This was going to work.

He'd won; a case file was in Shawn's hands. There wasn't any way he wouldn't be able to solve it. It was what Shawn deserved, to get this shot. It would make him happier, give him something to be proud of, give him something to be.

But it could also put him back in that room with the whipping post. Or take him away for good.

Shawn looked up and Gus could tell from his eyes; he knew who'd done it. Oh god; this was actually going to work.

The file began to flap in Shawn's hand. Shawn looked at it in concern before slapping his other hand on top of it, making it stay still. That hand started to shake next, pinching together like he was holding a pen and scrawling across the page. "I see… lines. Hesitant lines. Swooping and stuttering in ways they aren't supposed to go."

He paused, and Gus waited before realizing it was his turn to jump in. At least Shawn had made it clear enough… "A forgery?"

Shawn's eyes snapped up to his. "The sister did it." He looked over at the chief before quickly dropping his eyes to the ground. "She'd seen him sign his name plenty of times. All it took was changing a few words and one fake John Hancock."

"Then she gets the lion share's of the inheritance," Chief Swanson finished for him.

"Yes, sir."

In a way, it was gratifying to see the faint tremble in Shawn's hands when he handed the file back to Gus. At least he wasn't completely unaware of the razor thin wire they were treading on. Gus stepped back into his salesman role as he held the file out to Swanson. "I trust that was a sufficient 'test drive'?"

He might think it was a bad idea, but he'd be damned if they lost the chance because he flubbed it up.

"It certainly wasn't a clunker," Swanson said as he tapped his hand with the file. "It was also a hell of a lot faster than my detectives."

Gus' jaw clenched like it always did when someone called Shawn 'it'. But the chief had been fair so far; it definitely wasn't the time to argue the point. No matter how much he wanted to.

"I think your offer has merit," Swanson finally decided. "We'll bring you in if I think a case could use a pair of psychic eyes." He turned around to put the file away and called over his shoulder. "Don't call us; we'll call you."

Gus' stomach jumped with nerves as pride swelled in his chest. They'd done it; it had worked.

Even Shawn was having a hard time keeping his blank slave face on as a smirk pulled on his lips. He was happy. That had to mean it was the right decision.

But why did things that were good for Shawn have to always be hard for him? Gus carefully kept his eyes from wandering too far down the other hall as they made their way back to the front of the precinct. He knew where the bad room was; he'd been aware of its exact location ever since they'd stepped into the building. But this wasn't about him. Shawn needed it.

And at least he could find a little joy at being able to hold his own against the Chief of Police.

His phone started buzzing before they'd even reached the end of the stairs. That had been fast… Gus pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the number as his stomach dropped.

He'd rather it'd been the police…

He let out a long suffering sigh before pasting on a smile and accepting the call. "Hi, Mom…"

Gus had always been a good kid. He'd had straight A's, never missed a dance practice, kept his room clean, was always respectful towards his parents, never lied…

He wasn't a good kid anymore. Guilt churned in his gut as his parent's house came into view. He was keeping so much from them now…

They couldn't be allowed to know that Shawn had tried to run away; his mother still had the ability to take ownership. And Shawn almost succeeding would definitely be enough evidence that he couldn't handle being in charge.

And that wasn't even getting into the fact that he was lying to the cops. They'd lock him in his room until he was thirty if they learned about that…

But it was all he could think about. The truths were crowding around his lips, just waiting for him to drop his guard and let them slip out.

The fact that his mother was actually in a good mood certainly didn't help the guilt any.

"It's such a beautiful day. The weather's perfect, the snapdragons are blooming, my son's coming home for the weekend." His mother gave his hand an affectionate pat before pulling into the garage. "It's a good sign; I can tell."

"I take it the client tonight is rich?" Gus guessed as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

"They're from the government," his mother answered in a conspiratorial whisper.

"So… yes." The part of him that always wanted to have his parents' approval fought to tell her that he'd already managed to land a deal with a government agency. He kept himself under control by exiting the car and busying himself with letting Shawn out and grabbing their bags. It wasn't safe. He kept reminding himself that over and over again as the secrets clamored in his skull. It wasn't safe; they couldn't ever know.

His mother stepped lightly towards the house door, unaware of the weight holding him down. "Shawn, be a dear, please, and start the vacuuming once the bags are put away."

Shawn shot Gus a small bewildered look as he answered, "Yes, Ma'am."

Gus just shrugged in response. His mother had started treating Shawn differently during Christmas break, but he'd just assumed she'd been doing it for Joy's benefit. It seemed like the behavior was sticking around. Maybe she wouldn't sell Shawn anymore?

It wasn't safe enough to test that theory, but it was still a hopeful start to another client meeting. It was a good sign.

They needed all of the good signs they could get.

Gus subtly shifted in his chair for the seventh time in just as many minutes. This was the chair that he always sat in… Why wasn't it fitting him right?

"... he manages to get it over the pond, but the ball lands right next to an alligator. Talk about a water hazard!" The client of the night told his story animatedly with a large smile. He looked like every other client who has come through. Well made suits, perfectly trimmed hair, and the same types of stories to swap.

"He didn't play it, did he?" Gus' father asked, seemingly engrossed in the conversation.

"Oh, he did. But not until he sent his slave out to make the croc move." The client burst out laughing. "Only in Florida!"

Gus gritted his teeth and counted backwards from twenty. The client thought like all of the previous clients too.

"Me and Winnie were thinking of taking a trip there… but maybe we'll have to skip the golf."

"Maybe this summer," Gus' mother added. She tapped her leg, her hand low and out of sight from the couch.

Shawn stood up at the signal and gathered everyone's empty wine glasses. The job was done with his usual efficiency, but Gus could see how tight his shoulders were as he walked into the kitchen. It wasn't enough for anyone else to notice, but he was clearly bothered by the conversation. Or the situation.

He never let his emotions show when he was in slave-mode. Was he ok?

"What about you, young man?"

Gus forced his attention back to the mundane conversation. "Me?"

"Do you think you'd like a vacation?"

Did it matter what he'd like? Shawn wouldn't be able to go with. What happened to slaves when their family was out of town? Were they just locked up in a box with some food and water? Or were they loaned out to friends and family? Neither of those were happening on his watch. "I'm pretty busy with school right now. If I take enough summer courses, I might be able to graduate early."

"What sort of classes are you–"

A crash of glass interrupted the conversation, and every head turned towards the kitchen. Nerves shot down Gus' back as his mother stood up and turned with a forced smile. "Nothing to worry about; I'll be right back."

Shawn was in trouble. Gus moved to follow her, but his father cleared his throat loudly and asked, "So, Burton, you were saying about your classes?"

Screw the polite we-want-you-to-like-us-so-you'll-give-us-a-better-deal conversation; he had a job to do. His father raised his eyebrows expectantly and slightly shook his head. Gus clenched his jaw at the warning; he didn't care if he messed things up for the deal.

Except… Drawing attention to Shawn would just make things worse for him. And they couldn't risk angering Gus' parents and having them find out about Shawn running. And would Shawn even want Gus' help right now? The rules were always different with slave-mode.

Gus slowly sat back in the uncomfortable chair, feeling the springs press into his back as he answered, "I'm, uh, mostly taking business classes with a few science classes to round things out."

"Science classes?" the client asked, politely ignoring the tense moment from before.

His mother was still in the kitchen… What was going on in there? "Y-Yeah. I'm taking Chemistry this year, and I'm thinking about Molecular and Cellular Biology next year." Autopilot took over as he finished the rehearsed answer and strained his ears for any sounds of distress. "I figure everyone needs to sell things, and if I happen to have passing knowledge of whatever it is, I'll have a better chance of getting my foot in the door."

The client let out an impressed whistle. "That's a commendable goal. You were right, Bill, he does have a good head on his shoulders. Most paper pushers can't even say Molecular and… whatever Biology, much less know what it is."

"I can't argue that," Gus' father answered with a proud smile. He met Gus' eyes and gave him a small nod, letting him know that he wasn't just talking about the classes.

Gus returned the smile with a brittle one of his own. It would figure that his father would be proud of him for doing what he was told and making other people happy. He was always having to make other people happy. When was it his turn?

His mother finally came out of the kitchen, her fake smile making it seem like she'd just left to get herself a glass of water. Shawn followed behind her, not a single emotion showing as he carried a tray of mini desserts.

The conversation continued on its meandering path as Gus studied Shawn. He wasn't noticeably shaking, he didn't have any noticeable tension… there wasn't any noticeable anything. Was he ok? Shawn finally reached him and held out the tray, and Gus didn't even try to stop himself from tapping on it lightly to get his attention. It was risky, but he had to know.

Shawn glanced up quickly, and Gus raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Shawn's nod was barely perceptible as he dropped his eyes down again. He was ok… But that didn't mean much coming from him.

It was all Gus was going to get, and it was better than nothing. He took a small chocolate tart and nodded in thanks. The tray was set on the table, Shawn returned to his corner, and Gus shifted again in his chair

Was he doomed to be uncomfortable for the rest of his life?

The door closed behind the client and Gus' father let out a sigh as his smile dropped. "Sorry, Winnie, but I don't think that one landed."

"Hmph. Well at least you know that you did your best."

"Mom!" Gus snapped out.

"I don't want to hear it." His mother snapped back. "I'm going upstairs. I expect the house to be spotless…" she let a beat of silence emphasize the word as she glared at Shawn. "…when I wake up in the morning."

Shawn immediately stood up at the unspoken order and took the serving tray to the kitchen. For his sake, Gus managed to keep himself quiet until he heard the bedroom door close. "It wasn't Shawn's fault."

"I never said it was. Scott knew which contractor he was going with before he set foot in the house."

Gus' bad mood grew worse. It had been a long night and it had all been for nothing? "Then what was the point of all of this?"

"We can't control the cards we're dealt, but we can still play them to the best of our ability." His father looked at him thoughtfully before continuing. "Just because I didn't get the sale doesn't mean it was pointless. Sales is just as much about networking as it is the actual selling. Scott left with a good impression of me and my company. Next time he needs our service, we'll be on the top of his list to contact. Next time someone else talks to him about the service, my card might get passed on. You never know which interaction will have large dividends down the road. So you have to do your best every time, even if you know there isn't an immediate reward."

Gus just grunted and crossed his arms. Sure, his father had a point, but that didn't mean Gus had to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

His father shrugged, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. "Just keep it in mind, from one salesman to the next. It's been a long night; go ahead and check up on Shawn. We'll see you in the morning."

At least with all of the changes between Shawn and him, there was still one constant. His parents were still dumb.

And speaking of… he had to go and see how much damage his mother had done.

Shawn was busy at the sink when Gus walked into the room. Other than the barely visible broken glass in the trash can, there wasn't any sign that anything had happened. "I rescind all orders. Did she hurt you?"

"No."

Relief rushed over him at the answer. As annoying as she could be, he hadn't thought she would have gone against his rules while he was in the other room. "Did she threaten you?"

Shawn hesitated this time, his hands never stopping in their task. "She… didn't threaten to sell me…"

Gus sighed and easily read between the lines. "Do I need to yell at her for whatever she did threaten you with?"

Shawn glanced back with a strange look before he shrugged. "Believe it or not, it was actually the nicest anyone's yelled at me. Besides you, anyways."

"That's messed up." Gus grabbed the stack of dishes on the table and brought it over to the sink.

"It was… helpful." Shawn took the top dish and added it to the soapy water. After a minute of silence, it was clear that he wasn't planning on elaborating without extra questions.

Which Gus didn't really have the heart to use. Shawn had been getting more and more comfortable with not dealing with slave-things in the dorms. And then they'd come home and he'd had to go right back into his old role. It wasn't right to keep him in that role anymore than necessary.

There was only one more question Gus needed to ask before he went back to avoiding anything that the collar would recognize. "Are you ok?"

Shawn actually thought about the answer as the now-clean plate was added to the pile to dry. "Yes… Yeah, I think so."

"Ok. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help." Gus grabbed a towel and started drying the plates.

At least some things were still simple.

It was the end of the weekend, and the only thing Gus had to show for it was a raging headache. He was desperately behind on his homework, and it hadn't taken much to convince his parents that he needed to spend Sunday in his dorm to catch up. But the words in his economics book refused to sit still and make sense. He probably needed to take a break or wait until he'd had a good night's sleep to do things properly, but he'd run out of time. This worksheet was due tomorrow, another one was due the day after, he had a paper due later in the week, he had to read several chapters in his textbooks before a few quizes on Friday… He'd heard college was hard, but he'd thought he was ready.

Or, maybe he'd been ready for normal college, but not college with a friend who completely relied on him and kept doing things that made life harder… Gus shook away the thought and focused back on the worksheet. Shawn's life was a lot harder than his; he couldn't complain about being inconvenienced by it.

Case in point: one clumsy mishap seemed to have lost Shawn all of the goodwill he'd earned with Gus' mother. She hadn't gone back to ordering him around, but she had lost the cheer towards him. She'd insisted on Gus spending time with them the day after the client's dinner. They'd gone to the mall to buy him a new suit and had visited his grandmother in the nursing home. She'd claimed that he was too stressed and had needed a day off, but it had been hard for him to relax knowing that he'd been forced to order Shawn to stay before they'd left the house.

Shawn had been out of it for the rest of the night, and now he was still stuck just waiting as Gus tried and failed to tackle his mountain of homework. It wasn't fair. None of it was.

And he'd been staring at the same line on his worksheet for the last ten minutes. He was never going to finish this… But he had to. There wasn't any other choice.

If he didn't get good grades, his parents would think he wasn't responsible enough to be in charge of Shawn. They'd take him back, or get rid of him. His mother had already made several sideways remarks about how Shawn clearly wasn't doing a good enough job taking care of him.

They didn't realize it was the other way around. Everything rested on his shoulders. His attempts to learn how to relax had mostly died out; maybe it was time to bring them back. If he could ever find the time…

"You could try explaining it to me."

Gus jumped, belatedly realizing that he'd just been holding his head for who knew how long. Shawn was now sitting on the bed next to him, watching expectantly.

"What do you mean 'explain it'?"

Shawn was only faking being psychic… surely he didn't mean to explain relaxation…

"You've been staring at that page for an hour. It's not working. Pretend you're Mrs. Frizzle and I'm Arnold."

Gus asked the first thing that popped into his mind. "Why do I have to be a lady?"

"Why wouldn't you want a magic bus?" Shawn countered. "You love explaining stuff. What is Econology anyway?"

"It's economics."

"I've heard it both ways."

Gus rolled his eyes, but there wasn't any harm in playing along. "Economics is a social science about money, goods, and services."

Goods like slaves… The slave in front of him grinned and asked, "So the sciences decided to get chatty together? It sounds like a joke waiting to be told. What did the bird guy say to the bees guy?"

Gus' mind tried to split itself in two as he contemplated their messed up world and potential punchlines. He bypassed both of them with facts. "That kind of science studies the natural world. This kind of science studies people."

"Which clearly have nothing to do with the natural world. What kind of questions does economic scientists ask?"

"The big three are what goods need to be produced, how to produce them, and who's going to buy them…" Gus' jaw dropped and he looked down at his sheet. And the still unanswered question of 'What are the three basic economic questions that all societies must answer?'

"Need me to repeat it for you?" Shawn asked with a smug smile.

"No, I think I got it…" A strange conflict rose as he wrote down the answer. His stomach sank as the weight on his shoulders lightened. Was it slave Shawn who was trying to be useful, or friend Shawn who was trying to help? Which version of him was Gus dealing with? "Thanks, but… you don't have to help me."

Shawn already had enough to deal with… Shawn let out an annoyed sigh and argued back, "And you don't have to do everything on your own."

"You had a really long weekend. You shouldn't be worrying about me right now."

"Well, apparently, I don't worry about you enough."

Gus groaned. "Mom has no idea what she's talking about…"

"Or maybe you're just being stubborn." Shawn crossed his arms and stared stubbornly back. "You're helping me; why can't I help you?"

Because Gus didn't deserve it… "You shouldn't be doing it just because you think you have to."

"Great. I don't think I have to. Better, I know I don't have to, because you wouldn't know how to ask for help if she danced in front of you with a bright pink tutu."

"She?" Gus couldn't help but ask.

"Her first name is Victoria. No relation to Secrets."

Gus snorted a laugh before looking over his homework. His grades really did affect both of them… why not accept the help that was being offered? "Ok, but I don't want you to think that you always have to help like this."

"Great. Next question, how does the introduction of slaves to the factories illustrate the economic goal of efficiency?"

Gus' eyes widened in horror as they traced the words that Shawn had just read out loud. He snapped his head up only to see Shawn pressing his lips together to keep from laughing. It was a futile effort as his shoulders started to shake and a snicker snuck out.

It was too ridiculous; mixed with Shawn's reaction, Gus only lasted a second longer before he started giggling with him. It was so wrong, but laughing with Shawn was so right. It took him a minute to regain enough control over his voice to gasp out, "You have issues."

"Duh," Shawn cheerfully agreed through his own fits of laughter.

The worksheet got done, and while it might not have been any faster with Shawn's help, it was infinitely more enjoyable. Gus was stretching in his chair, content to put his paper off for another night, when his phone rang.

It was like a bucket of cold water had been doused over him when he saw the police department's number. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shawn perk up, clearly already knowing who was calling. Gus took a deep breath and answered on the next ring. "This is Burton Guster."

"Mr. Guster, it's Chief Swanson. We have use of your services."

The shadow of a giggle tried to escape his lips. Economics 101: Supply and demand. "We'll be there shortly."

Shawn had helped him, now it was Gus' turn.

The room with the whipping post was twenty feet down the hall, one turn left, and another ten feet away. Even with the curtains closed on the chief's office windows, Gus knew exactly where it was. Just lurking behind his back like a monster waiting to pounce. The constant awareness stayed with him, even as he focused on Chief Swanson's words.

"Before we get started, we gotta get things official for the bean counters upstairs." Swanson pushed a few papers forward, and Gus skimmed them. It was a contract. "You have a right to refuse any cases, we have a right to only call you in when we think we can use your… resources. It's the standard consultant fee; you get the check when your part in a case is done."

He honestly hadn't thought about the money end. He'd been too worried wondering just how long they'd be able to get away with their lie before they were caught. He read the amount and then re-read it, his eyebrows raising. That was the standard fee? They could eat out every day with that kind of money. The voice in his head that sounded like his father reminded him to always check the fine print. He read through the contract quickly and asked, "We get paid regardless of if the case is solved or not, right?"

"As long as we feel you did your job well enough, you'll get paid."

Gus stared at the signature line. It was his last chance to back out; his name would be attached to this forever if he went forward with it. He glanced back to see Shawn standing passively behind him, the small twitching of his fingers being the only sign of how he was feeling. Shawn deserved more; this gave him more.

His heart pounded as he signed on the line and handed the contract back. This was the hand he'd been dealt; he was going to play it to the best of his ability.

Swanson stapled the contract and set it off to the side. "Now that that's done…" He leaned over to yell out of the door, "Lassiter!"

In no time at all, Officer Lassiter was rushing in, looking like he'd sprinted over. "You needed me, s-sir…?"

Gus gave a small wave to Lassiter's stare.

Swanson sounded smug when he said, "I'm putting our new consultant on the McKinsley case. You're the one who found him, so you can be the one to handle him."

"I… You… What?" Lassiter spluttered. In the time it took for him to regain his composure, Gus nearly lost his. The 'he' Swanson was talking about was him, not Shawn. "You said that I could take the lead on the case."

"Yes, and now I'm giving you more resources to use for it. You're welcome." The chief's mustache twitched as he gave Lassiter a self-satisfied smirk.

Lassiter's jaw worked open and closed several times as he barely stopped himself from what he wanted to say. He regained control instantaneously, snapping to attention and nodding briskly. "Yes, sir. Thank you, I won't let you down." He turned around abruptly, his eyes skimming over Gus as he said, "Follow me."

Gus followed him out of the office, and a countdown blared warnings at him as they walked towards the hallway. Nineteen feet away, seventeen, fifteen… Lassiter turned away from the main walkway and headed towards an out of the way desk. As soon as they were out of view of the chief, his posture slumped as a scowl creased his face. "I helped solve three cases this week, and now he thinks I need consultants to do my job for me."

Cold sweat broke out on Gus' palms. The room was still there, and the officer in charge of them was angry, and Shawn was still just standing there in slave-mode and being absolutely no help. He stealthily wiped his hands on his pants as he tried to play damage control. "I'm sure he knows you're capable. Why else would he give you even more responsibility?"

"It's because he thinks I'm wrong and that I need… voodoo to solve my case for me."

A sharp spike of indignation cut through Gus' building panic. He wasn't sure whether to be offended for Shawn or for himself, but either way he was offended. It was a struggle to keep his voice steady as he asked, "And what case is that?"

Lassiter picked up a file from the desk and handed it over. "The death of an 87 year old lady named Agnes McKinsley."

Gus' curiosity itched to see inside, but he passed the file on. They were here for Shawn; not him. Even then, though, he couldn't help but ask, "Did you say 87?"

"Yup." Lassiter aggressively counted the facts on his fingers. "Old lady. At the library. Has a heart attack. Dies." He waggled the four fingers through the air before concluding with the fifth. "Natural causes."

"Then… why are we here?"

Gus looked over to see what Shawn thought of it all, only to see him stop on one of the few pages and tilt his head. He'd found something. Gus didn't get to ask what it was before Lassiter stalked over and pulled the top of the file down so everyone could see. "Because the chief thinks this is reason enough to investigate."

The photo didn't seem too remarkable, just showing a white card with several numbers written across it. The last number trailed away, like the writer had fallen asleep while writing it. Or had died while writing it…

The old woman had really nice penmanship.

Shawn seemed frozen in place, unsure of what he was supposed to do with Lassiter having partial control of the file. He glanced towards Gus before tentatively raising his hand like he was in class. Gus quickly obliged him. "What?"

"Why is this enough to suspect foul play?" Shawn asked, looking straight at Gus and nowhere near the officer standing less than a foot away from him.

Lassiter let go of the file and rolled his eyes in annoyance. "It shouldn't be… but the chief's read too many mystery novels. He doesn't like loose ends…" He crossed his arms and informed Gus, "It's not a phone number, it's not an address, it doesn't correlate to anything about her. McKinsley probably didn't even know what she was writing; we see it all of the time with the older folk… All I need is a clean tox screen and the coroner to back up my cause of death. No need for consulting."

But the chief thought there was… Gus looked back at the number in the file. He'd always enjoyed puzzles and codes; maybe he could figure it out. The code was short, just the numbers 13343.

"She worked at the library?" Shawn asked as he studied the same numbers.

Lassiter pitched his voice higher with sarcasm. "Oh, did he get that in a vision?" His voice dropped back to its regular range. "Or did he just read the file in front of him?"

Gus ignored him. They were there to do a job, and they were going to do it to their best ability. Libraries and numbers… The answer was obvious when he put the two together. "It's a Dewey decimal number."

Both Shawn and Lasitter looked at him in confusion.

"The number. It's a Dewey decimal number."

"What's that?" Shawn asked.

How did he not know?

"It's a code for classifying books by type," Gus answered automatically as he tried to dredge up years-old knowledge. "I used to have them memorized… 133… It's the occult section."

"Of course it is," Lassiter grumbled.

Shawn's eyes went wide and he quickly flipped to another page before holding his hand to his head. "I'm having a vision. Opposite of clean."

"Dirty?" Gus supplied.

"Not-clean. Her blood, it's not clean. The body has the answers." Shawn's eyes snapped up to Lassiter. "This wasn't natural causes."

Lassiter groaned. "Don't say it…"

"Mrs. McKinsley was murdered."