Warning for a pretty intense injury at the end of this chapter (specifically of the stabbing sort…)

Chapter 36

Thorin wanted nothing more than to pace.

But they had to stay as still as possible to keep out of sight. All they could do was crouch in a tight group down the slope from the front door, anxiously waiting for the slightest crackle of the radio or movement from within the mountain.

He checked the walkie on his belt to make sure the battery was full, that he was on the right channel, then put it back and checked the ammo in his gun. It must have been the fiftieth time he'd done this, but he needed something to release the nervous energy gnawing at his limbs.

For all he knew, Bilbo could be dead already, killed by Smaug or through some horrible accident, and they would never know. The sun was going down—they could spend the whole night crouched here, waiting in the dark. How many hours would he wait until he resigned himself to the fact that he would never see that warm smile again, that he would never get to return the words Bilbo had said to him?

Thorin let out a short breath as something in his chest tightened. He loved Bilbo, more than anyone he'd ever been with, but he wasn't sure he deserved that love in return, not after everything he'd put them through.

Bifur perked up, and the entire group tensed. "Someone's coming up this way."

Thorin's grip tightened on his gun as he spotted a muscular figure walking through the trees. Then shock thundered through his limbs as Dwalin's scowling face appeared through a gap in the branches.

Bifur whistled to him, the noise high and sharp, and Dwalin turned in the direction of their group. Recognition loosened some of the tension on his brow, and he began making his way up the slope. He turned to gesture at someone behind him, and Thorin realized he wasn't alone. His eyes narrowed as Bard and his three children followed him up the side of the mountain.

"Saw the cars out by the gate, knew it had to be you all," Dwalin said by way of greeting. His eyes landed on Thorin's face, briefly. There was none of the steely anger that had been there the last time they'd spoken, but there was no forgiveness, either.

Thorin frowned. It was possible they'd been seen by some of the security cameras, if they hadn't known the safe way to proceed up the mountain. But for the moment, he was more concerned with another question.

"Why did you come back?"

"Trouble," Dwalin said, gesturing back down the mountainside. "A herd of walkers—biggest one I've ever seen. It's headed this way, and the fence won't stop them."

"They've probably reached our town by now," Bard added, adjusting the sniper rifle slung over his back. "If we'd been inside, they might have torn the building down. I ran into your friend here, and he warned me to leave. Mentioned there might be a safer place to wait this out." His eyes flickered up the hill, where the door was barely in sight.

"We're working on it," Thorin said, and one hand brushed over the walkie. "How close is the herd?"

"Hard to tell. They're pretty scattered. But their numbers…" Dwalin's expression darkened, and he shook his head.

He must have turned around before reaching the farm—he'd probably been cut off by the herd. Thorin could only assume that he'd buried his brother somewhere, quickly, so he'd have time to warn them. He'd given that up so he could try and keep them safe.

Bard opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, the walkie on Thorin's belt crackled.

He snatched it up in an instant, his heart pounding. "Bilbo?"

"Thorin—" The speaker buzzed with static. "—here. I'm—the door...he's going to try to—the—just stay—" The signal cut out entirely, making the breath freeze in Thorin's lungs, before it delivered one final fragment: "—a way back—"

They waited a long, breathless minute, but the walkie remained silent.

Even through the crackling interference, Bilbo had sounded breathless, terrified. Smaug must have discovered him. Thorin lowered the walkie, his veins swimming in adrenaline.

"We have to get him out of there," Ori said, his face pale.

Thorin took in a shuddering breath. There was no way in except the vent, and the door if Bilbo miraculously managed to open it. He already knew none of them felt comfortable waiting for the second option. He clenched his jaw. Why was he only seeing now how incredibly stupid this plan had been?

"I'll go."

Everyone turned to Fíli. He was standing straight, eyes flashing fear and blue fire.

"I'm the only one that can make it through the vent. I'll find Bilbo and help him get out."

"I can't let you do that," Víli said, his brow pinched. "I'm not letting you go in there when there's a psychopath—"

"But we have to help Bilbo," Fíli snapped, glaring at his father. "We have to, and I'm the only one who can do it." He looked around at all of them, the dauntless determination in his gaze a haunting mirror of his mother. "We protect the people we love." He held the words up like a shield, like he needed protection from whatever they were going to say next.

Thorin felt a sudden tightness in his chest, the same sensation that had nearly overwhelmed him when Bilbo had looked into his eyes and told him that he loved him.

This was his family—the one constant in all the chaos they'd survived over the past few years. And he knew now more than ever that he would do anything to protect them.

"We'll find a way to get Bilbo out of there," he said. He looked around at the group as they all turned to him. "The rest of you, bring the cars up here. We'll circle around the north side of the mountain, try and get out of the herd's path." He took a deep breath. "And then we're going back to the farm."

An almost imperceptible shiver of relief ran through the group. Fíli was the only one who didn't relax at all, and he fixed Thorin with a challenging stare.

"Tell me where to go. Let's just get this over with."

Thorin glanced at Víli. The skin around his eyes was tight with worry and guilt, but after a moment, he nodded. "We're gonna need a plan, first."

"Let's start moving," Dwalin said. "We need to be gone before the herd gets here."

"Alright." Thorin gave a short nod, and that was all it took for the group to spring into action. The majority of the group began moving downhill, to where their cars were parked. Ori draped Nori's arm around his shoulder, and held fast when he tried to pull away. Bard motioned for his children to head in that direction as well. Fíli shot an expectant glance at Thorin, with Víli at his shoulder.

The three of them went in the opposite direction, uphill and towards the vent. They moved as fast as they could on the uneven ground, shoving aside stray branches and dry, winding brambles.

Thorin gripped his gun as panic swirled in his chest. We're coming, Bilbo.

"We still need a plan," Víli said, slightly out of breath as they finished scaling a rocky incline. "We need to know where Bilbo is, and how the hell we're gonna get through that door."

"Forget the door," Thorin said. "We need to get Bilbo out, and our best bet is probably the way he came in."

He turned to Fíli, who was walking slightly behind him. His brow was slightly pinched with apprehension, but his eyes were hard.

He turned back to the trees ahead, and his eyes landed on the gleam of a rifle just ahead.

"Get down!"

Thorin dropped into a crouch just as a bullet tore through the tree behind him, raining shards of bark onto them. Víli had grabbed Fíli and pulled him down to lie nearly flat against the dirt.

Thorin growled under his breath as bullets peppered the air above them. They were so close to the end, and their luck had gone to shit in every way it could.

He pushed himself behind a tree and swung the assault rifle from his shoulder. It had seemed like overkill at the time, but after the train station, he'd needed its comforting weight—and he was grateful for it now.

"You can't hide from us forever, assholes!" shouted one of the men.

Gritting his teeth, Thorin leaned out from behind cover and fired into the trees. He recognized a couple of the faces as they ducked out of sight, and a tide of rage washed over him.

Azog and all of his men were going to die today. He would make sure of it.

He turned to Víli, who was crouching with Fíli behind another tree. "Get him out of here."

Víli had his own gun raised with white knuckles, looking breathless. "You'll be right behind us?"

Thorin turned to fire at the men again, and felt a grim satisfaction as red exploded from one's chest, and he fell with a choked cry. There were too many damn trees—if they didn't move now, the men could flank them in seconds. "Go."

"Come on." Víli grabbed Fíli's arm and began pulling him away, crouching to try and stay out of the line of fire.

"Thorin!" Fíli's wide eyes flashed in his field of vision for one moment, and then the two of them were sprinting down the hill and out of sight.

Thorin fired once more at the men, then sprinted down the hill a short distance, scanning either side for anyone trying to flank them. He needed to hold them off for as long as he could, keep them on this side of the mountain until his family could get to safety.

And then—

One hand briefly touched the walkie at his belt. Every moment he knew Bilbo was in danger, and that he could do nothing about it, was like a knife to the chest.

Bullets pattered the trees around him like rain, and Thorin breathed in smoke and violence.

He would tear apart the mountain itself before he lost anyone else.

Bilbo thought his lungs were going to burst.

He gasped another panting breath, fighting against the burning sensation in his chest. It felt like he'd been running down these blank white halls for hours, but it had probably only been a few minutes.

He needed to find that damn door before Smaug reached it—though he wasn't optimistic about his odds. The man likely knew the entire compound like the back of his hand, and Bilbo was well and truly lost.

There was no telling whether his walkie message had reached the group outside. He'd been repeating the same message over and over until he ran out of breath while desperately trying to find the exit. At one point, he thought he'd heard the low crackle of voices on the other end, but he hadn't been able to make out anything else.

All he could hope for now was that they wouldn't do anything stupid.

The hallway changed suddenly, carved rock blending seamlessly into white-painted concrete. Bilbo slowed for a moment to take in the change, heaving in another breath, then pushed himself into a run again. He had no idea if he was getting close, but at least his surroundings were different, now.

The walkie on his belt crackled. Bilbo snatched it up, hope leaping into his chest, but he froze as an unfamiliar, serpentine voice sounded from the other end.

"You're getting close. Try the stairs to the left. One flight up, and you're almost there."

There was a dark amusement in Smaug's voice, and Bilbo nearly threw the walkie in revulsion. He must have found their frequency. He'd probably been listening to Bilbo repeat his frantic message.

He paused by the doorway to the left, the small window at the top showing a stairwell just beyond. It was very clearly a trap, but some desperate hope made him hesitate. Smaug was playing games with him, but he needed to get back to the others. He had his fortress, his cameras, but in the end it was only one man against the ten of them.

Almost unconsciously, his hand fell to his gun. If it came down to it…

"Oh, come on. I gave you a head start. Aren't you going to take it?"

Bilbo drew his gun and wrenched open the door.

He ran up the stairs, ignoring the burn in his legs. He turned the corner to the second half of the flight, raising his gun to ward off potential enemies, but there was no one there.

He wished Thorin was with him. In all the chaos they'd faced, he'd never once lost his head. In his deadly calm, he would have been able to strategize, come up with a plan better than the half-baked, desperate gamble Bilbo was attempting.

But he was on his own for now. And if he wanted to see his family and the man he loved again, he was going to have to fight his way out.

Bracing himself, Bilbo pushed open the door to the next level and stepped out.

The hallway was also carved from the rock. It curved slightly, winding out of sight in either direction. Bilbo's eyes fell on a perpendicular hall a little ways away. If what Smaug had said was true, then that mostly likely led to the front door.

Something moved in the corner of his vision, and he turned to see a muscular figure step into sight from around the curving wall. He froze as serpentine eyes locked onto him, then his gaze fell to the gun raised in his direction.

"Oh, shit." Bilbo wrenched open the door and ducked behind it just as a bullet embedded itself in the metal. Another shot shattered the small window above, and he winced as shards of glass rained down on him. He scrambled back and slammed the door shut. There was nothing to block it with—not that it would have really mattered anyway—and the next thing he knew, he was tearing down the stairs, back to the hallway he'd come from.

His limbs were burning with exertion and a stitch was growing in his side, but the pain of it only pushed him to go faster. The thought of faltering, of being caught, spurred him on in a whirl of terror.

He was a good distance down the hall before reason broke through the adrenaline spinning through his mind, and he slowed his pace. Smaug had driven him away from the door all too easily, and he was probably giving chase now. In that case, he wouldn't be able to stalk him with the security cameras. Every instinct was screaming at him to run, to find somewhere to hide, but he was going to have to stand his ground eventually.

As it stood, he had two options: try and find the door before Smaug found him, potentially putting his family at risk, or kill Smaug himself.

Bilbo adjusted his sweat-slick grip on his gun as he sped up his pace. For his family, he would have to try. He could do it to protect them.

He paused by a set of double doors and pushed them open. Just beyond was a cafeteria, a large room populated with rows of tables. Distantly, he wondered at how well-preserved the place was. It was rare to find somewhere one could pretend the apocalypse had never happened.

He hurried to the doors at the far end, glancing behind him every so often as if expecting Smaug to burst through. The adjacent room was an industrial kitchen, all stainless steel and white tile, and he took a moment to survey the area.

He didn't expect to beat Smaug in a shootout, as he had no intention of finding out how good of a shot the other man was. Underhanded as it was, the only way he had a chance was surprising him somehow, and taking him out before he knew what was happening.

Bilbo closed his eyes as something like guilt snaked its way to the back of his throat. He was doing this for his family, so none of them would get hurt. He'd volunteered himself for this task, and now he had to see it through.

He crouched behind a counter in the center of the room. If Smaug managed to follow him in here, hopefully he'd be able to surprise him.

Beneath his ragged panting, he could hear the low swish of the doors opening in the cafeteria. Bilbo wiped his hands on his pants and readjusted his grip on his gun. He glanced at the safety to make sure it was off.

As he strained his ears, he could hear the low thudding of the other man's boots. He was walking at a leisurely pace, and the realization made dread prickle behind his ears. This was nothing more than a game to him, and Bilbo was beginning to fear he'd miscalculated something.

Then the door to the kitchen opened, and he held his breath to keep as quiet as possible.

The low tap of the door swinging closed sounded, but there were no footsteps to accompany it. Bilbo raised his gun, checked the safety again, then prepared to spring up.

Just do it. It's one shot.

The air in his lungs was roaring for release, and he tried to let it out as quietly as possible. The quiet clink of steel made him stiffen. He winced as it turned into a high-pitched screech, like a blade dragging across metal.

"Where are you?" Smaug was walking again. Hearing his voice in person, the sinister growl of it, was even more chilling. Bilbo shifted again. He was walking across the far wall, parallel to the counter where he was hiding.

Bilbo listened to his footsteps, which suddenly became a struggle given the ringing in his ears. Soon, Smaug's back would be to him, and he would take his shot.

"Well, then…" Something clicked, and Bilbo winced at the sudden, high-pitched burst of feedback from the walkie.

The shock was enough to force him into motion, and he leapt up and fired across the kitchen. The bullet struck Smaug in the shoulder, forcing him back with a cry of pain. Blood splashed across the sink, startlingly red compared to the sleek silver.

In the same motion, Smaug raised his own gun, and Bilbo hit the floor as three shots rattled across the metal shelf behind him.

Smaug's ragged breathing raked across the room as the last echoes of the gunshots fell silent. Bilbo pushed himself up into a crouch, trying to quell his shaking. He needed to make his next shot count.

Another gunshot cracked across the space, followed by the crackle of breaking plastic and a shower of sparks, and the room went dark.

Bilbo hissed out a curse. With fumbling fingers, he pulled the walkie from his belt and slid it across the floor, as far as he could.

"You're clever." Smaug's voice reverberated across the room. "I'll admit, this has been fun. But you shouldn't have shot me."

Bilbo was barely listening to the other man's threats. He crawled to the other end of the cabinet, trying desperately to remember the layout of the room. It sounded as if Smaug was standing by the door to the cafeteria, but a sliver of light near the floor had caught his attention. He would have to make a break for the other door and hope it didn't lead to a dead end.

He stood up, fingers closing around a rolling metal shelf used to store dishes. He pushed it sideways with all his strength, sending it and its contents to the floor with a thundering crash. Using the noise as a distraction, he sprinted towards the door and shoved it open.

The next room was dimly lit, only a few lamps in the ceiling illuminating the shelves, and Bilbo nearly froze at the sight of its contents. To his right, there were more shelves than he could count, all rising nearly fifteen feet to the ceiling, and all of them were filled with neat boxes of food. To his left was a door leading to a walk-in fridge, and he had no doubt that was also full of supplies.

None of that was going to be helpful at the moment, though. Bilbo ducked into the nearest aisle, thankful to find that it didn't lead to a dead end. He ran for the small space in between the shelves and the far wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and the door. Not a second later, the door burst open again. Smaug came charging through with a growl, and Bilbo pushed himself into a sprint.

Another gunshot cracked across the space, and Bilbo heard one of the boxes explode, followed by the trickle of some sort of grain hitting the floor. He stumbled to a halt and turned around, returning the fire, but none of his bullets found their mark—Smaug had ducked out of sight.

Bilbo pushed himself into a sprint again, fumbling to check his ammo. He cursed under his breath. He only had one round left, and he hadn't brought any extra with him.

Smaug fired again, and pain slashed across his back, from his spine to his shoulder. The force of the bullet threw him to the side, and Bilbo stumbled against the concrete wall with a gasp. His knees buckled. A hot trickle of blood ran down his shoulder blade. The bullet must have only grazed him, but the pain was enough to make his ears ring.

With a groan, he forced himself back to his feet. There was another door just ahead, and he pushed himself to reach it.

The room just beyond was small, and a sharp contrast to the plain room behind, the walls and ceiling paneled with dark wood. He'd ended up in the wine cellar. There was nowhere left to run.

With one bullet left and a throbbing shoulder, Bilbo turned to make his last stand.

He'd barely raised his gun before Smaug was pushing the door open. Bilbo aimed at his head, but Smaug was faster, seizing his hand and forcing the gun upwards. The bullet hit the ceiling, raining dust and splinters down on them both. Smaug forced his hands to the side as his other arm cocked back and struck Bilbo in the side of the head.

He was sure the blow had knocked him out for a second. When he came to, he was sprawled on his stomach, pain radiating from the side of his head like a small sun. He let out a strangled groan as Smaug's knee pressed down on his shoulder, turning the sting of the gunshot wound into an almost unbearable tearing sensation.

"Are you finished, yet?" The smugness in his voice sent an oily finger of fear trailing down his spine. "I'm all out of ammo, I'm afraid, so this isn't going to be quick."

Bilbo grit his teeth, trying in vain to push himself up, but Smaug only pressed down harder. His gun was lying on the floor, just out of reach. It was out of bullets, but if he could just find a way to grab it…

"No, I think I'm going to make you wait a while."

And before Bilbo could ask what he meant by that, Smaug raised the knife he'd taken from the kitchen and embedded it in the floor—right through Bilbo's hand.

He let out a scream, more from the shock of it than anything. A second later, the pain came, a horrible gnawing sensation that seared through his palm and left him gasping for air.

"Now…" Smaug rose into a crouch, but the release of pressure from his shoulder did nothing to lessen the pain. "I think I'll go see if your friends are still waiting by the door. And once I'm done killing them…" He leaned closer, his gaze boring into Bilbo, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the silvery blade of the knife. "I'll come back and finish you."

He stood up and walked out of the room, the wood creaking lowly under his footsteps.

Bilbo took in another gasping breath and tried to move his hand, but he stopped immediately as the pain flared up. He bit back a whimper and closed his eyes. The pain was almost overwhelming, each panicked twitch of his hand renewing it.

All he could do was lie there and watch the pool of his own blood slowly spread across the floor.

My favorite kind of chaos in Hobbit fics is The Battle of the Five Armies But Smaug Is Also There. So next chapter we're gonna get into the thick of it. It'll be another longer one, and it's…a doozy. I also want to mention that I will be going overseas in a few weeks (to New Zealand yeeeee) so with the time difference it's going to be a little chaotic, but I will try my best to keep regular updates. Until next time!