Bilbo stared at the bleak landscape in front of him, even just a year ago it was everything he had ever wanted in life. The Shire, his home, and the home of his people lay sprawled out in all its glory before him, and he could care less. The thought of his warm little home after all the hard months of travelling was appealing to his aching body, but his mind rebelled. He wanted to go back, go back to that one mountain that rose up high from the plain. Go back to a group of honorable dwarves who had risked, and in some cases lost everything, to reclaim their homeland. He wanted to go back in time and prevent the twins from the horror that awaited them. He wanted to go back and save a man who would have been a great king of his people from leaving for the halls of his fathers too soon. He wanted to do so much, but he only had the road that lay before him, there was no going back, not really. Erebor would not be the same glorious place that Thorin had described to him on their journey, not without the line of Durin ruling it.
His feet took him habitually throughout Hobbiton until he reached his home, only to wake from his stupor at the sight of all of his belonging's being auctioned off, and were those the Sackville-Bagginses? Goodness Gracious, No! This would not do! Unwanted home or no, this was all the home he had left and those terrible relations of his would not be making off with all of his silver! With a cry he dashed forward, ignoring the shouts of exclamation and then recognition that echoed out of his fellow hobbits and neighbors at his rushed passing.
Hours later with the help of the Gamgee's he had everything stowed back in its proper place and his home looked none the worse for wear. As he shewed the last well-wisher out the door and slammed it shut behind them the energy-boost finally drained out of him. He slid down the neatly varnished wood to the floor in despair and looked at the home he had saved. His father had built it for his mother, it had been his home all throughout his younger years, but it would never really be home to him again. He had found home, and then he had lost it again. He allowed himself one more moment of sorrow before picking himself up off the floor and going to unpack, he was a Hobbit, all the more fool of him for going on the adventure in the first place. This was his life now, and he was going to make the best of it.
In later years, a small adventuring Hobbit's laughter would brighten the halls and make it feel a little more like home. Never though would Bilbo forget a certain company of stubborn Dwarves and the quest to take back the Lonely Mountain.