Chapter Text
I knew it would end like this
Haddock thinks bitterly.
Liquid is spilling out from between his third and fourth rib. Despite the embossed ivory handle jutting out in true "I have been stabbed" fashion, he's not in pain.
No, it just feels like a herd of elephants are pressing down on a single point. Decidedly uncomfortable.
"Captain! Oh, Captain." He hears Tintin call out for him breathlessly, dimly aware of his attacker falling with a sickening crack onto the cobblestone path. Tintin makes quick work of securing him with rope.
It's done in a matter of seconds with the ease of a practiced hand. With some effort, Haddock glances down to inspect the damage. Red has never been his color even if it is his temperament.
Nestor will be glad it's ruined, Haddock thinks, absurdly. Last year the butler had helped Castafiore choose his daily outfits during her infernal stay with, Haddock thought, a little too much enthusiasm.
Tintin is an electric blue blur, grabbing an abandoned revolver and firing two shots into the air. He shouts. "Help! Call an ambulance!"
I've been stabbed, Tintin.
"Ine...gh," he grits out, unsure of what he's trying to say. Something reassuring, most likely, but right now his tongue is a thick, clumsy thing. A seal on land.
The thought awakens an absurd memory from the distant past. Back when he was still a cabin boy with a peach fuzz beard and saw seals for the first time. He wanted to make a good impression on his superiors but couldn't help laughing uproariously at how ridiculous the creatures looked, tumbling over themselves in loud excitement to avoid a docking dingy.
Had they ever been collided into in the past? Could they even feel it beneath all the blubber?
He laughs. Or tries to, anyway.
"Gehehh..."
"Shhh, don't try to talk. Just focus on me and stay awake," Tintin instructs, his voice steady, eyes scanning his face frantically.
By the grace of a merciful God in His heaven they've survived death a thousand times over. Escaped the most ridiculous circumstances. Really, it didn't get more absurd than nearly being burned at the stake in the heart of a South American jungle, this day and age.
Even so, this is the first time Tintin looks well and truly terrified. There's a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor in his hands, his breathing comes shallow and fast.
But, the old sailor thinks proudly, he still has his wits about him. Brave and stalwart as any soldier.
Impossibly, Haddock manages to say the words he believes are his last. He has to make them count.
"Looks like I was good for something after all."
Tintin blinks twice. In the distance the scream of sirens pollutes the air.
"Captain..."
Haddock's words tumble out slowly, heavy with conviction. Copper coins sliding from an outstretched hand.
"The world needs good men like you, Tintin. Reckless and brave. It gives old fools like me hope."
Gave, his mind corrects. Snowy whines and whimpers, licking his fingertips. Recognition flashes in the eyes above him.
"That knife was meant for me," Tintin says, quietly. Haddock's vision flickers. He doesn't have much time. He's been on borrowed time from the day they met. And somehow, knowing Tintin would be the death of him was far better than a lonely end with a bottle. He just didn't think it would happen so soon. He wants to say goodbye properly before it's too late.
"I'm tired, Tintin."
He hears his friend calling his name, begging him to stay awake, and briefly registers the wheels of a car pulling into the opening of their dirty little alleyway in the middle of nowhere Lithuania.
Then, like a sinking ship swallowed by a greedy sea, the Captain is sucked under a wave of painless black.