AN: This is my entry for the Hobbit Big Bang. I'm late posting it, sorry! There will be a total of three parts, hope everyone likes it.

Pairing: Fili/Kili, mentioned Dwalin/Ori


Kings of Carven Stone

Lion's Tooth

The sun teemed down onto the dusty plains the day they rode into town. It was late in July, one of the hottest days of the year, complete with record breaking temperatures. Steam rose up from the pavement, and the horizon wavered from the heat. Sweat streamed down Kíli's face as he heard the tell-tale groans of engines approaching before several hogs roared down the single major road running through Astermoor.

It was a cesspool of a town, filled with nothing but drug addicts, drunks, and mothers too young to raise their children. No one ever went to Astermoor with the intention of staying for long, but they certainly got their fair share of passers-by. Truckers sometimes, taking a night off to get rest and some action with one of the dancers in town. Other times tourists, who probably took a wrong turn and realised it far too late, forced to stay the night in a seedy motel. But more often than not, visitors to the city consisted of gangs that travelled the road for no other reason than to find a quick buck and make some trouble along the way. Gangs like the one that rolled into town that very day.

Kíli wiped off his face sluggishly and guarded his eyes from the blaring sunlight as he watched the bikes ride by in the distance. There were ten, twelve in total maybe, and one by one they drove into the dingy Sunscape Motel just down the road. The silver detailing on the wheel rims reflected the sunlight blindingly and each of the riders wore a leather jacket bearing the same symbol on the back, though he couldn't quite make it out from his distance across the street. The engines came to a halt as people on the streets watched them warily, clearly hoping their stay might be short-lived.

Kíli's arm jolted as the gas pump hitched suddenly in his grip, and he directed his glance back towards his task, quickly pulling the hose out of the tank. He could hear the men laughing and greeting each other as their deep voices echoed across the terrain between them. It made Kíli tense up as he shook off the hose and hung it back on its hook. Everyone knew nothing good came from those gangs, and the people were suffering enough without an added complication to their daily lives. His mother had warned him to stay away from any strangers visiting town long ago, but also to keep his distance from men in general. They were untrustworthy, violent, cruel, and bikers were the worst of the lot. All of them wanted the same thing, and most of them took it if given the chance, and then left without so much as a thank you.

Hit 'n runs, the townsfolk called 'em.

Kíli was pretty sure his father had been one of them, though Dís never explicitly told him what happened to the man that knocked her up. She was far too tainted to talk about her past, and once he was old enough to understand…it was too late to ask. Her corpse was six feet underground, and the meagre stone above her gravesite certainly provided no answers. To be honest, anyone could have been his father, not that he really cared to know. It wouldn't make any difference; his life was shit with or without some deadbeat parent.

Kíli shrugged beneath his tank top as he made his way inside the run down gas station to pay. The bell jingled and he nodded faintly at the heavy set man behind the desk before throwing a few bills down on the counter. He eyed the contents of his wallet emotionlessly as a box of smokes glided towards him in return, and then he made his way back to his truck without a single word.

Kíli whipped open the rusty door, ignoring the loud creaking sound as the hinges scratched together, and he hoisted himself up onto the seat before tossing his wallet carelessly to the side. The brunet adjusted the rear-view mirror slightly, offering a better view of the motel across the street, just as the last of the men made his way inside. Kíli's gaze fell to his lap and he fiddled with his denim shorts idly. The ends were so frayed that loose threads hung halfway down his thighs, and they were at least an inch shorter than when he first started wearing them.

His thoughts wandered as he remembered the last time a gang set foot in town. It was a particularly violent group. They found their home in the bars and clubs in the evenings, and Kíli remembered the imposing stares and whispered conversations in the darkest corners as he worked the tables and pretended to ignore them. Kíli may have been no more than a high school dropout, barely educated and uninformed about much of the world, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew the townsfolk didn't take kindly to dealing with outsiders, and they thought even less of anyone caught doing so. And he knew exactly what those outsiders were capable of. His Ma had gotten in too deep, tried to make a deal she wasn't prepared to. And even if the police couldn't do anything about it without any witnesses to prove such a thing, Kíli was sure she'd been murdered for it.

Kíli blinked away the tears in his eyes and lifted his chin, pulling the rear-view mirror quickly towards his face. His eyeliner was smeared, and his face looked disgustingly greasy. Kíli hated the heat. It made him feel dirty, ugly, like a piece of trash. Even more so than usual. He pushed his sweaty bangs away from his brow and sat back, eyeing the empty wallet on the seat beside him as he turned his key in the ignition. The truck stuttered a few times and he slammed his hands against the wheel and kept at it until the engine finally kicked to life.

He needed some cash, but that wasn't any different than normal. Waiting tables at Dusk, the most frequented bar in town, sure didn't pay much, but there weren't a whole lot of opportunities for people like him in Astermoor. He had no education, no friends or family to help him out. One look at his tattered shirts and cut off jean shorts and people knew he wasn't worth a dime. He could have made it as a dancer, he knew that. He had the body for it, and Benny was always short on males. Not to mention it was the only job that paid half decent in town without forcing him to spread his legs, at least the only one he was qualified for. But there was no way in hell. Men, and even some women, stared at him often enough. The thought of their beady leering eyes following his body on stage made Kíli want to vomit.

His mother had been a dancer, and a damn good one. She shone on the stage, but that kind of success…had its downfalls, especially in a small town in which secrets couldn't be kept and the police often turned a blind eye for the right amount of money. He remembered what they used to do to her, behind the bar, in the alleyways and under the cover of darkness. She never mentioned it, and she tried to hide it from him. But he knew, he saw. Their slimy hands, all over her body, beneath her clothes. Tearing at her, pushing her down. Their disgusting groans as she tried to hold back her screams while struggling in their grip. And then they threw her away afterwards, like she was nothing more than a used toy. It made him sick. He hadn't understood it at first, but over time it became clear. And when she came home with a few extra dollars than usual, more than she ever made from tips, Kíli knew where it came from. She'd look down at him on those nights and smile, pretend nothing happened, and then she'd pull him close and hold him tight, whisper into his ears.

"We're gonna get you outta this shit hole, you'll see, you and me. Just you and me," she promised him, and Kíli watched her with wide innocent eyes. He loved his mama, trusted her, and believed in her.

"You're better than this place," she said, her clothes rank from the scent of alcohol, cigarettes and sex.

"Kíli, sweet Kíli," her voice echoed in his ears as she stared off at something in the distance. Something he couldn't see.

"You're my little angel, the only one that matters, don't ever leave me, promise me that," she mumbled, as her tears began to fall and soak into the hair behind his neck. Kíli let her rock him, murmuring promises he didn't understand, and he hugged her back, wishing he could do something to ebb her growing sadness.

In the end he never had, and she died alone in some cold alleyway, no more than another forgotten soul in the world.

Kíli didn't want to dance, not if he could help it. His Ma certainly never wanted him to. She wanted more for him, a better life, one where he didn't have to sell his body just so he could pay his rent. Kíli figured he was pretty screwed as far as that went. Realistically it was only a matter of time before dancing became his only option. Waiting tables in the bar paid half as much as what the dancers made, and the tips he got were few and far between. The drunkards saved those for the ones showing off skin. He knew now that there was nothing for him anywhere in the world. Even if he left town, where would he go? What would he do? He'd just end up in another useless city, working tables at another sleazy bar. And saving enough to leave in the first place was an impossible task. It was best if he just stayed and did his best to keep on living. It was the least he could do for his Ma.

Automatically he reached up and let his fingers grasp the locket hanging from his neck. It was all he had left of hers. That and the beat up old truck he knew was on its way out. Kíli frowned in frustration. He couldn't help but think she'd be disappointed in him. There he was, alone and all grown up, still in the same shitty town, living in a shitty apartment with his shitty underpaying job. He curled his shoulders inwards and eyed his lanky legs. There was an unsightly bruise lingering just beneath the frayed edge of his shorts, and Kíli let his thumb brush across it as he recalled the feeling of a stranger's fingers pressing into his skin. He did his best to avoid contact with the townsfolk in the bars, but sometimes he was careless, sometimes they caught him off guard. It made him cringe. How anyone could ever let a stranger touch them like that, even for money, was a mystery to him. He'd rather die.

A horn blared loudly from behind and Kíli jumped in his seat and readjusted the mirror. His eyes glanced at an angry man shaking his arms wildly as he leaned out of his car window.

"What the hell are yeh doin!? Piece o' trash, get outta the way!" the man shouted at him, and Kíli glared back and tossed him a one fingered salute. His foot hit the gas pedal and he drove away from the man shouting after him in a hurry, more than ready to get home and take a much needed nap. Even as he drove out of the gas station he couldn't help but listen to the insults barked at him, and Kíli's face crumpled slightly as his eyes burned against the dusty wind. He really was just a piece of no good trash.


Kíli inched between the crowded tables with a tray held high above his head. The drinks teetered slightly above him, but stayed upright. He had plenty of experience navigating through the club, even on the busiest nights. The music pounded in his ears, but he ignored it, taking in the conversations around him best he could. There was nothing of interest, for the most part. Just the usual bet placing and disgusting comments directed towards the dancers. But occasionally he caught the patrons whispering beneath covered hands, their gazes flickering towards the imposing group in a far corner of the club, the table he was meant to return to.

There were five of them, huddled around one of the secluded booth tables. They sported the same leather jackets he remembered from earlier that afternoon, and upon a closer look he could make out the shape of a crown settled above an oak leaf, with several unfamiliar runes in a banner across the top. Some of them had added studs down their sleeves, and tattoos across their fingers, clearly unashamed of what they were. The rest of the regulars kept their distance, trying and failing to look uninterested. There were plenty of people hidden in the shadows that could make use of a gang's services, even in a small town like Astermoor. Everyone had a vendetta; everyone had someone they wanted dead. For the right price, they could probably make that sort of thing happen without a second thought. The only real issue was managing to keep it confidential.

Kíli sidled up next to the table and the men sat back in their seats and immediately stopped talking, looking him up and down with curiosity. He set the drinks down and tried not to cower beneath their stares, observing a few of them through the corners of his eyes. As he slid the last of the beer bottles across the table his eyes lifted and met a steely blue gaze. Kíli jolted and felt a shiver run down his spine as he froze under the scrutiny, and as the eyes across narrowed at him oddly, he flinched and turned away to pick up a few empty glasses from a neighbouring table.

It took a few minutes for him to make the rounds again; doing his best to smile at customers that looked ready to throw away some cash, but no one was biting. It was going to be a long night, just like every night lately, and he'd be lucky if he made enough in tips to pay his bills for the month. Kíli wiped off a table and readjusted his fishnets as they began digging into his skin. Beneath the dim lighting of the club he couldn't see the imprints left behind, but he knew they were there, just like the bruise on his thigh. He tugged his ponytail over a shoulder, knowing he had avoided the strangers long enough, and then he pushed through the crowd, making his way back to the corner table.

Kíli's gaze stayed rooted on the table, and he ran his tongue across his lower lip nervously as he approached, mustering the strength to speak.

"Top ups?" Kíli muttered quickly, just loud enough his voice might be heard above the low bass pounding in the bar. He received a few nods in response, and as he turned he felt something slide down the back of his leather shorts. Kíli twisted around in surprise, and reached behind himself, his lips parting as he fingered the rolled up bills tucked into his shorts. The bald biker was grinning at him flirtatiously, even as the much smaller man beside him nearly crawled atop his lap, and Kíli couldn't help but smirk slightly at the sight. For some reason he didn't feel like squirming as much as usual, like he did whenever one of the townsfolk grabbed onto him or slid money into his belt. Kíli nodded gratefully and relocated the bills to his pocket as he walked away, thanking whatever god was watching over him for giving him some cash for groceries at the very least.

He edged past a few people and worked his way up to the bar, leaning next to one of his coworkers. Tauriel was tall and gangly, just like him, with long red hair that the clients loved grabbing at. It irked her to no end, and she was one of the few people he actually tolerated for longer than a few minutes at a time. He wouldn't call her a friend exactly, outside of work they never spoke, but she was someone he could vent with on a really tedious shift.

"Anything good tonight?" Tauriel asked him as she stood waiting for the barkeep to fill her order. Kíli glanced towards her, recalling the single tip tucked away in his shorts.

"Bone dry," he lied, not quite willing to share what little chance he had at more tips with her, and she grunted and slouched slightly against the bar.

"Same. Everyone's on edge. Wish those assholes would just get lost," she ranted, glaring into the corner of the club, and then she tossed him a pitiful glance before making her way back to her own tables. Kíli nibbled on his lip, letting his gaze slip back towards the strangers. They were conversing in a more relaxed manner now, and looked far less imposing than they had initially, but perhaps that was the money talking. He took them in curiously and then froze when he realized one of them was looking directly at him. Kíli's eyes widened as he stared back at the intimidating blond that had been watching him earlier. The brunet was tempted to look away, but something kept him looking, and it wasn't until he felt the tray nudge against his arm that he flinched and turned around with a gasp.

"Drinks are up Kíli," the barkeep gestured towards the glasses and Kíli breathed in deep to calm his nerves.

"Thanks Joe," he whispered and then he moved back through the crowd. Now even he was on edge, unsure what to expect from the group he waited on. And as he returned and began placing glasses and bottles on the table he knew he must have looked oddly stiff. It was dangerous to act so strange around gang members. They were unpredictable, and Kíli had seen others beaten bloody for so much as looking at one of them the wrong way in the past. He didn't realise he was holding his breath until a hand reached out and touched his forearm.

It took every ounce of his will to keep from jumping away from the contact, and he looked up at the man that had touched him warily. He had long hair, braided strangely at the sides of his head, and a curled moustache that made his smirk seem unnaturally flirtatious. Kíli's eyes took in the falsely cheerful creases at the edges of his eyes and the single dangling earring that reflected the flashing lights inside with unease. He knew the man was far more dangerous than he looked.

"Hey sweetheart," the man drawled, and Kíli swallowed at the gleam behind his eyes. It wasn't quite as menacing as some he'd seen, but it still frightened him.

"You're a pretty little thing, you should be up there, getting all those tips," he suggested, and the bald man laughed loudly across from him as he slung an arm around his companion, while the other two men at the table hardly reacted at all.

"I don't dance," Kíli insisted quietly as he tucked the empty tray beneath an arm.

"That's a shame," the playful man commented and then he lifted his jaw towards the blonde sitting in the middle.

"My friend here would rather like to see it," he implied, and Kíli glanced up, his gaze trapped once again by icy blue. There was something strange about him, something that made Kíli's breath catch in his throat and his heart rate increase exponentially. The blond didn't dispute the comment at all, and did little more than take a sip of his beer and stare him down without a single blink. Kíli shrugged slightly and lowered his gaze.

"Sorry to disappoint, but it's not my style," he maintained, and Kíli couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the drawn out sighs that followed. He couldn't read these men like normal, wasn't sure what they were thinking and it made him itch to back away. Instead he leant forwards to clear away a few glasses, just as the bald man slid across the booth and moved to stand.

"Gotta piss before I down the rest of this," he muttered, and Kíli's eyes followed him as he stood. The man was massive, and Kíli stepped back suddenly as the thug towered over him and brushed by on his way towards the restroom. Kíli figured he must have been a foot taller than anyone else in town, and some of the men that worked in the factory the next city over were huge. It was no wonder that even the cops were unwilling to mess with gangs if they had muscle like that. You'd have to either be completely mad, or incredibly confident.

"No need to be afraid, we ain't gonna hurt you," the nasally voice came from the fifth man at the table, who was small in stature comparatively, and had strange spiky red hair. He looked like someone with no qualms about stabbing a person in the back, and Kíli did his best to laugh the comment off while feeling more than a little anxious. He was glad to get away from the table and move on to other guests, even if they didn't have any cash to stuff in his pockets. He didn't like feeling so vulnerable. It wasn't as if he was weak. Kíli could hold his own in a brawl, and he wasn't afraid to fight dirty, but with men like that? He'd be knocked out cold before he got a single swing in.

Kíli kept his distance the rest of the night, and was relieved when the men left without causing any visible trouble, but as he exited out the back door of the club, tugging his jacket tight around his shoulders to keep out the chill, he faltered. The five men were just across the street, propped against their motorcycles like they were waiting for something.

Kíli shrugged his shoulders and tucked his hands into the shallow pockets of his coat resolutely. He didn't have to cross the street; he could just ignore them and walk a block down first. There was nothing to worry about. Kíli exhaled on the night air, watching his breath puff up in a cloud in front of him. He wished he'd brought his smokes along. At least that might have settled his nerves a bit. His first few steps echoed loudly on the pavement and he kept his head lowered while he watched the gang members cautiously. All he had to do was continue to walk, but as he rounded the corner of the building he heard their low voices come to an abrupt stop.

"Hey cutie, done work?" one of them shouted, and Kíli halted mid step. He tried to convince himself to ignore them, but he had already paused long enough that they would know he'd heard the question. Instead he opened his mouth to shout out in return but as he looked up and watched people crossing the street away from them, something compelled him to do the opposite. He had to cross the street eventually anyway; there was no sense in putting it off. Besides, it was his town, not theirs; he could damn well walk where he pleased regardless of their reputation. Never mind the strange sense of intrigue in his gut, and the unfamiliar stir of excitement as he quickly looked both ways before moving towards them. He could feel stares at his back, from others exiting the club, and figured half the town would suspect him of suspicious activity by the next morning.

"Didn't get a chance to introduce you to my boys," the bald man voiced as he approached, and Kíli stopped a careful distance from where his bike was parked.

"I'm Dwalin, this pretty thing next to me is Ori," the thug announced, and Kíli watched as the two shared a sloppy kiss. The brunet's cheeks warmed at the sight and he fidgeted in place.

"He always rides with me," Dwalin spoke as he ran a gloved hand up Ori's chest. The smaller man leaned into the touch and grinned pleasantly as the others snorted at the sight, like they were used to such public displays of affection. Kíli wasn't sure what to make of it. It didn't bother him per se, but he wondered what exactly their relationship entailed.

"That's Bofur, Nori," Dwalin nodded at the braided man first, and then the redhead, before his gaze moved towards the mysterious blond.

"And the quiet guy in the back, that's Fíli," Dwalin finished, and Kíli noticed the way the blond sat confidently atop his bike, his jacket hung open to reveal a plain white shirt and a hint of a tattoo at his neck. He showed no interest in responding at all, though his eyes connected briefly with the other members of his gang. There was no doubt in Kíli's mind that Fíli was the one in control, even if Dwalin did all of the talking.

"What's your name hon?" Dwalin asked him, tugging Ori into his side, and for a moment Kíli thought about telling him a lie.

"Kíli," he eventually answered, looking up as the streetlamp above flickered slightly, casting strange shadows across the pavement.

"You look cold," Dwalin commented offhandedly, and just in time a slight breeze blew past and Kíli was forced to wrap his arms around his chest in defense. His shorts and fishnets did little to block the cool air, and he turned his toes slightly inwards and frowned. It was remarkable how cold it got in the evenings, even after days that seemed unbearably hot.

"Want a ride?" The biker asked with an inviting grin. Kíli eyed him warily and looked towards the bikes in suspicion.

"I'm sure Fíli wouldn't mind you taggin' along on the back of his bike. He'll get you home safe," Dwalin promised, and Kíli nearly choked on his breath. The blond was watching him heatedly; his gaze moving up the length of Kíli's long legs, and the brunet narrowed his eyes and stood his ground. As tempting as it sounded to get a quick ride home, he knew it was a stupid idea. He'd almost been convinced for a minute that something was different about the blond, but of course he was mistaken. Fíli was just like any other man, interested in one thing and one thing only; his roaming eyes easily gave that fact away.

"I'm fine, thanks, don't live far," Kíli spat out, much harsher than he probably should have in such company, but he was angering quickly at clearly getting pegged for no more than an easy piece of meat. He never was very good at controlling his emotions; it had gotten him into plenty of trouble in the past.

"Suit yourself," the bald man slurred, and Kíli turned rapidly and began walking home, his shoes slapping loudly against the sidewalk.

"Hey, Kíli!" rang out behind him, and as the brunet turned he saw Bofur grinning at him wildly.

"We'll be back to see you dance!" the cheery man inferred with a wink, and Kíli sneered in return.

"I don't dance!" he shouted back, but it was lost over the sound of engines starting up. Fíli examined him for a moment, his head tilted slightly to the side, his expression unreadable, and then the gang members drove off one by one, likely headed into some kind of trouble. But it was none of Kíli's concern. The brunet stood there watching them disappear down the dark street, his fingers toying with his necklace out of habit. He was sure he made the right decision, turning down their offer, no matter how cold it was, no matter how much his feet hurt, and yet for some reason a strange pang of regret still settled heavily in his gut.


The following evening at the bar was deader than ever before. He had the early shift, and there were barely any tables to wait on. Even the gang was nowhere in sight. Kíli hadn't made a single cent off of the few customers he served, and he knew his rent budget was continuing to suffer for it. Minimum wage just didn't cut it. He stood outside of the back entrance on his break, staring forlornly across the street. The small patch of pavement across the way was empty of any activity, and the only things around to capture his attention were the occasional passers-by and scraps of garbage floating on the wind. Kíli struggled with his lighter, shaking it up a bit as he flicked his thumb across the switch desperately. A cigarette hung limply between his lips as he finally got a flame out of his limited supply of butane, and he hurried to light it up, sighing in relief as it took. The brunet inhaled the smoke eagerly, feeling a temporary calm running through his veins. He knew it was a bad habit and that it was a false sense of relaxation, but it was all he had on nights like those, the nights that left him longing for another life, in another world.

His eyes slid closed and he leaned back against the brick wall, hating the burning feeling settling behind his eyes. He felt pathetic, run down, and was beginning to wonder why he even bothered continuing to live out such a dead end life. Kíli's fingers pulled the cigarette from his lips and smoke wafted out after it, leaving misty trails in the air. He gazed at the burning embers on the tip watching the paper slowly crack and fall apart, and wondered if it was a metaphor for his life. Kíli snorted and put it back in his mouth, slumping lifelessly against the wall. He was crumbling at the edges, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

A few moments passed by and his cigarette was half burned away when someone walked across his line of vision and paused just at the entrance to the small alleyway. Kíli's eyes lifted towards the heavy shadow, and then widened as he recognized the same blond man from the night prior. Fíli, wasn't it? He was alone, dressed in some torn apart jeans and his usual leather jacket, and Kíli shuddered as the other man visibly eyed him up. Fíli must have come to some sort of decision, because he frowned very slightly and then stepped closer, and Kíli stood up straight in defense. He looked into the other man's eyes as confidently as he could manage, but as the blond leaned over him and placed a hand above his shoulder against the brick wall, Kíli's courage wavered. His heart rate increased tenfold, and the cigarette hung forgotten between his lips as he stopped breathing. He'd never been so close to another man before, and he found his gaze lowering to study the rough wiry blond hairs framing Fíli's face. He had such alluring eyes, so intense and full of mystery, and the way his lips always seemed to curve upwards slightly at the edge had a strange effect on Kíli's emotions. He couldn't deny that Fíli was very attractive, in a rugged, ambiguous sort of way, and it annoyed him that he was so susceptible to such a thing at all. Fíli was the very sort of person the brunet intended to avoid, the sort he wanted absolutely nothing to do with, but it was impossible to deny the temptation.

Kíli could not help but flush at their close proximity, and as he watched the other man's Adam's apple bob teasingly beneath the skin of his neck, Kíli pressed back against the wall as far as he could and swallowed nervously. Two thick fingers came up and brushed across his lips, framing the cigarette, and Kíli gasped slightly as it was pulled from his mouth. His sight blurred as he watched it move away, but moments later Fíli threw the cigarette to the ground and proceeded to crush it beneath his foot. Kíli blinked several times in surprise and sputtered as he gaped at the other man in horror.

"H-hey!" Kíli finally managed to shout, his eyes wide and his teeth slightly bared.

"What'd you do that for?" he spoke accusingly as he pointed towards the ashen remains of his cigarette. A few embers still flickered against the pavement, but it was a lost cause. Even Kíli wasn't that desperate. Fíli's hand lowered from the wall to touch the brunet's jaw, and Kíli jolted at the contact and tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach in favour of his ire.

"It'll kill you," Fíli rasped, and Kíli's mouth fell open even further at the first sound of the other man's voice. It was low and husky, and it took several seconds before Kíli even managed to comprehend what he'd said. The brunet made a sardonic face, unsure whether to laugh or yell at the blond, it was completely ridiculous for a member of a gang to criticize his lifestyle for increasing his risk of death, even if it was true. Before he had a chance to react at all Fíli pushed away, and disappeared around the edge of the alleyway, leaving Kíli stunned and open-mouthed. Without really thinking his fingers found their way to the side of his face as he recalled the feeling of the blond's palm against his skin. It was such a brief interaction, and so meaningless in the great scheme of things, but he still felt more alive than he had in a very long time.

"What the hell?" Kíli whispered as he glanced down at the burnt out cigarette. It mingled with hundreds of other buds against the cement, grey and dead, just another piece of garbage on the ground. His hands fell limply to his sides as he slouched and looked up at the sky longingly. He felt strangely cold and alone now that the other man was gone, and he berated himself for even considering what it might be like to spend another moment in Fíli's presence. His mother would have been horrified; she was probably rolling in her grave that very instant. As his mind began to drift to more depressing thoughts a loud bang shocked him from his daydream. Kíli flew to the side as the back door to the bar whipped open and Tauriel poked her head out from inside.

"Kíli! Where the hell have you been? Your break ended ten minutes ago! Benny's flippin' out!" she cried, her expression anxious and worried, and Kíli's eyes blew open in shock.

"Crap, sorry," he muttered, wiping his sweaty palms off on his jacket, and he skittered back inside to face the wrath of his boss.


It was too sunny. So sunny in fact that Kíli was forced to cover his eyes just so he could read the words etched on his mother's gravestone. It didn't seem right, the way the weather defied his mood. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, but it felt like hundreds lingered just above. Kíli's fingers readjusted the makeshift bouquet at the base of the tiny stone fretfully. It was a mix of dandelions, goldenrod, and ragweed. Not much to look at, but it was the best he could find, picked from the edge of the road just outside of town. His mother would have appreciated the gesture, might have even smiled at the sight of them.

"Don't underestimate weeds, sweet one," his mother warned him, with a single tap on the end of his nose. He'd been caught stomping on a dandelion, squishing the white ball of puff into the dirt with his shoe.

"They may be unsightly, and even unwelcome by many, but when you take a moment to look further they are diligent and beautiful in their own right. They can adapt, grow in almost any environment. Weeds are incredibly strong. We should aspire to be like them," Dís insisted, her eyes steady and sincere as she bent low to blow the seeds into the air. Kíli watched them spread across the land, some floating off so far he was no longer able to make them out.

It was a relatively happy memory, one of the few he had of her, before her job began to weigh her down and life became too cruel to handle. She spoke of so few things with such fondness, and Kíli always wondered how such a small thing ever seemed so special to her. But when he walked amongst the fields and saw the endless sea of yellow petals in the summer, he understood her fascination with the plant. He wished he could have lived by her words, thrived just like the weeds in the roughest of conditions. But he wasn't a weed, he was just a person. A sad excuse for a person, and it was only a matter of time before someone trampled his body into the ground. And unlike a dandelion, he wouldn't grow back; instead he'd just be gone.


The cornfields seemed endless out his window as Kíli drove back from the next town over. It was the closest grocery store to Astermoor, and he was getting tired of buying greasy crap from the fast food joints within walking distance of his apartment. The brunet glanced towards the two grocery bags on the seat next to him and smiled faintly. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get him through at least a couple weeks if he rationed it properly.

Kíli steered down the road, going way faster than the designated limit. It was the beauty of country roads, the cops didn't care how fast you went, and even if they did, you could see if one was coming from miles away. His windows were down and Kíli revelled in the feeling of the wind on his face, blowing his dark hair around his neck wildly. For once everything was perfect, until his truck made a sickening guttural sound, followed by a loud bang, and Kíli gasped as the engine began to overheat. Smoke seeped out from beneath the hood, and he skidded off the road then quickly put his truck in park.

"No, no, come on babe, not now," Kíli pleaded, rubbing his hands frantically across the worn leather of the steering wheel. He struggled against his seat belt, cursing as he couldn't manage to find the release. When he finally heard the tell-tale snap, the brunet was out the door in a second and lifting the hood of his truck. He backed away and coughed loudly as smoke billowed out around his head, and after waving his hands around to clear some of it away, Kíli felt his eyes filling up with tears. The interior workings were like a map he couldn't read, and even though he saw where the smoke was coming from, he had absolutely no idea how to fix it.

"Damn it!" Kíli shouted, kicking at the front bumper angrily. It slid off its hinges and slumped awkwardly in front of the truck.

"Piece of shit!" Kíli hissed, feeling his throat begin to tighten. The brunet walked out into the road, and ran shaky hands through his hair. He was completely screwed without his truck. There was no other way for him to get between the surrounding towns, which meant he'd be confined to buying food and supplies within his city's limits. On top of that it had always acted as a small glimpse of hope in his life. He foolishly believed someday he'd make enough to get in that truck and drive away, just keep going until he found a better place. Kíli laughed out loud at the impossible dream.

It was at least an hour walk back to town, maybe two, and he couldn't afford to get his truck towed from way out in the middle of nowhere, let alone fixed. He'd be lucky if no one stole it in the amount of time it took to get someone to take it back into the city. Kíli reached through the window and started rustling through his bags for the recently purchased pack of smokes, but paused when he heard a low roaring in the distance. His eyes searched the horizon, and he narrowed them suspiciously when he saw a motorcycle approaching incredibly fast. Kíli leaned against the door of his truck anxiously, trying to look calm and uninterested in whoever was approaching, but it was pretty obvious he was in trouble. His truck was blatantly broken down, and he was standing outside it like a damn idiot, staring blankly at the ground. And you'd have to be a complete fool not to notice the smoke billowing out from his hood.

The biker zoomed past, and Kíli squinted as the loud noise pierced his eardrums, sighing heavily in relief. The last thing he needed was a gang member hassling him on a vacant country road. He watched the rider drive off for a while, and tensed when he saw whoever it was turn around and circle back. Kíli groaned lowly and took in a heavy breath. He didn't feel like dealing with some asshole, he just wanted to get home with his groceries, even if that meant sucking it up and walking the distance. The brunet kept a stony mask on his face as the hog drew near, parking just in front of him, and when the man lifted his helmet Kíli gaped at the sight of familiar blond hair.

"Seriously?" he muttered under his breath as Fíli slid off his bike and sauntered up beside him, looking at the dark clouds of smoke rising upwards pointedly. As per usual the blond said nothing, but the two shared a quick glance, and Fíli walked around the front of the truck, taking off his jacket and tossing it roughly at Kíli. The brunet fumbled the fabric around a bit and tried unsuccessfully to keep his eyes from roaming across the other man's body. Intricate designs covered Fíli's biceps, and continued to wrap up over his shoulders and neck. It looked like many more tattoos remained hidden beneath his shirt, and Kíli wished he could make out the shapes more clearly. As the blond lifted the hood and bent over, Kíli's eyes dropped, and he mentally berated himself for acting so sleazy, even as he ogled the other man thoroughly.

The brunet followed Fíli suspiciously, covering his mouth to ease his breathing as he leaned curiously over the other man's shoulder. He couldn't make sense of anything inside his truck, but Fíli was fiddling with wires and tinkering around like he knew exactly what he was looking for. Kíli ran his fingers across the embroidery on the jacket mindlessly, trying to quell the anticipation looming in his gut. After a bit of rearranging the smoke began dissipating, and Fíli closed the hood before leaning into the driver's seat to turn the keys. The engine roared to life loudly, and Kíli gawked at the blond and placed his hands gently on the frame of his truck, barely noticing as several paint chips flaked off and fell to the ground. Fíli was resting one arm on the roof, and eyed the brunet expectantly, his other hand casually hooked inside one of his pockets.

"Thanks," Kíli voiced, and then he shoved the jacket into the other man's chest and waited for him to move away. Fíli made no sign of budging, and only slung his coat over a shoulder as his eyes moved down the brunet's form, lingering just beneath the edge of his shorts. It made Kíli squirm, but he had no right to get angry, not when he'd done something equally as distasteful only moments prior. It took every ounce of his will not to tug at the hem, and he nibbled on his lip as he wondered what the other man was waiting for. Payment perhaps? Kíli narrowed his eyes. He didn't ask for the blond's help, and they never agreed on any kind of deal. However, he was dealing with a member of a notorious gang that likely cared little for formalities.

Honestly normally Kíli would have gladly paid for someone to fix up his truck, but on that day Kíli possessed not a single cent to spare. His eyes flittered nervously around until he came to a decision. The brunet leaned inside the truck, and reached over towards his grocery bags. It took several seconds of shuffling around inside them before he pulled back out and tossed a single apple at the blond. Fíli caught it smoothly, and then eyed the fruit with a raised eyebrow.

"For your trouble," Kíli commented, watching Fíli's reaction intently. The other man just stared at him blankly, the apple held up between his fingers.

"I ain't got a whole lot of cash right now," Kíli explained, looking away in shame at his pathetic gesture and he fiddled with his shirt sleeve nervously when he heard Fíli bite into the apple with a loud crunch. The blond took his time whittling away at the granny smith while Kíli stood impatiently nearby and watched. He wanted to get back inside his truck and drive off, but the other man's presence put him on edge and kept him from doing so. Kíli's eyes followed the blond's movements as he took a few more nibbles and tossed the core off to the side of the road. Fíli wiped a thumb along his lip enticingly, and then he sidled up next to the window and leaned inside the truck again, this time brushing his body up against Kíli's so that the brunet became flush against the door. Fíli's neck muscles contracted before Kíli's gaze, and he inhaled the intoxicating scent that clung to the other man's body. It was rich and spicy, and Kíli felt his legs begin to shake as he imagined what the blond's skin might taste like on his tongue.

When Fíli pulled away he smacked something teasingly against the side of Kíli's head, and the brunet caught sight of his recently purchased pack of cigarettes. He turned around and looked into his truck with wide eyes, noting the open grocery bags strewn over his seat, and then he gaped at Fíli incredulously.

"Stop buying these and you'd have more," Fíli commented, and then he shoved the unopened box into his back pocket and walked away, leaving Kíli in a petrified state once again. The brunet felt the hairs on his arms standing on end as he watched Fíli get back on his bike and drive away, his leather jacket flapping furiously on the wind. He couldn't even find the will to feel angry at the blond's theft, instead focusing on his last words spoken. Fíli was right, after all. Kíli should have stopped smoking ages ago, never should have started to begin with. It was nothing more than a money pit, all for a stupid sense of false security. Kíli scratched his sandals against the dirt beneath his feet and moved around the front of his truck, bending low to realign the bumper as best he could. It screeched as he bent it inelegantly into place, and his eyes lingered on the distorted reflection of himself in the metal. The strange elongated shape made him appear gaunt and disgusting, but it wasn't all that far off from the truth. When had he become so pitiful?


On Kíli's next night shift the club was full of activity. The entire gang was present, not just the few he'd met, and they took up several tables in the middle of the club. There were numerous ragged looking additions, with long intricate beards and battle worn faces. They laughed and conversed together, drank away the evening, while Fíli sat at the centre and watched over the proceedings with his ever inquisitive eyes. The men cheered loudly at the dancers, and made risky bets amongst one another, appearing deceivingly harmless at first glance. After a few days the people were almost becoming acclimatised to the new presence in town, no longer shying away from approaching the strangers for various business interactions. Kíli had noticed several hushed conversations taking place in the booths, and inconspicuous exchanges of money beneath the tables he waited on. He was curious about what exactly went on in the dark of night, but knew it was best to keep his distance. Kíli didn't want to make the same mistakes as his mother, didn't want to get involved in something bigger than he was cut out for. He'd heard rumours of what lengths men like those went to in an effort to punish their enemies. He wasn't afraid of dying per se, but rather the torture that might come before.

The brunet struggled to twist between the tables, using two hands to steady his tray for once. There were a lot of rowdy clients surrounding the stage, leering at the half-clothed female that currently twined around just above. Jesse really knew how to work a crowd, especially an overly inebriated one, and the men and even a few women were practically trying to climb up on stage with her. The glasses jingled precariously as Kíli barely kept his tray steady, flinching every now and then as stray hands touched the bare skin at his waist. He paused to put down a glass, and glared as he caught one of the customers making a ruckus with Tauriel just a few feet away. The redheaded girl was obviously trying to get away and continue working, but some asshole had her by the wrist and refused to let go. Kíli may not have been friends with her, but at work they supported each other whenever possible, and the brunet nearly growled as he stepped up and yanked the man's hand away.

"Hey leave her alone," Kíli hissed over the loud cries of the crowd. Tauriel immediately moved away, holding her wrist tight to her body, and Kíli did his best not to back down as the sleaze bag turned infuriated eyes on him. He barely had time to think before a fist slammed into the side of his face, knocking him off balance. The tray of drinks fell to the side, crashing across the floor, and Kíli tumbled into a nearby table at the force of the blow. He blinked in shock and lifted his palm to wipe across his lower lip, taking in the streak of blood with disoriented eyes. Without a moment to think a hand gripped his ponytail and tugged hard, yanking his neck backwards.

"Get off him you asshole!" another waiter shouted loudly, and then he was released as several blows were thrown amongst the people nearby him. Kíli fumbled around, briefly catching sight of one of the gang members whipping past his body. Noki? Nobi? No-something, he couldn't remember with his head throbbing the way it was. And then the big one, named Dwalin, shoved him down hard.

"Get under the table!" the bald man bellowed, and Kíli fell to his knees, still trying to quell the pounding in his head. The brunet knew he could defend himself, and nearly got back up to do so, until he saw someone smash a glass over another man's head. Whoever it was collapsed to the ground in a mess of broken teeth and blood, and Kíli inched beneath the table for cover instead. He jolted as he met shoulder to shoulder with Ori, and the scruffy haired kid grinned at him broadly with bright eyes. Kíli wasn't sure what to expect from him, and his eyes narrowed as the small statured biker pulled a knife from inside his boot. A few seconds later Ori reached out and stabbed the blade into a stranger's foot, and Kíli gasped in surprise and shuffled backwards at the action. He jerked as his back banged into someone's legs, and as he gazed up from beneath the wood Kíli realized just who's table he was hiding under.

Fíli sat calmly in his seat, not participating at all, even though the entire bar was entering a full out brawl. Strong fingers moved over Kíli's shoulder, holding him in place firmly for a moment and the brunet seized up at the touch but did not pull away from it. He shivered as they slid up his neck, just barely toying with the hairs beneath his ear before grazing the side of his face. Kíli's dark eyes studied Fíli's face from below as the blond stared out at the fighting with visible confidence. He looked superior, in command, and though he did not speak a single word, his posture and expression spoke volumes. The neon lights above illuminated his golden hair, making him appear unearthly and godlike. He looked like some kind of king. And in that moment, Kíli almost wished he was his.

A man fell roughly against the legs of the table, knocking it to the side, and then he collapsed unconscious on the ground, immediately breaking the illusion. Kíli pulled away from Fíli's touch and peered out from under the table at the chaos all around. Bodies were draped across tables and lying on the floor, dancers kicked men away from the stage, and the bouncers failed to hold off the rest of the fighting. Benny was hoisting drunkards from the floor, trying to shove them outside while he barked orders out furiously, and moments later the doors of the bar swung open and the place filled with cops. Kíli watched them cuff a variety of men, and somehow every member of the gang came out completely unscathed. It was like they were invisible to them, completely untouchable.

The brunet stood up on shaky legs, taking a moment to steady his body against the table. When Fíli's chair skidded across the floor and the blond moved to stand, it was like a mysterious force came over everyone in the club. The rest of the bikers looked towards him and gathered, and then Fíli brushed up against Kíli's side and paused to wipe his thumb across the brunet's bloody lip. After depositing several bills on the table, all of them left, leaving the club in unnatural silence and complete shambles.

Kíli stepped gracelessly over a man still groaning in pain on the floor, his shoes crunching atop broken glass. He saw Benny yelling at someone in a rage at the mess left behind, and a couple of the dancers trying to pull glass from one of the waiter's legs. Kíli felt only a small amount of guilt at the brief feeling of glee at knowing he might get a few extra shifts as a result of the injury.

The brunet spent the rest of his shift sweeping the bar and cleaning blood off of table tops. He worked until close, picking up the slack from those who were forced to go home early. The odd man stuck around for a drink, but the mood inside was visibly muted in comparison to earlier in the night. Kíli was exhausted when he finally set foot out the backdoors to head home. He was bruised from getting knocked around, and his lip throbbed painfully and was in desperate need of icing. His eyes briefly glanced towards the small patch of cement across the road as he rounded the corner to begin walking home. Fíli and the other bikers were absent, unsurprisingly at such a late hour, but the brunet still felt a dull pain settle in his chest. The walk home was long and lonely, and Kíli barely remembered how he managed to get undressed and tucked into bed.


Hands closed around his neck and held him fast to the ground while Kíli reached out desperately, clawing at the arms stretching out from his body. He couldn't see the faces of his attackers, but he could hear their voices, their raucous laughter as he struggled to breathe. Someone pulled at his shirt, tearing the fabric, and he felt a stinging sensation against his skin. Kíli's eyes widened as he realised someone had stabbed him. He saw the wound, gaping and growing in size, blood seeping out over his body and leaving him lying in a dark red puddle. He was kicked, and his body rolled down a small incline, the rocks and weeds scratching at his form. The sun shone impossibly bright above him, and all he could smell was the overpowering scent of ragweed. Vines grew out from his surroundings, wrapping around his limbs and tugging him deeper beneath the soil. And as he sank further into the earth, the dirt beginning to crumble over his face, Kíli gasped for air one last time. His sight faded, and his fingers crumpled as everything turned black, and the only thing he could make sense of was the distinct sound of his mother's screams.

Kíli flew up from beneath his covers, rolling over the side of the bed. He fell to the floor with a shout, his feet caught on the sheets and suspended just above his body. His heart was beating so rapidly he thought it might jump out of his chest, and he raised shaking hands above his eyes as he struggled to calm down.

He was in his room. He was safe. It was just a dream.

Kíli repeated the mantra over and over in his mind until his breathing steadied and he was able to sit up enough to disentangle his limbs. His feet fell to the ground with a loud thump and the brunet slid up against the side of his bed, resting his back gently against the frame as he stared across at the wall. His eyes lingered on a crack near the ground, the paint chipping all around it from some kind of water damage. Kíli felt like he'd been run over by a transport. His head was throbbing, and his body ached, even his throat was raw from gasping and screaming in his sleep. It was not the first time he'd had such a frightening dream. Nightmares often caught him off guard in the dead of night, attacking him when he least expected it. But it seemed like they were getting more frequent and much more difficult to break free from.

Kíli bent his head forwards and rubbed furiously at his eyes before dragging his fingers down his face. He flinched as they rubbed up against his split lip, and the brunet groaned as he realized he forgot to ice it.

"Shit," Kíli muttered under his breath, and he tentatively touched around the swollen skin and crawled towards his bedside table. The brunet scrambled around the surface until he grasped the tiny mirror settled atop. It took him a few moments to focus his eyes, and he studied the bruising around his mouth worriedly. He looked terrible. No one would give tips to a face looking like that, no matter how good his service was. Kíli sagged and let his body fall to the floor lifelessly. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to move. If not for his baffling desire to go on living he might have stayed flat on the ground for days, staring blankly at the stained ceiling above.