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Chapter Text

Thorin 'Oakenshield' Durin was in love.

At six years old, one would question the validity of the statement, but Thorin was indeed head over heels, over the moon, and soaring above the stars in love.

He knew a thing or two about love. His father liked to tell of how the first time he saw Thorin’s mother, he couldn’t breathe. The air had been knocked out of him, his mother was so beautiful and unbelievably perfect. His mother also liked to tell him stories before bedtime that involved lovers who would do anything for the other person. Anything to be near.

Thorin could relate.

And the name of the person with whom Thorin was inexplicably, ardently, and explicitly in love with was none other than Bilbo Baggins. The curly haired, big eyed, boy that had transferred into Thorin’s class a month earlier.

He was, in Thorin’s mind, perfect.

The moment the boy stood before the class – in spotless sneakers, khaki shorts that fell just below his knees and a bright green vest over a button down shirt – and announced, “I’m Bilbo Baggins. I moved from Hobbibibton to here.  And I’ve got a loose tooth. See!” Thorin forgot how to breathe.

He was utterly and completely enchanted. He watched in wonder as Bilbo smiled wide and blew air repeatedly so his tooth wiggled. He could feel his heart thump rapidly in his chest, just waiting to jump out and fall into Bilbo’s tiny hands as the boy brushed past Thorin to find his seat at the table behind him.

“Dwalin,” Thorin said one day at lunch as he poked a hole into his juice box.

“Hmm?”

“I’m in love,” Thorin declared. He was nothing, if not decisive.

Dwalin swallowed a bite of his PB & J sandwich. “Yeah? Who you in love with?” Dwalin asked.

“Bilbo,” Thorin answered as he opened his pudding cup.

Dwalin looked across the classroom to take a good look at Bilbo. The boy in question was happily munching on carrots. Dwalin wrinkled his nose. “But he’s really small. If you tried to kiss him, you’d crush him,” Dwalin reasoned. “Papa always tries to kiss Ma but she shoves him away cause she says Papa is a big monster that’ll squash her if he tries anything smart.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “I don’t know why Mama doesn’t want Papa to be smart.”

Thorin nodded his head. He hadn’t considered that. Compared to Thorin (or Dwalin), Bilbo was indeed tiny. Practically a head smaller. He could pass for a pre-schooler. Thorin would hate if he crushed Bilbo. “I don’t care,” Thorin finally admitted. “I still love him.” Then after a brief moment added, “And I’m not going to kiss him. That’s gross.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Dwalin finished his lunch. “Are you going to tell him?”

It had crossed Thorin’s mind once or twice, but he didn’t know how to go about it. “Should I?”

“You have to,” Dwalin advised. “It’s the law.”

Well then. Thorin would just have to tell Bilbo.

Bilbo could usually be found at the coloring table during recess. Yes, he had a sense of adventure, but the other kids were much bigger than he was and as the new kid, he wasn’t sure how to make friends. At his old school, Bilbo had grown up with his classmates. They were his neighbors and cousins. But here, the kids were just a bit intimidating.

So when Mr. Grey announced it was time for recess, Bilbo made his way to the coloring table, grabbed a piece of paper and went to find the crayons. Only the crayon bin was missing. Which was very, very odd.

Bilbo put his hands on his hips and stared at the empty drawer. Where could those crayons have gone?

There was a quiet cough behind him and Bilbo turned around to spy one of his classmates sitting at the coloring table, the entire bin in his lap. “Are you going to share?” Bilbo asked, concerned that Thorin was going  to hog the colors. Smaug had done the exact same thing the week earlier and Mr. Grey had given him a timeout.

The classmate nodded, and Bilbo’s smile returned. “I’m Bilbo,” Bilbo introduced, sticking out his chubby hand to the boy.

Thorin stared at the proffered hand but didn’t shake like Bilbo expected. Instead he stood up and bowed. “Thorin,” he replied before sitting back down, clutching onto the crayon bin tightly.

“I’m not a princess,” Bilbo huffed as he sat down. He looked at his white sheet of paper and back at the crayons. “Can I have a blue one?”

Thorin stuck his hand into bin and pulled out a blue crayon and rolled it across the table. Bilbo picked it up and frowned. “That’s not blue,” Bilbo said.

“Yes it is,” Thorin scowled.

“This blue’s too – it’s not – I need a not so dark blue,” Bilbo told Thorin.

Thorin dug into the bin and pulled out another blue crayon. Bilbo sighed. Thorin’s eyes went wide. Had he chosen another wrong crayon? He threw it back in the bin and found another one. Bilbo just shook his head.  Thorin had no idea there were so many different types of blue.

Bilbo picked up his sheet of paper and sat down next to Thorin. He rummaged through the crayon bin and found the exact shade of blue he wanted. “This one,” Bilbo told Thorin as he put crayon to paper and drew two round circles.

He put the crayon back in the bin and grabbed a brown crayon.

“What are you drawing?” Thorin asked, leaning over the bin to get a closer look at Bilbo’s drawing.

Bilbo put his arm around his paper and made a face at Thorin. “It’s a surprise,” Bilbo whispered gleefully.

As Bilbo grabbed crayons and worked on his picture, Thorin sat there and watched. He let himself take in the wonder that was Bilbo Baggins. He hadn’t meant to steal the crayons. But he wanted to talk to Bilbo. And now they were friends.

All in all, the mission could be considered a success.

Except Thorin still hadn’t told Bilbo he loved him.

“Bilbo,” Thorin wondered, clutching tightly to the crayons.

“Yeah?” Bilbo asked, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he concentrated on his picture.

Thorin swallowed. “Nothing,” he deflated.

They sat for the remainder of recess in silence, the only sound that of Bilbo picking up and discarding crayons and the crayons being rubbed against paper.

“Finished!” Bilbo declared with a smile, slamming his crayon onto the table.

He held up his picture to reveal a drawing of what could only be two familiar boys. One was Bilbo and the other was Thorin. Bilbo had a big smile, yellow curls, and oversized feet. Thorin had a mop of black hair, blue eyes, and a frown.

“It’s me and you,” Bilbo explained. “Do you like it?”

Thorin nodded his head dumbly. “I – I lo – love it,” Thorin stuttered out.

Bilbo preened under the compliment and handed it to Thorin. “You can have it.”

“Thank you,” Thorin marveled.

Bilbo grinned. “Will you color with me again tomorrow?” Bilbo asked, as a blush colored his cheeks.

Thorin nodded dumbly and Bilbo clapped his hands in excitement, pulling Thorin into a hug. Thorin was rooted to the spot, even after Bilbo had let go and Mr. Grey was announcing the end of recess. But Thorin didn’t care.

Bilbo hugged him. With a silly grin on his face, Thorin put back the crayon bin and sat back down at his table, his picture from Bilbo clutched tightly in his hand.

Bilbo hugged him. Him.

Tomorrow, Thorin would draw a picture for Bilbo. Then he’d tell Bilbo he loved him. And if he didn’t do it tomorrow, then he had every recess for the rest of their lives.

Thorin nodded to himself. It was a good plan.

Chapter Text

Bilbo smiled widely as he plopped down in the seat between Dwalin and Thorin.

Bofur’s eyes widened and Nori elbowed Gloin who was tying his shoe under the table and hit his head as he tried to see what all the fuss was about. An eerie silence fell over the table.

“Hi,” Bilbo greeted as he pulled a sandwich out of his bumblebee lunch box.

Dwalin shot a knowing look at Thorin who ignored his friend completely. Inwardly, Thorin was a ball of nerves and excitement. Bilbo was here! Sitting next to Thorin like it happened every day. And wasn’t that a thought. Thorin would love it if Bilbo ate lunch with him always.

“What are ya doing?” Bofur blurted, leaning forwards as he stared at the food Bilbo pulled out of his lunchbox.

Bilbo stopped what he was doing and looked at the other boys. Oh no. Had he done something wrong? He turned to Thorin who was staring down at his sandwich. Thorin glanced at Bilbo and smiled softly. Bilbo relaxed.

Good. He was wanted.

Thorin cleared his throat awkwardly and explained, “I asked him to eat with us.” Then he glared at his friends, the you got a problem with that? clearly implied.

After that, it was no problem getting Bilbo ingrained into their group. Bilbo laughed at Bofur’s jokes and threw a carrot at Nori for stealing his cupcake; he called Dwalin a cuddle monster and he listened, enraptured, as Gloin told stories about his pet bunny. But most importantly, he gave Thorin a cookie, and no one else. Thorin cherished each bite.

At first, Thorin was pleased. He knew everyone would love Bilbo. Perhaps not love him like Thorin loved him, but enough. And then suddenly, a strange feeling came over him. What if Bilbo, in turn, came to love them, in the manner that Thorin did.

“You ok?” Bilbo asked as he put his lunchbox back into his cubbie hole. Thorin nodded dumbly. “You sure?” Bilbo questioned, squinting up at Thorin in concern.

Thorin swallowed. He couldn’t not have Bilbo love him. “I – ” Thorin stuttered. He growled quietly. Why couldn’t he just say it? It was simple. It had to be. “I – ” he repeated. Thorin shook his head. “Let’s color,” he grumbled, taking hold of Bilbo’s hand and dragging him to the coloring table.

I. Love. You.

It wasn’t hard. Thorin said it to his mom and dad and grandma all the time. Why was it so hard to say it to Bilbo?

Because he’s a good drawer and he shares his cookies and has the prettiest laugh, Thorin’s brain supplied.

“Thorin?” The boy in questioned stopped his worrying to look down at Bilbo, who was shuffling his feet nervously. “You don’t have to color if you don’t want to,” Bilbo murmured.

Oh no. Thorin’s mom liked to tell Thorin that when he thought too hard, his frown made him look like the unhappiest boy in the world. Thorin could only imagine what Bilbo thought of him. “No!” Thorin shouted.

The children that had decided to stay inside the classroom all turned to stare at the two. Thorin felt his cheeks turn pink, but he held their stares, demanding them to call him out on his outburst. No one was brave enough.

They turned away quickly and Thorin returned his attention to Bilbo who was staring up at him with those big brown eyes. “I want to color,” Thorin continued, pulling out a chair for Bilbo and running to get the crayons and placing them on the table. “I do,” Thorin insisted.

Bilbo smiled and Thorin knew then and there if he didn’t tell Bilbo now he would never be able to say it.

“Bilbo.”

“Yeah?” Bilbo asked, as he dug through the crayon bin.

Thorin swallowed. This was it. He took a deep breath. He opened his mouth.

 “CRAYONS!”

Bilbo snatched his hand back and gaped at the red headed boy who pounced on the bin and snatched the crayons away. “Give those back,” Bilbo demanded, standing and stamping his foot.

“My crayons,” Smaug hissed at Bilbo, before heading to the nap corner in the room and dumped the drawing implements onto the ground.

Thorin bristled. He was going to kick Smaug. He was going to kick him so hard in the shins that he’d probably go to jail. But jail would be worth it, if only to make Bilbo smile again.

With a growl, Thorin marched towards Smaug. Only he didn’t get very far.

“Don’t,” Bilbo told him, grabbing onto his arm and holding Thorin in place.

“He stole the crayons,” Thorin argued. Not to mention interrupting Thorin’s confession. If he didn’t tell Bilbo soon, the police would probably take him away for not declaring his love. And Thorin would rather go to jail for defending his love than hiding from it.

“We should tell Mr. Grey,” Bilbo advised with a stern finger.

Thorin pouted, crossing his arms. “I’m not gonna be a tattle tell.”

“We’re not tatting,” Bilbo explained patiently.

“Are too,” Thorin grumbled.

With a sigh, Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s hand and led him outside where he knew Mr. Grey would be. They had a class assistant, but Mr. Brown wasn’t very reliable when it came to watching the kids. At this very moment, he was poking at the classroom hedgehog – Sebastian – along with Gloin. He hadn’t even noticed the confrontation at the coloring table.

The two boys easily walked out of the classroom and headed towards the playground where Mr. Grey sat on a bench.

“Mr. Grey,” Bilbo called, Thorin dumbly following behind. “Smaug took the crayons again.”

That seemed to snap Thorin out of his reverie (it was so nice to have Bilbo hold his hand; his hands were so nice and soft and this close to Bilbo, Thorin noticed that he smelled like apples) as he told Mr. Grey exactly what happened.

“ – And then dumped them all over the floor,” Thorin huffed. “Bilbo can’t color without crayons.” He cast an expectant glower at his teacher who simply chuckled and ruffled Thorin’s hair.

“I will have a talk with our Mr. Drake, young Thorin,” Mr. Grey reassured the boys, raising himself from his spot. “Do not worry gentlemen.”

He headed towards the classroom and Thorin was eager to follow but he was once again held back. Thorin looked down at his and Bilbo’s clasped hands and he could feel his face growing pink once more.

“Sorry,” Bilbo squeaked, attempting to let go of Thorin’s hand.

Thorin held onto the hand tightly. He wasn’t ready to let go just yet. “I like holding your hand,” Thorin blurted out.

Bilbo laughed and Thorin had never felt so dumb. Not even when he got only three words right on his spelling test. He dropped Bilbo’s hand and ran to the classroom, not even stopping when Bilbo called his name.

Stupid stupid stupid. Thorin sat down at his table and put his face down on the table. Of course Bilbo wouldn’t love him back. Thorin was mean and dumb and Bilbo was perfect.

“Thorin,” came a soft voice. Thorin didn’t respond. He didn’t want to look at Bilbo. He felt a poke at his shoulder but he still didn’t move. “Thorin.”

“Go away,” Thorin ordered.

“No.”

Thorin lifted his head and was greeted with a very unhappy Bilbo. “I don’t want to talk to you,” Thorin lied. He dropped his head back onto the table.

“Too bad,” Bilbo informed him. “Because I want to talk to you.”

A flutter rose in Thorin’s stomach and he fought it back down.

“You laughed at me,” Thorin mumbled.

“I laughed because I was happy,” Bilbo confessed.

Happy? Thorin turned his head and opened an eye. Bilbo was grinning widely at him. “I liked holding your hand too,” Bilbo admitted, his ears growing pink.

Thorin jumped out of his seat. “Really?” he marveled.

Bilbo nodded and Thorin didn’t fight away the flutters. “Bilbo, I lov – ”

“Now apologize to these gentlemen, young Smaug,” Mr. Grey interrupted Thorin’s confession. Thorin had never hated someone so much in his life. Smaug was the most terrible boy in the whole wide world.

“Sorry,” Smaug spat out.

“It’s ‘K,” Bilbo responded. Thorin just glared. Mr. Grey sighed and led Smaug towards the timeout corner, announcing the end of recess.  Bilbo smiled at Thorin before rushing back to his seat, the rest of their classmates taking their spots.

Thorin sank back into his chair and dropped his head on the table.

“What’s wrong?” Dwalin asked.

“Everything.”

“Oh,” Dwalin said. “Can I help?”

“No,” Thorin told him, sitting up and taking a bashful peak at Bilbo. “I have to do this alone.” 

Chapter Text

“You’re it!” Bilbo yelled as he ran towards the swings, Thorin hot on his trail.

The rest of the kids had already been picked up, but both Bilbo’s and Thorin’s parents were running late. Technically, once the clock struck 3:10, Mr. Grey was supposed to hand over any stragglers over to aftercare, but he was quite content to watch over the children.

Not to mention, he was sure Thorin would lose his mind in his attempts to protect Bilbo from the other children. He snorted at the thought.

Mr. Grey let them loose in the playground, and the two boys quickly entered into a game of tag.

Bilbo ran around the swings, his laughter loud and carefree, contrasting significantly with Thorin’s face of determination. Thorin had no plans to lose.

“You can’t catch me,” Bilbo yelled over his shoulder, not noticing that his shoelaces had come undone until he had tripped and fell face first into the woodchips.

Thorin was upon him in an instant, pulling Bilbo to a sitting position and checking for injuries. “Are you ok?” Thorin asked. “Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?” He ran his fingers along Bilbo’s legs and noted the scrapes on his knees. He grabbed Bilbo’s hands and frowned at the scratches.

“I’m fine,” Bilbo told him, attempting to push Thorin away, but Thorin held steadfastly. How could he have been so foolish? Bilbo was hurt! It was all his fault.

With a shake of his head, Thorin insisted, “You’re not,” and continued pulling off wood chips that stuck themselves to Bilbo’s knees.

“Oh.”

Thorin looked up then and blanched at the scene before him.  “Bilbo!” he cried, grabbing Bilbo’s face and staring, horrified, at the blood painting Bilbo’s mouth.

Bilbo pushed Thorin’s hands away and covered his mouth. “I think I lost my tooth!” Bilbo exclaimed, putting his finger where his tooth used to be. He smiled wide, and where a wiggly tooth used to be was an empty hole.

“Does it hurt?” Thorin marveled, his concern suddenly fleeing in light of the new development. None of Thorin’s teeth had yet to show any signs of falling out, something he was most sensitive about.

Bilbo shook his head. “Nope.” He stood up on shaky legs and brushed off the dirt from his clothes. The blood wasn’t too bad, now that Thorin had a good look. It had just smeared Bilbo’s face as he fell. “Where’s my tooth?” Bilbo questioned.

The tooth! Thorin shot up and began scrounging around the crime scene. The last thing in the world he wanted was for Bilbo not to get a visit from the tooth fairy. “Did you swallow it?” Thorin asked, still digging through the woodchips.

Bilbo stared at Thorin in disbelief. “Is that possible?” he stammered.

“Open your mouth,” Thorin told him. Bilbo complied, and Thorin looked down Bilbo’s throat. “I don’t see anything,” he said.

He pulled away and poked Bilbo’s stomach. Bilbo swatted Thorin’s hand away. “Stop.”

“Does your belly hurt?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo shook his head. “It feels fine,” Bilbo replied. He poked his belly a few times. “What happens if you swallow a tooth?”

“I ate a apple seed once,” Thorin confided. “My dad said I was going to grow a apple tree in my tummy. But nothing ever grew.” He poked at Bilbo’s stomach again. “You think you’ll grow a tooth tree?”

Bilbo’s face scrunched up; his bottom lip quivered and his eyes grew watery. Thorin had a moment of panic. He did it. He had done the worst possible thing ever. He made Bilbo cry. He didn’t know for sure if tooth trees even existed.

“Don’t cry!” Thorin pleaded, tears building up in his own eyes as he took hold of Bilbo’s hands. He didn’t want to see Bilbo cry. Bilbo was strong and brave. And it was all Thorin’s fault. He would never play tag again, as long as he lived, Bilbo as his witness.

“The tooth fairy won’t come now,” Bilbo sniffed, managing to keep his tears at bay.

Thorin felt a small ache in his chest. For the past two weeks, Bilbo had raved and ranted about the tooth fairy. He had even drew a picture of her earlier that day. Bilbo had been waiting ages for this moment and now he wouldn’t even reap the benefits of his patience. He was most definitely never playing tag again.

“Isn’t the tooth fairy magic?” Thorin asked hopefully, wishing that perhaps the tooth fairy would just know that the tooth was in Bilbo’s belly. “Maybe she can get it out for you.”

Bilbo lit up and pulled Thorin into great, big, hug. “You’re right!” He hopped up and down a few times, before poking his belly and saying, “Don’t you go anywhere.”

“Bilbo! Thorin!” called Mr. Grey and the two boys finally noticed their moms waiting for them.

They watched, amused, as Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s hand, yelling, “Mama!” the entire way. Thorin stared up in awe of Mama Bilbo. She was nearly as beautiful as Bilbo himself, and Thorin felt honored to meet her.

“Mama,” Bilbo continued, oblivious to Thorin’s dwindling self worth, “this is Thorin. He’s my bestest friend.”

Thorin swallowed as Mama Bilbo smiled at him and greeted, “Hello, Thorin. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

With a bow and a quiet, “Hi,” Thorin shuffled his feet and looked everywhere but at the adults or Bilbo.

Thorin heard his mom laugh and say, “He’s always bowing at people. I think I’ve read him too many fairy tales.”

“Is this your Mama?” Bilbo whispered in Thorin’s ear, and he nodded, pulling Bilbo closer.

“Mom,” Thorin started. “This is Bilbo. He’s...” Beautiful. Perfect. Lovely. Magic.

“We’re bestest friends,” Bilbo finished for him.

Thorin nodded. Bestest friends.

“Nice to meet you, Bilbo.”

“I lost my tooth!” Bilbo squealed, smiling widely for everyone to get a good luck at the hole in his mouth.

Mama Bilbo leaned down and wiped at Bilbo’s mouth. “Is that blood?” she asked, and Bilbo at least had the courtesy to look slightly guilty. She heaved a sigh and picked up Bilbo, resting him on her hip. Bilbo waved goodbye as his mom said, “We’ll set up a day soon,” before walking off.

Thorin waved goodbye half heartedly. He hoped Bilbo wouldn’t get in trouble because of him.

On the car ride home, stuck next to his little sister who found a game in hitting Thorin with her dolly, Thorin wondered if it really was possible for the tooth fairy to extract teeth from bellies.

“Mom,” Thorin asked.

“Yeah?”

“When I lose a tooth, can I give it to Bilbo?”

Freya took a good long look at her son in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you want a quarter from the tooth fairy?”

Thorin shrugged. “Bilbo deserves it more. He won’t get any cause he swallowed his tooth.”

Freya smiled softly to herself. This Bilbo must be really special. “Alright.”

The next day Bilbo held up a great, big, shiny quarter. “She got it!” he exclaimed. “I wrote a letter – Mama helped, but I mostly wrote it – and she got it and she found my tooth and she left me this!”

“That’s great,” Thorin smiled, a little sad that the tooth fairy was magic. He was really looking forward to giving his future teeth to Bilbo.

“Take it,” Bilbo told him.

Thorin gaped, shaking his head and shoving Bilbo’s eager hands away.  “No,” he argued. “It’s yours.”

“I got two,” Bilbo told him, pulling out another quarter from his pocket. “I told the tooth fairy that without you she wouldn’t have my tooth at all and she left me two so I want to give one to you.”

A warm feeling spread from Thorin’s chest to his fingers and toes. The tooth fairy was the nicest fairy in the whole wide world. “Thank you,” Thorin murmured.

“I would have given you my quarter even if I had one,” Bilbo confided in Thorin before running off to shove his lunchbox in his cubbie hole.

Thorin spent the rest of the day with his head in the clouds, not even noticing when Nori cheated off of him during their math quiz.

Chapter Text

Gandalf sipped at his tea, his fingers hovering above the cake sitting on the table before him. He dipped his finger into the frosting and quickly sucked the digit clean, humming in pleasure at the sweet taste. He reached forward for another taste when a sharp slap to his wrist had Gandalf pulling his hand back.

“That was completely unnecessary,” Gandalf grumbled, staring longingly at the cake.

“Not until the boys come home,” Belladonna scolded, handing her old friend a muffin. “Bilbo would pout at you for days if you got a slice before he did.”

Gandalf bit into his treat, grumbling good naturedly all the while.

“Where are the Baggins boys?” Gandalf asked, noticing the lack of boyish giggles and the deeper, good humored chuckles of father and son.

“Looking for the perfect pumpkin,” Belladonna smiled, raising her eyebrows. “Bilbo wants to carve one with a missing tooth.”

Gandalf stretched out his long legs and grinned in amusement. He had been teaching for many years, and rather than feeling older at the new faces in his kindergarten classes, he felt rejuvenated. Having his dear friend’s only son in his class… well that just made him feel like a young man all over again. Bilbo had that same charm Belladonna had when she was his student.

Though that was years ago. Now that he thought about, how did the two become such good friends? Perhaps he wasn’t as young as he felt.

“Speaking of teeth,” Gandalf started. “What do you think of young Thorin?”

Belladonna ran her finger along the rim of her teacup. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Gandalf?” Her lips pursed and her brows furrowed, Gandalf knew that she knew that he knew something. She was always most difficult to fool.

Coughing in a most innocent fashion, Gandalf brushed off her suspicions. “I am merely inquiring after my students.”

“I have the sudden feeling you were the cause of the traffic jam that made me late,” Belladonna teased.

“Impossible,” Gandalf told her. “I couldn’t possibly. I was watching your boy!”

“And he came to me bruised, scraped, and bloodied,” Belladonna told him.

The front door burst open with a slam and the two could hear Bilbo’s eager jumping and hopping and giggling. “Mama!” he yelled as his father scolded him for treading mud on the floors. There was the soft thump of boots falling to the ground, just seconds before Bilbo flew into kitchen with his yellow raincoat and rain soaked curls, a tiny pumpkin in his hands. “Hi, Mr. Grey. Is that cake? Can I have some? Mama?”

“Bilbo,” Belladonna scolded. “Stand still.” She unbuttoned his coat and ruffled his hair, getting water all over the floor.

“Oomph,” Bungo grunted, placing a large pumpkin onto the kitchen counter. “Evening, Gandalf.”

“Mama, look!” Bilbo cried, shoving his pumpkin into Belladonna’s face. His father’s entrance a reminder to why he was so eager to see his mother in the first place. “This one’s for you. I picked it special.”

He climbed onto a stool and hugged his pumpkin, his hands not even close to touching. “And this one is ours. Right, Pop?”

“Right,” Bungo told him. “Go dry your hair and we’ll get to work.” Bilbo ran out of the room, Bungo following, a faint, “And put on some shoes,” before the kitchen was quiet once more.

“He’s quite the ball of energy,” Gandalf noted.

Belladonna sighed. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Years of practice.”

She grabbed a mop and began cleaning the wet floor. No point in delaying the inevitable. And knowing Bilbo, he probably wouldn’t put on any shoes. She didn’t want his socks getting soaked through.

“It’s a bit unusual,” Gandalf muttered.

“What is?” Belladonna asked.

Gandalf shook his head, clearing his mind, forgetting he was not alone. “Their friendship. Thorin and Bilbo’s,” Gandalf clarified. “Thorin is a quiet type. Sits at his table and frowns and tells his friends what to do. Bilbo’s nothing like that.”

Belladonna laughed. “They did strike me as an odd pair.”

“I think Thorin has a bit of a crush on your boy.”

“Well the same could be said for Bilbo,” Belladonna commented. She put the mop away and patted the large pumpkin. “He’s constantly telling me how amazing Thorin is. You should have read the note he wrote for the tooth fairy.”

“I’m sure it was charming,” Gandalf agreed.

“I thought maybe the two could go trick or treating together,” Belladonna informed him. “I called Freya of course, to set everything up. We’ve just moved and we don’t quite know any good candy spots. Besides it’d be nice to have an adult friend again. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Naturally,” Gandalf said. “Bilbo must be thrilled.”

“Haven’t told him yet,” Belladonna confessed. “I’m too afraid he’d refuse to sleep in his flurry of excitement.”

Bilbo rushed into the kitchen once more, his sweater rolled up to his elbows and his sneakers untied, with a heap of old newspapers in his hands. He climbed atop a stool and put the papers around the pumpkin. Once done, he began hitting the pumpkin in excitement, babbling on and on about his pumpkin.

“Yes,” Gandalf mused. “I quite see what you mean.”

Frerin and Thorin were sitting at the kitchen table. The older boy hunched over his schoolwork while Frerin watched.

Thorin stilled his pencil to glare at Frerin. “Go away.”

“No,” Frerin answered, scooting closer to look at what Thorin was doing.

“Mom!” Thorin shouted. “Tell Frerin to go away!”

Thrain entered with a drowsy Dis on his hip. “Boys,” he scolded. “Stop fighting.”

“Frerin won’t let me do my homework,” Thorin told him.

Thrain ran a hand through his hair, wishing that it was any other day but Thursday. Why did Freya have to have her shows on Thursday? He wasn’t equipped to handle these children. It was moments like these, he thanked Mahal that he was blessed with a beautiful and perfect wife. He’d be a wreck on his own.

“I wanna pway,” Frerin complained. “Torin say we was gonna pway.”

“I said you had to wait,” Thorin explained, exasperated. What use were little siblings? They did nothing but get in the way.

“Can’t you play with him for a bit?” Thrain pleaded. “Your homework’s not due till Friday, anyhow.”

Thorin let out a long suffering sigh. “Fine,” he gritted out, closing his folder. Frerin clapped his hands and hopped off his chair, running towards the play room, no doubt.

“Take Dis with you too, huh?” Thrain asked, putting Dis onto the floor.

Thorin nodded, taking Dis’s hand and leading her out of the room. “Toh!” she gurgled.

When Thorin entered the playroom, he found his little brother digging through the box of Duplo Legos. Dis waddled towards him and plopped onto the floor, putting a bright yellow block in her mouth. He sat down between the two and put the blocks together as per Frerin’s instructions.

He idly wondered if Bilbo had any brothers and sisters. If he didn’t, then he was awfully lucky. Not that Thorin didn’t love Frerin or Dis. It was just that sometimes, like now, he had to put aside whatever he was doing and watch over them.

Dis grew bored with the blocks quickly, deciding instead to play with Thorin’s hair. She brushed it and petted it, her little hands shoving at Thorin’s cheeks. He gently tried prying her off him, but only succeeded in moving her attention to his face. Where she laughed and giggled and placed wet kisses on his face.

Jealous of the attention, Frerin pulled Dis off of Thorin and blew raspberries into Dis’s belly.

Freya and Thrain walked into the playroom some ten minutes later to find her two boys chasing Dis around the room, catching her every so often and tickling her belly, kissing her nose, and blowing raspberries onto her arms. 

Chapter Text

Dwalin laughed for five whole minutes the moment Thorin walked into the classroom. Tears ran down his face and he was clutching his belly, heaving great big gasps of air.

While Thorin just stood there and took the abuse, his face set in a perfect glower.

He had begged his mom not to put him in the costume. He could just wear his costume from last year. But his mother insisted and Thorin was not one to go against his mother.

So he put on the costume – the one his mother worked very hard on – and grumbled for a few minutes before smiling for the camera. Once the pictures were taken, Thorin slunk into the car and hid his face. He was never going to hear the end of it. And by the sounds of Dwalin’s guffaws, Thorin knew it to be true.

“You’re a duck!” Dwalin managed to say once his laughter had died down.

“I am Donald Duck,” Thorin informed his friend with as much dignity as he could muster, fixing his hat with an imperial air.

His mother had gotten into the habit of making group costumes. The year before, Thorin was Woody and Dwalin, Buzz Lightyear, which was fun and exciting. But this year. Well this year she wanted to incorporate the whole family. And if the little ones were the Mouse’s, then Thorin was going to be one of the Duck’s.

He wore a blue sailors hat on his head, a handmade sailor shirt (a la Donald), and yellow pants. But the crowning achievement was the duck butt his mother managed to make, complete with feathers. It was so well made that Thorin could only be described as waddling when he walked. A success for his mother, but a source of constant shame for Thorin.

What was Bilbo going to think when he saw him? Oh the shame.

Thorin couldn’t help but stare enviously at Dwalin’s police costume. Why didn’t Auntie Talia make Dwalin dress in ridiculous outfits? It was completely unfair.

He waddled to his table and plopped down into his seat, avoiding eye contact with his classmates. He could hear Dwalin and Bofur snickering at their cubby holes. Thorin’s face grew hot. This was going to be the worst Halloween ever.

“Thorin!” came a sweet yell just before a small body crashed into Thorin, arms wrapping themselves around the boy. Bilbo pulled away, his face flush with excitement. “You’re Donald Duck!” he exclaimed, examining Thorin’s costume.

“Yes,” Thorin mumbled, staring at Bilbo like he was the only person who existed. And to Thorin nothing could be more true.

Bilbo’s curls were dyed a bright red and fell over his face in ringlets, a white sailor’s cap resting atop his head. He wore a blue, red, and white, checkered shirt, a blue bow resting just below his white collar. His high waisted pants fell mid-calf and he wore red and white striped socks. But the kicker. The thing that made Thorin’s heart beat fast, were the red spots painted on Bilbo’s cheeks and nose, reaffirming Thorin’s belief that Bilbo was a fragile doll that needed his protection.

“Hello?” Bilbo asked, waving his hand in front of Thorin’s face. “Hellooooo!”

Thorin cleared his throat. “What’re you?” he asked, hoping that Bilbo would forget all about his stares of admiration.

“Raggedy Andy!” he cried, twirling around for Thorin to get a better look. “Mama’s Raggedy Ann.”

“Looking good, Bilbo,” Bofur teased, putting an arm around his shoulder.

Bilbo blushed. “Thanks.”

Thorin glared at Bofur who smiled lazily back at him.

“Children,” Mr. Grey called, his voice reverberating off the walls and his wizard cloak trailing behind him. “Take your seats. Class – ” he paused for dramatic effect – “has begun.”

Bofur scurried away, his mummy costume trailing slightly behind him. Dwalin slapped Thorin’s back good naturedly, bursting into laughter once more.  The costume was just too much.

“Ow!” Dwalin cried, suddenly, hopping on one foot. Bilbo stuck out his tongue before running back to his table, a pleased look on his face. “He kicked me,” Dwalin grumbled.

“Good,” Thorin replied.

Throughout the day, Dwalin happily avoided Bilbo. He was small, but he sure knew how to kick where it hurt.

At lunch, Bilbo glared at anyone who so much as giggled at Thorin’s costume. Though he let up a bit to admire the costumes of his friends.

He thought Nori made a very believable pirate and Gloin was a very scary vampire and he begrudgingly admitted that Dwalin’s policeman costume was very nice. Bilbo was also fond of Bofur’s mummy costume, and more often than not he could be found wrapping loose bandages around Bofur’s legs.

When Thorin went home from school that day, he wasn’t half as grumpy as when he had left. Bilbo had liked Thorin’s costume so much that he drew a picture of the two of them, each as their respective characters, holding hand and pumpkins overflowing with candy. All in all, it was probably a perfect day.

“No,” Thorin scolded Dis. “Those don’t go in your mouth.” He gently pulled way the mouse ears and put them back on her head, wiping his slobbered hands on his shirt. Dis scrunched up her nose.

Frerin stood in front of the mirror, admiring himself and ignoring Thorin’s pleas to put on his gloves. He was having a hard enough time with Dis, who refused to sit still.

“… ood Street. Got it,” Freya said into the telephone, writing down the address on a notepad. “We’ll be there soon. See you in a bit.” She hung up and grabbed her coat, checking her watch. “Alright kids,” she yelled, “time to head out.”

She found the kid’s jackets as they marched into the living room, Frerin red eyed and sniffling and Thorin’s feathers ruffled. She held back an exasperated sigh.

“What happened?” Freya asked, taking off Dis’s ears and putting a hat on her head.

“Notin’,” Frerin grumbled as he put on his jacket. Thorin zipped him up with an annoyed look on his face.

Freya shot Thorin an expectant look. He shoved his feet into his yellow rain boots, hoping that his mother would forget the whole thing. But she was not to be dissuaded. “Frerin wouldn’t put on his costume,” Thorin explained. “So I put it on him.”

“Only the gloves,” Frerin hollered, holding up his hands. “He hurt me,” he sniffed, cradling his hand to his chest.

“Liar,” Thorin muttered.

“Thorin, apologize. Frerin, listen to your brother,” Freya told them, before shuffling them out the door.

Bilbo sat on his parent’s bed, giggling at his Papa, who couldn’t button his green overalls. “I don’t know why it won’t close,” Bungo would mutter as Bilbo rolled around on the bed in a fit of a laughter.

“Corduroy only has one button, Papa,” Bilbo managed to say, just before Bungo jumped on the bed and began tickling Bilbo.

“I knew that,” he said.

The bell rang and Belladonna rushed to answer the door, the sound of laughter filling the house. “Hi,” she told the waiting Freya. “Glad you could make it.”

“Likewise,” Freya answered. “I brought the whole troop. Sorry about that.” Belladonna peered behind Freya, only to see more than the promised three children. Freya did mention she had a large family…

Belladonna hustled Freya and the kids inside, who were more than pleased to get out of the chilly October air. “It’s alright. We certainly won’t be bored, that’s for sure.”

“Stop,” cried Bilbo, running out of the bedroom and bumping into his mother’s legs. “Tell Papa to stop tickling me,” he giggled, his arms wrapped around his belly protectively.

“Bilbo,” Belladonna said. “Manners.”

He looked up at her questioningly before noticing that he was surrounded by guests. He pulled himself away and smiled, waving enthusiastically. “Hi!” He went around the crowd before his eyes fell upon Thorin, and then Bilbo really did light up. His smile grew even wider. “Thorin!” he squealed.

Thorin smiled shyly back, as his cousins stared at him in wonderment.

Bilbo swung their hands in the air, as he asked for the hundredth time, “Dwalin’s brother is Balin, who’s a cowboy. Bofur’s little brother is the pumpkin, whose named Bombur. And their cousin is Bifur who’s a skeleton. Gloin’s big brother is Mario. And his name is Oin. Nori has a big brother named Dori who is Frankenstein and a little brother named Ori who is a dinosaur. And your brother and sister are Mickey and Minnie Mouse and they’re called Frerin and Dis. Right?”

“Right,” Thorin assured him, content to know that when his mom and Mama Bilbo told them to choose a trick and treating partner, Bilbo grabbed his hand right away and hadn’t let go since. Dwalin walked next to Thorin, snorting at Thorin’s pleased smile.

Dwalin raised an eyebrow and Thorin deflated slightly. He hadn’t told Bilbo he loved him yet, but he had time. Dwalin shook his head. Thorin frowned. What did Dwalin know, anyway? He jerked his head to Dwalin, hoping he’d get the message and go bother someone else.

“I don’t see what’s so special ‘bout him,” Dori whispered to Nori. “I thought he would be… grander.”

Nori nodded his head absently, making use of Dori’s preoccupation to unwrap a Jolly Rancher and sneak it into Ori’s mouth. “I like Bilbo,” Nori told him. “He’s nice.”

“But he’s so… happy.”

Gloin laughed loudly, slapping Dori on the back. “Bilbo’s not happy all the time.” Dori wrinkled his nose at Gloin who was spitting over his fake teeth.

“Yeah,” Bofur broke in. “He kicked Dwalin today.”

Dori gaped as the three boys nodded their heads.

“What did Dwalin do?” Dori asked.

“Nothing,” Nori grumbled. “Thorin would’ve killed him if he did.”

Balin tuned out the conversation behind him to study the small curly haired boy holding hands with Thorin. He understood Dori’s skepticism. Thorin was not an easy one to deal with. And yet somehow, the small boy had weaseled his way into Thorin’s heart without even noticing.

“Dwalin,” Balin called (just in time too, as Thorin and Dwalin were shooting each other cryptic looks, which never bode well for anyone), “I need to talk to you.”

Dwalin gave one last pointed look before falling back and stepping in time with his brother.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Balin pointed at Bilbo and Thorin.

“Oh.”

“How serious is this?” Balin asked.

“Thorin loves him,” Dwalin answered, not pausing for a minute. “He said I could be his best man.”

Blissfully unaware of the mutterings of his friends and family behind him, Thorin stared up at the haunted house before them. Every year they passed this house, and every year they passed it by. But not this year. This year, Thorin was determined to go through the scary path to be rewarded with a large candy bar at the front door.

There were screams and crying and general spookiness emanating from behind the iron gates, and at the entrance was a large, evil looking clown. Thorin gulped, squeezing Bilbo’s hand tighter and pulling him with him to face the monsters.

 “Aunt Freya,” Balin tried again, hoping that he’d be listened to. For once.

“Not now,” Freya brushed him off as she balanced Dis on her hip while trying to get a sticky lollipop off of one Ori’s horns.

Belladonna was buckling the rest of the boys into the van, all of whom were yelling and laughing and having a merry time, trading candy with one another. She took Dis out of Freya’s hands and placed her in her car seat. The small girl was dozing, unaffected by the noise around her.

Balin pulled on Belladonna’s sleeve. “Mrs. Baggins,” he insisted.

“Just a moment,” she muttered, clicking Dis’s seatbelt together. She proudly stood, hands on her hips, as she turned to Balin. “Are you next?” she asked, already clearing a spot for the boy.

Balin shook his head. Why were adults so blind to everything? “Bilbo and Thorin are missing,” he told her.

“What?!” Belladonna and Freya cried at the same time. 

Chapter Text

Bilbo’s overflowing pumpkin fell to the ground, his candy spilling all over the dirt path, as he stumbled backwards and into one of the plastic walls. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, reminding himself it was all fake. Nothing here could hurt him.

A terrible shriek filled the air and Bilbo ran as fast as his legs could take him, ignoring Thorin’s yelling for him to come back. He ran into another wall and stopped, turning around and evaluating his surroundings.

He was lost. Completely and utterly lost. He slid to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees and cried.

Bilbo wanted so much to show Thorin that he was brave, just like him. Not a baby like he knew Dwalin or Dori or everyone else thought him. And yet here he was being absolutely ridiculous. Crying like he was a three year old.

He wanted to prove he was worth Thorin’s friendship. But all Bilbo had proven was that he was a chicken. Thorin would probably find another bestest friend. One that didn’t run away at the first scary sound they heard.

Thorin hadn’t expected the haunted house to be a haunted maze.  Truthfully, he hadn’t expected much. He was hoping that past the gates, which were suspiciously blacked out (and really, that should have been the first clue), there would be a row of scary dummies that he could run past and quickly get to the house. But it was not so.

Thorin had pulled Bilbo further along the maze, gripping his hand tightly and refusing to let go. They screamed loudly at the clown that popped out, blood dripping down its face. They ran in terror from the giant spider web that Thorin had managed to get stuck in. And they both closed their eyes when lightning flashed and Frankenstein rose from his electric bed.

But it had been far too much for Bilbo, who had run off, leaving Thorin alone to conquer the maze.

He kneeled onto the ground and began scooping the candy back into the abandoned pumpkin. He would pick up the candy, then go looking for Bilbo. And once that was accomplished, they would figure out how to get out of this haunted maze alive.

“Look who decided to show his face,” came a scratchy voice, high pitched and laced with poison. “What are you? A chicken?”

Thorin ground his teeth as he faced his nemesis. “Azog,” he spat out, glaring at the other six year old like he was overcooked brussel sprouts.

Azog was a terror.

At the beginning of the school year, he had denied any and all kindergartners access to the swings. Refusing to let Azog do what he pleased, Thorin organized a counter assault, which led to The Battle for the Swings.

It was a glorious fight resulting in several bruises, scratches, cuts, and more than a few detentions. Balin liked to tell of how Azog had cornered the rest of Thorin’s classmates, only for Thorin to grab the nearerst tree branch and whack it hard against Azog’s hand.

Azog had a broken pinky for three weeks.

Thorin had won the battle that day, but the war between Azog and Thorin waged on.

“That’s a lot of candy,” Azog leered. “Mind if I have some?”

Thorin clutched Bilbo’s pumpkin to his chest, looking for an escape route. “Go away.”

“No, you big chicken.”

“I’m Donald Duck,” Thorin hissed, swinging his own pumpkin and hitting Azog hard in the chest. The older boy stumbled backwards and into the arms of his waiting friends. Making use of the boys’ distraction, Thorin ran past them as fast as he could, searching for Bilbo and trying his hardest to get away. He may have defeated Azog once, but Thorin didn’t think for one second that he could do it again. Especially not with a duck butt.

He could vaguely hear the yells and running footsteps of the other boys, not slowing down for an instant.

Why did it have to be a maze?

Why?

There was a soft snuffling sound and Thorin stopped in his tracks. He heard it again and whispered as loud as he dared, “Bilbo?

A squeak from behind had Thorin turning back from where he came. “Bilbo,” Thorin tried again. He turned left again and found Bilbo sitting on the ground, furiously wiping his face with his hands.

Thorin ran to him and pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” Bilbo hiccupped. “I – I – I’m sorry.”

“My fault,” Thorin reassured him, but Bilbo shook his head desperately. “I shouldn’t have brought you,” Thorin tried shushing him. “It’s all my fault.”

Who knew how long they had been gone. No doubt, their moms were looking for them. Thorin cringed at the spanking he was no doubt going to be receiving later. And he was going to get Bilbo in trouble. What sort of friend was he?

The worst kind, that’s what.

He’d just tell Mama Bilbo that it was his fault. That Bilbo tried to stop him, but Thorin wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t too far from the truth. Bilbo had told Thorin not to go in, but then Thorin told him all about the candy bars and Bilbo was more excited than Thorin was.

“I got your candy,” Thorin said, pulling himself out of Bilbo’s arms and handing the boy his pumpkin. “Some fell out,” he explained, looking down at the half full pumpkin. “You can have some of mine.”

“Thanks,” Bilbo sniffled, wrapping himself around Thorin again.

A horrible laugh interrupted the scene and Thorin’s hands clenched into fists. “Is that your girlfriend?” Azog cackled, his friends chuckling behind him.

Thorin let go of Bilbo and stepped protectively in front of him. “I’m not a girl!” Bilbo exclaimed, peering over Thorin’s shoulder.

That just made Azog laugh harder. “He’s your boyfriend!” Azog cried. “Even better.”

“Leave us alone,” Thorin warned him.

“Or what? It’s just you and your little boyfriend. You’re all alone, Thorin.”

“I. Am. Not. Little!” Bilbo yelled, grabbing the first rock he could find and throwing it at Azog, hitting him square in the chest.

Azog stared at Bilbo in disbelief, before growling and running towards his attacker. Thorin pushed Bilbo out of the way just in time to be tackled by Azog. The boys rolled around on the ground as Azog’s friends cheered them on.

Bilbo gaped at the unnecessary violence. Azog was much bigger and stronger, using his weight to keep Thorin in place as he hit him as he pleased. Thorin tried to get a punch in, but he was much more defensive, blocking his face with his arms.

This was like a horrible nightmare. Refusing to just sit back and watch, Bilbo pounced atop Azog, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Azog stood up and tried to shake off Bilbo, but the younger boy held on tight. Thorin stared up in wonder as Bilbo bit Azog’s head.

Bilbo! Thorin got up as quick as he could and punched Azog in the face. He shouted in pain, shaking his hand in the air. Azog had an unusually hard face.

“What’s going on here?”

All of the children paused their actions. Standing before them was a headless man, a bloody axe in hand. And so they did what any child their ages would do. They screamed.

“Thorin Octavius Durin,” Freya scolded, pulling him by the hand towards the van, where his cousins were watching his scolding with curious and eager eyes. “What were you thinking?”

Thorin let himself be led, all the while keeping his eyes on Bilbo who was sitting on his mother’s hip, clinging to her tightly. He was certain that Bilbo would never talk to him again.

“You ran off, to a haunted house which I explicitly told you was off limits, got into a fight, and you dragged poor Bilbo into the entire affair,” his mother continued. “Look at your costume!”

“Sorry,” Thorin mumbled, tears prickling in the corner of his eyes. He sniffed, wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve. “I’m sorry, Ma. I – I just wanted Bilbo to like me.”

Freya sighed. The Durin’s were not known for their intelligence. She kneeled before him and pulled a tissue out of her purse. She wiped his nose and eyes. “Bilbo already likes you, Pigeon,” she told him. “He likes you a whole lot.”

“But he doesn’t love me,” Thorin grumbled. “Not like I love him.”

Oh dear. Thorin had inherited his father’s stubbornness and sense of pride. How could a child of six be so determined to make another child fall in love with him, Freya would never know.

“Have you asked Bilbo?” Freya asked.

Thorin shook his head violently. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” Freya reassured him. Thorin just shook his head and Freya decided to give up for now. She buckled him into his booster seat and hopped into the driver’s seat.

Mama Bilbo sat Bilbo next to Thorin before getting in the front passenger seat.

The ride home was unnaturally quiet, the rest of the boys having dozed off shortly after the car started moving. Bilbo sniffled every once in a while, but other than that, Thorin was left to stew in his thoughts.

This was probably the last chance he’d ever have to be even near Bilbo. No doubt, Mama Bilbo would refuse to let the two of them ever play again. Thorin had ruined things before he could get anything started.

“Thorin?” Bilbo whispered, his mouth just inches from Thorin’s ear.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

Thorin shook his head. “No. Are you? Did Azog hurt you?”

“No,” Bilbo answered, before falling silent.

The car stopped and Mama Bilbo got out of the car, talking to Freya for a moment or two. Bilbo unbuckled himself and hopped out of his booster seat, pulling the boost with him. The van door slid open and he handed the boost and his half full pumpkin to his mom before whispering in her ear. She smiled at him before nodding her head.

Bilbo carefully avoided the sleeping occupants to jump back onto the seat next to Thorin. “Thank you for saving my candy,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Thorin replied.

“And thank you for saving my life.”

“Any time.”

Bilbo smiled, before planting a great big kiss on Thorin’s mouth. He pulled away, his cheeks tinged pink before running out of the van as quick as he could. He waved at Thorin and cried a loud, “Thank you!” to Freya before following his mom up the porch.

Thorin sat there in bewilderment, unable to process what had just happened.

 Bilbo kissed him.

Bilbo. Kissed. Him. Him. He KISSED him. KISSED!

Thorin put his hand to his mouth. He could still taste Bilbo. He was sweet, like chocolate but a unique taste all his own.

It reminded Thorin of apples. 

Chapter Text

There were some aspects of life Thorin felt he was not adequately prepared to deal with. Take for instance, his shoelaces. He had the basic idea of how to tie his shoes, it was just applying theory to action where he got a little tied up.

Literally.

Or little sisters. Little sisters were immensely different from little brothers. He could be as mean to Frerin as he liked and hardly get scolded, but he so much as scowl at Dis, and suddenly he was in for a spanking and no TV.

But the most important thing that left Thorin completely and utterly hopeless was Bilbo. Or more importantly, Bilbo’s kiss.

Why did he kiss him? Did he like him? Did he love him? It was all impossible. Bilbo was probably just overcome with emotion. He was just really happy Thorin had saved his candy. Yes. That’s it.

“Torin,” Frerin mumbled sleepily, “Go sleep.” He wrapped himself in his blankets, hugging his stuffed pig to his chest.

Thorin stilled his anxious movements and stared up at the ceiling, the soft glow of Frerin’s night light illuminating the walls. Tomorrow was Monday. Which meant he had school. Which meant he was going to see Bilbo.

His heart stuttered. What was he going to do?

Bilbo hung upside down in the jungle gym, his backpack hanging over his head while his shirt and jacket were raised to his belly button. His mother had to drop him off earlier than usual that morning, and he took advantage of the rather unoccupied playground to run around and do what he pleased.

At the moment he was pretending he was a burglar, sneaking down into a hoard of gold, about to steal it all. If only he could avoid the dragon…

“What’s this?”

Bilbo slipped off the jungle gym and landed with a loud THUD! He heard a horrible laugh and his blood ran cold.

Azog.

He looked up and found himself at the feet of a smiling Azog. Bilbo scrambled up and back, fixing his clothes, looking around anxiously for an escape route.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Azog asked, his smile growing wider and his eyes gleaming with murder.

Bilbo swallowed as he stepped away from the boy, his back hitting the edge of the jungle gym. “Not my – I don’t – I don’t know – it’s just me,” Bilbo stuttered, his face getting red at Azog’s words. “Go away.”

“It’s just you?” Azog asked sweetly. He took a step forward. Bilbo closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “When Thorin comes you can tell him all about the fun we’re gonna have.”

Bilbo opened his eyes and screamed, loud. Azog, startled, stumbled backwards. Taking advantage of the distraction, Bilbo squeezed through the bars of the jungle gym.

He hopped over bar after bar, his small legs barely reaching over the metal bars in his attempt to run away. Bilbo looked back only once, to find Azog tearing through the jungle gym, snarling and yelling in anger.

Fear pierced through Bilbo once more as he tried to make it out, but just as freedom was in his reach, he lurched backwards. He pushed and pulled, but he couldn’t get free. It couldn’t be Azog. He was close, but not that close.

Taking a moment to calm down, he surveyed his position and realized his backpack had gotten stuck. Another yell from Azog rang throughout the playground and Bilbo ripped his backpack off. He didn’t need it.

With the bag gone, Bilbo was able to escape the jungle gym, running at top speed towards the adults that supervised the early kids. If he could only make it. If he could make it then he’d be  –

“Oomph!”

Bilbo fell backwards, his head spinning and stars twinkling above him. He was dead. He was going to die. His mama was not going to be happy with him at all.

A familiar face came into view and Bilbo managed to smile, forgetting all about Azog.

“Are you ok?” Thorin asked, his face set in rigid concern, dark hair framing his face like a prince found in fairytales. Bilbo blinked dumbly up at him, before realization hit him. He jumped to his feet, grabbing Thorin’s arm and pulling him away from the playground. “Bilbo – what?”

There was a crunching of woodchips and the two boys stopped their fussing. Thorin stepped in front of Bilbo in protection. He spread his feet and held his ground, fiercely meeting Azog’s eyes. “Azog,” Thorin greeted.

 “You ruin all my fun,” Azog replied, ignoring Thorin and focusing solely on Bilbo. “Your boyfriend and I were going to play.” Suddenly Azog lunged forward and grabbed Bilbo’s arm, pulling him away from Thorin’s protection.

Bilbo stumbled forwards, crashing into Azog’s chest. The boy gripped his arm tightly and Bilbo clawed helplessly at Azog with his one lone hand. He opened his mouth to let out a blood curling yell but Azog quickly covered Bilbo’s mouth with his other hand, predicting Bilbo’s actions.

“Let him go,” Thorin gritted out.

Azog just laughed, resting his chin atop Bilbo’s. “I don’t think so,” he teased. “I think – ” he ran a hand through Bilbo’s curls, ruffling them slightly – “he likes me more.” Azog looked down at Bilbo. “Don’t you, little mouse?”

“His name,” Thorin spat, “is Bilbo!” before he kicked Azog hard in the shin. His hold loosened on Bilbo who wriggled free, allowing Thorin to pounce on Azog, hitting him furiously, fists flying as Azog tried to dislodge Thorin.

“He likes me!” Thorin yelled, each hit accented with some declaration.

“Bilbo is mine.” Bilbo tried to pry Thorin off Azog but Thorin was relentless, angrily hitting away as Azog kicked and squirmed and scratched at Thorin.

 “He’s my friend.” Realizing that Thorin wouldn’t stop, Bilbo screamed as loud as he could, a high pitched wail that pulled the lounging teacher’s out of their chit chat and running towards the source of the sound.

“You. Don’t. Hurt. My. Bilbo!” Thorin felt himself be lifted in the air, but still he reached forward, hoping to hit Azog further. “Let me go!” he hollered, squirming in the arms of the teacher, seeing nothing but red; fueled by his anger and need to protect what he saw as his.

He managed to wriggle out of the arms, falling sloppily on the ground. He groaned quietly, staring at his bruised hands. Realization hit him. What had he done?

Tears began to fall from his eyes and his body wracked with sobs; Thorin unable to control his body.

Small arms wrapped themselves around Thorin and he embraced Bilbo tightly, hiding his face in Bilbo’s neck, the tears being soaked by Bilbo’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” Thorin sobbed. “I – I didn’t mean to – I didn’t – I’m sorry.”

Thorin sat uncomfortably in an oversized chair, his feet barely grazing the ground. His face was tear stained and his clothes were mussed. He held an icepack against his knuckles, switching every now and then to his cut lip.

His father was going to kill him. Quickly followed by his mother. He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Next to him sat Bilbo, his feet swinging, looking smaller than usual. And across from them was Azog, holding an icepack to his shoulder.

In actuality, Thorin hadn’t done the other boy much damaged. The only one who came out of that fight with battle wounds was Thorin, who was scrappy, but not very strong. Even under the onslaught, Azog was able hit Thorin in the mouth, resulting in him biting his lip.

Not Thorin’s proudest moment.

They sat outside the principal’s office, the secretary keeping her eyes on all three boys. The principal’s door opened and Mrs. Lorien shuffled the boys into her office. They quietly sat, no one meeting her eye.

“Would anyone care to explain what happened this morning?” She eyed each boy individually, seemingly appearing to already know the answer.

Azog and Thorin just glared at each other as Bilbo swung his legs in his chair. He glanced quickly at both boys before clearing his throat. Mrs. Lorien looked down at him kindly, waiting patiently. He looked at the other two boys once more before she got the hint.

Mrs. Lorien dismissed Thorin and Azog, leaving Bilbo alone. She sat down beside him and Bilbo asked, “You’re not going to get Thorin in trouble, are you?”

“He did attack Mr. Deville,” Mrs. Lorien reminded the boy. “His punishment will be in accordance with his behavior.”

Bilbo bit his lip. “He was trying to save me,” he whispered, playing with a button on his shirt. “Azog was going to hurt me and Thorin saved me. He’s always saving me. ”

“Thorin is a very good friend,” Mrs. Lorien commented.

Bilbo nodded violently. “The bestest.”

Mrs. Lorien laughed, ruffling Bilbo’s hair. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now tell me exactly what happened.”

Thorin and Azog glared at each other, knowing that this was not their last battle. Who only knew what Bilbo was telling the principal. No doubt, ripping the two boys to shreds. Not that Thorin would blame him.

He had fought Azog Friday, and then fought him all over again today. Bilbo probably thought Thorin was a monster. And he most likely regretted ever kissing him. It was just as well. Thorin knew he didn’t deserve Bilbo. Bilbo deserved someone perfect and beautiful.

The principal’s door opened and Bilbo stepped out as Mrs. Lorien ushered Azog into her office. Bilbo climbed onto the chair next to Thorin.

They sat their quietly for a moment before Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s hand and asked, “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Thorin lied.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo apologized. Thorin’s eyes widened in shock. “I keep getting you hurt.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is,” Bilbo argued.

“No,” Thorin insisted. “It’s my fault. It’s ‘cause you’re my friend. My friends always get hurt.”

“I’m not hurt,” Bilbo pointed out. How could Thorin be so silly.

“You could’ve been.”

“But I’m not. You are. You keep fighting and now you have ouchies and you’re going to get into trouble and – and – and it’s all ‘cause I couldn’t stop Azog,” Bilbo ranted, his eyes watering slightly. “First Halloween and now today. I can’t do anything.”

Thorin ruffled at that. He put a hand on Bilbo’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “You can do anything. You’re amazing. You draw good. And you smell nice. And I would fight a – a hundred goblins for you, because I love you.”

Bilbo gasped at the statement. Thorin’s cheeks slowly grew pink and he felt like running away and hiding. But it was said. Finally.

He loved Bilbo Baggins.

Bilbo jumped atop Thorin and hugged him tight, squeezing the air from Thorin’s lungs. He pulled away with a dazzling smile and mumbled, “I love you too.”

Thorin’s heart fluttered and he suddenly felt like he could wrestle the moon and fight a dragon. He’d do anything to hear Bilbo say he loved him all over again.

Once again, Mrs. Lorien’s door opened. Azog shuffled out, looking properly chastised. “Off to class, the three of you,” Mrs. Lorien told them. “And I don’t want to see any of you in my office again.”

Thorin gaped at the woman before complying, grabbing Bilbo’s hand as they walked down the hall. Azog trailed behind them, muttering angrily to himself, but Thorin and Bilbo ignored him.

They were perfectly happy, knowing that they loved each other. And not even a big, bad (and orc-faced) first grader was going to ruin this moment. 

Chapter Text

The weeks passed by joyfully without a single care in the world. Thorin and Bilbo were attached at the hip, perfectly content knowing that their love was true; hale and whole.

They were clearly in the honeymoon stage of their relationship. Everything Bilbo did was perfect, and Thorin could do no wrong. But their honeymoon could not last forever as was proven when Thorin got the stomach flu.

He lay in bed, moaning and vomiting, his thoughts on Bilbo, imagining the worst scenarios.

What if Azog chose today to pick on Bilbo because Thorin wasn’t there to protect him? What if there was a fire drill and no one wanted to buddy up with Bilbo and he got left behind? What if someone stole the cupcakes his mom liked to put into his lunchbox?

“Thorin,” Freya asked, catching her son out of bed, his tangled nest of hair caught in his sweaty pajama shirt. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Thorin replied, casually pulling at his shirt but failing to get it over his head. He felt his mother’s fingers prying at the shirt, pulling it off in one fell swoop. Free from the torture device, Thorin smiled sheepishly at his mother.

Freya raised a brow, not fooled by her son’s charm. “Then what are you doing out of bed?” she questioned, grabbing one of Thorin’s sweaters and putting it on him.

“I feel really good,” Thorin told her, wincing as his mother ran her fingers through his messy hair. Earlier that morning he had vomited in it and he could still smell the pungent aftermath of spoiled milk festering in his hair despite the wash. “I can go to school.”

Freya studied the small boy, taking in his red eyes and pained expression. “Back to bed for you,” she ordered, picking up Thorin and tucking him in bed. He fought and struggled all the while, claiming he was “just fine.  I’ve never felt better!”

Once in bed, Thorin pouted, crossing his arms and giving his mother his most disapproving frown.  “I’m fine,” he enunciated.

She straightened the bed sheets, scooting Thorin over so she sat beside him. Freya wrapped her arm around his shoulders, tucking him in close and warming his body.  “You’re sick, Pigeon,” Freya explained. “You can’t fool me.”

Thorin grumbled to himself, shivering slightly. Freya wrapped the blanket tighter around him and Thorin scowled harder. He suddenly felt dizzy and he knew for a fact that he could no longer pretend that he was well.

“Mom,” he croaked. “I need to throw up.”

Freya jumped out of the bed and lifted Thorin to the bathroom, making it just in time.

Bofur and Nori sat shoulder to shoulder, watching Bilbo mope at the coloring table.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Bofur asked.

Nori punched Bofur in the arm. “He can’t die.”

“He never misses school,” Bofur reminded the other boy, rubbing at his arm.

A hand fell on the shoulders of each boy who jumped up in fright. Dwalin leaned down between them and said, “Thorin’s sick,” before letting them go and heading back towards Gloin who was assembling a Lego palace.

“How do you know?” Nori called after him, but Dwalin just ignored him.

The two boys glanced at each other before turning their attention back to Bilbo.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Bofur offered, standing up.

Nori took hold of Bofur’s arm. “Thorin’s gonna kill you.”

“He’ll kill all of us if he finds out no one was looking after Bilbo.”

Nori let him go, sad to see his friend go, but pleased that he’d live to play another day. Maybe Bofur would let him have his red wagon. That’d be nice.

Thorin groaned into the table, his slipper clad feet swinging limply under him. A sharp clink of his soup bowl being placed before him reminded Thorin that he hadn’t had any real food in hours. His stomach, thankfully, didn’t flip at the smell and Thorin felt slightly pleased that he was possibly getting better.

“Eat,” Freya ordered.

He sat up and his tummy rumbled in delight. “Thanks,” Thorin muttered, grabbing his spoon and digging into his chicken noodle soup.

“No!” Bilbo giggled. “Stop!” He reached over Bofur, trying to take back the crayon he had taken from Bilbo, declaring the orange not orange enough, before using it to draw Bilbo dressed as an orange. Bofur had drawn the rest of their friends as various fruits. Dwalin was a watermelon, Nori was a kiwi, Gloin was a strawberry, and Thorin was a pineapple.

Dwalin glared at the two boys from across the room. Thorin wasn’t going to like this…

“It’s finished,” Gloin announced, standing up and admiring his palace. “Almost done with the moat?” he asked Dwalin who merely grunted. Gloin followed Dwalin’s eye line. “What’s wrong?”

“Bofur’s trying to steal Bilbo.”

Gloin burst into laughter, patting Dwalin on the back. “Why’d he wanna do that?”

Dwalin shrugged. How was he supposed to know? He wasn’t a best friend love stealer. That was Bofur’s thing. “He ain’t doing nothing wrong,” Nori chimed in.

The two boys found Nori sitting on desk, eyes glued to Bilbo and Bofur. “Just cause Thorin ain’t here don’t mean we can’t be nice to Bilbo.”

“He’s being too nice,” Dwalin bit out.

Nori sighed, shaking his head, but didn’t say anything. Hopefully Thorin would come back tomorrow and then everything would be back to normal.

Thorin lay on his bed, dying. He had to be dying. It was impossible to ever get healthy again. He was going to die here.

Alone.

With an upset stomach and the hint of vomit on his tongue.

Tell Bilbo I love him, Thorin thought to himself. Frerin can have the train set. Dwalin deserves his race car bed.

“Okay, Mr. Over Dramatic,” Freya cut him off. Thorin blinked. Was he blabbing out loud? “Frerin was going to take your train whether you’re living or not.” Apparently he was.

Freya put her hand to Thorin’s forehead and tutted. “You’ve still got a fever.” Thorin groaned pitifully. No. He had to go to school. He needed to see his friends. He needed to see Bilbo! “Looks like we’ll be going to the doctor today.”

“NO!” Thorin cried, bolting under his blankets. “Nooooooo!”

Mahal, give her strength.

Freya dived under the covers after Thorin, pulling him out. “You won’t get any better if you fuss. Doctor. Today. No fighting it.”

“Hiya, Bofur,” Bilbo smiled as he entered the classroom, bundled up in his coat and hat. November was in full swing and the days were getting colder and colder. His nose and cheeks were red and Bofur could understand the appeal.

“Hi,” Bofur greeted back, before turning around and glaring at Nori who had elbowed him in the ribs. “You think Thorin’s here today?”

Bilbo sighed, his smile quickly turning into a frown. “I hope so,” he murmured, walking away from the boys, quite dejected.

“You’ve made me make him sad,” Bofur hissed at Nori. After recess yesterday, Nori had pulled Bofur aside and explained that he wasn’t supposed to get too friendly with their leader’s boyfriend. Not that Bofur understood. Oh no. He was just trying to be nice, he said. He was just trying to cheer him up, that’s all. Well if he did any more cheering up than Dwalin was going to have a not so nice report on Bofur.

“Good,” Nori replied, walking away in a huff. Stupid Bofur.

Thorin leaned against his mother, eyes closed. The waiting room was filled with small children and their mothers. It seemed Thorin wasn’t the only child home sick.

He hated the doctor. They had cold hands and gave either sticky lollipops or baby stickers at the end of the visit. They always treated Thorin like he was a baby, of which he wasn’t. He was six years old. He was practically a grownup.

“Thorin?” called out a nurse. Freya shook Thorin awake who glared at the smiling nurse. His mother may have gotten him here, but that did not mean he was going to make it easy on them.

“Bilbo,” Dwalin said, sitting next to Bilbo, Nori flanking the smaller boy’s other side. “How’re you?”

It was lunch time and Dwalin and Nori had decided it was best to keep Bilbo part of the group without making favorites. Today was going to be their day with him.

“Fine,” Bilbo answered.

Dwalin nodded, smirking into his sandwich when Bofur arrived and had to sit next to Nori and Gloin. Mission accomplished.

“We were wondering if you’d like us to join you for coloring later,” Nori offered, pointing to himself and Dwalin. “We don’t want you coloring alone.”

Bilbo looked a little hesitant, glancing at both boys. “I didn’t know you liked to color,” he said.

“We love coloring,” Nori replied. “Don’t we, Dwalin?”

Dwalin’s eyes grew a little big, caught completely off guard. He composed himself before nodding. “Yeah.”

After another hesitant look, Bilbo broke into a smile and nodded his head. “Alright. I’d like that.”

Frerin stared at Thorin from the doorway, Dis next to him. It was completely unfair. Thorin got to stay home from school, but he still had to go to day care. Maybe if he let Thorin breathe on him…

“Alright you two, off you go,” Thrain ordered, shuffling them off down the hallway. “Don’t want you getting sick.”

He stepped into the room and ruffled Thorin’s messy hair. “How you feeling, kiddo?”

Thorin pouted at his dad. “Fine.”

Thrain laughed. “Well Mom thinks you’ll be back at school tomorrow. Worse of the bug seems to have left ya.”

“Good,” Thorin nodded.

“Now back to sleep with you,” Thrain continued. “Rest. That’s what the doctor ordered.”

Thorin smiled wickedly. That poor doctor was never going to want to see him ever again.

“Thorin!” Bilbo squealed, hugging the boy tightly and refusing to let go. “Where were you?”

“I was sick,” Thorin replied, trying to peel Bilbo off of him. The last thing he wanted was for Bilbo to get sick himself. He would only wish such pain on his enemies. He wondered what Azog was doing now. It’d be nice to know that the monster was at home puking his guts out.

Bilbo took the hint and let go, beaming all the while. “I missed you.”

Thorin coughed, scuffing his boots on the floor. “Me too,” he muttered.

“Look at what I drew,” Bilbo blurted out, his mind running all over the place, glad that Thorin was once more back where he belonged. He rushed to his cubbie hole and pulled out several sheets of paper, each covered in drawings of various things, from Thorin himself to a pig flying an airplane.

There was one specific drawing that grabbed Thorin’s attention. One figure was clearly Bilbo. But the other… “Who’s that?” Thorin asked.

“Hmm?” Bilbo hummed, looking at the picture in question. “Oh, that’s Bofur.”

Bofur.

A smiling crayon figure smiled up at him, and Thorin wanted nothing more than to rip the picture to shreds. Possibly Bofur as well.

Was Bilbo’s love so fickle as to be diverted to Bofur when Thorin wasn’t around? Thorin felt his heart breaking.

He wished that he was still at home, hidden under his blankets, where no one could find him.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t so much an interrogation as much as it was an Inquisition.

The boys waited patiently inside the classroom after school, wrapped warmly in their winter coats, for their moms to pick them up. Bilbo had just left with his mom and the boys quickly turned on Bofur with fierce eyes and horrible scowls.

“Explain,” Thorin ordered, holding up the evidence of his friend’s and boyfriend’s betrayal. He could forgive Bilbo. No doubt poor Bilbo didn’t realize Bofur was trying to steal him away. Bilbo was so sweet and trusting. But Bofur.

How could he? That large smile and the jokes and the good humor. It was all a front. He let everyone think he was a good guy before BAM! He struck. He took your heart and ran away with it.

“I didn’t do nothing wrong,” Bofur told them. “You weren’t here and he was sad and I didn’t want him to be sad.” He nodded his head, crossing his arms and staring down Thorin. He was not going to be writ off as the bad guy. No sir.

Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a look before stepping back. “Fine,” Thorin said.

“But we’ll be watching you,” Dwalin finished.

Bofur let out a sigh of relief. That was close.

And so things returned to normal.

Or at least they were supposed to.

Bilbo sat in class, bubbling with excitement. Thorin kept a wary eye on him,  unsure as to what had gotten him so riled up. Mr. Grey called the class to order and the small children looked up him expectantly.

“Children,” he said, a warm smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Thorin didn’t trust him for a second. “It is once again the holiday season, which means we shall be putting on the Holiday pageant.”

The children squealed in delight, Bilbo the loudest of them all. Thorin had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. He recalled the Kindergarten pageant Mr. Grey and Mr. White had put on the year earlier. The children had been decked out in costumes of angels and stars and Christmas trees and menorahs and so on. There was singing and dancing and Thorin wondered if he could possibly be excused from the whole thing.

“We will be partnering with Mr. White’s class across the hall,” Mr. Grey continued. “And today after lunch we shall all commune to the auditorium to begin preparations.”

During lunch Bilbo babbled on and on about the Holiday pageant. Thorin thought for sure he was going to pass out from lack of breathing. Bofur encouraged him, and Thorin shot him a warning look. Did their talk mean nothing?

Bofur merely rolled his eyes. He was just as excited for the pageant as Bilbo was. He wanted to be a Christmas tree. He thought he’d make a very dashing tree.

“Aren’t you excited?” Bilbo asked Thorin, pulling the a green crayon out of the bin. He looked at Thorin expectantly.

Thorin blinked, unsure how to respond. So he said the first thing that popped in his head. “Yes.”

Bilbo rested his head on one hand, the other drawing a Christmas tree on his paper. “Mama says that Mr. Grey puts on the best show every year. And that he always picks a student to play Santa and the elves and even reindeer and trees and stars and presents and I think you’d make a great Santa!” He slammed down his crayon in his enthusiasm. “Don’t you think?”

What Thorin wanted to say was, “NO.” But instead, he nodded his head meekly. He didn’t want to upset Bilbo by saying the pageant was the dumbest thing in the world. That would undoubtedly start  a fight.

Once recess ended, Mr. Grey shuffled his fifteen 5 and 6 year olds into the auditorium, where Mr. White’s kindergartners were already waiting.

Thorin glared at them all, gripping Bilbo’s hand tightly. He didn’t like the way those children stared at them. He briefly recalled a few of them from his Pre-K class the year previous and his blood boiled as he spotted two specific ones.

A rather tall five year old with long blonde hair and light blue eyes met Thorin’s eye, raising an eyebrow in question as he noticed Bilbo at his side. Thorin pulled Bilbo closer and the boy stumbled slightly, his attention focused on the big stage they were going to be rehearsing on.

A shorter, but equally tall boy peeked over the blonde’s shoulder and huffed in annoyance at what the blonde was looking at. He shoved the blonde and the moment was gone.

Bilbo pulled on Thorin’s hand and drew him closer to the other class. “Who’re they?” Bilbo asked, staring at the other boys.

With a snort, Dwalin took up Bilbo’s other side, while Nori, Bofur, and Gloin took up his rear. Strength in numbers.

“No one,” Thorin answered, leading the group to the seats in back, out of sight from the other class.

Thranduil and Elrond. They were the worst.

The adults were chatting amiably in the corner before Mr. Brown cleared his throat and hustled the children all together  as Mr. White stared them down. “Now,” he drawled, eyes cold and a frown in place, “I am aware you are all untalented and you think enthusiasm is enough to put on a good pageant, but I must remind you that – ”

Mr. Grey blanched and quickly interrupted his colleague, “You will all do a wonderful job, no doubt.” The kids beamed up at him and he continued. “You will all have a role, but remember,” he leaned forward conspiratorially, “no part is too small, nor too large. It is just the part you were made for.”

He quickly broke down all the roles. There would be elves, and a few Christmas trees, and of course, Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus. It being an all boys school, one of the boys would have to dress up as the Mrs., but Mr. Grey assured them that it would be rather tasteful.

The story was to be of Santa’s first Christmas. Santa Claus is quite new to the job and isn’t sure that he could deliver toys to all the children in the world in one night. With the help of his friends, he’s given the confidence to do just that.

There would, of course, be songs and dancing, and lovely little poems. All in all, it was a guaranteed fun time for all.

Thorin pouted in his seat, glaring at Thranduil, who returned the glare.

“Now,” Mr. Grey said. “Who’d like to be Santa Claus?”

Nearly a dozen hands popped up, Bilbo’s hand the first raised. Mr. Grey jotted down the names of the volunteers and when he came to Bilbo, he shook his head and said, “I think Thorin should be Santa.”

Thorin sat up in his seat, thrown completely through a loop. He gaped at Bilbo, then Mr. Grey.  Thranduil’s hand shot up almost immediately and declared, “I’d like to be Santa Claus.”

Mr. Grey wrote down the boy’s name. “Mr. Durin,” Mr. Grey said. “Mr. Baggins has volunteered you, but it is up to you whether we consider you or not. Would you like to play Santa Claus?”

Thorin took a moment to think it over. His parents would no doubt be prideful if he decided to take on such an important role, and no matter what Mr. Grey said, it was clearly the best. If Thranduil got the part, he would never let Thorin live it down. And if Thorin did get it, he could gloat forever.

Plus Bilbo clearly thought he’d be a good Santa Claus. And he wanted Bilbo to be happy.

“Yes, please,” Thorin answered, sticking out his tongue at Thranduil once Mr. Grey turned around. He smiled grandly at Bilbo.

Let the war begin. 

Chapter Text

They weren’t friends, per se. Or even remotely. More like cool and indifferent classmates. Not even. Just kind of like, two kids that knew the other existed.

Thranduil had his own friends. And Thorin had his own. No big deal.

But it was Preschool and everyone (i.e. the teachers) thought that all the kids should interact with each other so they decided to pair up the students with classmates they never so much as realized were alive. And naturally, they had partnered up Thorin and Thranduil for their class trip to the pumpkin patch that brisk October morning.

Now if the teacher had paid just an inch of attention, then she would notice that Thorin and Thranduil had very similar personalities. They liked to be the leader. They enjoyed telling others what to do. And they did not fare well when questioned. So it was only natural that they did not get on.

It didn’t start like that, of course. Oh no. Thranduil was quiet and kind, and Thorin let him hold his hand without complaint, as was the buddy system protocol. It was when they were searching for pumpkins that everything went downhill.

Literally.

Both boys returned home with bumps and bruises, dirt and leaves in their hair, and no pumpkin to speak of.

Later on in the year, Thranduil was snubbed by Thorin when he wanted to join his friends in a game of knights and dragons. Then Thranduil purposefully took the last chocolate milk in the lunch line, despite disliking chocolate milk, knowing that Thorin would be less than pleased.

Their grudge match, their feud, and general hate from one another stemmed from the fact that neither wished to waiver in the face of the other.

Every day that week, Mr. Grey’s and Mr. White’s class met in the auditorium, where songs were played on the piano by Mr. Brown and Mr. Grey taught the boys the lyrics while Mr. White looked down on them and told them how horrible they were.

They weren’t going to choose Santa Claus until the following week, and it really was up to the teachers. Talent had nothing to do with the casting. It was whoever the adults thought deserved the role the most. Thus, every day Thorin would come to class with a smile on his face, eager to do as Mr. Grey bid them.

Bilbo shot him funny looks, no doubt wondering what had gotten into him, but Thorin needed to be Santa Claus. He needed it more than anything in the whole wide world. And if Thranduil thought he could beat him, and steal his Bilbo, then Thranduil had another thing coming.

“Guess who I am!” Bilbo asked, grinning broadly at Thorin, a pair of antlers on his head and a bright red ball on his nose. He held out his arms and twirled around, to give Thorin a better look. Thorin scrunched his nose and tilted his head in thought. When an answer wasn’t forthcoming, Bilbo put his hands on his hips and let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m Rudolph,” he told him.

Of course. “I thought so,” Thorin replied, not wanting Bilbo to think that he didn’t know who Rudolph was. Honestly, Christmas was not Thorin’s best holiday. “You look very nice,” Thorin told him.

“Thanks,” Bilbo smiled, sitting down next to Thorin as the rest of the children were handed their costumes, feet dangling off the edge of his seat. “Do you know who you are yet?”

Thorin shook his head. “They won’t tell us till Monday,” Thorin told him.

“You should pick up your antlers now.”

Bilbo and Thorin looked up from one another to find a sneering Thranduil standing in front of them. He preened under their gaze. “Mr. White thinks I’d be a perfect Santa Claus. He told Mr. Grey so himself. There’s no way you’re being Santa.”

“Why don’t you go bother someone else?” Thorin growled back. “Bilbo and I are busy.”

Thranduil leaned in closer, smirking at Thorin before turning his attention to Bilbo. He smiled grandly. “I am Thranduil,” he introduced himself, grabbing Bilbo’s hand and kissing the back of it. “You must be Bilbo.”

Bilbo blushed under the treatment, smiling up at Thranduil under his eyelashes. “Hi,” Bilbo replied.

That. Was. It.

Thorin stood up and shoved Thranduil away from his Bilbo. Thranduil stumbled backwards and fall inelegantly on his butt. He glared up at Thorin before he let out a loud cry, crocodile tears falling down his face.

Mr. Brown was there in an instant, picking up the boy and holding him gently to his chest. He was all sniffles as the two teachers came up to check what the ruckus was all about. Thorin felt his blood run cold as Thranduil sobbed out, “Thorin pushed me!”

Oh no. What had he done? He looked down at his hands, completely surprised by his actions. He had been doing so well! “Mr. Durin,” Mr. White scolded, his frown etching further into his face. “What is the meaning of this?”

How was Thorin to answer?

Bilbo stepped forward and yelled, “Thranduil’s lying.”

Suddenly, Mr. White’s cold stare was on Bilbo and Thorin stepped in front of him. He wouldn’t let Bilbo get in trouble for his actions. “No,” he told Bilbo, before turning to Mr. White. “I pushed him,” Thorin confessed, head held high, back straight, as the proverbial chopping block loomed closer.

“You do realize that you cannot be Santa Claus with this type of behavior, don’t you?” Mr. Grey butted in, putting a hand on Bilbo’s and Thorin’s shoulder.

Thorin nodded. He knew. Of course he knew. “The boy shouldn’t be in the show at all,” Mr. White argued. “Rowdy, undisciplined child.”

“Now, now,” Mr. Grey eased Mr. White. “Thorin is still a young lad. He doesn’t know his strength, that’s all. There’s no need to punish him so severely.”

Mr. Grey led him and Bilbo to the other end of the auditorium, away from Thranduil, who’s tears quickly faded and was playing with his friends , as he put on the Santa hat, as Thorin watched jealously. “It seems that whenever there is trouble, you two are at the center of it,” their teacher said. “I’m sure you are aware, that your consideration to play Santa has been withdrawn.”

Bilbo glared angrily at Mr. Grey. “Thorin has to be Santa Claus,” he argued. “He has to.”

Thorin scuffled his sneakers, displeased with his behavior. He didn’t deserve to be anyone. He couldn’t even control his temper. “I understand,” Thorin said, causing Bilbo to huff up and march away, his antlers bobbing up and down as he did so.

It was a with a heavy heart that Thorin saw Bilbo leave his side. He had disappointed him greatly, Thorin knew. He sighed, wiping away any tears that may have fallen from his eyes, before sternly looking back at Mr. Grey. “I will talk to him,” Thorin said, following after Bilbo.

Mr. Grey chuckled under his breath. Oh puppy love. To be young again.

Bilbo didn’t understand why no one ever seemed to like Thorin. He was the greatest person in the whole wide world. And that Thranduil… Bilbo snorted angrily. If he thought that his fake tears were going to get him the part of Santa, then he had another thing coming.

Bilbo may be small, but he was tenacious. And to think that Thorin would give up without a fight!

He grumbled and pouted, away from the other kids. It wasn’t fair. Thranduil had taken away Thorin’s chance. And maybe he seemed nice – truthfully Bilbo had thought him very nice indeed prior to today – but his actions proved otherwise. Thranduil was  a mean boy.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, sitting down beside him.

Bilbo crossed his arms and looked the other way. He was angry with Thorin. And he wasn’t going to stop being angry. “I’m not talking to you,” Bilbo responded.

“I’m going to be a reindeer too,” Thorin told him, showing Bilbo the antlers Mr. Brown had handed him on his way to Bilbo. “I know you wanted me to be Santa.”

“You’d be a great Santa,” Bilbo muttered. “I think a beard would look great on you.”

Thorin chuckled. “I thought so too.”

Bilbo snuck a peak at Thorin, who sat rather dejectedly beside him. Bilbo slowly felt his anger melt away as he wrapped his arms around Thorin. “At least we’ll get to sing the reindeer song together,” Bilbo chirped, his good mood back in place.

Thorin placed a soft kiss on Bilbo’s cheek, just as a scream interrupted the moment.

Thranduil glared unhappily at Nori who had stolen the Santa hat from him and was now running around the auditorium  with it on his head. Maybe Thorin wasn’t Santa, but at least if Thranduil was, he and his friends would make it as unenjoyable as possible for him.

Chapter Text

The auditorium was filled with parents, grandparents, and assorted family members, all crowded together, their cameras and phones shining brightly in front of them in preparation for the play. Belladonna shoved aside a rather pushy mother as she made her way to the spot Freya was saving for her. Bungo apologized profusely to the mother who hit his arm with her purse. Finding it easier to make a tactical surrender, he quickly followed his wife who was chatting with Freya.

“ – and this is my husband Thrain,” Freya finished, having introduced Belladonna to the rest of the kids’ parents. They were all rather large and bushy faced, compared to Belladonna and Bungo, but they were quiet jovial and were quite enthusiastic in their greetings.

The house lights flickered on and off and a stern voice came on over the intercom, “The show will begin momentarily. Please remember to turn off ALL electronic devices, so as not to disturb the other audience members. If you would like a copy of today’s performance, orders will be taken AFTER the show, so turn off your iPhones and tablets and all those other nonsensical gadgets that you’ve come to be dependent on and just enjoy watching your children make complete and utter fools of themselves.” There was the sound of a brief scuffle and the voice hissing, “Get to your spots, you little devils,” before returning to his spiel. “That is all. Enjoy the show.”

Freya laughed, leaning over and whispering in Belladonna’s ear, “That’s Mr. White. Bitter old thing. I was more than overjoyed when Thorin got Mr. Grey instead.”

Belladonna nodded in agreement. “Bungo and I always thought it odd he followed Gandalf here, but I suppose when you’re hopelessly in love with someone…” she trailed off,  shushing Bungo, despite his silence, as the lights dimmed down all the way and Gandalf stepped on stage.

He stood before the curtains, a pleased smile tugging on his lips and a very dangerous twinkle in his eye. “Welcome, one and all,” he greeted. “Our story today is a simple one about a most magical man and his very charming friends.”

Gandalf gave a bow and the curtains opened behind him to reveal the splendid set, decorated in lights and tinsel and everything else the children insisted would be found in Santa’s workshop. There were candy canes taped to the walls and hanging from what would be the ceiling, and plates of cookies were on every available surface. It was, most honestly, a disaster.

But the parents had only eyes for their children, each gushing at their lovely babies, dressed up as elves or reindeer. One of the fathers Belladonna had been introduced to guffawed loudly, yelling, “that tree’s my boy!” The tree in questioned waved, and Belladonna noted that it was Bofur dressed as a Christmas tree.

A small boy in an apron sat in a rocking chair, scolding one of the reindeer for eating one of the cookies.

“Those belong to Santa,” the boy (clearly Mrs. Claus) said, wagging a finger at the reindeer child, just as Bilbo, dressed as Rudolph, came on stage with a  forlorn expression. “What’s the matter, Rudolph?” Mrs. Claus asked.

“I can’t find Santa!” he shouted, putting his hand quite dramatically on his cheeks and shaking his head as if it were a true tragedy. Belladonna and Bungo giggled uncontrollably at their son’s attempt at acting.

A rather grumbly Thorin dressed as a reindeer, along with several others, came on stage and as a chorus denied any knowledge of knowing where Santa Claus could possibly be. There was a cute song about what an important job Santa Claus has that was quickly followed by Mrs. Claus saying, “I think I hear him now.”

All the children turned their attention to the left side of the stage, but no one entered. The kids all stared at one another, as Mrs. Claus yelled, “Thranduil get on stage now!”

The parents erupted into laughter at the break in character, but Thranduil didn’t come on stage. The boy stomped his foot and marched right off stage shouting for Thranduil. The other kids just sort of stood there, shuffling their feet.

Bilbo, on the other hand, was looking for his parents, and Belladonna and Bungo waved at him. Bilbo jumped up and down and showed off his antlers, poking Thorin in the side and pointing out his parents. Thorin wiggled his fingers in salutation, blushing when he heard his sister call out, “Toh!”

Suddenly Mr. Brown shuffled onstage and cleared his throat. “If Mr. Greenleaf’s parents could come back stage, it would be much appreciated.” He turned to go back off stage before returning his attention to the audience. “We will be taking a very brief and very  much scheduled intermission,” he told them, before scurrying away, the curtains closing and the children talking over one another.

Belladonna and Freya shared a look before Belladonna took out her phone and dialed a very familiar number.

“Hello, Bella, dear.”

“What’s going on,” she demanded.

“Oh nothing in particular,” Gandalf told her. “Just a spot of trouble. Clear it up in no time. Don’t worry your sweet head.”

He hung up the phone and smiled grandly at Mr. and Mrs. Greenleaf who were being placated by Radagast, though Gandalf had to admit, he was not doing a very good job of it.

Gandalf straightened his barely ruffled shirt and went to the parents.

Meanwhile, Thorin was staring down Nori who looked very very guilty.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” he insisted, avoiding looking at the crying Thranduil who had somehow, unbelievably, broken his leg, tripping over a prop that had been left on the floor. Thorin, of course, wasn’t too sure that was the real reason. He had seen Nori behind him just before being hustled on stage.

“You were with him last,” Thorin countered, staring down Nori. He may have told his friends to make Thranduil’s life difficult upon getting cast as Santa, but he didn’t think they’d stoop to physical harm. A broken leg! Honestly.

Nori held his ground, saying, “He fell after I left. I didn’t so much as touch him.” Then with a guilty look Nori continued, “Though I did call him an ape in a red suit.”

“It’s just a sprain!” Mr. Brown yelled over the children, patting Thranduil on the head as his parents lifted him, the nurse right behind.

Bilbo was watching quietly beside Gandalf, and once Thranduil was taken away, he pulled on Mr. Grey’s sleeve. Gandalf bent down to better make eye contact. “Yes, Mr. Baggins?”

“What about the play?” Bilbo asked. “We can’t go on without Santa.”

Gandalf chuckled, ruffling Bilbo’s curls. “I suppose we should cancel the show,” Gandalf murmured before landing his eyes on Thorin who was currently tossing the Santa Claus hat at Dwalin. “Or,” he said much louder and in an entirely scheming way, “we could find someone new to replace Mr. Greenleaf.”

A light went on in Bilbo’s head and he took hold of Gandalf’s face, staring into his teacher’s eyes intently. “I know exactly who should be Santa Claus,” he proclaimed before running off.

Belladonna pulled at her licorice, the third in the last fifteen minutes, and looked forlornly on stage.

“What do you suppose is happening?” Fundin whispered, leaning next to Bungo who shrugged his shoulders in reply. The man was exceptionally large, especially compared to his wife, Alvi, who had to be half his height and weight. It was no wonder Dwalin was a very big boy, or that his older brother Balin, who was kicking at the seat in front of him, was so small.

The lights flickered once more and the parents all shushed, eager to find out just what was going on around here. Radagast came on stage once again, looking more nervous and frazzled then before. He cleared his throat and gave a pained smile, no doubt trying to look reassuring.

“There was a small accident,” he told the parents, “but everything has been taken care of. That said, there will be a small casting change, but nothing to fear.” He smiled once again and walked off stage, just as the curtains opened.

The children were all where they had last been except for one very important reindeer.

“Where’s Thorin?” Freya whispered to Thrain.

“I think I hear him now!” Mrs. Claus shouted, no doubt praying that someone would walk on stage rather than the disaster that had occurred not half an hour earlier. But still no one came on stage.

Bilbo was giggling into his hands and staring off stage. “Santa!” Bilbo cried out, just as a very odd looking Santa Claus staggered on stage as if pushed. He stumbled over his feet and stared out at the audience, eyes wide and fear apparent.

“Thorin?” Freya breathed, caught just as off guard as her son.

Poor Thorin was wearing a very ill fitting Santa outfit, made for a much taller and thinner boy than himself. His hat was askew as if thrown on him at the last minute, and his beard was finding a home within his mouth.

Thorin tugged at his coat and every mechanically said, “Ho ho ho.” He paused a moment to clear his throat while Freya put her head in her hands. That was her boy.

“What’s everyone yelling for?” he continued, just as robotically, a painful smile plastered on his face. “I’m right here.”

And then the children broke out into song while Thorin stood there, positively frightened and more than a little surprised. The kids all stopped singing and looked expectantly at Thorin who was trying to remember the dance steps he was most likely taught not five minutes ago.

Freya was happy to know the school and all of her family were recording this. She wouldn’t pass up this beautiful blackmail material for the world. 

Chapter Text

Thorin lay on the ground, eyes unblinking as cartoons played on the television. His brother, Frerin, was kicking at him, hoping his small legs would miraculously grow and nick his shoulder, or at least his nose. He was really hoping he’d at least graze the nose.

Thorin, though he was wholly unaware, was pining.

 It had been five days and already he was feeling the effects of no Bilbo. And to think, he had another week of this!

He had managed the first few days gallantly, particularly because Christmas was a very good distraction (naturally). But now that the excitement had died down he found life absolutely pointless. What was the point of doing anything if Bilbo wasn’t by his side?

Not that he woke up like this. Oh no. It was Frerin that had started it, simply by asking Thorin to color with him.

So now he lay on the ground, a hopeless and pitiful sight.

“Where are we going?” Bilbo asked, as his mother zipped up his coat, wrapping a scarf tightly around his neck, followed by his hat and mittens. He grinned as he stomped around the house in his snow boots, waiting for his mom to put on her own coat.

“It’s a surprise,” she told him with a wink.

Bilbo crinkled his face, giving his mother a dubios look. “Are we going to the doctor?” he asked. He didn’t like the doctor.

Belladonna shook her head. “It’s a good surprise,” she said.

That got Bilbo thinking. He tilted his head to the side, tapping his mitten against his chin. “Is it ice cream?” he yelled, hopping up and down in excitement.

Belladonna took hold of her son and shuffled him out the door, saying, “No, we are not getting ice cream.”

All throughout the car ride Bilbo did his best to guess the surprise but to no avail. They weren’t going to a robot farm, or building a spaceship, or even going to the park to hunt Eskimos (Belladonna didn’t have the heart to tell him Eskimos were actually a people. He was just so excited.).

So when they pulled up to a two story house with a large front yard and pretty, perfectly neat bushes lining the porch, Bilbo was very, very, confused.

“Where are we?” he asked, nose pressed to the glass.

Belladonna smiled as she undid his seatbelt and helped him out of the car. “You’ll never guess,” she continued.

Bilbo couldn’t think of where they were. It wasn’t grandma’s house because she lived in Hobbibibton (Bilbo was never going to be able to say it). And it was too obvious to be a spy training school. He followed his mother as they marched to the front door. Even as his mother lifted him up to ring the doorbell, Bilbo still, for the life of him, couldn't figure out where they were.

Thorin barely stirred when the doorbell rang. It was probably the mailman. Or one of those awful salespeople that his mother liked to hide from whenever she saw them get off their bikes.

“Thorin!” his mother shouted for him. He didn’t stir. He didn’t want to get up. He refused. He wasn’t going to do it. Even if Frerin was giving him very pointed looks. He wasn’t getting up for anything.

“Thorin!” came a cry before a marshmallow wrapped child jumped atop him. Thorin barely had time ot realize it was Bilbo before Frerin decided to join in on the fun and jumped atop both of them.

Once detangled, Thorin just stared at Bilbo. “What are you doing here?” he asked, reaching out his hand and touching Bilbo’s hat with the funny ear flaps. He seemed to be real…

“You’re my surprise,” Bilbo whispered conspiratorially, before pulling away, a thought popping in his head. “Or maybe I’m your surprise.” He shrugged his shoulders, his childish exuberance not deterred by semantics.

“Alright,” Freya said, lifting Thorin up, coat in hand. “Up you get.”

“Where are we going?” Thorin asked.

His mother winked, just as Belladonna had done to Bilbo some twenty minutes earlier. “It’s a surprise.”

Freya had called Belladonna early that morning, just as she saw Thorin slowly deteriorating into a state of epic brooding. “Mine’s trying to become one with the hardwood floors,” Freya told her. “How about yours?”

“He was alright until he told me he wanted to show Thorin his new painting easel,” Belladonna said. She snuck her head into his playroom, spying on his activities. “He’s painting the two of them painting.” She paused to giggled, ducking away when Bilbo turned his head at the noise. “It’s a bit funny.”

“It’s very funny,” Freya admitted, setting Dis down into her bed for her nap, her raggedy lion she had named ‘Toh’ squeezed tightly to her chest. “Doesn’t stop me feeling bad about it though.” She closed the door quietly behind her, leaning against the door. “I don’t understand these boys at all. Thorin’s never been this attached to anyone before.”

Belladonna sighed a dreamy sigh. “Amour.”

“They’re six.”

“Age means nothing in the face of true love.”

Freya laughed. “Well what are we going to do about it?”

Bilbo munched on his hotdog, swinging his legs back and forth, humming a little tune under his breath.

He had never been so happy in his whole life. He couldn’t think of a single moment in all his five years. Well there was that one time he got to hold his cousin’s bunny and it licked his nose. That was a very close second.

Thorin sat beside him in the big museum cafeteria, eating his pizza with a grin. He had a glob of pizza sauce on his shirt and smeared all over his cheeks, and when he smiled at Bilbo, there was cheese stuck in his teeth. And Bilbo thought he was perfectly beautiful.

He had always thought so, from the very first moment he saw him.

Bilbo had been very surprised – though he didn’t show it – when Thorin had wanted to color with him. He always played with his friends in the playground, running around and jumping atop each other. And then Bilbo got to find out that Thorin wasn’t only beautiful, but nice and sweet to boot. And he always made Bilbo laugh, though Bilbo was sure Thorin didn’t know why he was laughing in the first place.

Thorin was… well… he was perfect, that’s what.

“What’re we gonna do now, Mama?” Bilbo asked, mouth full of hot dog. His mom wiped his mouth with a napkin as Thorin laughed at the scene. Moments later, Thorin’s messy face was attacked by a napkin as well. He fought and struggled, but to no avail. Belladonna won that battle.

Bilbo stuck out his tongue at Thorin, who in turn stole one of his apple wedges. He retaliated by stealing one of Thorin’s grapes.

“Alright,” Belladonna said, breaking up the boys before war was declared. “No domestics during lunch.”

Thorin and Bilbo looked at each other. “Momma Bilbo,” Thorin said, brows furrowed, “what’s a domestic?”

Belladonna cleared her throat, partly to prepare a subject change, but also because Thorin was, quite admittedly, precious. “How about we go look at the trains next?” she asked.

The boys cheered in unison.

“How’s it going?” Freya asked, bouncing Dis on her hip, while serving Frerin his coveted spaghetti and meatballs, phone pressed to her ear through shear willpower and good shoulder muscles.

“Don’t touch, remember,” Belladonna called out, no doubt to one or both of the boys, before turning her attention back to Freya. “Perfectly content. I saw Bilbo kiss Thorin when he said he loved Bilbo more than dinosaurs. I pretended not to see.”

“I have no comment, other than an alarmingly high pitched, awww,” Freya commented, setting Dis in her high chair.

“Thorin really loves dinosaurs though,” Belladonna said. “I never heard him speak so much. My head kind of hurts, I learned so much.”

Freya smiled. “Yeah, well he sort of fell in love with dragons,” she explained. “And Thrain basically convinced him dinosaurs and dragons were basically the same thing. I like to think it’s alright to fuel the obsession.” There was no reply other than an ear piercing sound over the line. “Bella?”

“I’ll call you back,” Belladonna said just before hanging up.

Freya stared at her phone, feeling like she was going to be getting a phone call very very soon. There was a tug on her sleeve as Frerin whined, “Mommy, more ‘sgetti!”

Bilbo wanted to pulle the whistle. All trains had whistles. And this train had a big orange whistle.

“I want to pull the whistle,” he said.

Thorin kicked the train wheel, hurting his toes. It was good craftsmanship, no need to worry. “We can’t,” Thorin told him.

“Yeah we can,” Bilbo argued. “It’s not that far up.” He pointed upwards where the whistle stood gleaming, right over the cab. The handle wasn’t that far up, and was rather close to the stairs leading up.

“Your momma said not to touch the train,” Thorin repeated, less confidently. He cast a weary look at her but she was on the phone.

Normally, Thorin would be first in line for these types of shenanigans. But he didn’t want momma Bilbo to not let him play with Bilbo anymore. He couldn’t go on without Bilbo in his life.

“We’re not gonna touch the train,” Bilbo told him. “Just the whistle. And the stairs, cause we can’t reach it if we don’t climb the stairs. That’s it.”

Thorin nodded. The two boys quietly climbed the steps and were in the cab. They beamed at one another. This was so cool. Thorin looked up again at the whistle handle. “I don’t think we can reach.”

“Sure we can,” Bilbo announced. He smiled brightly at Thorin. “Give me a boost.”

After a brief check to see whether Momma Bilbo was looking or not, Thorin nodded. “Alright.”

He crouched down and helped Bilbo get his legs around his shoulders. “You okay?” Thorin asked, slowly standing up, Bilbo perched precariously on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Bilbo replied, clutching tightly to Thorin’s hair for balance. “To the whistle!”

Thorin stumbled forward, trying to get underneath the handle so Bilbo could pull. He fell forward, Bilbo falling off, the room filled with screeching sound of  a train whistle as Bilbo hung onto the handle for his life.

Thorin gathered his wits quickly, standing underneath him and wrapping his arms around his legs. “I got you!” he shouted over the whistle.

Bilbo let go and both boys tumbled to the train floor, the resounding silence deafening.

There were shadows upon them and both boys looked up, flashing equally guilty smiles up at Belladonna and more than a few security guards.

Thrain covered his face in embarrassment as Freya laughed uproariously in bed beside him.

“I can’t believe they’re banned from the museum.”

“Only until they’re ten,” Belladonna reassured Bungo. “Hopefully when we go back again, they won’t even remember Bilbo.”

“I liked that museum,” Bungo grumbled into his tea.

“I know you do,” Freya said, patting Thrain’s cheek. “But let’s face it, if Thorin hadn’t been the one to cause mischief, it could have been Frerin. And he’d make us all banned for life.”

Chapter Text

Thorin ‘Oakenshield’ Durin was in love.

Thorin was head over heels, over the moon, and soaring above the stars in love.

Which was highly convenient, considering the boy with whom he was in love with, was just as head over heels, over the moon, and soaring above the stars in love with him.

Bilbo would even expand that statement, declaring that he loved Thorin more than painting, more than chocolate cake, and more than hugs, put together. Which, considering he really loved all of those things, was saying quite a lot.

But, as it happens, not even love can solve the simplest problems.

For poor Bilbo was in a bit of a pickle.

It was nothing too serious. It was simply this: Valentine’s day was upon him, and he didn’t know what to give Thorin for the occasion.

He could give him a valentines card, true. But it was so… well it wasn’t good enough! He was giving one to everyone in his class and though he wasn’t prone to believing that certain people should get special treatment, Bilbo felt it necessary in this one instance.

Valentines was for people who were in love. And Bilbo was in love!

And there was always chocolate and candy, but once again, he was giving the rest of the class the same. He could always make the biggest and bestest card, but it would be very noticeable when he was handing them out to the class.

Bilbo slumped over his desk, glitter flying into the air and landing in his curls. Beside him were a stack of finished Valentine’s day cards in the shape of uneven hearts, the recipients names written in colorful glitter, and paper lace glued to the edges. A week’s worth of hard work that not an hour earlier had given Bilbo a huge sense of accomplishment, now only reminded him that Thorin deserved something more.

“Wha’ is it?”

“Nothing. Go away.”

“Torin!”

“Mom!” Thorin yelled, holding his Valentine’s Day gift for Bilbo above his head as Frerin tried climbing him, his pudgy hands tangling in Thorin’s hair and gripping tightly to his brother’s favorite sweater. “Tell Frerin to go away!”

Thorin tried swatting him away, but Frerin was relentless. “I wanna see,” Frerin muttered, reaching up on tip toes, tongue poking out of his mouth. “Come on, Torin.”

“No,” Thorin replied.

“Pwease.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Pweeeeaaaase!”

“Go away.”

Freya was not in the mood. The two had been at it all day, and no matter how many times she broke up the brothers, they always found themselves back in this familiar position. Why she married into such a stubborn family, she would never know.

She shot Thrain a menacing look who quickly turned off the television and decided that maybe it was his turn to solve the issue.

“Alright,” Thrain said, hands on hips and a scowl in place as he entered the playroom.

Both boys looked up at him, frozen in place. Thorin held a small box in the air, one leg atop the small table, the other pushed out, trying to hold Frerin at bay who was plastered along Thorin’s back. It was really quite funny to look at.

Remembering that he was upset, Thrain schooled his features and raised a brow questioningly. The boys sprung apart, Frerin stomping his foot and pointing at Thorin, complaining, “Torin’s – he’s… I wanna see.”

Thrain nodded his head, hoping that he got the gist of that explanation. He turned his attention to Thorin who was holding the box behind his back, glaring angrily at Frerin. “Can’t you just show him?” Thrain asked.

“No,” Thorin replied. “It’s bad luck.”

“Can’t you just tell him?” Thrain practically begged.

Thorin took a moment to think it over. “No.”

That was when Frerin jumped atop Thorin once more and Thrain had to physically separate the two.

Valentine’s Day was in two days and Bilbo was running out of time.

He could give Thorin flowers! His dad always gave his mama flowers on Valentine’s day. Except Bilbo knew Thorin didn’t like flowers at all. He was better off just giving Thorin a shiny rock. He could give Thorin jewelry!

Except Bilbo didn’t have any money. Well… he had a half full piggy bank, but he was certain that wasn’t going to be enough for something really nice like he saw on the television.

“What’s the matter, Bumblebee?” Belladonna asked as she tucked Bilbo into bed.

Bilbo sighed, tucking in his stuffed duck beside him. “Valentine’s Friday,” he said.

Belladonna nodded. “I know. We’ve got your cards and candy all ready.”

“Yeah,” Bilbo agreed. “But I don’t know what to get Thorin.”

“Didn’t you make him a card?” she asked, sitting down on his bed, realizing that this was not a quick fix problem.

“Uh huh. But Thorin got me something really good,” Bilbo confided in his mom. “Really really good.”

With a doubtful expression Belladonna leaned forward and asked, “How do you know this, exactly?”

“Dwalin told me,” Bilbo informed her. And that was the problem.

He had been perfectly content with the card he had made Thorin. It wasn’t bigger or better than anyone else’s, but it certainly had more hearts and more glitter than anyone else’s. And he had made sure to get Thorin’s favorite chocolate just for the occasion.

But Dwalin had to ruin everything. He just had to be Bilbo’s walking partner on the way to music class, and he just had to whisper, “I know what Thorin got you for Valentines,” with a very smug grin. Bilbo told him he didn’t want to know. He also punched Dwalin because he was sure he wasn’t actually supposed to tell him anything.

That’s when Bilbo got worried. Thorin was doing something extra special. And what was Bilbo doing? Nothing, that’s what! Absolutely nothing.

What was an extra glittery card if Thorin had gone out of his way to be amazing? Bilbo was in a world of torment.

“Maybe you’re over thinking it,” Belladonna told Bilbo. “I’m sure Thorin will love whatever you give him.”

“That’s not the point!” Bilbo exclaimed, throwing himself back into his pillow, arms outstretched and flopping up and down.

Belladonna took a moment to think. “Why don’t you paint him something?” she suggested.

Bilbo pouted. “I always paint for hi – ” He froze. Paint. He could… Yes! “That’s a great idea,” Bilbo squealed in delight.

Crises diverted, Belladonna kissed Bilbo on the forehead, turning off the light and closing the door just as she began to hear him tell all his plans to his duck. 

Chapter Text

There were a few years, prior to Mrs. Lorien’s appointment, when Valentine’s Day was not celebrated in the school.

Boys, very (self) important people had said, shouldn’t be declaring their love for one another. Arguments were made.

They’re just children, was a popular one. It’s a friendship sort of love, others had said, while the very important people had shook their heads, believing that this wasn’t congruent to a healthy and safe educational environment. And so they had locked away the hearts and refused any and all pleas, ignoring the  epithets they received every February.

It just wasn’t done.

And then it was. Because Mrs. Lorien had given these very important people a very stern talking to. Children, she explained, don’t care about any of the things adults care about. They want candy and chocolates and all those other goodies. They wanted to give their friends funny little cards with bees and bears saying, Bee Mine, or You’re Beary Sweet.

Which shut them up all very nicely.

So for the past several years, the first half of the school day was filled the usual things. Lessons and a supreme dedication to education, while the second half of the day was a Valentine’s free for all, in which most, if not all, classrooms had their own individual parties.

Mr. Grey’s classroom shindig was to occur just after lunch. Or rather, at lunch, because honestly, it wasn’t like the children were just going to pretend that they weren’t exchanging chocolates and candies and other delicious delectables.

Thorin was sitting at his lunch table, munching on the heart shaped macaron with strawberries Bilbo had given him, watching him hand out the rest of the pastries to their classmates. Lunch had consisted of every sweet known to child, interspersed with apple wedges and carrots, a clear attempt made by Thorin’s mother to promote healthy eating.

He had from now until the end of the school day to give Bilbo his gift. Thorin held tightly to his lunchbox. He didn’t want anyone to find it. Or steal it. Or make fun of him for it.

Not that Thorin wasn’t proud of his gift. It was the greatest gift ever.

It was just… what if Bilbo didn’t like it? He may have showed off to Dwalin and swore him to secrecy (which Thorin knew he didn’t keep because Balin had given him a very knowing look), and perhaps he had strutted about for a few days, very proud of himself… but what if Bilbo hated it? Bilbo could take one look at his gift and huff at Thorin, call him dumb and horrible and stomp away.

Maybe even into the arms of Smaug. Or Azog. Or Thranduil!

No! Thorin took another bite of his pastry. He had to stay positive. Bilbo loved him.

Right? Right! Of course he did. Why wouldn’t Bilbo love him? Bilbo had kissed him. And you’re only allowed to kiss people you love.

What if he didn’t like the gift because Thorin had never kissed him back.

He plopped his head onto the table. He needed to stop thinking. He had to stop worrying.

“What’s a matter?” Bofur asked, head cocked to the side, trying to take a peek at Thorin’s face. “You sick?”

Thorin grumbled into the table. Bofur patted his shoulder, taking a seat beside him. “It can’t be that bad.”

But it was. Thorin had done something purely instinctual. He hadn’t even considered the repercussions. “What if he hates it,” Thorin exclaimed, wide eyed, shooting up from his seat and grabbing hold of Bofur’s face, squishing his cheeks. “What if he says no?” Thorin whispered.

“Uh…” Bofur replied, lips puckered like a fish. “Who?”

“Bilbo,” Thorin clarified, letting go of Bofur and looking forlornly at the boy that was plaguing his mind. How could Bilbo be so happy and carefree? Didn’t he realize how badly Thorin was falling apart over here? Couldn’t he tell?!?!

Nori, Gloin, Bofur, and Dwalin were huddled in a corner, out of sight of Thorin who was too busy brooding.

“No!” Gloin exclaimed. “Really?”

Dwalin nodded. After all, he was the sole owner of Thorin’s secret.

“Is that why he’s all…” Bofur trailed off, waving his hand limply in Thorin’s direction.

“Isn’t that good?” Nori asked. “Not the grumpiness, but the… you know?”

Dwalin shrugged. He held the secrets. He didn’t have the answers.

Bilbo was having loads of fun.

He had gotten more than enough sweets from his classmates, not to mention Valentine’s cards. Most of them were store bought, with heroes and tv characters. A few, like his, were homemade, and though Bilbo wasn’t going to tell anyone, he really did like those more.

He thought this day couldn’t get more perfect.

If only it weren’t for Thorin.

That’s not to say that Thorin was ruining the day for him. No. It was just that everyone in class wanted to talk to Bilbo, and give him cards, and candy, and play a game or two with the jacks in his goody bag. He hardly any time with Thorin at all.

He had to give Thorin his gift. His very fantastic, wonderful, marvelous gift. He had worked on it all day the day before and he was quite proud of himself. Dr. Quack had given it his firm approval.

Now if only he could get Thorin alone…

“Thorin,” Bilbo called across the room, waving wildly, large smile on his face, a lollipop in his mouth. “Come sit with me!”

He was currently playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with three of his classmates, his little hands batting down on the Hippo lever. Bilbo wasn’t close to winning, but he was having fun, and he knew that Thorin wasn’t having any fun at all.

Unless Thorin enjoyed pouting. Alone. Away from everyone else.

Bilbo really didn’t think so.

He felt, more than saw, Thorin flop down beside him. Bilbo took hold of Thorin’s hand and clutched tightly as he played his game. Bilbo snuck a glance at him and was pleased to note that Thorin didn’t look so thunderous now.

Good.

Thorin was worrying for nothing.

Except it was almost time to go and he hadn’t given Bilbo his gift yet. Bilbo had given him a very nice Valentine’s Day card, with more glitter and hearts than anyone else in the class. Thorin was very proud of that card. He was going to hang it up on his wall, right next to the first painting Bilbo had every given him.

Mr. Grey had set them all on clean up duty, and so Thorin was dutifully following Bilbo around the room, picking up toys and setting them in the appropriate bins.

Bilbo had given Thorin his gift. So he had to give Bilbo his gift. It was only right.

But Thorin was still a little bit scared.

“Bilbo?” Thorin mumbled.

“Yeah,” Bilbo replied, dropping several puzzle pieces in the bin Thorin was holding.

“I have a present for you,” Thorin rushed out.

“Me too,” Bilbo grinned.

That left Thorin stunned. The card wasn’t Bilbo’s only gift? There was more? Thorin had only got Bilbo one gift! Okay, so maybe he had given him a painstakingly drawn card, but it was not very good. Bilbo was an artist. Not Thorin.

“I’ll give it to you when we finish,” Bilbo told him. “Okay?”

Thorin nodded dumbly.

Bilbo was bubbling over with excitement. They had just finished cleanup and Mr. Grey had given them all a small treat, dismissing them for the day.

The children all rushed to their cubby holes, Bilbo one of the eager ones. He ripped open his backpack and pulled out his gift, setting it gently in his cubby, before putting on his coat and gloves and hat. He threw his backpack onto his back and gently grabbed the gift, pushing his way through his classmates, in search of Thorin.

He found him scowling at his coat, unable to undo the zipper. “Surprise!” Bilbo yelled, causing Thorin to jump in fright. Bilbo held out his gift, practically shoving it into Thorin’s hands. Thorin grabbed it automatically, not really comprehending what it was until he had held it for ten seconds.

“It’s a book,” Bilbo told him, feeling just a little shy. He thought it was a good idea, but what if Thorin didn’t like it?

He had made a heart shaped book with paintings of all their special moments together. The cover was practically dripping with glitter and marker, and the pages on the inside were a little stuck together, but all in all, Bilbo thought he had done a really good job.

His mom had complimented him for ages on it. Surely Thorin would like it.

Thorin stared at the book, completely speechless. He opened it hesitantly, looking through the familiar stroke of Bilbo’s paintbrush, blown away by all the images Bilbo had put so much time and effort into. Compared to this, Thorin’s gift was terrible.

“If you don’t like it…” Bilbo muttered, reaching out as if to take it back.

“No!” Thorin cried, holding it tightly (but gently, he wasn’t a brute), to his chest. “I love it,” he reassured Bilbo. “Thank you.”

Bilbo smiled brightly, his fears cast away. He knew Thorin would like it.

“Time to go Bilbo,” came Belladonna’s familiar voice and Thorin froze. No! He had to give Bilbo his gift.

Bilbo waved goodbye to Thorin and followed his mother out the classroom.

“What’re you doing?” Dwalin asked. “You didn’t give it to Bilbo.”

Thorin knew. He was very much aware. But Bilbo was gone now. He was…

Thorin grabbed his lunch box and sprinted out the room, calling, “Bilbo!” as he ran down the hall, stumbling past teachers who yelled at him to stop his running and dodging kids who were too tall and too preoccupied to notice him. He had to get to Bilbo before he left. “Bilbo.”

Bilbo’s Momma was waiting patiently by entrance doors, Bilbo wiggling out her grasp to reach Thorin.

The two boys met in the middle, Thorin flushed and breathless, Bilbo waiting patiently. And now that the moment arrived Thorin could feel his courage dissipating.

“Um…” Thorin began. He opened his lunchbox and took out the small box, shoving it into Bilbo’s hands. “Here.”

Bilbo pulled off his gloves before tackling the sloppy wrapping, letting the paper fall to the ground, too preoccupied with the contents of the gift. It was a box. Bilbo gave Thorin a funny look before opening the little box. Inside was a pouch.

“Open it,” Thorin told him, taking a step closer to watch as Bilbo opened up his palm and let his present fall into his hand.

“Oh.”

It was a ring. A very beautiful ring, made from wire and beads, the color of honey and moonbeams.

Thorin cleared his throat and took it out of Bilbo’s palm, taking hold of Bilbo’s hand and sliding it onto his finger. “Do you like it?” Thorin asked nervously.

Bilbo lit up. “I love it!” Bilbo declared, throwing himself on top of Thorin, who stumbled backwards, laughing brightly. “Did you make it?” he asked. “It’s so pretty.”

Thorin fidgeted slightly, unwrapping Bilbo’s arms from around his neck. He cleared his throat and tried looking Bilbo in the eye. “I made you the ring because… I… I want – ”

Thorin cut himself off, taking Bilbo’s hands in his own. He managed to steel himself together because he opened his mouth and said, fiercely, “Will you be my husband?”

There was a brief moment where Bilbo had no idea what was happening. Did Thorin just ask him to marry him? He wanted to marry him?

Thorin wanted to be Bilbo’s one and forever true love!

“Yes!” Bilbo cried, jumping up and down excitedly. Thorin smiled brightly and hopped along with him.

When Thorin returned to the classroom, Dwalin knew exactly what Bilbo had said.

“I’m still your best man, right?” Dwalin asked.

Thorin punched him in the arm. Dwalin took it as a yes. 

Chapter Text

“Engaged!” Bungo sputtered, when Bilbo held out his hand for inspection, a pretty beaded ring on his finger.

“Uh huh,” Bilbo reaffirmed, twirling and hopping about, holding out his hand to see how it looked in different light. It was perfect.

This was not what Bungo expected to be greeted with after a long day at work. It was dramatically nerve wracking. Especially as how Bilbo was completely clueless as to the impending anxiety attack slowly sneaking up on his father.

Bungo wasn’t necessarily against his son getting engaged to be married. He was looking forward to, in fact, in perhaps twenty, thirty, forty years. Fifty was pushing it, but he’d still greet his son’s fiancé with open arms. But at the prime age of five, Bungo couldn’t imagine why his son would agree to something so preposterous.

“To who?” Bungo asked, trying to picture what child had stolen his son from him. They were most certainly going to get a piece of his mind, that was for sure.

Bilbo crouched down and jumped high into the air, shouting, “Thorin,” at the top of his lungs. He burst into giggles before taking a moment to think, finger tapping his noggin. “I asked him if that meant I was going to be his wife, cause he asked me, but he said that’s impossible cause I’m a boy,” Bilbo told his father.

“Can boys marry boys?” Bilbo asked, concerned. The thought clearly never entering his mind until now.

“Of course they can,” Belladonna reassured him, ruffling his hair before he ran off to watch television. Her son appeased, Belladonna turned to her husband who was standing as still as a statue, gaping at where Bilbo stood not a minute ago.

His son. His baby. His little Bilbo had gotten himself involved with some… grumpy, long haired boy; a grumpy long haired boy who had gotten them kicked out of his favorite museum! The nerve!

If this Thorin kid thought he could just waltz in here and steal his son’s heart, well he had another thing coming. He would forbid it! His son was not imaginary marrying anyone.

“Knock knock,” Belladonna teased, knuckles lightly tapping against Bungo’s forehead. “Anyone home?”

“I can’t allow it,” Bungo said.

Belladonna crossed her arms, looking at her husband shrewdly. “Can’t allow what?”

“This engagement,” Bungo replied, clearing his throat and straightening his sweater. He nodded twice for good measure before stalking off to the kitchen, praying there was something sweet to munch on so as to forget.

As he scoured the fridge and kitchen cabinets, Belladonna watched him, leaning against the door frame. “You can’t stop true love,” she told him.

That caused Bungo to pause in his futile search. “He’s five,” Bungo hissed.

“Exactly!” Belladonna exclaimed. “He’s not actually going to be married. Though it would be cute if they did.”

“You’re encouraging this,” Bungo grumbled, plopping onto a chair.

“I remember,” Belladonna started, going to Bungo and wrapping her arms around his neck, “a precious little boy who used to follow me around when I was little.” Bungo turned slightly pink. “And I recall this boy doing every little thing to get my attention.”

“I did not,” Bungo denied.

Belladonna smiled at his denial. “He even followed me off to school.”

“I just happened to go to Valinor, I didn’t plan it,” Bungo insisted.

“Bungo, are you denying the fact that you’ve loved me since you were able to crawl?”

Bungo knew when he was defeated. He sighed as Belladonna kissed his cheek.  “I still want to meet this… Thorin.”

Thrain wasn’t so sure about this. “All of us?” he repeated. Freya nodded. “You, me, and the kids?”

“You, me, and the kids,” Freya echoed.

“Why?” Thrain asked, for this was the root of the problem. What reason was there to have dinner with the Baggins – and bring his entire brood?

If Freya’s newest friend wanted them over, then that was fine. And perhaps Bilbo and Thorin were very good friends, so bringing their eldest son was acceptable. He was less likely to complain about the food and he had someone to entertain him.

But all of his kids? Why would anyone choose to deal with all three of his children? Surely parents having dinners with other parents should be an excuse to get away from their children. And if it wasn’t, it certainly should be.

“It’s more of a… meet the family, sort of dinner,” Freya explained. Thrain’s expression no doubt gave away his confusion. Freya sighed. A smart man, she did not marry. “Thorin proposed to Bilbo,” Freya reminded him.

“So?”

And there was that look again. The one that told Thrain he was being an idiot. Which Thrain would attest against. He was not an idiot. So what if – “Seriously?”

Thorin straightened his tie for the fifth time that minute.

He was worried. Well maybe not worried. He supposed he was just nervous. Yes. Nervous. After all it wasn’t everyday you met your fianacee – financees – feeancies (well you get the point) parents. This was important. He had to make a good impression.

He had met Mama Bilbo on several occasions, but he had never really met Papa Bilbo, though he had seen him every now and then. Bilbo assured Thorin that his Papa was the best and really nice and gave the best hugs.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Thorin cleared his throat and stood up straight. “Hello, Mister Papa Bilbo,” Thorin said with practiced ease. “It’s a ple – ple – nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand and pretended to shake a hand.

Thorin smiled at his reflection. That was good. That was very good.

He was going to make Bilbo’s parents like him at any cost possible.

Bilbo insisted on dressing up.

This was very important, he told his Mama. And he refused to look anything but his best. And since was overdressed, he insisted on his parents dressing up as well.

Which Belladonna found very sweet. And Bungo didn’t. Not that he didn’t dress up. Because he did. The bowtie that was choking him was proof of that.

When the doorbell rang at six o’clock sharp, Bilbo leaped off the couch and ran to the front door, his sneakers leaving skid marks in his wake. As Belladonna opened the door, Bilbo rushed headlong towards Thorin, pulling his arm towards the interior of the house.

Freya and Thrain, along with two toddlers, entered much more peacefully, though that was probably because Dis was napping and Frerin was too busy staring at Bilbo.

Seeing the Durin’s in their Sunday best, Bungo felt less self conscious about his attire. He greeted them politely and took their coats, hanging them up in the closet. It was as he was handed a small, dark blue coat that he noticed he had been tailed.

He blinked down at the small boy, though not as small as his own son. “Hello,” Bungo greeted, staring at his son’s “fiancé”. He was wearing a tie and dress shirt, smartly tucked into his jeans and was practically glaring at Bungo.

The boy cleared his throat and said, “I’m Thorin. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Papa Bilbo, sir.” He stuck out his hand and Bungo felt inclined to accept. His large hand met Thorin’s, and Thorin shook it fiercely before letting go. “I wanted to speak with you, please.”

Bungo nodded dumbly. “Alright.” He waited patiently for Thorin to begin, but he just stood there, stoic and pained. “Did you mean in private?” Bungo asked. Thorin nodded.

“Right,” Bungo said quietly, stepping into the foyer and popping his head in. “I’m just going to have a quick word with Thorin,” he told his company who raised their eyebrows at him. He merely shrugged. He didn’t quite understand it either.

“We’ll be right back,” Thorin added, smiling at Bilbo who couldn’t understand what his dad and his bestest fianacee had to talk about. He shot him a reassuring look before following Bungo into his study.

Taking a seat, that was quite nicely offered to him, Thorin looked resolutely at Bungo and said, “I wanted to ask your permemission to marry Bilbo.”

Wasn’t that a turn of events! Bungo didn’t know whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation or cry that he was worked up over nothing. Though laughter definitely seemed to be winning, considering he was having this talk with a very serious minded six year old.

“I don’t know if I should,” Bungo said.

Thorin’s eyes bugged slightly, before he pouted in thought. “I promise to take real good care of him,” Thorin said. “I’ll buy a big house with lots of room for you and Mama Bilbo and my Mama and Papa and I guess Frerin and Dis too, so you can visit us. And we’ll have a big yard to play in and lots of puppies cause I know Bilbo likes puppies,” he continued.

“And I’ll try real hard not to make him sad, and if I do, you can punish me, because that’s against the rules. And I’ll make sure he always gets his favorite cake on his birthday and always has enough paints and he’s never cold and takes his naps,” Thorin finished.

Bungo found his cold heart (it wasn’t all that cold to begin with, if he was being honest with himself) quickly melting. Thorin clearly loved his son.

“You love my Bilbo?” Bungo asked.

“A whole lots,” Thorin reassured the man. “More than dinosaurs.” Which was saying quite a lot, Thorin thought.

There was a tense atmosphere as Thorin swung his legs anxiously, waiting for Mr. Papa Bilbo to make up his mind. No matter how much he loved Bilbo, he wasn’t going to marry him without permission. He had seen a prince ask a princess’ father for permission to marry her on TV once, and Thorin realized that he had to do things the right way.

“Alright,” Bungo finally said, grinning.

Thorin  smiled, practically hopping in his seat in excitement. “Thanks!” he exclaimed, shaking Bungo’s hand once again, before running out of the room and clearly into Bilbo’s arms, if the squeals of excitement were anything to go by.

It was as Belladonna was serving dessert at the end of their very successful family dinner that Freya asked the boys, “So do you have any plans for your wedding?”

Bilbo and Thorin looked at one another.

“Dwalin’s best man,” Thorin replied.

“Yeah,” Bilbo agreed. “And we want a Spring wedding.”

Bungo choked on his apple tart. Aulë help him.  

Chapter Text

His name was Bard.

Oh, how Thorin felt like gnashing his teeth together.

Bard Bowman, the tall and handsome eight year old that stole Bilbo’s affections from Thorin in a matter of minutes. If Thorin had known that this was his fate, he would never have given away his heart.

It started like any other day.

Ever since their engagement, the two rarely did anything that didn’t involve the other boy. Lunch, recess, group activities; the list was endless and Bilbo and Thorin refused to be with anyone else. Their friends, of course, liked to make fun of them, but neither boy minded much. Everyone else was just jealous.

This day was a bright and sunny Spring day, unlike the cold, chilly days before, and Gandalf decided the children deserved a run around the playground. He bundled them up in their jackets and set them loose among the children from other classes.

Certain that neither Thranduil or Azog were near, Thorin breathed easily as he, Bilbo, Dwalin, Gloin, Nori, and Bofur ran around the playground, playing a vigorous game of tag. Bilbo was it at the moment – a true miracle of miracles, for he was the stealthiest of them all – when he missed one of the rungs on the ladder that led to the slide.

Thorin could hardly breathe as he watched Bilbo fall – down, down, down to his certain demise. And then. THEN.

That’s when it happened.

In swooped Bard Bowman and stole Bilbo’s heart.

Bilbo didn’t realize he had fallen until he was quite dutifully caught. His heart was pounding fiercely, and he was sure he could hear the strangled cries of Thorin. And yet, Bilbo was alright.

He looked down at his hands, patted his chest, and took inventory of himself. He was perfectly fine! With a grand smile, he looked up at his savior, only to be greeted with an unfamiliar face.

“Hi,” Bilbo whispered shyly, taken back by the older boy. The boy chuckled as he set Bilbo back on his feet, giving him a once over.

“You alright?” the boy asked, just as Thorin came running up and taking hold of Bilbo’s shoulders. He looked Bilbo up and down but found nothing to be wrong.

Bilbo kept his eyes on the older boy, smiling all the while. “I’m fine,” he said, just as Thorin glanced up and noticed that Bilbo wasn’t answering his unasked question.

“You ought to be more careful,” the boy told him, before running off to get in line with his class to go back inside, waving at Bilbo as he did so.

Thorin glared angrily at the boy. How. Dare. He.

Bilbo watched as the boy shuffled inside the school building, ignoring Thorin’s fuming and his friends observing the scene with trepidation. He was, without a doubt, entranced. He had been rescued! Like a princess!

Though he wasn’t a princess. He would never be a princess. And he could do his own saving. But still. Bilbo was  in awe. “Did you see that?” Bilbo asked, bubbling with excitement. “He caught me!” He clapped excitedly, turning his attentions back on Thorin. “He must be awful strong.”

“He was lucky,” Thorin growled, grabbing Bilbo’s hand and pulling him towards Mr. Grey who was calling the end of recess.

Dwalin, Gloin, Nori, Bofur, and Thorin had a secret meeting behind the toy firehouse during naptime, their pillows and sleeping pads arranged in a circle. The topic of discussion: Recess Boy.

“It was really cool,” Bofur whispered, a look on his face that Thorin couldn’t quite place. “He came out of nowhere!”

He was shushed by his friends, Nori looking over his shoulder to make sure Mr. Grey didn’t hear them. Gloin rested his head against the palm of his hand and told Thorin, “We’ll probably never see him again.” The other boys readily agreed. “He’s a big kid.”

Thorin wasn’t so sure about that.

Once nap time finished, Bilbo and Thorin found themselves once again at the coloring table, Mr. Grey rewarding the class’ progress with the alphabet with an extra recess. And though Thorin usually loved to color with Bilbo, he couldn’t help but gnash his teeth together.

Bilbo wouldn’t stop talking about the boy. His savior. The older kid who swooped out of nowhere to save the day. The day whose job was Thorin’s to save!

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked, stopping his rambling to cast a worried expression on Thorin. “Are you okay?”

Without a sound, Thorin nodded, letting go of the crayon in his hand that fell to pieces before it clattered onto the table. “Fine,” Thorin replied, aggressively fishing through the crayon box for another crayon.

Bilbo huffed, setting down his crayon and preemptively giving Thorin a hug. He could feel Thorin relax, and Bilbo was sure that whatever was bothering Thorin was something silly. Not that he’d ever tell Thorin that. That’s why he loved Thorin so much.

“We can play something else if you want,” Bilbo told him, unleashing Thorin from his embrace and putting the crayons away.

“No,” Thorin said. “This is just fine.”

They boys smiled at each other and Thorin felt much better. He was worrying about nothing. They’d probably never see Recess Boy ever again.

Thorin couldn’t believe it.

Standing in front of his class, along with all of his classmates – Bifur and Dori included – was Recess Boy. And he was smiling at Bilbo. Clearly the universe was out to get him.

And Bilbo was – he was smiling back! Thorin ground his teeth together and glared at Recess Boy as Gandalf explained just what these boys were doing in their classroom.

“As you all know, we’ve been working awfully hard on our reading skills, and these young men have agreed to become our reading buddies! Each of you will be partnered with one of the older boys, whom we shall meet with once a week,” Gandalf told them, just as the boys dispersed amongst the kindergarteners.

Thorin interceded Bifur and Dori before they could partner up with their respective family members. “Who’s that?” Thorin asked them, pointing at Recess Boy who had managed to partner himself with Bilbo who was in full hero worship mode.

Dori sniffed at Thorin, chiding him with a, “Don’t point,” and shoving Thorin’s hand back to his side. Thorin just stuck his tongue out at Dori, before looking expectantly at Bifur.

“Bard,” Bifur replied, scratching at his messy hair and looking for his cousin. Upon seeing him, Bifur patted Thorin on the back and joined Bofur at his desk, the two cousins punching each other before opening Bifur’s book.

Finding that Nori had snuck his way into a reading partner that wasn’t his brother, Dori had to partner up with Thorin who could have been partnered with a teacup and not even notice. His eyes too busy watching Bilbo lead Bard (what kind of name was Bard?) to the coloring table.

Their coloring table.

Dori tried leading Thorin to a quiet corner, but Thorin insisted on a spot that had clear view of the coloring table. He wasn’t going to let those two out of his sight.

“Why do I even bother?” Dori  grumbled as he read Happy Birthday, Moon by his lonesome. “When you're thirty and can't read,” Dori continued, his scolding falling on deaf ears, “don’t you blame me.”

Chapter Text

Thorin stood there in shock, watching as his precious ring flew out of Bilbo’s hand, crashing to the cold ground. It bounced once, twice, three times before landing in a puddle before Thorin’s sneakers.

There was a collective intake of breath, each boy waiting for the other to move, to say something, to apologize. But both thought themselves in the right, and so Bilbo straightened his sweater and walked away, a dejected Thorin watching him go, right into the waiting arms of Bard.

He shook his head, getting those thoughts out of his head. That was how this whole thing escalated in the first place.

Thorin crouched down, not caring for his jeans one whit as he picked up the wet and muddy ring he had made not a few weeks earlier. He could feel tears building in his eyes, but he wouldn’t cry. This punishment was well deserved.

Twice a week the second graders visited Mr. Grey’s Kindergarten class. And every time, Bilbo partnered himself up with Bard Bowman, the two of them sitting at the coloring table, reading books to one another, perfectly content to rub their happiness in Thorin’s face who spent the entire time gnashing his teeth, much to Dori’s chagrin.

If Bilbo merely partnered up with Bard, Thorin would have no issue with it. They had to partner with a second grader. They had no choice. No, what really got Thorin’s goat was the fact that Bilbo talked about Bard all the time.

“Bard has a dog as big as me!”

“Bard’s favorite color is also blue, just like you.”

“Bard says spiders are arachanids, not bugs.”

“Look! Bard gave me lollipop!”

Bard, Bard, Bard. It was all Thorin heard nowadays. It drove him insane.

What had Bard ever done for Bilbo, aside from… save his life. Thorin had done that plenty of times! Surely the appeal of it shouldn’t have faded already? Was Thorin’s love so little compared to Bard?

And thus grew Thorin’s insecurities. Bilbo still smiled at him, held his hand, hugged him, and drew pictures of them. And every now and then Bilbo would blurt out an idea he had for their wedding, insisting on having two different cakes because not everyone liked chocolate. But interspersed between it all, Bilbo would utter Bard’s name and Thorin could feel his heart constrict, stutter in his chest.

Today – today had been the last straw. The second graders had just left, Bilbo’s smile wide and radiant as he waved Bard goodbye, setting himself beside a grumpy Thorin who had spent the past half hour watching Bilbo laugh at nearly everything Bard said and did.

Mr. Grey soon handed out a spelling quiz, and though Thorin filled it out to the best of his ability, struggling now and then, his mind was still on Bilbo and Bard. Once the tests were collected and Mr. Grey went over the answers, Thorin didn’t care to know how many words he got right, instead imagining Bilbo and Bard running off together, laughing as they did so.

Upon Mr.Grey announcing recess, Bilbo pulled on Thorin’s hand and pulled him out onto the playground, all the children excited that spring had finally come to stay. Thorin climbed the monkey bars, eased by Bilbo’s presence, and attempted to hang upside down from them.

He wasn’t very successful, but Thorin wasn’t about to give up anytime soon. And then Bilbo said, “Bard can hang upside down from the monkey bars. He can hang there with just his legs.”

Thorin let go of the monkey bars, falling pathetically onto the ground, damp woodchips sticking to his hands and jeans. He clenched his hands, storming away as far from Bilbo as he could get, angrily stomping in puddles that filled the foursquare painted pavement.

He could hear Bilbo running after him, but Thorin did not stop.

“Thorin!” Bilbo cried, catching the other boy and grabbing hold of his arm. “What’s wrong?”

Thorin ripped his arm out of Bilbo’s hold. “If Bard is so a-a-amazing, why don’t you marry him instead!” Thorin told him, glaring angrily at Bilbo. His anger grew tenfold upon seeing Bilbo grin at him, giving him a look that said just how silly Bilbo thought Thorin was being.

“But I love you,” Bilbo teased, poking Thorin lightly. Honestly, Thorin was so weird sometimes.

“I don’t believe you,” Thorin gritted out. Bilbo’s smile faded as he took a worried step towards Thorin. “All you care about is Bard.”

“He’s my friend,” Bilbo explained.

“You’re supposed to be my friend,” Thorin reminded him.

“You’re both my friends.”

“I’m your fianacee!”

Bilbo stomped his foot. “I can be friends with anyone I like, Thorin,” Bilbo argued back, hands on hips, his pretty face scrunched up in anger.

“No you can’t!” Thorin yelled, regretting those words the instant they left his mouth. He shook his head. “No, I – I didn’t mean that,” he pleaded, taking a step towards Bilbo.

But Bilbo pulled away, utter disgust plain on his face. “I hate you, Thorin Durin. I hate you.” He ripped his engagement ring off his finger and threw it at Thorin who could only watch, in hopeless agony.

Bilbo stomped around his house, his face set in a permanent scowl. Belladonna didn’t know what to do with him. She had never had to deal with an ill tempered child before. Bilbo was always smiling and jovial, never angry and yelling gibberish at inanimate objects.

He had been sour the moment Belladonna picked him up from school and he had yet to cheer up. She was worried.

Belladonna knocked politely on his bedroom door, peaking her head in to see Bilbo painting angrily, his hands covered in bright red paint. She quietly shut the door behind her, sitting herself down in one of Bilbo’s chairs.

“Hello,” Belladonna greeted.

Bilbo grunted, slapping his hand against the large pad of paper resting on his easel, red, angry splots staining what had once been a painting of Bilbo and Thorin riding dinosaurs. “I’m angry,” Bilbo announced, dipping his hand into his red paint jar.

“I see that,” his mother replied, pulling his hand away from the jar and setting it back in its spot. Bilbo glared at her. “How about we get you cleaned up.”

Bilbo didn’t reply, but allowed himself to be shuffled into the bathroom, climbing his step stool to properly wash his hands. Belladonna pumped soap into his hands. “What’s the matter Bumblebee?” she asked, running her hands through her son’s messy curls.

The red paint washed quickly down the drain, along with Bilbo’s anger. He sobbed, droplets of tears falling from his eyes, running down his face and mixing with the paint. Belladonna pulled Bilbo close, his head resting on her chest, heaving great sobs into her, his hands clutching her dress tightly.

“What are you doing!” Freya cried out, pulling the shears from Thorin’s grasp.

Thorin had been standing over the bathroom sink, shears in one hand, hair in the other, a determined look on his face.

“I’ve dishonored Bilbo,” Thorin explained, sitting himself on the toilet seat. He kicked his feet nervously.

Freya nodded, not understanding a single thing going through her son’s head. “Uh huh,” she acknowledged. “But why your hair?”

“In the book – ”

“Alright, no more princess books for you,” Freya cut him off, arms swinging in the universal symbol for “no more.” She ushered him into his bedroom where he flopped onto his bed, face first. She sat down beside him, patting him gently on the back. “So what’s this about dishonorment?”

Both mothers offered the same advice: Apologize.

Belladonna told Bilbo that Thorin felt like he was abandoning him, but Bilbo was right. He was allowed to be friends with whomever he pleased and though he was angry, he should never tell someone he loves that he hates them. Thorin was his friend – his best friend – and Belladonna reassured Bilbo that if he apologized, everything would be as right as rain once more.

Freya resisted the urge to bash her head against the wall upon hearing Thorin’s retelling of his argument with Bilbo. Mahal give her strength. This was why, she reminded him, he had to express his feelings, rather than keeping them bottled up until he made  a mess of things. Thorin should not have yelled and accused Bilbo of terrible things. He should have informed Bilbo that he felt Bard was replacing him in his affection. And he still should. Right after he apologized.

And though both Bilbo and Thorin knew it to be their only option, they couldn’t get themselves to do it.

They avoided each other at school, lingering looks falling upon the other boy, when they thought the other wasn’t looking. It was really quite pitiful, the gang all agreed.

It went on like this for two days, Bilbo and Thorin miserable, unable to find the words, or courage, to approach one another, until one bright and sunny Friday: the day the second graders visited the kindergartners.

The moment Bilbo saw Bard’s smiling face, he felt a little sick. He liked Bard; a lot! They were friends and he didn’t want to terminate that friendship because of Thorin. But Bilbo loved Thorin with all his heart. He sunk into his desk, hoping Bard wouldn’t notice him.

When Bard didn’t approach him, Bilbo thought he had lucked out! But alas, twas not the case. He peaked over his desk and spied Thorin speaking to Bard. Bilbo’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he watched the exchange, eyes following Thorin when he parted ways with the older boy and joined Dori at the reading corner.

Bard looked confused when he reached Bilbo. “He gave me this,” Bard said, holding out his hand, showing Bilbo the ring Thorin had given him not moments earlier. “He said I’ve won your heart?”

“That dumby!” Bilbo muttered under his breath, snatching the ring out of Bard’s palm and marching straight towards Thorin.

Thorin looked up from his book (Dori sighing in irritation; it took so long to finally get him to read) and stared at Bilbo in disbelief. “If you think I love Bard like I love you, then you’re the dumbest boy in the whole wide world,” Bilbo told him, drawing attention from every person in the classroom.

“Bilbo – ” Thorin tried, but Bilbo bent down and kissed Thorin on the cheek, causing him to lose his words and blush brightly.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo whispered. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Me too,” Thorin grumbled.

Bilbo handed the ring over to Thorin and he placed it on Bilbo’s finger. They smiled brightly at each other, past grievances forgiven.

“You’re still dumb.”

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Of all the cousins, of the friends, of the people that Bilbo had left behind in Hobbiton, it had to be Lobelia and Bruno Bracegirdle to come visit him for the weekend.

Bruno was alright. He was rather nice, even if he was five years older. He always let Bilbo play kick the can with him. But his sister, Lobelia Bracegirdle, was the worst.

She always followed Bilbo everywhere he went, asking questions about this and that, taking his toys and hiding them in her skirt or pockets. She thought painting was dumb and cried whenever she got her clothes dirty. She always acted like she was better than everyone else, and she had a propensity to wear a cheap plastic tiara on her head.

Bilbo thought a world without any yucky Lobelia Bracegirdles was a perfect world indeed. The happiest day of his life was when he moved to Erebor. Actually that was one of the saddest, but the moment he realized he'd never see Lobelia Bracegirdle again, he jumped for joy and hollered at the top of his lungs.

Only Lobelia's mother, Primrose Bracegirdle, was one of Belladonna's greatest friends, and despite their far move, the two women agreed to see each other as often as possible. Of course, making promises were easier to make than to keep, and so it was only now that Primrose was able to visit.

The two women were ecstatic. They gossiped in the kitchen over steaming mugs of tea while their husbands tidied the garden, preparing for what felt like was going to be a hot summer. The children sat in the yard, the elder Bruno doing small tasks for his father and "uncle."

Bilbo sat on the back porch steps, face set in a pout, resting between his fists. He looked at everywhere except Lobelia who was twirling around and practically screeching at Bilbo to pay attention to her. She was a ballerina and she needed an audience. Her stomping was nothing like ballerinas, but Bilbo knew better than to tell her so.

The last time he did that Lobelia had bit him.

That night Bilbo snuck into his parent's bed, Dr. Quack in tow, to keep him safe from "grabby hands" Lobelia. He wiggled underneath the blankets between Belladonna and Bungo, a pout on his face.

Bungo barely stirred, but Belladonna was woken by her motherly intuition. She was surprised to find Bilbo in her bed. He hadn't snuck in since they had moved in. She ran her fingers through his unruly curls, snuggling beside him. "What's the matter Bumblebee?"

"Bruno snores," Bilbo answered, wrinkling his nose in distaste, his father emitting a loud snore in reply. Bilbo giggled, kicking his father lightly who merely turned over in his sleep.

Now Belladonna knew something was troubling her son other than his snoring cousin. He and Bruno had shared sleeping quarters on several occasions and not once had Bilbo complained. Besides, Bilbo slept with herself and Bungo quite often, and Bungo was quite the snorer. "What's really bothering you?" Belladonna whispered, pulling Bilbo closer so their noses were centimeters apart.

Bungo tightened his hold on Dr. Quack, jutting out his lower lip and shoving his hand in his mother's face. Belladonna gently moved it aside, noticing nothing new about the appendage. "Hurt yourself?" She asked, inspecting the chubby hand.

"Lobelia tried to take my ring," Bilbo informed her. "She said boys weren't supposed to wear jewelry, only girls. And because she was a girl it should be hers and not mine."

"Did you tell her why it was important to you?" Belladonna asked, making a note to talk to Primrose about gender expectations and how there shouldn't be any.

Bilbo nodded vigorously. "I did. I told her my fianacee gave it to me and she called me a liar and said no one would ever want to marry me and then Bruno called me a baby because I still sleep with Dr. Quack," Bilbo sniffled. "And cause I was crying."

It seemed Bilbo went through a whirl of torment moments after she had tucked the children into bed.

"Well firstly," Belladonna told Bilbo, "remember what I told you about boys and girls?"

"Boys can do anything girls do, and girls can do anything boys do," Bilbo muttered, a bit grumpily. "But Lobelia said – "

"Are you calling me a liar?" Belladonna asked. Bilbo shook his forcefully. Heaven forbid he call his mama a liar. She wrapped an arm around Bilbo, pulling him close. "I think you should stop worrying. After all your dad wears a ring. You shouldn't let Lobelia get to you."

Bilbo grunted, fixing Dr. Quack as he squirmed further into his mother's hold. "I don't like her," Bilbo said. "She's mean and tries to take all of my toys. If Thorin was here he'd make her stop."

"How about we invite Thorin over tomorrow," Belladonna suggested.

Bilbo lit up, jumping atop his mother. "Really?" he asked, a smile blooming across his face. When his mother nodded, Bilbo hooted in excitement. "Thanks, Mama," he said, kissing her and hopping off the bed.

Lobelia was a five year old girl with loose blonde curls that her mother put up in high pigtails so whenever she walked, her hair bobbed up and down behind her. She was considered quite cute and had the prettiest dimples when she smiled.

Only she hardly ever smiled, choosing instead to frown and yell and scold, particularly at anyone who didn't do what she wanted. That frown was now turned on Bilbo, who was standing on the front porch, jumping up and down as Thorin climbed the stairs, a bright smile on his face.

The two boys hugged, as if they hadn't seen each other in ages. It was disgusting and Lobelia hated it. That is until Thorin met her eye.

He was the most beautiful, handsomest, sweetest looking boy she'd ever seen. And she was in love.

Thorin had a lot of patience.

Scratch that.

Thorin had younger siblings and so he knew that he had to have patience with their antics. Whether he was patient for very long was debatable. So when Lobelia clung to him and followed him around, he treated her the same way he'd treat Dis or Frerin: with annoyance, but with a practiced air of patience, knowing that eventually she'd get tired and leave him alone.

Bilbo, being an only child and accustomed to having Thorin all to himself, felt like ripping out Lobelia's pretty pigtails.

He seethed as he watched Lobelia fawn over his finacee. This is not why he invited Thorin over.

"Watch me!" Lobelia shouted to Thorin, making sure he was watching before she began twirling. Thorin watched attentively, though his eyebrow twitched slightly. Lobelia began singing and Thorin's pleasant smile began to get tighter.

Mahal save him.

"Here, Thorin," Bilbo said, sitting down beside the boy and handing him a slice of watermelon. Thorin happily bit into it, juice dripping down his chin and sliding down his forearms. Bilbo grabbed a napkin and wiped at the juice.

He held out his other arm, giving Bilbo easier access. "Thanks," Thorin grinned, mouth full. Arms clean, Bilbo folded the dirty napkin and shoved it under his leg, biting into his own slice of watermelon. This was how things were supposed to be. Him and Thorin. No one else.

"Bilbo Baggins you big meanie!" Lobelia hollered, stopping her twirling and stomping her foot. That definitely ruined the moment. "Where's my watermelon?"

Bilbo turned away from her, frowning. No good, dirty, rotten Lobelia Bracegirdle. "There's more inside," he told her.

She stomped her foot once more, stalking forward, hands on her hips. "I'm a guest," Lobelia sniffed. "You're supposed to give it to me. Not make me get it myself."

He was going to give her a good swift kick in the behind, that's what Bilbo was going to get her. "Just go inside," Bilbo repeated. Lobelia was ruining his wonderful day with Thorin.

"I'll get you one," Thorin cut in, putting his rind on the steps, wiping his chin with his arm.

Lobelia smiled brightly. "Thank you, Thorin," she said sweetly, batting her eyes and twirling her dress. "You're so nice," she continued, glaring at Bilbo as Thorin stepped inside, sticky fingers smearing the glass on the screen door.

That was it.

When Bilbo suggested they paint, Lobelia pulled Thorin away and made him help her put glitter on her ugly doodles.

When Bilbo decided on watching Alvin and the Chipmunks on TV, Lobelia stole the remote and changed it to Scooby Doo, repeating all the lines and asking Thorin every two seconds if he liked Scooby Doo.

And when Bilbo suggested they play knights and dragons – Thorin happily volunteering to be the dragon – Lobelia insisted that Thorin be a prince, and she a princess, making Bilbo the evil dragon who was keeping her hostage.

All day it was a fight for Thorin's attention and Bilbo had had enough.

"Leave Thorin alone," Bilbo commanded, standing up, hands clench tightly.

Lobelia merely stuck out her tongue and lifted her nose in the air. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Thorin is my fianacee," Bilbo told her, showing off his ring. "We're getting married. He's mine."

"Why would he want to marry someone as boring as you?" Lobelia scoffed. "I'll make him change his mind. Thorin's going to be my financee."

Thorin carefully opened the screendoor, balancing a plate full of watermelon slices in one hand, the other gripping a roll of paper towels. Mama Bilbo had given him a rather good scrubbing, and so his face and arms were tinged pink.

All day Lobelia had been attached to him, and his "wait it out" plan wasn't working very well. Maybe he should just sneak Bilbo away and hide. That seemed like a very good plan.

As he stepped into the backyard, Thorin dropped the roll of paper towels at the scene before him.

Bilbo was pulling at Lobelia's pigtails as the girl scratched at Bilbo's face. Thorin was quite lucky he didn't drop the watermelon.

"Bilbo!" Thorin cried, carefully placing the bowl on the ground before running towards the two children. "What are you doing?" He tried to slip between them, but the act was futile.

Not wanting to hurt Thorin, Bilbo loosened his hold on Lobelia, allowing her to slip through his fingers and tackle Bilbo to the ground. Just as she raised her hand to scratch Bilbo something fierce, her legs were suddenly in the air, kicking fiercely.

Bilbo looked up to find Thorin carrying Lobelia away as she wriggled in his grasp. Thorin dumped her into Bilbo's wagon which was filled with topsoil. Lobelia shrieked in displeasure.

"Nobody hurts my Bilbo," Thorin growled, slapping his hands together, wiping them clean from the horribleness that was Lobelia.

Thorin returned to Bilbo and helped him up. "Are you okay?"

Bilbo, filled with happiness and love, embraced Thorin, planting a big fat kiss on his cheek. "I love you, Thorin Durin," Bilbo declared.

A blush creeped up Thorin's neck and ears, as he hugged back. "I love you too, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin muttered back, still audible over the high pitched screaming of Lobelia.

Thorin turned back at her with a frown. "I don't like Lobelia," Thorin stated. He had wanted to say that all day long.

"Me neither," Bilbo confessed.

"Why were you fighting?" Thorin asked.

Bilbo shook his head. He didn't want Thorin to know he was jealous of the attention he had been paying on Lobelia. After all, he had gotten upset when Thorin got jealous of Bard. "She said dinosaurs were dumb," Bilbo lied. It wasn't a complete lie. She had told Bilbo that once.

Thorin frowned. "Dinosaurs are awesome."

That night Primrose and Belladonna agreed that it was probably best not to let Bilbo and Lobelia play alone. Or at all.

At least until they were older.

Bilbo was quite pleased with that arrangement.

Chapter Text

Thorin did not like doctors. Nor did he like nurses, or medicine, or jabs. He hated those most of all. And right now he did not like his mother in the least.

"Thorin Octavius Durin, you come out here this second, or I swear to Mahal, you'll get the spanking of a lifetime," Freya hollered from the front porch, Dis sitting on the steps, Frerin giggling madly at his brother's scolding.

Despite the pain of what that spanking would entail, Thorin refused to budge from his hiding spot in the closet. He was not going to get his vaccumations today. No sir. He was not.

He could take on Lobelia Bracegirdle's, evil Azog's, and awful Thranduil's; he could defeat his foes on the playground, in class, or underneath his brother's bed, but one mention of vaccinations and Thorin was the biggest scaredy cat that ever scared.

 Vaccination day was purely optional. The kids had to turn in a slip of paper, informing the teacher that they would be vaccinated and just before lunch time, the children were lined up and sent to the gymnasium.

Thorin refused to budge from his seat when Mr. Grey called his name. All the other children stared resolutely at him, yet still he did not budge.

"Mister Thorin," Mr. Grey rumbled, "I do believe you must join the others."

It was a small group, made up of Smaug, Bofur, a kid who had once tried to jump off the swings and chipped a tooth, and of course, Bilbo. Sweet, perfect Bilbo stood with the other boys, waiting patiently, hand held out for Thorin to grab. Thorin swallowed. He had to be brave, and he had to be brave for Bilbo.

Thorin slowly made his way to the line, eagerly grabbing hold of Bilbo's hand, turning resolutely to Dwalin. The you'll get my dinosaur toys when I'm dead explicit in his look.

 Bilbo did not like vaccuumations, but his mama said that they would make sure Bilbo didn't get sick, and Bilbo did not like getting sick more than he didn't like getting vaccuminations. So with a brave face, and an extra piece of cake in his lunchbox, Bilbo went to school.

He stood in line, waiting his turn, Thorin squeezing his fingers tightly. He rocked back and forth on his feet, trying to get a good look at what the nurse was doing. He watched, entranced, as she rubbed an alcohol pad on Elrond's arm and stuck a needle inside.

"Wow," was Bilbo's enthusiastic reply.

Thorin on the other hand, closed his eyes and gulped, telling his legs to stay put. Unfortunately, his legs didn't listen. One moment he was standing beside Bilbo, the next, Bilbo's hand was empty and Thorin was as far away from the vaccimimations as he could possibly be.

He ran as far as his legs could take him, sliding into a supply closet when he heard the soft taps of someone's shoes nearby. He doubled over, panting heavily as he sat down upon an upturned bucket.

He was a coward. Thorin had no choice but to admit it now. He was a cowardly lion who didn't deserve happiness.

 "Thorin Durin," the nurse's assistant called out, checking off her list of kindergartners. She looked around but saw no one standing eagerly before her, answering to that name. "Did we already vaccinate him?" she muttered to herself, rechecking her list.

Bilbo pulled aside Bofur. "Thorin's missing," he whispered, hiding from the nurses. Bofur looked around and saw that Bilbo was indeed correct. Thorin couldn't be found anywhere. "He was beside me and then he was gone!"

"We've gotta go lookin' for him," Bofur said. Bilbo nodded and the two boys snuck away.

 Thorin organized the cleaning bottles by size, finding that hiding was actually quite boring. He should have chosen a much more entertaining place to hide. Also someplace that didn't smell so strongly of disinfectant.

He wrinkled his nose and plopped back down upon his bucket. How long had he been hiding here? It felt like hours, days, weeks! He was certain his mother thought he had run away and his brother was probably already playing with all of his toys. But Thorin couldn't come out now. They might still try to vacumate him.

There was a soft knock on the closet door and Thorin froze. He'd been found out! He quickly stumbled over mops and brooms, knocking them down as he crawled behind a crowded shelf.

The door creaked open a centimeter and Bilbo stuck his head in. "Thorin?" he asked. "Are you in here?"

Thorin gasped, and he knew Bilbo heard him when he saw Bilbo step into the closet, silently closing the door behind him. "I know you're in here," Bilbo continued.

"Go away," Thorin whispered back, tucking his legs close to his chest and folding himself into a ball. He was never coming out. He'd stay in here for a hundred years if he had to.

Bilbo simply put his hands on his hips and glared in the direction of Thorin's voice. "I am not going away," he retorted. "Come out here right now."

"No," Thorin replied. "I don't wanna."

This simply would not do at all, Bilbo thought, deciding to take matters into his own hands. He crawled over buckets and ducked under mops and brooms. He squeezed down beside Thorin who was glaring at his knees, as opposed to Bilbo.

"Everyone's looking for you," Bilbo said.

"Don't care," Thorin mumbled. He kept his limbs close, inching away from Bilbo, bit by bit.

Bilbo rested his elbows on his knees, hands holding up his head pensively. "You gotta get vaccimated," Bilbo reminded him.

Thorin shuddered. He wasn't going to think about it. He was not going to think about it at all. Vaccinations? What's that? Never heard of it.

"Thorin," Bilbo pressed.

"Leave me alone!" Thorin shouted, stumbling as he got up, running to the other side of the closet. "I don't want to get vaccimimated so go away!"

He didn't mean to yell at Bilbo. He really didn't. And after the yelling, Thorin felt horrible. He looked at Bilbo expecting globs of tears, but instead all he got was a resilient scowl. "Don't you yell at me, Thorin," Bilbo berated, wagging his finger in disapproval. "Just because you're scared – "

"I am not scared," Thorin protested weakly. He wasn't scared. He was terrified. The last thing in the world he wanted was to feel the needle dig into his skin, watch the little droplets of blood pool at the intrusion, and then walk around with a bruise on the inside of his arm. The plaster may be colorful, but it did nothing to quell the fear and the pain.

Bilbo's scowl softened and he cautiously approached Thorin, setting his hand on his back. "It's okay to be scared sometimes," Bilbo told him.

"I'm not," Thorin insisted, sniffling. "I'm not scared, not even a little." He tried shuffling away but he had backed himself into a corner and the only way out was where Bilbo was standing. "I'm brave," Thorin muttered.

"I know that," Bilbo smiled. "You're the bravest." He leaned in close, as if offering up a secret. "You faced Azog all on your own, and you played Santa Claus last minute, and you're always protecting me. No one's braver than you," Bilbo revealed.

Thorin grumbled something Bilbo did not understand, but it was most likely an argument. "You are! You weren't scared of those nasty monsters in the haunted house and you don't even cry, not even a little, when you get hurt. I think you're very very brave," Bilbo insisted.

"I don't want to get vaccimimated," Thorin confessed. "I don't like jabs."

"It doesn't hurt," Bilbo said, which only gave him a disbelieving look by Thorin. "It hurts a little."

"I can't," Thorin said. "I just can't."

Bilbo stopped a moment to think. He knew the nurses and teachers were looking for him. And most likely his mama was being called right now. "I'll give you my extra piece of cake," Bilbo told him. "It can be your reward!"

"Reward?"

"Prize," Bilbo explained. "Cause you did a good job!"

 Freya was rushing out of the house when she heard the phone ring. Debating whether or not to answer – she had a son to go look for, and honestly how do they lose him?! – she ran back inside to grab the phone, thinking that it might just be the school informing her that her son had been found.

 Thorin sat in his seat, face covered in cake crumbs, a bright blue plaster stuck to the inside of his arm. Bilbo sat beside him, vanilla frosting on the side of his mouth. They both smiled widely at Mr. Grey who merely shook his head in defeat, shuffling them back into the classroom.

Boys will be boys, after all.

Chapter Text

“I have to wear white,” Bilbo repeated for the thousandth time as his father pointed out another very nice navy blue suit. He scanned the racks of suits, walking away when no white could be found. “Me and Thorin have to match.”

Bungo frowned at the suit he was holding it up. White? White was wholly impractical. Bilbo would dirty it! Not to mention he couldn’t wear that suit anywhere else. “Don’t you think blue is a nice color?”

Bilbo heaved a sigh and looked pointedly at his mother. His expression clearly begging her to please talk to that funny man he calls dad. Belladonna ruffled her son’s curls. “How about you go look at the shoes?” He nodded and ran off, examining each pair of white dress shoes.

“It’s impractical,” Bungo told her once Bilbo was out of ear shot. “He’s never going to wear these clothes again.”

Belladonna grabbed the blue suit from Bungo’s hand and placed it back on the rack. “It’s his wedding,” Belladonna reminded him. “He’s not supposed to wear those clothes again.”

“He’s five!”

“Shush you,” Belladonna scolded him. “You should be proud that he and Thorin planned this whole wedding together.”

Bungo grumbled as he pulled out a white suit from the rack. “He’s going to dirty it.”

“You’re just upset your baby’s all grown up.”

Thorin stood in the flower shop, looking at the boutonnieres the shop owner suggested. On the one hand, the pink carnations would look lovely against Bilbo’s honey curls and rosy cheeks. But the blue button (and wasn’t that a funny name for a flower) was Thorin’s favorite color. It was honestly a tough decision.

“What do you think?” he asked, deciding that he ought to leave these sorts of things to the expert.

“A wedding you say?” the old man asked.

Thorin nodded. “It’s for my bride,” Thorin exclaimed.

The florist examined each boutonniere. “Perhaps you should get her a bouquet.”

“Bilbo’s a boy,” Thorin told him. Why did all the adults assume he was marrying a girl? Girls were yucky. Dis wasn’t yucky, but that’s because she was a sister and sisters weren’t allowed to be yucky, though they were very annoying.

The shop owner pursed his lips. He put the flowers back in the fridge and motioned Thorin behind the counter. “I oughtn’t show you these,” the florist whispered, opening a large fridge with beautiful, red roses in full bloom. “As these are out of your price range, but I’ll give you a deal, seeing as you’re very serious about your young man.”

“Yes sir,” Thorin replied. He was very serious. It was going to take a while until he could buy a house and a dog and get a job. Five years max. But he was going to do it. Anything for Bilbo. And the first step was a perfect wedding. “I’d spend all the money in my piggy bank if I have to.”

“Your whole piggy bank!” the florist exclaimed. “You are devoted.”

Thorin stared the old man right in the eye. “I love him more than anything in the whole wide world.”

The shop owner laughed, ruffling Thorin’s hair. “I bet you do,” he chuckled, as Thorin scowled up at him, pushing strands of hair out of his face. The florist pulled out two beautiful, red roses in full bloom. “We’ll match these up with some baby’s breath,” he muttered to himself, making the boutonnieres  then and there.

He presented the boutonnieres to Thorin who’s grin grew wide upon seeing them. “Perfect!”

Frerin frowned as his mother took a picture of him. Arms crossed and a pouting lip, he looked like a grumpy cherub. “Come on now,” Freya insisted as Dis stuck her butt up, her dress falling down to reveal her pamper.

Thorin helped her stand, avoiding her strawberry stained hands. He didn’t want to stain his pristinely white suit. Frerin continued to frown. “No,” he told his mom.

Freya took another picture, catching her youngest son’s attitude on film. She lowered the camera, sighing. She couldn’t just force Thorin to make his brother best man. It was Thorin’s wedding, and Dwalin was quite adamant about having the title.

“You could be ring bearer,” Thrain suggested, followed by twelve little boys, all decked out in suits with pink carnations in their lapel, their parents chatting loudly in the living room.

“All of you squeeze together,” Freya ordered, snapping pictures as the boys all grinned up at her, shoving and elbowing one another. Dis clapped her hands loudly.

Frerin’s frown lessened. “Wha’s a ring bear?”

“They bring up the wedding rings,” Thrain explained. “On a pillow.”

Dwalin puffed up, no doubt to argue that he was the one holding on to the rings. It was his duty as best man. Only Balin hit him on the back of the head and whispered in his ear, “Frerin’s are fake,” which appeased Dwalin quite a bit.

Frerin thought it over as his mother snapped pictures. “Alright,” he acquiesced, smiling for the first time in the past two days.

His mother snapped one more picture, shouting, “Perfect!”

Bilbo peeked through the window curtains as his friends and their parents pulled up into their driveway. Not a few hours ago, he and his parents had set up the backyard with tables and chairs for the ceremony and his dad had picked his best flowers for the occasion. Now all scrubbed up and washed, Bilbo tried his hardest to contain himself.

He wanted to run out there and say hello to his friends, but he couldn’t see Thorin until the actual wedding. It was the rules. Bilbo bounced up and down, kicking his brand new shoes against his bed.

There was a light knock on his door and Bilbo perked up, shouting, “Come in!”

The door opened a crack and Bofur popped his head in. “Hello!”

“Bofur!” Bilbo cried, hopping off his bed and hugging his friend. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“That’s only the groom,” he waved off Bilbo’s concerns, looking around at Bilbo’s bedroom. “I’ve come to give you this.” Bofur held out the boutonniere Thorin had entrusted to him. Bilbo gaped at the beautiful rose and baby’s breath. “It’s quite fancy,” Bofur admitted, pinning it to Bilbo.

There was another knock on his door and Belladonna popped her head in. “Ready?” she asked.

Thorin stood at attention at the altar made of apple crates. Balin stood there with him, a copy of the marriage vows in hand. Dwalin was behind Thorin, patting his pocket every minute or so, reassuring himself that the rings Thorin had entrusted to him were there.

Belladonna and Freya had their cameras at the ready as Thrain turned on the radio, a classical song by Beethoven (or Mozart or someone) playing over the speakers.

Dis waddled down the aisle, carefully placing individual flower petals onto the ground and getting distracted halfway, dropping her basket onto the ground and going back the way she came, looking for her mother. Then there was Frerin, holding a throw pillow with a pair of cheap, plastic rings, proudly sauntering down the aisle until he tripped over his laces, the rings flying into the air as he landed face first into the pillow.

Thorin had to move from his spot by the alter and pick up his sniffling brother, reassuring him that the rings were okay. The amount of coos from the adults was near deafening. Thorin straightened his brother’s suit and shuffled him off to his father.

And then –

Well then the wedding march began and all the guests rose from their seats and watched as Bilbo walked down the aisle, a nervous Bungo by his side. Thorin’s jaw dropped at how lovely his financee looked in his white suit and the perfect splash of red over his heart. He chose his boutonniere well.

 Bungo handed Bilbo to Thorin as they reached the alter, throwing a stern look at Thorin who nodded seriously in return.

“You look beautiful,” Thorin breathed out in awe as he held Bilbo’s hand.

“You look beautiful too,” Bilbo replied.

Balin cleared his throat and read from his script. “Do you, Bilbo Baggins, take this… boy to be your husband? To love, honor, cherish, and protect, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?”

“What’s forsaking?” Bilbo asked.

Balin looked at his sheet. He didn’t know all that well. “It means…,” he trailed off, thinking of the right word. Then he hit upon it. “It means that you’re gonna be with Thorin forever and ever no one could ever make you want to marry them instead.”

Both boys nodded their assent. They definitely promised that. “I do,” Bilbo answered.

“And do you, Thorin Octavius Durin, take this boy to be your husband? To love, honor, cherish, and protect, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?”

Thorin nodded immediately. “I do,” he rushed out.

Dwalin pulled out the rings from his pocket and handed it to Thorin. The boys exchanged rings and Balin smiled at them. “I now declare you husband and wife.” He paused a moment. “Husband and husband,” he amended. “You can kiss each other now,” he added, quieter.

Thorin blushed as he turned to Bilbo. Bilbo had always initiated all of their kisses. But it was his wedding day, and he was a man now. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Bilbo’s lips as his parents and other family members cheered and took pictures.

Belladonna patted Bungo’s knee as he wiped away his tears. “They grow up so fast,” he blubbered.

Now that the boring part was over, the kids all shouted with joy, throwing rice at the newlyweds. Freya handed out bubbles and soon bubbles were floating all over the yard, boys running round, sloshing soapy liquid onto the their clothes and hands.

Eventually the children were roped into their seats and dug into their meal of roasted pig and chicken, peanut butter and celery, carrots and corn, and every other child friendly delectable Belladonna had put together in the past two days.

Once dinner was eaten, the stereo was turned on once more and Thorin and Bilbo danced their first dance as husbands, Thorin staring down at this feet the entire dance, avoiding stepping on Bilbo’s feet. Bilbo merely laughed as he twirled Thorin around.

Then as the sun began to lower, Gandalf showed up with a special pack of fireworks, which he set off just as the sun disappeared. The children all squealed and hollered, watching the night sky light up.

The party had to end eventually and they all said their goodbyes, Thorin stoically kissing Bilbo goodnight and promising that he’d see him the very next day. Bilbo hugged Thorin tightly and gave him Dr. Quack to keep him company.

As each boy was tucked into bed by their mothers, they sighed dreamily and stared at the rings on their fingers. This was forever and always, and they vowed to cherish this day for the rest of their lives.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 of the sequel is up! It's called Color by Numbers. Part of the Color Outside the Lines series! WOOO

that's all ;)

-andquitefrankly