Rivers in the Glass

For the countless time that night, Tintin sighed and rolled over to his side, hopelessly closing his eyes in a attempt at catching some sleep.

But, alas, it seemed sleep didn't want to be caught and flurried out of sight with the next flash of lightning and roll of thunder that rattled Tintin's windows.

After reconstructing the shattered knight and propping it back into place, Tintin and Haddock picked up and organized the mess scattered in the foyer and living room, Haddock practicing his aim at the back of Tintin's head with wads of old newspaper found in the depths of the messy piles. It wasn't long after the dawn of the duo's spontaneous newspaper war when Nestor and Snowy came in to announce dinner was ready and waiting to be served, the butler ducking as a conveniently stray ball of paper went whizzing past his head. After dinner was eaten and the table was cleaned, the Captain was spurred by Tintin to resurrect one of his many swashbuckling tales on the high seas, his animated performance leaving Tintin doubled over in peals of laughter and captured in gripping suspense. The thrilling afternoon continued toward an evening filled with endless rounds of chess and checkers, all activities under the protection of Marlinspike's roof as the rain continued to fall outside. The fun wasn't over till Tintin, who caught himself falling asleep halfway through beating Haddock for the umpteenth time at chess, announced he was going to get some shut-eye and gave Haddock a soft hug and an even softer "goodnigh'."

KA-BOOM!

With a gasp, Tintin covered his head with his sheet and Snowy, hair on end, stood up out of his doggy bed and woofed irritably at the sudden thunderclap, rushing over to stare out of the closest window.

"It's alright, boy." Tintin reassured, voice muffled by the pile of blankets pulled over his head, "Go back to sleep."

With a huff, Snowy walked back over to his bed, smoothing out the creases with his paw before settling down, a great big yawn stretching his mouth as he fell back asleep. Tintin, with a soft sigh of his own, rolled over to his right side, watching the rain as it streaked down the window, the heavy drops colliding with each other to create miniature rivers on the frosty glass.

At the sight of the gentle rain, Tintin smiled fondly.

As a boy, Tintin was always scared of thunderstorms with its random bright flashes and ominous rumbling in the near distance. However, lightning and thunder were no monster to Haddock and, with a warm, comforting smile, he would gently wipe the boy's tears away with his thumb, shushing his cries and pleas of despair as they sat together, holding each other close in the dim light of the storm. Without jostling the young boy, Haddock would pick him up out of bed and continue to hold him close in his favorite armchair, humming a sailors lullaby and pointing out to Tintin the rivers in the glass until, with his face buried in the soft, worn fabric of Haddock's favorite turtleneck, the young boy fell back asleep. Looking out the window several years later, Tintin silently wished he could hear Haddock's song again, longing to be picked up and held close like a child once more. But alas, Tintin had grown too old for dusty lullabies and too heavy to hold and when he stopped running into his father's bedroom screaming in the middle of the night, Haddock assumed the boy had grown out of his childhood fear of the dragons in the sky and was all forgotten.

What Haddock didn't know is that nothing had changed.

Tintin was still wary of lightning.

Tintin was still leery of thunder.

Tintin was still afraid of the dark.

At the sound of another crack of thunder, Tintin flinched under the covers before sitting up in bed, hand running through his unruly red hair.

"I can't do this, Snowy." Tintin murmured as he fumbled to turn on his bedside lamp, "I can't sleep..."

At the click of the switch, Snowy scurried over to the young man's bedside, hopping onto the wad of blankets that had been kicked off to the end of the bed. Inhaling deeply, Tintin pulled his knees up to his chest, wide blue eyes fixed on the trembling windows, his warped reflection glistening with the new light. Through the splatter of heavy rain, Tintin could hear the whistle of the wind between the nooks and cracks in the windowsill, groans sprouting from the branches of nearby trees and the laments pouring from inside the mansion's walls.

At the sound of the storms requiem, the young man felt icy fingers of fear trace the back of his neck and spine, the hairs on his arm to standing on end as he reached for the nearest blanket. He looked at Snowy, head and shoulders wrapped snugly in the sheets like a nuns habit, and Tintin, shaking, bundled himself up in a similar way.

"Peas in a pod, the both of us." Tintin murmured low, his hand reaching out from beneath the depths of his veil to scratch under Snowy's chin, "Too bad I'm too old to...to..."

At another flash of lightning, Tintin voice suddenly trailed off, white knuckled hands clenching the sheets as he braced himself for the noise to come. He slammed his hands over his ears as the thunder shook the windows and floorboards, his beside lamp struggling to stay on. The scene was all too familiar, a flash of deja vu he couldn't explain, all that was missing was the heat and smoke and... and..

It was storming when he awoke again, laying in a pile of newspapers he'd pulled out of a nearby trashcan to rest on. Water rolling off of the roof from the abandoned apartment complex dripped mercilessly on his head, flattening the tuft of ginger hair that stuck out on his head. Sitting up, he pulled his knees to his chest to prevent the rest of his body from getting wet, but without prevail. As the storm went on, the cold air only increased it's intensity, the growling of dragons growing in the distance. With a low whimper, the boy rose from his spot and began to walk again, the cracked overhang of the building more unless in protecting him from the rain than a moth eaten umbrella. As he walked, the sound grow closer and closer and before he knew what he was doing, the boy was running, full speed, down the street. No matter which way he turned, there wasn't a single soul on the sidewalk and after rounding each corner, he prayed that someone, anyone, would offer him sanctuary from his dragons that chased him down the street. Even with his burned skin shooting pain up legs and arms, the six year-old did not slow in his mad dash for safety and only stopped when his bare feet lost traction on the slick concrete, a sharp cry escaping his mouth as he fell. Tumbling head over heels, the boy rolled a few feet before becoming to a complete stop facedown, the rain beating mercilessly on his back as he struggled to catch his breath. The burning in his lungs became too much to bear and after a moment of choking back sobs and dragging himself over to the side of a brick building, the boy curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest as he cried, his tears mixed with the rain, the dragons with their hellfire and fury closing in for the kill. He could feel them, their fiery breath, their deadly claws. It would happen at any moment now. One swipe, one puff, one moment and it would all be over. The end would come soon, much too soon.

"Laddie?"

Tintin flinched, screwing his eyes shut. He didn't expect the dragons to stop in their warpath, let alone speak to him.

"Laddie, what are you doin' out in this storm?" The voice spoke again, closer this time.

Opening his eyes in disbelief, the boy finally noticed how the rain had stopped in a circle around him, the only remaining raindrops running down his shaking arms and legs. Hesitantly, he raised his head, gathering enough courage to gaze at the beast, the last look he'd get before he was struck down in a single blow. However, instead of a scaly, leathery monster with smoking nostrils and siccor-like teeth, a man, dressed in a dark long coat stood over him, holding out a sleek black umbrella to block the rain. The boy sat up, distant voices warning of stranger-danger dancing around in his head but, after a moment of taking in the mans face, his dark beard and even darker and worried eyes, the voices were pushed to the back of his mind, and rushed to beat his racing heart instead.

With a growl of frustration, Tintin threw off the sheets, nearly tossing Snowy off with it.

Forget age! He thought, shoving his feet into his slippers, I can't find decent sleep here!

Shuffling in his shoes, Tintin made his way over to his bedroom door, slowly opening it to peer into the hallway. It was quiet and dark, the corridor only illuminated for second by another flash of lightning.

"Goodnight, Snowy. I'll see you in the morning." Tintin muttered, leaving the door open a crack as he left his room. Although surprised he did not hear his furry companion following him, Tintin managed to push all concern aside as he made his way down the hallway, hoping to reach the door before another strike of the storm could occur.

Softly, he knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, pressing his ear against the wood to listen for a response.

"Papa?" Tintin whispered against the keyhole, keeping his voice low to not wake Nestor sleeping in the adjacent bedroom, a sliver of the butler's white bed visible through a cracked door. After a moment, Tintin tried again, rapping his knuckles against the cold wood in an attempt to wake his father. To his surprise, the door swung open on it's own, accompanied by the snores of the sea dog in the far side of the room. Closing the door behind him as gently as he could, Tintin tiptoed to Haddocks side, observing the lumps buried deep underneath the sheets.

"Captain?" Tintin asked, timidly shaking the snoozing sea dog's shoulder in an attempt to wake him up. However, the Captain only grumbled incoherently in his sleep, the sheet falling back as an arm came up to cover his forehead and eyes, all without waking. Through the curtains Tintin saw another flash and for a moment he thought he could hear the distant screaming of a woman, the heat gracing across his skin. With beads of sweat forming a line on his forehead, Tintin shook Haddock's shoulder again, his grip a tighter and clammier than before, "Papa? Papa?"

Captain Haddock mumbled again, shifting the pile of blankets and pillows as he sat up, a yawn stretching his mouth wide open. Grimacing at the bitterness on his tongue, the Captain sleepily turned to Tintin, half awake eyes taking in his smaller form. "W-What is it, laddie? What's wrong?"

"Sorry to wake you, Papa, but, I-I can't sleep." Tintin admitted, his head lowering toward his feet, "I'm frightened..."

At the sound of Tintin's trembling voice, Captain Haddock quickly reached for his bedside lamp, the dim light revealing Tintin's shaking form, his hands holding his arms shaking with every uneven breath.

"Tintin..." Captain Haddock spoke softly, taking a hold of the young man's arm as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, "Tintin? What's the matter? What's wrong?"

As if to answer his question, a crack of thunder struck a nearby tree and with a shriek, Tintin flung himself into Haddock's turtleneck, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt in his hands.

After a moment, however, Tintin pulled himself away from his father's chest, face growing red in embarrassment. Haddock, however, took the boy's hands and drew him back to his chest, hands rubbing circles on the young man's back.

"It's alrigh', Tintin." Haddock spoke low, lips gracing the top of his son's aburn head, "You don't have to explain anything to me."

At the sound of his father's rumbling voice, Tintin sank completely into his father's hold, the unshed tears of childlike fear stinging his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Papa, for-."

"For what? Being scared? There is no shame of being frightened of something, Tintin." He paused, placing a hand under Tintin's chin to lift his face up to look at him, "Even the best of us are afraid sometimes."

"CouldIbunkwithyoutonight?!" Tintin blurted before he could stop himself, grip tightening on Haddock's shirt as if he would slip through his fingers and fade away at any given second.

At his father's wide eyed expression at his outburst, Tintin blushed, eyes finding a spot on the floor to stare out.

"I'm sorry... I mean... I... Well, what I wanted to ask was-."

Before he could continue, Tintin felt the ground disappear beneath his feet, his grip tightening as he was lifted gently, softly into the Captain's strong arms.

"C-Captain?" Tintin whimpered, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, "Captain? Where are...?"

"Hush..." Haddock murmured, making his way to the door with Tintin cradled in his arms. Releasing the breath he'd been holding, Tintin leaned heavily against Haddock's barrel chest, breathing in the years old remnants of sea salt and smoke. Gingerly, Haddock carried the young man down the hallway, humming as he went down the stairs. Careful to avoid the loose step at the bottom, Haddock reached the living room, the dim light from the moon filtering through the window.

Haddock, still humming, lowered Tintin onto the living room sofa, pulling the draped blanket on the back of the couch over Tintin's form. Tintin, head resting haphazardly on the couch cushion, watched as Haddock struck a match and lit a few candles in both the foyer and living room before throwing the burning match into the new logs in the fireplace. With a crack and a snap, the wood ignited, spreading light and warmth throughout the entire room and through the cracked door into the front foyer. Walking back over to Tintin, Haddock armed with a soft smile, gathered Tintin in his arms once again, making his way over to the armchair resting by the window. It was a strange sight, seeing Tintin being held like many years ago, with his legs hanging over the side of the armchair and his slippers hanging loosely off his feet.

"Papa, are sure-?"

Shushing Tintin's restless form, Archibald Haddock, with the tenderness that only a father could process, wrapped his strong arms around the boy and pulled him close to his warm turtleneck. With a sigh, Tintin rested his head against the Captain's chest, his steady heartbeat and soft lullaby overpowering the storm that raged outside their windows.

Unseen by all resting inside the strong walls of Marlinspike, Nestor, with his ghost of a smile, blew out the candles in the foyer and living room and closed the door, allowing both the sea dog and young journalist to finally sink into a deep and dreamless sleep.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this short little One-Shot. Originally, I had this piece as part of a chapter in Of Crab Tins and Diamonds but, it was too long and didn't make the final cut. However, I liked it too much not to publish it and published it as a deleted scene One-Shot instead.

Thanks again for reading!

Until next story I guess I'll just say:

Cheerio!

~SeagullansCrossiant