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Chapter Text

Thorin grunted when Balin came in and placed another request on his desk. He ignored him as he finished etching the lines he needed to finish this design for a new building before even looking at another. “As if I don’t have enough to do,” Thorin grumbled before carefully moving his sketches back into the folder they belonged in before grabbing the new one Balin had given him.

“How many times do I have to tell him not to give me more work? I won’t be here to do it,” Thorin grumbled as he stood and all but threw the folder on Dwalin’s desk. “Here, new job.”

“You’re such a slacker,” Dwalin said with a laugh as he pulled the folder to himself to look at the new project Balin had accepted for them.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just mad because whilst I’m on paternity leave. Bilbo has told you all not to call me for work, and we all know you won’t want to piss him off, especially postpartum,” Thorin said with a smile as he returned to his own desk to see what he could finish off, stopping when he saw the picture of Bilbo and then the one of the sonograph of their 32-week old baby that was safely growing inside of Bilbo even as he sat here finishing off what work he needed to do so he could take his 2 months paternity leave without feeling guilty that he was leaving the company on Balin and Dwalin’s shoulders without him.

“Ain’t nobody pissing off your pregnant husband, especially if they appreciate their balls. I imagine he will be even more irritable after he has had the bairn,” Dwalin replied with a laugh as the two of them returned to their respective work for Durin Architects, the firm the three of them owned and ran together.

Thorin wasn’t sure how long he had been bent over pages before him when he heard his phone ring and answered it without thinking. “Thorin Durinson here, how may I help you?” he asked professionally, knowing it wasn’t Bilbo because he had a specific ring tune that Kili had inputted in for Thorin, one that was not easy to mix up with anyone else’s.

“Is this Mr Durinson?” A woman asked him on the other end of the line.

“Yes, I just said that. Who is this?” Thorin asked as he looked at the time on his watch, realising Bilbo should have called him by now, probably asking for all sorts of things for Thorin to pick up when he made his way home.

“I am calling from Erebor Royal Hospital. I am calling you regarding your husband, Bilbo Durinson. He has been brought in following a traffic collision. He is alive, but he is in critical care, and if you could make your way to us as your husband is in surgery and your son is in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.” the lady on the end of the phone explained.

Thorin felt as the entire world shifted beneath his feet. “Hospital …” was all he managed to croak out before a hand pushed him onto his seat and took the phone away from him, asking all sorts of questions Thorin couldn’t understand.

“We will be there shortly, thank you,” Dwalin said as he put the phone down and grabbed his and Thorin’s wallets before sweeping their work back into their respective folders and locking it all in the same filing cabinet for Balin to sort out later.

“Thorin, come on?” Dwalin said as he helped Thorin stand. “Thorin, we need to get to Bilbo and the bairn,” he added.

That snapped Thorin out of his shock as he all but ran out of the building and did not stop until he realised he was at his car without his keys.

“I’ve got them. Let me drive,” Dwalin said as he clapped Thorin on the shoulder.

“Dwalin …”

“I know. Let’s just get to the hospital, yeah?” Dwalin asked his cousin before all but pushing him into the car and heading off to the hospital, which was, thankfully, no more than a 30-minute drive away.

Dwalin looked at Thorin, noticing the shaking of his hands, and decided to do what he could to help.

“Call Balin,” he told his phone, waiting until his brother picked up.

“Dwalin, what in Mahal’s name is going on?” Balin demanded as soon as he picked up the phone.

“Bilbo is in the hospital. A car crash. He had to have a c-section. The bairn is in the NICU, and Bilbo is still in surgery. I’m taking Thorin and staying with him. Can you handle cancelling everything?” he asked as he watched the way Thorin reacted to the news once more, going even more pale if possible.

“I’ve got it. Want me to call Dis?” Balin asked softly.

“Yeah, probably a good idea. We will let you know when we know more,” Dwalin said before hanging up on his brother as he saw the entrance to the hospital.

“Thorin, we’re almost there,” he said to his silent travelling companion.

Thori didn’t say anything, just nodded his head, terrified that if he tried to open his mouth, he would ever vomit or sob. His Bilbo, his beloved husband, was having surgery because of a traffic accident. Thorin knew it wouldn’t have been Bilbo’s fault. His husband was the most careful driver he had ever met, something they bickered about often because Thorin was the exact opposite.

“He will have been so scared,” Thorin whispered as he tried to get his mind to work properly, knowing he needed to be strong for Bilbo and the baby that had been born at 32 weeks, “The baby, Frodo, he’s so early,” Thorin added on.

“Aye, but there’s all sorts of stuff they can do now, isn’t there? Premmy babies do great. Gimli was premature, wasn’t he? And look at him, nought wrong with that boy,” Dwalin added, hoping to rid himself of some of the fear he felt for Bilbo and the child too.

Fear that he knew was eating Thorin alive, not that he blamed him. If they lost Bilbo, Dwalin was under no illusion that they wouldn’t lose Thorin, too, especially if they didn’t have the bairn to keep him strong, to keep him going. Dwalin sent a prayer up to Mahal, hoping with everything that both Bilbo and the little one survived, praying that their family and Thorin’s entire world wasn’t ripped from them, from him.  

Chapter Text

Thorin’s legs trembled beneath him as he all but rushed to the reception desk, having to grip the edge of it to keep himself upright as the receptionist took what felt like forever to get the information they needed for Thorin up on her computer.

Only Dwalin’s steady presence at his back kept him from lunging over the desk and finding it himself, even knowing it was not the receptionist’s fault. Still, his fear and terror weren’t leading him to think reasonably at the moment. Thank goodness Dwalin had come with him; the small part of his mind not flooded with adrenaline, thought.

“Aha, my Bilbo Durinson and Frodo Durinson. Your son was delivered by emergency cesarean section and is currently in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit on floor 2, Ward 5. He is fragile but currently stable,” the woman said, giving Thorin a sad sort of smile as Dwalin had to wrap an arm around him to keep him on his feet.

“Your husband, Bilbo Durinson, is still in surgery. His condition is critical. I’m afraid you will not be able to see him at the moment, Mr Durinson, but I will let the staff up there know you have arrived. He will be taken to the Intensive Care Unit after surgery,” she added.

If he survives, were the words swimming around in Thorin’s mind. After all, there would be no point sending Bilbo to the ICU if he was dead; that pessimistic part of his mind screamed at him.

“Can we see the babe?” Dwalin asked in Thorin’s stead.

“Certainly. Just head to Floor 2, Ward 5 and ring the buzzer. They will allow you access and explain the rules for the NICU,” she added
Thorin found the grace to nod at her before all but running down the corridors, trying to find the elevators or the stairs. Anything that would take him to his child.

Tears were streaming down his face, making it difficult for him to see where he was heading, but he didn’t care. His Bilbo was fighting for his life, and their child was in the NICU alone with no family to have welcomed him into the world. Thorin could not stand the thought that his baby was alone. He must be so small, so scared, so confused. He felt his breath catch as he waited for the elevator to descend. As soon as it did, he jumped in, not even waiting for Dwalin and ignoring his cousin’s shouts that followed Thorin as the elevator doors shut. As soon as they opened on the next floor, Thorin was out and running again. He was running down the corridors and through the automatic doors, knowing he had to get to his son. He had to see Frodo, had to see this hellish nightmare through to the end. Thorin had to be there for his and Bilbo’s babe, whilst Bilbo couldn’t be.

Tears fell down his face as Thorin ran to his child. He ignored them, ignored the implication of them. Ignored the thought of why he was crying as he ran, of the truth, the facts of the turn this wretched day had brought him and his little family as he finally skidded to a stop outside of the ward his precious newborn was tucked away in.

Thorin took deep, heaving breaths as he finally pressed the buzzer and waited for a NICU nurse to appear and allow him to see his baby for the first time. The being both he and Bilbo loved more than one another.

The door to the neonatal intensive care unit finally opened for Thorin. The sterile hospital smell made him feel ill, and the faint hum of machines that Thorin knew were helping keep babies like his own alive caused his heart rate to rise with each blip. What if that was someone’s baby’s last blip of life? What if that was his Frodo’s last blip before he was taken from Thorin before he could get there to surround his child with all the love he possessed for him?

Thorin followed the nurse, managing to remember to tell them that his cousin would be here in a moment. A large man with a mohawk by the name of Dwalin Durinson. He would have felt bad about having run and left Dwalin behind if all of his thoughts and feelings weren’t focused on his child that he was about to see for the first time.

And there he was. 

Thorin stepped into the ward properly, where there were rows of tiny fibreglass incubators, each holding a part of some parent’s entire heart. He followed the nurse to where his boy was. And there, inside a small incubator, lay his Frodo, looking so tiny that Thorin wasn’t sure he was a real child, his child instead of one of those lifelike dolls instead.

Frodo looked delicate and was wrapped in wires that were a lifeline for the babe. He had wires going into his nose to help him breathe, a little mask over his face so he couldn’t hurt his eyes, something attached to his stomach that Thorin thought the nurse said registered his temperature, as well as wires that were attached to his chest monitoring his breathing with that blip blip that was both a curse and a consolation to Thorin’s ragged nerves.

Thorin’s hands shook as he pressed his palms to the cool glass separating him from his son. He noticed spots of dried blood on Frodo’s arm from where the nurses had taken his blood. His stomach lurched from the thought of this precious being having blood on him, of his first moments in life being a rush to keep him alive, to help him breathe as his father lay above them, possibly dying, not even knowing that Frodo had come into this world.

He tried to blink back the tears that were already spilling down his face. 

Thorin knew the sequence of events that had led them here, knew how it had happened, yet the facts still eluded him. How was this how his child had come into the world? Why had Mahal decided to punish him and Bilbo? Why was he the one having to stand, unable to touch his precious pebble, when millions of families all over the world got to rejoice when their child was born? But not he and Bilbo; no, Thorin was here, separated from the two of them, from his babe by the glass and wires keeping him alive, keeping Frodo here with Thorin and also separated from Bilbo because of the care his husband needed, the care Thorin hoped would keep him alive and with him too.

Thorin knew Dwalin had been in and that he was allowed to come and go as he pleased.

Thorin had eaten the food Dwalin had all but forced upon it, choked it down, knowing he needed to keep his strength up. He had ignored Dwalin’s pleas for Thorin to sleep, Thorin not daring to take his eyes off his child before him. What if he closed his eyes, and when he awoke, Frodo, who was fighting so hard to stay with them, his breathing damaged by his early birth and the crash that had caused it, was no longer in this world? Thorin couldn’t bear for his child to slip away, especially not if Thorin wasn’t with him, telling his son how loved he was.

The steady blip of the monitors was a fragile promise to Thorin amid his fear. Whilst those blips were steady, so was Frodo. Frodo, who lay there, curled up alone, fighting to survive his first night in this harsh world without his da or his adad able to hold him or comfort him. All Thorin could do was softly talk to his son, sing to him, and let him know his adad was there beside him. With every breath Frodo took, Thorin was able to take one too, and so the two of them would get through Frodo’s first night, and Thorin prayed with all he had inside of himself that Frodo would make it through alive.

They had taken the mask of Frodo’s eyes, and for the few moments he had opened them, they had been a bright, beautiful blue. Eyes that told Thorin his son was a fighter, and so Thorin could do no less than sit beside his precious child and fight with him the only way he knew how, by not leaving him. 

Chapter Text

Thorin must have dozed off, his hand resting on the incubator his child was resting in, because he jerked awake when Dwalin coughed. He blinked before letting his eyes roam over Frodo, who was fast asleep.

“Nurses came in, took some readings and fed him through that tube thingy,” Dwalin said as Thorin’s eyes were glued on Frodo.

“And you nor they thought to wake me?” he accused his cousin.

“Didn’t need to. They said the boy was doing well and they were able to access what they needed to from the other side, so I told them to go ahead,” Dwalin admitted with a shrug.

Thorin just sighed. He knew it wasn’t feasible to stay awake forever just to keep his eyes on his precious pebble, but oh, how he wished he could.

“Have you heard …” Thorin started before trailing off with his question, unsure of whether he wanted to know or not. If the worst had happened, would it matter if he lived in ignorance a little longer?

“Not yet. They rang to ask and were told he was still in surgery when they got through. That was a few hours ago now, and I let you sleep. They know where you are if the worst happens,” Dwalin added on.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Thorin whispered as he stroked his hand along the glass, keeping his child safe and warm. “We haven’t even finished his nursery. Bilbo couldn’t decide on the colours he wanted. He was … he had a plan. Apparently, his family doesn’t have issues with birthing, and Bilbo wanted Frodo born at home, in the bed where Bilbo himself was born, which we took with us when we moved here. He wanted so much, and this happened,” Thorin said, ignoring how he was crying once more.

“Aye, he told us all about it. A bit more graphically than some of us would have liked,” Dwalin said with a soft laugh as he remembered Balin’s face when Bilbo said how Frodo would be born at home. “But we have to be grateful for what we do have, Thorin. The nurses reckon the bairn will be fine. He just has to cook in his glass tub for a few more weeks. And no news is good news, she said, when it comes to Bilbo. There’s all sorts of things that have to be done before, during and after a surgery, and as soon as he is settled, they will let you know. That’s what she said anyway,” he added lamely.

Thorin let out a deep, heartbreaking sigh that had Dwalin all but wincing for his best friend and cousin. He watched as Thorin lifted himself up and settled both hands on top of the incubator holding his son. His eyes never lifted from the soft, slow rise and fall of Frodo’s tiny chest. “I just want him to be alright. Both of them,” he admitted in a whisper.

“I know. We all do. But you are not alone, Thorin,” Dwalin said as he came to rest a hand on Thorin’s back in support, he too staring down at the fragile little one they had all been so excited to meet. “They are strong, both of them, after all. Bilbo is the toughest man I’ve ever met, and this little nipper has to take after his da, right?” he said with forced joviality.

Dwalin didn’t say anything when Thorin leaned into his touch, chasing the support he so desperately needed when his life had turned upside down in a moment, and his fears were no longer nightmares but a tangible thing that was happening to his beloved husband and child now.

Thorin’s eyes widened when the nurse explained that Bilbo was still unconscious but was out of immediate danger and that Thorin could go see him. He was torn between rushing through the corridor to get to Bilbo and staying here watching Frodo’s tiny chest rise and fall, making sure it continued to do so.

“Go, Thorin. We both know you need to see Bilbo. I will stay with the lad. Keep your phone on,” Dwalin said softly as he saw the indecision in

Thorin’s eyes.

“I can’t …”

“You don’t have to decide because I am telling you to go, and you aren’t choosing one over the other,” Dwalin reassured his distraught cousin. “Dis is on her way. I will stay here. He won’t be alone, and Bilbo doesn’t deserve to be either,” Dwalin tried again.

“The slightest issue, the first sign of … something …”

“Thorin, I will not leave him, and I will call you if anything happens. From the nurse’s next visit to when he finally wakes up again. Go to Bilbo,” Dwalin all but ordered the other man.

“Thank you,” Thorin said, unable to say more without letting the sobs that wanted to break through from him out.

“You don’t have to thank me, you just have to do what I say. Give my love to Bilbo when you see him, alright?” Dwalin added softly before turning to give Thorin a moment with his son.

Thorin looked at Frodo, so small, so pink, still fighting before him, and he rested his head against the glass encasing him. “I shall be back shortly, dashat (son). I shall let your father know how proud he should be of you, how proud of you I am,” Thorin added. Leaving before he couldn’t walk away, leaving before he screamed at the unfairness of the situation his small family had found itself in.

He didn’t run through the corridors, but with the speed he was walking one may have mistaken him for doing so. Now he had managed to leave his child, there was only one place he needed to be, one person he needed to see.

Thorin made his way through the nurse’s station on the HDU ward, his hands shaking as he followed the nurse to the side room where Bilbo was resting. The nurse left Thorin with words he didn’t hear as his eyes were now glued on the pale and still man before him.

Bilbo looked lifeless. Bilbo had never looked lifeless once in all the many years Thorin had known him. Never once and yet now, laid out before him in the stark white room on the stark white sheets, Thorin felt his breath stutter in his chest.

“Bilbo … “ he whispered as he slowly moved forward to stand beside his husband. “Bilbo …” he said once more as he fell to his knees, his head resting upon Bilbo’s much too still hand.

“Please, please be alright. I can not … I do not want to do this without you, I can’t,” Thorin murmured into Bilbo’s hand, his lips moving against the skin beneath them.

Thorin did not know what to do, what to say. There was nothing he could do but be there and sit with his husband, his best friend and the father of his child. Every part of Thorin wanted to scream at someone to fix Bilbo, to make him open his beautiful heterochromatic eyes and look upon Thorin once more.

“Mahal, hear my plea,” Thorin started, having to take a deep breath as his tears fell on Bilbo’s hand.

“Mahal, please, hear my plea and bring him back. Let him wake. Keep him here. I need him …” Thorin stopped. If Mahal had been listening, then Bilbo wouldn’t be trussed up in a hospital bed, and their child wouldn’t be fighting for every breath with only his third cousin to watch him. They would all be safe and in his arms, and this would be the joyous day it was supposed to be, the day their child came into the world, and they could celebrate that.

“He already looks like you,” Thorin croaked out. “The … the nurses couldn’t believe how big his feet are for one so small. He has your feet, much too large for your small bodies. Just … if you can hear me, please return to me, to use Bilbo, I need you,” he whispered.

Thorin wasn’t sure how long he knelt there beside Bilbo’s bed, how long he clasped Bilbo’s hand in his own. How long he looked at the wire going into Bilbo’s hand and the tube in his nose. The same kind of wires that were covering their son, too. The same dried blood on Bilbo’s pale skin that covered Frodo’s.

“Mahal, hear my plea,” Thorin muttered over and over again, unaware of the rest of the world around him.

He was so unaware of his surroundings that he felt himself jumping as a gentle hand landed on his shoulder and a body knelt beside him.

“Mahal, hear our pleas. Bring Bilbo back to us,” Dis’ soft voice said from beside him.

“Dis …” Thorin said a plea, begging, all but asking her to fix this, to fix Bilbo for him. He was so used to being the oldest, the one the others relied upon, and now he felt like a scared boy who wanted nothing more than to hide behind their long-gone amad’s skirts. To have someone else take this fear away and make everything alright again.

“I am so sorry, Thorin,” Dis said as she opened her arms, catching her big brother as he all but fell into them. For the first time since this entire nightmare had begun, he allowed himself to break. To sob all his fear and misplaced guilt into her shoulder. Only her arms holding him up as she watched her brother fall apart, safe in her arms, his hand still holding onto Bilbo’s still one.

Dis knelt there beside her beloved brother-in-law’s bedside and sent her own prayer up to Mahal, all but begging him to bring Bilbo back to them, showing their maker that they needed him, that the world needed someone as bright as the sun as Bilbo Durinson was.

Chapter Text

Thorin sat in a well-padded chair in the NICU with Frodo nestled gently against his bare chest as he did what the nurses called “kangaroo care.” Thorin assumed, by the way the staff looked at him, that it wasn’t particularly common for the non-birthing parent to be the one handling nearly all of a newborn’s care, especially not in their earliest and most fragile days. But then Bilbo hadn’t been given a choice, and so neither had Thorin.

After Frodo’s traumatic birth, the scans had found swelling on Bilbo’s brain. It was a slow seeping bleed that the impact of the crash had likely caused. The doctors had sedated Bilbo to reduce the pressure on his brain, having conversations with Thorin that contained words such as stabilised but uncertain and medically induced coma , and then they had left Thorin to his own devices, with him floating between both wards. A room in one ward was filled with wires and beeping, and the sounds of babies in pain filled his ears, and the other was filled with too much quiet. No sounds but those of the machines as Bilbo lay there silent and unmoving and looking so terribly pale that Thorin’s heart all but stopped in his chest each time he first saw his husband’s still body.

And now Thorin was sitting in the artificial quiet of the NICU as he shifted with more care than he ever had before, his hand cupped protectively over Frodo’s tiny back. Frodo’s breathing remained shallow, still having to be assisted days after his birth, a tube was fixed gently at his nose and attached with impossibly delicate tape to his cheeks. Monitors ticked off his oxygen levels and heart rate in quiet intervals, the only sound other than his son’s soft breaths that even penetrated the fog in Thorin’s own mind as he held this delicate being close to himself. Thorin kept reminding himself that Frodo was in the best place for him. That whilst assisted, his breaths were even and his skin was warm under Thorin’s own large hands. Frodo’s ears were small and pointed, and he unmistakably took after Bilbo with them, not having the larger and rounder ears most Durinsons had. Thorin couldn’t stop himself from reaching out with one much too large finger, gently tracing over the edge of Frodo’s ear, smiling when it twitched under his fingers, precisely the same way Bilbo’s did.

“Daddy will be well, little one,” Thorin whispered to the beloved bundle on his chest, his voice low and steady despite the always present ache in it. “And you’ll be the first one he asks for when he awakens, I promise.”

Thorin gently stroked his child’s back again, avoiding the mix of fine lines and wires covering his son’s too-small body. A single tear escaped Thorin and trailed down his cheek. Thorin angled his face away from his child. He wouldn’t let his sadness fall on Frodo’s skin. He couldn’t taint their child with his own sorrow when the boy was fighting for his own right to exist in this world. He needed Thorin to hold him and love him, not cry all over him, and so that was what Thorin would do as he murmured reassurances onto the few wispy black hairs his child now had on his delicate little head.

“You’re as brave a fighter as your daddy,” Thorin murmured. “Braver than I could ever be. The bravest little Durinson to have ever graced the earth with your presence. My brave little one,” Thorin choked out once more.

When Frodo twitched in Thorin’s hands, a tiny movement, one born of reflex and uncertainty, Thorin couldn’t help but smile. A real smile, a soft and small one, but the first one he was sure he had worn since this whole nightmare had first begun. One of Thorin’s hands held Frodo secure against his chest whilst his other moved with a delicate certainty against Frodo’s little body, rubbing small, even circles along the baby’s spine. The nurses had shown Thorin how to do that, how to provide gentle stimulation to Frodo even whilst he was on the oxygen. How to give Frodo just enough contact to remind the baby he wasn’t alone and that his adad was here beside him, fighting with him and loving him through every moment of a battle he couldn’t take over for his babe.

The hours passed like that for Thorin, slow and heavy and uneven, only interrupted by other tasks, such as being shown how to change Frodo’s nappy around the wires, or feed him from a dropper, as his stomach was very small at the moment.

When the nurse finally came by with her clipboard, Thorin barely noticed her until she touched his shoulder.

“Mr Durinson?” she said gently, her voice low so she didn’t disturb Frodo, who was now sleeping peacefully, his tiny cheek pressed against Thorin’s chest.

He looked up, immediately bracing himself for more bad news he wasn’t sure he could deal with. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh no, nothing is wrong,” she reassured Thorin quickly, a smile forming on her face as she looked down at Thorin and Frodo. “Your husband … Bilbo Durinson, he’s waking up. We just had the call. He is still feeling groggy, still foggy from the sedation and coming in and out of consciousness, but he opened his eyes and responded to the doctor. They thought you’d want to know immediately.”

For a moment, Thorin almost forgot how to breathe.

He clutched Frodo just a little bit tighter to himself, his heart thundering in his chest.

Bilbo!

Bilbo was finally Awake.

After all this time, after all of Thorin’s whispered prayers and unanswered questions and the nights he had spent beside his child begging Mahal for a future that didn’t involve mourning his husband, he now had no idea what to say or do.

He felt as his throat all but closed up as tears fell down his face, this time he didn’t have the thought to move them away from Frodo, after all, how could ears of relief for the child’s daddy hurt him?

“Would you like me to call someone to sit with Frodo while you go see your husband?” the nurse asked Thorin kindly.

Thorin shook his head, still holding his son tightly to his chest. “No … there’s no need. My sister, Dis, she just went to find some good coffee. She will be back at any moment, thank you,” Thorin managed to say, stumbling over his own words as they rushed out of his mouth.

The nurse nodded before stepping away to give Thorin and Frodo some privacy.

Thorin glanced back down at Frodo, pressing his lips to the soft wispiness of hair on his child’s head. “Your daddy’s waking up,” he whispered. “You did it, little one. You stayed with adad. And now daddy will be well. He made it, too.”

Thorin lingered with Frodo a moment longer, his hand pressed flat to better feel the rhythm of Frodo’s tiny and yet strong heartbeat, before he passed his son over to the NICU nurse. Every part of him screamed to take the boy with him, but he knew he couldn’t and as much as it hurt Thorin to leave the boy without a family member close, even if only for a few minutes, nothing could stop him from getting to Bilbo, to see his husband finally awake and back with them.

The hallway to the ward where Bilbo was located was quiet, the kind of quiet that hummed faintly under the fluorescent lights and distant calls from patients and those attending to them alike. Thorin walked through it slowly, his body stiff with exhaustion and still lingering fear, but his mind was sharper than it had been for days. Every step toward Bilbo’s room felt more important than the last, like he was crossing a bridge he wasn’t sure would still be standing when he finally reached the other side, unable to honestly believe Bilbo was alive, awake and mostly well until he saw him with his own eyes.

The door to Bilbo’s room stood slightly ajar. He hesitated with his hand on the edge of it, staring into the dim light beyond. Machines buzzed softly as the screens cast a faint glow across the walls.

Thorin finally stepped inside, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Bilbo lay in the bed as he had done for days. He was still pale, looking more like a ghost than the man who had been Thorin in bed, laughing and joking the morning before their lives had become a living nightmare.

This time, though, Thorin could see that something was different with Bilbo, even as he lay there as still as he had been when Thorin had last seen him a few hours ago.

Thorin’s chest tightened as he saw the subtle flicker beneath Bilbo’s eyelids, the slight tremor of movement in the fingers of Bilbo’s right hand. Then he watched as slowly, Bilbo’s eyes opened.

At first, they were unfocused, shifting slightly as if everything was too bright or too confusing to his newly returned senses. Thorin stood there, as still as possible and hardly daring to breathe, as he watched those familiar eyes try to make sense of the shadows and shapes around him.

The colour of Bilbo’s eyes was off at first, looking like they were washed out and glassy, but with each blink, recognition crept into them. And with each return of recognition Bilbo looked around himself more until his gaze finally settled on Thorin.

There was no mistaking the emotion in Bilbo’s eyes at that moment. Even through the confusion and the weight of his sedation, Bilbo knew Thorin.

Thorin could see as the memories rushed through Bilbo, as he slowly moved his hand and pushed it into his now much less rounded stomach, letting out a painful wail as he realised there was no longer a child nestled safely inside of himself.

Bilbo’s dry lips parted as tears fell down his face. After a moment of struggling with breath and voice, Bilbo managed to croak out a single word.

“Baby?”

It was a broken sound, rasped raw at the edges, but it still carried everything that Bilbo was feeling in that moment. All the fear and helplessness he had not yet been able to process since he had been struck by another car, since he had been told they had to remove his child from him or they would both die.

Thorin crossed the remaining space between himself and Bilbo in two long strides and dropped carefully into the chair beside Bilbo’s bed. Thorin reached for Bilbo’s hand, mindful of the IV lines and bruised skin, before wrapping his fingers around Bilbo’s hand as if to anchor both of them.

“He’s alive,” Thorin Thorin reassured Bilbo softly, his voice thick but filled with a certainty Bilbo couldn’t help but believe, even in his muddled state.

“Frodo is alive, amralime . He’s in the NICU. But he’s doing well. He is strong. He is a fighter. He is just like you.” Thorin rasped out as tears fell down both of their faces.

Bilbo’s eyes fluttered closed with relief, though he couldn’t speak of any of what he was feeling. His hand trembled in Thorin’s, as he squeezed Thorin’s hand weakly. Thorin leaned closer, resting their joined hands gently against his chest before he leant forward and gently pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s, feeling the slightest pressure as Bilbo tried to return the gesture.

“Dis is with him right now,” Thorin continued to reassure Bilbo. “You’re not alone. Frodo’s not alone. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I’m so glad you woke up,” Thorin rasped out.

The tears that fell down Bilbo’s eyes didn’t stop or slow down, but Thorin knew these were tears of relief. Tears that were caused by the sheer emotion of waking up into a world where his child still lived, something he had not known, as darkness had taken him all those days ago. Thorin brushed the edge of his thumb across Bilbo’s knuckles before he used his free hand to gently wipe the tears from Bilbo’s cheeks as they fell, kissing the tear tracks away, pouring all of his love into the man before him.

“You came back,” he whispered. “You came back to us. You came back to me.”

And for the first time since the crash, Thorin let himself believe they would weather this living nightmare together and not just as he grieved as he lost his entire world.

Chapter Text

The garden was full of light, both from the sun’s brightness and from the large amount of fairy lights Bilbo had forced Thorin to hang, fairy lights that were now swinging in the breeze. The sound of children’s laughter lingered in the air like something sacred, and hearing one particular child’s laughter felt sacred to Thorin in a way nothing else ever had or ever would.

Frodo was tearing around the garden on his short, determined legs, chasing after a large group of his cousins, and they had long since abandoned any game but were shouting and running around one another in circles. Frodo’s dark black curls bounced with every step he took, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes were alight with a kind of joy that Thorin never stopped being thankful for seeing on his child.

Across the garden, Bilbo stood near the drinks table, his cane planted firmly in the grass beside him. He was laughing with his head tipped back, his mouth open, and his smile unguarded. Thorin figured he was laughing at something Dwalin had muttered to him under his breath. Bilbo’s shoulders shook with the strength of his laughter, and even from a distance, Thorin could see the way the movement nearly set Bilbo off balance.

But before Thorin could take a step to Bilbo and his smile and his laughter that could brighten the world around him, Frodo had already noticed.

Mid-chase, their son suddenly peeled away from the group of his cousins, his tiny arms outstretched. Frodo ran full tilt across the grass toward Bilbo with the clumsy, fearless momentum of a toddler who trusted his daddy to catch him.

“Daddy!” Frodo shouted at the top of his lungs as he all but threw himself into Bilbo’s legs with all the force of a three-year-old, one with a heart as full of light as Bilbo’s. Bilbo swayed at the impact. His eyes were wide for half a second as he tightened his grip on his cane until his knuckles tightened enough to whiten with the strength of his grip, the only thing keeping him upright.

Dwalin’s hand shot out towards Bilbo immediately, steadying the other man with ease, keeping his hand there as a steadying weight on Bilbo’s elbow, allowing Bilbo to get his balance back without alerting Frodo to what had almost happened. Bilbo didn’t even look at Dwalin, though he did use his free hand to pat his friend’s hand still on his elbow in thanks before he used that same hand to reach down and gently caress his child’s hair. The child who was now wrapped around Bilbo’s knees like ivy.

And then Bilbo smiled.

It wasn’t the polite kind, or the tired one Bilbo so often wore after a long physio session. It was a genuine smile. One full of warmth and blinding with the love imparted in that smile. It was the kind of smile that still made Thorin’s chest ache every single time he saw it, grateful he was able to see it.

“I’ve got you, my heart,” Bilbo whispered to Frodo, leaning down just enough to gently kiss Frodo’s curls. “I’ve always got you.”
Thorin was already walking toward them, one hand smoothing the front of his shirt where his heart had tried to beat right out of him at the scene before him. As he reached them, Thorin caught Dwalin’s eye and nodded his thanks. Dwalin gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement before he released Bilbo’s elbow and stepped back without a word, already turning toward the food table, giving Thorin the sense of privacy he needed in this moment.

Thorin bent down and swept Frodo up into his arms with a practised ease, and pulled him close to his chest. Their son squealed in delight in his adad’s arms before he immediately entwined his fingers in Thorin’s beard, playing with it as he often did when in his adad’s arms.

Then, with his free arm, Thorin reached for Bilbo and gently drew him in close, tucking Bilbo firmly into his side. Thorin felt as the tension in Bilbo’s body slowly left. Tension caused by the constant effort of standing and staying upright and trying to keep up with their vivacious toddler as much as he was able to. Thorin felt it and settled Bilbo so that he was anchored against Thorin’s side and able to relax a little without Thorin nor 
Bilbo needing to say anything about it as they settled themselves comfortably against one another.

Thorin pressed a kiss to Frodo’s curls first, before he turned his head, leant down and kissed Bilbo gently on his lips.

“All my treasures, right here,” Thorin murmured. “The heart that beats outside of my chest is safe in my arms.”

Bilbo hummed at Thorin’s words, feeling exactly the same. Feeling soft and content, he leant into Thorin just enough to rest his forehead against Thorin’s shoulder. Frodo was babbling away to them both about something, pointing at his cousins, already wriggling to be let down again, but Thorin held them both for just a moment longer.

Three years ago, Thorin had knelt beside Bilbo’s bedside, Bilbo’s still hand in his own as he all but begged Mahal not to take his husband away from him and their newborn child.

And now, the sun was warm on Thorin’s back, his son’s laughter was loud in his ear, and his husband was alive in his arms.

He would never stop being grateful for the gift that had been returned to him the moment Bilbo awoke and brought all light back to Thorin’s life.