(10 years ago)

Frustrated tears pooled in Shawn's eyes as he gave up on the memory exercise. "I can't!"

"Yes, you can," his dad snapped back. "You just have to focus."

If it was so easy, then he should do it! "I can't focus! Mrs. Higglesworth is making a pie, the road fixers won't be quiet, Ryan stole four chocolate milks at lunch, the substitute fried her hair and thought no one would notice, the air conditioner in the classroom kept knocking, the PE baseball had a tear in it, Message in a Bottle repeats too much, the milk is going bad, the locker room smells, there's something sticky under the desk, you have thirty-two dollars in your wallet, the car four houses down has expired plates, this morning you–"

"Woah, woah, woah. Easy…" His dad's eyes widened at the onslaught.

The tears started to fall and Shawn brushed them away angrily. He didn't want to be weak, but his dad was making him do something he couldn't do.

His dad, luckily, pretended not to notice as he asked quieter, "Is it jumbled up like that all of the time?"

"Not always…" Shawn winced as the memory of fingernails on a chalkboard fed into his headache. "Just sometimes. Like when I try to remember too much stuff."

"Too much noise… So we need to train up a tool to cut through it."

That was the first useful thing his dad had said all day. "A tool?"

"Yeah… Your–" His dad quickly changed what he was going to say. "Sometimes people need triggers to help them think a certain way. Like holding a pretend tape recorder and pressing play when you need to remember what someone told you."

Why didn't he just say he was talking about Shawn's mom? He knew her memory was weird too… It should be her teaching him, not his dad. She wouldn't ask him to do something he couldn't do…

But he knew why it wasn't her. She didn't want to. She didn't even like being in the house anymore now that the divorce was almost done.

"Shawn?"

Something sharp writhed in Shawn's gut. He set his jaw and spat out, "I'm not pretending to push a button."

"...Fine. Pick something else, then."

Shawn rubbed his aching head as he tried to think. And then he realized he had his answer.

He pressed his finger to his temple and looked to see his dad's reaction.

His dad just sighed. "Real subtle…"

Shawn gave him a sharp grin back. It was perfect.

(Present Day)

Shawn and Gus followed Lassiter down the hall, the glares of the other law enforcement burning into their backs. Surprisingly, the chief had agreed to their idea. Shawn still couldn't get a read on him, which was odd considering the man didn't seem to try hiding anything. The anger from the other cops and detectives was less surprising, though hearing Carp complain that he'd earned the first go at the slave 'fair and square' had cut deep. He'd been staring at Shawn the whole time, as if imagining a certain other slave was in the holding room.

"You can watch, but don't get in the way," Lassiter growled as he pointed towards a nondescript door with the number four on it.

Gus tensed, his hands visibly shaking as he gave a quick nod. Even without perfect memory, it had to be hard on him to go back to the room where Shawn had been held before his punishment.

It was having an effect on Shawn too. His pulse beat at his collar as he stepped into the small room, and even he didn't know if it was fear or excitement. The last time he'd been here, he'd thought he was about to die. Now he was here to keep someone else from dying. Two sides of the same coin: Person and slave. Slave and person.

"Slave 87914110, you were caught earlier today running away with fifteen thousand dollars worth of your owner's jewelry. There are several pieces missing, adding up to an additional fifty thousand bucks. Did your owner order you to steal the jewelry?"

"No, sir," the slave answered in a quiet monotone. Shawn studied him as Lassiter asked several more questions. If he'd been a free person, he'd probably be considered handsome with his strong jaw and salt and pepper hair. His looks were marred, though, by the bruised cheeks and the dried blood from a split eyebrow.

The slave seemed barely aware of anyone else in the room, his expression never changing with his repeated, "No, sir."

Lassiter finished up the routine questions, barely looking at the man kneeling at his feet. He seemed to gather his thoughts before saying, "When a slave is convicted of this sort of crime, they're punished and then sent back to their master. A master who ordered his slave to steal for him isn't the type to welcome them back with open arms. You have nothing to gain by covering for him. However, if you give us the information we need, we can protect you."

Shawn watched the slave carefully for a reaction, but a slight tightening of his eyes was the only sign that he'd even heard anything.

He didn't trust Lassiter.

And why would he? Lassiter waited a second before asking, "Do you know where the missing jewelry is?"

"No, sir," the slave answered blandly.

"Did your master take the jewelry?"

"No, sir."

"I can make sure you're sold to a regular vendor or to a product testing lab. Don't test me. Were you ordered to steal the jewelry?"

"No, sir."

"Damnit!"

The slave finally reacted, flinching back slightly at the yell. Gus stepped forward and quickly asked, "When did you eat last?"

Lassiter turned his glare to Gus, and the slave hesitated, a brief look of surprise flitting across his face. The collar beeped and he answered, "Two days ago, sir."

"I don't think I'd be able to answer questions on an empty stomach either," Gus said, his voice calm enough to defuse a bomb. "I saw a vending machine down the hall…"

Lassiter narrowed his eyes at the perceived order. "Then go ahead and get a snack."

Gus shot Lassiter an annoyed look back before jerking his head towards Shawn. "I don't have any cash on me."

Lassiter looked between them, clearly understanding what Gus was asking. He bared his teeth in a grimace, but even he understood the value of good cop/bad cop. "Fine. I'll be right back."

The problem was, Shawn didn't know how to play good cop here. The man had forty years of experience with how untrustworthy free people were. For all he knew, Shawn had been ordered to lie to him. Just like he'd probably been ordered to lie to the cops.

Or he'd just been very good at telling half-truths…

The door slammed closed and Shawn stepped forward. Gus dropped the leash and stayed back, giving Shawn the lead. His trust was encouraging. And overwhelming.

It had taken Shawn months to trust anything Gus said. How could he convince this slave in five minutes? His dad hadn't taught him anything about interrogations before he'd died…

Which meant he had to approach it like a slave. Figure out what the person needed, then meet that need.

The man needed proof that Lassiter wasn't lying. Shawn knelt in front of him, his hands folded in his lap and his eyes trained on the man's knees. He easily focused on his peripheral vision, watching for any reaction as he said, "The other cops wanted to question you hours ago. You had to have realized how strange it was to have been left alone for that long. Officer Lassiter did that."

The slave didn't move a muscle. How could Shawn break through decades of being taken advantage of?

He had to break the rules. Shawn snapped his head up and ordered, "Gus. Turn around."

Gus stared in shock before quickly turning around. That got a reaction.

The slave's eyes darted up, taking in the insanity of a slave giving orders to his master.

Shawn kept his hands down low where the cameras couldn't see before quickly making a sign. 'Peace. Don't fear.'

The slave watched him warily. Shawn said, "A month ago I was exactly where you are now. Officer Lassiter made sure I was punished according to the law, but afterwards he offered my master a deal. We work for the cops now, helping solve cases. It's why we're here."

The slave's eyes darkened in distrust and Shawn proved he was telling the truth the only way he knew how. "Officer Lassiter really likes me."

Pain jolted through his body at the blatant lie, and Shawn didn't hide his wince. He gave the slave a wry smirk afterwards. "When Officer Lassiter says he's going to do something, he does it."

The collar stayed silent, and the slave's eyes widened.

Only for them to quickly snap back to the floor as the door opened again. Lassiter immediately ordered, "Shawn, move. I told you to stay out of the way."

"Yes, sir," Shawn answered as he obediently returned to Gus.

Lassiter pulled out his remote and a click sounded out behind the slave. "You can use your hands to eat. If you try anything, you will be waking up in a puddle of your own piss."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," the slave said quickly as he took the offered granola bar.

It was gone in three bites, and Lassiter showed him a second one. "I want to know the truth. And you have my word as a police officer that you will be sold to a house slave vendor without any record of this if your master is guilty. Were you ordered to steal the jewelry?"

The slave hesitated, and Shawn willed him to answer truthfully. It was his last chance.

"This… This slave wasn't ordered to do it, sir."

Lassiter had to notice the careful wording, right? Shawn tensed, ready to jump forward with a vision if needed.

Lassiter studied the slave, and he asked his next question slowly, as if he was deliberating each word. "What did your master threaten you with?"

A barely perceptible shudder ran across the slave's shoulders. "This slave damaged a piece it was cleaning, sir. Master said it… it wasn't useful anymore. That it…" He paused, his breath shaky as he teetered on the brink of betraying his master.

"That you…what?" Lassiter prompted.

The slave's eyes flicked up for a split second to look at Shawn. His hands slowly curled in on themselves as he answered, "That this slave was so useless it didn't need its hands anymore, sir."

Shawn's stomach jolted at the thought. There were only a few ways slaves could live without hands. None of them were good.

"What did your master do after he told you that?"

"Master had more important things to take care of. He put this slave away, sir."

Gus' jaw twitched, his anger showing in every crease on his face. Shawn wanted to feel the same, but all he felt was the memory of waiting in dread for a threat to be carried out. It was an effective way to scare someone into compliance.

"What did your master do when he came back?"

"Master took this slave to the showroom, sir. He said this slave had cost him too much money. Its sale, its upkeep, its failure."

Lassiter sighed, clearly annoyed at the pace of the story. "You can talk for as long as needed to answer the question. What happened?"

"He showed this slave the case of jewelry, sir. He told it how much money it had wasted and said how much the jewelry was worth. And how much insurance would pay if they were stolen. He remembered this slave was stupid and made sure it understood that Master would have to both get the insurance money and sell the jewelry in order to make up the debt. If a slave could do what was needed, it might even keep its hands. Maybe."

Gus lost the battle to stay quiet as he said in a heated whisper, "What a piece of work."

Shawn just barely stopped himself from reminding him that masters were just masters.

"So your master didn't directly order you to steal them, but he did give you the idea. Did he say anything else?"

"He said the cameras were malfunctioning, sir. Like this slave had malfunctioned. And that this slave's punishment would start in five minutes if it was still there."

"What happened?"

"This slave did as its master wanted, sir. It broke the case and grabbed the jewelry and started to run. Master ordered it to stop, and it stopped." The slave hesitated, his monotone voice coloring with a quiet desperation. "This slave could be good." His breath hitched and his whole body shook as he seemed to realize how very not good he was being.

"You're being good now," Gus said. He ignored Lassiter's annoyed look as he continued, "Your master knew the police would catch you. And he knew the police could give you orders. In a way… he sold you to the police. They're your masters now. And you're making them happy."

The logic was flawed, but it was close enough to the slave's logic that it might help…

Lassiter didn't seem to agree as he snapped out, "If either of you speaks out of turn again, I'm kicking you out. Let me do my job."

Gus' jaw clenched, but he stayed quiet as he swept his hand forward in a 'go for it' motion.

Lassiter turned his attention back to the slave. "Your master misused his property in order to commit a crime. If you cooperate and help us prove he's guilty, I'll make sure he no longer has any control over that property. Over you. Why did he tell you to stop?"

The slave's fists slightly loosened and tightened, as if he was proving to himself that he still could. His answer was whispered. "Master said this slave couldn't be trusted to not malfunction again. It was already making a mess with its blood. It needed to leave some of the jewelry on the floor so it wouldn't make things worse. Then Master ordered it to 'move along'. This slave followed its order."

"Leaving you with just enough wiggle room to protect his lying ass." Lassiter held out the second granola bar. "Eat before you answer. Do you know where he would have hidden the jewelry you left behind?"

"Thank you, sir." The slave took the food and ate it just as fast as the first bar. His voice was a bit more sure when he answered, "Master has a small safe behind his desk in his work office. It's hidden behind a wood panel. He uses it for the jewels and pieces he doesn't want others to know about."

"I don't suppose you know where the key is?"

"It's a combination, sir. This slave isn't supposed to know the numbers. Master said it isn't smart enough to know the numbers…" His hands clenched together even as his voice stayed monotone. "The combination is 58-13-6."

"Nice." Lassiter pulled out the remote and ordered, "Hands behind your back." The slave complied and the cuffs clicked together. Lassiter walked out of the room, telling Gus as he went, "Let's go."

Shawn started to follow, but Gus didn't move, his eyes locked on the slave. His voice only held respect when he said, "Thank you. You were very brave."

The slave didn't react, and Gus gave him a small nod before following Lassiter.

"No," Chief Swanson answered.

Lassiter stiffened. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like, son." Swanson pushed away the paper that would have logged the slave as evidence.

"You approved of me offering that deal."

"I approved of you offering, yes. Surely you didn't think it was an offer we could follow through on…"

Shawn's heart pounded as their triumphant return to the chief's office turned anything but. How could he have thought it would be that easy to protect a slave?

"Sir, I gave my word. A police officer is only as good as his word," Lassiter said. "The slave gave us the answer we need…"

"The slave gave you the answer that saved its own skin," Swanson countered. "It's all it cares about."

"It matches the facts."

Gus chimed in, "And Shawn had a vision that agreed with what the slave said."

Swanson sighed and rubbed between his eyes. "I'm not unreasonable; we'll follow up on the tip when we have the resources. But getting a judge to sign off on the warrant will be like pulling teeth. In the meantime, we'll punish the slave and send it back to its master."

"He didn't have a choice–"

"By the time we have the 'resources', the goods will be sold–"

Lassiter and Gus both made their arguments, and Shawn tuned them out. It wasn't going to work; Swanson didn't care about the slave or the rules. They had to figure out what he cared about.

"Enough!" the chief barked, his voice filled with authority. Lassiter straightened under his glare. "Last I checked, I'm the one who runs things around here, not you. We got four car jackings, a bomb threat, and the dispatch phone ringin' off the hook. And the boys just brought in a body of a teenager with that damn symbol carved in her head. And you want me to call in favors for a theft that's under a hundred grand? This ain't Portland. We can't go runnin' after every single rabbit that darts under a bush."

Lassiter wasn't successful in hiding his frustration as he asked, "Then why did you already give me resources for this case?"

"Because my priorities have changed since then." Swanson sighed. "Jesus, Lassiter. Sometimes I forget how young you are… Idealistic cops don't last long. You're good enough at this job, I'd hate to see you get washed out."

"We have a witness and we know where to find the evidence," Lassiter said stubbornly. "The last chief–"

"The last chief was a detective who should've never been promoted. He didn't have the first idea of how to run a precinct and I'm barely makin' a dent in the mess he left behind."

That was it. Shawn knew how to make Swanson care. But he was going to have to remember farther back than he ever allowed himself…

Shawn squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his index fingers to his temples. He hadn't done it on purpose, but it was handy how similar his dad's memory 'tool' looked like his psychic gesture. The memories were slow to form as he remembered details of the time he'd spent years trying to lock away. Walking through the precinct with his dad, snooping through his dad's files, listening in to his dad's conversations with his partner…

So much noise. So many emotions.

"Right now your head is like your locker; everything is just thrown into one messy pile. You need to make it more organized so you can find what you're looking for."

"Are we still talking about my memory?"

"Focus, Shawn. Look around, take in the details. It isn't one big picture but a thousand little ones. Connected but separate. You need to be able to file them away so you can look for only the ones you want."

"You want me to notice everything; it's too much."

"Then we'll practice until it's not. This isn't just a cop thing; you're getting overwhelmed with only eight years of memories under your belt. What happens when it's eighteen? Or thirty? Close your eyes. Remember, you're looking for the little pictures. How many hats?"

Shawn focused and looked for any memory with case files that mentioned a slave being arrested. The little picture details jumped out at him as the large picture and accompanying emotions faded into the background.

"You might wanna control your slave before it says something you'll regret."

"Shawn?"

It was now or never. Shawn talked over the memories.

His dad complaining to his partner about an old case. "1983, Wattson. Slave was arrested and beaten for stealing inherited gold. They never found the gold." A case file left open on a desk in the bullpen. "1987, Cole. Slave was arrested for vandalism. Even though the overseer never noticed them missing." A muffled argument behind a closed door. "1988, Schmidt. An owner claimed her slave's incompetence was the reason poison made its way into her husband's meal." A brief glance in a file cabinet. "1988, Bryant." A conversation in the living room. "1989, Simmons." A detective walking by with an open file. "1990, Johnson."

Shawn opened his eyes, keeping them downcast as he felt three pairs of eyes staring at him. This probably counted as breaking his deal with Lassiter… He might as well make the most of it. "The previous chief didn't want to waste his time on them either, sir. And they kept happening. How soon before people learn they can just order their slave to push someone down the stairs? How soon–"

"Enough," Lassiter said. "Be quiet."

Shawn closed his mouth over the words that were still trying to form. Gus stepped in for him. "He wasn't making a scene, and he's right."

Lassiter ignored both of them and addressed the chief, "I'm sorry, sir. He shouldn't–"

He stopped talking at a silent gesture from Swanson. Keyboard keys clicked before Swanson let out a low whistle. "I'll be damned. They're real cases…"

There was a moment of quiet as everyone processed what he'd said. Lassiter hesitantly spoke up again. "It… wasn't just back then. Last year, there were at least five cases that followed that pattern. It's only the second month of the year, and this is the second one we've had. Word is spreading that there's a certain type of crime that cops won't investigate. That's not how a precinct is supposed to be run."

Shawn stared at the floor, adrenaline rushing through him as he was forced to stay quiet and wait for the free people to make up their mind. He'd convinced the slave that it was safe to talk. If it went the wrong way, whatever happened to him would be Shawn's fault.

Swanson said, "I meant what I said about idealistic cops. You gotta wrap your head around that, son. But a good chief knows when to listen to his subordinates. You've made a good point and this case could be used to show we're cracking down on using slaves as proxies for committing crimes."

Gus asked, "And what happens to the slave after you crack down on the crime?"

"I got enough people to worry about as it is," Swanson said firmly. "I can't go worrying about the slaves too."

Gus' voice was cold as he listed out the facts. "So, a person uses a possession to commit a crime, the person is convicted of that crime, and that person is still in control of the possession and can sell it for money even while in jail… Does that really make sense to you?"

"You don't know the half of what don't make sense around here," Swanson muttered under his breath. He sighed and said louder, "I'll bring up your concern to the judge, but if I gotta pick between investigating the owner or changing how we handle slaves, then my choice is clear. I'm done discussing this; you're dismissed."

"Can you at least make it part of the plea deal?" Gus asked desperately. "If the judge doesn't listen to you, can you make surrendering the slave part of the deal? That man you have chained up risked his life by giving us that information. He shouldn't be punished for that."

"I said you were dismissed," the chief repeated firmly.

Lassiter crowded into their space, but Gus stood his ground. "What's going to happen to the slave while he waits for the judge to decide his fate? What's stopping anyone from going in there and letting off some steam by 'questioning' him?"

"You might not like it, but the fact that the slave is owned by someone else is the very reason that won't happen. Maybe think about that before you push too hard to make it police-owned. Its basic needs will be met; we don't damage other people's properties without good reason. Now get out before I change my mind about ever hiring you again."

Gus was tight in anger as he let him and Shawn be ushered out of the room. As soon as they were far enough from the door, Gus snapped out, "This is wrong."

Lassiter was completely neutral as he replied, "The chief has his reasons for what he does."

"It's wrong, and you know it too."

"I know it's my job to not question my orders," Lassiter snapped back. He glanced at his watch and cursed a stream of profanities. "If you want a ride back, we need to go right now. And I don't want to hear a word from either of you the whole time."

"Too bad, you can't order me to be quiet."

"Fine. Get your own ride." Lassiter stalked off, lifting his phone to his ear. Shawn just barely heard him say, "Hey, honey. An interrogation went long, I'm just leaving now…"

"Unbelievable," Gus snarled as he signed them out. He checked his remote status afterwards and said firmly, "And I rescind all orders."

Shawn stayed quiet, his mind buzzing as he followed Gus out of the precinct, leaving the slave to his unknown fate.

They made it back to the dorms just in time to get dinner before the dining hall closed for the night. It was a quiet meal as they both stayed lost in their thoughts.

Gus was sitting at a table with as much food as he wanted. Shawn was kneeling on the floor with as much food as he wanted. The slave was kneeling in the precinct with no idea of when he'd be fed next. They were all the same, but all so different.

It was like looking at an optical illusion where two pictures existed in the same place at the same time. Maybe his realization from the other night was affecting him more than he'd realized…

Gus didn't say a word until they were in his room and he'd unclipped the leash. He let out a loud groan and flopped onto his bed, facedown. His voice was muffled as he grumbled into his mattress, "This is so messed up."

Shawn didn't answer as he sat on his sleeping bag and leaned against the wall. What was he supposed to say to that? The chief had called out Lassiter for being too idealistic, but they'd all been ridiculously naive. All it would have taken was one minute of actually thinking things through to realize the world didn't work like that.

Shawn, at least, should have known better.

The silence between them grew, and Shawn's attention shifted outward as the expected conversation from Gus didn't start. Something wasn't right. Gus wasn't moving, or talking, or yelling, or doing any of the things Shawn would have expected from him by now.

Though, maybe that was expected. They'd been in the precinct again; they'd even been in the exact same room from when Shawn had ran away. They'd dealt with the slave world again. And this time there wasn't even a convenient person saved from that life. They'd tried to help the slave and had failed. They might have even made the slave's life worse.

"Are you freaking out?" Shawn found himself asking.

"No," Gus answered into his bed, still not moving. He was totally freaking out.

"Want to talk about it?"

Gus sounded grumpy as he answered again, "No."

Which was probably a good thing; Shawn didn't want to talk about it either. The mix of emotions inside of him was confusing at best. And very dangerous at worst.

Gus sighed and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as he asked, "We're doing the right thing, right?"

"The right thing about what?"

"Us, working for the cops. I mean… The only thing they see about you is how much money I could make if you were sold. Should we really be helping a system like that?"

"You say that like the cops are the only ones who think that way."

Gus let out a scoff. "Fair."

Shawn's thumbs drummed together as he thought. He probably should feel different about working for the cops now. But the idea of no longer being able to solve cases was more terrifying than any thought of what they could do to someone like him. "I mean… George Taylor was able to work with the monkeys…"

"Really?" Gus turned his head to shoot an incredulous look towards him. "You pick a movie where apes have taken over and there's still slavery?"

"It fit," Shawn answered with a shrug. It was strange; the case was too much to think about when he tried understanding it himself. But when he looked at it from the perspective of needing to help Gus, it all seemed so clear. "The slave was screwed the second his master decided to make a quick buck. At least now the master will be investigated and the slave has a chance."

It was an insanely small chance, and the slave was in more danger after giving them his information. But he was going to have a bad time regardless of what they'd done. And they might have just set things into motion that would save more slaves in the future.

Did that make it worth it?

Gus had gone back to looking at the ceiling, his eyebrows creased in thought. "You've told me before that a slave isn't ever safe. I thought I understood. Masters are just masters and all that. But… I had no idea how deep it went. Hell, I probably still don't."

If this was a freak out, then it was a very quiet one.

Gus let out a long breath before continuing, "With all of that… and everything you went through… I truly, honestly, can't believe you were ever willing to trust me."

"Well… I've been reliably told that I'm terrible at thinking things through."

Gus chuckled before wiping his eyes. "Yeah, I may have noticed that from time to time."

"I don't regret it," Shawn said truthfully.

"I'm glad." Gus sniffed and sat up, clearly trying to get his tears under control. "You were incredible, by the way. Earlier, with that vision. The chief wasn't going to listen to us until after that. You're the reason the slave has a chance."

He was also the reason the slave was in more danger… "Thanks."

"How did you do it?"

The question knocked the breath out of him. What had he been thinking? Of course Gus would notice the vision had been different. He couldn't answer; it wasn't safe. Gus was right; he still didn't know how deep it went.

The collar beeped and Gus' voice soothed the panic, "You don't have to answer that."

Shawn took in a breath. And then another. Gus was safe. Gus didn't want to sell him. Even if he did have to sell him, he'd make sure it was to a good place.

He trusted Gus.

Gus deserved to know the answer.

It still took him several more shaky breaths before he could push through the weight holding his tongue down. "P-Part of how I do what I do is because of my dad. He… He trained me to see things. See everything."

"You said he wanted you to be a cop," Gus said quietly.

Shawn nodded, keeping his eyes locked on his hands. He could still stop; his dad had told him to never tell anyone… "The… The other part. Is from my mom." A rush of anger followed the words. Shawn ignored it; he couldn't deal with it right now. "She had… has… eidetic tonal memory. She can remember anything she's ever heard. I guess things got weird when she passed it on, because… because…" He let out a sharp breath. He trusted Gus, damnit. "Because I got the full thing."

Silence fell after his words, and he started to shake as he felt Gus' stare burn into him. Why had he just done that?

It took Gus several more seconds to finally ask, "The full thing… as in eidetic memory. As in photographic memory?"

"Yes," Shawn said faintly, caught between answering as himself and answering his master.

"I didn't think that was a real thing… You can remember everything you've ever seen?"

"And heard. And felt. And everything else…"

"That is so cool…" Gus leaned forward, as if to study him closer, before freezing. His voice dropped in horror. "Oh my God. You remember everything."

That wasn't where Shawn had expected the conversation to go. Though, in hindsight, it was a very Gus-response. He needed to lighten the mood. "Yep. The day you tried flirting at the mall: you were wearing a light blue shirt, the clothes rack that tried to run away from you had seven dope vests on it, and the girl with green eyes bought forty-seven bucks worth of stuff."

"And you freaked out because I picked up a belt… Jesus, no wonder you have so many flashbacks."

Shawn winced; it would have almost been easier if Gus hadn't believed him or had asked him to show off. "It's n-not all bad. I remember good stuff too."

He chanced a glance up, expecting to only see pity. But Gus wouldn't be Gus if he acted as expected. Gus met the look, compassion filling his face along with understanding. He gave him a small smile before continuing conversationally, "Good stuff like watching me fall on my face in front of a gorgeous girl over and over again?"

"Technically, you caught yourself before you fell. So you only… fifteen percent fell on your face," Shawn answered gratefully.

"Yeah, that math checks out." Gus' smile faded as he said more seriously, "I'm curious why you're telling me now."

Shawn's chest warmed at the phrasing as he looked for the right words. The obvious answer was that they'd been talking about trust and he trusted Gus. But that didn't actually communicate the deep need that he hadn't even realized he'd needed.

"Dad made sure I'd never tell anyone. I mean, I already knew not to –Didn't want to be a freak or anything– but he really made sure." Shawn felt the memory of a stair digging into his back as his parents argued. "Mom thought he was paranoid, but he even made sure it wasn't in any medical records." He sighed and focused on the present, eyeing up the cuffs around his wrists. "He was right not to. But that means I never got to tell anybody, you know?"

"...I'm the first person you've ever told?"

"Yeah." He was the first person Shawn had ever wanted to tell. Shawn looked up, taking in Gus' dropped jaw and eyes filling with tears. He definitely understood the significance, but did he understand how much power Shawn had just given him? "It wasn't safe. Dad always planned for every possibility. If it had been on record when I was collared, or if any of my masters had found out…"

"Shit…" Gus whispered as he followed the scenario to its logical conclusion.

"Yeah." Shawn's collar seemed to burn into his neck. Even with all of the punishments and humiliation and attempts to break him… Being a research test subject would have been worse. And he'd just willingly told his master about it.

What was wrong with him?

"Now I really can't believe you told me. Thank you, for trusting me."

Shawn could only nod as the confusing clash of emotions continued. Gus tentatively walked over to sit next to him, still leaving space for him to breathe. "You must have really been worried about that slave if you were willing to risk using your memory for a vision."

Gus was giving him more credit than he deserved. "I didn't really think about it. I knew they'd just think I was…"

No.

No no no nonono…

Gus' voice came from far away as the collar squeezed Shawn's throat. "Shawn. Shawn, it's ok. You're safe."

He wasn't safe. What had he done? Why hadn't he realized?

"Hey, if you can hear me, it'd be good to breathe."

He'd been so careful; he'd fought so hard to survive. And he'd had to ruin it all because he'd wanted to play pretend.

"Crap." A hand brushed his shoulder, and Shawn flinched away from the hit. He wasn't being good. He was going to be sold, and now everyone knew his brain was weird, and he was going to have a food tube shoved down his throat, and he wouldn't ever be allowed to move again, and…

The hand followed the flinch, resting on his shoulder with a light squeeze. And it wasn't hurting.

"Shawn. You're safe. You can breathe. You're not there. Remember– Your body needs you to breathe. In…"

Shawn wheezed for air around the collar tight around his throat. He wasn't there yet… How long? How long did he have?

"Hold."

Shawn held his breath. Would he be forced to breathe like this at the lab? Would they see if his 'visions' were affected by how much oxygen he could get?

"Out."

Shawn let out the breath. Why hadn't he realized until now just how dangerous that lie was?

"You're doing good. In, hold, out."

The answer to that question was currently squeezing his shoulder and counting out his breaths. Gus wouldn't sell him; Gus was safe. He trusted Gus.

His breath stuttered at the next inhale. They were working for the cops; the cops weren't safe. What if he got into trouble? What if Gus got into trouble?

"You can let me know if you're back with me whenever you're ready. In, hold, out."

Shawn breathed along with the instructions, fighting the rushing dread that was trying to pull him under. He wasn't there yet. He was safe for now. "S-Sorry."

He'd wanted to show Gus how much he trusted him. Then he'd had to go and mess it up.

"It's been a rough day," Gus said without a trace of judgment. "Then you opened up about something huge. Some emotions are kind of expected."

Shawn just shook his head. "I hid my memory… But now th-they think I'm psychic."

"Yeah, they… Oh."

Shakes ran through Shawn's body, and he leaned into the hand to keep him from falling apart.

"Hey, it doesn't matter. They can't do anything. I've told you before; I'm not selling you. Not ever."

"Until I d-do something that gets you arrested," Shawn whispered. And they'd just pushed for slaves to be able to be seized by the police…

Silence filled the space where Gus was supposed to answer. Shawn's heart beat faster at the proof that his fear was legit. How much longer did they have?

"Don't worry, I'll find a way to keep you safe. I'll…" Gus' shaky voice cut off with a quiet gasp. Shawn forced his eyes up to see Gus staring into space, his jaw lax. He sounded like he was in a dream as he said, "Oh my god, that's it."

"Gus?"

Gus' eyes snapped over to his. "I know how you can be safe again. Real safe." Energy seemed to jump between them as a grin spread across his face. "I think I know how you can be free."