Repeating history would suggest something of value was learned after the first time around. Eat too much for supper only to wake up at three am with monkey gut meant the following evening, maybe a little less on the plate. Unless dad was cooking. Or it was Asian Mexican fusion night. Or he was just really, really hungry. Still, as a rule, in, theory, it stood. In theory.

In practice...

Well, they hadn't even had time to practice or even prepare.

Sucking in as much air as his lungs could hold; air that tasted like roof tar and bird droppings, Shawn had still been a little chafed that Gus wasn't even gasping. So maybe he'd had a point about unearthing the elliptical, but that would have meant pricing both step ladders and coat racks and they'd been a tad tight on funds that month.

Okay, he assumed Gus wasn't gasping as he was currently out of sight. Out of sight at the most inopportune of times in fact. Crazy chick was also out of sight though not out of earshot as she peppered him with a plethora of curses from the comfort of the awning that had caught her about eight feet from splat.

What had he been thinking about earlier? Right, repeating history. Not the first time he'd found himself dangling from a roof above certain death. For once employing the term “ironic” correctly, that time, also, had been due to a heroic act on his part. Lucky break that crazy chick had managed that pin point landing. Shawn would have been willing to pull an Indiana Jones himself. It would have been epic. It would have been sexy as hell. It would have been perfect if he'd only been dangling about three feet to the left.

Even facing a messy end, he acknowledged that last thought had sounded suggestively hilarious and biologically impressive.

“Shawn?”

Ah, Gus was alive after all. That was good. Better than good actually as it sorta improved Shawn's chances as well.

“Gus?” He licked his upper lip and coughed against his arm. Wow, was it freaking dry. Fluids would be great. Had he known there'd be a triathlon in his future he'd have stocked up on lifewater. “Hey, buddy.” He tried again, this time allowing a little thread of edge to seep out with it.

Footsteps scuffed against grit. He could easily imagine Gus sweeping the roof – obviously baffled as the steps moved away, yes away, from the edge.

“Where are you?”

It was the perfect game of high stakes hide and seek. Shawn could feel the tremors in his arms getting worse as his grip bypassed painful.

“You're getting colder!”

He tried, again, to find some purchase on the side of the building with his toe tips. Again, he failed. He could hear shouting somewhere on ground level but knew, from prior experience, that looking down would be bad. Of course, it was possible that those shouting voices were saying they had a net and were more than up to the task of catching him. Then again, they could also be yelling at him to hold on cause a fall from that height would end in a Shawn shaped hole in the sidewalk. Very Wile E. Coyote.

Another scuffle of feet from up above, this time heading the other way. Gus's voice, annoyed now but worried too, pitching into high alto range, drifted up and over to join him.

“This isn't funny! Where are...” And eyes more than likely moving with his turning head must have seen something extraordinary cause the next thing to follow was a gasp. Finally. Not the breathless kind but Shawn was willing to take what he could get.

“Oh my G... Shawn!”

Crunching feet pelted to him. Still able to run even after scaling four hundred flights of stairs – Shawn really needed to give those daily workouts a fair shot.

That sweet lavender scented dome crested the edge and wild rimmed eyes took in the weekly drama. Shawn grinned. Or maybe it was a grimace. A big purple grimace with oven mitt hands and too many tasty malts under its belt.

“Hey buddy. Check out the view from here!”

“Holy crap! Shawn, just... just hang on!”

Where had he heard such solid advice before? There was one thing he was certain about. His ability to cling like a spider monkey with a banana to whatever tiny edge stood between himself and complete death. And why was Gus disappearing again?

“Gus!”

The voice wafted back, muffley and almost as panicked as he himself was truly starting to feel.

“I'm going to find something to lower down to you!”

Shawn scrabbled a bit more, feeling the joints in his fingers starting to jump.

“How about your arm!” No answer to that but puffing breaths. Or maybe he was hearing his own puffing breaths. “Gus!!”

Nothing. Not even reassurance. Okay, he could admit now that he was feeling some very serious stress.

Getting shoved in the chest and back flipping off the building? Yeah, that had been up there in the freaking scary department. But it had also been so incredibly fast, so shocking, that he hadn't even managed a yell. He wasn't even sure how he'd grabbed the pipe sticking out from the wall. Sure as hell didn't remember doing it and that was saying something. He chalked it up to ninja skills. Double secret ninja skills.

“Shawn!”

Oh thank Go... “Dad?”

What... Another bald head of the fake tan variety now peered over the edge.

“What are you doing here? How did you get up here so fast? And why aren't you breathing hard?”

His father threaded a thick rope over the edge of the roof and began feeding it towards him. “Gus called me. I took the elevator. And I'm in shape. Now reach for the rope!”

Shawn squeezed his eyes shut through a blurry second before rubbing his forehead against his sleeve. “Gus called you? What, did you ride Usain Bolt or something?”

“I was already on my way here... would you just grab the rope!”

Gus, somewhere in the back, broke his no swearing rule for the third time that month.

“Shawn, grab the damn rope!”

Easy for them to say, their fingers could still bend.

Shawn breathed. Looking directly at the rope caused another dizzy spin. So it wasn't as high up as the perch he'd nearly plummeted from saving Dutch's ass, it was plenty high enough. He could barely hang on with two hands, how was he supposed to manage that in between moment of letting go? What if he missed the rope? What if he couldn't hold on once he grabbed it? What if he thought about it so long he fell anyway?

Shawn grabbed for the rope.

It was far less dramatic than his imagination had suggested it would be. No gasps of tension from the crowd below. No slip of his fingers before he got a solid hold. No burst of pigeons rise dramatically above the human drama. In about thirty seconds, amidst grunts and what he was certain words not sanctioned for cable TV outside of HBO and Cinemax, he was hauled safely to the top.

His dad had him by the arm the moment there was room to get a hold on him. He managed to wedge his knee beneath himself before Gus, the rope wrapped around his waist behind his father, gave another sudden heave backward.

“Oof!” The Schwarzenegger yank slammed him into his father and they both his the rooftop in a tangle. Several steps away, Gus bent forward with his hands on his knees – those long awaited gulps for oxygen finally making a show. Adrenaline spending itself out his pores, Shawn accidentally dug an elbow in his father's gut scrambling from his body.

“Ungh, Shawn...”

“Sorry.” He continued backing away until he hit the wall. At that point, his shaky legs gave out and he plopped down flat. Every smidgen of energy had been sucked right out of him. He didn't even have the strength to wipe sweat from his eyes.

A moment later, Gus hobbled over, still breathing hard, and flopped down on his right side. A moment after that, one hand rubbing his bruised belly, his father joined them – sinking down with a few loud cracks to his left.

Without warning, a flurry of pigeons burst out from behind the central air unit and curved into the sky. Shawn watched them disappear from sight, then was abruptly overcome with giggles. The laughter eased some of the nausea in his gut that had been fighting to find an outlet.

Gus sniffed and shifted beside him. Turning to his friend, Shawn was surprised at the teeny glistening shine building in those cocoa eyeballs.

“Really? Gus, don't be a neutered iguana.”

In response, Gus slugged him in the arm. Hard.

“Ow! Guuuh...” His other hard wrapped around his shattered femur as he bent down over his toes. He could feel his nausea returning.

Gus snorted. “I did not hit you that hard, you pussy. And just so you know, your femur is in your leg.”

Shawn slugged him in the leg. Now they were groaning in stereo.

His father's hand jabbed between them before the smacking could explode into another full on battle of slaps and knife play. “Alright, enough! Kid, we just saved your life. I'd like if we could keep you in one piece for at least an hour.”

Gus huffed and slumped back against the wall. Shawn, still rubbing his arm, checked his hip against him. Gus reciprocated by twisting a pinch of skin from Shawn's side.

“Ow, ow, OW! Okay, okay! Geez!!” He rubbed at the fresh wound while Gus, far more relaxed now and aggrievously smug, dusted off his hands.

Moving away from his alleged buddy, Shawn found himself mashed against his father's side. It was a little awkward but... honestly... he kinda didn't mind it a whole lot either. Sighing through the last little trembles, he let himself sag into his dad's shoulder. A moment later, he felt his dad's arm fall across his shoulders.

Shawn looked up at the incredible blue above them. He smiled.

“You know, it really is a pretty good view after all.”

The other two men looked up as well. Gus smiled.

“Yeah. It kinda is.”