It was Friday; which was both comforting and worrying.

Shawn had two days ahead of him where everything could be normal. Or as normal as a day could be with Gus as his master and friend. Ever since he'd been bought by Gus, the weekends had stayed largely the same.

But he had to get through a night of serving clients to get to that normal. Being on display was its own kind of hard, but at least the other times he'd known where his place was. Now everything was turned upside down.

"Shawn, stand up."

He followed the order while keeping his eyes averted from his master. If he could stay in slave-mode, maybe it would make the rest of the afternoon easier…

The leash was moved to the front of the collar, signaling the end of his work shift. He still had to fight the bad memories, but it was starting to become part of the routine. Gus didn't use the back of his collar; the janitor did. Once the leash was moved, he was safe.

He'd be safe tonight too, because Gus would be there.

"Here, you can carry this." Gus held out a cloth bag. "Mom said she'd pick us up as soon as you were done. Follow me."

Shawn took the bag and glanced in, seeing everything they'd need for a weekend at the Gusters. It wasn't quite heavy enough to be grounding as his mind teetered between its two modes. He eyed up Gus' heavy-looking backpack with longing as they stepped out into the sunlight.

"She shouldn't be long," Gus said as they stopped at the circle drive. "Were you hurt today?"

"Just the collar, sir," Shawn answered in what was quickly becoming a routine conversation.

"Do I need to talk to someone about that?"

Of course, as soon as he was used to a conversation, Gus had to change it. "They're allowed to punish slaves that aren't working right."

"Sure," Gus grumbled, clearly hating that he had to agree with the truth. " But it shouldn't be every day."

"It does if the slave deserves it."

Gus glared as a familiar car pulled off of the street. "I rescind all orders and you don't deserve that."

A slave didn't disagree with its master; a master was always right. So was it Gus' fault or Shawn's fault that he didn't agree? Gus was wrong. The janitor didn't hesitate to use the collar, but he also always had a reason for it. It wasn't just pain for pain's sake.

And it was pain Shawn was willing to deal with. The more the janitor paid attention to him, the less he could pay attention to the other slaves.

"Oh, there's my boy! I've missed you!" Mrs. Guster called through the open window as the car stopped in front of them.

"Hi, Mom." Gus opened the car door and stepped aside, giving Shawn room to climb in.

The moment brought up memories of the first day they'd ridden in a car together. Shawn hadn't known what to think back then about a master who argued against him riding in the trunk. Now things were backwards. He understood Gus, but wasn't sure about himself.

Gus handed over his bag before sitting in the front seat. His mother immediately started bombarding him with questions as the car started moving. "How have you been? What's school like? Have you made any friends? Are you eating right? You look exhausted…"

"I'm fine, Mom."

"I told you that you should have stayed at home. You're not taking care of yourself…"

Guilt made it easier to keep Shawn's eyes averted. It was a slave's job to take care of its master. Friends took care of each other. He was failing both.

"So, how have you and dad been?" Gus asked in the world's most obvious redirect.

""We've been alright; he's been very excited about these clients. But we're also worried about you… Are you getting enough to eat?"

"Yes…" Shawn could hear the eyeroll in the word.

"Are you keeping up with your homework?" she asked faster.

"Yes."

"Have you made any friends?"

"No. There hasn't-"

Mrs. Guster spoke over him. "Have you tried going to any parties?"

"No."

"Are you able to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Why are you stressed?"

"Because college is hard, Mom," Gus answered without missing a beat. Shawn was properly impressed, and also a bit jealous. How long would it take for him to be able to avoid the fast questions trap?

Mrs. Guster sighed, clearly disappointed at the answer. "Well, we're always here for you. Let us know if you need anything."

For the first time in the conversation, Gus hesitated. The moment stretched just long enough to be noticeable before he answered, "Thanks, I will."

Silence fell as they drove off campus, and Shawn focused on making himself invisible. Even if he didn't know where he fit anymore, he knew what he needed to do for tonight. He couldn't make anything harder for Gus.

It was the least he could do.

"... a big deal. He had to work really hard to get face to face time with this client," Mrs. Guster bragged as she pulled into the garage.

"Good for him," Gus answered neutrally, keeping the small-talk going even though Shawn could see how tense it was making him.

"Yes it is! It'll be a real feather in his cap if he can land them. So everything has to go extra perfect tonight."

"Sure." Gus' voice shifted to a more sarcastic tone. "It wouldn't do for it to just be regular perfect."

Mrs. Guster hit the brakes harder than necessary, jolting everyone in the car. She replied sweetly in the ensuing silence, "Exactly. I'm glad we understand each other."

Gus grumbled under his breath as he took off his seat belt. Mrs. Guster ignored him and turned around to look at Shawn. "The dusting's finished, but the floors still need to be swept and vacuumed. Take care of that, then-"

"Mom," Gus interrupted firmly. "You don't get to do that anymore."

"What? I was just telling him-"

"No, you were ordering him. You don't get to do that anymore."

Shawn shrank into the backseat; he didn't need the collar to make him do what Mrs. Guster wanted. It was why he was here.

"Well, how else is he supposed to help me get things ready?"

"Oh, I dunno… You could try asking him?"

That hadn't been part of the deal. Shawn just wanted to make things easy for everyone tonight; why did Gus always have to make things difficult?

"Why do you always have to be so difficult?" Mrs. Guster asked in exasperation.

"Because you made me this way," Gus shot back.

And Shawn would never have thought he'd find a kindred spirit in Mrs. Guster of all people.

"Fine." Shawn felt her stare burning into him as she said sarcastically, "The floor needs swept and vacuumed. Would you take care of that and then do dishes."

"Yes, Ma'am," Shawn answered quickly before Gus could say anything else. The tension stayed in the car for another long moment before Gus finally moved and left the car.

Mrs. Guster muttered under her breath before opening her own door, "That boy…"

Shawn was inclined to agree with her.

Shawn finished the last dish and drained the sink, waiting as long as he could before falling to attention to wait for his next not-order. It wasn't how Gus wanted him to act, but what other way was there? He was here to do slave things…

Mrs. Guster checked the sink before nodding briskly. "The clients will be here in half an hour. Go- Can you go put on your nice clothes now."

"Yes, ma'am."

Gus had been doing homework in the kitchen all afternoon, keeping an eye on them. He stood up at the same time and followed Shawn to his room.

It was clear that Gus had been stressed from the moment he'd climbed into his mother's car. But even knowing that, Shawn hadn't expected the string of curses coming from Gus' mouth after he closed the door. "Oh my god, I must have been out of my goddamn mind to agree to this fucking bullshit."

"Gus?"

"No. Don't go 'Gus'ing me, not when I got you into-" Gus cut himself off and paced in front of the door. "You're already dealing with everything, and there's no way this won't make things worse. I should have said no, I should have pushed back further, I should have said we were both sick…"

"Slaves aren't allowed to get sick," Shawn pointed out.

"What does that even mean?!" Gus collapsed, leaning on the door like it was the only thing keeping him upright. "I keep messing everything up and making it harder on you. You shouldn't have to do this. Not on top of everything else."

The warm feeling spread across Shawn's chest at Gus' care. But his worries were in the wrong spot. Shawn knew what he had to do tonight. "It's ok; I'll be fine."

"You think that it's ok for someone to shock you for not dusting fast enough," Gus said, sounding exhausted. "I'm sorry if I don't take your word on what's 'fine'."

"But I know you won't shock me." Shawn shrugged; sometimes it was that simple. "So it'll be better than 'fine'."

Gus groaned. "Physically, sure. But can you honestly say it's not going to mess with your head?"

Everything messed with his head. Even Gus messed with his head. "Does that matter? I'll have to do it either way."

"Of course it matters. And that's what I'm talking about; you shouldn't have to do it, because I should have told Mom no."

"And then she'd still be able to order me around," Shawn pointed out. He was used to doing things that were uncomfortable. Gus was just being unreasonable, thinking he could get rid of them all overnight. "You did help."

"Not enough…" Gus set his jaw and pushed himself off of the door. "I know you don't necessarily believe it right now, but you deserve more than this. You deserve to be happy, and to be yourself, and to be treated like a person. No matter what's around your neck."

What was he even supposed to do with that? It was obvious that was what Gus always thought, but it felt dissonant and wrong… and comforting. And less out-of-focus than it'd felt just a few months ago.

When it was obvious that Shawn didn't have a reply, Gus continued, "You're right, unless you want to climb out of the window and run away together, then you're stuck doing this. But I need to make sure that it doesn't make those lessons –the ones that tell you to always be useful and make you sign up for janitor programs– worse."

Did Gus realize that saying all of these things actually made it harder? It'd be easier to just deal with the orders and slave-mode; it's what he knew. "I… don't know if I can promise that."

"Yeah, it's probably not fair to even bring it up…" Gus sighed loudly. "Do you want me to give you the orders now, or go in the hallway and wait until you're changed?"

"Now's fine."

"Ok…" Gus squared his shoulders and spoke with his master-voice. "Stay out of trouble and…" he grimaced as he forced himself to continue. "And don't speak unless spoken to."

Shawn nodded as the orders settled around him, both calming and stifling. He didn't have a choice now; he had to do what he was told.

"Are you ok?" Gus asked worriedly.

"I'm ok," Shawn answered truthfully. "Thank you."

A muscle twitched in Gus' jaw, and he reached for the doorknob. "I'll leave you alone to get changed. See you downstairs."

Shawn nodded again and waited for the door to close before digging out his dress clothes from the bag. It was going to be a long night, but he had even more motivation now to make sure it went as smoothly as possible. Gus shouldn't worry about him as much as he did; Shawn had to make sure he didn't do anything to add to that worry.

It was supposed to be easier. This was his third client meeting as the Guster's slave, so he knew what to expect. Gus was the only one who could give him orders, so he knew he was safe. He wasn't starving or hurt… It should be easy.

But the confusion in his mind seemed to have destroyed his control over his memories, and they kept coming out at the worst times.

One of the clients had his hair pulled back in a ponytail like Shawn's second trainer. Shawn fought against memories of a cool glass on his burning back as he poured everyone's drinks. The laughter from one of Mr. Guster's jokes brought with it the taste of wine being poured down his throat, ensuring he wouldn't be able to finish his food. Even Gus' orders barely kept him tethered to the real world as memories of a man with shiny shoes, small groups of men smoking around a table, and crowds of socialites all tried to share the same space as the Guster's dining room.

Kneeling in the void as touches pinched and pulled, an outstretched foot tripping him as he carried drinks, plates clattering to the ground as he was shocked...

Shawn retreated to the role he knew, letting everything else fade away as he focused on his job. Mrs. Guster had told him to serve the food and keep the drinks topped up. He followed the not-orders as he listened only for his master's voice. Nothing else mattered to a slave; it did what it was told.

"That ain't what you're supposed to do."

"I think we need to teach him a lesson."

"It's time you learned to be grateful."

He knelt in the kitchen in between serving times and stared at the barely touched food on his plate. A slave didn't waste what it was given, but a slave also didn't make messes. He couldn't risk eating more with his stomach churning and cold sweat running down his back. But even while surrounded by the ghosts of the past, he knew he had a nice master. He'd be allowed to finish his food afterwards. He waited on his knees and breathed like Gus had shown him, bracing himself for when he'd be needed again.

"Don't cause any trouble and… and only speak when spoken to."

Shawn knew what he needed to do. He clung to that as he fought the urge to run away or act out or do something to make the voices of his previous masters go away.

It felt like ages before the people moved into the livingroom and the conversation moved to sales. And he knew from experience that they weren't even halfway through the night. Gus gave him a concerned look as he took a dessert from the offered tray, and Shawn gave him a small nod before going back to his role. He had good reasons to behave, not just slave reasons.

He needed a new strategy to get through the night.

He started simple, focusing on his list of things to do before the night was over. Crossing them off could ground him with the reminder that it wasn't forever. He just had to get through the next five minutes, then an hour, then another… He had to serve dessert, drinks, and after-drink desserts. He had to clean off the dining room table, wash the dishes, sweep the floors, put the linens in the laundry… Memories broke in as he became overwhelmed. Scrubbing dishes as blood ran down his back, kneeling with an empty stomach as food was thrown away in front of him, wiping down tables with the gag tight around his face…

Slave thoughts weren't going to work. They almost never worked, but he always had to try them first.

In the dorm, Gus gave him newspapers; he could use that. There'd been an interesting murder covered all week: a woman who'd been found at the top of a building with ocean water in her lungs.

"The four most important questions to ascertain in a case are who, what, where and why."

His dad's voice joined the clamor of memories, chasing the other voices back. Shawn had always listened when his dad talked, even when he hadn't wanted to. The pressure of the memories lessened and he sighed in silent relief. He watched Mrs. Guster's hand for his next signal and continued to work on the crime.

The interesting question for this one was 'where'. The news articles had been slim on the details, but the small snippet of footage he'd seen on the news didn't show any signs of struggle on the roof where the body had been found. So the victim was killed somewhere else and brought there… but why? Who dragged a body UP stairs?

Mrs. Guster tapped two of her fingers deliberately against her leg and Shawn shelved the question as he stood up. It was time to bring the drinks out. He retrieved the nearly-empty tray from the table and brought it into the kitchen. Bubbles rose through amber liquid as he picked up the champagne bottle, and his heart began to race. He couldn't remember that, the day his small voice had almost died.

"Don't cause any trouble."

Freaking out would be trouble. Gus was nice, Gus was a friend, Gus didn't use the gag. Shawn was safe. He just had to pass the tray around, then he could work on the murder some more.

"The first place to look for your perp is in your victim's closest circle. Everyone loves talking about bad guys like they're this shadow figure boogeyman who drives a boarded up ice cream truck. What they don't want to think about is that they're more likely to be hurt by their friends or family than someone they don't know."

Shawn served the drinks, passing invisibly around the people. His dad's voice kept him steady as he set the tray down and went back to his spot. Who did he know was close to the victim? Her sister had been quoted in the papers, and a friend had been interviewed by the news. The friend was his current prime suspect: she'd said all of the right things, but it had been almost too perfectly delivered. Almost like she'd rehearsed exactly when to sniffle and tear up.

So the ladies fought, the friend lashed out in a moment of rage, shoving the victim's head in… something with saltwater… Shawn's chest burned as he remembered a hand clenching in his hair and water down his throat.

It didn't matter how she died. She just did. He couldn't freak out; he couldn't cause trouble.

Shawn took several slow breaths, making sure that he was breathing air again before he let himself think further. The friend was too small to have been able to move a body on her own, so maybe she had help?

…Or maybe the victim hadn't been dead.

"...and then she asked, 'But what about the hippopotamus?'"

The clients laughed and Mrs. Guster chuckled neutrally at the joke she'd already heard at least three times. Shawn made sure her fingers weren't about to move before glancing over quickly at Gus. His smile looked more like a grimace as he clutched his water glass tightly. Hopefully it wouldn't break on him…

Shawn returned to the problem of a corpse on a roof to chase away the feeling of glass on his back. There still wasn't a sign of a struggle on the roof, so if she walked herself up there, then how did she die?

"Sometimes murder weapons are tricky. Let's say a man dies in the hospital from sepsis, and he has a partially healed knife wound. The stab didn't kill him, but the infection from the nicked bowels did. He was a dead man walking for days…"

Someone could have water in their lungs but not drown…

Mrs. Guster cued him again, and all of the pieces fit into place as he picked up the tray and collected the empty glasses. The woman fought with her friend, and somehow that fight involved partial-drowning in salt water. She fended off the attack and went home afterwards to recover. She couldn't call the police on her friend, at least not yet; there wasn't any harm done. But lungs were tricky and she started to have troubles. She went up to the roof for fresh air… and never had a chance to go back down.

And he was standing still in the kitchen with a tray of mostly empty glasses. Shawn shook his head and swapped out the dirty dishes for the last set of desserts. Not freaking out was good, but he couldn't be zoning out either. He was lucky no one had caught him.

He let out a breath and focused on staying in the present as he walked back into the living room.

The clients were gone, the chores were done, and Gus was sleeping quietly after the long night. Exhaustion beckoned to Shawn, but shook himself, not letting it gain a foothold. Every other time he'd served at a meeting, he'd had nightmares. He couldn't worry Gus. Not after he'd worked so hard to keep it together all evening.

Besides, he was fine. He'd gone several days without sleep before. An all-nighter wouldn't hurt him; it just gave him more time to work on the case. He knew the where, and had a good guess on the who. He'd replayed the friend's interview several times in his memory, and she was definitely hiding something. But there wasn't enough evidence available to figure out the why or the what. The salt water just didn't make sense, and it had to be the key to answering one or both of the questions.

If only he could see the friend's apartment, or go through the crime scene photos, or even talk to the friend. Hell, he'd take kneeling in the background while Gus talked to her; he'd see plenty from there… Would Gus be willing to talk to her for him?

Which was a terrible idea and would definitely not help with Gus' worrying problem.

Gus groaned quietly in his sleep, as though agreeing with him.

Shawn stilled, staying quiet as his fingers tapped gently against his thumb. Gus didn't make any more noise, and Shawn went back to the case. There had to be something he was missing, some small detail he could glean a bit more knowledge from. But there just wasn't much to work with. There was the picture of the roof, the silent few seconds of the father hugging the crying mother, and the friend's interview. He focused on the last one again, watching the background and her hands, looking for anything he might have missed the first seven times around.

Gus shifted, breaking Shawn's concentration as his feet kicked under the sheets and he mumbled incoherently. It wasn't like him to be such a loud sleeper…

Shawn turned his attention to the video again before stopping as he replayed his last thought. Gus was never this loud when he slept.

The sheets rustled above him again with a breathless whine that cut off with a nearly-silent gasp. Shawn froze as realization slammed into him. Gus was having a nightmare.

The last time he'd had a master wake up from a nightmare, she'd been fourteen. He hadn't known what to do then; he still didn't know what to do now.

At least Gus seemed to have woken himself up; Shawn could hear him panting for breath. Though he seemed to be trying to keep his breathing quiet for some reason. Was it better to pretend to be asleep, so Gus wouldn't be embarrassed? Or would he want someone to talk to?

Sometimes Gus talked to him after a nightmare, but it was only when he needed to be calmed down. Gus was already calming down, his breathing growing slower as he stayed still. He'd probably go back to sleep in a few minutes if Shawn stayed quiet.

Except Shawn didn't want to stay quiet. Gus had helped him through so many bad wake-ups; it was his turn to repay the favor. "Gus?"

Gus stopped breathing, and Shawn held his breath too. Had he made the right call?

Gus let his breath out in a quiet rush before answering, "H-Hey, Shawn. Sorry for waking you up."

"You didn't." Shawn shook his head at himself; he shouldn't let Gus know he'd been planning on staying awake. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Gus answered just a little too quickly. The shakiness that he was clearly trying to hide was another dead giveaway that he was lying.

Shawn sat up slowly and asked, "Wanna talk about it?"

"I… appreciate it. But you had a long day." For some reason, Gus almost sounded guilty. What had he dreamed about? What did masters have nightmares about? "Don't worry about it. I can go read downstairs so you can go back to sleep."

Gus needed help, but talking wasn't doing any good. What was Shawn supposed to do now?

How did Gus help him when he couldn't talk about it?

Shawn's eyes landed on his basket. There were still a few snacks and drinks left over from before they'd moved. He hadn't gone hungry in months because of Gus…

His decision made, Shawn picked out a bag of chips and a water bottle before slowly standing up. The nightlight made it easy to see Gus' surprised look when he sat on the edge of the bed. Shawn was a bit surprised at himself too. Especially when his hands moved, and for the first time in his life he willingly offered food to a master.

Gus' jaw dropped as he stared at the offering. After several seconds, he still hadn't moved, and Shawn's hands were starting to tremble. Which was ridiculous; it wasn't like Gus would punish him for offering food. The worst he could do was to say no.

Except he really really needed Gus to take it. Even if he didn't understand why.

"You don't have to do that," Gus finally said.

"I know." He did know. "I want to."

Gus opened his mouth –probably to protest again– but then stopped himself. He thought for another second before reaching out and slowly taking the food. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Something unexpected relaxed in Shawn's brain, and the relief from it flowed down, taking the tension in his neck and shoulders with it.

Gus opened the chips and took a bite before offering the opened bag. "Want some?"

He could always just grab another bag… "Sure."

The silence in the room was punctuated by the bag rustling and quiet crunching as they shared the late night snack. It wasn't until they'd finished eating that Shawn realized something was still wrong. Gus kept sneaking looks at him, like he was expecting Shawn to turn into a monster or disappear right before his eyes.

Shawn was no stranger to dreams sticking around longer than they should; it usually took him a while to feel like he was fully back in the real world after a nightmare. He also knew what helped ground him the best. Except, slaves didn't touch their masters without orders.

Granted, it wouldn't be his first time he broke that rule, and Gus wouldn't punish him for it. But it still felt wrong when he met Gus' eyes and tentatively raised his hand. Gus' jaw dropped again when he understood what Shawn was asking, but it didn't take long for him to nod in agreement.

His shoulder was warmer than expected, and Shawn felt it tense as Gus stayed frozen in place. Did he do it wrong? Now what?

Gus let out a quiet breath and his shoulder relaxed slightly under Shawn's hand. He didn't try to hide his looks this time as his eyes traveled over Shawn's face and body, like he was reassuring himself of what was real. "You're not hurt?"

"Nope."

Gus nodded and he met Shawn's eyes. "I know I've said this before, but I need you to know. I'm never going to sell you; you're never going to have to go back."

That was what had Gus so afraid? The idea of Shawn getting hurt? It shouldn't come as a surprise anymore, but the care still took Shawn's breath away. He squeezed Gus' shoulder and solemnly answered, "I know."

"Ok. Good." Gus took another deep breath and the tension slowly leached from his muscles as he took another drink.

And a strange realization bloomed in Shawn's mind. He'd done the slave thing, helping his master and making his life easier. But he'd done it by acting as non-slave-like as possible. But there was more to it; it was rooted in something deeper and scarier. Something that he wasn't sure he was ready to face yet.

He preferred helping Gus as a person over helping him as a slave.