Written for a Hobbit Kink Meme.
Prompt: Every time Kili doesn't make a shot he deems "good enough" (any that aren't basically perfect), he punishes himself. Cuts, burns, any way he considers fit. One time he misses by what he thinks of as a completely unacceptable margin, and when he's severely injuring himself, one or many of the members of the company catch him. Comfort ensues, complete with confused Kili, who thinks he's bettering himself by doing this.
I just want angst and hurt and comfort and support and friendship.
Disclaimer: don't own The Hobbit.
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"Misunderstanding"
Kili's not as dumb as others think; he avoids the arms and goes for his left side instead. It's done in tally marks, red, pink, and white riddling his skin. Like a burn without fire. They're deep enough to hurt but light enough to scar quickly and easily hidden. They show his imperfections, carved with his whittling knife.
With aim this terrible, he might as well be wood.
After the incident on the plains, he marks his side nine more times. As tallies, these scars are easy to count. Sixty-eight so far and he knows he missed some. In the aftermath of the troll incident, he wasn't alone long enough at any point, Uncle Thorin or Fili always keeping an eye on him. Five are estimated and one more for not catching on fast enough. This is the first time he hurts himself for something other than a missed shot. Somehow, that pains him more than usual.
In Rivendell, not longer after the cuts are made, Uncle Thorin pulls him aside. Fili is deep in conversation with Bilbo but still notices them leave. His brother notices everything. Sometimes Kili wonders he knows about the cutting too.
His uncle suddenly looks shaken, which he hasn't seen since Mother died. The older dwarf reaches over, touches the side of his face as if to make sure he's really there. Still hazy from exhaustion and blood loss and his stomach's efforts to digest real food, he's left confused. What brought this on?
"Don't you ever do that to me again," Uncle Thorin tells him, pulling him into an embrace that makes him wince, catching him by surprise.
Still confused, he asks, "Do what?"
"Leaving yourself open like, not going to safety until last," the other dwarf answers. "In the name of Valar, you aren't even an adult yet, Kili. You don't need to martyr yourself."
Martyr. The word gets stuck in his head, floating.
People with terrible shots aren't good enough to be martyrs.
Right now he feels vulnerable, lost. The child that, according to dwarven law, he still is. "That wasn't my intention, Uncle," he says, voice swallowed by the fur of the familiar cloak. Even a month afterwards, it still smells of the forge and the earth. Of the only home he's ever known, despite even Fili insisting that they're moving closer rather than farther away. "I'm sorry that I worried you."
"Worried me?" Uncle Thorin repeats, releasing him. Kili takes a step back and a veil of misunderstanding seems to fall between them. He doesn't mean to be a martyr or anything of the sort; he just needs to prove himself is all. And he needs to remember all the times he fails in an effort not to do it again, so he whittles his mistakes into his side. "You're my nephew, Kili. I can't lose you or your brother. I should have known you'd act like this."
Hidden there are the unspoken words "I should have left you home."
Later, when he's alone in his room, he adds another tally to his side. This is the second time he hurts himself for something other than a shot that isn't good enough. And it feels right because there are many things to fail in and he seems to be committing them all. The thought of this scares him.
He intends to never do it again.
.
Then, the storm giants.
He sits in the cave, hidden from the eyes of Bofur who's on watch. He's failed again, worried his uncle. When he hadn't moved fast enough to reach the others, he'd almost slammed into the cliff. It wasn't lost on him, the way Uncle Thorin shouted his name, voice wrought with fear. He's scared him when he promised not to. He adds another wound to his side. By now there are so many his mistakes have moved to his hip.
This is his seventieth tally mark and a little under a half come from this journey alone. He and Fili wanted to go so badly and though their five year difference means that Fili is of age and he isn't, his brother wouldn't go without him. So he was the one who went to his uncle because he's the weakness and always has been. But maybe he should've stayed behind, convinced his brother that it would be better for everyone to go by himself.
After all, no important quest needs a terrible archer. Uncle Thorin can shoot even if he doesn't like it much so if they needed a long distance fighter they'd have someone.
That's not to say he's disappointed that he came. It's just that he thought he'd be able to prove himself. Instead he's doing the opposite. Of course, Ori doesn't have aim as good as he does but that's acceptable. Expected. The dwarf still wears cardigans and tweed. Kili is a son of Durin even if he's strangely...delicate looking by dwarven standards. The different is enormous.
His thoughts are keeping him awake but Bofur has a keen eye on watch and if Kili stays hidden any longer he'll no doubt investigate. He crawls back to his sleeping roll next to Fili and lies down on his uninjured side, waiting for sleep to come.
After the battle of the goblins, he adds twenty-five tallies and runs out of room, forcing him to stop. There's so much blood he has to bandage his hip. After the battle with the orcs, though, when Mr. Baggins does a better job of saving his uncle than does because almost no shot was good enough, he messes up so badly he's finally caught.
Surprisingly, it's Bilbo who finds out and not Fili but he hadn't noticed their burglar so close by when he'd whittled his skin enough times for the wounds to go from the crook of his elbow to nearly to danger area of his wrist. The silent little hobbit gets a hold on his hand before he can even pull down his sleeve. The blood runs freely, staining Bilbo's overcoat and he's too shocked to move away.
Then Bilbo shouts, "Thorin, Fili!" and a fear overtakes him that makes him unable to pull away. That cold sort of fear that seeps into the bones and rots the soul from the inside out.
Because he knows they won't understand.
Since they're so close to camp, Fili and Uncle Thorin are there in an instant, the rest of the company right behind them. All have their weapons drawn, obviously thinking that their hobbit is being attacked. But his arm is still exposed, blood dripping, and Fili is so surprised he drops his sword. It hits a rock with a resounding clatter. Kili's starting to feel lightheaded and the fact that it's from days worth of blood loss is lost on him.
There's a moment where no one does anything. Then Fili is at his side, arm wrapped around his shoulders and Bofur says, "Let's get you back to camp so I can clean you up, laddie."
Numb, he allows Bilbo and Fili to lead him back to camp, too distracted by his own dizziness to put up a fight. Still, he manages to register his uncle's utter lack of reaction and for the first time, a thought enters his head that maybe this isn't such a good idea after all.
"You're going to be all right, Kili," his brother is staying, taking a seat next to him on a rock and brushing his hair from his face. "You're safe now."
Ori asks, "What did this to you?" and Kili just sort of blinks at him, suddenly having trouble comprehending simple questions. There's something wrong. He's never felt this way after marking himself before. Rather, he normally feels a sense of relief and shame.
He can see Bilbo go to say something, but it's Uncle Thorin who answers, "He did it to himself."
Silence falls. There's something wrong, he thinks again. Something terribly, terribly wrong. "Why?" his brother says, unshed tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. They don't understand. They must think this is for his own enjoyment but it's for the opposite. Maybe if he just explains it -
"Not now," Bofur says, suddenly in front of him with the paste they use to ward off infection and a roll of cloth bandages. "Kili looks about ready to faint. He can answer the questions after he's patched up."
He knows his brother wants to argue, but Fili stays silent. Everyone does. Fourteen pairs of eyes are on him. Then Uncle Thorin turns to Gandalf and asks, "Isn't there something you can do to heal him?" Kili looks down at his blood soaked arm and doesn't hear the answer.
Presumably it's a head shake because Balin's reaction doesn't sound all that happy. "Gandalf, he's going to bleed out if we don't do something," he says as Bofur uses a spare bit of cloth to wipe away the blood.
Now that he can actually make out each individual cut, he sees that he messed up. The last one closest to his wrist is deeper than the others because he accidently cut twice rather than make two separate marks. In his haste - his panic - he managed to fail at simple arithmetic.
"I'm fine," he manages to say finally, eyes drifting upwards until he meets the gaze of his uncle's. The older dwarf's face seems a bit paler than usual, though maybe that's because his vision is dimming. Perhaps he went a little to far this time, which is a distinct possibility. These are reminders of his mistakes, not relieving some imagined, emotional slights so the point isn't take make them this deep. Even so, he insists again, "I'm fine. It's nothing."
Fili's grip on his shoulder tightens for just a moment before it hurts and Kili winces. "This isn't nothing," his brother says, his voice thick with worry. The tone hurts worse than any enemy blade or arrow every could.
Even when reacting his mistakes, he still manages to find a way to mess up.
Bilbo's saying something comforting in his ear, perhaps trying to sooth him for what's to come. The paste to ward of infection touches his wounds and burns white-hot against his skin. Despite his better judgement and attempt of self control, he collapses into his brother's arms.
.
"Like I said, it's nothing!"
"Brother, you're hurting yourself. This is serious."
Sometime during his period of unconsciousness, the company had to move on and nearly everyone took turns carrying him which wasn't all that hard because you're so light and small, Kili, you should eat more. Now, after everybody made sure he'd eaten some of Bombur's stew (even though he'd never had a problem with food before since he has no interest in killing himself), he was dragged off to a small alcove, shoved into a corner, and bombarded by the misunderstandings of his brother and uncle.
To make matters worse, he knows the others are hovering off to the side, listening in.
"It really isn't a big deal," he insists, trying to get it through their heads. "It's not like I'm trying to do myself in or anything."
Fili groans and Uncle Thorin pinches the bridge of his nose. "That's not the point we're trying to make, Kili," his uncle says. "You've taken a knife to your own arm. That's serious."
Why can't they understand that it doesn't matter much? That in the long run he doesn't make an impact, so if he does something that makes sense for once they shouldn't stop it. "No, it's not," he says and he's never argued with his uncle before. "I'm fine. Like I said, it's not kill myself or because I like it anyway. Just - reminders so I don't do it again is all. Nothing dire."
His brother and his uncle exchange a look that confuses him. Then Fili says, "How many?"
"How many what?"
"Cut marks."
Really, he doesn't understand what they're so angry about, they he feels terrible for worrying them. He does the math in his head, trying to remember the number of his arm. Unfortunately he can't look down and count, which would be easier. Finally, he answers, "One hundred twenty-one. Roughly."
Something must click and another look is exchanged. One hundred twenty-one is two many to fit on a single inner arm, especially one as relatively thin as his. "Pull up your shirt," Uncle Thorin says calmly, but he can still hear the slight shake in his voice.
Since he knows this will end quicker and maybe they'll let him explain sooner, he does as he's told. Both dwarves swear and Fili actually turns away, hand twitching. Self-conscious under his uncle's intense stare, he pulls it down again. "How long?" the older dwarf asks.
"Five years, about," he says. "See? If it was a problem something would have happened by now."
"What do you need reminders for?"
Suddenly he understands that he needs to lie, that if they find out the truth they'll take away his bow and he won't be able to help at all. "You know," he answers, "mistakes and all that. When I get someone mad, when I don't do something correctly. That sort of thing. That way I know not to repeat it." Then he realizes they couldn't see his still bandaged hip. "My arm's the estimated number of times I made mistakes on this quest so far, which is a lot."
Fili's turned back around again, sitting next to him now. "Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, especially here. We all have. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. You shouldn't have to resort to this. Hurting yourself is serious."
"How's that serious?" he asks, confused. "You're overreacting." Both his uncle and his brother stare at him in disapproval and he wilts under their gaze. Disappointment is not something he knows how to cope with. He thought he'd prove himself, but instead he set himself back. He adds, "If I promise not to do it again, will you let the subject rest?"
Uncle Thorin holds out his hand and Kili wants to shrink backwards and disappear. He knows that look. "Give me your knife," says his uncle. "Hand it over."
"But what if I -"
"Kili."
The single utterance of his name does it. He understands that arguing with make it worse and that this is trivial, blown out of proportion. He reaches to his side and pulls out his whittling knife. He hadn't had the chance to clean it and there's more blood than he'd anticipated.
Fili tells him, "You aren't to wander off alone."
"You aren't going to take watch alone," his uncle adds and he nods, complacent because this isn't a fight he can't win right now. Uncle Thorin sighs. "Now it's getting late and you're still pale from blood loss. Off to bed with you. Fili, you too."
His brother grabs him by his upper arm and pulls him up. His uncle puts a hand to his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze he doesn't need, before staying behind. With his hearing as keen as it is, he doesn't miss the shaky exhale of breath.
Then he sees the worry and fear on everyone's faces. The guilt takes hold immediately.
And he wants to cut his body to shreds.
.
After that, he's never left alone. Even when he's sent to kill something for supper, there's always someone with him and it's usually Fili. Normally being around his brother was preferred over the company, but this is different. He's starting to crack under the pressure of this constant watchfulness.
Originally, he tried to be his usual self and act as if nothing had happened. Cheerful, high-energy, a tad hyperactive. But with everyone acting as though that was some sort of front, it eventually became one until it failed altogether. He isn't bad tempered or anything, but has sort of wilted in a way. And when he's truly honest with himself, he knows that it isn't entirely the fault of everyone else.
For some reason he's been getting twitchy and he can't figure out why. Hunting is easy and he hasn't made a bad shot yet - he gets all of the animals right in the eye, killing them instantly and relatively painlessly. Hasn't even lost an arrow since that type of kill makes them easy enough to remove. And except for everyone's continuous, pointless worrying that partially their own creation as this honestly isn't as a big a deal as the company is making it out to be, he hasn't done either stupid either. As usual he's not being much of a help, but for once he isn't being too much of a hindrance either.
But his hand twitches for his knife anyway.
After two weeks of this torture - this craving - he can't take it anymore and scratches his shoulder until it bleeds. No one notices, as it's hidden beneath his clothes and it's been long enough that the camp is going to back to some semblance of normality. Even before he spills his own blood, he feels an immense sense of relief at the pain of it. For a moment, he just sort of sits there, feeling drunk on the sudden fulfillment of that need before the panic sets in.
He shouldn't be feeling like this. He shouldn't be wanting to hurt himself, but here he is, relieved. This wasn't for his own enjoyment, he'd told himself but he's needed this sharp sort of pain for a week and a half.
To make matter worse, it was done subconsciously.
I need help, he thinks. This was supposed to be to remind myself, not for me to like.
And he hadn't liked it. Ever since he was a child, he'd hated pain. But for the past five years, he'd made terrible shots often enough that it was done relatively often. Since he came on this quest, it had only gotten worse. One hundred twenty-one. Or, roughly, one hundred twenty-five now because of his nails. It was reminders. He's been making so many mistakes lately.
But he's hurting himself for mistakes other than shots that weren't good enough now, isn't he? More than just once, too, and he originally told himself he wasn't doing it again. Is he just finding excuses to make more? Though, it isn't all that bad, he tells himself. Not really. Every failure comes with a price.
Except that in this company, he's the only one who does it. Doing it to tally his errors is one thing, but doing it to relieve a craving is another. It goes against tallying himself on purpose. He's starting to feel more like wood than ever before, something meant to be carved and he shouldn't be. He's a Durin, whether a failure or not, and he can't go about -
No. He pushes those thoughts from his head. For the first time since this inner battle began, Fili picks up on his distress. He's getting better at keeping it hidden, even from his own kin, and this is a horrifying realization. His brother asks, "Is there something the matter, Kili?"
"I'm fine," he answers, avoiding Fili's gaze. "Honest, I am."
"Kili -"
"Can I just have a few minutes alone?" he says, practically pleading. "Please? I need some time for to myself."
But Fili doesn't believe him and grabs his injured shoulder in an effort to get him to look at him, causing Kili to gasp. His brother lets go instantly and takes a glance down at his hand, which is lightly blood stained. An octave higher than normal, he calls, "Uncle Thorin?"
Their uncle looks up from the conversation with Bilbo and understands. He excuses himself and heads over. That frozen fear has taken over again, but it feels black this time. Like something evil curling up inside of him. Wordlessly, Fili holds out his hand and Uncle Thorin grabs Kili by the upper arm, dragging him into privacy. His brother doesn't follow, though he'll no doubt be filled in later. The entire company much know because there's no other reason for the panic in Fili's voice.
Before he can say anything, his uncle asks, "What did you do, Kili?"
Inside his mind, he's at war with himself. He still childishly thinks that Uncle Thorin can fix anything and he's scared. But at the same time he wants to make up an excuse - explain it away as an accident - because if he tells the truth, he'll be made to stop. That isn't right, though, because this is different from its original purpose. Maybe if he had his knife, he could go back to normal and not feel so impulsive.
Or maybe he's just making excuses.
Uncle Thorin is waiting for an answer, staring down at him intensely. "I did it again," he says finally. "I didn't mean to but then it just sort of happened and - Well, and I think there's something wrong with me."
He sounds pathetic and knows it but now that he's actually said it out loud, he realizes that there's some truth in that statement. His uncle sighs and says, "Sit down." He sits on a rock and the older dwarf joins a moment later. He hadn't noticed how badly he was shaking. "You said you've been doing this for five years, correct?" He nods, not trusting himself to speak. "That's a long time to be hurting yourself with relative consistency. Your body must be used to it and going without it suddenly has consequences. How long have you been wanting to do this?"
"About a week and a half," he answers miserably. "I don't understand. I haven't done anything stupid. There was no reason for this."
In a surprisingly affectionate gesture, Uncle Thorin puts his arm around his shoulders, avoiding the injury, and pulls him closer. Kili rests his head against the fur of the coat, suddenly exhausted. Out of everything he's done, nothing has ever made him feel this ashamed before. "It's hard," says his uncle, "but you'll turn out all right in the end."
A sick part of him doesn't want to be "all right," and even though he doesn't say it, he thinks that Uncle Thorin must know. "I lied," he mumbles, not sure why he's admitting this now. "Before. When I said this quest was just my arm. That was the result of panicking. I only did my hip earlier."
Again, his uncle sighs. "Fili and I will keep a better watch on you," he says. "We're family; we'll make sure you'll get past this."
"Can I go to sleep?" he asks after a moment.
Uncle Thorin lets go of him and stands. Kili follows a moment later. "Let Oin clean and bandage your shoulder first," his uncle answers. "You don't want to risk infection."
He nods, dazed, and follows orders until he's finally allowed to go to bed.
.
It's a long time before Kili does it again, a feat caused by a mixture of being constantly supervised and for once having common sense winning over impulsive decision making. Steadily, he gets twitchier and twitchier until it isn't just his family that notices something's a touch off about him. No one's particularly subtle about it, either, everyone always checking that his hands are kept to himself or that he's far, far away from sharp objects. The craving isn't consistent, either; it comes and it goes depending on whether or not he's fallen back into a self-deprecating mood.
But then there're the elves, and getting shoved into captivity. For days. He's alone and he's scared and there's a sharped rock that's practically calling out to him. Just tally the days on the wall, he tells himself, the way he used to with his missed shots and other mistakes. Except, not actually on him this time, of course, because he promised. Finally, midway through the second day, his resolve crumbles and he makes a grab for it, cleaning it off on his undershirt. He doesn't even bother with the wall.
The shame sets in after every cut, but he doesn't stop.
When they make it out through the barrels and end up free and on dry land, the true consequences of his actions set it. After the initial celebration of just being out of there and back together and armed, he feels every eye turn to him. They know. They all know. Of course they do because he's been left to his own devices with nothing but his thoughts and really, how else could it end up? Kili hadn't realized how predictable he is. Or, less him as a person and more the nature of this...type of problem.
This time both Uncle Thorin and Fili pull him aside but it's hours later. His upper arm is burning from the pain and he's so, so afraid. Before they can even ask, he rolls up his sleeve to show them the damage and his brother instantly wraps him up in his arms. It's warm and familiar and Kili feels his shoulders shake. His uncle must have grabbed the medical supplies beforehand because he's patching up the self-inflicted injuries, which must be difficult because the shaking won't stop.
Fili keeps murmuring, "You'll be all right, Kili," into his hair, rubbing circles on his back the way Mother used to do.
"You all keep saying that," he says and suddenly he's crying for the first time in years, hands clutching the front of his brother's shirt, "but it won't go away."
"Matters like this take time to solve," Uncle Thorin answers, voice surprisingly soft as a rough hand strokes his hair. He's crying, trying desperately to be quiet and so, so embarrassed. "It can't be fixed over night."
He knows this, but wants it to be a lie. Craving it is a whole different level from using it as a method to remind himself. And to makes it worse is that the thoughts of how useless he is at everything are becoming far more frequent. Fili tells him, "When we reclaim Erebor, taking care of you will be easier."
"But I don't want any help," he says, not caring how childish he sounds. "I want to do it myself."
"You can't, though," Uncle Thorin says in a tone that means he must have dealt with this before. "It's not like perfecting your aim -"
"But my aim is t-terrible."
There's a moment of silence where they must get it because Fili suddenly says, "Oh - Kili!" Almost roughly he's pushed out of the embrace and held at arms length, causing him wince as the pressure applied to the cuts. "Listen to me, Kili. You wouldn't be here if you weren't skilled enough."
"I haven't done anything since we started." Both his uncle and his brother look at him, flabbergasted. He looks away, self-conscious, trying to wipe away his tears. "I'm sorry."
Uncle Thorin, usually so stoic, seems almost afraid. "This is worse than I thought," he says, more to himself than to them. Kili's mind is playing tricks on him. He wiggles from his brother's grasp and sits on a rock, hugging himself and trying to breathe normally.
"Kili?"
"Give him a moment, Fili."
And they do, all three of them staying quiet until he finally stops crying and calms down. Uncle Thorin kneels in front of him and places his hand beneath his chin, lifting it up until Kili is looking at him. "I'm sorry it came to this," his uncle says. "Fili and I will help you get through this. Will you let us?" He nods shakily, not trusting himself to speak. "There's a good lad."
This is almost enough to make him break down again. "I'm scared of myself," he admits, feeling weak.
"I know you are," Fili says, sitting down next to him. "Next time you think you're going to do it, tell one of us. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
He isn't sure if they believe him, but he appreciates it anyway when Fili takes his hand and the two of them just sit with him for a while, saying nothing.
.
(and then they reclaim Erebor and all live because fuck, they need a happy ending after this)