Chapter Text
When both of Bilbo’s parents died, he was still very young and could not live alone, so there were the usual discussions about what was to be done with him.
His relatives all gathered around the large oak table in the kitchen of Bag End, speaking in voices that they thought were hushed but were really perfectly audible enough to the small hobbit listening just outside the room. His mother had always loved big, open sorts of spaces, and Bungo Baggins had taken that into account when he built their home. There were hardly any doors – the only enclosed places were the bedroom and bathrooms, and all the ceilings were high and rounded to give the illusion of a vast space, which resulted in a sort of magnifying effect on noises in said rooms. Thus the crouching, grief stricken Bilbo could hear every word that came out of his relatives mouth’s with incredible clarity.
“He can’t come with us,” his uncle Balbo announced without preamble. “We already have three mouths to feed and can’t afford another, not to mention the space he would take.”
That opened the floodgates. One by one his relatives all insisted that they could not take him in, they had responsibilities and none of them were ready for a grieving hobbitling still so far from his coming of age. Perhaps if he’d been around thirty – even twenty seven wouldn’t be so bad. But at twenty-three, he was still more of a burden than they could bear.
Listening to this, Bilbo choked back tears. First his parents had left him, and now the rest of his family seemed quite intent on doing so, too. Perhaps, he thought sadly, he could stay at Bag End alone, and they could check up on him every once in a while.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, his aunt Camellia announced, “Wherever the lad does end up, I think it’s quite clear that he’ll need to move out of Bag End, and we can’t leave the house unattended. Longo and I would be more than happy to take care of it until he comes of age, as our house is awfully cramped at the moment, with little Otho always underfoot –“
“-if you’re so set on living in Bag End, Camellia, then perhaps you should take Bilbo. I doubt he’d want to leave his home, after all.” The voice was soft, sweet, but there was steel underneath. One of the Great Aunt Tooks, then. The Great Aunt Tooks were a pair of sisters that lived just outside of Bree. Regular Aunts of his mother, they had visited often as she was a great favorite with them. Wilhelmina was boisterous and loud, and would romp with Bilbo for hours trying to catch glimpses of elves in the woods. Rosie was soft spoken and sweet, and would always make sure to bring Bilbo a plate or two of her delicious peanut butter toffee. They were by far his favorite relatives, and if he had to leave Bag End and go with anyone, he wanted it to be them. He knew better than to hope for this, however, for they were very old, if spry, and couldn’t be expected to take in a hobbit that was still ten years from maturity.
“You know we cannot do that,” his other aunt replied stiffly. “Otho doesn’t get along with him – it’d be constant fighting. Do be reasonable. I only think that it would be in the child’s best interest if we lived here until he comes of age. He might not even want it, might decide he’s better off away from all the memories-“
Bilbo could take it no longer. He flung himself into the room and stood before his family, trembling, furious. “I will not be better off!” he declared hotly. “I don’t belong anywhere else. This is Bag End, my father built it for my mother, and it should always be owned and lived in by a Baggins.” He whirled on his aunt and spat, “You don’t count, you’re not a proper Baggins at all. I wouldn’t let you stay here if you were the only option in all of Middle-Earth!”
“Well, I never. What a horrible little creature you are. I can’t imagine the kind of upbringing you’ve had if you think it’s okay to speak to your elders in such a way. Did your mother never-“
“Don’t you talk about my mother! My mother was wonderful, and you’re nothing but a rotten old-“
“Bilbo.” The voice cut through his rage easily, and Bilbo met his Aunt Rosie’s gaze. “That is enough.” She never raised her voice, but the disappointment was clear, and Bilbo, finally overcome by the stress of the past few days, burst into tears and fled.
His Aunt Wilhelmina found him in the woods an hour later, no longer crying but curled into a miserable little ball, head buried in his knees. “Oh, Bilbo”, she sighed, and sat beside him.
He would not look at her, he told himself. “I’m not apologizing to her”, he mumbled into his kneecaps. “I can’t.”
“I thought as much.” She sighed again, and shifted slightly. Bilbo could feel her looking at him but still refused to raise his head.
They sat in silence for a long while until he began to feel drowsy, then she said, “I think it’s time we headed back. It will begin to be dark soon and I don’t fancy trying to find my way back to that house of yours in the dark. We’d likely wander around here 'til daylight, completely lost.”
“I can find my way home at all times.” Bilbo bit his lip, then curled his body in even tighter as he asked in a small voice, “Have you decided what you’re going to do with me, then?”
“Yes, quite.”
“Oh” Bilbo waited for more information, and when none came he finally looked up. His aunt very deliberately didn’t look at him, though he knew she was aware of his gaze. “What have you decided, then?”
“To keep you, of course.” She smiled. “As if there were any other way it would go. Rosie and I knew we wanted you from the start, but she thought it would be fair to let the others have a chance as well. Silly notion, if you ask me. We should have just taken you from the beginning and let it stand at that, but she would be polite about it. Well, are you coming or not?”
Bilbo stood, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. “Then…I’ll be going with you? To Bree?” He didn’t really want to go to Bree, but he did want to be with the Great Aunt Tooks. It was a fair trade, he figured, even if that meant that Bag End would go to someone else. But not the Sackville-Bagginses he decided firmly. Never them.
“Don’t be silly, what would you do in that tiny shack we live in?” When she saw Bilbo’s face fall at this pronouncement, his aunt gave him a grin and continued, “You’re not to come to us. We’re to come to you.”
And so they did. They were an eccentric pair who believed in brownies for breakfast and not keeping strict bedtimes, and despite the fact that he missed his parents so much that it ached, Bilbo found himself slowly starting to heal.