(4 years ago)

Shawn felt ridiculous. When he'd compared his outfit to Richard Simmons, he'd thought it was an exaggeration. It ended up, he'd been being generous. He looked like a disco ball in the sunlight as he walked behind Missy. The sequins on his shirt scratched his arms, the damn bell kept jingling on his collar, and somehow the worst part was the grating squeal of "You look perfect!" that was still ringing in his ears.

Girls officially sucked.

A doorman let them into a large foyer with a curved staircase, and Missy bounced on her toes, her red curls bouncing along with her. "Rover, remember, don't talk unless you're spoken to. And behave."

"Yes, Missy." It was a long shot, but Missy had promised that he could have dinner leftovers that night if he was good. She'd probably forget, but it was a chance to eat something other than the slave treats he was usually fed.

His ribs ached as he took another breath. He'd also be handed off to her father again if he wasn't good. It was worth trying to behave.

"Oh my god, Jessica!" a voice squealed at the top of the stairs.

"Gina!" Missy squealed from the bottom.

The collar yanked Shawn forward as Missy ran up the stairs, and he struggled to keep his feet under his body as he was pulled along. The two girls met in the middle, hugging like they hadn't seen each other in years instead of only a week.

"Your hair looks amazing!"

"Your dress is spectacular!"

Shawn stared at their feet grumpily. Gina's red, sparkling shoes looked like they'd been pulled straight from the Wizard of Oz. They complemented Missy's bejeweled silver heels surprisingly well.

"This is him? He's so cute!"

"Isn't he? Where's yours?"

"He's setting up the tea table. Come on, let's go!"

Shawn's careful watching of their feet proved useful as he started moving the second he saw Missy's feet pivot to point towards the top of the steps. The leash still pulled tight as Missy rushed forward, but the collar didn't dig into his skin nearly as much as they went the rest of the way up the stairs.

'Tea time' turned out to be a small table in a playroom with far too many lacy doilies and flower-printed dishes. The bright pink of the tablecloth would have been blinding if Shawn had given it any more than a passing glance. He didn't care about the decorations or color schemes.

His mistress chatted and giggled with her best friend as he grabbed his third fruit tart and shoved it directly into his mouth. He should probably at least stick a pinky out or something, but the sugary-sweet flaky crust and perfectly ripe strawberries were too good to worry about stupid niceties like that. He'd slow down if Missy ordered him to, not before.

"Wow, look at him go," Gina giggled. "No wonder you told me not to use silverware; he's a bit savage, isn't he."

"Ugh, that's Daddy's rule, not mine." Shawn could hear the pout in Missy's voice. "Apparently Rover was a bad boy during training, so it's not safe for him to have that stuff."

"Oh my gosh, you are so brave for keeping him. We went through, like, five slaves before we found one I liked." Gina's voice somehow turned even more pompous. "Gina doesn't accept any less than the best."

Shawn tuned out the conversation as he checked out the slave who was sitting on the other side of the table. Apparently buying the 'best' meant buying a teenager who looked as similar to Gina as possible. They both had the same dark tan, the same dark hair, and the same dark eyes. Though, the slave's eyes looked even darker with the black eyeliner and… was he wearing mascara? There was no way his impossibly dark eye lashes were natural.

It also wasn't fair; the slave's shirt was insanely pink and frilly, and he still somehow made it look good. Gina had probably said his name at some point, but the fruit tarts had been calling louder than any human voice could have hoped to compete with.

"... besides, I like the danger. I think it gives him personality." Missy tapped Shawn's shoulder and stage-whispered, "You're at a tea party, not an all-you-can-eat buffet."

It wasn't an order, but it was close enough. Shawn still took another tart, but he put it on his plate instead of immediately eating it. He stared at the beautiful-red strawberries as he reached out for the golden-rimmed cup and took a sip of the barely warm tea. He still didn't stick his pinky out.

Missy's hand moved up to ruffle his hair as she told him, "Good boy."

Shawn hid his grimace at the words by taking another sip of the overly sweet drink. He had reasons to behave; he could find other times to fight back.

The tea was cold by the time anything else interesting happened.

"No… No, he didn't!" Missy gasped dramatically.

"He did! Ink all over his face and his shirt… It looked like a murder scene!" Gina clapped her hands in excitement. "I have pictures! My phone's in my room. Come on, let me show you."

The two girls rushed to the door before Missy stopped. "Wait, wait. Rover, you can talk to your new friend."

"What are slaves going to talk about?" Gina asked.

"Pfft, I don't know. But it's kind of boring with them just sitting there and not saying anything."

Gina snickered at the explanation and waved to get her slave's attention. "You can…" she dissolved into giggles and gasped out the rest of the order between laughs. "...talk to… your friend."

"Oh my god, get a hold of yourself." Missy guided her friend out of the room and closed the door behind them.

Shawn immediately grabbed another tart and shoved it in his mouth.

"Hi, Rover, nice to meet you."

Shawn glared at the other slave who dared to still be eating daintily even without the girls in the room. He spoke around the food in his mouth. "That's not my name."

"It's what your owner calls you," the slave said softly with a small shrug, "so it's your name. You're new to this, aren't you?"

It was stupid to feel indignant at the question. He didn't want to be good at the slave thing. Shawn answered begrudgingly, "A little over a year."

"That's pretty new," the slave said with a stupidly patronizing smile. "Do yourself a favor; relax into it. This life doesn't have to be bad."

"Are you serious right now?" Shawn spat out.

The slave's eyes dropped at the reproach, but he still answered in the same calm voice. "People can treat their things however they want, and our mistresses are taking care of us and being nice. Take it from me, this is a good life for a slave."

Bits of memories shoved in, memories of pain, rules, and control. Shawn tried to shake them away as he reached for another tart. He already knew things could be worse, but it couldn't stop him from fighting. He had to survive; he had to stay himself.

"I'm not a pet," he said stubbornly.

"No, you're a slave." The slave patted his mouth with a napkin. "If you make your owner happy, she'll treat you nice. It's not that hard. As your friend-"

"You're not my friend."

"Our mistresses say we are, so we are."

Shawn glared at the terrible logic. "That's not how friendship works."

"Maybe not for people." The slave's eyes were annoyingly kind as he looked back. "But we're not people, are we?"

(Present day)

Gus waited until he heard his mother's voice address Shawn before he stood up from his desk and closed the door. It was stupid, but the extra barrier helped him feel safe enough to finally let his emotions go. He had problems, and Shawn didn't need to worry about them.

Especially since they were about Shawn.

Gus paced around the room, trying to understand where he'd gone wrong. He'd known from the very start that he and Shawn were in a weird relationship. Shawn was more than just a slave, and he'd like to think that he was going beyond the usual master duties. But he'd seen it more like a caretaker role, or a life coach. The words 'savior complex' were probably buried in there somewhere, but he was ignoring that for now.

Though, was it a complex if he only wanted to save one person?

Gus shook his head in annoyance before making a mental note to look up the definition at a later time. It didn't really matter right now.

What mattered right now was that his brain was a jerk and had decided that Gus actually liked being around Shawn. He found his quiet jokes funny, he enjoyed being constantly surprised by him, and he felt his heart swell whenever Shawn was brave enough to push further past his slave conditioning. Against all of his best intentions… He was starting to think of Shawn as a friend.

Which was a problem.

He'd meant it when he'd said they couldn't be friends, that they shouldn't be friends. Friends were able to support each other, able to set boundaries, able to say no. Friends trusted each other, were able to be their true selves with each other, were equals together. Shawn couldn't do any of those things.

Gus couldn't put any of those expectations on him. He couldn't risk pushing him back into the fake-friend persona…

Gus groaned and flopped onto his bed. He sounded like such a drama queen.

It was all the Fourth of July's fault. He hadn't really noticed the change before then. The games had been fun, the walk had been nice, and the food had been delicious. But then Shawn had started quietly pointing out people while they sat on the grass, and he said things about them, things he shouldn't have known. And, even better, he'd listed the evidence he saw that helped him make those deductions. It had been fascinating, and Gus hadn't wanted it to end.

Even worse, Shawn had actually opened up to him a little bit on the boat, and when they'd watched the fireworks together, he'd touched Gus unprompted for the first time ever. And he hadn't even flinched. All things Gus should be celebrating, but was instead freaking out about, because they made him realize just how much he was starting to care.

Was Stockholm Syndrome something that could work both ways? Could the captor start to care for his captive?

It was stupid, he couldn't act on it, he wouldn't make Shawn deal with it. Hanging out with someone to help them couldn't be that different from hanging out with someone because they were a friend. He just had to make sure that he kept acting the same way he'd been acting and keep himself in check.

How hard could it be?

"Hey, Gus, are you ok?"

Gus glared at the homework that he'd been using to ignore everything else going on. Was Shawn asking because he cared, or because he needed to know what his master was feeling? He answered without looking away from his desk. "Yeah, I'm ok. Why do you ask?"

"Because you're usually done with homework twice as fast."

Why did he have to buy an observant slave… Gus made a face at himself and turned around. "Sorry, I've just been thinking a lot."

"I noticed." Shawn looked down and rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. "Is it… uh, anything I can help with?"

Friends helped each other, slaves did whatever their master needed to be happy. Why did the two things have to look so similar at times? "I don't think so."

Shawn nodded and kept his eyes locked on his hands. He probably thought he was failing at his job, or something… Gus needed to change the subject; what would he normally say if his brain wasn't being dumb? "Do you have any friends?"

He snapped his mouth over the words, wishing he could take them back. Why the fuck had he decided to ask that?

Shawn looked at him like he'd just started babbling in a foreign language. "Who'd want to hang out with a slave?"

"I'm hanging out with you, aren't I?" That was too close to the truth; hopefully Shawn wouldn't notice…

"You're my master," Shawn said slowly. "I have to be around you."

That should be a relief to hear; it shouldn't hurt… Gus ignored his emotions and focused on the conversation at hand. He may as well learn something from this whole debacle. "What about other slaves, then? Are there any you used to know? Any you'd like to see again?"

Shawn lifted a judgmental eyebrow. "Scheduling a playdate for me, sir?"

Gus tried to hide his wince at the honorific. It wasn't said in a way that should matter. "I wouldn't call it that… But the offer stands. If you know the master's name, I can probably track them down. Santa Barbara isn't that big of a town."

Shawn's eyes dropped back to his hands, his expression shifting to something more conflicted. Gus empathized with the feeling, though Shawn's was probably a lot more legit than his…

"I've only really talked to one other slave." Shawn's fingers twisted together as his shoulders curled in. Gus held his breath; he'd decided from day one that he wouldn't directly ask about Shawn's past. He hadn't always been successful, but it was something he'd tried to stay aware of. Hell, he'd even tried to not think about it so his curiosity wouldn't push him to ask something that he'd regret. Now he wasn't sure if he wanted to know about it. It was yet another reason to care.

Shawn continued, "We met a few times and were allowed to talk, but… it was weird."

"Weird how?" Gus prompted quietly. It didn't matter what his feelings were; Shawn needed someone to bleed this stuff out to. And Gus had meant the offer he'd given on the boat.

"He was… wrong. All cocky and thinking he had the whole system figured out. 'Just relax into it.'" Shawn gave his head a sharp shake, just like he did when he was fighting against flashbacks. "And his owner had terrible choices in names. Who would ever pick a name like Declan?"

Gus snorted despite himself. "That is pretty terrible. But it wasn't his fault he was named that."

"I know… but he even acted like a Declan."

"That bad, huh?"

"Ugh, so bad…"'

What should he say next? He needed to let Shawn know it was good to open up, but also not pressure him to open up more than he was willing. There had to be a limit to how many times he could just say, 'Thank you for telling me,' right? He was the master, which meant he held the power, which meant he had to let Shawn know his choices were his own… "It's entirely up to you, but if you change your mind, I can try to find him."

"Thank you, but I'm ok," Shawn said, his tone suddenly guarded.

Gus answered carefully, "You're welcome. I can finish my homework later. Would you prefer to do your own thing or play chess?"

"A game sounds good."

Was he saying that because he wanted to play a game, or because he thought his master wanted to play a game? Gus' head started to ache as he stood up and dug out the board from his closet.

(4 years ago)

"Don't you think our mistresses look nice today?" Declan asked.

"Their dresses sure are something." Shawn dropped a token into the connect four board as the giggles behind him made the welts on his back itch.

"They are quite pretty." Declan's neutral smile was locked in place as he took his turn, looking completely comfortable as they knelt on the carpet with the game between them.

It was their third playdate, and the other slave was still just as annoyingly chill as ever. But their mistresses were still watching, which meant Shawn had to keep playing his part. He glanced down at his shirt and the clashing neon colors that matched Missy's dress. "They're like Pretty in Pink, but with the full rainbow."

Declan's smile deepened and his eyes twinkled even as they stayed properly averted. Shawn smirked and placed his next token. Every now and then he could get Declan's mask to slip, and it was always satisfying to know that he could get the upper hand.

Luckily, their mistresses didn't expect slaves to have much to say, so the boring conversation ended and they played for a few minutes in silence. By unspoken agreement, they tried to keep the game going for as long as possible while still leaving chances for a win. It added some interest to the child's game.

The giggling behind them grew louder and more shrill. Shawn made a face, grateful to Declan for accidentally knocking over the board and then setting it up in the wrong direction. It made it so Shawn could sit with his back to the door instead of both of them being visible.

The door clicked shut and footsteps could be heard moving away. Shawn sighed and relaxed, still eying up the game in front of him. The collar probably couldn't enforce the 'play games and have fun' order, but it was better to keep following it. Just in case.

"You seem like you're not fighting as much," Declan said as he set up a win for the next turn.

Memories of darkness and being curled up in a cage threatened to overtake him, and Shawn's hand shook as he put his token in a random slot. "Why does that matter?"

"The less you fight, the more you can make your mistress happy. Then the more you can be happy." Declan shrugged and put his last token in, completing his four-in-a-row. "That seems like a good trade-off."

Shawn snorted and pulled the switch at the bottom of the game, watching as all of the neatly stacked tokens fell out in a rush. The conversation wasn't one he wanted to have, but it wasn't often he was actually able to talk anymore. A small memory tinged with curiosity nudged him; if Declan wanted to take him under his wing, then maybe he could at least learn something.

"You said you could teach me about slave stuff, right?"

"I don't think I said those exact words… " Declan's smile turned wry as he separated the colors back into neat piles.

Shawn nodded at the obvious agreement and pressed on. "Ok, what's up with the weird hand signals slaves sometimes use? I saw the cook use one with one of the house slaves when…" When he was being dragged to the shed. He shifted his shoulders, feeling the stretch from the healing welts.

Declan rolled one of the tokens over his knuckles, his blithe slave-smile dissolving into a serious look. "We're never ordered not to sign, but we also don't mention it…"

Shawn watched the token's progress and picked up one of his own, trying to mimic the movement. "So… it's a secret code?"

"I guess you could call it that." Declan moved his fingers slower, so Shawn could see the movement as the plastic coin flipped over his fingers.

"Well, I'm a slave. Shouldn't I get read in or something?"

The token danced off of Declan's knuckles and into his waiting palm. "I don't know too many myself…" He glanced towards the door before holding his free hand up. Two fingers pressed against his palm while the other two stayed lax with his thumb pressing into them. "This means, 'Peace. Don't fear.'"

"All those words for one sign?" Shawn asked as he matched the gesture.

"It's more the feeling behind it." Declan held up a new sign, this one requiring both hands. "This one means, 'May you stay safe.'"

"Like that's gonna happen," Shawn grumbled as he kept his hands in his lap.

Declan reached out, slowly resting his hand on Shawn's knee. He waited out the flinch before saying, "Slaves have to deal with enough uncertainty in our lives. If you use a sign, make sure you mean it."

He gave Shawn a deliberate look as he took his hand back and held it up into the second sign again. Shawn blinked in surprise before meeting the other slave's eyes and holding his hands up in a mirror of the gesture.

Giggles and pattering feet broke the moment, and they both dropped their hands to pick up their tokens. They managed to fill the board halfway up before the door opened so their mistresses could watch them again.

(Present day)

Shawn clearly wasn't focused on the game, but that was fine; Gus wasn't either. He moved a piece without really thinking as he struggled to find something to say. They usually talked while they played, but he was having a hard time coming up with conversations when his head was aching and his emotions were all out of whack.

Would it really be such a bad thing to be friends with Shawn? They were stuck together regardless, wouldn't it be better to be stuck with a friend?

But Shawn had just admitted that he'd only been able to talk to one person as an equal for over five years. It was a miracle that he could still communicate, much less be able to handle bigger social things like friendships. And there was still the threat of the fake-friend thing happening all over again.

No. If they ever did become friends, it would have to be Shawn bringing it up, not Gus.

Which meant it was probably never going to happen…

Shawn let out a small cough, and Gus jumped, realizing he'd just been staring moodily at the board for who knew how long. He captured one of Shawn's vulnerable pieces and sank back into his thoughts. Even as a friend he'd have to tread lightly around Shawn's snakes, being a helpful-master didn't have to be much different. He just had to get his brain to shut up about wondering what Shawn was thinking all of the time.

Shawn moved his rook over and quietly said, "Checkmate."

Gus blinked and stared at the board, realizing the vulnerable piece had been a ploy to get rid of his king's protection. He couldn't stop his smile as he asked, "So, does that mean I owe you some push-ups?"

"You didn't make that rule this time," Shawn pointed out. He picked up one of his pawns that were still on the board and studied it before saying even quieter, "Veronica Rapach."

"Sorry, what?"

"Declan's owner." Shawn rolled the pawn between his fingers and x-rayed it with his eyes. "His mistress was only fourteen, and I know it was her mother who managed things. Veronica Rapach."

"Oh," Gus said as he tried to kick his brain back into a useful gear. Shawn needed help; everything else could wait. "What do you want to do?"

"I… I don't w-want a playdate."

Gus' heart swelled in pride, though he tried to keep it off of his face as he said, "You want to know if he's ok."

Shawn nodded. His jaw worked several times before he managed to say, "It was four years ago… She probably doesn't have him anymore."

"I can find out. Then you can decide what to do from there." Gus watched Shawn carefully, looking for a sign that things were getting to be too much and they needed to back off.

He didn't see anything like that as Shawn swallowed thickly and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Do you-" He couldn't phrase it that way; Shawn would just answer 'yes'. "I can find her number now, or we can watch a movie first."

Shawn's eyes flicked up before returning to his pawn. "N-now, please."

It didn't take long to look up the number on the internet and Gus put the phone on speaker after dialing. After only a couple of rings, a woman answered with a mellow voice. "Hello, this is the Rapach residence. May I help you?"

Gus sat up straighter in his chair and made his voice as professional-sounding as possible. "Hello. I'd like to speak to Veronica Rapach, please."

"Mrs. Rapach is currently unavailable. Would you like to schedule an appointment?"

No, he would not. He wanted to give Shawn answers. "May I ask to whom I'm speaking?"

"My name's Chloe, I'm the housekeeper for the Rapachs."

That could work. "You may be able to help me, then. I'm looking for information on a slave who was bought by the Rapachs."

"I see… and may I ask why you're looking for that information?"

Crap. He hadn't thought that far yet. He couldn't exactly say that another slave wanted to know… A spark of an idea occurred to him, and his mouth started moving before he'd completely decided what to say. "I'm a student at Pomona College, and my final project is about tracking slaves from their training through their different owners. I'm looking to see if there's any factors that affect what a slave is bought for over their life. One of the slaves I'm tracking was bought by the Rapachs several years ago, but the records didn't show if he was still there or not."

More words scrambled to leave his mouth, and he forced them back. He couldn't oversell it. Shawn was watching him with a small grin that looked almost proud. Which had to be Gus projecting. Slaves couldn't be proud of their masters.

"Hmm, that sounds like an interesting project. I can't go into the family's records, but I do have a list of the slaves that work here. What's the tracking number?"

Gus opened his mouth to bluff why he didn't have the number, but Shawn raised his hand to get his attention. Gus muted the call and asked, "What?"

Shawn quickly squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his finger to his temple before rattling off, "58010219."

How the hell had he known, and remembered, the number for a slave he'd met four years ago? Gus stared, and Shawn's eyes opened and met his before dropping to the ground. Gus suddenly remembered he was still on a call and quickly unmuted his phone. "I'm sorry about the wait, I had to find the number in my notes."

He relayed the number and watched Shawn tense while they waited for the housekeeper to answer.

"I don't see that number on our list… But I think I recognize it. Dark hair, dark eyes, probably around twenty years old now…?"

Shawn looked up and nodded quickly. Gus answered her, "Yes, that's exactly what I have written. Do you know what happened to him?"

"In case you didn't find it in your research, he was bought as a companion for Mrs. Rapach's daughter. She decided she didn't need him anymore about a year ago. I remember Mr. Rapach was quite happy with that sale."

Shawn had winced when she'd mentioned why Declan had been sold, and now seemed to be fighting a flashback, judging by his unfocused eyes. Gus watched him worriedly as he asked, "I don't suppose you know who he was sold to?"

"Some high-end slave vendor. He was good looking and had impeccable manners; I'm sure he's making some other family very happy now. Which is a huge step up from where he was going before the Rapachs bought him, if you know what I mean."

He was pretty sure he didn't want to. "That's what I needed to know. Thank you very much for your time."

"Good luck on your project."

Gus hung up and watched helplessly as Shawn blinked and started to tremble. It hadn't been the answers he'd been hoping to find. How many high-end slave vendors were there? Could he still find the answers? "I can try calling a few places…"

He trailed off as Shawn started to shake his head before freezing with a wince. How was Gus supposed to help? A friend could clasp his shoulder or pull him into a hug. A friend could be a safe place to vent to. A friend could ask if he was ok and actually get a truthful answer.

A master couldn't do any of that.

But Shawn needed help, and Gus was all he had. "I'm sorry he wasn't there."

Shawn gave a small nod, which was better than expected. Gus turned his phone in his hands as he said, "I meant what I said on the boat. If you ever need to talk, I'll listen. And I won't use it against you." Shawn didn't react, and Gus turned back to his desk. "I'm going to finish my homework. You can do whatever you need to."

He could give Shawn space. Shawn didn't need to worry about his master right now.

"It didn't help him."

Gus froze at the quiet words. "What didn't help?"

Shawn's voice shook, but the words were clear. "He was good, and she still sold him."

"You said he thought he had it all figured out?" Gus asked, turning back around slowly.

Shawn nodded as he rolled the pawn between his fingers. "I thought… Maybe if I'd been-" He shook his head quickly and put the pawn down. "Sorry, sir. Thank you for looking for him."

"You're welcome." A friend would recognize Shawn didn't want to talk about it. A master would leave his slave alone until he was needed. Gus spoke up again. "You thought if you'd been good, you wouldn't have had as many masters….?"

It was only a hunch, but combined with Shawn's price dropping with each sale, it made sense that things had probably gotten worse the more times he'd been sold.

Shawn shrugged. "It didn't matter. Masters are just masters-"

He cut himself off with a quick glance up, but Gus knew the rest of the phrase already. He nodded, accepting the sharp spike to his heart as his price for being the master in the room. He couldn't blame Shawn for the sentiment. It had to be like spinning the worst roulette wheel on the planet, knowing he was being sold, but not knowing what kind of a master he was getting. Judging by Shawn's scars, he'd lost more spins than he'd won.

This was the time to say something important. They were having a moment, and Shawn was hurting, and he'd been the one to continue the conversation anyway… "I haven't forgotten, you know." Gus winced; he really needed to stop talking without thinking. But Shawn was watching him, and he needed to finish the thought. "I'm still trying to find a way to free you. You shouldn't have to deal with that."

And it was really the wrong time to say that. Even if Shawn was freed, it wouldn't help his friend. It wouldn't help all of the crap he'd already gone through. And it didn't mean Jack shit if Gus didn't even have a plan to do it.

Shawn didn't seem surprised, but his wary look was back. Gus quickly added, "Sorry, that doesn't really help now… I just wish I could do more."

He held his breath as Shawn studied him intently. Hopefully he'd be able to see the sincerity and wouldn't take offense at the terrible timing. Shawn finally looked away, dropping his eyes to the board. Gus sighed at the sign of submission and resigned himself to a quiet night.

"Y-you said your homework could wait, right?"

Gus looked up in surprise. "Yeah? I thought you might want some time to yourself."

A dark amused look crossed Shawn's face before he took a deep breath and seemed to brace himself. "I think I'd like to play another game."

Gus was staring, but he couldn't do anything about it. Shawn was suggesting what to do, he was doing it unprompted, and he hadn't stuttered over the L-word. Shawn ducked his head and Gus shook himself out of his stupor. "Games sound good."

Shawn's shoulders relaxed and he started to set up the board again. Gus sat across from him and placed his own pieces. "So, loser does five push ups?"

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Shawn's mouth as he challenged, "Loser does ten push ups."

"You're on."

They weren't just master and slave, but they weren't friends either. For now, being somewhere in the middle would have to do.

A/N: Fun fact, neither collar number is random.

Shawn's is the date of the pilot episode, backwards (so it wasn't obviously a date). July 7, 2006. 60027070.

Declan's is the date of the first episode he appeared in (Shawn 2.0) also backwards. Sep 1, 2010. But, since I like my details to stay consistent, and Declan had been a slave longer, I needed his number to be lower than Shawn's. So, I added the season and episode to the number (season 5, episode 8). 58010219.