(6 years ago)
Shawn wrote quickly as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. He had perfect memory and he'd still forgotten he had two sets of essays to write. Which was just annoying… He made sure to keep his writing dark and spiky as he finished the sentence and flipped the page. He could do this; he just had to finish three more answers and make the handwriting different enough from his own that the teacher wouldn't know they'd been written by the same person.
Milk dripped down his chin and he didn't look away from the homework as he wiped it off. He didn't have enough time to stop. Just a few more paragraphs…
"Shawn, what are you doing?"
Mother trucker. He'd thought his dad had already gone to work… Stupid new detective hours. "Hey, Dad. Just finishing up some homework I forgot about."
It was close enough to being true.
His dad walked up next to him and studied the page. "Didn't I see you finish this last night?"
"Nope." He had to keep his face blank, he couldn't let his dad know he was lying, he had to keep his face blank… "I did the first two pages, but there was more."
"Here's a trick, kid. If you don't normally have a poker face, then going into one is a clear tell." His dad pulled up a chair and Shawn put his pencil down with a groan; there wasn't any getting out of this lecture now... His dad studied him for several seconds –seconds Shawn could be using to write another stupid sentence– before asking, "Who's it for?"
At this point, it would just be faster to tell the truth. "Ryan."
"What- You're still letting him push you around?"
"I'm not letting him!" Shawn snapped out. "He's got dirt on me, I gotta do it."
His dad's lips twitched. "He's got dirt. On you."
"Yes!" Shawn threw his hands into the air. "If I don't do his homework for him, then he'll tell Kimmy that I like Becky. And then he'll tell Becky that I like Kimmy!"
"I see…" His dad gave up on trying to hide his smirk. "Does he have proof?"
He didn't want to tell his dad this… "He has a list where I… might have listed both of them… and tried to figure out which I liked better."
"And that's why you don't leave incriminating evidence where anyone can see it," his dad lectured.
Shawn groaned and pushed his cereal away so he could dramatically drop his head to the table. "I'm doomed."
"The way I see it, you have four options."
Shawn groaned even louder; not only was it a lecture, it was a long lecture. His dad, predictably, went on as if he hadn't heard. "One, you do what the perp wants and keep your secret safe."
"That's what I was trying to do before you interrupted me," Shawn complained into the table.
"And then the perp knows he has you under his control and he keeps making you do more and more things for him. If that's not doomed, then I don't know what is."
His dad had a point. Ryan had already gone from wanting the answers to the Friday quiz to making Shawn do all of his English homework.
"Option two," his dad continued after a long second, "you don't do what he wants and deal with the consequences of your dirty laundry being aired out. So what if two girls know you like both of them? Would that really be so bad?"
Shawn turned his head to glare at his dad for making light of such a life-ruining moment. "What's the other two options?"
His dad shrugged and leaned back into his chair. "Option three, you find a way to get the evidence away from the perp. Steal it, destroy it, or trick him out of it." He sat up quickly and pointed at Shawn with a serious look on his face. "I do not want to have a teacher calling me saying you were caught stealing something. Got it?"
Shawn lifted his head up as his life suddenly seemed less doomed. His dad hadn't said to not steal it, just to not get caught. "Got it."
A weird look crossed his dad's face, like he was simultaneously nauseous and amused. He quickly continued, "And option four, you counter-blackmail the perp. Mutual destruction. You don't do what he says, but if he decides to release his intel, you'll release yours too."
The last two options swirled through Shawn's mind as he remembered Ryan jeering and opening his locker. He focused on the bully's hand as it turned the combination lock, making note of the numbers it stopped on. He knew where to get his intel. His life wasn't doomed anymore.
The present sharpened around him again, and Shawn quickly gathered his papers. It didn't matter that the last page wasn't done. He looked at his wrist where he'd forgotten to put his watch on as he said, "Oh, look, it's school time. I need to get to school. Now. Right now."
"... I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
"Nope!" Shawn answered as he bounced up from the table and sprinted to the stairs. He yelled over his shoulder on the way to grab his backpack. "I just really love school!"
There. Now his dad had plausible deniability. He heard a low chuckle as he reached the top of the steps, and he stopped in surprise. He'd really been expecting his dad to yell another argument at him.
Instead, he seemed to be hallucinating as he heard his dad quietly say, "Atta boy."
(Present day)
Sweat dripped down Shawn's back as he turned the manual lawnmower and lined it up for the next pass. There was an electric mower in the shed, he'd been allowed to use it last time. But instead, Mrs. Guster had ordered him to use this archaic spinning blade on wheels that fought him every step of the way. Which was fine; it was what she wanted him to use. A slave didn't complain about what it was given.
He'd probably be done with the yard if he'd been allowed to use the good mower…
Shawn sighed and threw his weight into the mower, watching the circular blade reluctantly chew up the grass as his muscles burned. At least Mrs. Guster was helping him get stronger, and she'd let him wear his shoes while working outside. She was just helping him remember his place when he was in slave-mode.
As if she'd heard his thoughts, Mrs. Guster came out of the house with her hair tied back and a pair of pruning shears in her hands. She eyed up the work Shawn had already done and gave a brisk nod before turning her attention to the rose bushes. The mower seemed to run smoother for the rest of the grass strip at the confirmation he was doing good.
Shawn panted as he reached the end of the yard and muscled the mower around. Now that Mrs. Guster was with him, he could mow next to Mr. Fuller's yard. The old man probably wouldn't call the police on him, but one of his owners being around just made everything safer.
Mrs. Guster wasn't safe like Gus, but she wasn't unsafe like Mr. Fuller. Shawn's arms trembled by the time he reached the fence dividing the two yards, and he stopped for a second to catch his breath. The job was almost done, he could do it.
The collar beeped, reminding him he had to do it. Shawn got back to work, lining up the mower with the fence and forcing it forward. His heart felt like it was trying to jump out of his chest by the time he finished the last bit of grass in that section, and he stopped again just to breathe.
He didn't have much to go now, just the last little bit that he'd abandoned to go over to the fence. Mrs. Guster looked up, her face souring when she saw he'd stopped.
If he hadn't been so busy gasping for breath, he would have let out a whine at the look. Mr. Guster would have let him have a break… But Mrs. Guster had been extra stressed the last few days since they'd been called about the insurance pay out. It was understandable; she'd be in hot water now if anyone found out she'd burned the boat instead of it being an 'act of god'. But that didn't make it any easier being the focus of her irritation.
Shawn gritted his teeth and shoved the mower forward again, even though his whole body begged for a break. It didn't matter; he had to do what he was told.
The work was a ridiculous thing to complain about, really. He'd been treated way worse before, and he'd be treated way worse again if he made her mad enough to sell him. And besides, she wasn't even breaking any of Gus' rules. Since the day of the fight, she hadn't even made him skip lunch. Though, since then, lunches on days that Gus wasn't in the house had only been plain oatmeal. Shawn knew better than to complain. It wasn't that long ago that oatmeal would have been seen as mana from heaven.
Tremors ran under his skin and his chest burned as he looked down the last strip of grass. He was almost done. A final burst of energy lent him the strength to push through his exhaustion, and he collapsed to his knees once it was all done. He could finally rest.
He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head as he panted for breath. He didn't have to be standing for the collar to recognize the pose. Blood pounded in his ears, and sweat poured down his back. Shawn closed his eyes, focusing only on his breathing and on calming his heart. With luck, Mrs. Guster would think it was good for him to be on his knees for a while…
"Hey, you!"
Shawn tensed at the angry guttural voice of Mr. Fuller. He wasn't safe. He couldn't move and he wasn't safe.
"You, lady! I'm talkin' to you!"
Shawn glanced up in surprise without moving from his position. He wasn't the one Mr. Fuller was yelling at this time. He couldn't relax, though; Mrs. Guster was already angry and taking it out on him. Mr. Fuller was going to make it worse…
Mrs. Guster looked just as tense as he felt as she stood up from her flower bed and walked over to the fence. Shawn's heart slowly settled as his panting spaced out into deep calming breaths. Nothing too bad could happen, and he was being given more time to rest. It would be fine.
Though, for Mrs. Guster it seemed less fine. As Shawn watched, Mr. Fuller showed her something in a manilla file, and she jerked back, like she'd been slapped. The old man grinned, clearly pleased with the reaction, before saying something else. For a second, it looked like Mrs. Guster was going to throw a punch, but another few words from Mr. Fuller had her deflating in defeat. The conversation only lasted a few seconds longer before he turned and walked back to his house with as much swagger as he could while limping with his cane.
Mrs. Guster stayed frozen for another few minutes, and Shawn tried to distract himself from his vulnerable position. What had Mr. Fuller told her? He'd had a picture of some kind, but what would have caused that sort of reaction? She seemed more affected than Shawn would have expected if it was something saying the fence was in the wrong spot…
Mrs. Guster finally moved, turning jerkily and walking towards Shawn. He snapped his eyes to the ground and waited, his fingers twitching to release some of his nervous energy. How far would she push the rules if she was really angry? Gus wouldn't be home for a few more hours…
"Get up, put away the tools, get yourself clean, then wait in Burton's room until I need you again," she snapped out, her voice shaking.
Shawn didn't dare look up at her as he ducked his head in acknowledgement and stood up. By the time he was fully on his feet, the door to the house had already slammed closed. At least she hadn't taken it out on him, but what had her so freaked out?
He studied Mr. Fuller's house as he picked up the shears that Mrs. Guster had dropped in the grass. It was a tall house, overgrown with vines, and with good visibility from the top floor. If he'd wanted to, he could probably see the whole neighborhood from up there.
And probably the docks where the Gusters kept their boat.
Mrs. Guster's reaction suddenly made sense with the last piece of evidence. Mr. Fuller had dirt on her. And he'd come to collect.
Shawn still hadn't decided what to do with his information. He'd thought about it all through his shower and had only decided that he couldn't use the information like he had the gambling. He'd learned his lesson on that. There were worse things in the world than plain oatmeal and tough chores.
His legs still felt too shaky to stand at attention once he finished following Mrs. Guster's orders, so he knelt in his corner instead. The lack of a TV or any other distraction was barely noticeable as he continued to think. Something this big was bound to make waves, and change was always a worrying time for a slave. If Mr. Fuller really had pictures of Mrs. Guster with the fire, what would he ask for? He wanted the fence moved, but hush money was more valuable than a two-foot strip of grass.
Would Mrs. Guster pay? Once she proved she'd give him money, he'd keep demanding it. And she wouldn't want anyone else to know, so she'd have to hide the payouts. Most likely by gambling more. And desperate people were the worst at walking away from a big score…
She could lose everything and bring her family down with her. Bring Gus down with her.
Shawn had to do something.
His dad had given him a lesson on blackmail, he just had to figure out how to apply it to this situation. Where he couldn't move without being allowed to, and he couldn't snoop without risking everything.
Gus might be willing to help. He didn't say no to Shawn very often. Maybe he'd be open to doing something that was totally illegal without even a smidge of proof of the blackmail existing.
Shawn sighed and dismissed the idea. He was doing this to help Gus, to protect him. Which meant not including him on something that was definitely dangerous.
He could sneak out of the room after Gus fell asleep. Mr. Fuller's house was close enough that he wouldn't have to take the remote with, and Gus never restrained him. He'd just have to be really careful to not wake him up; Gus was a surprisingly light sleeper at times.
His decision made, Shawn closed his eyes to do recon. It would help if he knew exactly where to go to find those pictures… He thought back to every time he'd seen the house, looking for any clues. It wasn't until he remembered the day that Mr. Fuller had yelled at him that he saw something: light glinting off of metal from a downstairs window. Mr. Fuller wasn't alone in the house. There was a slave, too.
That could complicate things.
Shawn continued to think and plan until the sound of the garage door broke through his concentration. Gus was home. Which meant he'd been waiting for hours without even realizing it. Time flew when he was planning a heist.
Though that did leave him with a new problem. He needed things to go smooth for the rest of the day so everyone stayed predictable. And, unfortunately, Mrs. Guster had left him in Gus' room for most of the afternoon. He'd have to come up with an explanation to keep Gus from being angry.
Gus took longer than expected to come upstairs, and Shawn's confidence in his planned half-truth wavered when Gus walked through the door. His master stalked to his desk without looking around and slung his backpack to the ground. He didn't seem to mind the loud clunk of it hitting his desk as he plopped into his chair and whined in a nasally voice, "Oh, Burton, we're just looking out for you. We just think you can't handle anything. We think you're still a child and you can't possibly know what's good for you…"
Conflicting instincts warred inside Shawn, one telling him to stay invisible around an angry master and the other telling him he needed to make his master happy again. He let a third small voice make the decision as it reminded him that he needed to defuse things before Gus got even angrier at his mother. He cleared his suddenly dry throat and said, "Hi, Gus."
At least he could prove he wasn't put away. He was just forgotten.
Gus flinched and quickly spun his chair around. "Shawn! Sorry, I didn't see you…"
Gus' face darkened as his eyes landed on him, and Shawn rushed to fill in the silence. "I was ordered to get clean, I think she just got distracted with baking."
"Got distracted…" Gus shook his head in disgust. "That woman. I rescind all orders."
Shawn let out a small sigh of relief as he unclasped his hands and rolled his shoulders. He might not have noticed the time passing by, but his body had. He stood up smoothly, ignoring the tight stretch of his muscles and the tingling in his feet. Masters didn't care what a slave felt; Gus didn't need to worry about it.
"Sorry again, about that…" Gus waved between him and the door. "Mom's in a mood."
Shawn looked him over, easily seeing the anger just barely hidden under the surface. He should try to calm things down, make sure that things went smoothly for the rest of the night. Instead, he found himself asking, "Want to talk about it?"
Gus looked conflicted for a minute before shrugging with a sigh. "Mom just ambushed me and reminded me -again- that I didn't have to live on campus. It'd be cheaper at home, I could drive back and forth, it'd be safer."
The last word was snarled in a way that had Shawn tensing for a hit.
"She just… They both refuse to admit that I'm an adult now and am actually able to make my own decisions. I don't need to be protected from the whole damn world!" Gus slumped in his chair, exhaustion starting to overwrite the anger. Exhaustion from a fight that had been going longer than Shawn had been in the house.
And Shawn was just adding to it, wasn't he? Thinking Gus needed to be protected and taking away his choice. He knew what it was like to not have choices; Gus deserved better than that.
He couldn't overthink, he knew the right thing to do, he just had to act. His voice still shook as he said, "I know why she's mad."
"Shit, did you guys fight again?" Gus asked in concern.
"No, we didn't. Scouts honor." Shawn held up two of his fingers in the scout salute.
"You were a scout?"
"An… attempt was made." Which really wasn't the conversation they needed to be having. What was the best way to explain things? "The night you and your mom fought, you asked me if I could explain why she started acting weird."
Gus turned his chair to face Shawn squarely. "Yeah?"
Shawn clasped his hands behind him, thankful he was still standing. It was the point of no return. "She was freaked out because… she's the reason the boat caught on fire."
Gus' jaw dropped. "Wait, really?"
A wave of relief rushed through Shawn at the words; his master believed him. "Yes, sir. Her clothes smelled like smoke, there was a puddle under the engine-"
"She's been really weird about the insurance," Gus continued the thought, sitting up straight in interest. "And that totally explains that weird conversation a few days ago when she wanted to tell Dad something and then started going on and on about baseball. She doesn't even watch baseball!"
Gus was right, that conversation had been particularly weird. It really had looked like she was about to come clean before abruptly changing the subject. Insurance had called the next day.
"Dude!" Gus said as a smile stretched across his face. "We could use this! She'd be in big trouble if anyone ever found out; we can make her treat you better!"
It was Shawn's turn for his jaw to drop. Gus' first thought had been blackmail. About something that could send his mother to jail. And he wanted to use it to help Shawn. "You really aren't the good kid they think you are…"
Gus' expression froze in shock before he covered it with a smug smirk. "At least someone noticed."
Shawn huffed in amusement; he was never going to fully understand his master. He was starting to be ok with that. "Well, you're not the first to think of the leverage… Mr. Fuller showed her some pictures today and she wigged out. I think he can see the docks from his windows."
"Oh. Damn." Gus' face fell as he thought, clearly running through the consequences of the situation. "She'll have to pay him until he dies. Which will either be tomorrow or in a century… Assuming he wants money."
It was time; the real point of no return. Shawn had decided to be his whole self around Gus, and that's what he needed to do. His heart pounded, and he clenched his hands together as he put his trust in Gus. "I have a plan."
Gus' eyes sharpened and bore into Shawn's as they stared each other down. Energy seemed to jump between them before Gus asked, "You're not going to kill him, right?"
"What?!" Shawn continued to stare, the energy between them turning baffled. That hadn't been in his dad's lesson. "Of course I'm not going to kill him."
"Ok, good." Gus sat back casually, like they were discussing something normal and not murder and theft. "So, what's your plan?"
The warm feeling burst through Shawn's chest at Gus' acceptance, rushing through the rest of his body with a jolt of energy. He didn't try to hide his reckless grin as he answered, "That depends. How good are you with those lockpicks?"
The lock turned smoothly, and Gus opened Mr. Fuller's back door. "You know this is a terrible idea, right?"
"Probably," Shawn agreed, scanning the yard again to make sure they were still alone. "You could always order me to not do it."
"Yeah, I guess I could." Gus slid his picks in his pocket and stood up. "It'll probably take him a minute to answer the front door, remember that he's old and slow."
Shawn smirked at the phrasing, his blood singing in excitement. He'd been waiting for days, unable to think of anything else. Now Gus' parents were finally out of the house, so they could carry out their plan.
Gus gave him a concerned look. "Are you sure you're going to be ok in there?"
Shawn tried to quiet his rushing thoughts so he could give an honest answer. It was a valid concern; Gus wouldn't be able to calm him down if he freaked out inside. "Get in, find the stuff, get out. What could go wrong?"
"Did you really have to ask that?" Gus complained. He pointed at Shawn and spoke firmly. "I order you to find the pictures. And I order you to get out without being caught. If you have to pick, get out without the pictures. Understood?"
Something Shawn hadn't even noticed relaxed at the orders. He couldn't freak out now; he had to do as he was told. "Understood."
Gus' eyes flicked down to Shawn's collar. "It blinked red, for the record. But now it's my fault if you get caught. Good luck."
"You too."
Gus crept away towards the front door and Shawn watched him fondly. He'd obviously been trying to protect Shawn in case things went south, but for all of the master things Gus was getting better at, there was still a lot that he didn't know. With any luck, he wouldn't have to learn.
Shawn let out a long breath and focused, tapping the small lumps in his pocket as he listened as hard as he could. Mr. Fuller was slow, but Gus would only be able to distract him for a short amount of time. He couldn't waste any of it.
He couldn't help but huff a soundless laugh. A slave didn't waste what it was given.
Gus' voice called out from the front of the house. "Mr. Fuller? Hello, Mr. Fuller? I need to talk to you!"
Shawn started counting down from 60, giving the old man a minute to move towards the front of the house. It was Go Time.
He eased the door open, and the insides of the house loomed, suddenly making the plan feel terrifyingly real. His feet froze, refusing to move. He was screwed beyond the definition of screwed if he was caught. Taken away, locked up, do not pass go, never see the light of day again, screwed. What had he been thinking?
This had been his choice, his plan. Gus was counting on him.
Shawn took a step in and quietly closed the door, stopping to let his eyes adjust to being out of the sun. Dread clawed at him; this wasn't what a slave did. Adrenaline rushed to cover it up; he was actually doing this.
A slave did as it was told, and Gus had told him to get the photos.
Another step, another pair of rushing thoughts. It was good that he'd decided to leave his shoes behind, bare feet were much quieter. He should just turn around; Gus would understand. He'd probably even be relieved.
This had been Shawn's choice. He'd made a choice. He wasn't backing out now.
There was a quiet sound of pouring water ahead, barely audible under the louder sounds of Shawn's heartbeat and Gus' exclamation from the other side of the house. "Do you have any idea how much those balls go for on ebay anymore? I can't just replace it!"
Shawn listened to his master's voice and took several more silent steps to the end of the small entryway. He peeked around the corner, seeing Mr. Fuller's slave hard at work at the sink. The only thing she was wearing was a pair of tight-fitting shorts, her back was dark with bruised lines, and her ribs were easy to see. The sight bolstered Shawn's resolve; Mr. Fuller didn't deserve the Gusters' money.
The best thing to do would be to sneak by, so the slave could honestly say she didn't see anything. Though, he knew from personal experience that probably wouldn't help her once her master was angry. The lumps in his pockets grew heavier, insisting he make a different choice as he crouched and crept across the room.
He had to stay on task; he couldn't help her. He had his own orders to follow…
It was almost a relief when his foot found a creaky floorboard and the slave looked up at the sound. Their eyes met, and he quickly held his hand up in a sign. 'Peace. Don't fear.'
Her eyes flicked around quickly, dropping to his collar, his hand, and his bare feet. Mr. Fuller's voice growled from the front of the house, his words indistinct. Gus' voice was clear as he asked loudly back, "And what about my sister's dolly?!"
Shawn held up his other hand in the universal sign for 'I'm not a threat' as he said quietly, "My master ordered me to find some photos. I'm not here to hurt anyone."
The slave's head reared back in surprise as her eyes flicked down to his collar again. Her hands stayed busy in the sink.
"Yeah, I know. My master lets me talk." Something he wouldn't be allowed to do again if he was caught… Shawn swallowed down the sharp jolt of fear as he took a step forward. "Are you allowed to talk?"
Did questions work if they came from a slave? The slave shook her head, making the question moot.
Shawn reached into his pocket. "Are you allowed to eat?"
She watched his hand warily as she gave a small nod.
Shawn brought his hand back out and showed her the protein bar he was holding. "When he asks, all you have to remember is that you were doing what you were supposed to." He opened the wrapper and held the food out. "You were cleaning and being quiet, just like he ordered."
The slave looked between his face and hand several times before slowly reaching out to take the food. Shawn nodded at the silent agreement; she wouldn't try to alert Mr. Fuller that he was there.
She didn't waste any time and ate half of the bar in one bite as her other hand rinsed several spoons. As she chewed, Shawn brought out two more bars and set them on the counter. "I'm sorry if you get punished because of me."
Her eyes stayed locked on him as she nodded and took another bite. He turned around and headed towards the doorway leading into the rest of the house. He couldn't waste any more time.
A quiet 'tsk' stopped him, and he looked back in surprise.
The other protein bars were already out of sight, and both of the slave's hands were out of the dish water. She glanced at the door before making four signs in quick succession. Her hands formed a basic outline of a house, then one moved to point to the top. The other hand turned palm-down and she tapped the top with two fingers before gesturing below it.
Shawn nodded, pressing his palms together as he whispered, "Thank you."
He didn't know what all of the signs meant, but it did at least confirm that he needed to check upstairs. The slave gave him a ghost of a smile at the improvised sign and pressed one of her hands over her heart, giving a slight bow as she mouthed the words back. 'Thank you.'
Shawn mimicked the correct sign and sent her one more before leaving the kitchen. 'May you stay safe.'
He had his orders, and he had his plan. It was time that Mr. Fuller learned he wasn't the only one who played outside the rules.
Fun Fact A/N: A lot of slave signs (if they're described) are modified signs from American Sign Language (ASL). Some are my own invention though, like "Thank you" is just a flat hand moving out from your chin in ASL versus the slave-sign hand over the heart (which is much more like ASL's "Please").