A/N: The POV pattern gets whack for a bit…

CW: Claustrophobia in the second scene.

(Slightly over 1 year ago)

"Kenneth really did a number on it, didn't he? Buzz its hair and make sure to scrub it down well. We don't need those germs here."

The cool tile floor was soothing against Shawn's hot cheeks as he stayed laying where he'd been ordered. The maid cleaning him dunked her cloth into a bucket, and Shawn watched several water droplets drip down the side, leaving a soapy residue in their wake. The soap wouldn't make it too bad to drink, would it? If the maid would just look away, he could try sneaking a sip… He swallowed reflexively, his dry throat and tongue begging for something he couldn't give them.

The maid took the cloth back out, wringing the water into the bucket before running it down Shawn's back again. He flinched as it aggravated the fire criss crossing across his skin, the soap stinging in the cuts as the blood was washed away. He tried to distance himself from the pain as he focused on the water again. It didn't matter; it wasn't his body, it didn't belong to him. He just had to deal with feeling it.

"The back's almost done, then we can get a bandage for it," the lady informed him as the cloth continued its painful journey.

It was the nicest anyone had spoken to him in months. Shawn let out a breath and forced his muscles to relax, letting the cloth take away the grime from his going-away-beating. The cloth splashed back in the bucket, sending more delicious water dripping down the sides.

He closed his eyes to the tantalizing sight; he was focusing on the wrong things again. He needed to focus on his new master, not what his body -his master's body- wanted. He needed to know how to make his master happy so he could keep surviving.

A crinkly bandage was pressed over his back, and pain washed over him, blinding out any other thought. It wasn't his, it wasn't his… His jaw and eyes clenched tighter, and the fire slowly died down again as the woman ran her hand over his newly-buzzed hair. "There you go, worst is over."

The sensation felt strange, almost overwhelming between the positive touch and the almost-itchy feeling of his stubble. He focused in on it, letting it pull him away from the pain so his mind would have enough room to think.

His master had free people working for him. His master hadn't wanted his slave bloody. His master had given the maid clothes to dress his slave. His master hired people who were gentle, he had laugh lines around his eyes, he had taken Shawn away from his last master. Maybe this master was different. Maybe there could be good masters…

"Alright, up you go. Let's get some clothes on you."

Shawn climbed to his feet and immediately stumbled as his vision tunneled, his back screamed, and the walls spun. He planted his feet on the ground and kept all of his focus on standing upright until the worst of the sensations died down. Once his vision cleared, he saw the maid holding several garments out to him.

"Come on, get dressed…"

Shawn ducked his head at the admonishment and took the offered underwear. She'd been nice, and he was making her wait on him. A slave's time was spent serving its master, not just standing around. He nearly fell again several times as he put the clothes on, taking each offered garment with a nod of thanks.

"Mr. Calloway is waiting, let's go," the maid said once he'd pulled the soft shirt over his bandaged back.

He forced his feet to stumble forward, even as his body demanded he curl up and sleep for a week. Not his body, not his choice. He was led into a study and left there as the maid went to inform his master that he was ready for his inspection. The book titles on the shelf swam, the soft carpet spun, and there was a glass of water on the desk.

It didn't even have soap in it.

Shawn tried to shake the ridiculous thought away and the room decided to shake with him. He let out a soundless whine and rode out the dizziness as he stared at the glass. He wanted it, he needed it, it was right there… It wasn't his, he had to be good, he had to survive.

He needed water to survive…

The door behind him opened, and Shawn thanked a god he didn't believe in that he hadn't taken that step forward. His new master walked in front of him, and Shawn kept his eyes down, seeing polished wing-tipped shoes and tailored dress pants.

"Hmm, it did clean up well, didn't it," his master said in an even, cultured voice. "Did it give you any trouble?"

"None at all," the maid answered from the back. "It was an absolute doll."

"Hmm… Interesting. I wonder if Kenneth oversold it."

"Maybe. But rumor is that he kept it for six months when most of his slaves only last four."

"And it's still standing on its own…" The approval in his master's voice gave strength to Shawn's legs, making it easier to fight the pull of gravity.

His master walked away for a minute before returning, holding the glass of water. It was wrong, but Shawn couldn't help it. His eyes locked on the glass and he couldn't look away. Was this master a good master? Was he going to get water?

"Well, that got its attention… Slave, do you want a drink?"

"Yes, master." He didn't just want it, he needed it. It was the only thing that mattered.

His master studied him, tapping the glass with manicured nails. Maybe he wanted Shawn to beg. His last master liked it when he begged…

"Tell me about your last master."

Shawn flinched; could this master read minds? He was so screwed… Except that was ridiculous. Psychics weren't real, and he'd know that if he wasn't so stuck on thinking about the water that was being held right in front of him. His collar beeped and he flinched again. He wasn't being good. He needed to figure out what his master wanted from him.

"I-I'm sorry, master. I don't understand the question."

His master sighed, a sharp angry sound. Shawn tensed, waiting for the pain. Instead, his master just repeated slower, "Your previous master. Tell me what he was like."

There was a drop of condensation dripping slowly down the glass… and his master had asked a question. Maybe if Shawn answered, he'd get the water.

The room spun faster, making it impossible to focus enough to lie. He'd have to tell the truth and hope it was good enough. "He was impulsive, he went on lots of dates, and he was angry. Master."

"And what did you think of him?"

"Slaves don't think, master. We do what we're told." Shawn congratulated himself on remembering to use his rules.

"Are you refusing to answer the question?" his master asked, suddenly sounding dangerous.

Shawn froze; that wasn't what was supposed to happen. He needed to be what his master wanted. "N-no, master. I'm sorry." He had to make it right. "My old master… he was cruel, he liked pain-" He remembered a sneer as fire was held to his arm. His master wanted to know what he thought? "He couldn't keep anyone past a few dates, so he always dumped them first. He said they were the problem, but really he's just a jackass who's going to die miserable and alone."

He snapped his mouth shut and braced himself for a hit. Just once, once, he wished his mouth would behave. But the hit didn't come, and his master grinned as he held out the water glass.

"So, there's still some fight in you afterall. Drink."

The water glass was in Shawn's hand before his master was done talking, and the cold rush of liquid in his mouth was like coming home, taking a bath, and eating a whole buffet's worth of food all at once. He could practically feel his small voice rehydrating and coming back to life as he gasped for breath once the glass was empty.

Maybe his luck had finally changed. Maybe things would be better now.

"Molly, run down to the kitchen and bring a plate of food up. Heaven knows when Kenneth fed it last."

The maid said something in return, but Shawn was too busy replaying the last few sentences over and over in his head. He was getting water and food? And not even having to earn them?

The glass vibrated in his hands, and Shawn refocused to see his master tapping the glass with his fingernail. "I expect gratitude when something is given to you."

Shawn focused on his hands so he wouldn't drop the glass as he said quickly, "Yes, master, thank you."

The collar activated, shocking him for speaking out of turn, but the intensity wasn't as high as his last master liked to use. His current master said a mild, "ah," as if he'd just remembered something unimportant. "You have permission to vocalize your gratitude."

"Thank you, master," Shawn said in relief. He wasn't being punished, and he was being allowed to talk more.

"Come," his master ordered as he went to sit at his desk. He pointed at the floor next to him and added, "Kneel. We don't want you falling over."

Shawn stumbled to his spot and tried to keep his movements smooth as he sank to his knees. His legs gave out halfway down, and the searing pain in his back overwhelmed him, taking his breath away. When he was able to think, he felt the strange sensation again over his head, the feeling of a hand running over his stubble of hair.

"This is what happens when someone uses a hammer when a scalpel is needed," his master said conversationally. "I suppose it's just part of the challenge. When the food comes, you may eat. You need to build your strength up…"

Shawn closed his eyes and focused on the comforting touch and the comforting promise of food. Things were looking up. He had a good master now.

(Present day)

The ground was hard under Shawn's back, darkness pressed in on all sides, he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't think… Trunks and kennels and blindfolds all morphed into one, suffocating him and locking him in.

A knock rang out above him, and Mr. Guster called out, "Ok, Shawn, do you see the wire?"

Shawn whined soundlessly and forced his eyes open. Dim wood planks were visible where he'd expected blinding darkness. He clenched his shaking hand around the flashlight he'd been given and angled it up as he looked for movement. "Y-yes, sir. I see it."

He could see, he could hear, he could move… Shawn took a deep breath, and the dusty air of the crawl space coated his tongue and throat, making him want to cough. He swallowed instead, keeping an ear out for what his owner wanted him to do next.

"Alright, grab the cord and pull it until I say to stop!"

"Yes, sir," Shawn answered faintly, seeing the small black cord that was jiggling just out of his reach. He was going to have to move. And if he moved, the light might go out, and the floor above might come down on him, and he might wake up and be gagged again… His collar beeped, and his body moved without any input from him. Nothing collapsed and the light stayed on as his hand reached up to grab the cord and pull it through the small hole in the floor.

Mr. Guster had decided to move and rewire their entertainment center for his project this week, and Shawn was starting to suspect Mrs. Guster had given him the idea. She was still clearly unhappy with Shawn and kept finding jobs for him to do that were either uncomfortable or put him in his place.

Footsteps walked above him and tension slowed the cord mid-pull as Mr. Guster's voice called out, "Ok, stop."

Shawn froze, his heart pounding at the thought of not being allowed to move if the ceiling fell on him. A few seconds later a new order came. "Bring that over to the new spot."

He let out a breath and looked further into the darkness where the other cables were already stretched. He'd made the crawl several times now and nothing bad had happened. He could do it again. Even though it took him further away from the safe opening that led back to the garage and fresh air and walls that didn't close in on him.

His collar beeped again and his body followed the order, rolling over and army crawling through the dirt and loose clumps of old insulation. The flashlight flickered as he reached the back of the crawlspace, blinking several times in warning before turning back on. Fear crawled under his skin as he pointed the light up so he could see where the cable needed to go. It was fine, it was only the third time the light had blinked like that. He still had time…

He rolled onto his back and found the hole he'd be feeding the cord through before letting himself put the flashlight down. The darkness immediately rushed in to suffocate him again, but his hands kept moving, feeding the small wire through the floor.

Please let this be the last one.

The cord pulled through his fingers and he let them relax as Mr. Guster's voice called out again. "Good job. I'm going to check that everything's working right, just wait there for now."

Mr. Guster always seemed aware of his words; he didn't give orders on accident and he always made sure Shawn knew what he was supposed to be doing. It was simple and good. Shawn picked up the flashlight again and shone it around the crawlspace, making sure the walls hadn't moved in on him. The dust shone in the lightbeam, calling attention to the dust in his throat and making the urge to cough much more urgent. Shawn swallowed several times, trying to override the urge. He needed to be able to hear what Mr. Guster ordered.

He needed to be a good slave.

"Everything looks good! I'll meet you in the garage and you can have your break."

Shawn let out a quiet sob of relief that was swallowed up by the thick air surrounding him. He was being let out of the dark. He rolled back onto his stomach, and the flashlight flickered before going out.

The whole world stopped, the nothingness filling his ears, his eyes, his mouth. The air solidified, holding him in place, squeezing down until he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, he couldn't think, he needed out he needed to be free he needed to breathe.

He struggled to control his lungs, a mind suspended in the void, but his body wouldn't listen, crushed by the weight of the floor above him. He needed out, he needed to be let out, he needed to be good so his master would let him out…

"Shawn, you still in there?" his owner's voice called out from the other side of the darkness.

His body found the strength to gasp in a breath so his mouth could call back, "Yes, s-sir."

"Why are you in the dark? Did the flashlight go out?"

"Yes, sir." His voice squeaked as his throat tightened, his air running out. He wasn't being good, he wasn't doing what he was supposed to, he was going to be left here, he was never going to be let out…

"Shawn, turn around and look at me."

His body listened to its owner, shuffling around even as Shawn braced for pain. It was ok, it would be better than the nothingness. A rectangle of light was suddenly visible, a crack in the blindfold, and Shawn gasped in relief even as he saw his owner staring intently at him. He was being allowed to see again.

"You're doing good. Come over here."

He'd been given an order, but he couldn't follow it. His mind and body both locked up, afraid to move and bring everything down on him. An angry beep sounded out and pain jolted through him, reminding him that he didn't have a choice.

"Shawn. Crawl forward," his owner ordered firmly.

He didn't have a choice. Shawn reached his arms forward and pulled his body along, his legs shuffling to keep him moving. The floor didn't come down on him. The distance to the small light seemed to stretch and warp as he continued his crawl, his owner watching him quietly to make sure he kept doing as he was told.

It felt like hours before he managed to reach his destination, his body trembling as he gasped for fresh air. Mr. Guster stepped back as he ordered, "Come on out, now."

Shawn shakily grabbed the edges of the opening above him, using the last of his strength to leverage himself up and onto the garage floor.

His owner stood above him, and Shawn remembered his place at the same time he remembered that he hadn't been good. He tried to roll to his knees, but Mr. Guster waved and ordered, "Just sit. I'm pretty sure you'll fall over if you try anything else."

"Yes, sir, thank you," Shawn said, his voice shaking as he shifted so he was sitting on the cool floor. Slaves were tools; tools didn't panic. He'd messed up again. He was always going to mess up. He couldn't be good.

He took several shallow breaths, trying to convince his lungs that they weren't dying. Mr. Guster walked off after a minute, and Shawn tried to build up enough energy to worry about what was going to happen next. He'd learned his lesson, he wouldn't try to affect his punishment, but what if he told Mrs. Guster? Would she risk selling him? Would they tell Gus? Would Gus change his mind on selling him if Shawn couldn't be good for even a week?

Mr. Guster came back a few minutes later, holding a glass of water. Shawn couldn't help but stare as it was held out; what had he done to earn a drink? He'd thought Gus' parents understood slaves, but they were starting to act just as unpredictable as his master.

"Drink," Mr. Guster ordered. "You can go to the sink if you need to spit anything out."

"Th-thank you, sir," Shawn took the glass and took a drink, the cool water helping clear his mind as well as his throat. He could breathe, he could see, he could move. Whatever happened next, he could be grateful for that.

Mr. Guster sat on a chair next to the workbench and started talking. "You know, Burton is claustrophobic too. Some boys were joshing around in school one day and ended up sticking him in his locker. He couldn't breathe for hours after; we ended up taking him to the hospital thinking he had asthma." He chuckled at the memory before pausing. "Ends up he actually did have asthma. That boy can't do anything simple…"

The story continued as Mr. Guster talked about his sister with asthma, her kids, and their summer camping trip of hell. Shawn slowly relaxed, letting the words wash over him. Mr. Guster always chatted like this. It was normal, not something an angry owner would do. He wasn't being punished. Again.

"... And then she swore off of ever going to a Red Robin again." Mr. Guster chuckled to himself and stood up. "Think you can stand now without fainting?"

"Yes, sir," Shawn answered immediately. He stayed sitting; he wouldn't move without orders. He had to at least try to be good.

"Good." Mr. Guster moved close and reached out towards Shawn's head before stopping himself. "Huh, you need a shower in a nasty way. Make sure to take your clothes off before you go inside so you don't track the dirt everywhere."

Shawn watched the hand drop with mixed feelings. He didn't want to like being petted, but the comforting touch sounded really good right now. He pushed the feeling away; a slave was grateful for what it was given. It didn't think about what it wanted. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Guster checked his watch. "Burton and Winnie should be back from their errands in about an hour. After you get clean, you can have the rest of the time off."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome." Mr. Guster stretched and walked towards the door to the house. "And good job this morning."

He left the garage, and Shawn stared after him. Apparently insanity didn't fall far from the tree.

That night, Shawn dreamed of darkness. He dreamed of spikes on his tongue, pressure over his ears, and time standing still. Grabbing hands and nudging feet and pulling collars all acted as beacons towards where he needed to go. How he could be good.

Metal was removed from his mouth. He sipped on the straw that replaced it, never knowing whether to expect cold water, bitter juice, or wine that made his taste buds shrivel and his head spin. Chains were removed from his ankles. He followed the prompts of the leash, never knowing whether to expect a rush of cold water over him, the ground falling out from under him, or pinching and poking hands all around him. Meaning was removed from the world. He waited in the void, never knowing if it would ever end.

Light blinded him, laughter deafened him, and the taste of iron choked him as his feet and hands continued to do their master's bidding. Silence in his mind, pain in his body, nothing existing except his master's next order. Anything to avoid the darkness.

His small voice was silent. He'd failed.

Shawn woke up with a gasp and opened his eyes, seeing only darkness. He froze; he had to be good. He couldn't risk moving and making his master angry. Except it wasn't completely dark. An orange light shone softly; a small act of defiance keeping the nothingness at bay. He blinked his eyes and didn't feel leather pressing down; there wasn't any pressure on his ears; his tongue didn't hurt. He wasn't there anymore.

"Hey, Shawn. You're ok."

Shawn cringed at the voice of his master as he slowly remembered where he was. He'd woken his master up. It was the third time he'd woken his master this week.

"I'm going to turn the light on. You're not in trouble."

Shawn closed his eyes as the lamp clicked on. He waited a second to adjust to the light filtering through his eyelids before squinting them open again. He looked around and was able to breathe easier as his master's room replaced the banquet hall from his dream. He wasn't there anymore.

He still didn't move; he had to be good.

"Um… If you can, I'd appreciate it if you're able to tell me whether you're freaking out or not."

His master sounded tired; it was Shawn's fault. Most masters would punish him for that, but Gus wasn't most masters. And Gus wanted him to talk.

"Sorry, sir. I'm n-not freaking out." Shawn winced as his shaking voice betrayed him. He should move; it would prove he could be good. There was a water bottle just an arm's length away. He just had to sit up and reach out for it. It would make his master happy.

His body wouldn't listen to him, and he stayed locked in place as his master stood up with a yawn. Gus shuffled over to the snack basket, moving sluggishly as he grabbed the water bottle and held it out. "Here, you can drink. It usually helps."

It didn't escape Shawn's notice that his master had yet to say anything that the collar would respond to. Because Gus was different. Gus cared.

Shawn let out a breath and was finally able to move, sitting up and taking the bottle with a silent nod.

He took a few drinks and watched as Gus sat on the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. His master was right, the water was helping. A small memory from the far past flashed in front of his eyes: his dad squatting down next to a crying child, making himself smaller and less of a threat. It would figure that Gus would do something as strange as that for a slave. It would also figure that it did actually make Shawn feel better, even with the added bizarreness of the situation.

"So… This might go under the category of 'dumb ideas', but I've been looking up stuff on nightmares."

Shawn huffed a silent laugh. Gus researched everything; of course he'd researched this too.

Gus continued after Shawn didn't say anything. "Some people find it easier to move on from a bad dream or memory if they get it out of their head. Talking about it, writing it down, drawing…" Shawn tensed; would Gus order him to do that stuff? Gus held a hand up in a calming gesture. "I know, I'm not saying you have to do any of that. It's your choice."

An invisible cloak of safety wrapped around Shawn as his shoulders relaxed.

"My idea was that maybe you could write it down, and I could get you a shredder or something. Then you don't have to worry about anyone snooping." Gus shrugged and rested his chin on his knees. "Like I said, it's probably dumb. But you don't seem the type for meditation before bed."

Shawn's lips twitched up at the accurate assessment before he actually registered Gus' words. Gus researched everything; he was always looking for more information. And he was willing to let Shawn destroy information to keep him from reading it. All so Shawn could sleep better.

How could he have ever thought Gus was faking being nice?

Gus liked it when Shawn opened up to him; he deserved to get what he liked. But, even more than that, Shawn found himself wanting to talk about it. He wanted to tell Gus.

"My last master, not counting the vendor, was nice at first." Shawn took a quick drink from the water bottle as his mouth turned dry at the memory. "He didn't hurt me like some of my other masters. He only used the collar when I deserved it, he fed me, he was happy when I was mouthy…"

The memory of the first time that master had raised his voice sent a jolt of fear down Shawn's spine. The shock, the confusion, the guilt was as fresh as the day it had happened.

"He was the one who gagged me. And used th-the other things." Gus was nice; he didn't need to be scared. "I n-never knew how long they were on me. I never knew if they would be taken off…"

The collar tightened, the memory of the nothingness crushing inwards. Shawn stared at the nightlight, using the patterns in the colors to press back on the fear. He could see, he wasn't there.

"I'd be afraid of the dark too, then," Gus said in the silence that followed. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have had to go through that."

Shawn shrugged. "I'm a slave. It made him happy."

"It made him a bully. And you didn't deserve it."

Shawn bit his lip at the surprising rush of emotions and stared harder at the nightlight. He imagined what it would feel like under his fingers, if the light was solid. Would the dark lines be prickly like a real pineapple, would the leaves be rough or smooth, would it have weight? He realized he was taking deep breaths as the emotions ebbed away.

A slave did whatever it needed to make its master happy; he couldn't think about it any other way. Masters were always right.

But that meant Gus was right too…

"Ok, this is going to sound so awkward, and I'm sorry," Gus said as he rubbed the back of his neck with a conflicted look on his face. "You can say no. Actually, change that, I'll only do it if you say yes. If it would help, I could…" He struggled for a second before letting out an annoyed groan. "I could touch you, but in a comforting way, not a gross way. Like, on your shoulder or something."

He was right; it did come out awkward. But it also sounded nice. Shawn barely hesitated before nodding.

Gus moved slowly, scooting over next to him and holding his hand out. He stopped right before making contact and studied Shawn intently. After a second of neither of them moving, he finished closing the distance, gently resting his hand on Shawn's shoulder. Despite his best efforts, Shawn still flinched, but he immediately leaned into the touch before Gus could take it away again. "Sorry…"

"Don't worry about it," Gus said as he squeezed Shawn's shoulder gently. Between his expression and the touch, it was clear that he understood the apology wasn't just for the flinch.

Shawn closed his eyes and focused on the grounding weight of Gus' hand. After Gus had fought with his mother, he'd asked Shawn to trust him. He hadn't used those words, but it was what his lesson had boiled down to. Shawn needed to let down the last of his guards and trust Gus to not use it against him.

And Gus had earned that trust. Time and again he'd gone against what a master was supposed to do. Shawn took a deep breath and let it out again, acknowledging the risk he was taking as he decided to do what Gus wanted. As he decided to do what he wanted.

Most masters were just masters, but Gus was different. Gus was a good master.

A/N: The flashlight thing almost happened to me the last time I was in our crawlspace (It did the warning blink three times before I was able to get back to the entrance). The flickering light in a dark, contained space is scary even without claustrophobia adding to it.