A/N: Alrighty so here's the next chapter. Hope y'all enjoy. : )

Shawn kept taking deep breathes as he slowly made his way down the residential streets of Santa Barbara, chuckling a bit as he realized the sleepy little neighborhood he'd grown up in hadn't changed at all. The brightly colored paint jobs had faded, and the Buicks and Oldsmobiles of his youth had given way Impalas and Neons, but otherwise, it looked to Shawn as if the whole neighborhood had gotten stuck in a time warp.

He grinned to himself as he thought about that. Like the whole place had just stopped the night he left. He was the…

He stopped, and shook his head sadly, cutting himself off mid-thought. It wasn't like that at all. And when he forced himself to look –to really look –it had changed a lot since he'd disappeared.

Everything had, apparently.

For a moment, as he leaned on his bike in front of the house he'd grown up in, he wondered what the point was. It didn't matter if the neighborhood had changed. If Gus had changed.

What mattered was, he had changed. He wasn't the same pissed off kid who had bolted seven years, four months, and sixteen days ago.

He scrubbed his face with his hands, and let the smiling mask he'd kept on for Guster fade away. How long had it been since he'd actually smiled? Because he wanted to? Had he smiled since that first night he'd headed towards the 101, determined to make his way to San Diego? He'd been so stupid… So naïve… It was a wonder somebody hadn't just killed him.

He clamped down on that line of thought quickly, refusing to let those memories well up. It didn't matter anymore. He was back in Santa Barbara, his old stomping grounds, and that was all that mattered.

He really was thinking about hanging around for a while; that was one of the few things he'd told Gus that hadn't been a lie. The fact that his father was gone made the plan all the more appealing. Granted, he was sure he'd have to deal with his mother sooner or later, but he could work up to that.

Maybe.

He had a little over seven hundred dollars saved up, rolled into a tight wad, and wrapped up in a sock, hidden at the bottom of his saddlebag. Should be more than enough to find himself a cheap apartment somewhere. He should have asked Gus where he was staying; would have given him a reference point to start apartment searching.

He chuckled a little, as he climbed back on his bike, and knocked up the kickstand. Knowing Gus, he was probably still living with his parents.

Or maybe not. He had to admit, he'd been surprised to find out that Gus was working as a pharmaceutical salesman for one of the most prestigious and well-paying pharmaceutical companies in California. He should have thought to ask where Gus was living.

Off-handedly, he wondered if Mr. Guster had realized that it was his son's best friend he was supplying all this information to. If the man had been even slightly suspicious of a 'census taker' calling in the middle of the day, in the middle of the year.

Lying had gotten easy; way too easy. Just like his dad had promised it would. Or maybe threatened. Either way…

Sometimes, he scared himself with how well he lied. How quickly the falsehood would leave his lips, with barely any thought.

Just as it had during his lunch with Gus.

He thought back to Gus's questions. Was he okay? Ha, that was a laugh. He was far, far from okay. Maybe as far from okay as a person could get and not be dead. Maybe.

The Rythmol for his heart condition –the one that would probably kill him before he hit thirty-five, if the doctors were right –didn't mix well with his other medications. The Vicodin for his old leg injury, the one where he'd been thrown from a moving vehicle, and shattered his femur. The Ceptaz to help fight off infections since his spleen had been removed three years ago. The Axert for his migraines, one of many long term side effects from the baseball bat he'd taken to the head.

He'd long since given up on taking his Lithium or Concerta, for his Bipolar II, and ADHD respectively. When faced with life-threatening injuries, mental problems just didn't seem as serious anymore.

Really, when he thought about it… Wasn't like he had much of a shot of making it past thirty-five anyways. It was a miracle he'd made it as long as he'd had. How many times had he survived injuries that should have killed him?

Which was why he didn't think about it, he reminded himself, forcefully shoving the unwanted memories back into the little cubbyhole he kept them in. He was home again. In Santa Barbara.

He grinned as he pushed his bike faster and faster towards downtown. He'd forgotten how good it felt to zip down the highways, sun shining, warm weather, the smell of the ocean…

It was good to be home.

It was only a few hours later when Shawn stepped inside of his new apartment.

Well… it wasn't exactly an 'apartment' per se. He'd seen the 'For Sale/Rent' sign in the window of the old Paulanjo's Pizza Parlor, and stopped. For some reason, it'd seemed like a great idea.

He'd managed to talk the old woman who owned it into taking seventy five dollars a week until she found someone who was interested in the place.

He actually grinned as he took stock of the place. Yeah, he'd need to get blankets to put over the windows to keep everyone on Main St looking in and seeing him, but other than that… It was perfect. He could throw up a mattress just about anywhere in what had been the eatery part of the place, and while the lady had told him not to use the ovens because of the electricity, she'd told him that the freezer was on anyways; he might as well use it.

The parking behind the place was perfect too; he'd already parked his motorcycle out back, and brought in his bags, with no one seeing him.

His bags…

They sat there in the middle of the empty room, staring at him. Well, not really staring at him, he admitted, but it seemed like they were. If he tried, he could almost picture little eyes on them, sta –

No. He shook his head, trying to clear it, to reign his ADHD back in. It really wasn't the time for his imagination to be running wild.

With shaking hands, he slowly opened the first of the two backpacks, and began emptying it. One white tee, two button down shirts, one black, the other red. One pair of jeans. Two pairs of socks. And there at the bottom, his plethora of pills. Dr. Alvarez had given him five refill prescriptions for each prescription. He did a quick mental calculation in his head, and sighed in relief when he came to the conclusion that that would give him almost five months before he had to worry about getting more.

At least that's one thing out of the way, he thought, reaching for the other bag.

Mostly, it held an assortment of odds and ends that he'd managed to hang on to over the years. A picture of him and Gus as kids. A blanket he'd gotten from an elderly woman he'd spent a week working for. Some emergency food.

But at the bottom, beneath all of the keepsakes, he found what he was looking for.

He wasn't sure what kind of gun it was, other than a pistol. He'd grabbed it off of Birdy's body right before he hit the road, running for all he was worth. Well, not literally running, he wouldn't have outran JC by running, but metaphorically speaking… And had he really outrun him?

He shook his head. All thoughts he didn't need right now. He was home, safe in Santa Barbara, and that was all that mattered.

For the moment, anyways.

Gus had debated, hesitated, thought about, and considered for almost an hour. Staring at the phone, picking it up, putting it back down, then picking it up again.

He sighed, and leaned back in his office chair, staring out his window as he rubbed at his forehead.

The responsible side of him said that he had to call Mrs. Spencer. Had to let her know that Shawn was back in town. After seven years of agonizing over her only child's fate, she deserved to know that he was alive, at the very least.

But the part of Gus that had always went along with Shawn's antics, that had always looked out for him –Gus decided to call that part of himself 'Stupid Gus' –said it wasn't right. He couldn't betray Shawn's trust like that. If Shawn wanted to call her, fine and so be it. But Responsible Gus shouldn't be the one to call, according to Stupid Gus.

But another part of him, the realistic side, wondered if there was even any point in getting Maddie's hopes up. Was Shawn even still in town? Or had he disappeared again after seeing the many parts of Gus? His spiel about getting an apartment had rung true, but it wouldn't have been the first time that Shawn managed to pull one over on his best friend. Had Shawn jumped on his motorcycle, and fled from town again as soon as he was out of sight?

Besides, what would he even say? 'Hey, Mrs. Spencer, Shawn blew into town today… Don't know where he is now, but he's got a serious heart condition, and I think he's running from something. Nice talking to you, bye!'.

Yeah… probably not.

He sighed again as he picked up the phone, and dialed.

Maybe she won't even be home, he thought. If he was lucky.

But of course he wasn't.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Spencer? It's Gus," He said thickly, a lump forming in his throat.

"Why, Guster! It's so good to hear from you!" Maddie said happily. "How're you doing?"

"Um… I uh…" Gus took a deep breath, then said quickly, "Shawncametomyofficetoday."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, before Maddie's hoarse voice asked, "What?"

"Um… Shawn uh… He came to my office. Today. About two hours ago, actually."

"Oh my God! Is he alright? Where is he?"

"I uh… I'm not sure, Mrs. Spencer. He said he was gonna get an apartment here."

"In Santa Barbara?"

"Yeah. But uh… We had lunch together, and then he left. Said he had things to do."

"I'm flying right down."

"Mrs. Spencer, I…"

"I'll call you with my flight information."

Gus sighed. "Alright. See you soon, Mrs. Spencer."

It was a few hours later, and Gus was just getting ready to leave the office, when his phone rang. Growling under his breath, he picked it up with a curt, "Hello?"

"Hey, buddy! Got myself a place to stay. Looking for someone to help me throw a house-warming party."

Gus almost laughed in relief. "Shawn!"

"Well, yeah… I told you I was sticking around for a while. So what do you say, Gus? Wanna come over, see the new place, hang out, catch up on old times?"

"You know it!"

"Alright, Gus-Meister! What time you get done with work?"

"I was actually getting ready to leave right now."

"Alright. You know where Paulanjo's Pizza is?"

Gus frowned. "Yeah, but they went out of business a few months ago."

"I know. Go home, grab your PJ's, and meet me there."

"But –" Gus sighed as he heard the click of the other line.