*Wakes up from grave*

"What year is it?"

Hello! How are you guys? I'm finally back from a busy year, and I got a whole mess of one-shots and such to publish before I publish my longer piece. Thanks for being patient with me!

I was watching the Hobbit the other day and I just thought this was a cute friendship one-shot between Bilbo and Beorn. Hope you enjoy!

--E--

"The trick I've learned about making berry tarts is that it's all about the crust texture and berry type -- raspberries and blackberries are choicest above all else." Bilbo Baggins explained, gesturing to the bowl of berries he and Bombur picked earlier. "And, uh," he cleared his throat and he tilted his head up toward the Shapeshifter. "If I may, I'd like to whip some up for the afternoon, only if you'll have me, that is. I've been missing my recipes back home, and I'm sure the others wouldn't mind a pick-me-up."

Beorn looked down at the hobbit -- the creature who was not tall enough to meet his knee -- and shrugged. "I don't mind. I don't enjoy making food for all those dwarves anyway."

While Thorin and Gandalf discussed paths and travel times outside, the eleven others roughhoused inside. Haystacks were scattered about the hut, Bees escaping through the windows before anyone could step on them. Yells and hollers of laughter filled the dusty air. Kíli wrestled Fíli, both smearing straw into each other's hair while Bofur put Bifur in a headlock. Hearty dwarf-fun, as they would call it. And, while the tarts were being made, Bombur -- who helped persuade Bilbo to make something for the afternoon -- killed time by arm wrestling with Dwalin, who claimed to be the ultimate champion in the company.

"They give me a headache." Beorn frowned.

Bilbo nodded, wary to the flying punches and headbutts. The last time the dwarves played, Bilbo got caught between them and scrambled off with a few shoulder bruises. Purple and black appeared a day later.

"Anyway," the hobbit pushed a nearby barrel toward the kitchen counter, climbing it and growing tall enough to overlook his baking space. "I do think I'll need some flour and sugar. I'd look for them myself, but I wouldn't want to be rude."

Without warning, Beorn chuckled -- loud and fruity enough to make the dwarves seem soft-spoken. He patted his head gingerly. "Anything Bunny Baggins needs!"

Bilbo thanks him with underlying confusion.

The use of nicknames throughout Bilbo's adventure had evolved from burglar, to Baggins, and now to Bilbo -- the name he wanted to keep. Hopefully, Bunny Baggins would not reach the dwarves' ears, or else he would suffer hearing it for the rest of the journey.

After selecting the smallest spoon to fit his hands, gathering ingredients and eye-balling quantities, Bilbo prepared the custard; he poured the sugar in a bowl, adding milk, vanilla, and anything else he deemed fit. It was tempting to taste it, the smooth golden filling. Yet, Bilbo contained himself, having to fend off Bombur, who would appear and try to taste-test the custard, trying to sneak a meaty finger into the bowl as Bilbo mix the crust dough. Luckily, Beorn, who spectated from behind, brushed the dwarf away. He had to do it three times for Bombur to remove himself.

"Thanks for that," the hobbit said and rolled out the dough. "It's been tricky cooking with dwarves when they all want to eat the mushrooms and carrots and whatnot," he said, then shrugged. "Then again, I do that just the same myself when I cook."

The Shapeshifter laughed.

Using the smallest knife he could find-- one almost as big as Sting -- Bilbo rolled up his sleeves and cut out the flattened crust, angling the knife to shape out circles.

"Very small tarts, aren't they?" Beorn mused. The tarts were like coins to his size.

"That's why I'm tripling the batch. Don't worry."

With time, after baking the crusts over the open-fire oven, sugar and butter dominated the hut's aroma. The tarts were done. Pink and dark berries topped the finished product, their colors bleeding into the custard and crafting wispy artworks. These desserts were one of the many recipes his mother made when he was young. A perfect piece of the Shire. Homesickness lessened as he piled the tarts on a giant-sized plate, stacking them like a display of treasures. He was about to set them aside and finish the rest, but he glanced behind him: dwarves. They grinned up at him.

"What did our hobbit make this time?"

"Something with sugared berries, I hope!"

"We'd love a good snack!"

"Those custard-filled, are they?"

Their mirthful voices grew hungrier when Bilbo did not meet their demands. He grabbed the counter's edge to steady himself and said, "You all just have to wait until the others are done! I wanna make sure everyone gets some!" If the dwarves ate all the tarts now and the other tarts later, then there might not be enough for him, Beorn, Gandalf, or Thorin. There were plenty of tarts, but Bilbo took no chances with a mob of hungry dwarves.

"But we want some now!"

"It smells too good for patience!"

"I'm sorry, but you all can wait, alright? It won't be long." He slid the tart plate away from the edge before a dwarf could jump and grab one. Now, he was glad for such a tall kitchen counter.

Suddenly, Fili and Kili cracked a plan; they tickled the hobbit's feet, trying to make him give in.

"N-no! Stop that, you two!"

"C'mon, Mr. Boggins, just give us a sample!" Kíli said with mirth.

"Fíli! Control your brother! You're more mature than this!" Bilbo frowned, swallowing his giggles.

"But, there's dessert to be had!"

Before he could fall off the barrel laughing -- before the dwarves could lick up the tarts on their beards -- Beorn reached down and snatched up the hobbit. While Bilbo squeaked in surprise, the Shapeshifter glared down at the dwarves and said, "You need to be careful around Bunny Baggins, or else there will be no tarts for you."

The dwarves' vigor evaporated.

"But we're hungry!"

"No fair!"

"Not even a bite?"

"C'mon!"

"Not if you all keep pestering him." Beorn took the plate from the counter before the dwarves could climb the barrel. "Now go and get the other dwarf and wizard once everything's ready."

All of them hobbled off, complaining about their hunger, the unfairness, and the wonderful smells they could not have yet.

"Oh, that could've been messy!" Bilbo laughed nervously. "Definitely an avoided conflict... Yes, thank you... B-but, you can set me down now." It irked him how Beorn held him on his hip like a father to an infant.

The Shapeshifter did not say anything. Instead, he pulled out the metal tray from the open-fire oven before the crusts could burn, using one arm to work and the other to keep Bilbo close.

Bilbo cleared his throat. "Beorn?"

"What is it, little bunny? Afraid I'll drop you?"

"Uh, not quite." He had no fear of heights, but the distance between him and the floor made him worry, as well as possible comments from the others. The dwarves would not let this down either: ("Hey, look! It's Baby Baggins!") "Aren't you going to put me down?"

He shrugged. "Do you really want to?"

Within minutes, the dwarves were roughhousing again. But, this time, it was organized chaos; they ran through the hut and tackled each other more aggressively than before. Now, there was no safe spot on the ground for a hobbit.

"W-well, I guess I wouldn't want to get caught up in that. It looks rather unpleasant." It was either safe and embarrassed or trampled upon.

Beorn nodded. "Wouldn't want them to break you. Although, it has shocked me how they haven't yet."

Gandalf bit into a tart. "My! This is quite good, although I wouldn't expect anything less from hobbit baking."

Thorin said nothing, but sampled a few while studying the maps over again.

Everyone in the hut gathered around the dining room table, helping themselves to the milk and the two full plates of tarts, taking two, three, or five at a time. With the abundance of tarts, now that Bilbo counted all of them, there was plenty to share -- as well as enough to satisfy Beorn.

The Shapeshifter ate three tarts stacked on top of each other, savoring the firm, buttery crust and the custard's silkiness. "Wonderfully done, Bunny Baggins! It's a shame I can't keep you. I wouldn't mind a friend and more snacks like these."

Bilbo, who sat on Beorn's knee, said nothing and nibbled on a tart, barely tasting it. The host had insisted on having him sit on his knee so he did not have to crank his neck up to see the table, strain himself in reaching another tart, or suffocate himself between loud dwarves. It was considerate, Bilbo thought. And yet it made him feel like a faunt who needed someone to cling to, who needed someone to shelter him from discomforts. Surely, the others would tease. He was not sure what to do about it, but he kept to himself, occasionally feeling a giant hand rub his head.

With a few burps, the dwarves laughed at each other's crumby beards. They sang a short poem, licked their sugary fingers, then, after cleaning up, returned to the haystacks for a nap. Time would pass before they were ready for any more action. In the meantime, Gandalf and Thorin returned to their discussion.

Bilbo was about to hop off the giant's knee, but Beorn grabbed him and looked at him gleefully.

"It's truly, truly a shame I cannot keep you!" Beorn said jovially. "Regardless of dwarves, this hut finally feels like a home again! I thank you, my friend!"

The hobbit cleared his throat and smile. "O-of course! Glad to be of service."

--E--

Glad to be back!

Have a golly good day!