AKA Five times Shawn didn't say no, and one time he did

A/N: For my non-American readers: Oftentimes there's different buildings/schools between gradeschool/junior high and highschool, and if you're in a private school there's usually multiple options for where you can go for highschool.

(5 years ago)

Shawn knelt next to the man's chair, his head swimming. His stomach ached so hard that puking would be a relief, if he had anything to puke up. He had perfect memory, but the feeling of not being hungry was so distant it felt like a dream.

"Open."

Shawn opened his mouth obediently, and a plastic opening was pressed to his lips. The back of his throat tightened and his eyes prickled as he drank the water being poured in his mouth. Water was fine and all, but it wasn't food.

"It's been almost a week now, ain't it?"

"Yes," Shawn answered shakily. Five days since he'd said no to eating the wet, ground-up mush that had been plopped out of a can. Six and a half days since he'd eaten anything.

"A slave is grateful for what it's given. A slave does what its master says." The man tapped the back of Shawn's collar, making it vibrate with each word. "A slave doesn't tell its master no."

"What happened to 'slaves don't lie'?" Shawn's last word ended on a yelp as pain jolted through his neck.

"Mouthy slaves have to wait another day for food…"

Shawn winced as his stomach clenched; he needed food. It was obvious what the man wanted. He braced himself for another shock as he quickly answered, "I'm sorry."

Bright pain shot through him again, leaving a searing ache as his neck stung. His body was too light, tethered to the floor by his knees as the walls swam. Would that be good enough?

"You're sorry… What?"

He hated saying it. The man knew it. "I'm sorry, master."

"Good." The man stood up, looming over Shawn before turning to briskly walk to the small kitchen. "Let's see if you've learned the lesson."

The fridge opened and closed, and Shawn clenched his eyes shut to keep the tears away. Of course it would have been too much to ask for a fresh can…

"Slave, get over here. Food time."

Shawn's vision tunneled as he stood up, and he stumbled to keep his balance without the help of gravity. There were two chairs at the table, but that wasn't where he was allowed. Porcelain clinked against the linoleum floor as a bowl was placed next to the man's chair.

Shawn looked inside as he fell back to his spot on his knees. It was the same exact bowl as last time. A black crust of dried mush now covered the top of the dog food, but at least the rancid odor wasn't as strong…

It wasn't much of a consolation.

"So, ya gonna eat it, or not?"

He wanted to say no, to shove it down the man's throat instead. But he needed food. He needed to survive.

"Yes, master."

The food was cold and slimy on his fingers, and he could feel every gritty piece of the crust on his tongue as he swallowed his first bite. The taste hit him after, an almost tolerable meaty flavor that was immediately overshadowed by a bitterness that burned his entire mouth.

His body begged for more. He dipped his fingers back in the bowl and scooped out another bite.

(Present Day)

The sun shone bright in the cheerful blue sky, warming Shawn's shoulders and back. The heat mixed with the gentle walking pace helped ease the stiffness in his joints, though the medicine Gus had given him that morning probably helped more. His foot seared with every other step, the pain meds only taking the bare edge off.

It hadn't been a surprise when he'd woken up with his whole body aching and throbbing; he'd fallen off of a roof, after all. But he had been surprised by just how much he'd noticed it. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd regularly ignored much worse pain than this.

He was getting soft.

"Ok, so, we've got two on this street, and two more on the next…"

Gus shuffled the folded papers in his hands, checking the addresses they'd written down. It was interesting watching him try to do the two-handed activity without moving the hand holding the leash. It was something Shawn had noticed about a month ago; Gus did his absolute best to ignore the leash while also staying aware and moving it as little as possible. The two opposites somehow combined perfectly into a small snapshot of the strangeness that was Gus.

Shawn pointed ahead, making sure to not let his limp show. "There's the cable stealers."

"Got it." Gus pulled out the right bundle and double checked the photo inside the folded note. "I wonder if the money they were paying to Fuller was really less than just paying a cable bill…"

"Reputation has value," Shawn answered with a shrug. He'd seen people do all sorts of things to keep their reputation safe.

Gus gave him a strange look before holding out the note and photo. "Want to do the honors?"

Shawn smirked as he took the bundle and let his small voice out. "You know, putting things in a mailbox is illegal."

It was kind of fun watching the series of expressions cross Gus' face as it went from realization, to panic, to annoyance, and ending on a painfully transparent neutral look. "I can do it, then. Or, I could order you…"

The reminder of his place was less fun, but it wasn't Gus' fault. Shawn opened the mailbox and placed the photo inside. "What's a bit of mail tampering after breaking and entering?"

"Dude, you really shouldn't say that out loud," Gus grumbled as he sorted through the pages again.

Gus clearly had conflicting thoughts about their heist, which was probably smart. It probably said something that Shawn didn't have the same conflict. It had been exhilarating, and freeing, and fun. And he'd panicked and gotten hurt, but really that was just a normal part of life. It didn't count.

"Affair dude is next," Gus said, holding up a particularly thick bundle as he started walking again. "Three different ladies, and two of them are married…"

"You almost sound jealous," Shawn said as he followed, his foot hurting worse after the brief reprieve.

"I do not!"

"Do too."

Shawn's foot came down on an uneven section of the sidewalk, and the burn flared white hot as he stumbled. He tried to cover his wince as he regained his balance, but had clearly failed as Gus stopped with a concerned look.

"Are you ok?"

Shawn focused on keeping the pain out of his voice as he answered lightly, "I'm ok. Just tripped."

Gus' eyes narrowed as he scanned Shawn from head to toe. He sounded like a master when he asked, "Are you hurt?"

"My back is bruised, like you saw yesterday," Shawn answered as his foot complained at him for being a stubborn asshole.

"Uh-huh," Gus said, unconvinced. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He wanted to say no, but Gus was annoyingly good at seeing through direct lies. Shawn tried to deflect the question again. "I ache a bit, but it's really not a big deal."

Gus crossed his arms, and the clasp at Shawn's throat jingled as the leash moved with him. "I've seen you with blood running down your back, and you barely winced. Something hurts worse than bruises, and I know you're not telling me."

Shawn set his jaw and stared back, waiting for the order.

Gus held his gaze for another second before sighing. "Is it something you can treat yourself with the first-aid kit?"

Shawn felt the now-familiar feeling of his thoughts screeching to a halt as they tried to course-correct. "Y-yes, sir."

"Alright." Gus started walking towards the cheater's house again. "I'll drop you off at home and you can take care of it while I finish delivering these. Will the kit have everything you need?"

Did Gus even realize how unpredictable he was?

"Yes."

"Good." Gus opened the mailbox and committed his own felony. "Let's get you home."

Shawn stayed next to his master as they walked back to the house, still hiding his limp.

A week later found Shawn working in the kitchen with Mrs. Guster as they prepared for another client meeting. She'd been much nicer to him since he'd recovered her blackmail photos, and he was 80% sure it wasn't just that she'd run out of unpleasant chores for him to do. The fact that she'd also been giving him good lunches again helped with that assumption.

So did a meeting he'd seen between her and Mr. Fuller just a few days ago. Mr. Fuller had still been angry and posturing like usual, but Mrs. Guster's body language had oozed innocent confusion. Shawn hadn't been able to hear them as he pulled weeds, but it was clear that Mr. Fuller had been trying to do damage control. The small smug smile that had shown up on Mrs. Guster's face when she'd turned back to the house had told him all he needed to know about how the conversation went.

"Shawn, finish rinsing those vegetables then bring them here," Mrs. Guster ordered as she pulled out a cutting board. He just barely caught the next sentence she muttered under her breath. "Vegetarian… There's always someone making things difficult."

Shawn turned away to hide his smirk as he finished scrubbing dirt off of the carrots. Mrs. Guster had been less than pleased when she'd learned she couldn't do another steak dinner this time. She'd recovered quickly and planned out a last minute stir fry, but it hadn't stopped her from complaining about it as soon as Mr. Guster had left the room.

Shawn's fading bruises pulled as he reached to turn the faucet off, and the burn on his foot was barely noticeable as he brought the vegetables to the cutting board. Injuries healed surprisingly fast when he wasn't being hurt all of the time. Mrs. Guster turned around with a knife in her hand, and all assumptions about her goodwill went out the window.

Was he being punished? What had he done wrong?

…And he was standing next to a cutting board with uncut vegetables. Shawn pushed back against the unbalancing fear as he stood at attention, waiting for his next order. She wasn't allowed to hurt him; it was fine.

Mrs. Guster's hands moved and the knife was suddenly being held out, handle first. "You're going to chop the vegetables for me, because someone didn't give me enough time to prep…"

Shawn stared, unable to comprehend the turn of events. He hadn't even been allowed to use forks a few months ago…

"Well? Go on…"

The prompt shook Shawn from his shock, and he reached out to take the knife. Mrs. Guster crossed her arms and waited, her eyes calculating. A brief memory flashed before Shawn's eyes of her son handing him a fork and staying in stabbing range.

This was a test.

Shawn looked back down at the cutting board and lined up several carrots like he'd seen Mrs. Guster do before. The knife was heavy in his hand as he rested it on top of the vegetables. How hard could it be? Put the sharp thing where he wanted to cut and press down. And don't think about blood running down his skin…

He pressed down on the knife, feeling it bite into the top of the carrots. It barely moved. He pressed down harder and sawed it back and forth; it was harder than he'd thought. The carrots finally gave way under the knife, and the blade hit the board with a loud clack.

Shawn winced; it was never that loud when Mrs. Guster did it…

"You have no idea how to use a knife, do you?" Mrs. Guster asked in a tone that suggested she had judged him and found him wanting.

He had been taught how to use a knife, just not to chop vegetables. It would be easier to just tell her no, but it was a test. He needed to stay on her good side.

"I'm sorry, ma'am; I wasn't trained how to cook." His trainer had learned it was a bad idea to give him a weapon. "But I can learn."

"And yet you haven't learned anything from the cooking shows I've put on for you." Mrs. Guster let out a sharp sigh and held out her hand. "Let me show you."

Shawn handed the knife back as the TV show she always chose for him took on a new meaning. He'd thought it was her version of leaving food just out of his reach. With a full stomach, it had been easy enough to ignore as he'd waited for the news to come on afterwards.

Maybe he shouldn't have ignored it.

"You're going to slice your fingers off with the way you were holding it. Grip the knife up here, hold the food like this…"

Shawn paid close attention as she lifted the back of the knife and brought it down in a smooth motion, chopping off another slice of the carrot. He instinctively fisted his hands to hide his fingers at the thought of the knife coming down on them instead.

"Move the knife, not the food. Keep the cuts even, stop when the carrot gets too skinny." Mrs. Guster used the side of the knife to move the cut up vegetable out of the way before placing the next carrot on the board. She handed over the knife with one last word of wisdom. "Start slow, do it right before you do it fast."

Shawn focused and copied what her hands had done, bringing the back of the knife up and cutting down and forward through the carrot. A small slice fell away as the blade met the board. It was much easier that way.

"Not terrible. Keep your left fingers curled in; your knuckles should be guiding it." Mrs. Guster watched him make several more slices before nodding in satisfaction and turning to the other counter. "When you're done with those, I'll show you how to do the celery."

Shawn glanced at her exposed back before bringing the knife back down on the vegetables. "Yes, ma'am."

The client meeting went well, Shawn recovered from the resulting nightmare faster than the first time, and Mrs. Guster showed him how to peel apples the next week. Shawn was put away for a full day when Gus was taken shopping for college, but Gus had refused to accept that until his parents agreed to give them the next weekend off.

Apparently they'd decided to go boat shopping that Saturday, so they'd agreed easily.

Shawn was finishing folding the laundry, the only chore he'd been told to do that morning, when Gus opened his door and came into the hallway. His shirt was stained at his armpits and his face glistened with sweat as he glanced towards the stairs. "I didn't hear; are they gone?"

"They left ten minutes ago," Shawn answered as he folded another pair of pants. He'd heard the drone of the garage door under the clicking sounds of tap shoes coming from Gus' room.

"Oh, good." Gus relaxed in a way that he never did with his mother in the house. "I rescind all orders. I'm going to take a shower, you can do whatever you want."

It was unsettling having such an open invitation. It was genuine, Shawn knew that, but he still looked for the hidden order of what Gus wanted him to do. He suddenly realized he was looking at Gus' shoes, and tried to cover up the slip by asking, "Do you think you're ready for the recital?"

"I think so, yeah. It's not like there's going to be many people there anyway." Gus shrugged, clearly trying to downplay his upcoming performance. "It's basically just parents and grandparents that show up."

"What about slaves?" Shawn asked without thinking. He winced before stopping himself. Gus liked when he let his small voice out, it was fine.

"Do you want to come?"

He actually did. "I'd… like to." A slave didn't ask for anything. "If it's ok."

"I don't see why not." Gus sounded pleased. "I'll ask my instructor on Tuesday."

Shawn nodded before realizing he was looking at Gus' feet again. And was standing at attention. Damnit. He unclasped his hands as he asked, "So what do you call a dance instructor? Sensei, coach, Kevin Bacon…"

"How about his first name?" Gus asked with a smirk.

"Bold choice."

"Thank you." Gus rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking awkward. "So, after I get clean, I was thinking of watching the National Spelling Bee finals."

"People seriously watch those?" Why would anyone watch something so boring on purpose?

"I like spelling…" Gus shrugged, his shoulders getting stuck halfway through the motion, leaving them defensively raised. "I won the semifinals a few years ago. It's how I got into Meitner's and earned my college scholarship."

"You went to the smart kid school?" The kids in Shawn's old school would talk about that highschool like it was on Mars instead of just a few miles away. It was very exclusive.

"Yeah. It got me away from the bullies." Gus thought a second before adding on, "Mostly. But, anyway, like I said-" He stopped as an idea seemed to occur to him. He spoke slowly, like he was planning each word as he said them. "Saying no is a people thing, like the other stuff we've been working on. It's both expected and good if you say no sometimes. You're allowed to say no to this: do you want to watch the spelling bee with me?"

No, he didn't want to watch a boring spelling thing. And Gus seemed to want him to say no. But a slave didn't say no, and Gus was still tense like he was expecting to be mocked, and Shawn did like hanging out with him. "Yeah, I'll watch it with you."

"You will?" Gus looked conflicted, like he wasn't sure whether to be happy or annoyed at the answer.

Shawn commiserated with the feeling. "Sure, can we have snacks?"

Gus grinned sheepishly as his shoulders slowly lowered. "I have a sheet of alphabet fruit roll-ups and a box of Alpha-bits."

"Going all-in on the spelling theme. Nice." Shawn turned to gather the folded clothes so Gus could escape the conversation. "Want me to do anything while you're showering?"

"Drinks would be nice. I'll get the snacks once I'm done." Gus walked across the hall to the bathroom before pausing. "And, uh, thanks."

"You're welcome."

Gus retreated to the bathroom and Shawn put the clothes away in Mr. and Mrs. Guster's room. Gus' words kept spinning around in his head, challenging him as he followed orders that had already been rescinded.

He didn't want to tell Gus no; he liked making Gus happy. But it seemed like saying no would also make Gus happy…

It was a problem that required more thought. At least he had a good distraction if the spelling bee was as boring as he was expecting.

Shawn's collar chimed cheerfully, and Gus spoke over the sound. "I rescind all orders. I swear, I will find a place that doesn't need service mode next time."

"I'm… Ok." Shawn kept his hands clasped behind his back. Gus had taken him to the groomers again. A different one this time that he hadn't had to con his way into staying with Shawn. Unfortunately, Gus staying with him had made the groomer assume that Shawn was a troublemaker and had acted accordingly. Shawn rolled his shoulders, feeling the tell-tale pull of a forming bruise where the man had manhandled him around.

"I should report them." Gus stalked ahead while still maintaining slack in the leash. "If they treated you like that while I was in the room, how much worse do they treat slaves that are just left there?"

It probably wouldn't help to point out that Gus being in the room was why the groomer had acted like he had. Gus liked it when he talked, it was time for Shawn-mode rules… "He d-didn't do anything that would cause permanent damage."

"He cut you!"

The snip on his ear stung at the reminder, but it wasn't a big deal. Shawn tried to console him. "It's already scabbed over."

"That's not the point," Gus snapped back, clearly unwilling to be consoled. "Maybe I should just figure out how to do it myself…"

Fear rushed through Shawn along with memories of previous masters holding sharp objects. He tried to think through it -Gus was different- but it only added volume to the phantom voices from the past.

"...Or not. Sorry, let's just walk a bit."

Shawn sighed in relief as he kept his head down, just letting himself exist without fighting any of the pressures on him. Their walk weaved through the small retail area, bringing new sights and sounds to his attention. Gus kept them near the outskirts, always turning away from any crowds without actually taking them away from the area.

Shawn slowly relaxed as the memories faded back where they belonged. He started talking quietly, once the weight on his tongue lifted. "Two o'clock: dating anniversary. Dude's not used to wearing a tie and has a box in his pocket."

"Proposal," Gus realized, just as quietly. He slowed down, and Shawn obediently moved forward to walk next to him instead of following behind.

He looked up for longer before giving his next deduction. "Girl at eleven o'clock. About to tell her parents something they won't like; she keeps fidgeting with her rings and looking away."

"Boyfriend issues?" Gus offered as a solution.

"Maybe…" She did have a lot of rings. "Or maybe quitting school?"

"Good to know that your Shawn-vision isn't perfect."

Shawn shrugged as his dad's voice whispered that if he didn't know, then he just needed to look harder. "People show more than they think."

"And slaves have to notice it all," Gus said with a sigh. "Think you're up for lunch now?"

Some of Gus' questions would never make sense. "Yeah, food sounds good."

"There's a park a few blocks up, and there's usually some food trucks there."

Shawn smiled, relaxing even more as they walked where Gus had indicated. The last time there'd been multiple food carts, Gus had let him pick what to eat. There wasn't any reason to think he wouldn't do the same again.

Gus took them to the edge of the park and stopped. "Same deal as last time. Take as much time as you need, and…"

He trailed off, and Shawn looked over to see what was wrong. Gus shot him a furtive glance that was probably supposed to be sneaky before he continued in his fake-casual voice. "I actually think I'm going to try a japadog. I've never had one before. I've always wondered what Japanese food and hotdogs tasted like together…"

Shawn raised a skeptical eyebrow; Gus was either failing miserably at lying, or he wasn't even trying. He'd been doing that a lot in the last few days, which meant he was about to ask…

"Remember you can say no. Do you want to try one too?"

Shawn really wanted to say no. New foods were terrible for slaves, and he wanted to pick his own lunch. But at the same time… Gus wanted him to say no so badly that he was willing to eat terrible food for it. How much further would he go if Shawn didn't do what he wanted?

"Y-Yes. I'll try one." His heart pounded at not doing what his master wanted, even as amusement tugged at his lips at Gus barely stopping himself from throwing his hands in the air.

"Really?"

"Really. I… l-like food." Shawn shook his head in annoyance. The groomers had made his slave-thoughts louder again, but he was in Shawn-mode now.

"... Sorry. I shouldn't have- You can pick something else if you want," Gus said, sounding more subdued.

Screw it, he'd made his decision and that's what he was going to do. Besides, Gus shouldn't have to experience bad food alone. Shawn answered firmly, "I'm ok. Japadog."

He was regretting his decision five minutes later as he looked at the food in front of him. It was green. And all he could smell was the seaweed that was piled on top. He glanced over to see how his super-sniffing master was doing.

Gus was staring at his own seaweed-covered hotdog in trepidation, like he expected it to jump from his plate and run back to the ocean. He met Shawn's eyes and let out a shaky breath. "Well, here goes nothing…"

He lifted the hotdog, and Shawn copied his movements so they both took a bite at the same time. Gus' expression slowly changed as his eyebrows went up and his shoulders relaxed. Shawn's taste buds agreed with the silent assessment as the juicy hotdog combined pleasantly with the sweet sauce and the crunch of the surprisingly-mild seaweed.

He took another bite and the delicious flavors only intensified. Something this weird looking had no business being this good.

"Dude," Gus moaned around his food.

"I know," Shawn wholeheartedly agreed.

It turned out, new food could be good if the slave had a good master.

That night, Shawn woke up gently. He kept his eyes closed, trying to memorize the dream-feeling of the wind in his hair and the engine purring underneath him. He'd had the same dream several times in the last few weeks, one of him on a motorcycle and an open road that stretched for miles.

It was strange; he was freer than he'd ever been since being collared, but it was only now that he was dreaming of true freedom. He should be happy with what he had…

Shawn sighed quietly and opened his eyes, turning his head to see the familiar glow of the nightlight. In a little over a week, they'd be leaving for somewhere new. New location, new rules, new routines.

If he was smart, he'd be planning to run before then; find that true freedom. He knew where he was, what to expect from the people around him, how to get out. Gus had a fanny pack in his closet; all Shawn needed to do was wrap his hand in a t-shirt and sweep his remote into the bag. The windows weren't locked, he wasn't restrained, there was a gutter on the side of the house that could help him get to the ground…

He'd been making excuses to himself for the last month. He was stronger and faster than he'd ever been before. But he still didn't know where to go, and he still had a tracker around his neck, and it would break Gus' heart.

Because, apparently, his master's feelings were now part of the equation… Shawn huffed to himself and quietly slid out of his sleeping bag. He crept to the window, keeping an eye on Gus and making sure he stayed fully asleep.

The window lock called to him, making the escape itch nearly inescapable, but Shawn kept his hands under control. He had more to lose than he'd ever had before, and the odds were still stacked against him. He had to be smart.

The only way an escape could be successful was if he found a way to take the collar off, or at least deactivate it. He'd debated finding a way to fry the collar; find some live wires and pray, but he had no idea how to make sure it didn't kill him in the process. Which put a bit of a damper on the plan. Or any plan that he'd been able to come up with.

Any plan except one. His dad had mentioned the Black Market a few times over the years. It was always in passing, and his dad had always made a point of saying that it was only rumors. An underground railroad in their own town; people who knew how to handle the collars.

But the problem was, his dad had never said where it was. Or was rumored to be. Shawn closed his eyes and ran through the snippets of memories for the hundredth time. It was odd that his dad would have said anything at all, but what he did say still didn't give much information. They were illegal, their help came at a price, and they moved their operation every few months. But they always stayed in the Santa Barbara area.

It really did sound like a fantasy, but it was the only chance he had. And any group that moved that much had to leave signs, some way to find them again. He just had to find one of their hideouts, then he could follow the breadcrumbs.

Which brought him back to having a tracker around his neck. And the fact that Gus would be hurt.

Shawn sighed and looked through the window, taking in the dark street. What Gus was giving him wasn't true freedom. It hinged completely on Gus not taking the gift away; Shawn had no say in the matter. But it was still good, and Gus could be trusted.

Was the insanely small chance of true freedom really worth risking that?

And was it worth risking Gus himself? It wasn't just the almost-freedom that was at stake. Shawn would be taken away, sold, or worse. And he wouldn't get to be surprised by Gus anymore. He wouldn't get to enjoy the jokes, or the games, or the safety.

Gus was so much more than a master. Shawn huffed in wry amusement and glanced back to study Gus' sleeping form. Gus had told him that they couldn't be friends, that he didn't want them to be friends. But was there really a better word for someone he was willing to give up his chance of freedom for?

It would figure that he'd have the nicest master in the world and he'd still find a way to break one of the few rules he'd been given.

He made his decision. If he was honest with himself, he'd made it a while ago; he just hadn't been willing to admit it until now. Shawn took a deep breath and looked outside as he whispered, "No."

His heart pounded in his chest and said it again, louder, as he shoved the escape itch into the box that used to hold his small voice. "No."

His dad would probably approve; it was his best chance at survival.

The window latch still called to him. He turned his back on it and crept to his sleeping bag. It was still the middle of the night; he could get a few more hours of sleep before he needed to wake up for his morning chores.

Shawn settled into his spot and fell asleep to the quiet sounds of his sleeping friend.

A/N: Even though Psych is set in Santa Barbara, California, it was filmed in Vancouver, Canada. Which is why the boys eat/mention japadogs quite a bit, despite that being a Vancouver-only food at the time. The writers and creator seemed to really like throwing in little details like that as inside jokes. Possibly to console themselves for it raining so often on the show despite Santa Barbara being a desert, hah!