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There was a certain queerness about Bilbo that set him apart from those of the Baggins name, and from his fellow inhabitants of the shire. A gurgling, boiling desire for adventure and treasure that made him stranger than the rest, one that had only arisen upon the arrival of a very meddlesome wizard and a curious band of dwarves. One such dwarf brought about a very Tookish courage in the hobbit (that of course, was a part of his true self all along, despite what his father told him).
After the greatest battle to be seen in an entire age, Bilbo Baggins had been eager to slip back into the warm, soft embrace of freshly cleaned quilts and wrap now-calloused fingers around a warm mug of tea. Unfortunately for him, there was not much of a home to retire to upon his glorious return. Despite the gold and jewels he had been draped with by the sons of Durin and the rest of his traveling companions, many a family heirloom had to be recollected from various Shirefolk that had purchased them from the auction, held in supposed post-mortem.
When his hairy, dirtied feet first set down in Bag-End, he was flushed with both relief and longing. For what, he couldn't seem to place. While his halls were empty of their usual comforts, they lacked something else, too - nothing that he could buy back with a coin waggled in the air. What he didn't manage to realize at that moment was what Bag End lacked was companionship, of which he had grown fond over his year long venture across the wide lands of Middle Earth.
Thorin had begged him to stay in his halls, for he had never met a creature, dwarf or otherwise, with a heart of gold so pure and polished. "Seems as if the dragon sickness has taken you again, Thorin," Bilbo had teased the king under the mountain, a warm laugh bursting out from his round belly, "If you lust so dearly after my golden heart. You know I have Bag End to return to."
With that, he slipped the acorn from his frayed jacket pocket, turning it in his fingers delicately to show the king once again. Thorin looked down at it, sorrow at the truth it held glinting in jewels of eyes. It appeared to be as he told; and he could not blame him, for he too had longed for nothing but his home for all the years he had spent in the mines. He gazed silently for a moment, but then wrapped his hands around the hobbit's, forcing them to close around the single, small promise of hope clasped between them.
"I cannot stop you, Mister Baggins, but know this," Promised Thorin, matching Bilbo's sight with a pinched smile on his bearded face, "A home is where you make it, not in the halls of your forefathers. Had I learned that before our story began, I wouldn't have sent you through so many a peril. You are always welcomed with open arms by the sons of Durin."
Thorin's last promise to him hung in the air so thickly Bilbo swore he could slice through it with a swipe of his sword. It reminded him of the many times he told himself that he would return to the Shire and stay for all of time, until lines carved into round features and he aged to see children, grandchildren, and great-grand children dance merrily in the front garden while he blew rings from his pipe. Throughout their tribulations he assured himself that stability, in the end, was what he longed for.
But as his footsteps echoed against the wooden floors of Bag End, he knew that what he wanted had changed since he first had the symbol for 'burglar' carved into his familiar green door.
Soon he left the hole, to come to the back garden. It had not been tended to, and had grown as wild and unruly as he had become himself. When his hands slipped into his pockets, a familiar smooth surface touched him. The acorn, pulled from Beorn's garden, was as it had always been. A sad smile crossed Bilbo's features as the echo of the dwarves' song pulled at his ears. The scent of bacon and smoke and mead lingered still in a distant memory. It was then he realized that that was home - and he had been a fool for not realizing it before.
He decided that he would make the return trip to visit Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin, and all the other dwarves (which the hobbits of the shire later said was a very Tookish thing for him to do). But before that, there was one bit of business he would surely take care of before setting off to travel a road he had become very familiar with.
Bilbo turned up his nose to the vines and the weeds that brushed against his toes as he made his way to the very center of his garden, where a plot of unseeded and untainted dirt lay ready for him. He dug a hole with his hands, before getting to his knees and dropping the acorn inside. He covered it up, and, after retrieving a bucket, watered it. When he stood to admire his work, he smiled, and turned on his heel.
He briefly thought of all the comforts Bag End held as he left towards the main road, walking stick in hand and rucksack slung over one shoulder.
It was the last time he thought of this.