Semi-serious chap, this time. I was preparing another one but, alas, you know something characters could be very not-collaborative. Written with Grey's Anatomy soundtrack, so a little bit of fluff and a little bit of rude lucidity. Serious!Shawn, I think it's something to say.

Heavily inspired by Horace's philosophy, or better, by my Mom's philosophy. And so I dedicate this little thing to her.

Carpe diem, my friends. Being a little Shawn-y is not bad.

P.S.: Thanks so much for your support. It's priceless.

Not (entirely) like a Cartoon II

He was watching Lassie playing with the kids, even if Shawn wasn't a sturdy Southern lady in printed flannel and it was not the end of a . They were playing Cowboys and Indians, or some version for history nerds with a ton more of rules. Tim was pouting wildly under his serious blue eyes, Mina was raging like the fluffy tight-curled pain in the ass she was. Their uncle was reprimanding his troops with the least convincing scowl of his career.

-Mina, you're supposed to be an Indian princess and Tim is your hostage. So you can't smacking him, removing his scalp yes, but not smacking.-

-I don't want to fight with her and kill you, Uncle Carl.-

-You have to, man. If you kill me you'll have her trust, and can save the regiment. It's your Colonel's order.-

Shawn and Gus would be absolutely glad to partecipate and mess up with his detective with some historical blunders, but their left legs were both casted in giant plaster casts after the Blueberry had had a close encounter with a tree. Repeatedly.

You're idiot beyond redemption, Jules had declared out of the hospital. Lassie had been manhandling the wheelchairs, probably not to manhandle them. You just don't understand that you could have died? That you're not cartoons?

Shawn had done nothing but smiling like a fool, because Jules was perfectly right and perfectly wrong. Because yes, he was childish, careless, stupidly optimistc like every prideful person is, and yes, he knew it too well. He knew that people die in lousy ways, that crap happens without any suspence music, that the greatest feelings wore off or twisted or simply changed beyond recognizable before you realized it. He had been trained to find the cracks, to scratch uder the surface people walked on. Equilibrium. Safety. Loyalty. Be good and the world will be good with you, there's no place like home, eye for an eye. His father never really let him delude himself, and today Shawn still don't know if it was a good or bad thing. Someday one of them would be too fool, they could say something irreparable, or just wake up and discover not to see the others in the same way; and they would be again just a bunch of awkward misfits without a place.

That was the reason why he tried to remember everything, every single idiotic or scary or weird moment; enjoying them, grabbing them and putting them in cans like stocks for the winter. To have something to hold when all would go downhill, and let less space for regrets. So he would run and cry with Gus and argue and kiss with Lassie and flirt with Jules until he could breathe, because this, oh, this was definitively not a cartoon.

-Alas, blasted powers of greed and bloodlust, my own men turned against me. But you wouldn't have me without a fierce fight!- Lassie babbled, waving Gus's laser sword over a buzz of squeaking nephews. However he hadn't been fast enough, because suddenly he dropped on his knees, clutching his chest with the grossest fake wheezes ever. He wavered to Tim, wearily. -Timothy Alpha Eagle, me boy, seek vengance for me...-

-I would do, my Colonel, I would do. Please sir, don't go, don't go toward the light.-

-It's too late for me, boy. But you don't...give up...the fight.- With a last gurgle the detective collapsed on the grass, throwing in a pair of convulsions too. Mina let out an Indian yell of victory.

Gus snorted, flashing concealed snapshots with his IPhone. Shawn followed.

There would be a day when he would run no more around like a very, very happy fool, because his bones and his heart would be too old; there would be a day when all of that would be lost, or rotten. There would be a day when he would no more watching Lassie playing with the kids like a good Southern lady.

He shot up from the armchair at the right moment, pulling close an handful of grinning detective despite his screaming tibia.

But it was not today.