Chapter 34

They were forced to take another set of backroads, and eventually they stopped to make camp in the woods. They set up a perimeter in silence, winding string and empty cans around a section of trees as a protective barrier, though Thorin assigned shifts for watch anyway.

Bilbo found he wasn't hungry at all, though he forced himself to eat his portion of cold beans. He needed to keep his strength up—they all did, though the energy in their camp was subdued and listless.

Hardly anyone had spoken since they'd left the motel. Dwalin and Balin's absence had left a gaping hole in their group, the specter of grief hanging heavy on all of them. The memory of the train station, of everything that had happened afterwards, had torn through any sense of security they'd had, leaving ragged unease like bullet holes.

An autumn chill settled over the forest that night. But even if it had been warmer, Bilbo doubted he would have been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, bloody images flashed in turn—the young man torn apart by three bullets, Fíli's bruised body, Balin lying on the motel bed, Thorin standing rigid and angry with red staining his shoulder.

They never should have come out here. The thought plagued him, drum-beating along with his pulse. If they'd stayed at the farm, Balin would still be alive. Fíli would still have that joyful light in his eyes. And he never would have been forced to fire that gun.

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut as something in his chest tightened. Dís had told him to try and convince Thorin to stay behind. And perhaps if he'd really tried, he could have done it.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but crying felt wrong somehow. He sat up and shuddered a sigh into the chilly air. The others were lying nearby, though it was hard to tell if they'd actually found sleep. Nori and Víli were on watch, both of them staring blankly into the trees, as if they weren't really seeing them.

Slowly, he tip-toed across the damp leaves and over the string barrier. It was a short walk out of the woods and onto the road. Standing there in the open asphalt expanse felt just a little freer, allowed him to breathe easier. They'd hidden their vehicles in the forest, so it was just the two walls of trees and the empty road, stretching far in either direction.

Bilbo laid down in the center, over the faded yellow paint. Between the trees was a pathway of stars, mirroring the roads. They were brighter than they'd been before the outbreak, now that they didn't have to compete with city lights and such. There was something timeless about it, and it brought him a strange, almost frightening sense of peace.

A figure appeared in his periphery, and Bilbo started to push himself up, but he stopped when he realized it was only Fíli.

Wordlessly, Fíli laid down beside him, and Bilbo was reminded of that desolate night after the warehouse, when they'd lain side by side in the cold. He wondered with a slight frown if Fíli was blaming himself for the train station too.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. The bruises on his face had already begun to heal, and if his ribs were still bothering him, he didn't show it anymore.

"I'm fine," Fíli replied, the answer well-rehearsed. He was silent for a long moment. "You saved my life."

"I'm just glad I got there in time," he said softly. Despite the horror of what he'd done, he would have done it again, a hundred times over, if it meant keeping Fíli safe. That thought was easy enough to hold on to, to keep most of the guilt at bay.

"I'm sorry," Fíli said, and he kept his gaze on the sky when Bilbo looked at him in surprise. "I'm sorry you were forced to do that."

"Do you think it's your fault?"

Fíli said nothing, only glaring up at the stars.

"Do you remember what I said to you the last time?"

"It's not the same," he muttered. "I…I chose to come out here. Because I can fight."

Bilbo hummed in acknowledgement. "And I've seen you. You're a pretty good shot."

"So I shouldn't need protecting," Fíli said, so lowly it was almost a whisper.

He sighed. "You know, we don't protect you because we think that you're a burden, or that you can't take care of yourself." He waited until Fíli met his eyes, then said, "It's because we love you. That's all. We protect those that we love. Don't ever forget that."

Fíli held his gaze, his jaw trembling slightly, then sat up. He rested his elbows on his knees and shook his head. "It just…sucks. All of this."

"I know." Bilbo sat up as well. "I think we're all having doubts by now."

He lifted his gaze to the end of the road, where the higher slopes of the mountain were visible, and smiled sadly.

"But when you love someone, sometimes that means you have to make a sacrifice."

They were so close. The shape of the mountain loomed above them, the lower slopes already rising around them like a welcoming embrace.

Thorin tried to keep his impatience at bay as he stepped out of the car. They still had a ways to go, and not enough gas to finish the journey. He grabbed the siphon from the trunk and surveyed the street where they'd stopped.

It was a quiet suburban road, lined with townhouses on either end. Grass was already crawling through the cracks in the pavement. A few cars littered the road, painted with grime.

"Stay alert," Thorin said to the others. "Let's find some gas and move on."

As he continued down the road, a strange foreboding tickled the back of his mind. Something about the street looked a little too…clean. All the doors of the houses were shut. The glass beneath the broken windows had been swept away. A couple of cars a few feet away had been parked lengthwise in what was undoubtedly a makeshift barrier.

Bifur met his eyes from across the street and gave a brief nod—he'd seen the signs, too.

Thorin straightened, ready to call out to the rest of the group, and froze.

The walkers poured out of one of the side alleys, at least a dozen of them, and more were coming. Víli, Óin, and Fíli were the closest, and they all turned in surprise towards the snarling herd.

"Back to the cars!" Thorin shouted, sprinting towards them. "Let's go!"

Víli grabbed Fíli's arm and began pulling him away. Óin wasn't far behind them, but the walkers were swarming close.

The closest one reached out, but Thorin shot it in the head before it could grab anyone. The rest of the group was converging on the walkers, knives drawn and ready as the dead began to spread out.

A gunshot cracked across the street, and one of the walkers fell as a bullet tore through its head. Thorin spun towards the source of the noise, eyes widening. He hadn't heard a gunshot like that in years.

"Sniper! Get down!"

The group scrambled for cover—around the corners of the buildings, behind cars—even as the walkers trailed after them. Thorin ducked behind the barrier of vehicles and shot another walker before it could fall onto Nori. There was no point in bothering with stealth, not with a sniper on the other end of the street.

He shot a glance at the house at the very end, adrenaline pounding through his veins. The same bloodlust that had roared to life at the train station was reemerging. Another shot cracked across the open space, splattering a walker's brains on the pavement, and his grip tightened on his gun.

The rest of the group was trying desperately to fend off the walkers while staying behind cover. This sniper, whoever he was, would keep them pinned down and vulnerable, leaving them wide open to an attack. Thorin scanned the street again. If this was another one of Azog's traps, they would all be slaughtered.

He signaled Bifur, who was crouching behind a small stairwell. "Draw his fire. I'm going to take this guy out."

Among the gunshots and growls of the walkers, it was hard to hear, but Bifur's nod was enough of an indication that he understood Thorin's intentions.

With his pulse pounding in his ears, Thorin darted down one of the western alleys, on the opposite side of the street from where the walkers had appeared. He turned the corner, eyes flickering to each shadow in search of enemies, but the ragged yards behind the buildings were empty. He ran across the overgrown grass, keeping low.

In what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, he'd reached the house at the end of the street. He circled around to the back and hoisted himself up through one of the broken windows. His feet landed a little too heavily on the wood floor, but the room was empty.

Thorin made a quick circuit through the rest of the first level, but it was empty. Either the sniper was acting alone, or his companions had planned an ambush elsewhere. The second floor was empty as well, though the nests of blankets and small pile of rations told him this place was more than a temporary shelter.

He took the steps two at a time to the third floor, which consisted of nothing more than a small attic. The sniper rifle and stand were propped up against the window at the far end, but their owner was nowhere in sight.

As Thorin stepped into the room, the man came at him from the right, where he'd been hiding behind the door. The knife swung in a wide arc, but Thorin caught the man's wrist before the blade could enter his chest. He drove a solid punch into the man's ribs and pushed him back against the wall. The knife clattered to the floor. The man brought one foot up and kicked him hard in the stomach, forcing him back. He bent down, lunging for the knife, but Thorin was faster. He seized the man by the back of the shirt and threw him to the side. Before he could recover, Thorin had planted one knee on his chest and drew his own knife. He brought it down, aiming for the skull, but the man managed to catch his forearm with both hands, just barely stopping the blow. Gritting his teeth, Thorin pushed down against the man's grip. The blade inched towards his face.

"Dad!"

The shriek made him freeze, though he didn't move the knife. Thorin glanced to the other side of the room.

A girl, about Kíli's age, was standing in the doorway of a closet in the corner of the room. He must have missed it when he first entered, but he was more concerned about the gun aimed at his chest. Her eyes were wide and terrified, and she was shaking badly, but he knew her shot wouldn't miss.

Thorin glanced down at the man, but his eyes were on the girl. The look in his eyes was something between an assurance and a goodbye.

Slowly, he lifted his arm, though he kept his grip on his knife. He stood up and collected the discarded blade on the floor.

As soon as he was free to move, the man pushed himself to his feet and placed himself between Thorin and the girl. "It's alright," he said to her. "Give me the gun." He held a hand back for the weapon, though his eyes never left Thorin.

They stood in silence for a moment, regarding each other. The other man was thin, weakened by hunger, but he'd fought hard. Thorin knew if it had been any of them protecting Fíli or Kíli or Gimli, they would have done the same.

"I wasn't shooting at your people," the man finally said, lowly. "I was trying to kill the roamers."

"We had no way of knowing that." Briefly, he glanced down at the gun in his hand.

His eyebrow quirked upwards. "Most people hear the gunshots and run."

Instead of responding, Thorin stepped closer to the window. The shots were still going off in the street, but they'd lessened in frequency. He watched as his group finished off the remaining walkers, standing in a tighter formation now that the sniper shots had stopped. He glanced to the side and realized a pair of teenagers had appeared from one of the alleys and were firing at the walkers as well.

The man stepped up to the window as well, and he tensed as he noticed the newcomers—most likely his other children, or at least part of his group. Thorin was beginning to suspect there weren't many people with him, if the two kids were out there on their own. The fact that the younger girl was carrying a gun was only more evidence to that fact.

Thorin regarded him coolly. "We should probably get down there."

The man glanced at him, and whatever anxiety he was feeling slipped behind a wary mask. "Lead the way."

Under different circumstances, he would have insisted otherwise, but he understood he was doing this to protect his daughter. The girl was standing close to the man, glaring at him. Thorin nodded once and headed for the stairs.

By the time they reached the group on the street, all the walkers were dead. The two teenagers ran to meet their father. Thorin left them for the moment and approached his own family, looking everyone over for injuries. Most of them were spattered with walker blood, but looked unharmed.

The two groups faced each other. The man's eyes never stopped moving, scanning each member of Thorin's group, even as his two older children flanked him.

"I suppose I should thank you all for taking out that herd," he finally said.

"Would've been easier if we weren't being shot at," Bifur muttered.

Before the man could respond to that, Nori asked, "So, do any of these cars have gas?'

The man shook his head. "We used it all on the generator." He assessed their group again. "But perhaps we could trade something else."

"What were you thinking?" Thorin asked, though he already had a guess.

"We have ammunition, some fishing gear. We could trade it for food, if you have any to spare," he said slowly, like he was trying not to sound too eager.

"Fishing gear?" Bofur echoed.

He nodded. "We used to live down by the lake. There were more of us. But the whole place burned down in some freak accident, so we moved up here."

Thorin narrowed his eyes slightly. He'd seen pictures of the wreckage in the notes on Erebor, and he shared Ro's suspicion that it had been more than an accident.

"We have food to trade," Thorin said. "We'll take what ammunition you can spare."

The man sent them another wary glance, then gestured for them to follow him back to the house.

Fíli took another bite of his rice and beans, glad for some hot food for once. Their group was camped out in the living room of the house at the end of the street, filling the air with quiet conversation.

Once Bilbo had found out that Bard, the man with the sniper rifle, had a portable stove in his possession, he'd somehow convinced Thorin to stay there for the night, for the opportunity of a hot meal and a relatively sheltered place to sleep. They were all grateful for the small comfort, despite the shroud of grief still hanging above them.

Bard was standing by the window, talking with Nori and Óin, though Fíli could tell by the flicker of his eyes that he was keeping watch on everyone in the room. Tilda, his youngest daughter, was sitting nearby. She'd kept a permanent, defensive scowl on her face for most of the night, but Bofur had eventually charmed her with a few clumsy magic tricks.

Fíli's composure wavered. Balin had always been good with card tricks.

He dropped his gaze back to his food. Bard's other two children, Bain and Sigrid, were sitting together on the other side of the room, talking quietly with one another. They were the first people his age he'd seen in years, and at first he hadn't been able to stop staring. He felt self-conscious in a way he hadn't for a long time, like every bite of food he took, every awkward faltering glance, he was somehow doing wrong.

He wasn't sure he knew how to be a kid anymore. Even around Kíli and Gimli, he'd always been the big brother, always focused on setting a good example. And then after the train station, he'd tried to shed any sense that he was still a child. It had felt like it was only weighing him down.

Bain and Sigrid were moving across the room, towards him, but Fíli didn't acknowledge that he'd seen them until they sat down next to him on the couch.

"Hey." Sigrid smiled at him. She was pretty—or maybe she was just the first girl he'd seen in years.

"Hey." Fíli fiddled with his plastic fork, struggling for words. He wasn't great at small talk, and there hadn't been much opportunity to practice it during the apocalypse. He wasn't sure if they would even care, but at this point he'd probably been silent for way too long. He looked up and said the first thing that came to mind. "So, are you guys twins?"

"No," Bain said with a glance at his sister, who was smirking slightly. "I'm older by two years."

He didn't really look it, with his soft, rounded features and large blue eyes. If anything, Fíli would have guessed that Sigrid was the older one. But they both carried a weariness in their eyes, the same kind he'd seen in the mirror.

"So, you're the youngest one in your group?" Bain asked.

"Yeah. I mean, I have a younger brother, but—" He stopped himself. He didn't think these two were bad people, necessarily, but something in his gut told him he shouldn't be giving out information like that. Azog's leering grin flashed in his memory, and he shifted in his seat. "He, uh, didn't come with us."

"Too bad. Tilda could probably use a playmate." Sigrid glanced at her sister. She was leaning against the wall now, her head resting against Bard's leg, with a book on her lap. Fíli couldn't tell if she was bored or just dozing off.

He could picture it, then, like interlocking pieces of a puzzle. Kíli could be friends with Tilda. He would have Sigrid and Bain to talk to. And maybe Bard could find a way to relax. As protective as everyone was in his family, he couldn't imagine having to look after three children on his own in this world.

"You know…" He turned to the two of them. "You're the first people we've seen in a long time. I mean, people that weren't trying to kill us."

Both of them nodded somberly.

"We've been pretty lucky," Sigrid said. "People usually don't come this far east—I think most of them tried to get to the coast. And we usually don't get big groups of roamers. The noise from the guns bounces around the foothills, keeps them confused."

So apparently they'd just had some shit luck with the walkers from earlier. Fíli glanced at Bard again. "It's cool that your dad's a sniper. Was he in the military?"

"No," Bain said. "He picked it up from the wreckage of some military camp nearby. Taught himself how to shoot it." He smiled slightly. "He's gonna teach us how, someday."

"Someday," Sigrid grumbled, leaning back on the couch with her arms crossed. "Anyway, you weren't a bad shot yourself. I saw you taking out the roamers, back there."

Fíli averted his eyes, blushing slightly. "Yeah. I've, uh, had a lot of practice."

Tapping his fork against his empty bowl, Bain looked around. "I think this is the best we've eaten in weeks. Food's been getting kind of low, so…I guess we're lucky you guys showed up when you did."

"It's easier to go on runs with a bigger group," Fíli said. The daydream hovering at the corner of his mind expanded. There would be more than enough food to spare in Erebor. Their two groups could be together, could be safe, within the mountain.

He was almost tempted to tell them about their plan. But as he glanced around the room, seeing Nori's uneasy movements and Thorin glaring out the window like Azog was standing on the other side, he knew it wouldn't be a smart move. He'd known these people for less than a day, anyway.

But there was something about meeting new people, seeing friendly faces and knowing there was still kindness and community outside the bubble he'd been living in for the past five years, that made something ache in his chest. He wanted to go back to trusting. Maybe that would be something of a possibility once they had Erebor.

Fíli turned back to Sigrid and Bain and smiled slightly. "I hope your luck turns around soon."

I really love the first scene between Bilbo and Fíli. This wasn't in the outline but I felt that they needed to talk, and it ended up being a parallel to that one scene from Chapter 21.

Also, next chapter is going to be It. Like, the beginning of the end. We're not yet close to the final chapter, but we're definitely getting there. By my estimates, there should be about eight chapters left, which seems like a lot. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm dragging things out, there's just a lot I need to cover and I want to pace it correctly. See you all next week!