Thank you to Mirandabelle for backstory inspiration.

Gus' attention wandered as he sat in his room and wrote a short essay on culture. The question was vague enough that he didn't really need to think too hard, though he did have to stop himself from comparing the culture of a slave and a free person living under the same roof. He'd either get an A for creativity or an F for thinking about slaves as people with culture. He didn't really want to know which camp his professor was in.

He glanced behind him at the bed, checking on the slave living under his roof and seeing how much further into the comic he'd read. Gus really wanted him to finish it so they could talk about the big reveal, both for nerd reasons and to reassure himself that Shawn was coming back out of the shell his mother had forced him into.

Shawn was still understandable tense whenever she was in the room, but at least he was relaxing around Gus again. Shawn turned another page, his face set in concentration, and Gus turned back to his homework. He really needed to get back on schedule. Deadlines didn't wait for emotional storms and master-slave relationships to work themselves out, after all.

But that was the problem. He couldn't focus on homework because he was too busy trying to problem solve everything else. His mom being weird, his slave being scared, his own uncertainties about how he should be acting… And all of those problems had one thing in common: Him.

Gus grumbled and gave up on the homework, bending down to dig through his bookbag and bring out his notebook. He could at least start working on one of those problems. It was time to tackle the Friend Issue.

Shawn couldn't be a friend yet, but he'd already learned so much. He could learn the friend stuff too. It was probably all sorts of messed up to think of friendship as a formula, but it was just as wrong for Gus to freak Shawn out when he overthought everything. At least this way he had something to focus on.

Gus made a new list, keeping things vague in case a certain slave decided to go snooping when the backpack was left out.

[1. Support and equal

2. Boundaries

3. No

4. Trust]

He stared at the list; was there anything else he needed to add? Friends were equals and supported each other, they set boundaries and could say no, and they trusted each other. He left a blank space under the list in case he thought of more criteria to add.

There wasn't much he could do for the first bullet point; there was always going to be a power imbalance between them, and it would be pretty ridiculous for a free person to ask a slave for support. Gus added an asterisk next to that point and tried to ignore the nagging mental voice telling him it was proof that slaves couldn't ever be friends. The voice sounded annoyingly like his father's.

He could work with the second and third point though. Shawn was a long way from saying no or setting boundaries on his own, but there were things Gus could do to start nudging him in that direction.

Trust was the hardest one to quantify, but he seemed to be making some headway on that already. The memory of Shawn relaxing as Gus clasped his shoulder was proof of it. Even if nothing came from this new list, Gus could at least be proud of that. For both of them.

He started to brainstorm ways to teach Shawn how to set boundaries when a quiet gasp came out behind him. "Kool-Aid man is his father?!"

Gus grinned and turned away from his paperwork to take in Shawn's baffled face. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to get to that part."

"...But he punched him through a wall!"

"I know!"

Gus grinned as Shawn continued to stare at the offending comic panel. He had a whole lecture of non-spoiler lore all ready to go, he just needed Shawn to ask first.

"But why…" Shawn's eyes lit up. "Because he didn't know the Spirit was his son!"

"Exactly!"

The fact that they were having this conversation proved that the new friendship-list wasn't out of reach. Shawn had come a long way from how he was when he'd been bought. There was still a long way to go, but they could do it. There was hope.

"I'm off to work!" Gus' father called out to the house the next morning.

"Remember, we're having dinner at Marge's tonight," Gus' mother called back from the kitchen table.

Her voice sounded normal, but the way she was twisting her fingers in her lap made it obvious she was still stressed. Gus continued to work on the culture essay he still needed to finish; at least his father thought she was just stressed from the boat fire. He didn't know about the fight, and neither Gus nor his mother planned to tell him.

They'd agreed things would be normal, so that's what they were doing.

"How's the homework?" she asked as the front door closed.

Gus shrugged. "It's going alright."

"Have you been able to keep up with all of your classes?"

"Yep. They're all fine…"

He couldn't wait until they were past the awkward-polite part of getting back to normal, though. Maybe the dinner tonight would help, when they both had to be regular-polite instead.

It would help more if he didn't have to stress about the days he had to leave Shawn alone with her…

"Bill and I will be out of the house for most of Saturday," his mother continued. "You can spend that time with Shawn if you'd like. If he doesn't slack off on his chores for the rest of the week."

Gus looked up with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't have just left the last sentence off? "Thanks… He can still hang out with me Sunday afternoon like normal, right?"

His mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes… You can have your usual playtime as well."

"It's not… Whatever." Gus rolled his eyes back -and did it better- before getting back to work on his essay. Maybe he could write about the culture of stubborn mothers who always had to control everything and have the last word…

"And make sure you're on your best behavior tonight."

Gus groaned; had he really thought that he wanted things to go back to normal?

He took it all back.

Dinner at Marge's happened every few months and took all night between the small talk, the food, the small talk, the dessert, the small talk, a few games, and yet more small talk. The food wasn't terrible, the games were usually fun, and the small talk was… It was small talk. Marge had invited her son, Nolan, over for dinner as well. And that included his wife, his three kids, and their slave who was helping watch over the kids.

The current gossip flowed over Gus' head as he mindlessly took a bite of the dry turkey and studied the slave. Nolan had called her Monique, and she had a certain poise and grace around her as she listened to the children and helped them with what they needed. His mother had caught his eye when Monique had entered the room, and he'd answered her quiet concern with a glare. He could be polite.

It helped that no one was bothering her or ordering her around. Though he couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment when she sat down without looking like she was ready to bolt, when she smiled easily as she whispered in the small girl's ear, and when she served her own food without waiting for permission.

Did she have nightmares like Shawn? Somehow he couldn't visualize her panicking like he did. How much closer to friendship would Shawn be if he'd been like her when Gus had bought him?

Guilt replaced the resentment, making him feel sick to his stomach. He put down his next forkful of food and stared queasily at the tablecloth as he tried to mind-bleach the thought back out of his brain. Shawn couldn't help how he'd been treated. Monique couldn't help how she'd been treated.

"I'm sorry to hear about your boat," Nolan said as Gus continued to take quiet, deep breaths.

"Thanks; it's a real shame. You know, I actually had someone scheduled to check that leak out this weekend?" his father complained. "Now we need to deal with insurance instead."

His mother laughed loudly next to him. "Mercy! Who'd believe insurance could ever move so fast."

Her hand nudged Gus' leg, and he looked up to see her give a small nod towards his plate. He sighed and forced himself to be polite and take another bite as she said, "Marge, you simply must tell me what you did to these potatoes. They're lovely."

Gus chewed the well-seasoned but lumpy potatoes and went back to watching Monique. It was strange, knowing what he did now. It wasn't her first time at one of Marge's dinners, but it was the first time Gus had ever noticed her. And now he couldn't notice anything but her.

Her movements were graceful as she began to tell a story with small hand motions, but she also kept her hands down low where they wouldn't catch anyone else's attention. Her dark hair was cut short so it curled around her ears, her dress was dark with a low-cut neckline and no sleeves, and her collar was bright and shining against her skin, like it had recently been polished.

Had she had any choice in her style? It didn't look bad, but surely having that much of her chest showing was uncomfortable. Did she actually enjoy working with kids? Her eyes were bright and her smile never slipped as she talked, but she could be a good actor. Had she gone through the same training as Shawn? They were both slaves, but they were so different…

The young boy sitting on the other side of Monique pushed his plate towards her. She didn't pause in her story as one of her hands dropped down to pick up a fork and cut up the rest of his food for him. Her own food was largely untouched.

"Can I have some ketchup?" the oldest boy loudly interrupted the adult's conversation.

The table grew silent as everyone but the slave stared at him with varying levels of judgment. The boy's mother spoke up first. "It's turkey…"

"Yeah, and I want ketchup," he replied, almost proudly.

The kid looked almost ten-years-old… Was that too young for Gus to criticize his culinary tastes? Because seriously.

"Charles…" Nolan sighed.

"Oh, it's fine." Marge waved her hands cheerfully. "Let the boy have ketchup."

Nolan shook his head in resignation, and Gus had the distinct feeling that this was a common occurrence in their house. Nolan looked over towards the kids and said, "Monique."

"Yes, sir." Monique slid the plate of cut-up food back to the young boy and walked to the kitchen.

Everyone else ignored her as Marge chimed in. "Don't worry, this is nothing. I once saw a person putting mayonnaise on a bagel…"

For the sake of his sanity, Gus stopped listening again. The lumpy potatoes didn't grow any less lumpy as he ate them, and Monique coming back into the room was a relief as it gave him something different to focus on.

Charles took the offered ketchup without looking up and immediately started covering his turkey in the sauce. The little girl had forgotten about the story as she dug into her potatoes with gusto, and Monique was finally able to eat.

The resentment tried to come back, and Gus shoved it down with a large gulp of water. It was good that Monique was eating politely and not like her plate was about to be taken away. It was good that she didn't flinch when Nolan gestured broadly as he talked. It was good that her bare arms didn't have scars like Shawn's did.

How many slaves were like her instead of Shawn? And why? Had she just behaved better? What would have happened if Shawn had tried to behave?

Gus stabbed his next bite of turkey and imagined it was the part of his brain that kept thinking things like that. He officially sucked. Shawn was scarred, and that's all there was to it. And, yeah, he wasn't as well-adjusted as Monique, but that just showed how far he'd come. And how much further he had to go…

Gus put his fork down for good as his heart dropped into his stomach. He didn't just suck; he was selfish too. Shawn had already come so far, why did he think that it was ok to ask for more? How many of Shawn's masters had wanted to force him into a box he didn't fit in? Was Gus any different from them?

But Shawn had said he liked that Gus pushed him to be different. He liked what they were doing. That had to count for something…

The young girl finished her potatoes and completely ignored the meat as she turned back to Monique and said, "Finish the story about Rapunzel."

Monique swallowed quickly and smiled as she picked up the story where she'd left off, including hand movements. Gus continued to watch her, trying to make sense of it all.

Gus slumped in the backseat of the car as they drove home. The food had been even worse than normal, the small talk had been even more boring than normal, and even the games hadn't been that interesting. The only good thing about the dinner had been the fact that Nolan had brought his kids with, so they'd had to leave early. Which meant Gus' family could leave early too.

"That was a lovely evening," his mother said cheerfully from the front seat.

His father chuckled. "Of course it was. You won."

"Not all of the games…" She straightened with a self-satisfied smile. "But I did win."

Gus rolled his eyes. Things were getting back to normal alright; his parents were being dumb again.

The car turned, taking them into a well-lit lot. His father parked next to a gas stall and called back, "Do you need anything while we're here?"

"No," Gus grumbled, just ready to get home. An image of Shawn sitting still with his fingers twitching swam in front of his eyes and he immediately changed his mind. "Actually, yeah. I'll be right back."

He didn't wait for his parent's reply as he climbed out of the car and went into the small store. Shawn didn't deserve the crap Gus kept thinking, and he needed to make it up to him. He didn't want to think like that…

He grabbed a bag of candy and a bottle of orange crush before glancing over the small selection of toys. He'd noticed recently that Shawn would fidget with anything that was nearby, but never with his cuffs. There weren't any collar-things that would keep him from touching them, so it had to be a trained thing. Whatever the reason, it meant that Shawn didn't usually have anything to keep his hands busy unless they were actively doing something.

Gus grabbed a couple of options and took them to the cash register. It wasn't great, but it would tide them over until the next time they went shopping. His father finished paying for the gas and eyed up his haul. "You're still going to play with Shawn tonight?"

Gus glared and snapped out, "Would you guys stop talking about him like that? I don't 'play with him,' I hang out with him. He's not a pet."

His father held his hands out placatingly. "Woah, cool your jets. I wasn't looking for a fight."

"Yeah, well, you found one." Gus dropped his choices on the counter and turned his back to his father. It was a bit awkward, standing sideways to the cashier as he handed his card over, but it was worth it.

"Alright, I hear you."

Gus glared at the bag his purchases were being put into. His father never actually heard him.

"You know, I was going to tell you this anyways. I think you've been handling Shawn quite well."

Gus looked back in surprise, forgetting he was actively ignoring his father.

His father smirked at the look. "I mean it. We thought you were going to muddle his head with treating him differently, but he seems to be taking to it well." His expression turned more serious. "Though, we're also a bit worried. You need to make sure you're paying attention to yourself too. He's got you stressing and buying him things and who knows what else. You don't want to look back someday and realize it was you whose head got muddled."

Gus stared at him; which part of the statement needed to be addressed first? "I am not muddled! If anything, you're muddled."

His father tried to hide a grin and failed miserably. "Did you ever think that maybe we aren't as dumb as you think we are?"

Gus groaned. He just wanted to buy his stuff and get home… "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that maybe we have a reason for thinking what we do. You aren't the first to think that their slave is different, you know." His father's expression turned serious. "And you aren't the first to think that their slave is their friend, either."

Was he saying what Gus thought he was saying? "You were friends with a slave?"

"Michael was my grandparent's slave, I 'hung out' with him whenever we came over to visit." His father looked off into the distance with a sad smile. "I told Michael everything. We played, I'd help him do chores, I asked plenty of questions so he could talk. And he told me about himself. About his sisters and the large farm they grew up in and the name of his favorite horse…"

A loud cough sounded out next to Gus, and he jumped, looking over to see the cashier holding out his card with an annoyed look. He took it tentatively and asked, "How long have you been standing like that?"

"Way too long," the cashier said, clearly annoyed at having to listen to their family drama.

"...Sorry." Gus took his bags and backed away from the angry person before turning back to his father. "What happened? With Michael."

"I was helping my grandad go through his desk one day and stumbled on Michael's papers. Ends up, he'd been a slave his whole life and had never even set foot on a farm. Everything he'd said was make believe."

"But slaves have to tell the truth," Gus pointed out. Maybe his father misunderstood…

"Slaves can't lie, there's a difference." His father shook his head, his eyebrows creasing with remembered anger. "I asked him about it, don't think I didn't. He said it was all in a storybook he'd read during his literacy training. He'd been ordered to be my friend by my grandad. Everything he did was to make me happy." His eyes focused on Gus as he tapped his chest. "And it broke my heart."

Gus knew that hurt; he'd felt it before. Conflicting thoughts fought for dominance as he took a breath to answer, but his father laid a hand on his shoulder, cutting him off before a word could be said. "Shawn is doing the only thing he knows. He's being what you want him to be."

Gus clenched his jaw, his sympathy burning up in a flash of anger. How dare his father think his experience defined Shawn. "Good. Because what I want is for him to be himself."

His father's expression turned tired, and he shrugged as he dropped his hand. "Ok, son. Whatever you say."

He walked off, and Gus groaned as he realized he had to follow him. And ride home in the same car as him… God, his parents were dumb.

"Shawn, you can move and talk," Gus' father said as they entered the living room. Gus grumpily closed his mouth behind him; he'd wanted to be the one to say it.

"Thank you, sir," Shawn said, climbing smoothly to his feet. Did someone get used to that position after a while, or did it always make Shawn's knees ache and his feet grow numb?

Shawn looked up quickly, meeting Gus' eyes before looking back at the ground. Gus relaxed at the silent reassurance that Shawn was ok, even if he wasn't moving from his corner. His father sat on the couch and picked up the TV remote as he asked Gus, "At least think about what I said?"

The sounds of the evening news changed to the sounds of a melodramatic Spanish soap opera, and Gus glared without a word before heading for the stairs. "Come on, Shawn."

Shawn followed him quietly like a good slave, but when they reached Gus' room, his mask dissolved into a small smile. He walked to the bed, his slave posture relaxing as he asked, "Did you have a good dinner?"

A myriad of complaints about the food were at the tip of Gus' tongue, but he swallowed them back down. Shawn saw food as a privilege, not a right. He had to remember who he was talking to. "Yeah, it was alright. Lots of gossip, lots of euchre. Typical stuff."

"You…cur?"

"Starts with an 'E', it's a card game…" Gus stared at his desk as he remembered his thoughts during dinner; why did he deserve the good spot? He turned to ask, "Do you want the chair? It's probably more comfortable than the bed."

Shawn froze for a second with his patented 'Gus just said something ridiculous and it's low-key terrifying' expression on his face. He recovered quicker than normal as he looked down and shrugged. "Thank you, but I… like sitting here."

Gus looked at the chair again and briefly debated sitting on the floor anyway. He sighed and sat in his usual spot; he didn't want to weird Shawn out. The bag still hanging from his arm crinkled, reminding him of its presence. He let himself focus on simpler things as he reached in and pulled out the food.

"Here." He handed over the candy and drink. "You don't have to eat it now if you don't want it."

Shawn ducked his head in thanks and immediately opened the bag, pouring out a handful of colored chocolate morsels. Gus huffed in concession; when would Shawn ever not eat something that was handed to him?

Shawn barely paused before dumping the candy in his mouth, and Gus reminded himself -again- that they were making progress. He was asking for a lot, but it didn't have to happen overnight. Patience was needed for friendship too.

Gus mentally added it to the notebook list. It didn't need to be written down; Shawn clearly had plenty of patience if he was able to sit still for hours. It was an addition for himself. He couldn't be Shawn's friend if he couldn't be patient.

"Are you ok?"

Shawn's voice broke through the thoughts, and Gus shook his head in annoyance. The whole point of the Friend Project was to not worry Shawn. "Yeah, I'm ok. Sorry, it's my stuff again. Do you need anything?"

"I'm ok. Thanks." Shawn's tone made it clear that he didn't believe that Gus was 'ok'.

Gus thought quickly for a distraction as Shawn finished the bag of candy. He remembered the other slave's dress and his list of friend-traits and found himself asking, "You know you're allowed to have preferences, right?"

Shawn's eyebrows scrunched together in his 'Gus just asked something non-master-like and it's extremely confusing' face. "...Yes, sir?"

"Sorry," Gus said with a wince. He wanted to ease Shawn into the idea of boundaries, not smack him over the head with it. "I mean… Things like what you wear, or what you eat, or how you spend your time off… You can have preferences, and I'll listen."

"I know…" Shawn didn't move as he watched Gus carefully. "You give me choices and you like when I pick things."

Gus grumpily added another point to the mental list: a friend doesn't base everything he does off of whether or not it makes Gus happy. Which, considering their positions, really wasn't fair. He crossed it back out and tried to explain better. "I'm not talking about when I offer you choices, though that's good too. I mean if you ever think of something you'd prefer -or not prefer- on your own, you can tell me and I'll listen." It was all getting messed up and confusing. It had all felt simpler in his head...

And Shawn still wasn't moving.

Gus sighed and dug into the bag again. He should have known he was too tired for this. "It's ok, I'm not expecting you to tell me one right now. Just think about it." He pulled out a Rubik's cube and rolled it across the bed. "That's for you, no I don't expect you to solve it. It's for if you want something to do with your hands."

The confused line between Shawn's eyebrows deepened, but he finally moved as he picked up the cube and held it. "Why?"

"Because you like fidgeting with stuff," Gus answered with a shrug. For some reason the words made Shawn freeze again, and his eyes moved quickly in thought before he visibly made himself relax. His fingers started to slowly turn the sides of the cube.

Gus watched the movement, his eyes catching on the white lines and patches visible all along Shawn's arms. He'd thought that all slaves were like Shawn, but Monique had proven that wrong. They were different, just like Shawn and Michael were different.

But why? Why were some slaves scarred and others weren't? Or, was it the other way around? Why were some slaves so scarred? Who in their right mind would pay tens of thousands of dollars for something –someone– and then risk that 'investment' by beating them half to death?

He shouldn't ask, it was a terrible idea, he'd already hit his daily quota of freaking Shawn out. He could keep his questions to himself, he should keep his questions to himself… He didn't actually have to know everything.

"Why don't all slaves have as many scars as you?" And, damnit, he should have sat on the floor. He didn't deserve to be comfortable after making Shawn freeze up again. "Sorry, it's none of my business." Gus tried to stop his mouth, but the words kept coming out. "Just, Nolan's family had a slave with them, and they still treated her weird, but they weren't mean, and she didn't act scared or have scars…"

Shawn's face shuttered into a guarded look that he hadn't used around Gus in weeks. "You're wondering if slavery is as bad as you thought?"

Gus' mouth moved soundlessly; that wasn't what he was asking, right? "N-no…"

Shawn's eyes squinted before he set his jaw and looked up to meet Gus' eyes. "She was a slave; she had a collar." He stared with the same intensity he'd used when he'd been ordered to make Gus mad. "Everything she's allowed to have, allowed to be, could be taken away in a second. She belongs completely to her master; her name, her body, her person. No matter if they're good or bad…"

"They're a master," Gus finished the phrase. He'd been stupid to ask, the question didn't matter. He should have known better. He looked away from Shawn's intense gaze as he said, "You're right. Sorry."

He heard a sigh and the quiet sounds of a Rubik's cube being mixed up. Surprisingly, Shawn spoke up again. "I was trained to be a house slave because a man thought I was young and good looking enough to be worth the extra training. But most people looking for a house slave aren't looking for a male." Gus looked up and Shawn gave him a slight smirk. "Most are looking for a female… preferably a red-head."

Gus snorted and stayed quiet.

"Once my trainer thought I was good enough, he found someone who wanted a companion slave for his daughter. Ends up, I wasn't the 'good boy' they thought they'd bought." Shawn was quiet for a few seconds as he focused on the cube in his hands. He eventually shrugged and continued. "After that, I was sold privately a couple of times. My masters knew about my temperament issues and wanted to buy me anyway. There's pretty much only one kind of person who buys a slave like that."

"The kind who wanted to break you," Gus realized with a sick feeling. Shawn's disturbing story about his previous master suddenly made a lot more sense.

Shawn nodded. "So, that's why I'm more beat up."

Gus tried to imagine what it would feel like, to have his very personality and thoughts being targeted by someone who could control his entire life. Just thinking about it scared him. And made him realize just how strong Shawn was. "They didn't succeed. You're still you."

Shawn just shrugged and didn't answer. Gus took his cue from him and stayed quiet as well. After all, it wasn't like he knew who Shawn was before he'd been collared. Maybe the assholes who'd owned him before had succeeded. Only Shawn could say which version of him was the 'real' him.

Gus was just starting to eye up his bookcase to bury the awkwardness with a fantasy world when Shawn spoke up again. "So… How do you play Eww-cur?"

"Euchre," Gus corrected automatically. "E-U-C-H-R-E."

Shawn tilted his head in thought, all signs of the previous conversation carefully hid away. "That's a very strange spelling."

"It's German. Most people think it's derived from Juckerspiel." Gus thought for a second before admitting, "Which doesn't really help with why it's spelled like that."

"How do you just remember that kind of stuff?"

Gus shoved his instinctual defensiveness down as he took in the genuine interest on Shawn's face. "I just like learning things. About everything." He thought about their previous conversation and sighed. "Sorry. It's why you have to keep dealing with questions like… that. I'll try to stop."

A small smirk played at the edge of Shawn's mouth as he shrugged. "You're just being you."

Gus smiled at the unexpected acceptance. "Thanks. You know how I was talking about preferences before… Would you prefer I didn't ask things like that?" Shawn looked down and Gus quickly added, "You don't have to answer that. Not unless you want to."

"I…" Shawn fidgeted with the cube again, warping it out of shape as he seemed to try to find the right words. "You sh-shouldn't change. Who you are."

If it wouldn't send Shawn straight into terrified-slave-mode, Gus would have hugged him right then and there. He kept his hands in his lap and kept his voice steady as he answered, "Ok, I won't. But I'll give you a heads up from now on if I'm going to ask stuff like that. Then you can tell me if you aren't in the right headspace to answer."

"Slaves don't-"

"I know." Gus opened his desk drawer and dug around for a deck of cards. "I told you, I'll listen if there's something you do or don't want." He pulled out the small box and held it up for Shawn to see. "Want to learn how to play euchre?"

Shawn looked between the box and Gus' face before answering, "Ok." He shook his head and frowned before adding, "Yes, I… want to learn."

Gus made sure to not hide his smile as he took the cards from the box and started sorting them into two piles. "Sounds good. It's usually played with four people, but there's a two person variant…"

They played for almost an hour before Gus couldn't fight his yawns anymore. It wasn't until he was halfway to sleep that he realized Shawn had set his first boundary. He didn't want Gus to change who he was. It was small, it was for Gus and not himself, but it was there. Gus fell the rest of the way asleep with a smile on his face.

A/N: Just know that whenever I make fun of ketchup, I'm making fun of myself. (Also, the mayo bagel. College was an interesting time for me in regards to food choices...)

The next chapter will be nearly all world building. PLEASE heed the warnings in the opening A/N if you're easily triggered.