Shawn worked his way through the house, checking every doorway he passed for stairs leading up. His interaction with the slave hadn't been that long, but it had still taken valuable time. Mr. Fuller seemed like someone who liked to argue back, but he also seemed like someone who wouldn't mind slamming the door in someone's face.
The closer he got to the front of the house, the easier it was to hear Mr. Fuller and Gus' conversation.
"For the last time, she was a little brat, but she never left her toys in my yard."
"You know what, you are absolutely right. She was a brat. I just remembered that she blamed me for that lost doll!"
Shawn peeked through the next door before quickly pulling back and pressing himself to the wall. The whole front half of the house was a large room acting triple duty of entrance foyer, living room, and stairway. Which, naturally, meant he was going to have to sneak through the same room that Mr. Fuller was currently standing in. Shawn grimaced at the terrible layout before glancing through again, checking that Mr. Fuller's back was turned towards him.
Gus' eyes flicked up to meet his as he continued his story. "Then when I went up to her room to ask what that was for, she had the audacity to ask me" –he pitched his voice higher– "'What took you so long?'"
Shawn ducked his head in a silent apology before creeping towards the stairs, never looking away from Mr. Fuller's back.
"It serves you both right! Children are little shits anymore; they should be seen, not heard. Back in my day…"
Shawn let out a relieved breath as he reached the stairs and climbed up. Any small noises he made were covered up by cuss-laden poetics about the past. His master was a saint. Gus laughed loudly as Shawn reached the second floor and he couldn't help but smirk. His master also sounded exactly like his father when he was in salesman-mode.
The stairs opened onto a wide hallway with doors going off in all directions. Shawn oriented himself as he looked around; which room would be able to see the docks? One of the doorways seemed to almost glow as it beckoned him in closer, and he stepped forward with sure feet. The residual dread clinging to him fell away as he moved, and fresh energy surged in behind it. He was making the decisions, he was breaking the rules, he was free.
The door opened soundlessly, and he grinned in triumph as he saw a rocking chair and telescope facing a curved bay of windows. This had to be the spot. He closed the door carefully behind him before moving to investigate the rest of the room. Despite obvious attempts at tidying up, the room was a chaotic clutter of stuff. The closet was stuffed with junk, the elaborate table along the wall was piled full of trinkets and papers, and a shelf in the corner was overflowing with books. There was an overwhelming amount of places to hide something.
Shawn chewed his lip as he thought, not moving as his eyes scanned the room. The slave had clearly been in here, judging by the lack of dust and the well swept wooden floor; she had to know where the photos were kept. He remembered the conversation and tried to guess what her other signs meant. Her fingers tapping her hand still meant nothing, but the waving underneath could be helpful. The photos were hidden under something. Something distinct enough to have its own sign…
He stepped further into the room, eyeing up the chair that looked disturbingly similar to the one Norman had used in Psycho. He shuddered at the memory of the nightmares that movie had given him as he took another step. And something creaked loudly.
Shawn froze, listening to make sure no one else had heard the sound. Gus' voice filtered through the walls, and even without being able to hear the exact words, it helped him relax. He wasn't alone. He slowly lifted his foot before setting it down again, feeling how the floor buckled as it creaked again. Jackpot.
Mr. Fuller's voice grew louder as Shawn knelt on the floor, feeling around the edges of the wide plank he'd been standing on. His fingers found an edge and he dug in, leveraging the piece of wood up and revealing the hidden cache beneath.
The hidey-hole was just as stuffed as everything else in the room, and Shawn pulled out a pair of binoculars and a large camera before finding what he'd been looking for. He reached in to grab the large manilla envelope and peeked inside. Right on top was a picture of Mrs. Guster standing in front of a burning boat with her hand over her mouth.
"...done with you wasting my time!"
Shawn jumped at Mr. Fuller's loud voice and quickly put everything back in its place before staring at the folder. Did he take Mrs. Guster's photos or all of them? It would take Mr. Fuller longer to realize something was missing if he only took the ones he needed, but then Mr. Fuller would still have money coming in from everyone else he was blackmailing. The female slave's hungry eyes stared at Shawn through his memory, and he clenched his jaw as he made his decision. If he was going to hit Mr. Fuller where it hurt, then he was going to make it hurt as much as possible.
"Get the fuck out! Before I call the cops on you!"
"Wait, wait, wait! One more thing!" Gus' voice yelled out. "Have you heard about our lord and savior-"
The door slammed closed, the sound shooting through Shawn's chest like a bullet. He froze as the room darkened and pressed in on him, shoving him down and locking him in his place. Mr. Fuller moved, his cane booming just outside the door, sending memories of pain across Shawn's back and legs. He was alone, he was trapped, he was in danger…
He had to survive.
"I order you to get out without being seen."
Gus' voice shone like a beacon in a storm, grounding Shawn from his imminent panic. What would Gus do?
Shawn took in a deep breath and held it before letting it out. The pressure on him lessened, no longer driving his knees into the floor. He was alone, but Gus was close. He still had orders; he still had a plan.
He took another breath and let it out. The room brightened as the sun shined through the windows. Mr. Fuller was slow; he wasn't right outside the door. There was still time. Focus.
In, hold, out. The walls shifted back from where they'd been looming over him. He was kneeling on the ground, right next to incriminating evidence. He couldn't stay there, it wasn't safe.
He took another breath and looked around. There was more than one way to leave a room.
Memories of overgrown vines on the outside of the house offered Shawn the solution, and he took one more breath before reminding himself of his master's orders. He had to move. He reached down to pick up the folder and carefully tucked it into the back of his pants as he forced himself to stand. He was going to follow the full order: get the pictures and get out.
He had a plan; he knew what to do. He glanced around one last time; he was still alone. He could move. He still struggled to take the first step before creeping to the windows and easing the largest one open. The sunlight called to him, and he ducked through, escaping the trap closing in behind him. Heat immediately hit his feet, and he hissed as he closed the window. Leaving his shoes in Gus' room didn't seem like a good idea anymore.
Vines stretched out across the siding, showing him which way to go, and the world grew brighter with every step he took away from the room. He'd gotten out, all by himself. He'd beaten his fear. His plan had worked.
The sun warmed his shoulders, the shingles burned under his feet, and a laugh bubbled just under the surface as he reached the back corner of the house and looked down. The ground looked further away than he'd expected, but it didn't matter; nothing could touch him right now.
He grabbed the vines and tugged on them, making sure they'd hold. Don't think; just act. He swung his leg over and reached his next obstacle.
"No, no, nonononono, Shawn, don't you dare!"
Shawn froze at his master's hissed voice, one foot finding purchase in the vines while the other seared on the roof. Was that an order the collar could enforce?
"That's not going to hold, you're going to break a leg, are you insane?!"
"Probably," Shawn answered back without thinking. "Do you have a better idea?"
What was Gus scared of? Couldn't he see they'd won?
"... Damnit. Do not die. Or break bones. Or die."
"Yes, sir," Shawn said with a smirk as he lifted his foot from the roof and hung from the vines. His master had been wrong; they held. He lowered himself down, ignoring the white heat flaring across his sole as his burnt foot took his weight. That was definitely going to blister… He made it halfway down before the inevitable happened. A snap sounded out above him, and his stomach shot to his throat as he fell away from the house.
His master had been right after all.
He had just enough time to take in the sunny blue skies of California before the ground smacked into his back like an oncoming car, knocking his breath away with a painful jolt.
"Shit! Shawn!"
Shawn wheezed for breath as a numb tingling bloomed into a deep throbbing ache across his shoulders and back. At least he didn't feel the telltale sharp lightning of broken bones…
"Oh my god, I can't believe you… Please tell me you're not paralyzed."
Shawn wiggled his fingers and toes before following his master's order. "I'm not paralyzed."
"Oh, thank you, Jesus. Can you stand? Is anything broken? Can I help?"
It suddenly occurred to Shawn that he was hearing his master, but not seeing him. He cracked open his eyelids and looked up into a very concerned face. Which was strange. What was there to be concerned about? He'd gotten the photos… His collar beeped, reminding him of the question. "I'm ok."
He'd been hurt worse plenty of times; Gus didn't need to worry. Shawn rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up to standing. His foot seared and his very bones groaned as he straightened, but he ignored the pains. There was something more important that he needed to do.
He reached behind him and brought out the envelope, handing it over with a grin. "I got the goods."
Gus stared before taking the envelope and peeking in. "Dude, I can't believe your plan worked…"
His plan. His plan. Shawn felt his grin grow as he looked up to the spot he'd fallen from. "I told you nothing would go wrong."
An answering grin stretched across Gus' face, even as he argued, "No, you said 'What could possibly go wrong?' which is clearly the opposite."
"Yeah, and nothing went wrong."
"You fell off of a roof…"
"And am perfectly fine." Shawn took a step forward, ignoring the urge to limp with the ease of practice. "See?"
The worry line between Gus' eyebrows smoothed away at the demonstration, and his eyes sparkled as he looked back at the house. "I can't believe we just did that."
"I can't believe you used the Mormon line," Shawn said, the adrenaline rush making it easy to let his small voice free.
"You hadn't come downstairs yet. I panicked!"
Shawn remembered his own panic and glanced around. "You know, we're still in his yard…"
"And he could look out the window any time now," Gus realized. "We should probably go."
"Sounds like a good idea."
"Celebration snacks in my room, let's go."
Shawn's body hurt, but his soul was light as they crept back out of Mr. Fuller's yard. They'd done it. They'd won.
Gus walked into his room and tossed the envelope on his desk. It seemed like such a small thing for all of the trouble it had caused. "So, what do you think for snacks? I've got combos and red vines, or we can go and get something."
"That all sounds good," Shawn predictably answered behind him. Gus looked back, taking in his large smile and the bounce in his step. He looked insanely happy for someone who'd just fallen off of a house.
And broken the law. Though, really, it was Gus who'd broken the law. He'd ordered Shawn to do it, after all. Gus pulled out the snacks and tossed them on his desk as the excitement from the successful heist shifted into something darker.
He'd done something illegal. And it had almost been fun until the door had slammed in his face and he'd realized the danger he'd put Shawn in.
"Are you ok?" Shawn asked in concern. "You look like you're about to be sick…"
He felt like he was about to be sick. "Of course I'm ok, I didn't fall off of a roof. Are you sure you're ok?"
"Still walking," Shawn answered cheerfully.
Which really didn't answer the question. Gus was forcibly reminded of their first night when Shawn had hidden the signs of his beating. "Ok, so it's not that I don't trust you… But when it comes to injuries, I don't trust your judgment. Can I see your back and make sure you didn't actually hurt yourself?"
"I'm not bleeding, and nothing's broken," Shawn argued. Which was better than blind obedience, but still not helpful.
"Then you won't mind me checking it."
They waited each other out for several seconds before Shawn's smile dimmed and he started unbuttoning his polo shirt. "You want me on the bed?"
"Only if you'd be more comfortable there." Gus' guilt grew with his nausea as Shawn pulled his shirt off and turned around. The last time they'd been in this position, it had been a past owner who'd hurt Shawn. This time, it was his current owner's fault.
At least Shawn hadn't been lying about not bleeding. But his shoulders were already a blotchy gray and the surrounding skin was a solid red. And bruises always took a while to show up; this was the best it was going to look for a while. Gus had done that.
Gus forced himself to not look away from the consequences of his actions. "I'm so sorry."
Shawn shrugged, the bruise stretching at the movement. "Why? You didn't do it."
"It was my order."
"It was my plan." Shawn looked over his shoulder. "It's just bruises, it's fine. Can I put my shirt back on?"
"Yeah." There wasn't anything to fix. He couldn't bandage bruises away. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"All over kind of hurts, I did fall off of a roof." Shawn pulled his shirt on and sat gingerly on the bed.
"I can get you medicine, or an ice pack." Because they totally had an ice pack that would cover an entire back. And even if they did, it wouldn't take away the fact that Gus had been happy when he'd made Shawn break the law and get hurt. "I never should have let you go in there. It was so stupid."
Shawn's smile faded as he looked down at his hands. He studied them for a few seconds before snapping his eyes back up to stare into Gus' soul. "Are you freaking out because I got hurt, or because you broke the rules?"
"I am not freaking out!" He was totally freaking out. "Am I not supposed to be worried that you could have died?"
"I didn't die, and you're still freaking out." Shawn's hesitation was less noticeable this time. "You don't like that you liked it. Or, at least, that you didn't not like it."
"That was terrible grammar," Gus snapped back, refusing to think about the stab of guilt that had absolutely nothing to do with Shawn's bruises. He'd broken the law because it had been the right thing to do. And because he couldn't tell Shawn no, but mostly because it was the right thing to do.
It hadn't been because he'd wanted to break the rules.
Shawn tensed at the sharp tone but didn't look away. Gus groaned; he really sucked at being a master today. "Sorry, I'm not mad at you." They needed a distraction. Gus picked up the folder and changed the subject. "So what do we do with these, anyway?"
"I… don't know?" Shawn didn't look like the slave-with-a-plan anymore. "What do you think?"
Really, they had two problems: what to do with his mother's photos, and what to do with all of the other ones. And they were totally the only problems in the room. Gus took one of the pictures of the burning boat out and stared at it, feeling unsettled by the unrestrained emotions on his mother's face. They could still use it against her.
But he hadn't been the one to take the risk; it wasn't his decision to make. He couldn't take back his bad decisions, but he could do better now. Gus held the photo out to Shawn. "We can still make her treat you better. I know you've been extra careful since she threatened you."
Shawn took the photo and looked at it as his finger ran along its edge. "She… treats me like she's supposed to."
"Of course you'd say that." Gus sat in his chair with a huff. "I guess we could just give it to her then. Though, she'll be asking questions then that we don't really want to answer…"
"I might have an idea…" Shawn shrugged and held the photo back out to Gus.
Gus shook his head and kept his hands on his lap. "Keep it. As long as your idea doesn't involve falling off of more roofs, then it's better than anything I've got."
A small smirk crossed Shawn's face and he brought the photo back to his lap. Gus contemplated the envelope and their second problem. "I guess I can try to figure out who some of these belong to. Even if we don't figure out where all of them go, word might get around that he doesn't have them anymore."
Shawn nodded and scooted over on the bed, leaving a larger area between them. "I can help."
"Oh, thank god." There was no way in hell Gus would be able to place most of them, but with Shawn's super-sense they might have a chance. Gus took the photos out and started spreading them out on the bed before stopping himself. He was forgetting the most important thing.
He grabbed the snacks from his desk and placed them between him and Shawn before dropping the rest of the photos on the bed. "Snack first. Then we can get to work."
Shawn grinned and grabbed a bag of red vines. "Yes, sir."
Shawn tapped the photos against his hand before letting out a breath and laying them on the kitchen table. In a way, this felt just as dangerous as sneaking into Mr. Fuller's house. Mrs. Guster still had the ability to sell him, after all.
But it was the safest option they'd been able to come up with. Shawn walked back to the sink, no longer hiding his limp now that Gus was out of the room. The burn wasn't too bad, Gus didn't need to worry about it.
The door from the garage opened, and Shawn made himself busy with the dishes. It had been Gus' idea to cook so Shawn would have something to do, though it has clearly pained him to not help clean up afterwards. He was the strangest master…
Someone entered the room, and Shawn glanced back, checking to make sure it was Mrs. Guster. Gus had said he'd play distraction again and keep his father out of the house for a few minutes. Apparently it was working.
Shawn focused back on his hands as his hurt foot throbbed. How long before she saw the pictures? What would she say? Gus was just outside, but Shawn was still alone…
A gasp sounded out behind him, followed by the clunk of a purse being dropped onto a table. Shawn swallowed thickly as he cleaned a spoon for the second time. There was no turning back now.
"How… What… What is the meaning of this?"
"I found it, ma'am," Shawn said his practiced line. "It wasn't my place to decide whether to throw it away or not."
In retrospect, maybe having her find it by herself would have been better. But they'd both agreed that could have seemed like a silent threat.
"You… found it."
"Yes, ma'am." It would have been nice to be able to turn around and see her expression, but he couldn't seem interested. He kept his eyes on the sink.
Mrs. Guster was silent for a long minute before asking, "Did anyone see you find it?"
"No, ma'am." She had to know where he'd gotten it... Would she ask?
"... Did you tell anyone about it?"
"That's not my place, ma'am," Shawn answered carefully. "I'm here to serve the family."
She sighed in relief, and the tension in his shoulders loosened. She wasn't going to ask.
"Good. Keep it that way."
"Yes, ma'am." He could just pretend that she'd ordered him to keep serving the family. Which was easy to follow when Gus was part of that family.
The purse rustled and snapped closed before Mrs. Guster spoke again, her voice quiet. "It was an accident. It just all got out of hand…"
Shawn stayed quiet. It wasn't a slave's place to respond to something like that.
Before she could say anything else, the door opened again and Mr. Guster's voice carried into the kitchen. "Whoo, whatever's in the oven smells delicious. What is that… garlic and peppers…"
"Coriander, paprika, and chili powder too," Mrs. Guster added in a cheerful voice.
"It's just a Mexican casserole," Gus said as he came up behind Shawn. "Nothing fancy."
"I'm sure it'll be lovely."
Shawn experimentally took a sniff as he finished cleaning the spoon again and finally put it in the drying rack. He could barely smell anything. He'd never met a family of super-sniffers like the Gusters before.
Gus checked the oven and caught Shawn's eye as he turned back around. Shawn gave him a small nod before getting back to work.
Gus gave him an extra-large serving of the casserole that night, and it was delicious. The ache in Shawn's body grew as he ate on his knees, though the position did let him rest his blistering foot. The conversation around the table was stilted, like it had been for the last few weeks, but the pauses weren't quite as long and the politeness wasn't quite as forced. Mrs. Guster stood up at the same time he did, and he froze, waiting to see what she'd do.
Her feet walked straight for the sink, and he heard the clink of a plate being set down. He glanced over at the table in surprise, seeing that her place setting was empty. She always left her dishes for him –or Gus– to pick up.
"I think I'm just going to watch some TV in our room," Mrs. Guster announced to the room. "Today was an awfully busy day."
"I'll see you up there in a bit," Mr. Guster answered as he served himself a second helping of food.
Shawn felt the weight of Mrs. Guster's gaze before she turned and left the kitchen. He focused on the message instead of his growing aches and pains as he brought his plate to the sink. Both plates needed rinsed, and both plates made the same sound when he put them in the dishwasher, but Mrs. Guster's plate had an almost sacred quality that separated it from his.
It wasn't as strong as a promise, and it wasn't as dangerous as hope. But it was still a message that he could feel rather than know; a quiet olive branch that couldn't be said out loud. Shawn gave the plate a fond smile before closing the dishwasher and continuing his after-dinner chores.
"She really didn't say anything?" Gus asked for the fifth time that night.
"I have literally told you every word she said," Shawn answered as he put his clothes in the laundry bin.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad she didn't yell. I just thought she'd say something."
Shawn shrugged, his very bones feeling bruised. "Maybe she'll say something tomorrow."
"Or maybe she'll wait until I'm not around…" Gus looked ready to say something else before stopping himself. Instead, he grabbed a small bottle from his desk and held it out. "I know you said you were fine, and you don't need medicine, just… Please? For tonight?"
An irrational rush of annoyance caught Shawn off guard as he took the bottle of painkillers. He pushed the feeling down. He had a master who cared that he was hurt and wanted to help; that was a good thing. His master didn't even order him to take the medicine, even though they both knew he could. That was also good.
His foot twinged at him in reproach and he poured out a few pills and swallowed them dry. He was clearly too tired to think clearly. A slave was grateful for what it was given. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Gus put the bottle back on his desk before sitting on his bed. His eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to look for something to say, and Shawn looked around for ideas of his own. They'd broken the law together, but talking about it seemed too awkward now.
Which meant it could wait for another day. Potentially never.
"Do you need anything else, or can I go to bed?" Shawn asked.
Gus visibly relaxed before grabbing the thick book next to his bed. "I'm good; I'm just going to read a bit. Can you get the light while you're over there?"
Shawn turned the overhead light off and climbed into his sleeping bag in their usual routine. Gus read most nights; he'd already finished five of those books since he'd bought Shawn.
"Good night, Gus."
"Good night, Shawn."
Shawn looked around the partially lit room, the light from Gus' reading lamp making everything look soft and peaceful. His eyes landed on the pineapple glowing on the wall and he relaxed as his eyelids closed. He fell asleep to the comforting sounds of quietly turning pages.
That night, he dreamed of freedom.