Eleven: Self-Done First Aid

A/N: I've played with this scene from 'Tintin and the Picaros'. See end of fic for translations.

They were lucky he had noticed the monkey.

Otherwise they would've been playing harps with the angels, instead of running for their lives from Tapioca's men.

Even through the thick armoured plates of the truck, the explosion further up the road was enough to make Tintin's ears buzz. He pushed himself out of his seat in a rush, forcing the door open as he heard General Alcazar do the same on his side. The air in the immediate vicinity was already filling with smoke, with the beginnings of a wildfire dancing along blades of grass about fifty metres ahead of the truck.

Tintin coughed as he ran to the rear of the truck, watching as Alcazar and his men grabbed whatever weapons they could carry and launch into a sprint. He gave the Captain a brief nod as the older man leapt from the vehicle and followed the soldiers, clutching his hat tightly as it threatened to fly away. Wait a minute…where's-

"I strongly suggest that whoever was driving this truck invest in a few lessons!" Calculus screeched from behind him, crossing his arms in a huff.

Tintin fought the urge to roll his eyes until they fell out of his head. You cannot be serious, Calculus. He wrestled to maintain his composure, though his stomach dropped at the sound of faint, angry Spanish voices. "Come ON, Professor!" He sprinted to the older man and dragged him forward by the wrist, steadying his grip as they broke into a ran.

"Really, Tintin, I can walk!" The Professor screamed. "Tintin!"

Ignoring the protests of his friend, Tintin tightened his grip and pulled him along, his eyes focused on the path ahead. The Captain and Alcazar's soldiers had already gotten a head start, though they couldn't be more than a hundred metres in front. Tintin found himself puffing slightly as he tugged the Professor along, his lungs already screaming for extra air. Maybe it is time I stopped this adventuring business-

The explosion deafened both of them.

His eardrums screamed as they bowed under the pressure.

Pieces of shrapnel were hurtled through the air, some colliding with wood, whereas others buried themselves in flesh. Although Tintin could not hear himself, he felt the scream tear from his throat as he registered his skin breaking open in several areas, the holes being filled with chunks of metal. "Mon Dieu!"

He vaguely registered a yelp from Calculus as they crashed onto the ground, the older man falling on top of him. The ringing in his ears was unbearable. For a terrifying split-second, he was certain that he would be permanently deaf, or become impaired like the Professor. God help the Captain if that happens…

The skin on his forearms was raw from having slid across the groundThe warmth from the flames licked at his heels

"Ohhh…" Calculus was dazed, holding his head tenderly. A small gash had appeared on his forehead, but he otherwise seemed fine. "Good gracious…"

Tintin was grateful that the Professor had seemingly avoided most of the debris, though it did mean most of it was likely buried in his own back. He had no time to assess how concussed the Professor was, for he could feel the heat of the flames searing through his socks. "Move, Professor! Move!"

Grabbing Calculus under the arm, Tintin released a loud grunt as he hauled the older man to his feet. The injuries to his back were protesting against such exertion, but he bit his lip and pushed on, half-dragging Calculus behind him.

General Alcazar's voice rang out through the jungle ahead. "Hombres! Ir y ayudarlos!"

The smoke hadn't reached this far into the jungle yet, and Tintin was glad to see a group of Alcazar's men jogging towards them. He came to a stop and collapsed to his knees, his willpower having been won over by the fire searing in his back. He heaved in lungfuls of air as the soldiers removed Calculus from his grasp and lifted him to his knees.

"Señor!" One of the soldiers tapped Tintin on the shoulder, mindful to avoid the deep gash that decorated the young man's bicep. "Hay un campamento cerca."

Despite having no idea what information had been relayed to him, Tintin nodded wearily. He allowed himself to be led through the burning jungle, the exhaustion and pain quickly wearing him down. As long it involves a bed and some water, I'm all for it. I definitely need to put this sort of thing behind me.

"Blistering barnacles, Tintin, you need to see a doctor!"

The two men had taken up residence in the singular medical tent available in Alcazar's camp. The facilities were hardly adequate; no running water, no medical equipment and no trained professionals of any kind. They were effectively practising frontier medicine. Tintin had perched himself on the cleanest table, shoving aside the empty alcohol bottles as he fumbled through the singular first aid kit. At least they have tweezers and gauze; I don't have to cut up my sweater to patch myself up.

He'd decided to tackle the shrapnel currently embedded in his right forearm, and gasped

audibly as his fingers fumbled with the tweezers. "We are in the middle of the jungle, Captain! Where exactly am I supposed to find a- GARGH!…doctor out here?!" He spoke through gritted teeth as he dislodged another piece of shrapnel, throwing it aside with distaste. "Besides, it's not like I haven't experienced worse."

"Yes, and that's what worries me!" Haddock knelt next to his friend, attempting to pull his eyes away from Tintin's bloodied skin. "…You've suffered worse, yes, but you've been conveniently close to civilisation every other time!"

Tintin gave a strangled gasp as he disposed yet another fragment. He gazed at his arm intently as he flexed the elbow, satisfied that he had removed all of the foreign material. He'd only removed five pieces, and yet the nausea was already becoming too much; God knew how much was buried in his back. "Just help me with my back, Captaine."

He didn't wait for an answer before beginning to slide his arms out of the heavily-damaged sweater. The Captain sighed heavily as he helped Tintin to remove the garment, the younger man hissing as some fragments were dislodged with the movement.

Tintin was silently grateful that he'd worn a button-up white shirt, for it meant removing it was less painful. He grunted as he extended his arms to pull them out of the sleeves, though the pain quickly gave way to relief as he peeled the blood-soaked shirt from his body.

One glance at Tintin's back was enough to make Haddock feel nauseous; he couldn't even imagine how Tintin was feeling. At least a dozen holes now decorated his skin, with the shrapnel buried within them glittering under the nearby gas lamp. Some wounds were round enough to appear as though someone had repeatedly stabbed him with a pen, while others were extremely jagged and disfigured.

Haddock took a long swig from the medicinal alcohol before dabbing it onto Tintin's back, cringing at the agonised cries from the younger man. "I'm so sorry, lad-"

"Just get on with it," Tintin hissed, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent any tears from escaping. "Please."

The Captain retrieved the tweezers from Tintin's grasp and quickly set to work. Although his eyes weren't as good as they used to be, he had no trouble spotting the foreign material. Even though his hands were also not as steady as they once were, he managed to withdraw most fragments without causing Tintin unnecessary pain.

He quickly decided to swipe that medicinal alcohol. After all, its healing benefits had already been proven on himself.

"Mi amigo!" General Alcazar's voice floated into the tent, his cheerful expression quickly evaporating as he laid eyes on Tintin, who clutched the table so tightly that his hands were completely white. "Eso no se ve bien, mi amigo. Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"No, of course he's not!" The Captain snapped. "What, you think we're sitting here and playing doctors for fun?! You and your men nearly got us killed!"

"Seńor, I did not mean any offence-"

"Well you should've thought of that before you barged in here-"

"Messieurs!"

Stunned by the outburst, both men turned to look at Tintin, who was currently staring at the floor. Obviously embarrassed at his lack of control over his temper, the young man thought quickly. "…Sorry, Captain, y-you pressed too…too hard—"

"I, uh…" Haddock sighed guiltily, discarding the shrapnel. "I'm sorry, lad…I'd make a lousy doc, wouldn't I? Yelling at people while I'm up to me elbows in blood and guts."

Tintin allowed himself a small smile. "You'd be terrible at helping the alcoholic patients."

The Captain chuckled heartily as Alcazar stepped forward, his eyes blazing with concern fo the younger man. "Let me find you some bandages, amigo."

"We've got a few pieces of gauze," Haddock pulled the items in question from the first aid kit, "but we'll need more to cover his arm."

Alcazar rummaged through a collection of containers in the corner of the tent, cursing occasionally in Spanish as he tossed aside bits and bobs. His search seemed ultimately successful, for he beamed proudly as he produced a slightly larger medical kit and handed it to Tintin. "I knew we had another one somewhere."

Tintin forced the lid of the kit open, sighing with relief as he spotted a collection of bandages. "Merci beaucoup. These will for now."

Applying the gauze and bandages to every single wound was a time-consuming process. Even Alcazar was drawn into assisting, handing Haddock pieces of tape to hold the protective barriers in place.

All Tintin wanted was to lie down. His back was beginning to feel as though a steam roller had gone over the top of it. I swear, these better not get infected…

He snapped out of his trance as he noticed Haddock step around to the front, handing him the final bandage. Without looking up, he quickly began wrapping it around the holes in his forearm. "Thank you both for your help-"

"Señor, these are not just simple wounds," Alvazar interrupted. "If you get infection, my men and I cannot help you. You must go to hospital!"

"Well obviously I can't with Tapioca's men after me, can I? I'll be fine," Tintin tied off the bandage and made a move to stand, giving his friends a steely look. "Let's get to work. We have got a revolution to finish, after all."

A/N: I am also not a native Spanish speaker, so please blame Google if these translations are incorrect.

Translations (Spanish):

Mi amigo = my friend

Hay un campamento cerca = there is a camp nearby

Eso no se ve bien = that doesn't look good

Translations (French):

Messieurs = gentlemen

Merci beaucoup = thank you very much