A/N: There are going to be 2 editions of every story I'll post in this collection: one suited for reading pleasure, and the second a 'deconstruction' of the fanfic, where I basically critique and point out my research for reference.

Basically a writer's deconstruction.

Please enjoy and leave a comment or two.

Trauma with Tintin: NIGHTMARES

"Ah, it's good to be back home," Haddock sighed, sipping a glass of whiskey as he reclined in a folding chair in his yard. Marlinspike couldn't have looked any better, bathing in the sun as it is, casting its shadow down on them. It'd been a taxing month, with all the adventures that came with a certain ginger-haired young lad.

Looking across the lawn, Haddock watched Tintin and Snowy chase each other, tumbling onto the grass before getting up and running again. They jostled and bumped each other, somehow always ending up on the ground, Snowy on Tintin, attacking him with a shower of licks.

"Stop! Stop it, Snowy I can't–!"

Then Tintin would burst into laughter again.

It was hard to believe that, only weeks ago, Haddock was dragging him out of a sea of polyester, begging him to wake up and breathe…

Haddock shook his head and grinned, chasing the thought away. How could he think of that now? Everything was all right, by thunder. He has enough problems managing his estate without all that.

Tintin came up to him, wiping sweat from his forehead, Snowy tailing him as usual. "Is everything all right, captain?"

"Never been better, lad, never been better."

How couldn't it be? The sun was shining, the sky was a beautiful shade of blue, and they were at Marlinspike, at home.

Safe and sound.

When Haddock woke up in the middle of the night to a cry of terror, he knew at once that everything was not all right. He leaped out of the bed, stumbling down the dark corridors towards the direction of Tintin's room. Already he could hear Snowy's barking, and it chilled him how easily he found his way to the lad's room. His body must've memorized the path going there.

"Tintin, what's going on? Robbers? Vagabonds? Assasins?" Haddock swung open the door and found Tintin wide awake, sitting up in bed and breathing hard. Snowy was already beside him, nuzzling his side to try and calm his master down.

"It's a dream, only a dream, ohh..." Tintin said, burying his face into his hands.

Haddock gathered him up into a tight embrace, running his hand through Tintin's hair. "Yes, it's all right now, shh." Gently he began cradling him back and forth like a child, humming under his breath to try and soothe Tintin's nerves. And somehow, though he would not admit it, it settled him as well. Eventually, slowly, gradually, Tintin's breathing slowed, his heart lulled back into a regular rhythm and the terror drained from his face.

Gulping, Tintin nodded thanks.

"What is it this time?" Haddock asked.

"Mud."

"What?"

"I was in the forest with Snowy." As if recognizing his name, Snowy bounded up onto Tintin's lap and sat there. A smile, then Tintin continued with his story. "We were running from–from a crocodile chasing us. He was fast–then I stumbled into quagmire–I got trapped–it pulled me under and I couldn't breathe–I couldn't call for help and—"

He took a deep breath in, then sank back into his bed, his arm shielding his eyes. "I don't even know anymore. This is..."

"Confounded?" Haddock offered. "Must be that program you watched at—what—10:00 pm? Son, you've got to let up those travel shows and get to sleep earlier. See what's happening to you!"

Lifting his arm from his face, Tintin smiled. "I feel better now," he said. His voice was tired, hoarse. "You can go back to sleep now, captain."

"By thunder, I'm not going until you get back to sleep, son."

"Captain, I can take care of myself. Go back to bed, I'll be fine."

With a mutter Haddock left, leaving Tintin alone in the darkness again. Snowy was lying on his stomach, and he let him stay there for a while, partly for the warmth and partly for the company.

He hated worrying Haddock. For some reason the solemn verdict that the doctor had given after their brief sojourn on the moon kept echoing in his mind whenever he saw the captain under stress.

Less whiskey and smoking should do him fine, with a lot of rest. No more adventures, do you understand? His heart is not as strong as it was, no matter what he tells you. Oh, and one more thing, please keep him out of trouble, will you? Stress might trigger a heart attack and, well...

Words kindly spoken and even more kindly meant. Yet here they were, gnawing at him, making him worry even more about Haddock, much more so than himself.

Tintin thought that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, but the night lulled him into another troubled, disturbed slumber, the lingering thoughts of death and bereavement whirring faintly in his mind.

The next night, Tintin switched the television on, Haddock by his side.

"No more of that blasted program, you understand?"

"Yes, captain."

He lazily flipped through the channels until he found one narrating the history of a certain country. Seeing this, he perked up.

Tibet.

Tintin's mind began to recall that fateful journey to find Tchang, wandering off to one of those cursed winter nights, huddling for shelter from the snow...

The snow-capped mountains should've awed Tintin, but not today. It'd felt like an eternity, merely climbing the mountain, not to mention reaching the crash site, and now he was exhausted. So was Haddock, who, as soon as he'd gotten his sleeping bag ready and tied the tarp around the airplane's skeleton, had fallen asleep, gently snoring. He and Tharkey had taken the head of the plane, Tintin taking the tail.

"Come on, Snowy."

Snowy had the teddy bear they found earlier in his mouth, shaking it and toying with it. When he heard his master's call, though, he headed right back, curling on top of Tintin, head poking just above the blanket. They went to sleep.

At least, Snowy did.

Tintin had no such luck.

Sure, he fell asleep soon after out of fatigue, but he mustn't have tied the tarp right–he kept waking up in the night to it flapping and billowing from the wind, and he'd had to get up, tie it, and go back to sleep. Even if he knew in his mind that he had to rest for tomorrow, he couldn't push through with the action. Eventually, though, his body took over and more or less shut him down.

Tintin sat in the pilot's seat of an airplane, tied tight, the ropes digging into his body. He saw the pilot leap out of the doomed vessel, leaving him alone.

No one was there–not even Snowy.

This wasn't the first time this happened, and Tintin's mind started to rush in fast-forward, shouting orders to his body on what they had to do. Take control, try to keep in flight, find a strip of land. Keep head clear.

Still, his body could not, would not move. At every move he could hear his bones grinding together in a sickening, crunching sound, but there was no pain–only stiffness. An unbearable stiffness that had nothing to do with the ropes holding him down.

His breath came in short gasps, his ribcage shuddering with each gasp. Looking up at the glass before him, he saw the snow-capped mountains of Tibet, rising up faster and faster to meet him—

Tintin's eyes flew open and he choked back a scream and turned it into a quiet whimper of distress.

SafesafeI'msafe

He sat up and pulled his blanket closer, noticing only now how cold he was. Glancing to his side, he saw Snowy rouse, blink at him, then go straight back to sleep. Lucky dog.

"I guess animals don't get insomnia, do they?" Tintin muttered, then looked at the tarp, blowing freely in the thrashing wind.

After a while Tintin had managed to master his nightmares, managing to only take a gasp and abandon the screaming. This gave Haddock the illusion that, maybe, Tintin's night terrors had finally passed.

"Having better nights now?" Haddock had asked Tintin one morning at breakfast. "No more confounded dreams?"

"Not anymore. I think I've shaken it off at last." Tintin smiled.

Haddock completely believed him.

That is, until after their trip to Syldavia.

With all the cursed chasing around alleyways and streets, Haddock was satisfied to lean back in his hammock, looking out over his grounds. It was a less-than-perfect day, with the sun shaded by the clouds bathing everything in a dull, greyish atmosphere. The cold breezes chilled his old bones, and after a while he'd had to pack his things up and head back into the much warmer interior of Marlinspike.

"Where's Tintin?" Haddock asked, hanging his coat on one of the hooks near the door. "Is he off on another adventure? That lad, never gets tired..."

Nestor blinked, clutching what looked like a bowl of water. "Don't you know, sir?" he asked dryly.

"Know? Know what?"

"Mm. Tintin isn't awake yet, sir."

"What do you mean? He wakes up hours earlier than I do." Something's wrong. "I'll go wake him up."

"But–"

Haddock walked past Nestor, who was, yet again, ignored. Reaching Tintin's room, he swung the door open–

"Good morning, captain!"

–and saw the lad calmly reading a book, Snowy by his side. Perfectly normal.

Haddock let himself a small sigh of relief. "Come, lad, you got me worried. Sleeping in?"

"It's Saturday. And I don't have any deadlines yet or new reports, so..."

"Taking advantage of the break while it's still there?"

Tintin smiled–a little faintly, Haddock suddenly noticed. "Is everything all right?"

A pause. "Yes, of course," Tintin said, a confused expression on his face. "Why?"

Haddock eyed him suspiciously, then shrugged.

Night came.

Haddock was dreaming about the sea and guns when Nestor came knocking on his door at about 11:00 in the night.

"Sir?" More knocking. "Sir–"

Groaning, he opened his door. "Blistering barnacles, do you know what time it is?"

"It's Tintin."

"What about him?"

"His fever, sir. It's getting worse."

Haddock did a double-take. "His what? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because Tintin said that he was all right, sir, and–"

Haddock pushed past Nestor, who froze in place. He raced down the halls and swung open the door to Tintin's room, barging in as quietly as possible without waking the boy. "Get me a chair, Nestor," he ordered, pressing the back of his hand to Tintin's forehead. Hissing, he pulled it away.

If Tintin didn't look too sick a few hours ago, he did now.

Sweat matted his hair, his cheeks flushed pink from the heat. He was muttering in his sleep, something within the lines of "I'm fine, I'm fine" before drifting off into a deeper and more troubled slumber. His fists curled around the blanket draped over him.

"Here's your chair, sir–"

"About time! Get me a bowl of cold water and a towel. And the doctor–get him here."

"Yes, sir."

As the night wore on, Tintin grew more and more agitated. Sooner than later, Nestor came with the bowl of water and a towel.

"The doctor will not be able to come until tomorrow morning, sire," Nestor said. "but he will come as soon as he can."

"Tomorrow?! Blistering barnacles, we can't wait until tomorrow!"

Huffing, Haddock periodically dabbed Tintin's face with the damp towel to try and cool him down. Even then Tintin was still restless, until finally, in the middle of the night, he was screaming.

"NOSTOPICAN'TDOTHISIDON'TWANTTODIEHELPME!"

The words spilled out of his mouth as one, and Haddock was chilled for good reason. He knew, though, that it was almost impossible to wake Tintin in the middle of a nightmare, and he had to sit by and endure the earsplitting cries. Eventually, if the nightmare was horrifying enough, he'd wake up.

Still...

"It's all right, it's all right, son, Haddock's here," he said, clutching Tintin's hand.

For a moment Tintin's face contorted into a stricken expression and it seemed as if he was going to wake up.

Haddock was tempted to slap his face.

Then the tension drained from Tintin's face and his body relaxed, his breathing slowing down to a normal rhythm. After a few minutes, Tintin opened his eyes and gazed wearily around the room until it settled on Haddock. "Captain."

So quiet and still.

Haddock ran his thumb over Tintin's knuckles and ruffled his hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful."

That got a chuckle out of him. At least he was honest this time.

"You'll be all right, son." You always have been.

"Thanks, captain."

We'll be okay. We always have been.

Nothing can ever change that.

END

A/N: The deconstruction will come later, hopefully.

Fun fact, this is my first Tintin fanfic. :3

Comments and feedback would be appreciated.