it didn't matter why. Slaves didn't think; they obeyed.

Except Gus liked when he thought…

Shawn shook his head and kept working. He wasn't allowed to be in Shawn-mode right now. He had different rules for the different modes, and he couldn't let them bleed over. That's when things went bad and he messed up. He'd have to work harder at that, too, if he was going to let his small voice be louder.

The phone rang after he'd dusted several more steps, and he listened in automatically as he stayed on task. Mrs. Guster answered after the third ring. "Hello?"

She sounded off, like she was trying to be too cheerful. Something was weird, and it wasn't just her fight with Gus.

Mrs. Guster gasped. "It did? Oh, no. Oh, no!"

Shawn sat up and listened harder. She was overacting, which meant the call probably had some answers.

"How?! Was anyone hurt?"

"Mom, what's going on?" Gus asked from the other room.

She didn't answer, and the collar beeped. Shawn groaned quietly and got back to work, barely paying attention to what his hands were doing.

"Oh, well thank goodness for that." She laughed slightly too loud. "Well, at least it wasn't- Wait, you called insurance already?"

There'd been a fire, there was insurance, Mrs. Guster didn't want people to know she was involved… Shawn waited for the final piece to fall into place as he moved down another step.

"N-no, no, of course that's good. Very good thinking. Do you think the boat can be saved?"

The last piece clicked as Shawn remembered a small puddle under the engine when they left the boat a few days ago. Mrs. Guster had left after the fight to collect her thoughts, and judging by the smell on the clothes, she was a stress-smoker. She went to the boat, the cigarette hit the splash of gas, the boat went up in flames…

Electricity jolted through the collar, bringing him painfully back to the present. He shook his head at himself and wiped down the step again. It didn't matter what Mrs. Guster had done; it wasn't something he needed to worry about. He'd learned his lesson.

He'd do better this time; he wouldn't say anything. He needed to make things easier instead of harder.

Gus wasn't going to sell him. He was safe.

He could be good.

A/N: Fair warning, I'm not a fan of canon!Maddie, lol. That being said, I'm taking advantage of this being an AU to nudge her further where I need her for story reasons. I do think canon!Maddie would have acted differently than AU!Maddie, and that's partially why her and Henry's divorce is happening earlier in this fic than in canon.

Also, don't analyze the comic book stuff too much, I just wanted to show the nerdy side of Gus instead of just saying it, haha.