Darling 🧁

Blue and green.

Pouring into each other like liquid vehemence. Holding with such intensity, the surrounding air trembled in anticipation. Every breath, each individual muscle ached horribly by the passing second. Time cried for their sakes.

Finally, finally, words dared to form upon the human's tongue. He sucked in a breath brimming with trepidation. Still, he couldn't tear his eyes from the blue ones boring into his own. "You gonna say something or just keep staring at me like that, huh?"

Dean's defense mechanism failed him at the tremor in his voice. He was terrified beyond belief. His heart had all of his vitals in a headlock, making him feel as if he could give out at any given moment. Castiel tilted his head slightly. There was so much he could say. So much he couldn't. But he trusted Dean. It was a foreign sort of trust, unlike any other he had in another soul.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say, Dean."

The human man grew pensive through agitation.

"Something! Anything! Just stop lookin' at me like- Like you.."

Castiel furrowed his brow. He took a small step forward, but even that was enough to leave hardly any space between the two men. On instinct, Dean backed up, though the action proved futile. "Like what?" persisted the angel. Dean's nose scrunched.

"Like you're in love with me, alright, Cas?!"

Castiel paused. Love. That was an emotion not known to angels. At least, not those who obeyed. He obeyed. And yet, he wasn't like others. He had questions, doubts. Thoughts no good soldier should be thinking. He had seen the way Dean loved. With such passion and purpose. But that was different from the love Dean was accusing him of possessing. This kind: it was much more melancholic.

Forbidding and dangerous. It was the one thing humans wanted more than anything else. Their fuel in life, and the single most destructive emotion to their kind. Angels have fallen from grace for the sake of love. Was he really willing to take a risk that large for the sake of this one mortal man?

Of course he was.

The only opposing question that remained was how Dean felt. He already struggled with letting his true emotions show, especially those that brought out his more insecure side.

"Love?" echoed Castiel, the word tasting strange upon his tongue. "Angels cannot love humans, Dean. It is not permitted."

"Yeah, well, you sure act like it," Dean scoffed. His sarcasm was lost to Castiel, per the usual. The angel was doing his best to use tact here, though he was anxious Dean would end up seeing right through him. But Dean put such blind faith in him that it was alarming. Then again, he was in a similar, if not identical, boat. Surely that was love, right?

"Even if I... did, love you as you claim, what do you imagine would happen?"

Dean's face dropped. Something a little worse than fear nipped at him. That was a catastrophic 'what if' to a man like Dean. All his life, he had sold himself a lie about anything romantic toward another man. For the sake of making his father proud, under shaded pretenses, to be a good son.

John wouldn't have cared, but he hadn't been around long enough to express that to his son. Instead of getting the reassurance he needed, Dean buried his feelings and curiosities. Internalized those negative emotions.

It was just his luck for all that to come out at the hand of a celestial being.

He didn't know that he could allow himself the freedom to admit to Castiel, let alone himself, what he imagined might happen. There were countless possible outcomes.

"Could you?" Dean spat out. Castiel went to respond, but Dean continued, "If it was permitted, could you love me?"

"Dean, the Lord does not make rules for his soldiers ficklessly. I cannot-"

"Just answer the damn question Cas! Could you, or couldn't you?!"

Castiel fell silent. He hesitated: running through every possible response he could possibly give this poor, wonderful, broken man.

"I... Yes."

Dean met Castiel's words with a sudden, strong kiss. The angel's eyes blew wide as pies, and he froze up. But the human didn't relent. He desperately poured everything he had into this kiss. Everything his heart had been headlocking, seeping out an intense desperation.

Castiel would lose his grace for this.

The angel's lips pushed back. Clumsy and uncertain, but giving. Dean persisted: sliding his smooth lips in rhythm against Castiel's while the angel did his best to keep up. Suddenly, Dean tore away, ripping a gasp from Castiel.

They stared at each other. Shocked and or afraid, perhaps both. Something inside Dean caved in upon itself. Quick as a flash, he had turned on his feet to flee the room. Castiel was quick to follow.

"Dean, wait."

Dean didn't wait. He kept going without a word. Castiel quickened his pace and caught the human man by his wrist.

"Dean."

"No Cas!" Dean snapped as he yanked his hand away from Castiel's grip. "That was a mistake, okay?! Just a stupid, impulsive mistake."

"Your feelings for me are a mistake?"

"What?- No, that's not what I said!"

"Then what did you say, Dean?"

The eldest Winchester boy had nothing good to say to that. Castiel felt an unfamiliar pain beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. Their eyes locked again, like they always do.

"I just meant that- This sort of thing isn't easy for me, alright? It's different with women, or y'know, non heavenly beings. You're an entirely different world of feelings and bullshit."

Castiel couldn't wrap his head around the meaning behind Dean's words. The general gap between the examples he gave was clear, but what he implied went completely over Castiel's head.

The internalized homophobia was lost to him because he didn't feel it.

It was like looking at somebody through a raging fire. The smoke and heat hid nearly everything.

"I don't follow."

"No, of course you don't."

Castiel stepped into Dean's personal bubble. Space was never an important thing between them. Dean's nerves spiked. What just happened was enough to make him die of shame, and Castiel's persistence only made it worse.

"I am not a ship, and you are not an anchor, Dean. So stop acting like you are."

Tears rose in Dean's wide eyes. That was one hell of a way to put it. His fingers curled and uncurled uselessly at his sides. This entire situation was starting to get too overwhelming for Dean.

"I gave you my answer. Show me what you're going to do with it," demanded the angel. Dean cocked his arm back to throw a punch, but it never landed.

Instead, he came crashing into Castiel. His arms locked tightly around the other man's shoulders, and their chests were pressed together so firmly that Castiel could feel Dean's heartbeat slamming against his ribs. Castiel hesitated. Hugging was something he'd seen happen between Dean and Sam, or even Bobby, countless times. But never before had he been the recipient of such affection.

Soldier Boy held a hard gaze at Malchemical, watching as the man panicked and lost his breath. Something suddenly flashed through Ben's mind. It was the same man before him now, but different. He wasn't so douchey. He was dressed in a suit and trench coat with a hard, yearning expression on.

He yanked his hand away from Malchemical with a sharp intake of breath.

"The fuck was that?!" barked Soldier Boy as Malchemical fell to the ground gasping for air and clutching at his neck.

"What are you talking about you fucking psycho?! You were the one choking me!" snapped back the man in blue. From his hands and knees he threw his head up to scowl at Ben.

Malchemical shouted in pain, his hands flying to hold his head. The moment he looked up at Soldier Boy, images flashed through his mind. It was the Ben, but it wasn't. He was younger, and lacking the full beard he sported now. He looked confused, or perhaps holding back.

"What're doing to me now?!"

"What am I doing?! You're the- Fuck!!" howled Ben, holding his own head too. It felt like his skull was being caved in at an excruciatingly slow pace. More images. Memories, only they weren't his own. No, they were. How? So many feelings all at once, consuming his heart and head. His chest ached and eyes burned with forming tears. The breath inside his lungs refused to go in or out.

Malchemical dropped further into the floor. Memory after memory running through the forefront of his mind, paralyzing him. Each one more intense, and all of Ben. His heart pounded angrily against his ribs. He was feeling something horrible. Strong and unyielding and unfamiliar. Love. It was love so violent he began to tremble.

But it wasn't his own love, and not for Ben.

Soldier Boy's ptsd started to kick in, and he felt his power beginning to buzz deep within his chest. Malchemical forced himself to look back up at Ben. He was in so much pain, mental and physical. He could see the glow burning through Soldier Boy's chest. No. Mustering all the strength he had, he scrambled to his feet and slammed into Ben full force: knocking them both to the ground.

"Stop!!" Malchemical nearly screamed, but Soldier Boy wasn't stopping.

Ben forced his eyes open, locking gaze with the man on top of him. Neither could see each other, but instead the versions of them from these strange, misplaced memories. Feeling so desperate, so deeply. The swell in Soldier Boy's chest slowly feel back in and the world felt as if it had froze. He snapped out of it though, and shoved Malchemical off.

"Get the fuck off me!"

Malchemical flew several feet away from the force of the shove and hit a wall which he slid down. Fear had rooted itself inside Ben's heart, and this spiked it. He got up, and resumed his hand around Malchemical's throat.

"The fuck was that, huh?! You get off mind fucking people?!"

"That..! Wasn't me..!"

"The fuck it wasn't!"

Soldier Boy squeezed Malchemical's throat harder. Love, or any inclination of it shot the worst sort of adrenaline through him due to his past experiences with it. Malchemical gasped and clawed uselessly at Ben's arm. All Soldier Boy could see was that different Malchemical. Crying, and smiling largely, looking as if he were in the deepest sort of love. Nothing was going to stop him.

And nothing did.

In the dead of night, when the stars played and the earth slumbered peacefully, Fili found himself wide awake. It was still very early on in the days of Thorin's company, and they had yet reached Rivendell. Currently, they were camped not far from the Shire, sans any potential threats. Ones toward his life, that was. His heart however, was very much at risk right now.

He was on first watch, but wasn't exactly paying attention to the surroundings. No, his eyes were glued to a certain sleeping dwarf. One who clutched his book close to his chest even in sleep. Fili sighed hopelessly. He had known Ori to be his One long before they had left the Blue Mountains on this quest. But he wasn't nearly as certain Ori felt the same way about him.

It was a little discouraging, but the fire in his heart raged nevertheless. Ori looked so peaceful in his sleep.

Oh how Fili longed to share a bedroll with the youngest Ri bother. To braid his hair. To love him outwardly. But, now was not the proper time to express his feelings. Nor had he the means or material to even propose a courtship. It'd be inappropriate, and far too public for Dwarven standard. Those sorts of things were meant to be secretive, much like many other aspects of their rich culture. He would simply have to wait until the time was right.

When his shift ended, and Kili took over for him, Fili finally had the chance to get out his bed roll. He could have laid it out earlier, but he knew if he had there was a good chance somebody else would roll over on to it and he'd be screwed. And boy was he glad he had waited. Much to his luck, there was a spot right next to Ori perfect to lay on. So he did just that. It was subtle enough, he thought. Being close was better than nothing.

Sleep quickly consumed Fili, but not for very long. When Kili's shift ended and he was on his way back over to his own bed roll, he tripped over Fili's feet. The blonde startled awake with a sharp gasp. He shot up as far as he could, in a sleepy, confused daze. Kili muttered something, and continued on his way. Fili looked around in his daze, unsure as to why he hadn't been able go sit up fully. His chest felt heavy, warm.

Then his eyes landed on Ori, who he was partially spooning and happened to be the weight laying back on his chest. Fili was wide awake now, his eyes as big as pies. Sweet Maker, was this really happening? No, no. If this wasn't a dream, he wasn't going to take it forgranted. He slid his arms around the thinner Dwarf, tucking his face into the back of Ori's neck. He was so warm, and smelt like parchment.

If only every night was like this.

__________________

One afternoon, on another relatively pleasant and harm free day, Fili decided he was going to very nonchalantly ride next to Ori. Everyone else chatted with another, making jokes and telling stories or even smoking. Ori, on the other hand was too absorbed in writing to conversate. Fili watched him curiously, puffing at his pipe as he did. Finally, letting his suspicions get the best of him, he spoke up.

"Hey Ori, what're you writing?"

"Hmm?" Ori sounded, looking up from his book with big eyes.

Fili nodded to Ori's book, pulling his pipe away from his lips. "You've barely looked up from that thing all day"

"Oh! Yes. I'm updating my daily logs. I haven't done it in a day or two"

"Ah. And uh.. Are you nearly done?"

"Mhm. I think I'll finish before we reach the valley"

Fili nodded, lacking the words to keep the conversation going. His eyes primarily remained on Ori until they got to the steeper hills that lead down The Last Homely House. When they settled in Rivendell, Ori approached Fili with his book in hand. Fili eyed him suspiciously as he approached.

"Yes, Ori?"

"I've decided I'm going to draw all the members of the Company, and I wanted to start with you, if you're okay with it"

Fili short circuited. Draw him? He was flattered, beyond so. He sputtered, struggling to spit out anything but an embarrassing answer. "I- Yes. Sure."

Ori's face lit up like a firework. He bubbled out a thanks that made Fili's face turn pink. He had the prince sit down on a rock and stay perfectly still. That part wasn't hard. It was not letting all the emotions running through Fili's head show that was difficult. While Kili had always been much more vocal about his feelings, Fili was the one who couldn't hide them from his expressions.

To be quite frank, he was nervous. Ori had to stare at him and take in every single detail visible to the naked eye, and then go and replicate it on paper. It wasn't as if he hadn't had his portrait done before, but this was the first time it really mattered to him. He wanted to hold a regal air worth admiring, if nothing else. He managed a straight face, but his hands trembled. He could only hope Ori wouldn't notice.

This is fine, he told himself repeatedly. Ori flicked his eyes between the blode and his page, scratching at it endlessly with his quill. The thing about doing these portraits, was he had to be very precise. He hadn't packed the proper materials to portraits, as he hadn't thought about it until much early. If he messed up, he would have to start all over again. And that would be far too time consuming, not to mention difficult for poor Fili. Sitting perfectly still could get tedious.

While he zoned in on the paper and went a while without looking up, Fili took the opportunity to stare. The way Ori stuck his tongue out when he focused, how his brow furrowed and he squinted his eyes every so often. He was adorable. Then, their eyes met. Instantly Fili looked away. How embarrassing. Ori blinked, a little caught off gaurd. He paused, then set his quill down.

"Do you wanna take a break?"

"Huh?" Replied Fili, like an idiot.

"A break. It must be difficult, staying still so long"

"Uhm. Sure" Fili's shoulders slupped. Ori stretched, raising his arms far out with curling fists. Fili noted the way his face scrunched up, and how he arched his back while wringing out his muscles. It was beautiful. Ori, was beautiful. That much was as plain as day. The youngest Ri brother met the Dwarven beauty standard quiet well, and Fili certainly appreciated it. He himself had never been very vain, knowing he didn't meet the standard as well as most others.

His mother had always praised him for his looks though, and people often said he had 'lucky hair'. Maybe Ori throught it was a lucky color too. If Ori thought he was beautiful then he'd never think on his appearance again. For now though, that remained unknown. Awkwardly, Fili shifted. He hadn't a clue what to talk about. He couldn't just not say anything either, that'd be even more awkward.

"I'm glad I asked you first" Ori broke the silence. Fili's eyes darted to the later, confused.

"Why's that?"

"You're the perfect muse"

Fili's heart stopped. Perfect. Ori just called him perfect. His mouth hung open at a loss for words. There was no way he could ever recover from that, not in a billion years. Ori didn't say anything else after that. Fili drew a breath. He wasn't sure if Ori was trying to flirt or not (he wasn't), but he was gonna play it cool. "You're a fine one to talk about perfection."

"What do you mean?" Ori glanced up confused, met with a cool looking Fili, approaching slowly.

"I mean, if there was anyone who knew about perfection, it'd be you. You, Ori, surpass the definition of the word 'perfect'." By the time he finished speaking, he was less and a foot away from Ori, who was looking up at him in flustered awe.

"But I suppose you already knew that. You must have seen your reflection before"

Ori's eyes sparkled. He'd been called handsome by Dori before, but that was different. This was something else entirely. The way Fili looked at him made him light headed. Eyes so soft that he would have thought them to be melting if he hadn't known better. Nobody's held a gaze like that to him in all his life. He couldn't possibly utter a word to match up to Fili's. It was as if romance made his tongue.

"I- You- Thanks.."

"No need to thank me for telling you the truth"

Ori swooned. He resumed doing Fili's portrait shortly after. By the time Ori finished, it was nearly dinner time. He again praised the prince for his ability to sit still for so long, and proudly presented the piece. Fili was truly amazed by Ori's skill. It was like looking into a mirror. All of his features were captured to the t. He stared at it for some time in silence, frying Ori's nerves.

Eventually, his gaze returned to the scribe, wide eyed and astonished. Then, something inside the blonde snapped. He crashed his lips into Ori's with passion. Ori shouted in surprise, though was fast to hold on to Fili. His fingers clutched uselessly at any bit of Fili they could, desperate to anchor himself. Fili's lips were relentless, peppering kiss after kiss to the brunette.

When he finally and truly pulled away, both were breathless. Ori's eyes were blown, and his chest heaving hard. Fili searched Ori's expression, trying to gage whatever he might be thinking. Neither said a word. Then, something brilliant happened. Ori laughed. It started a weak chuckle, but turned into loud, glorious laughter that warmed the air. Fili smiled, letting out a breath of relief.

"What? What is it? What's so funny?" he urged lighthearted.

"Nothing! You're incredible!" Ori sang out in his laughter. He sounded how spring felt. When his laughter died down, he couldn't keep the smile from his face. He was so happy his jaw hurt. Fili's expression was far more gentle, admirational.

"Ori, please. Please say you'll take me in courtship"

"Without doubt."

With Thorin gone, Bilbo felt an unriddled emptiness. All the hardships he endured on his journey with the company were nothing in comparison to the hollow eating away at him after losing Thorin. Dizziness flooded his senses, turning the world around him into a cruel blur. The brightest sunlight could beat down on him like a flame, and he'd still freeze with the winter inside his heart.

He had resettled in Bag-End much less happy than he had expected himself to be. Part of him expected, more toward the end of his journey, that he wouldn't have returned here. Instead that he would have remain in the Misty Mountains with Thorin until a proper, timely end of their days. It's what sounded right, and felt moreover.

Now he sat alone, back in the Shire, seldom able to pull the image of Thorin dead from his mind. He had been blessed enough to share Thorin's last moments, but not enough to say how he truly felt. Not enough to share a single kiss. How could he? At the time, all he could think about was trying to make sure Thorin lived. It was only after Thorin's last breath had the realization hit the poor Hobbit.

He was too heartbroken to do anything but hold his dear friend afterwards, forget a kiss. He now thought it would have been wrong to do. To create a selfish perversion of something so utterly tragic. He could never do something like that. He remembered starkly how accepting the look in Thorin's eyes was before they hollowed. It was close to peaceful, had he not been in so much physical pain.

The memory haunted Bilbo at all times. If he lost thought, his mind would drift back to that very second. Or even to seeing Thorin's body before he was buried, looking clean and like the king he was. A pity, he only truly held that regal aristocratic air in death.

Everything became a reminder of his gone love. Each time the sky turned Durin blue, he had to stop from crying again. At breakfast every morning he found himself making Thorin's favorite, even if he could hardly stand that many eggs at once. He bought a harp, one as close to Thorin's as he could possibly find, but never once played it. The instrument sat unused upon Bilbo's bedside table, which he stared at until sleep swallowed him each night. Grief was strange, and unforgiving, in the lightest of terms.

This wasn't Bilbo's first time grieving, but it was certainly the hardest he had. And then, it got to be too much. A madness began to form inside him, slowly ebbing away at the stability of Bilbo's already muddled mental state. His ability to function from day to day started depleting, turning into something sicker and more twisted.

All he could think about was Thorin. He couldn't fathom going on like this anymore. Something had to be done. He did not care how drastic his measures might have to be, for now there was only one thing he was certain of: he was going to get Thorin back. No cost was too great.

Bringing back the dead was no easy feat. Nor was it accepted. It was, in fact very heavily frowned upon and wrong on many levels. Bilbo was close to going manic. How was he to go about this? By now, Thorin had well and truly turned to stone.

Bilbo certainly didn't want Thorin to come back to that, to be in more pain than he was even in death. Who could he go to? What sort of deal would he have to strike? How should he prepare to make this journey? There were far too many questions to be asked, and nearly no answers. Through the muddled fog of his mind, Bilbo searched for any sort of hint to give himself. An empty, hushed word echoed. One spoken by a grey wizard:

Necromancer.

He'd heard that name uttered a generous amount of times. But where to find said person he could not remember. Bilbo growled in frustration, banging his hands against his head.

"Where..?! Stupid grief stricken head! Can't remember! Bollocks!"

Curse Gandalf and his infuriating secrecy. He had only heard him mention were the Necromancer was once, in a hushed and private tone. It had been hardly audible to his keen hobbit ears. It was some place he'd never heard off, much less been before.

A place possessing darker legend. A place unfit for such a good, kind person as Bilbo. A sharp, unforgiving gasp ripped from the burglar's chest. Dol Guldur. That was it. In a flurry Bilbo was in his study, tearing every book and map off the shelves he could that might tell him how to get to Dol Guldur.

His fingers frantically traced every road or trail on each piece of parchment with wild eyes searching for that dark place. He let out a shriek of excitement when he at last found it.

"Yes! Yes. Mirkwood. I know how to get to Mirkwood.."

Within the day, he had planned his route and made his pack. Just the necessities, same stuff he brought during his time with the company, along with food. Though this time he wouldn't forget his money, smoke, and pocket handkerchiefs.

This go around, he informed a close cousin and neighbor of his that he would be leaving for an extended amount of time, so as to not have his home ransacked once more. When first light came, he was out the door and billowing down the rolling hills of the Shire.

Despite not bearing the one ring upon his finger, he felt as if he were. His mind was in a dizzy, grief crazed blur in which all was distorted, even if just slightly. He walked endlessly, only stopping when his body began to fail out of sheer exhaustion. The closer he grew to his destination, the more dangerous his treading grew.

There were more than a few times he had to use Sting, which he had expected. When he did finally get to Dol Guldur, he was less himself than he had yet been. The ruins of that dark castle whispered suspiciously at Bilbo. His presence was not great, but he bore something that was.

It hid deep within his waistcoat pocket, murmuring secrets in return. The air around our halfling bit at him cruely. Cold and sharp as a winter plague.

"Hello?"

Called Bilbo as he wandered deeper into the dark ruins. He was met by the echo of his own voice. The presence of whatever lurked here mocked him. It sobering, the evil. And it brought Bilbo back to the forefront of his mind. He should not be here. Nevertheless, he treaded deeper. Even the ground, stone and sturdy felt as if it where kept past the state of decay beneath his thickly souled feet.

"Helloooo..? Anybody.. there?"

The breath in his lungs stung and the finger which he wore his ring burned. Deeper and deeper he delved, until he reached a thin, drawn out ledge. A violent gust of wind thrashed against him, and a horrible, pitch black entity shown itself to him. Its voice was twisted and wrong as it spoke in words Bilbo didn't know he could understand. He screamed, clamping his hands tightly over his ears. His skull throbbed so hard he felt it might crack.

'Why are you here little one..?'

Bilbo sunk to his knees. No. He had beared emotions worse than this.

"I hear you bring back the dead!" cried Bilbo in return, his voice choked and strained by the force it took to speak.

'What use is the dead to you? I owe you no favors, halfling'

"I need!-" Bilbo cut himself off with an agonizing scream, curling over. The ring inside his pocket felt like it was burning right through his stomach. "I need my friend back!"

'Who are you to demand my power?'

His ears felt like they were bleeding. The pressure in his skull worsen, and a thousand negative, vile words swarmed him. Taking over his will and thoughts: removing his purpose. Removing Thorin.

'A ring you say?' mocked the voice, suspicious. Bilbo felt his heart twist gruesomely inside his chest. It was as if death was toying with him. Doing just enough to torture, but not enough to steal the life from his body.

"I can pay you!! I've a ring worth a pretty price to make it worth your while!" He forced, the words strained and choked.

"Yes!! Just- Do as I ask!!!"

Suddenly, all the agony ripped from his body all at once. A shrieking gasp tore from Bilbo, leaving him trembling and breathless. He clutched desperately at the clothes on his chest, wide eyed and left defenseless.

'Make your offer before your end.'

Bilbo shivered at the threat. Somehow, he found enough strength to muster a nod. "I.. My friend, I need him back."

The hobbit managed to lift his head. His eyes were weak and could hardly withstand the furious entity before him. "His name is Thorin. Thorin Oakenshield. If you bring him back, you will have your payment."

The ring simmered inside Bilbo's pocket, suddenly lacking its voice. It did not want to be returned to its master just yet. The time was not right. The Necromancer was quick to demand its payment, but Bilbo's paranoia sang out. Bilbo shook his head, his lips growing tight.

"No, no. If we do this, we do it on my terms. I want- I want him back first. Yes. And he must remain with me until I've seen fit. Until I know I can trust you not to take him back from me."

Anxiety rose rather quickly inside the Hobbit. Perhaps giving this thing an ultimatum wasn't such a grand idea. Then finally, despite all its rage, the Necromancer gave a reply:

'Do you swear I shall have my payment?'

"Upon my honor." the words tasted stale upon his tongue.

'Begone.'

A pit formed in the hobbit's stomach. "What?" He croaked, panic quickly rising in his tone, "I thought we just made a deal? No! No! You have to-"

'BEGONE!' bellowed the Neromancer, forcing another strong wind upon Bilbo. Its strength pushed Bilbo back a few steps. He tried to fight it. To retaliate and argue, but the agony returned tenfold. The wind too, did not stop. With a scream hard to bear, Bilbo was forced to turn on his heels and run. It felt like these ruins went on forever, every twist and turn forming another.

When he at last escaped, he collapsed. All his might had been stolen from his mind, his body. He felt useless. This had all been for nothing. The dangers, the hardships, the target he had just unknowingly put on his back. Tears began to rain from his eyes. Thorin. Now it was certain. He'd never see his beloved Dwarf ever again.

His body ached unlike before, as if he were dead on his feet. But he could not remain in this place. With sobs wracking through him, Bilbo began to stumble his way from Dol Guldur. There was nothing left to do.

______________________

A deafening gasp filled a large, empty space. It was ice cold, and darker than night. Blinking eyes couldn't focus. Everything felt anew, but grotesquely perverted. As if they weren't to be here. Something was missing. Confused hands felt about, lacking the proper mobility to function fully.

What such calamity was here? There was life yet, but where was unknown. Senses were blurry and not quiet right. The air felt damp, closed in. But a slight draft gave way for chance of hope. An exit. Each limb fumbled and stuttered as they tried to move. Directions were wonky, flipping in every which way. Breath labored, clumsy footsteps tattered. Wander, wandering deeper, further.

Tricks played, fooling about. Light, weak and lackluster, slowly ebbed into fragile eyes. Pain stung, making those tender blue orbs water and snap shut. Strength was hard to build. Tugging on, the light grew brighter, brilliant, blinding. The ground grew warmer, less heavy. At last, stone turned to grass, air became fresh, sun graced all. Adjusting wasn't easy. The blue eyes blinked. A forest, full of the colors of earth and bendy trees.

Birds called, leaves rustled, trees spoke amongst themselves. The sky was a beautiful blue, clear of clouds or murk. There was a strange peacefulness in this place, though roughly disguising something less innocent. Purpose reluctantly made its way into this life made anew. Memory and self-awareness. They had a name! A glorious, wonderful name that had been gifted to them by their maker, and another by their father!

Thorin.

What was he doing here? He had been- Where had he been? Somewhere else, not here, to be certain. He looked down at himself. He was as he remembered, more or less. Memories were still somewhat fuzzy. Thick, lightly tanned skin, covered in black hair and tattoos and piercings. Sans clothes, however. He shuddered lightly. This would not do. He needed to find clothing, food, and shelter. Another thing..

His people! Yes! They would know what happened to him. But he hadn't a clue where they were, or how to get there. Frustration tinged his fuzzy mind. Nothing made full sense. He felt like he had been forced away from a deep slumber, but couldn't quiet shake sleep from his system. There was so much missing, too much missing.

He stumbled through the wood, grasping on to every tree to could to keep himself up. He recalled a mountain, his mountain. But he couldn't see anything but the treetops above, and the endless forest surrounding him. What did his.. mother? Father? Cousin? Mother. His mother always said to find water when lost. Following it will always lead you somewhere. A river, or a stream. A lake, perhaps.

A lake sounded right. He couldn't hear any running water, if he remembered what it sounded like correctly. His hair felt off. Like it were missing a few things. He brought a hand to his dark locks, feeling through them. His braids were gone. So was his lineage clasp and beads. Come to think of it, all of his piercings were as well, but the holes remained. He couldn't recall where they had all gone.

Though, at the moment there was seldom he could. He could hear the murmur of the wood and trees, like they were saying unsavory things about him. Like he didn't belong and they knew. Deep down he knew it as well, but lacked the ability to identify it. At least not properly. It was all so confusing. He disliked the voices of the trees. They felt even more foreign to him than anything else, they were the newest to him somehow.

______________________

When Bilbo was far enough into the forest of Mirkwood, the full weight of what he had just tried to do hit him. How abundantly selfish he was and tried to be! To wake the dead, why it was a demented act. Not only that, but extremely disrespectful to the dead. To wake them from their rest, to force them back into life was the cruelest thing a person could do. Just the idea of it was vile.

His motivation had been utterly selfish. Thorin deserved to rest after such a brutally hard life. To be with his kindred after being alone for so long. He was disappointed in himself, his parents had raised him better than to act thus self centered. Let alone to such an extreme. What would Thorin think of him? He despaired at how dishonorable he'd been. He was a Baggins for goodness sake!

While he made his way through, or rather out of Mirkwood, he thought about making the rest of the journey to Erebor. He dearly missed everyone in the company and hadn't seen them in three or four years now. But the reminder of Thorin's grave sourly turned him off the idea. He had a similar inkling before reaching Rivendell, as he hadn't seen Lord Elrond while passing through there on his way to Dol Guldur. That would be nice, to see his friend. There he would wash, rest for a day or two and eat proper food. Upon entering the valley, he was near instantly greeted by some elves.

They happily escorted him to Elrond's halls, though seemingly on edge. As a matter of fact, all the elves seemed to share the same air. Elrond included. When he got a moment alone with the elf lord, he gave way to his suspicion.

"Lord Elrond?" Sound Bilbo, his eyes sweeping their surroundings once more: making sure they were in private company. "Is everything alright? Forgive my saying so, but all your people.. They seem tense."

Elrond sighed. It was inevitable that Bilbo would notice. This valley, though strongly and securely protected, was weary. "Perceptive as always, Bilbo Baggins. Yes, they are tense. Not all is right"

"What do you mean?"

"There have been reports of something lurking in the Trollshaws."

"Trollshaws?" Echoed the Hobbit. He'd passed through that forest several times before, and would have to again. It was full of old, menacing ruins that were crawling with Trolls, of course, corrupt hill-men and wights. There were all sorts of wrong things lurking in those twisted woods. What was so different now that it alarmed the elves?

"Yes, not anything ordinary for that place. It's alarmed even the trees, though we cannot seem to pinpoint what this creature is."

Bilbo felt nauseous. He'd seen plenty of sinister being in his day, but the mere sound of this one made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. If it was something new, could it be a cross bred sort of mutant made by two different species there? Was that even biologically possible? The Hobbit had no response for his Elven friend. A craving for home crept into Bilbo. He'd need to return soon; with whatever was out there lurking. He decided to cut his stay in Rivendell short, much to Elrond's dismay. The Elf Lord asked that Bilbo stay until they were positive there was no real danger.

Mr. Baggins was not convinced. He said he would simply avoid going deep into that forest and stick strictly to the East-West Road. He had no reason or want to go deep into the Trollshaws anyhow.

------------------------------------

The tombs of Erebor were not often visited. The Dwarves typically only went down there to clean up and place the dead in their final bed amongst the stone. There was, however, occasionally some who visited their lost loved ones. Out of grief, or perhaps to pay respects upon the death day of who they were visiting. Right now, there was a certain, saddened Dwarf down in the tombs; Gimli, son of Gloin. He had been rather lonely today, and in turn thought of his lost cousins, Fili and Kili. They were, after all, his greatest friends outside of their blood relation. He missed them dearly, so he thought to go spend time with them. It made him feel less alone, in some sort of melancholy way.

He sat before their side-by-side tombs, telling them all about his day, and days already passed. It felt good to talk, even if it was really only to himself. He didn't leave a single detail out and went as far as to crack a few jokes. After talking for some time though, he fell into a discouraged silence. Maybe this did more harm than good after all. The red headed dwarf sighed a long, sorry sigh. It was time he left this place. He stood, gathering his bearings and turning to leave. Then, something caught his eye. Gimli paused. It could have been nothing, but his gut told him otherwise.

While he was in the royal wing, Kings had their own special spot in the tombs. Thorin's tomb was there. The corridor that lead down there lacked lit torches along the walls, which was odd. There were always torches lit down every corridor of the tombs. Gimli took a step forward before freezing. Was it above his place to check it out? He was technically a Dwarf Lord. No, he should go get Balin or his father, or even Lady Dis.

But then again, what if some honorless Dwarf was in there grave robbing? If he left, that gave the criminal leave to escape and go unknown! He puffed up his chest. He had to do this. The young Dwarrow started down the King's corridor, looking out for any sign of another living person. Dwarves had incredible eye sight in the dark and underground, so if there was anything out of place, he would spot it. It was however, he had to admit, hard to read the name plates on the tombs.

So, with a bit of fuss, he managed to light one of the torches. Much better. He held it up as he walked, reading each tomb name plate. There were so many Kings! But none of which were disturbed. He wandered a bit further until a small draft caused a shiver to run down his spine. There should be nothing open to cause that. His anxieties shot through the roof. He raised his torch higher, lightening the entire cavern. His foot slipped. What? Gimili looked down, finding gravel and crushed, sandy rock beneath his feet.

His eyes followed the trail of gravel, which quickly turned into large chunks of rock. Gimli let out a gasp of pure horror. Thorin Oakenshield's tomb, the newest one in the chamber, was thoroughly destroyed. The sealed square of the stone wall had been smashed to pieces. Gimli, in a blur ran over to the tomb. It was empty. Completely and utterly void. Gimli had half expected to see one of the dead robbed of their jewels, maybe even their royal robes.

But not this. Never this. How did someone manage to steal an entire body from the tomb and go unnoticed? Gimli's shock quickly morphed to sorrow to rage all at once. He tore from the dead's caverns fast as his feet could possibly carry him. He flew through the mountain, not caring who or what he shoved through. He burst into the royal audience room full throttle, slamming the gigantic doors open into the stone wall.

All eyes, stunned, turned to the wide eyed and winded Gimli. There had been an important council meeting going on between Dain, Balin, Dis, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin, Ori and Dori about some political matter. By the look on Gimli's face, it was clear something was very wrong. Gloin was the first to speak, standing just as quickly as his son had entered the room.

"What is it boy?" barked Gloin, already feeling dread.

"Thorin-"

"What about him?" interrupted Dis, sharp as a flint. She stood, eyeing Gimli with a million emotions flashing through her eyes.

"He's gone."

The entire room erupted in confused shouting, barking question after question at poor Gimli. Dis, however, needed no further information. A sob siezed her throat, and in a flash she was on her feet. The rest were quick to follow. It was quite the odd spectacle to all of those in the mountain, seeing the entire royal council (and Gimli) running full speed throughout Erebor.

Dis was the first to reach Thorin's tomb, and let out a blood curdling scream at the sight. Balin got there shortly after she did. Dis collapsed into her cousin, and in a daze he held her. He felt dizzy. The rest of the council got there within the next few moments. The sight was devastating. While taking it in, a silence, save for Dis' cries, fell over the group. Dain was the first to break it.

"Gimli." Dain's voice was grave, barley containing rage, "How came you by this?"

All eyes turned to the young Dwarrow. Wide eyed, Gimli suddenly felt timid. Did they think this was his doing? Dis rose, a scowl upon her beautiful regal face. "What were you doing down here?" demanded the Lady, still holding on to Balin to keep herself up.

"I-" Gimli didn't know how to explain himself. He never wanted anyone to know that he visited his cousins. He was left without choice now, it seemed. His tongue slipped out between his lips, wetting them before swallowing thickly. "I was visiting Fili and Kili. I come see them when I.. When I get lonely"

"That doesn't explain anything!" snapped Dwalin. Gimli shrunk in on himself a little more.

"I felt a draft. Then, I noticed the torches that lead to the King's cavern. So I came to look and I.. found Thorin's tomb like that. I came as soon as I saw it."

"And there wasn't another person down here with you?" Interjected Balin, far more gentle than everyone else had been.

"Aye," Gimli confirmed with a solem nod, "This happened before my time here. I hadn't seen anyone exit when I arrived either."

Dis choked out another sob, burying herself into Balin once more. Gloin came to stand next to his son, placing a hand upon his shoulder.

"Seal the Mountain. Nobody goes in or out until we find who did this."

Dori nodded at Dain's order before running off to relay them to the gaurd at the mountain's gates.

________________

While the East-West Road didn't directly pass through the Trollshaws, Bilbo kept his guard up anyway. Who knows what sort of creature could come crawling out of that terrible wood and decide he looked like a good snack. Whatever it was that had the Elves so shook had to be dangerous. He'd just have to be swift. If he only stopped to sleep, then he could make it to Bree in a little over a fortnight. The sooner the better. Bilbo didn't allow himself to travel as leisurely as he once would have liked.

The more arrogant part of him, before learning about this new darkness, had thought nothing about going through that wood. He had passed it plenty of times now, but ultimately, he was just one Hobbit. The Mithril under his shirt did nothing to stop his head from getting bitten off. Much to his surprise however, there had been no dangers at all. No trolls, no hill-men, nothing. That made his anxieties raise higher. If this beast, or whatever it was had scared all of them off, then he had to be very extremely careful. With each day and night, he grew closer to Bree, the more suspicious he grew of his surroundings. If only Thorin were here, then he'd feel less unsafe.

This place was familiar and foreign all at once. Like he had once known it but couldn't recall that he had. He was confused; he knew forests to be full of life and danger. Here, life seemed to avoid him. But he couldn't place why that was. He knew seeing a nude dwarf out in the wild would be a shock to anybody, thought he didn't think it warranted this extreme of a reaction. He had decided several days ago that he needed to leave the wilderness and find people. The kind didn't matter, he'd be happy to see even an Elf. Any person would do. He needed clothing, food, shelter. He hadn't been able to find any weapon of any sort either, though they'd do him little good as he had seen no game. He was beginning to starve, and it was making him weaker than he already was.

When dusk feel for the umpteenth time, Thorin felt helplessness creep up his spine. Never before had he been so useless and inefficient in anything. He refused to stop or rest. His feet would not pause until he found salvation. The air in this place made his nose tingle. No, wait. It hadn't done that before. What was happening? He groaned, placing a hand over his face. He was smelling something! Smoke! Mahal, why did it feel like he was doing that for the first time? He shook his head, turning to follow the scent. If there was a fire, that meant there was a person who made it. A small flicker of orange caught his eye far in the distance. He rubbed his eyes, feeling horribly strong deja-vu.

While growing closer to the flame, he made sure to stay stealthy and cautious. Even with his foggy brain, he was still himself and still knew how to survive. He crept up, keeping to the bushes as he got close enough to make out who, or rather what was sitting at that fire. They were small, and cooking something over the fire. His heart dropped.

"Bilbo?" he croaked.

The curly little head sitting before the fire whipped around with eyes as wide as saucers. It was Bilbo. The Hobbit's stomach sunk. Thorin? Standing in the bushes? He was dreaming, or had gone mad. Thorin was dead and buried half a world away.

"Thorin?" Bilbo managed to reply, scrambling to his feet. Thorin let out a breath of relief, crashing into the Hobbit as swiftly as he could. Bilbo's arms hovered around Thorin as he took it in. Had the Necromancer held up his end of the deal, or was this a trick. Oh, he didn't care if it didn't last. All that mattered now was that Thorin was here now. His arms encircled Thorin's wide middle fiercely, and he buried his face into the Dwarf's neck. He was sobbing before he could get another word out. Thorin, for the first time since he woke up in that cave, felt relief. It was Bilbo, his burglar. When he pulled away from Bilbo, his hands remained on the Hobbit's shoulders. Bilbo looked so heartbroken.

"How- How are you here?"

"I'm not sure" replied Thorin, feeling that same migraine he got every time he tried to remember something return. "I woke up in a cave, north of here."

"North?"

"Yes, I-" Thorin cut himself off with a cry of pain, his hands flying to his head. His skull burned like it was melting, being sliced open by a sword made of flame. Bilbo panicked, quick to guide Thorin over to the log he had been sitting on. This was wrong, so horribly incredibly demented. Whatever was happening the Thorin was his fault without a doubt. Thorin was able to regain his bearings in due time, but there still seemed to be some residual pain left.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Yes, I'll be alright. Just.. Disoriented. I cannot seem to shake this headache"

Bilbo frowned. That seemed far worse than some ordinary headache or migraine. "What's the last thing that you remember Thorin?"

"As I said, waking in that cave"

"Before that," the Hobbit worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He dreaded what Thorin might reply. He couldn't begin to imagine the pain of being ripped from the afterlife. It had to have been worse than his death, and that was gruesome. Absently, Bilbo's eyes wandered to Thorin's middle in search of the wound that had ended his life previously. It was only then that the Dwarf's stark nudity had dawned upon Bilbo. He shrieked, flying to his feet with a red face. Thorin pulled a confused expression.

"Wha..?" The Dwarf looked down at himself. Ah. He was in fact, still bare. The modesty of Hobbits always evaded him.

"Where on earth are your clothes?!" cried Bilbo.

"I had none when I awoke"

"Oh sweet Valar" He turned to his pack, rummaging through it for something to cover Thorin up. All of his spare clothes would be far too small on Thorin's huge frame. But, he did still have that hooded cloak Dwalin gave him a lifetime ago. Quick as a flint he whipped it out and threw it over Thorin. The fabric hit the king in the face before falling down his front to pool on his lap at a comically slow speed. It was a very temporary fix, but a fix nevertheless.

Bilbo muttered something about 'the indecency of dwarves' as he sat back down. A weak smile pulled Thorin's lips. Bilbo acted ever hisself.

"Well, you must be starving. Let's get you fed and then you can tell me the rest of your tale"

Bilbo fussed about before serving Thorin what he had been cooking over his fire. It was fish. One bite of it made Thorin realize just how hungry he had really been. The rest of his meal lasted about three more bites. He cleared his throat, which earned him Bilbo shoving a flask into his hands. He drank it's contents gratefully. Bilbo watched with wide eyes as the Dwarf chugged and chugged. Two streams of the liquid ran down his chin and through his beard to his neck. His eyes followed Thorin's adam's apple each time bobbed with every deep swallow.

He hadn't realized when Thorin had stopped, too fixated on his gorgeous, thick neck. Only when Thorin's voice reached his ears did he snap out of it.

"What?"

"I said, would you like me to continue now?"

"Oh! Yes, yes. Please." Bilbo nodded eagerly, taking Thorin's plate from him and piling more food on to it absent mindedly.

"As I said, it was North. And in a cave, one I knew not. That was several days ago now. I've wandered since then, but I have no clue where we are"

"The East-West Road. We're some two days travels from the Trollshaws. Thorin, what was the last thing you remember? Before waking up in that cave"

Thorin paused, furrowing his brow in thought. He remembered Erebor. He remembered the dragon getting slain. A pit began to form in his stomach as he started to recall his goldsickness. How far gone he had been was nauseating. He remembered the way his veiw on all of his kin twisted, and his soul trust in Bilbo. He remembered Bilbo snapping him out of it, and how passionately he loved the Hobbit in that moment. He remembered falling back into his sickness, and pulling himself out. The pit grew deeper at the memory of Fili's death.

Tears slipped from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Guilt, such unbearable, crushing guilt clawed at him. He remembered killing Azog, but after that everything went blank. "I.. I can recall as far back as killing Azog, but anything after that is void"

Bilbo's face dropped. He didn't remember dying. He had nothing to say of the after life. His hand flew to his mouth, covering it. Thorin noted that, and his confusion grew. "Bilbo? What is it?"

"Nothing. Nothing. That's all you remember?" Bilbo rushed.

"Yes. Am I missing something? What happened to me?"

"I-" He couldn't possibly tell Thorin that he had died. He also couldn't say that it was his fault that he had come back to life and couldn't remember anything. Thorin would never forgive him. Bilbo swallowed nervously. "I don't know." A lie. "You got hurt. And I, I left the mountain after the battle concluded. I don't know what happened to you Thorin."

He shouldn't have lied. He should have told Thorin the truth. But he couldn't, he just couldn't. Foul, so foul he felt, as if he were rotting as he lived.

"How long ago did that happen?"

"What?"

"You said the battle was won. How long has passed since then?"

Bilbo shrunk in on himself. Four whole years. Each season, four times over. Bilbo muttered something, refusing to meet Thorin's eye.

"What?"

Another mumble. Thorin was beginning to get angry. A scowl worked its way on to his expression. "How long Bilbo?" He pressed on, firmer.

Rebuilding Erebor was no easy feat, not by any means. Between restoring the kingdom and getting everyone back in Ered Luin over the Misty Mountains, it took nearly two full years to get things going smoothly. Thorin, now over his gold sickness proved to be the wonderful king everyone knew he would make.

Under him, Fili was able to properly begin taking on his lessons to become the next king under the mountain. Everyone else too had been able to resume their trades as they had in the Blue Mountains. This included Ori, who after finishing his apprenticeship, became the royal scribe.

Fili also, when given the time, was able to pursue is trade of being a jeweler much like his mother. So, the pair got to spend little time together, save for the occasional meeting in which they both attended. Even then, they scarcely sat together due to their positions, and were only able to meet through stole glances made by yearning eyes. The courtship between them had started somewhere during their time together in Thorin's company. Fili was close brinking madness. All this time apart would be the end of him.

Living in separate halls didn't help either. After yet another long day of separation, Fili stormed into his workshop, huffy as his uncle Bilbo. What could be done? There was still too much to be restored in the mountain for their marriage to be made, and to live in the same halls before hand was unsavory. Drat! He could just go show up to Ori's office, but that was never a good idea.

Ori was very busy with documents and didn't like to be interrupted very much. It stressed him out. He could make something for Ori. In true Dwarven fashion, the prince was very fiercely loyal, especially to his One. His workshop was already full of all sorts of things made for Ori. Hair beads, clasps, rings, and necklaces alike.

Gifts that needed to be given. But that was apart of the courtship. Though none of it seemed to resignate well enough to rise to the occasion: longing. It needed to be something more interpersonal with deeper meaning. To be loved is to be seen, and he'd been set a fine example of that by his two uncles. Thorin was constantly making little Hobbity things for Bilbo, even going as far as to plant him a garden on the side of the mountain. And vise versa of course. Bilbo fussed over and took very good care of Thorin.

He could make Ori a new quill. Or an inkwell. Or both. Encrusted in all kinds of beautiful gems and jewels, of course. Yes, that was perfect. He was going to do that. For the next few days, Fili worked tirelessly in his shop to make Ori the most glorious set of pens and ink he'd yet receive.

He chose to use silver, as it retained the least amount of ink damage opposed to gold or copper. To add a bit more flare, he too decided that they would be fountain pens as well. He'd make three. One with grey ink, and one with purple for his family colors. And the final? That pen's ink would be Durin blue. There was no better gift than acceptance, and this would be a clear show of it.

Each pen adorned a glorious feather, fluffy and trimmed excellently. The jewels of white diamond, emerald, and sapphire cascaded along the silver barrel in intricate swirls. The three matching inkwells were matched in all the same jewels. To keep the pens and inkwells in, he made a velvet lined wooden box. That took the most time, as he carved and polished the wood himself. On the lid, he engraved the word Âzyungelê: love of all loves. When he finished it all, his nerves pricked and spasmed. What if Ori didn't like the set?

He was a scribe, he certainly already had a hoard of pens and ink. Maybe this was an insensitive gift after all. No, Ori would love this. He had to. Gah! Blast all this doubt! Gathering his courage, Fili scooped up the box and marched across the mountain to Ori's office.

He paused outside the door with a nervous fist raised in the air. Knocking was unnecessary, Ori was his one. He could see him whenever he pleased. The pushed open with a long, low groan of age and weight. Inside there were bookshelves as high as the ceiling full to the brim along every winding wall of the room. The floor haphazardly full of tall stacks of paper made the walkway narrow and difficult to maneuver about.

"Ori?" called Fili aloud. It was impossible to see anything in this cluttered room!

"Back here!" replied a adenoidal voice.

Fili craned his neck in attempt to locate where it came from. Shuffling about, he finally reached the back of the hallway like room where Ori sat at his equally cluttered desk, head down and feverishly writing away at a long scroll. Fili let out a small huff of relief. Seeing his love was a relief. A small smile pulled at the blonde's lips.

"Hello, Hulwulê."

Ori's head snapped up instantly. The wide look of surprised on his face quickly morphed into one of joy. He stood, fumbling to round his desk to his princely partner. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you. What else?"

"Oh!" Ori gushed, throwing his arms around the shorter Dwarrow. Fili returned the hug with one arm. Thank Mahal he wasn't mad. Ori pulled back, his hands remaining on Fili's shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak, but caught the box on the blonde's hip out of the corner of his eye.

"What's this?"

"Ah, this. It uhm," Fili presented it with both hands and a suddenly flushed face, "It's for you, actually. Surprise?"

Ori's jaw slacked. His mittened hands came up, gently taking the wooden box in awe. He ran his fingers along the engraving slowly, feeling each dip and grove with reverence. His eyes flicked up to Fili hurriedly. "Truly?"

"Yes. Open it" Fili nods.

Ori lifted the lid slowly. The moment its contents met his gaze a gasp ripped from the deepest hollow of his lungs. His eyes flashed between the silver pens and a now very nervous Fili. "No!" He quickly set the box down on his desk before lunging at Fili in a fierce embrace. Fili made a noise of surprise and staggered back, but was quick to catch the scribe. He let out a fond chuckle, rubbing Ori's back gently.

"I'm glad you like them"

"Like them? Fili they're the best pens I've ever gotten! Did you make them?"

"I did. I spent a fair time on them too"

Ori, for a lack of better words, pressed an excited, crushing kiss to Fili's lips. Fili grunted in surprise, but quickly melted with lazy hearts in his eyes. Ori pulled away, and Fili followed with pushed lips. That was far too short to savor.

"They're incredible, thank you"

"Of course"

"Awh, but I've nothing to return the favor!" Ori huffed, turning around to rifle about this things.

"Ah- No. No favor," He caught Ori by the elbow, pulling him back. "A gift. A show of love. I need nothing in return"

Ori looked a bit guilty for a moment before relenting. "Oh, very well. Still, I wish I had a better way to thank you"

"Come to my halls tonight" Fili suddenly blurted without thought.

"What?" squeaked Ori, now thoroughly red in the face. Fili panicked. Where had that even come from?

"No! I mean- Mahal above what's the matter with me?"

Fili hid his shameful face in his hands. Ori felt fluster from his head to his toes. He tugged gently on Fili's sleeves, pulling his hands from his face.

"Okay,"

"What?! Ori, no, no. I seriously did not-"

"No. I want to, and. And you won't stop me"

Fili stared at Ori in gaping shock. Ori, although slightly nervous and fidgety, looked incredibly determined. The most Fili had seen him be in a while. Reeling, he wet his lips with his tongue.

"I.. Okay. Come at high moon, alright?"

"Right." Ori, nodded firmly and pressed a peck to Fili's cheek. They said their goodbyes and the prince stumbled about the mountain. This couldn't possibly be real. The hours passed by in a blur, and night grew late. Finally, there was a soft knock on the outer walls of his halls. He shot out of his chair in the sitting room like a launched bow. He practically flew to the door and shuddered as he grabbed the handle. This was it.

He drew in a breath. Okay. Time to be calm. He had to be steady, for Ori's sake. Slowly, he crept open the door. There stood a very nervous looking Ori. Fili quickly pulled the brunette inside and silently rushed him back into his room. There, hidden behind a thick wooden door and dense stone wall they wouldn't be heard.

"You came," Fili breathed, kissing Ori.

"Yes," murmured Ori again Fili's lips. The blonde clutched at Ori's hips as he tilted his head, pressing soft kisses to the scribe's mouth. Ori trembled, his own fingers curling into Fili's furs. Slowly, Fili backed the trembling Dwarrow up to the bed. The backs of his knees hit the edge with a stifled gasp before Fili pushed him back on to it. This was fine, the prince thought. He had no reason to be as anxious as he had been, they were both experienced.

With Fili on top, Ori felt heat tinge in his stomach. Fili swiped his tongue along Ori's lips, gentle but demanding. Ori's lips parted, and Fili's tongue slipped inside. The prince groaned softly. Their tongues danced languidly, sliding and exploring. When they broke away, Fili was quick to re-occupied his lips on Ori's neck.

The brunette tilted his head back, gripping tightly at the sleeves of Fili's top. He must have been tugging, as in a beat Fili was pulling the thing off. Fili's hands got as busy as his lips, plucking open the buttons of Ori's cardigan. Fili's tongue swiped along the side of Ori's throat before finding a spot to suckle.

The scribe let out an embarrassing whimper in turn. That noise went straight to Fili's core, fueling the burning fire in his lower belly.

"Fili wait-" croaked Ori, nervous as a all hell. Fili pulled back, looking mildly concerned.

"What is it? Too fast?"

"No it's not that- Or, it kinda is I just-"

"Hey hey," Fili caught Ori's hand in his own and pressed his thumb into the scribe's warm palm, "breathe."

Ori nodded and took a breath.

"Now, what's the matter?"

"I'm- I want to do this, I do. I just.. I'm not sure how"

Fili paused. He thought that Ori.. Oh no.

"Ori, if you're not ready then we-"

"No!" He interrupted sharper than he intended. "I'm ready. We've been together long enough. I'm nervous is all. I've never taken.."

"There's other ways to do stuff without going all the way, Ori. I don't care, as long as you're comfortable?"

"There is?"

Fili let out a bark of laughter, throwing his head back. "Yes, yes there is. Would you prefer we do something less intimidating?"

"Please"

Fili nods. Piece by piece, cloth by cloth, they grew unclad before each other. Both were breathless, drinking in the sight of the other's body. Ori's hand came up to Fili's chest, his thumb brushing over one of his pierced nipples. Fili let out a shuddering breath at that. Ori, taking the initiative, let his mouth replace his digit. The prince let out a low breath, allowing Ori to do as he pleased.

"Keep.. Keep doing that,"

Ori listened, laving his tongue over the nipple. After a few moments, Fili grabbed Ori's face and crashed their lips together in a heated kiss.

Fili placed his hands on Ori's bare hips, laying him back on the bed as he hovered over him. Ori's legs fell open as Fili got between them, thought they didn't touch. Rather ached, their bodies anticipating any little brush of skin. Fili pulled back, sitting on his heels while his hand slid from Ori's hip to his v-line. His gaze was heavy, fixed on the proud stature inches from his hand.

Then, he took it in his hand, earning a gasp from Ori. In a slow movement, he pumped his hand. A trembling whimper bubbled from Ori's throat, and he threw an arm over his eyes.

"I-I never-" he choked, shuddering as Fili's hand continued to slide up and down.

"Never? Then I'll have to take extra good care of you" replied Fili in a low, hushed and sultry tone. His hand continued it slow pace, every few strokes switched for firm tug. Ori wriggled and writhed underneath him, breathing in sort labored gasps.

"Fili please! More!" cried the brunette. Fili, with no objection moved in, pressing their bodies together. He gave his hips a single, smooth roll. Ori shuddered, his needy expression turning into a silent, open-mouthed cry. Fili felt a warm, tingly rush fly through his body. That was an expression he could get used to seeing.

Again and again he rolled his hips, pressing and rubbing their lengths snuggly together. Ori whined and writhed underneath Fili, his arms and legs wrapped desperately around Fili's thick body. The pace remained languid until Ori couldn't take it anymore and pleaded for more. Fili sped up his hips, tucking his face into Ori's neck. Ori whined, clinging tighter while Fili's hips moved in that same new tempo.

The throb between his legs was starting to grew unbearable, and his own hips twitched and jerked messily. The muscles in his stomach and thighs grew taut, coiling up tight like a bow string ready to snap. He keened, a sound so delicious to Fili's ears his tempo fluttered.

"Hush, Ghivashel.. They'll be able to hear you through the walls" grunted Fili.

Ori's eyes were wild, tears of pleasure brimming in them. It was good enough to nearly be painful. "Please! Fili- Please I-"

"I have you" gasped Fili in return, thrusting harder. Ori's fingers gripped desperately at Fili's hair and shoulders. His muscles grew tighter and tighter and his body arched without his permission. He was close to sobbing, cries of pleasure pouring out of his mouth like running water. The throbbing got worse, and his stomach felt like it was burning a fire hot enough to make the forges green with envy.

Ori trembled like a leaf before suddenly going stiff with a long, high wail. Fili felt light headed, drowning in the feeling. His hips didn't stop, rutting relentlessly. Hot sticky wetness oozed like honey between them. Fili whined, slowing his hips and grinding them down against Ori to prolong the feeling. Both of them went limp, panting and weak. Ori felt dizzy, nearly in a haze.

Fili quivered lightly, his legs twitching. It was silent between them for a few moments before Fili finally found his voice.

"..You okay Ori?"

"Yes. Tired.." replied a small, shaky voice. Fili mustered the strength to roll over on to his back, grasping Ori's hand gently as he could. "Thank you for that"

"No, it was good Fili"

Fili nodded. It took some time for them to gather their bearing after that, Ori especially, but they were able to clean themselves up. No use in sending Ori home, after care was more important. Slumber soon claimed the two Dwarrows, and they'd face the consequences of that in the morning when Kili walked into the room without knocking.

Had it been a coincidence, then perhaps he would have ignored it.

Only, it wasn't. This was the third time Bilbo had caught Thorin staring at him during dinner, tonight alone. Altogether? He had long since lost track. It had begun to grow uncomfortable, so Bilbo did his best to keep his eyes down. That was hard, though, as Thorin never once broke his gaze. Hell, the man probably didn't even blink.

Just stared, hard. Intensely. Unyielding.

Despite himself, Bilbo looked up to the man sitting across the fire. He didn't flinch. Now he held a slight sneer upon his features, furthering the hobbit's discomfort. Bilbo's eyes flicked away faster than his heart was beating, which was frankly remarkable. Despite his sudden loss of appetite, he scarfed down the rest of his food in a few large bites. Springing to his feet, he hurriedly declared he'd go wash his dishes in the stream.

A few of the dwarves called out words of appreciation, dumping their own dishes into Bilbo's arms. He didn't care, as it gave him an excuse to stay down there, away from Thorin, for longer. In a rush, he stumbled down from a few hills and patches of woods to the stream. He exhaled heavily, dropping to his knees before the flowing water. He had made it. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he pushed Thorin to the far back of his mind.

Much better, he thought. A pleased smile formed on Bilbo's lips after he finished washing all the bowls and spoons. It made him feel as if he were home again in a certain way. The night was so much calmer down here. No booming dwarves, no insensitive conversation, no poor manners, just peace. And boy did he need that. Not wanting to go back so soon, Bilbo decided a smoke sounded pleasant.

He made himself comfortable against a tree, pulling out his pipe. True ease smoothed over all his nerves as he took a long draw of smoke, practically melting as he exhaled.

CRUNCH!

Bilbo jumped, his head snapping to the side. Wide-eyed, he was met with the sight of Thorin.

"Good lord!" Gasped Bilbo, placing a hand over his heart. Thorin ever so slightly arched an eyebrow at the hobbit. Bilbo sighed, lowering his hand from his chest. "Hello, Thorin.."

"You're on first watch," was all Thorin had to say in response before turning and heading back to camp. Bilbo bristled in frustration, huffing another puff off his pipe. The nerve that man had!! He picked up the dishes and muttered complaints to himself as he stormed back to camp.

"Unbelievable! What is his problem with me? I've been nothing but respectful!"

In a huff, he got back to the camp and very angrily put away the dishes rather than letting Bombur do it. All the men were setting up for sleep, laying out their bedrolls and arguing about whose feet would be next to whose head. The usual. Bilbo huffed his way around everyone to take position on first watch.

Night fell into full throttle. The stars came out of hiding, dancing throughout the sky and teasing those who gazed upon them with their beauty. Bilbo envied the peace the sky seemed to hold. It made him think of home. Oh, how he longed for a proper bed. While he'd long since learned to tune out the snoring of dwarves, nevertheless, Bag End haunted the hollow of his mind. He especially missed sitting in his father's armchair during teatime or smoking in his garden after luncheon. He spent all of his shift fantasizing about home until the sky reached a familiar shade, signifying that it was time to wake whoever had second shift. It was Kili this time. The young dwarf woke with a groggy groan, reluctant to leave his bedroll. He rose nevertheless and went on to take Bilbo's previous spot.

Bilbo eagerly went on to find his pack where he left it, only to find it not in its spot. Puzzled, he looked around. Maybe one of the men had moved it to make room for all of their own bedrolls? He padded tediously throughout all the dwarves, doing his best to use that hobbit quietness Gandalf praised him so highly for. His pack was still nowhere to be seen. Then his eyes landed on Thorin. He was sleeping on his side; a small scowl rested upon his features. Then his eyes landed on the empty bedroll next to Thorin. It wasn't Kili's, as his was on the other side of their camp. Realization hit the hobbit like a brick wall. That was his bedroll. Laid out right next to Thorin's. All the color drained from Bilbo's face. Why?! He hated when others touched his things with a burning passion.

He hated it exponentially when a dwarf touched his things. Maybe he had done it himself and was too tired to remember? No, certainly not. He let out a semi-furious whine, unsure of what to do. After very angry hesitation, his fatigue forced him to just give in and accept his fate. It was only half of one night, and he could survive. No matter how awkward it made him feel. Ultimately, Thorin was still his company leader and his friend. Kinda. So, the hobbit tense and mildly uncomfortable, laid down in his bedroll. The moment he was down, however, he was out like a flame. It was oddly but pleasantly warm for the night and the area. He slept well, better than he had on their journey so far. Why, he knew not. Not until he woke, that was.

When he did, he felt utterly cozy, like he was wrapped up in a weighted blanket. It was early, too early for anyone else other than Kili to be awake. He attempted to stretch, but was stopped rather promptly at the feel of a rather thick arm tightening around his middle. He froze. A sleepy grumble left the large dwarf behind him, tucking its Durin nose into the crook of his neck. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Thorin was spooning him! Rather snuggly at that!

Bilbo took in a deep breath. There were maybe two things he could do to get out of this, both having a high probability of waking Thorin. How long had they been like this? Was anybody else up to see them? This was incredibly compromising for the feelings Bilbo had been pushing down for the last several weeks. There was a certain attraction the hobbit had held toward his company leader. More than on a physical level, closer to a deep emotional one. One that had spotted a crack within his heart and embedded itself deep inside, tormenting poor Bilbo every moment of this tedious journey. Now, especially with Thorin holding him so close after being so cold the last few days. It made no sense. He must have just done it in his sleep. A mishap, nothing more.

He kept repeating that same thought over and over again, desperately trying to convince himself it was true. There was the problem of how intimate this felt, causing a raging storm of all kinds of feelings to swirl about his mind. Every inch of Thorin's front was pressed to Bilbo's back. Thorin's warm, steady breath fanned over Bilbo's neck. Hesitantly, the hobbit slowly began to turn to lying on his back rather than his side. He had success, luckily, but Thorin was still as sound as a boulder. He gave it a few more moments before slowly sliding out from under Thorin's arm. When he finally got free, he gasped out a breath he had been holding. He looked down at the dwarf with a red-faced glare. He had never met a more perplexing man in all his fifty years!

First, laying out his bedroll for him, now this. After his icy stare, the last several nights were no less. Utterly ridiculous was what this was, nothing short of it. He gathered up his bedroll hastily, shoving it back into its spot on his pack. When the sun kissed the horizon in full, their quest resumed right where it left off. Now Bilbo was staying as far away from Thorin as he could in such proximity. He thought he had been slick about his behavior, but he wasn't. Thorin noticed, as the hobbit had stolen his attention nearly permanently some time ago. By high noon, Bilbo couldn't ignore the daggers shot his way every so often.

He started to deliberately shadow other members of the company, making sure he was out of the dwarf king's field of vision. There were a few instances when the burglar peeked out from behind whomever he was behind, only to find himself meeting the eyes of Thorin, who had just turned his head back. The awkwardness was not lost to the frustration welling up inside Bilbo. By sunset, camp had once again been broken. Luckily, today, by some Divine power, they had faced no true obstacles or setbacks and were able to reach a fair distance, so stopping for the night felt less like a potential mistake and more well-deserved. Bilbo, for one, was exhausted and starved.

This trip had proved to leave him withering away with hunger! No tea, nor luncheon, neither breakfasts, nor dinner, and sometimes they even went without their one meal: supper! Forget snacking or dessert. No, he was lucky if they happened to pass a wild berry bush or a meager fruit tree every once in a blue moon. Lady Luck, though, had not forsaken dear Master Baggins this eve, as by some miracle, their camp was not too far away from a very small patch of wild strawberries. They were few and measly, but anything would do to hold him over until Bombur was done cooking.

Once the camp was ready, Bilbo made plans to sneak off to fetch himself the latter and nearly got away with doing so. At the edge of their camp, only a step away from using his Hobbit magic to disappear, fate kicked him square in the behind.

"Master Baggins." A calm voice boomed from behind the halfling. Thorin. Bilbo froze and slowly turned around with an awkward and unconvincing smile.

"Ah, Thorin. What can I do for you?"

"Planning on heading back to the Shire?"

"What? Oh! Uh, no. No, I was just- I was just heading off to relieve myself. Yes, that's it. Privacy and such"

Oakenshield was by no means impressed by Bilbo's flimsy answer. Those sorts of blustering, mixed-up lies may have worked on trolls, but they did not on dwarves, much less this dwarf. He had his arms crossed over his broad chest, peering over his arms to look down upon Bilbo, who was nervously rocking back and forth on his large heels. Fortunately, though, Bilbo hadn't his pack upon his person and therefore wasn't attempting to run away. Thorin arched an eyebrow briefly.

"..Very well. Make haste. We still tread on dangerous grounds, Master Hobbit."

"Yes, of course," Bilbo forced with another tight-lipped smile. After a moment, Thorin turned on his heel and walked back into camp. Bilbo bristled furiously at Thorin's back. Next time that dwarf was rude to him, Bilbo was going to give him an equally ill piece of his mind! He stormed off toward the strawberries, muttering unsavory things under his breath.

When Bilbo reached the patch, he was devastated to find that every little berry had up and vanished. One of the dwarves must have spotted them. The hobbit let out a weary sound while sinking to his knees in utter despair. Pretty soon, he'd be nothing but skin and bones! Gathering what little he had, Bilbo forced himself to drag his huge feet back to camp. The moment he came into the vision fields of the two dwarf princes, they shot up from their spot, waving their arms about to get his attention.

"Bilbo! Bilbo here!" Kili exclaimed with a bright smile and cheeks full of food. The burglar huffed an irritated breath, but treaded on over to the young boys nevertheless.

"Yes?" Questioned Bilbo with fewer patients than he should have had.

"Here! Thorin told us to save a few to give to you!" Kili said, very proud of his self-control as he held out his palm to Bilbo, which was full of strawberries. Bilbo's face lit up like a child's on Yule. The hobbit's eyes flicked up to the faces of the two boys with a hesitant hand, waiting to take the berries.

"Truly?"

"Yes. Our Uncle was the one who gave them to us. He was rather adamant that you received some as well," Fili replied.

Confusion pricked the back of Bilbo's mind. Thorin did this? Why? He'd been nothing but cold toward him, especially these last few weeks. It didn't make any sense. Still, he took the berries with a begrudging 'thanks'. He wandered back over to the spot where he had left his pack, his mind reeling. This was like playing the world's most complicated game of back and forth. He began to absentmindedly eat the fruit while getting lost in complicated thoughts. There were only so many logical conclusions Bilbo could come to, each a little more ridiculous than the last. Thorin was a sensible man, despite his overall harsh demeanor, Bilbo thought. Dinner once again was filled with glares from Thorin. After eating, the hobbit angrily took his pipe and plopped down against a log near the foot of the camp.

"Bilbo?" A voice from beside the burglar questioned. Bilbo looked up to see a confused Bofur. "What're you doin' over here? It's not your watch tonight."

Bilbo fumbles his pipe. "Just having a smoke is all. I know it's not my turn tonight."

Bofur grinned, sitting down next to his friend. "Well, if you're feeling generous, I'd gladly give up my shift to ye."

Bilbo chuckled, shaking his head lightly. "No, I'm alright thanks."

"Ah, thought as much. Oh well," Silence fell between the two men, and Bilbo drifted back into that frustrated mindset, resulting in his rushed puffing on his pipe. Bofur noticed this, of course, and grew concerned for his companion.

"Er, Bilbo? Ye alright there?"

"Peachy," replied the hobbit through gritted teeth.

"Uh-huh... It's just, ye don't seem all that peachy."

"It's Thorin!" Bilbo finally blew up, tossing his arms into the air with exasperation.

"What about him?"

"He just- Ugh! He's rude! He's horribly rude and so back and forth! I mean, really! One moment, he's shooting daggers at me with his eyes and speaking to me with all the demure of ice! And the next he's telling his nephews to share with me and hold-" Bilbo cut himself off. He nearly just gave away his unintentional cuddling with Thorin. "You get my point!"

"..Right."

"I just don't get it! I mean, what have I done to deserve such treatment? I've been very good to him!"

"Well, I thought it was pretty obvious."

"Obvious?! What could he possibly be doing to ever be considered obvious?!"

"He's tryin' to flirt with ye. Though he's not too good at it. I reckon he's a bit proud to ask you to court outwardly, or scared maybe? You hobbits do have different ways from us dwarves."

"WHAT?!"

"Aye," Bofur rubbed his chin in thought, "I suppose then it'd be out of respect, not fear. Or maybe fear out of disrespecting ye?"

"No, no! Bofur, are you serious?"

"Course I am. Thorin's a good man, he is, he'd never want to offend you in this sort of thing."

"You mean to tell me that.. Thorin holds regard, for me?"

"I do."

"Oh my lord," gasped Bilbo, running a hand over his face as he leaned back against the log. The pieces were slowly coming together inside his head. It oddly made some sense. Could Thorin just truly be that horrible at romance? His fingers twitched lightly over his mouth. Heat crept into his face and burned through his cheeks. He would have never imagined having any sort of intimate inquiry with the dwarf lord. Now, however, it was the only thing filling his mind. He lowered his hand.

"What are.. dwarf, customs then?"

"Hm. Braiding each other's hair. Gifts, time together. That sort of thing. Making each other things in another big one. It's all very personal ye see."

Bilbo felt a flutter in his stomach. They weren't so different from hobbit customs for courting. He stood, though he felt strangely weak in the knees.

"I'm.. I'll do- something," stated Bilbo before stumbling back over to his spot in the camp. He thought long and hard about how to go about this. And his own feelings, to be sure. The idea of being with Thorin felt a bit foreign, but it wasn't necessarily unwelcome. He dwelled on the thought for some time, letting things simmer. It got hard, however, as their journey became all the more dangerous. Orcs had begun to hunt them, so the only thing on Bilbo's mind became survival. However, Gandalf had somehow managed to get them to some sanctuary by tricking them into entering Rivendell. There, he was able to finish making up his mind. If Thorin wasn't going to propose, then he was, the hobbit way.

With some help from Lindir, he was guided to a large flower grove. He spent what must have been hours there, going through all the flowers and intricately picking out which to use. Flower language, though Thorin may not understand, was the most crucial part of making a flower crown for hobbits. For the base of the crown, he chose Ambrosia for love returned. The undertones, he chose to use white Heliotrope for devotion. The secondary Hawthorne, for hope. And finally, the primary as Phlox for unity. He'd also somehow found a four-leaf clover, which he too tucked into the woven crown. He'd need all the luck he could get for this to soothe his anxieties. He went back into the halls of the elves and caught Thorin alone, walking away from him. He looked down at the crown and quickly hid it behind his back.

"Thorin!" he shouts, doing a little jog to catch up with the man. Thorin halted and turned back to face the halfling. Bilbo panted lightly upon catching up with the dwarf. "Look, I've.. Phew! I've something important to say."

Thorin said nothing, merely listened. Bilbo straightened his back and composed himself to give a stern look to the taller man. "I've had enough. With your cold behavior and strange looks, and your constant insistence on having me at your side at all times. It's ridiculous. A man such as yourself needn't be so horribly shallow. So, I'm going to do what you've thus refused."

He stated firmly before pulling out the crown from behind his back. He presented it in his palms on full display. He ducked his head, unable to bear the sight of Thorin's potential reaction. "Will you, Thorin Oakenshield, take me in courtship?"

Thorin stared down at the crown in Bilbo's hands, his heart beating like a drum inside his chest. The air inside his lungs hitched while a faint color tinged his face. Words failed him. Bilbo felt heartbreak threaten him, and peered up anxiously. Thorin looked close to tears, smiling brighter than Bilbo had ever seen before.

"Yes," Thorin breathed out.

"Really? You mean it?"

"Without doubt, Master Burglar."

Unable to contain himself, Bilbo lunged at Thorin, jumping up and throwing his arms around the dwarf's neck. Their chests hit with a harsh thud, making Thorin stagger back a step or two. He recovered quickly, however, and returned the burglar's embrace tenfold. Thorin buried his nose into Bilbo's neck with reverence while they held each other. They pulled away in near unison, just to gaze at each other. Slowly, the little space between them closed in a kiss so tender the clouds gazed down at them in envy. When their lips left one another's, Thorin slowly set Bilbo down. Bilbo reached up to place the crown on Thorin's head, to which the dwarf ducked down to assist Bilbo in doing so. The hobbit smiled proudly.

"That's that then, isn't it?"

"I would think so."

....

Long after reclaiming Erebor and restoring the homeland of Thorin's people, he and Bilbo married happily. Bilbo made for a good King's Consort, loved by all their subjects. One night in bed together, Bilbo stroked Thorin's hair with his knuckles, gazing upon his love with soft eyes.

"You lied, you know," Bilbo said, suddenly breaking the silence.

"About what?" Thorin mused back, a little concerned.

"You said once that you could not guaranty my safety. I am safest when I am with you, Thorin."

Classes started sooner than you let yourself mentally prepare for. Unfortunately, the third years were in your first class of the day. Nevertheless, you had to put on your big girl pants and be the teacher you had to be. You watched from your desk at the front of the class as all the third years poured into the room. You forced a mostly believable smile and blurred your vision when Draco walked into the room so you couldn’t make eye contact with the boy. Once all the seats and desks were full, you used a little wandless magic to make the classroom door shut. Let the games begin.

“Good morning, everybody!”

You clasped your hands together as you spoke, beginning to walk about the room.

“Welcome to Mythology! If you didn’t already know, I am Professor Darkers. You’ll find there’s a quill and parchment on each desk; don’t worry, those aren’t for an assignment. They’re for you to keep and use how you please!” Immediately, a hand from the front of the class shot up. A girl wearing Gryffindor robes. You pointed a finger at her, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

Hermione looked taken aback at the fact that you knew her name, but she didn’t comment on it. “I’ve heard from some of the upperclassmen that your lessons correspond with our other subjects. Is that true?”

“Ah! Wonderful question! Yes, as a matter of fact, they do! Mostly in correspondence to your D.A.D.A. class, however, depending on your classes. Astronomy is another good one. Or ancient runes, those sort of subjects.”

A scoff sounded from across the room. Several heads turned back to find where the noise came from, only to be met with a particularly snooty blonde rolling his eyes. You felt your spirits dampen.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?” you force out, not too stern nor light.

“Charmed, Professor,” drawled he. With a small exhale, you chose to ignore him altogether. While it certainly wasn’t your preferred choice of action, it was the only befitting one you could conduct in the moment. Continuing your steady pace about the front of the room, you went back to your semi-planned lecture.

“Furthermore, you’ll all need to take out your textbooks now and open up to the table of contents! Now, please!”

A light wave of chatter murmured throughout the room whilst your students all pulled out their books: ‘Mythology In Beginnings, Volume 1: Celtic’. Thudding and the rustle of turning pages followed. The white noise found within a classroom always eased your nerves. Something you especially needed now. Despite yourself, you found your eyes drifting back to the bright, cream colored hair at the back of the room. No, you mentally scolded yourself. Then, seeing that nearly all the students had found the right page, you halted.

You gave the same old spiel you did every new term to the third years about how your curriculum worked, that if anyone ever missed a class to follow along with the book and all that other dull stuff. The first class for third years, you avoided starting a proper lesson, unlike other Professors. You thought an easy introduction was more beneficial than throwing unaccustomed minds into something new head-on. By the time the last grain of sand in the hourglass upon your desk fell, students were on their feet and heading to their next class of the day.

“Good luck with the rest of your classes! I look forward to seeing you all on Wednesday!”

A few mumbled back words of acknowledgment, but nothing more. The moment your classroom was empty, a weary sigh lolled out of your lungs. What a shit show. Your next class, fifth years, however, was much more pleasant. With them, you could just pick up with them right where you left off last term. Then came lunch. It felt a bit odd to eat in the Great Hall during lunch, so you usually spent the time grading. You remembered being a student and not wanting to have teachers around during your break between classes. Having them around made it feel more like class, so you decided not to make any of your students feel that way. Today, you had nothing to grade, nor anything left to prep. Perhaps a walk would do you good.

The corridors were bustling with students, all sporting wide smiles and filling the winding stone halls with laughter. The sounds brought a smile to your own face. With renewed spirits, you pushed your legs around the castle. Each breath filled your lungs with air much fresher than that in your classroom. More open space to breathe in. Professor Lupin crossed your mind, his gentle smile in particular. His lips looked so.. Soft. The kind that you could never kiss just once.

He must taste like what addiction felt like. Pulling your will in with merciless ferocity unmatched by any other force imaginable. Burning heat washed over your cheeks as you caught your thoughts. What on earth were you thinking? The man was your co-worker! One you only met yesterday! Ridiculous. You shook your head, quickening your pace. Man, you really needed a boyfriend; you’d clearly been alone for too long. Thinking such absurdly inappropriate thoughts about the first handsome man to cross your field of vision. Speaking of said handsome man, you just breezed right past him while he offered a small wave. What just happened clicked when you were well over a foot apart.

You stopped abruptly, turning around so quickly you nearly lost your footing. “Professor Lupin!” you blurted before professionalism even attempted to cross your mind. He stopped and turned back to face you. He offered that same pleasant smile with those oh-so pleasant lips. No! None of that. You grinned awkwardly.

“Hi!”

“Hello,” he offered back, taking a few steps closer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t register it was you at first. I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.”

“It’s quite all right, no offense taken. Might I ask where you’re off to in such a hurry?”

“Oh! Nowhere in particular, just walking really.”

“A very swift walk.”

“I suppose so,” you laugh awkwardly. Smooth. You rubbed the back of your neck while words failed you. This just went from embarrassing to embarrassing and stupendously awkward. He gave his lips a light smack, rocking back on his heels once.

“I trust you’re feeling better?”

Oh, thank Merlin. A change of subject. A less wanted one, sure, but a change nonetheless. You nod.

“Ah, yes. Much, thank you. You truly were a great help.”

“Happy to be.”

“How about you? I mean, what you’re off to do, that is.”

“Same as you, I reckon. Not hungry yet. Would you mind if I accompanied you on your walk, Professor?”

You felt like all the wind had been knocked out of you. This couldn’t be real. You sputter, further shaming yourself in front of this gorgeous man. “N-No, not at all! Uh- Please do!”

Lupin gave a single nod in response, walking leisurely alongside you down the corridor. You felt exponentially foolish. What a poor opinion of you he must have now, after all the disposing faces of yours he’d already seen. Feeling as if you might just drop dead if the silence went on for a moment longer, you decided small talk would do for now.

“So, how were your first two classes?”

“Hmm? Ah. Fine. I just got done with the third years. They’re all very eager minds, other than a few Slytherin students, I suppose. But I imagine that’s the regular”

A small frown formed on your lips without your permission at the mention of the third years. He noticed it, of course. His brow furrowed slightly in concern.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing of great importance anyway. My nephew is a third year is all”

“Oh? And is that a.. bad thing?” He inquired trepidly, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course not. Only that he and I don’t have a wonderful relationship. I haven’t got to be very present in his life, and I think he’s grown to resent me for it”

A mournful look of understanding fell over Lupin’s features. He could understand how that might work out. Though, his interest for your character expanded. He’d only known you for an amount of days he could count on one hand, yet you were such an enigma that he found himself questioning if he could resist the temptation of spewing a thousand inquires your way.

“How unfortunate,” mumbled he.

“His mother and I had a falling out before he was born, and I guess I never felt at liberty to let myself into his life afterward.”

“Your sister, I take it?”

“Yes. It’s a poor excuse, I realize now. I just hope he can forgive me eventually.”

“I’m sure he will. He’s still young with a long ways to go. Lots of personal growth to go through.”

“You’re right,” you sigh, “he’s only a boy.”

“Who is your nephew, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Draco, Malfoy.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

Lupin chuckles lightly. That checked out, as a matter of fact. “He was one of those uninterested Slytherins I mentioned a bit ago.”

“I thought so” you manage to laugh. He really could be such a brat. The conversation fell into much lighter, pleasant topics after that. By the time lunch was over, you felt a stronger pull to the man. He made for such.. Easy company. In your chatting, you’d learned that he was very fond of chocolate, and usually sported some in his pocket.

Something so silly and unexpected, though extremely befitting his character. He also fancied London Fog tea rather fondly, which you’d never heard of before but certainly intended on trying now. The days passed by in a breeze, and by each pass and come of one your anxieties rose and fell like a heartbeat. Lupin lingered in the back of your mind. Like you were on a stage, and he watched from the darkened side wings: making you fight not to break character and look over to him.

Autumn made itself proudly known in every way it could. The leaves had turned rich shades of browns and oranges while a chill tinged the air. September itself, despite its breezy days, refused to end. Perhaps it was the long nights, or the never ending swarm of Dementors circling the school grounds. When the night finally came for your first shift doing night rounds around the castle, you were thrilled. It gave you time to think endlessly about all sorts of otherwise distracting things you couldn’t while giving your lectures, Lupin being one of them.

Primarily Lupin, but who was keeping track? With wandering eyes and no particular route set, you strolled about the dark corridors of the castle. So far so good. No students breaking curfew, no sight of Peeves yet either, thank Merlin. Who else was meant to be on rounds for this shift? You couldn’t recall, only having memorized your own days and times on the sheet McGonagall had given you. You doubt you would run into any other staff member however, as there was a vast amount of halls to oversee. How wrong you were.

The sound of another set of further away, fainter footsteps caught in your ear, setting you on alert. Whoever that was, they were totally busted now. Steadily, you reached for your wand while pacing your steps, making them much softer. The other set grew louder. Closer. They were heavy, though not planting like stomping might be. Must be a seventh year. Your pulse thrummed wildly, spurring like a fallen symbol. With only so many feet left between you and this person, you wiped out your wand quick as possible.

“Lumos!”

White light sprang from the tip of your wand, flooding the pitch black corridor and temporarily blinding both yourself and the person before you. A disgruntled sound came from Lupin while he raised a hand up, covering the blinding light from his eyes. Instantly, you lower your wand.

“Professor?! Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry! I thought you were a student!”

“That’s alright, no harm done. Though I will admit I thought I might go blind for a moment there,” he chuckled, lowering his hands. His eyes were still in a slight squint, readjusting to the lighting change. “Glad to not’ve been a student. I didn’t even hear you coming, Professor.”

“Yes well- Uhm, thank you. I did try to be stealthy.”

“Try? Why, my dear, I’d say you nailed stealth in the head.”

His term of endearment didn’t go unnoticed by you. You mutter out another ‘thanks’ before a painting shouted at you to put out your light, which gained several calls of agreement from other pictures and paintings alike. Quickly, you gave your wand a small shake; the counter curse was hardly loud enough to leave your lips. With the spell put out, you tucked your wand back into your pocket. An awkward laugh forced its way out,

“How is it every time we meet it's under irregular circumstances?”

“Chance has a funny way of working things out.”

“Seems so.”

“I was hoping to run into you, actually.”

That caught you by surprise. A small amount of heat tinged your cheeks, and you silently hoped he couldn’t notice in the dark. You clear your throat, feigning nonchalance as you give an answer.

“Really?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I had a question, if you wouldn’t mind answering it.”

Your intrigue worsened. The two of you fell into walking side by side, continuing in the direction you had originally been heading.

“Shoot.”

“I hoped you could tell me your opinion on the best way to ease the students' worries about the Dementors. I have a few that seem rather weary of them, though I can’t jump sections of the curriculum to teach them how to use Expecto Patronum. ‘specially not the younger years.”

“Hmm. That is a rather tough one, isn’t it?”

“That’s why I thought to ask you, with your being the Mythology professor and such.”

“Luckily, I can say with certainty you’ve come to the right witch. Dementors share a family tree with Lethifolds and Wraiths, and as you know, all three aren’t particularly fond of anything with life or warmth. A good fix for the discomfort you’ve described could be tailsmans. They’re easy to make, simple ones for luck or safety. You could have your students use a safe, warm memory as an anchor for them. Sure, they won’t be truly secure, but it’ll give them comfort. The feeling of security often provides more than meets the eye. And tailsmans are small enough for students to carry around with them at all times, too, which makes them even more convenient.”

A little smirk pulled at the corner of Lupin’s mouth. You truly were profound in your line of knowledge, weren’t you? Deeper than that, you possessed a certain understanding of people and what it meant to be human, or even just a person who held him utterly captivated with you. He admired your nature above all.

“Incredible.”

“Sorry?” You look up at Lupin, confused.

“You’re remarkable, really. I couldn’t think of another person who would have thought to do something like that, let alone so quickly. Color me impressed, Professor.”

Dwarves were excellent blacksmiths. It was practically in their nature. While Bofur wasn't profound in the trade, he could still appreciate the craft. So long as he didn't have to do it himself, that was. He never really took the time to master the trade like all of his peers.

One day, while working in the mines, he swung his axe funny and, upon impact, chipped it heavily. A loud twang sounded, echoing starkly throughout the hollow mines. Bofur blinked. Had he hit a diamond? He lifted his arms, turning from side to side to look at the ground. There was nothing that he could see.

"Oh!" Exclaimed he, spotting something. Quickly, he bent down and picked it up. This was his first find of the day! Only, it wasn't a diamond. His brow furrowed, and he flipped the thing around in his hand. It didn't even feel like stone. Come to think of it, it kind of felt like the blade of his axe. The realization hit him harder than his mom did. He gasped, holding up his axe. It was the blade of his axe!! A good hearty chunk of it, too!

"Damn it all!"

He couldn't exactly fix it on his own. Nor did he want to. That would take way too long. So, he decided to go to the nearest forgery. It belonged to the L/Ns. He knew them to be great blacksmiths, and for a low trade cost. When he got to the forgery, he was surprised to see the lack of customers, as it was normally pretty busy here. Though it was probably just the time of day. Maybe today they were closed?

The lack of a person working out front made him uncertain. With that same uncertainty, he stepped inside the forgery.

"Hello?" He called, looking around. Nobody. Though he could hear the sound of metal being pounded. He wandered a bit deeper in, following the noise.

"Helloooo?" He called again, peeking his head around a corner. There sat a dwarf with h/c hair, their back to him, shaping a freshly heated weapon. He stepped around the corner, effectively stumbling over himself as he did. In his fumble of the foot, he dropped his axe. The clatter of it hitting the stone floor caused you to freeze mid-swing.

Slowly, you lowered your arm and turned your head to look back. Bofur instantly ducked down and picked up the broken axe. He grinned awkwardly, looking like a guilty child. You set down your instruments and turned around fully on your stool. Bofur's face dropped. If you weren't the most beautiful dwarf he'd ever seen, then he would never know what beauty truly was.

"Hello," you said, wiping your hands off on your apron.

"H-Hi. Uhm! Ahem, hello."

"What can I do you for?"

Bofur's eyes went wide as pies. "Sorry?" He sputtered.

"How can I help you?"

"Oh! Oh, right, yes."

You walked over to the man, watching curiously as he pulled the broken chunk of his axe from his pocket. He held up the chunk and the axe.

"Ye see, my pic broke while I was off in the mines, y'know, mining as one often does. And well, I suppose I must've swung funny cuz' this chunk here came clean off."

You hummed, looking over the piece in his large palm. You reached for it, your eyes flicking up to his.

"May I?"

"Oh! Yeah, yes. Go for it, lass."

Needing no further confirmation, you took the two pieces and gave them a better look.

"And I suppose you want me to fix it?"

"If you could, I do."

"Alright. Small job. I won't charge you."

Bofur blinked, stunned. No charge? As in no fee or trade? He stood there, his mouth agape, as you turned back around to resume your work.

"Are you sure?"

"Mhmm. Come back tomorrow, and I'll have it done."

He could hardly believe the deal you just cut him. Still flabbergasted, he forced his feet to take him back home. Had you been flirting with him? That had to be it. There was no way you would have made that offer if you weren't. He knew a thing or two about dwarven women, and they were very straightforward and upfront. Just like you had been in your conversation. He dwelled on the thought his whole way home, and by the time he got there he was in the highest spirits he'd probably ever been, grinning and singing songs of love like a madman.

"Ohhh sweet moon, say you hold her heart for meeeee! Hold my to hand hersssss and bless us beeeee!" He sang out, bursting through the door. Bombur, hearing his brother from the kitchen, quirked a brow in what would surely turn into amusement. Bofur sang and danced his way into the kitchen and pulled his brother into the merriment. Bombur laughed rather quickly, allowing it to happen.

"What's got you so happy?" Laughed the redhead.

"Love dear brother!"

"Love? Since when?"

"Now! I met the most beautiful creature in all of the world!"

Bombur shook his head, laughing a little more heartily. "And who'll that be?"

Bofur froze. He had completely forgotten to ask your name, with how enraptured he'd been with you. He was gobsmacked. How idiotic! What kind of fool goes and does something like he just did?

"I- I forgot to ask," gasped out Bofur. Bombur cackled instantly.

"You what?!"

This was horrible! Sometimes he got ahead of himself, sure, but never this bad! He spent the rest of the evening getting teased relentlessly by his brother and beating himself up for his own foolishness. The next morning, he was up bright and early. He washed (which was not a frequent custom for dwarves), took extra time to untangle his hair, and did all the work. Everything he could possibly do without going over the top and giving himself away. Come late morning, early afternoon, he went on over to your forgery. When he got over there, you were again the only person working. This time, however, you were out front. You perked up upon seeing the approach.

"It's you! Here," you held up a finger and ran into the forgery. A moment later, you returned with a smile and his axe in hand. Extending an arm, you handed over the tool to him. "There you are. All fixed"

Bofur marveled at the axe. The blade was slightly bigger and very finely sharpened. Along the heel where some rather intricate, nicely done engravings. A touch of your handywork, no doubt. He ran his fingertips along the blade, feeling the evidence of its remaking. Yet somehow, it wasn't bad. It actually wasn't very different as you kept it true to its original design and make. His eyes flicked up to your face, a scoff of astonishment parting his lips.

"This- Wow."

"I hope you don't mind the detailing I added. I thought it could use a little more touch of life."

"No, no! Not at all. I like it. Love it, in fact, it's grand."

Pride bubbled in your chest, a tinge of warmth hitting your face. "Wonderful. Let me know if you have any trouble with it again, and I'll have no problem putting it right."

"O' course! Only, I have to say I doubt that. With craftsmanship like this? Aye, lass, I say I'd be surprised if it ever broke at all."

"Great," you chuckle lightly, your smile growing fonder, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you." With that being said, you turned around to head back into the forgery. Panic hit Bofur instantly. He couldn't let you go now! The two of you had barely begun to talk!

"Wait!" He blurted. You stopped, turning to look back at him curiously.

"Yes?"

"It's just that! Er- I haven't caught yer name there yet, lass."

"Oh! Sorry about that. It's Y/N."

"Y/N," he breathed out. Pretty name, befitting of a pretty girl like yourself. "I'm Bofur. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise."

After that interaction, there was one thing he was sure of: he had to see you again. He had a slight problem doing that, though, as he had no excuse to. The man practically flew home and tore apart his quarters looking for something, anything to get him back over there. Then it hit him: he could just do the same thing as the last! Being the very mature and wise dwarf he was, he went and broke every single tool or weapon in his possession.

When he returned to your forgery the next day, you were mildly concerned to see him back so soon. He very proudly presented one of his now broken tools for you to fix, and you briefly wondered if he was just bad at handling things or if the tools he had were extremely poorly made.

"Another?"

"Yep!"

"Uh-huh... You do realize that I am going to have to make a trade this time, right?"

"Oh, sure thing! Whatever ye want!"

Your brow went from furrowed to fully raised instantly. That was a very bold offer. One that most others would certainly abuse. Luckily for Bofur, though, you were not most others.

"Interesting. Lunch will do."

You had been half joking when you said that, but Bofur took it seriously without a second thought. Come the seventh day of this incessant behavior of Bofur and his broken tools, you were more than suspicious, and frankly, a bit fed up.

"Right then." You said firmly, slamming down your own tool and giving Bofur a cold, annoyed look. "What is this all about? Are you making fun of me?"

"How do ye mean?"

"This! Your-" you gave a dismissive hand gesture, "coming back every dawn with a new broken item! Do you think I have no other work? Because if you do, then you've got another thing coming to you. I will not have you making a fool of me or my business, much less with your clearly pompously broken crafts! I may be a woman, but I-"

"Now wait a moment!" He interrupted, throwing his hands up as if to pause you. "I promise ye that I meant ye no harm! I suppose I've gone and made a fool meself that in all my fake comings. But really, I had no ill intentions held for ye!"

"No? What did you then?" You snapped, taking on an accusatory tone.

"Just to see ye, really. I wasn't so sure how to do it. I reconned with a trade like yours, you're mighty busy, but if it was b'cuz o' me, then that'd be fine."

"Why in the world would you want or need to see me of all people that often?"

"I think it to be quite obvious."

"Enlighten me."

"Yer beautiful. Makes it mighty hard to want to look at an'thin other than ye."

In a single moment, all the doubt you held washed away, replaced by a feeling of intense trepidation. Silence fell, eye contact remained. This nearly felt like a dream while being so like a reverie. Laughter suddenly filled your lungs, finding your voice and pouring out of your mouth. Poor Bofur, though, didn't understand why you were laughing. Were you rejecting him?

"Why're ye laughin'?"

"You silly man!" You cackled, tears of joy threatening to spill from your eyes. "All this, just for my attention? Destroying your things? Why I've never heard of a more stupid thing!"

Oh boy. Bofur felt his heart sink a little. After a moment, you managed to calm yourself from your laughing fit, reining it in. You cleared your throat, forcing your usual demeanor to return.

"I'll have no more of this. This is the last time I'll take something you broke on purpose. If you come back again with this same shmuck, you won't be welcome here anymore. Now get," you tossed him his tool, and without bothering to hear what he might have to say in response, went inside the forgery. Bofur felt like a kicked puppy. Thoroughly defeated, he dragged his feet all the way home.

Dwarves in their lives only had one love. And if you wouldn't have him.. Then, well, he'd be lonely and heartbroken the rest of his days. That and resentfully jealous of whoever you did choose. When he got home, he locked himself up in his quarters for several hours doing one of two things: bellyaching or trying to find a new way to woo you. Neither proved to be very helpful. He thought at first maybe if he mined you a pretty diamond you'd forget his foolishness, only to realize that you wouldn't want that. You hardly charged him for anything of importance for fixing his things, as it were. You wouldn't want that for no reason. He was stumped again.

In his thinking, he came to realize that you hadn't turned him away because you didn't love him, but rather that you wanted him to go about it in a proper way. Whatever that was. It hit him! He'd make you something! Quickly as he could, he ran to Bifur and begged the man to teach him the art of making toys. He had to start somewhere. Bifur happily agreed, glad his cousin wanted to join his trade. Over the course of the next several weeks, Bofur spent all his time learning to make toys. It ended up being much harder than he had anticipated, but greatly fun. Much more than mining had ever been to him. More rewarding too, as the more he made, the better he got at it.

Eventually, he trusted his skill enough to make something for you. He chose that thing to be a flower carved out of wood. Once finished, he worked up the courage to head over to your forgery. It was high afternoon, and the city was busy with life. You were working out front, but didn't seem to be the only one there today. He watched from afar as you smiled and interacted with a customer. Just the sight of you felt like heaven. When the customer walked away, leaving you alone, he made his approach. You hadn't noticed him before the stand, preoccupied with writing something down. He cleared his throat, earning your attention.

You looked up, seeing as Bofur meekly took off his hat while holding something close to his chest. Your brow furrowed, and you opened your mouth to speak, though he cut you off before you could.

"Now hold on there, just a moment, lass. I haven't a thing for you to fix. Please, hear me out."

You stared at him a moment, lips pursed in frustration. With a huff, you crossed your arms.

"Fine, you have one minute to explain yourself."

"I wanted to apologize for making an arse of myself the last few times I was here. I meant not to mock ye, and.. I've brought you a peace offering," he extended the arm close to his chest, holding out the wooden flower. A soft gasp left your lungs, and your hands moved on their own accord, very gently taking the flower from Bofur. You held it tenderly, as if it might break under the smallest amount of pressure. It was beautiful; the attention to detail made it look so real. Examining it closer, you found your initials engraved at the bottom of the stem. Your heart clenched in your chest, lurching, reaching for the man before you.

"...And a piece of my heart," he continued. You look up at him, wide-eyed and in disbelief. He looked so unsure, so nervous. Teetering on the edge of complete devastation, if nothing else. You looked down at the flower once more before trailing your gaze back up to his face.

"I.." you started, pausing to wet your lips, "I have to get back to work. But... I need my hair braided"

A wide smile spread across his lips, and he quickly put his hat back on.

Love is endless, unfortunately. It knows no bounds, and never will. Dean knew that. He knew it so much he hated himself for it. He wanted to blame someone else. Anybody else, even and especially Castiel. He at first thought the angel was using some sort of bullshit heavenly power on him. Only to find out he wasn't, of course. There were no hexes on him either, as he checked that too. No curses.

No demonic work. Nothing but his own heart. Every time Castiel appeared suddenly, he jumped, but the race of his heartbeat never faded, even long after he'd calmed from the scare. Tonight was no different. Sam had snuck off with Ruby yet again, leaving Dean alone. More or less. Castiel appeared, and, yet again, stared endlessly at a sleeping Dean.

Dean woke up to the feeling of being watched and gasped so hard he nearly choked.

"God damn it Cas!"

Castiel tilted his head in confusion.

"God cannot be damned."

Dean just shook his head, pulling himself up into a slouched sitting position. He glanced over to the clock sitting on the nightstand. It was a quarter past 3:00 in the morning. Running a hand over his face, he spoke again.

"Man, what is it with you showing up at the witching hour?"

"Witching hour?"

"Yeah, y'know. When witches do their-"

Upon seeing the look on Castiel's face he cut himself off, and shook his head once more.

"Forget it. What do you need?"

"I was sent to check on you."

"Check on me? The hell kind of an order is that?

"I have to obey Dean."

"Yeah yeah, whatever. You couldn’t have at least waited until a decent time when I'm not sleeping?"

Castiel didn't respond. Go figure. Dean sighed, yanking off his covers and standing. He pushed right past Castiel and over to the sink. He needed to splash some water in his face or something. Anything to wake up, because if Cas was here, he knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep. Not tonight, at least. The faucet hissed out water, contrasting the otherwise silent hotel room. He scooped up some of the running water in his palms and threw it on his face.

Then a few more times. He stood back up right and gripping the counter with both hands. When his eyes landed on the mirror before him, he was met with the sight of Castiel standing a few feet behind him, staring back through the reflection. He wanted to sigh or make a snarky comment. But he couldn't. All he could do was look back at the angel through the mirror and feel his heart rate accelerate at an alarming rate.

"There's something bothering you."

"What?" Dean blurted with wide eyes and warming cheeks. Did Cas know how he was feeling? There was no way. He would have felt if the angel had infiltrated his mind, right? Castiel stepped closer.

"I can sense it. What's the matter?"

Dean sputtered out a nervous laugh, his hands curling their grip on the counter tighter. His body language nearly matched the terror coursing through his veins. Feelings were complicated, and time was cruel when they sat unreciprocated. Especially those feelings the person didn't quite understand.

"Nothing. It's nothing. I'm fine."

He forced himself to let go of the counter, pushing off it with instant regret. Castiel didn't buy a single word that came out of Dean's mouth. The angel took another step forward, slowly bringing a hand up to place on Dean's shoulder.

"I can guide you, Dean."

"Yeah, like I need that," scoffed Dean, shoving Castiel's hand away with a roll of the shoulder. He marched right back over his bed and heartily plopped down on it. Without stopping his movement, he started to put on his boots. Fresh air was calling his name like a siren song.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Well, yes. But-"

"Just out, okay?!"

Dean's snap silenced Castiel, and the angel made no attempt to stop him as he practically ran out the door. Heavy footsteps moved down the corridor of the motel hurriedly, gaining momentum until the nearest corner to round was no longer any distance away. The second he got behind the corner, Dean slammed himself against the wall with a sharp gasp. He hadn't even realized he was holding his breath. Trembling hands held the sides of his head. They were his own as he sank down the wall. Crouching now, his palms slid inward to hide and cover his face. Whelved into the deep of his mind, deeper in his heart, an unimaginable pain spiked. Filling, growing, aching until that pain was all that remained.

He drew a breath while tears began to roll. Why did it hurt so much to just feel? The lines had long since blurred, and he could no longer tell if it was so painful because he was human or because he had stopped living like one so long ago. He wished he could tell the difference. He wished more to hate Castiel rather than... whatever this was. Anything had to be better, even if it was the worst possible alternative.

"God what am I doing to myself?"

He gasped in a sob, roughly wiping the warm streaks from his face. Another airless cry. His lungs tried to fail him, just as his own heart already had. After staying in that position for who knows how long, he finally forced himself to stand. Cas had to be gone by now. His suspicion was right. Still, sleep remained out of the question. He caught himself in the mirror when he re-entered the room and felt weak. Pathetic. Only seeing his reflection now, he had realized just how hard he was crying. It hadn't felt like it. Castiel's words haunted his mind, lingering close to his ears.

'I can guide you, Dean'

What a joke. No amount of guidance could fix this. Fix him. Days passed. Sam could tell there was something wrong with his brother, but Dean refused to talk about it. He could hardly admit his own feelings to himself; how could he possibly tell Sam? Days turned into weeks, which turned into a month. Dean held no mercy toward himself, none at all. All this time, unbeknownst to him, Castiel lingered in the shadows. Watching, listening, trying to understand what had Dean acting so out of character. He was yet to figure it out, and his last attempt to understand only worsened Dean's state of mind. So, he came up with a different approach.

First time, but that month he gave proved insufficient on several levels. Dusk fell, and the stars came out to play while the sun slept. Sam, for once, was sleeping. Dean decided to take a night drive in hopes it would help clear his mind. The familiar sound of Castiel materializing in the passenger seat next to him, like always, made Dean jump. They locked eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Stop doing that!"

Barked Dean, tearing his eyes from the mirror and forcing them back to the moving road ahead. Castiel's eyes didn't move, and Dean could see that much out of his peripheral vision.

"You've gotten worse."

Dean slammed on the brakes, making the Impala jerk and the tires cry out in protest. He looked to the angel wide-eyed with remarkable fear for a man who had been to hell and back. Castiel continued.

"Why?"

Dean's lips drew tight into a thin line. He couldn't exactly just walk out of this conversation the way he had last time. Castiel possessed a certain virility that made this all the more difficult. A car was approaching behind them. Reluctantly, he started to drive, though only to pull over not far away. He shifted into park so aggressively that the car again jerked.

"You just don't get it, Cas!" called Dean, throwing himself back against his seat in frustration. He rested an elbow on the car door, placing his hand on his temple.

"Then help me understand! I cannot if you won't let me."

Dean looked at Castiel. Hesitation swallowed Dean whole. Suddenly, he lunged at the angel, cupping his face with one hand while crashing their lips into a desperate and bruising kiss. Castiel tensed, his hand coming to grab Dean's wrist, but falling short before the contact could be made. Dean pulled away after several intense moments. There was something merciful in Castiel's eyes as he looked back into Dean's own searching gaze. It was alarmingly silent, save for Dean's labored breathing.

"I forgive you for this, Dean."

Dean blinked, and just like that, Castiel was gone. He slammed his fists down on the steering wheel and screamed. His head dropped down, resting against his balled hands. A gasping sob parted his lips, wracking throughout his now trembling body. He wailed and cried like a baby, utterly heartbroken.