Author's note: From a kinkmeme prompt. Enjoy.
Sunlight fills the Tombs
and he's falling, flailing, reaching desperately for a handhold and finding none, hitting and twisting, crying out as he hits edges of sharp stone that cut him and flat slabs that bruise and break him. Thorin might be shouting, or he might not be; Bilbo can't hear him over the sounds of his own fall.
White hot pain blazes behind his eyes as he hits bottom, sinking into the pile of treasure there. Bilbo can't even scream through the pain; only hang on, breathing shallowly, trying to ride out the pain.
He opens his eyes, and at first he can't understand what he's looking at. That's his leg, he can see it, see the trousers, but he can't understand what the white thing is, poking into it, streaked with red. He reaches a trembling hand for it, but the slightest touch causes a flare of pain so sharp he screams until he can't breathe.
When he drops into whimpers he hears the gold shifting, recognizes the sound as Smaug moving, and looks back up the steps in desperation. Surely, whatever is wrong in Thorin's mind, he won't leave…
He catches the barest glimpse of Thorin's back and braids vanishing through the doorway, and he's still staring in disbelief when Smaug rounds the nearest pillar and sees him.
"Well, little barrel-rider," he purrs. The gold around Bilbo resonates at the sound, and Bilbo swallows a groan as he moves involuntarily. "And what has happened to you, hmm?"
"Slipped," Bilbo breathes. If he doesn't move, the pain is almost manageable.
"Slipped?" Smaug echoes. "Or pushed? After all, you have served your purpose. Did Thorin Oakenshield cast you aside when he had no further use for you?"
"Slipped," Bilbo insists, trying not to show how much Smaug's words bother him. Thorin hadn't actually pushed him, but hadn't he caused the fall? Or had he? Bilbo can't quite remember now, events blurring with fear and pain.
A Dwarf shouts from one of the high balconies, and Smaug twists around on himself to look. Bilbo can't see anything; the balcony is above and behind the stairs from where he's lying. Smaug snarls, looking back. "Don't go away, little barrel-rider," he says, voice low. "I'll be back soon. Then we'll play."
He launches out of the pile of gold and Bilbo shrieks as it shifts, sending him down the sudden slope and half-burying him. The bone in his leg catches on something and he howls again, but the sound is buried under the tinkling of the treasure around him.
He lies there for a long time, half-conscious, drifting. The treasure is digging into him painfully, but his leg doesn't hurt right now, and he's willing to endure a thousand smaller hurts to avoid that white hot pain again.
The longer he lies there, though, the more the pain returns, and eventually he can't bear it any longer. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and shifts. The pain flares, crests, and after a minute or so begins to die away. Bilbo grits his teeth and moves again.
It's slow, extremely painful work, and he doesn't know exactly where he's going. But eventually he finds a wall and begins to follow it. He has to stop to rest every so often, and it's increasingly hard to catch his breath; he doesn't feel any real pain there, though, so he doesn't think anything else is broken.
He finds the spot by accident, a tiny recess in the wall, almost buried behind a pile of gold coins. It's small for a dwarf, impossible for a man or elf, unthinkable for Smaug; but it's just about right for Bilbo, and he's able to extend his leg and straighten it to take some of the pressure off. Just that movement almost makes him white out again, and it's a long time before the pain settles this time.
There are voices, when Bilbo becomes aware again; not particularly close, but the room is designed to carry sound. He can't make out the words, really – just an occasional ones – but even just hearing the voices is a comfort. He lies, listening to them, absently ticking them off the list in his mind. Balin – Fíli – Bofur – Ori, maybe, it's a lot quieter than the others – Balin again – Dwalin – Kíli – Gloin – Dori, and Nori protesting – Bifur, and Bombur a moment later – and Oin. Bilbo relaxes a little. Smaug clearly hasn't hurt them.
And then he hears Thorin, voice unmistakable, and tenses up involuntarily. He has to gasp in a breath, biting his lip to keep from crying out. Everything has stiffened as he lay drowsing and movement is agony.
Thorin's too close. Bilbo reaches for his pocket, ignoring the pain; he finds the Ring by feel and slips it on. The world shifts into shadow and he watches as Thorin wanders past his hiding spot.
Once Bilbo has the Ring on he doesn't feel safe taking it off, so he lies there and listens as the Company come in and out of the room. They're looking for something, he gathers; not him, though, because they keep referring to 'it' as they pass by. Whatever 'it' is, it must be terribly important.
There's no sign or sound of Smaug, and the Dwarves don't seem concerned. Bilbo's not sure what to think about that.
He drifts and dozes and wakes with a start that sends coins and jewels tumbling down the pile he's hiding behind. The sound wakes him fully and he holds still, listening intently.
"I'm sure I heard something."
Fíli. Bilbo closes his eyes, praying softly.
"You heard a rat," Kíli says from somewhere a little further away.
"A rat in Smaug's lair? I think not. No, it was up here." Fíli crests the pile and looks around; his foot is inches from Bilbo's hand. If he moves in any direction but backwards, he'll kick Bilbo.
He moves sideways.
Bilbo's wail of pain, thin and breathless as it is, is mostly buried under Fíli's cry of surprise, though one or the other brings Kíli up to join them. Fíli backs off a step before kneeling, holding up a hand to warn Kíli. "It's Bilbo. Be careful, he's injured."
Kíli holds up a handful of gold, stained bright red. Fíli reaches out carefully, leaning forward; his hand brushes against Bilbo's arm and he traces it down to his hand, fingers light to keep from pressing against injuries he can't see. Bilbo closes his fist as tight as he can, but Fíli easily pries his fingers open and slides his Ring off.
"Bilbo," Kíli breathes.
"Fetch Thorin and Oin," Fíli orders him sharply. Bilbo immediately begins to thrash as best he can. It sends flares of pain through his body, but the brothers both turn to him at least. "No, no, no, no, no..."
"Bilbo!" Fíli catches at his shoulders, holding him down; Kíli steadies his good leg. He can't move the bad one anyway. "Bilbo, stop. You'll hurt yourself."
Bilbo almost chokes on the disbelieving laugh that bubbles up.
"No Thorin," he orders when he can breathe again. "No Oin. No one. Leave me."
"We can't leave you alone, you're injured." Kíli lets go of his leg; Bilbo immediately kicks out again to make him hold on.
Fíli is studying his injuries with a frown. "Bilbo, this...a fall? Thorin said Smaug had you. What happened?"
"Thorin," Bilbo spits.
He hasn't the air for more, but Fíli's eyes have widened in horrified understanding. "A fall?" he repeats emphatically. Bilbo doesn't answer, but that seems to satisfy him. Briskly, he continues, "We can't deal with your leg ourselves, Bilbo; we need Oin. Kíli, go find him, don't tell anyone else about Bilbo, and make it clear to Oin that he is not to say anything either."
"Why?" Kíli asks, bewildered. He lets go of Bilbo again, warily; this time Bilbo only lies still, too tired to keep fighting.
"Because Bilbo wants it so. Go, Kíli."
Kíli slides back down the pile of treasure and Fíli turns back to Bilbo, eyes very intent. "Bilbo, tell me truthfully. Did my uncle cause this?"
Bilbo squeezes his eyes closed, trying to think, trying to remember. "I tried to leave," he manages. "Thorin blocked me. His sword...I backed away, he followed, right to the edge..." He opens his eyes again. "I don't know that he meant it," he says, voice fading now. "But he caused it."
Fíli nods, eyes very dark. "I have no right to ask you anything," he murmurs. "But please, Bilbo, say nothing of this. I will make sure Thorin hears nothing; I will make sure you get everything you need, and when the time comes I'll help you face him, or leave, or whatever you choose to do. Only, for now, say nothing. There are things happening that I can't explain to you right now. Please?"
Bilbo's eyes flicker closed again. Fíli presses his shoulder gently. "Bilbo?"
"Yes, Master Dwarf," Bilbo mumbles, and Fíli seems content with that.
Oin and Kíli arrive. Bilbo is barely aware by now, can't focus on Oin's questions. Fíli helps the older dwarf in silence; Kíli is chattering, nerves or worry making him even more vocal than normal. Bilbo wishes he'd stop, it's really starting to hurt his head, but he can't find the concentration to tell him so.
At some point, Fíli says his name over and over until he responds. "We have to set your leg," he says quietly. "It's going to hurt, badly." He holds up a scrap of cloth and Bilbo lets him stuff it into his mouth, biting down on it.
Fíli kneels behind him, holding down his shoulders and hands; Kíli's practically lying across his stomach, pinning his good leg. Oin grips the bad leg, gives him one sad look, and
PainwhitehotburningpainpainpainpainpainpainPAINPAINPAIN
and Bilbo passes out, body relaxing from its' arch.