Disclaimer: I DO NOT own anything, sadly. Also, there is heavy angst and mentions of suicide in this fic.

Bilbo wasn't sure how much longer he could put up with it all.

The condolences.

The pain.

The guilt.

Why did he have to be the one to survive? After all, he was only a Hobbit. He hadn't lived in Erebor; no Dragon had taken his home away. What was probably the worst part was that they had succeeded. The Dwarves had reclaimed Erebor, only to have it ripped away from them by an asshole called Death. Luckily, he was alone at the moment, so it allowed him to bury his face in his hands. He absolutely loathed himself at the moment.

A certain question constantly pestered him, and it frustrated him that he couldn't answer it: why hadn't he looked out for his friends in their utmost time of need?

He slammed his fist against the mattress beneath him, tears forming in his eyes. It didn't help that memories of their journey were being thrown at the worst possible moments. He remembered the constant singing, laughing, and storytelling. Not even Thorin could keep a slight smile off his face for an entire night.

Thorin.

You might as well rub salt into your wounds, Bilbo Baggins, because that would hurt less. The snark in his conscience showed that he had been alone with his thoughts for far too long. But Bilbo did not want to venture out of his room and only would if it was absolutely necessary. He had had enough of Gandalf's kind, concerned looks. The Wizard meant well, but he was on the verge of tearing his hair out or worse.

No, he was content with staying in his room; his mind was the lesser of two evils compared to socializing. Bilbo rested his chin on his drawn up knees, a tear running down his cheek. He brushed at it hastily, but more rained down from his eyes and onto his clothes. He certainly was not thinking of scholarly conversations he had had with Balin.

And definitely not reminiscing over the time Ori had knitted him a scarf. He had loved the gift so much and was thoroughly disappointed when he lost it during their barrel escape from Mirkwood.

And least of all, the first time he ever heard Thorin laugh.

Bilbo groaned at all the memories and ghosts haunting him. It was giving him a headache and making him feel nauseous. Standing up from the bed, Bilbo mustered up a pleasant expression, though he felt it looked forced, and walked outside. He needed some air.

Why am I here, Bilbo asked himself sullenly. When he meant "needed some air" he had not meant "stand on a balcony looking over the battlefield". Blood stained the battlefield, bodies littering the ground everywhere. It was a graveyard. People, Elves, Men, and Dwarves, walked through the snowy grass, cleaning up the aftermath. He moved away, walking through a series of passages and tunnels until he came to a more secluded area. There was a large gap between one part of the hallway and the other. The drop looked several hundred feet.

He didn't know why, but his mind forced him to remember the moment when Gandalf had broken the news.

Gandalf wore a troubled expression, walking briskly through Dale at a quick pace. He only stopped when Bilbo had repeatedly called out his name. Bilbo had halted, too tired to try and keep up with the Wizard. He was weary and felt sick. Not too long ago, he had watched Thorin die before his eyes. They had parted in friendship; the words and actions at the gate behind them.

What Bilbo needed was comfort; reassurance that none of the others had died in the battle. Gandalf's face brightened when he saw the Hobbit and Bilbo hoped that that was a good sign. "Bilbo Baggins! I'm glad to see you're alive!" Gandalf cried. Bilbo frowned. The way he had said it sounded as if there were some deaths. "Gandalf...where are the others?" The Wizard's face fell and Bilbo felt dread fill him.

"Bilbo...they didn't make it." The words hit him, knocking the air out of his lungs. "W-What do you mean? Surely, some of them are alive? Balin? Fíli? Kíli? Anyone?!" Gandalf's face was grim. "They were overrun, my dear Hobbit."

Bilbo shut his eyes. Never before had he wished so hard for his mind to have an off-switch. When he opened his eyes, he looked down at the dark abyss in front of him. I wonder what would happen if I just... Bilbo shook his head and straightened his back. Don't be ridiculous. There is no need for such thoughts. But as Bilbo turned away and headed back to the Great Hall for dinner, he heard a malicious voice snicker.

He couldn't sleep that night. Bilbo tossed and turned but to no avail. He saw all sorts of horrible visions, most of them of his friends dying. The worst was when Azog plunged his sword into Thorin' chest right before his eyes. And he couldn't do anything about it. His legs, voice, arms, nothing worked properly. The Dwarf King collapsed, dead, right before his eyes. Blood trickled into a large pool and stained the ice. The dream was so realistic that he almost felt the blood on his toes. Bilbo woke up, sitting straight up into bed with sweat forming on his brow.

He tugged roughly on his curly hair, tears falling onto his shirt and blanket. Thorin's pained face was burned into the back of his eyelids. Without even noticing what he was doing, Bilbo threw clothes on and ran out the door. Before he knew it, he was standing in the same spot he had only hours before.

Bilbo's gaze was locked on the dark drop before him. His breathing was shaky as he took a hesitant step forward. You'll finally find peace, won't have to worry about the guilt of living, a voice cooed. His toes were hanging off the edge. "I'm sorry." Bilbo whispered, the tears clouding his vision.

Just as he was about to lean over, he heard a clear, sharp voice, call, "Don't." Bilbo froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew that voice...he'd know it anywhere..."Bilbo," the voice said. He almost went weak in the knees. Using all of his willpower, Bilbo turned his head to look over his shoulder and he almost threw himself into the crack.

Thorin.

His lip wobbled as he drank every detail of the Dwarf in. Thorin's dark, unruly hair with strands of silver highlighting it. His simple blue tunic, black pants, and iron-tipped boots lined with fur; it seemed almost too plain for Thorin. His blue eyes were framed by long, dark lashes that held sadness and pain.

Bilbo whispered the Dwarf's name and Thorin's face broke into a weak smile. "Come away from there." He asked, holding his hand out to Bilbo. The Hobbit's small smile dropped and he turned away from Thorin, looking down into the darkness. "I can't, Thorin. I can't." He heard iron meet stone as Thorin walked closer. The Dwarf put a hand on Bilbo's shoulder, making him shudder with delight.

Thorin wore a fond smile that Bilbo didn't catch, his thumb gently digging into his shoulder. Bilbo relaxed and leaned into the touch. "Bilbo, please. Can we at least talk about this?" He chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. "Thorin, you're dead. This is all in my head. As much as I want you to actually be here...you're not."

Thorin frowned. "Bilbo—" He shook his head. "No, don't argue with me, Thorin. Please. I feel silly as it is, talking to myself." Thorin turned Bilbo around and gripped him with both shoulders. "You really are seeing me, Bilbo. In a vision yes, but I'm here, and not for long." Bilbo looked down at the fingers gently rubbing circles into his arms. He felt himself melt into Thorin's hands, wanting to stay like this forever. "If I really am seeing you, I'm not saying I believe you, then what are you doing here?" Thorin swallowed hard and croaked, "I'm trying to save you from doing something you'll regret." Bilbo smiled bitterly, his hand coming up and caressing Thorin's bearded cheek. Thorin leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. "But I'm not making a mistake, Thorin. I'll get to see you all again. For real."

Thorin's hands were shaking, Bilbo noted. "But you have so much to live for still. Bilbo, don't do it. Please." Bilbo stepped closer to Thorin, his hand falling from his cheek, and wrapped his arms around the Dwarf's torso in an embrace. Thorin didn't hesitate to wrap his own arms around Bilbo, face buried in his honey curls. "I can't live without you, Thorin." Bilbo whispered into his chest, afraid of what his reaction would be.

To Bilbo's horror, Thorin inhaled sharply, tensing. Bilbo looked up, about to apologize for his candor, but found that his lips were preoccupied. Thorin's hands crept up and cupped his cheeks. Bilbo shifted, going up on his tip toes, to reach Thorin's face, his hands gripping Thorin's forearms.

The kiss was gentle, but it was exactly what each of them needed. Thorin's lips parted and Bilbo gently bit down on his lower lip. He felt Thorin gasp and smiled, truly smiled. When they broke apart, both had flushed cheeks and red lips. Their foreheads were pressed together, breaths mingled. Thorin bumped his nose against Bilbo's and whispered hoarsely, "I am not helping my argument, am I?"

Bilbo chuckled. "No, I'm afraid not. Not with kisses like those." Thorin's hands fell to Bilbo's waist, rubbing soothing circles into his waist. He smiled as Bilbo sighed, the tension rolling off his shoulders. "I still don't understand why you don't want me to join you." Bilbo all but whined. Thorin sighed this time. Bilbo was not making this easy on him. "I do, I really do, Bilbo. But you have to live. You have so much still to do...I can't say anything...But what about your home? The Shire? Your books, your armchair, your garden?"

Bilbo's face turned serious. He swallowed hard. "T-Thorin...I can't handle these dreams anymore. You're apart of my mind, you must know what I'm talking about. These dreams...it's too much." Thorin brought his hand up and carded his fingers through Bilbo's hair, making the Hobbit lean his forehead against his strong, hard chest. "I know, Bilbo. I wish I could make them go away. But you can't give up. If all else fails to motivate you...then live for me and the Dwarves. Live for Fíli and Kíli. And Balin and Dwalin. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur. And Dori, Nori, Ori. Óin and Glóin."

Thorin's mouth was pressed against the shell of Bilbo's ear. "Live so that when it is your time, our reunion will be full of happiness instead of anger and arguing. Mahal knows we've done enough of that in the past." Bilbo slowly smiled against Thorin's shirt, quite content with the heat he was radiating. Thorin felt a tugging sensation and pressed his lips together. He didn't have much time left. He lifted Bilbo's chin up so that they were looking at each other face-to-face. Bilbo's eyes watered at the fond smile on Thorin's lips. They didn't have much time left. This time Bilbo was the one to initiate the kiss. Unlike their first one, this kiss was driven by need and hunger, it was rough and passionate. Bilbo took the time to memorize as much of Thorin as he could.

The hard, muscled planes of his stomach, his strong arms, the silky, wild hair. Bilbo broke away and pressed his swollen lips to each of his Dwarf's cheeks, then his nose, then his forehead, both eyelids, and finally his mouth. One of Thorin's hands was caressing his cheek while his other was on the base of his neck, fingers teasing the curls there. "I know I have said it already, but I would like to apologize once more for my words and deeds at the gate—"

Bilbo cut him off with a chaste kiss. "Please, don't say anything more on that subject, Thorin. I forgave you a long time ago." He tried to protest, but Bilbo pressed a finger to Thorin's lips. "Hush. No more." Thorin grasped the hand in front of his face, kissing their knuckles. His eyes were sorrowful and pleading as he whispered, "Farewell, amrâlimê. Live." A stray tear fell down Bilbo's cheek. "Goodbye, Thorin."

Involuntarily, Bilbo closed his eyes and when he opened them Thorin was gone. He took a couple minutes to compose himself, which resulted in him sobbing on the floor, before he ventured back to Erebor.

He would wait for his time; Thorin deserved that much.