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salomeydraws' post about PTSD!Tintin.
What is more painful than a nightmare is the fact that you cannot exactly remember what you dreamed about. Whatever plagues your sleep and rips you out of it in such force that leaves you breathless and shivering in the middle of the night. The confusion just kills you.
Tintin experiences exactly that.
His eyes open, as quickly as lightning, and he blinks once, twice, thrice, until his sight is used to the familiar semi-darkness that surrounds him. His breath quickens, but as his eyes are accustomed to his own ceiling, he starts to calm down.
Deep breaths.
Tintin sits up. Slowly.
One, two, three.
He doesn't jerk up to a sitting position. For some reason, his body knows well that it will just agitate Snowy, which is the last thing he has in mind. Poor dog has had quite a long day; he needs all the sleep he can get.
Plus, he has learned about that in a hard way.
How much Tintin envies his own pet at that moment is indescribable.
Yet, Snowy stirs and regards him with sleepy eyes and confused head tilt. Tintin takes more deep breaths and spoke.
"Stay, Snowy."
Sapristi, even his voice is hoarse. Was he screaming? He cannot imagine himself making such a scene. The thought terrifies him even more, making him want to bolt out from his suffocating blanket and just runs to whatever direction and curls into a ball and maybe he'll be just fine if he's not here-
Enough. One, two, three. Deep breaths. Deep breaths, Tintin.
His hands ball into fists, his nails dig into his palms, the stabbing pain slightly felt. He wants to fight. It's either fight or flight, right? That's what people always says. But the thought of confronting his hidden demons feels much horrifying than the curling up as a ball one earlier. Both thoughts make his head spin anyway.
Tintin kicks his blanket just to get himself free. The thick cloth almost buries Snowy, which makes him jump in reflex.
The canine's action startles his owner. Tintin pushes himself back and back and back and back until the headboard stops him. It feels cold and almost makes him recoil.
One, two, three. Deep breaths.
Snowy lets out a small, concerned voice.
"Stay, Snowy." It is said as automatically as a machine. "Stay, Snowy," he repeats, even though the terrier doesn't even budge and merely eyes him, obviously puzzled.
But as he sits there, shivering slightly, realisation hits him. If there's someone who is unable to stay on his place, it's Tintin himself.
He turns and steps down the bed. He stands, barefoot, next to the nightstand, which holds the only light in the room. The floor feels cold.
Everything feels cold.
One, two, three. Deep breaths, Tintin.
Now he really wants to curl into a ball. Probably even cry. Or scream and just let things out, whatever it is. But with more calming deep breaths taken, his logical mind takes over.
No, he cannot do that.
He's Tintin, for God's sake. He fights like his life depends on it, and he will be damned if he doesn't do the same right now. He has confronted the worst of the evil, so why can't he handle himself? He is supposed to know himself the best!
One, two, three. Deep breaths, Tintin. Deep breaths.
He looks down, gets his feet into the sandals next to them, and walks out. He knows sleep is out of option, so at least he should freshen himself a little bit. Maybe he can grab a book and read until he gets drowsy or something.
One, two, three. Deep breaths.
Tintin leaves to the bathroom.
The water feels warm on his face. It drips down his face and to his body, making his shirt wet. With a grimace, Tintin pulls the garment off, slings it on his shoulder, and resumes washing his face, desperate to get the warmth to stay a bit longer.
It's futile. He still feels cold. Everything is cold. Reminds him of the mountains of Tibet.
No. Don't.
Don't think about Tibet. Don't think about climbing those unforgiving mountains and the weak, sick Chang and the yeti and almost losing your life and Captain almost losing his and going to cut the rope and Tintin screaming at him to stop because he will never forgive himself and... and...
Stop. One, two, three. Deep breaths.
Tintin looks up. His own reflection stares back at him on the smooth mirror. Under the bathroom light, he can see redness on his face, the sweat all over his brow mixing with water, and the look in his own eyes.
Empty.
Haunted.
Exhausted.
He looks away. He loathes that look the most.
He washes his face once again.
"Tintin?"
His insides turn to stone.
Despite knowing the owner of the voice as well as the back of his hand, his heart races again. He turns and sees the Captain standing on the doorway. It is hard to see his expression from the dim light of the bathroom and the almost pitch-dark hallway, but Tintin knows him well enough to recognise concern. After all, he wouldn't show up in the middle of the night if that's not the case.
As he sees his best friend, he tries his best to calm down. One, two, three. Deep breaths, Tintin. All is fine.
"Captain!" he manages finally. He hates how he sounds: breathless as if he just ran for miles.
Smile. Give him a smile. All is fine.
"Heard the water running." Haddock's voice sounds far away. "Thought it was Cuthbert again, but then he's still in Geneva... huh, whatever. Forget about him. What's wrong, lad?"
Tintin needs a few seconds to process his words. When he finally understands, the smile he doesn't know still plastered on his lips widens.
"Ah, nothing's wrong, Captain!" Remember, all is fine. "Don't worry, I'm fine."
Haddock stays on the spot, as still as the statue Ramo Nash has made for him. The statue Tintin likes to see whenever he is on his stroll alone, even if he has to go through farther path than usual. That private farther walk (or sometimes ride, on his motorbike) has became one of his favourite activities that nobody but Snowy ever knows.
The reporter shakes his head, berating himself for thinking such silly thoughts at this time of day. Or night. Whatever. Here he is, waking up his best friend in the middle of the night and instead of thinking of excuses, his mind conjures that stupid memory.
"No, you are not."
Tintin is so busy with his own mind that he doesn't realize that Haddock has made his way and stood before him. It is when he grasped his shoulders that Tintin is forced to return to his much bleaker present.
Haddock merely stares at him. His gaze is as deep as the ocean he always travels on, and feels as if it bores through Tintin's soul, exposing him like nobody ever can.
Not even himself.
One, two, three. Deep breaths, Tintin. All is fine.
Smile. Give him a smile. All is fine.
All is fine.
"I..."
Stay smiling. All is fine.
"I..."
Smile. All is fine. Crumbs.
"I am..."
Why are my lips trembling? Why can't I keep smiling?
"I am f-fi... fine..."
"No, you are not."
Why can't I see? Why is everything blurry? Help! Help!
Panic surges through Tintin as the captain's face becomes unrecognisable beneath the tears he doesn't know he's shedding. It is when his hands find his own face that he realizes that he is crying.
One, two, three.
Deep breaths.
Deep bre
Dee
But taking deep breaths now feels like the most difficult adventure. Tintin chokes, his breaths cut short as sobs emerge involuntarily and he feels even more embarrassed because great snakes I'm crying in front of my best friend like a small child who fell from a swing!
Haddock's hands, which never leave his shoulders, grip him even tighter and soon enough Tintin finds himself being crushed into a strong chest, bigger and sturdier and warmer and just safer.
Yet, the tears keep coming like a broken dam.
"It will be alright."
The voice calms Tintin's sobs a bit, even though they keep clawing their way out of his throat and there's nothing he can do to stop it. Although he hugs himself as tightly as possible, his trembling doesn't stop. In fact, it worsens and he tries to retreat since he knows Haddock doesn't need to see him this way, shaking like a leaf and bawling his eyes out.
"No. Tintin, no. Stop." Tintin's attempts of breaking free only results in even tighter hug, refusing to let go for even an inch. Why don't you understand, Captain? All is fine!
"Stop it, boy. It will be alright."
When Tintin feels Haddock's hand on his hair, stroking the ginger strands softly, it's the last straw.
He opens himself.
He no longer keeps his arms around his own body and slowly sneak them to the captain's back and grip his shoulders just as tightly because he cannot stop the feeling of coldness he is in and he needs the warmth and safety his best friend radiates.
Maybe it's desperation, maybe it's a call for help; Tintin will never know. All he knows is that now they are hugging each other, he is clutching him desperately, sobbing like there's no tomorrow, and Haddock, the warm and safe Captain Archibald Haddock, is rocking him gently like he's some little boy with nightmares.
But maybe that's what he is now. A mere boy, broken down by his own mind. How pathetic.
The sobs and trembling return, but Haddock stays to keep it to the minimum by the slow rock of his body and the gentle hand on Tintin's sweaty hair. Slowly but surely, Tintin finds his logical mind back.
One, two, three.
Deep breaths.
"Feeling better?"
Even though Tintin nods, the captain doesn't release him immediately like he is a mere business done taken care of. Instead, he loosens his arms a bit and keeps Tintin's shoulders in his grip just like he did earlier. He looks down at the lad, who looks up at him as he tries to anchor himself even more.
One, two, three. Deep breaths, Tintin.
"Thanks, Captain," he croaks. How long has he been crying?
Haddock's eyebrows rise and he nods. "Can you sleep now?"
Tintin is ready with a lie; a little white lie that will send Haddock back to his bedroom and Tintin to his, but somehow he just doesn't want to handle the loneliness. It means he will return to the semi-dark room and suffocating blanket and maybe those demons are still there, finding another way to attack when he is in his lowest guard.
When it happens, he is unsure whether Haddock will be there to comfort him like what he just did.
Not now. He just can't.
And apparently Haddock knows that, too, for he gently ushers Tintin out the bathroom and into his own bedroom before the reporter has the chance to answer his question. Closing the door behind him, he speaks out.
"Change to a new shirt and meet me in the front room."
He leaves almost immediately. It baffles Tintin at first, but he obliges as he takes the closest shirt he can find. He feels like he's moving on autopilot, but still, a little bit of strength returns.
It's a good sign.
Haddock is reading on his usual chair when Tintin joins him a few minutes later, Snowy following not far behind and settles near the door as if guarding his distressed master. The second thing Tintin recognises is a sweet smell filling his nostrils, and he sees two steaming cups on the table.
"Captain?"
"Sit down. You look like you can use a drink."
Tintin obeys and takes his seat on the sofa, wondering if his friend intended to make him drunk to forget before dismissing the ridiculous thought. Taking the closest cup to him, he smiles at the fact that Haddock has made him hot chocolate.
Warm drinks are good for cold bodies, after all.
"You too, Captain?" he asks, gesturing to the other steaming cup.
"God knows I cannot drink anymore, and water is despicable. However, I put a drop of whiskey in it and let us see what it'll cost me."
The remark slightly lifts Tintin's mood and he chuckles.
"Well. Maybe not just a drop. Cuthbert may have poisoned me, that blasted goat," Haddock continues, feigning anger as Tintin's chuckles become louder. "But there's no way I will back down without a fight, lad, and you know that."
"We'll see, Captain." Tintin is still grinning as he sips his chocolate, and sighs in relief as the warmth spreads in his body.
They stay in silence. Haddock returns to his reading, obviously waiting until Tintin finishes his drink. He indeed closes his book and joins Tintin on the sofa almost right after he puts back the now empty cup to the table.
"Tintin," he calls gently. Despite that, Tintin's insides fill with dread. He knows that tone. "Tintin, do you want to talk about it?"
Tintin bites his lip, the previous cheerful mood darkens.
"It's fine if you don't, though," Haddock cuts in before he can say anything. "I just... it's all up to you. Your choice, boy."
The urge of refusing is so strong, yet Tintin resists. His eyes find Haddock's and then a bit lower, to the faint wet patch on his chest. Tintin's own tears. He cried on his captain so openly, why can't he open himself once again?
Deep breaths.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...
"How can I... how can I talk about it?" he manages. He feels calmer. Sad, yes. Drained, absolutely. But he doesn't want to cry anymore, which is good. "I don't even know what it was about."
"You don't know why you cried?"
"I'm not crying!" The protest jumps out before Tintin can stop it. It doesn't take long until he realises how stupid he must've sounded. "I'm just... it was just a nightmare. I don't remember what it was about, but it still gave me bad moods. Silly, I know."
Strangely enough, Haddock doesn't jump to his usual tirade and colourful words, scolding Tintin for underestimating his own demons like the reporter thinks he would. Instead, he leans back on his seat, looking quite calm. "I see. Can you sleep?"
"Captain, if you want to sleep, go ahead."
"Can you sleep?" Haddock repeats, adding more pressure in his question.
Tintin opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He settles on a light shake of the head. "I'll just... maybe read or something. I'll be fine in the morning. Promise."
Haddock sighs.
"Captain?"
"I don't think it's silly if you cannot sleep because of it." Or bawling your eyes out because of it is left unsaid.
"But, Captain, I really don't know. Seriously, this is so silly, feeling so shaken over nightmares I cannot even remember."
"Blistering barnacles, that doesn't make it silly!" Tintin jerks back at the sudden shout. "Lad, I have known you for years now, and God knows how many things we have been through. What you have been through. Do not lie to my face and say that everything you have gone through does not affect you in some way."
Tintin is silent, but his heart thumps painfully. One, two, three. Deep breaths.
"Do you have nightmares, Captain?" he blurts out.
"This isn't about me, lad."
"But I might feel better if I have someone who endures the same thing."
"Nosy, aren't you?" Haddock smiles, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. He leans even closer to Tintin and grasps his shoulders the way he did in the bathroom. "Well, I should practice what I preach. Yes, Tintin, yes. And before you ask, I know you'll do the same if the tables are turned."
Relief floods into Tintin. "You know me too well, Captain." More than anyone else.
"I don't go high and low and around the world with a certain landlubber without knowing him better in the end, you know."
Tintin surrenders into his urges and pulls his best friend into a hug, as tightly as how Haddock held him in the bathroom earlier. "Thank you, Captain. Thank you so much."
"Promise that you'll tell me if something like this happens again?"
"Only if you do the same."
Haddock grumbles before settling with a small, "Alright, lad. Thundering typhoons, you'll be the death of me."
"We have a deal."
"Good." The captain squeezes him and leans back. "So, what do you want to do now?"
"You should go to sleep. I really don't want to bother you."
"Nonsense, boy. If there's something you cannot do, it's getting me to bed when I cannot sleep."
Tintin laughs. It feels so good. "And vice versa. Fair point."
"Anything else you want to say?"
"Since we both aren't going to sleep anytime soon, can you tell me a story?" Don't tell anyone, but Haddock's storytelling ability is one of the features Tintin loves the most from the older man.
"What do you want to hear?"
Tintin sips more of his chocolate. There's some left in the cup. "I'll listen to anything."
Haddock takes his book. It is either a strange coincidence, or the captain actually knows what Tintin is going to ask from him tonight. "You come at the right time, Tintin. This is a good story I'm reading."
The reporter leans back on the sofa and listens.
One, two, three. Deep breaths.
Focus on the Captain. His voice, reciting the parts of the book. His gestures, making the story more believable and easier to imagine. Bringing the words to life and chasing the demons out of Tintin's mind.
One, two, three. Deep breaths, Tintin.
All is fine.
When the sun has risen and no bedrooms are occupied, Nestor is confused, but not surprised.
It is not the first time Masters Haddock and Tintin run off in one of their adventures without telling Nestor where they are going, only sending telegrams in wherever they are, telling him that they're fine, just too busy following the bad people. Yet, the butler feels a pang of irritation every single time it happens. He doesn't want to follow them, of course, but he will appreciate it if they just tell him.
At least, he can buy less groceries.
With a sigh, he decides to go to the front room to do some cleaning.
And stops.
There they are.
Master Haddock is lying on the sofa, an open book on the table near two empty cups. Master Tintin is on top of him as if he were a much smaller kid, and the older man has his arms circling his frame as if keeping him safe and sound. Judging from the rise and fall of their chests, both are sleeping deeply despite their positions.
Snowy suddenly appears from behind the door. He's been sleeping, only woke up when Nestor enters.
"Ssh," Nestor admonishes the terrier when he's going to bark and wake their masters. "Do you want some breakfast?"
Snowy jumps, as quietly as possible, and follows the butler out the room, his cropped tail wagging all the way.
Nestor closes the door carefully so his masters won't hear it, wake up, and ruin such a peaceful moment. Because Master Haddock wasn't the only one who heard the water running in the middle of the night, and Master Haddock wasn't the only one who broke his heart as Master Tintin's cries echoed in the bathroom when Nestor went there to check, six hours ago.
He leaves with Snowy. Masters' breakfast can wait, after all.
FIN.