Tintin x Reader

Chapter 7

  You stopped. Tintin was going to bring you dinner, right? It'd just be rude to leave him finding the room empty. You'd only be going out for a few minutes, then you'll be scurrying right back.

These halls were confusing. You went down some stairs, turned right, then left, so many that you lost count. You stumbled upon Nestor, who gave you a questioning look. "Miss (y/n), shouldn't you be resting?"

"I know, Nestor, but I want some fresh air in the garden. If Tintin asks, please don't tell him anything. Okay?"

The butler responded with a curt nod.

You seemed embarrassed to ask, but you did it anyway. "Nestor, where is the way to the garden?"

"Go down the stairs and take two lefts then a right."

"Thanks!" you dashed past him, then followed his directions. You found yourself in the coolness of the garden. You breathed in the cool air.

You walked, and you feel yourself getting better, at least a bit. Suddenly you get the sense that someone else was with you. Paranoid, you thought. So you dismissed it. But still. Ever since the kidnapping of your parents, you trusted your instincts. How could they be wrong now?

You were about to walk back to the room when someone kicked you with force on the side. "Agh!" you groaned. This was not good. You reached for your handgun, but – oh no.

You had left it in the pocket of your trench coat. You cracked your knuckles. So, physical combat then? You tried running to open ground, but the pain in your side was incredibly strong, which made you almost drop to the grass.

You looked at your surroundings. Where was your attacker? Then the hostile person came into view. You knew this one. Rancher, one of Mr. Notus' best henchmen, had been sent to attack you.

"I hope you remember the death threat, because the deadline is tonight." Rancher inched closer to you, and you saw something glinting in his hand from the moonlight. He had a razor. You ducked out of the way, kicking Rancher in the process. There was a grunt and the ballistic man came charging your way.

You grabbed a large branch that had fell down from a tree, and swung at him with full force. It threw him off course, with a few scratches on his face. But he had caught hold of your arm. He twisted it, and you screamed out in pain. "AAH!" He let go of your arm, and punched your right cheek. That's going to leave a mark. He took hold of your twisted arm again.

He drew out a razor, and held it at your throat. Heck no, I am not dying like this! You thought. You punched him in the stomach with your free hand, kicked him in the privates, and he doubled over, backing away a few steps.

Your twisted arm throbbed dull pain. You noticed a drop of blood on the grass. Who was bleeding? You. It turns out, Rancher had dragged the razor into your arm, leaving a long, deep, bleeding mess.

You looked up, to see Rancher getting over the kick you had just gave him. When is this going to end? Then, there were gunshots. Rancher screamed, as he dropped to the grass, clutching his thigh. Someone shot at him. But who? As Rancher dropped to the grass, a figure stood behind him. And the figure was holding your handgun.

"Tintin!" you cried, rushing towards the reporter. He took you in a hug and noticed your injuries. "(y/n)! What happened to you?" Your blood was dripping over his blue sweater, so you had to apologize to him for that later. Tears were streaming down your face now. "I...I'm s-sorry," you choked out.

You turned to where Rancher was before. "Tintin, he's gone!" You tried to look for the attacker, but to no avail.

"That doesn't matter. We're getting you to a hospital, now. Captain! Nestor!"

The next few minutes were a blur. You had lost a lot of blood due to the deep incision, and you were getting woozy. Your breathing was getting jagged, and your skin was clammy.

All you remembered was being dragged into a car, with Tintin and Snowy, and probably Captain too. You remembered seeing Tintin's worried face, and the Captain's troubled looks, muttering something about politicians, typhoons, barnacles and whatnot. You wondered how many pints of blood you had lost already.

Being loaded into a stretcher, seeing white walls and masked people, doctors and nurses probably, you were pushed to the operation room.

It was a small operation, they only had to stitch up your profusely bleeding arm, but your blood loss was the difficult one.

The next moment, you awoke inside a white room. The lights inside were off, and the moonlight from the window only gave off a subtle lighting for your vision. You looked at your watch. It was two in the morning. Straining your eyes, you managed to make out a figure sleeping in a chair beside the bed you were in.

You looked at your arm. It had a scar, a now long pink line. There was a dextrose, and a bag of a pint of blood being injected into your hand. You heaved a sigh.

"Ugh," you muttered. If you had listened to the doctor's advice, you would probably still be in Marlinspike Hall. The fever and the headache were gone, and you were thankful for that. You still couldn't determine who was beside you.

You stiffened as the figure moved a little. Who was it?

"I see you're awake," said the figure, leaning in, so you could see his face.

It was the young reporter.

Hello again starlings, I'm so sorry for not updating for so long. Oh, and apologies if the description about the treatment of blood loss is wrong. (The rhyming was not intended, hehe ) If so, please correct me. But anway, here's Chapter 7! Hoped you guys enjoyed reading!