Chapter Text
If there was such a thing as travelling back in time to change events that had led up to this point, Bilbo wouldn’t do it. Yes, he had gotten banished and was almost killed because he bartered the Arkenstone in an attempt to save his Company from fighting in a war. And he would’ve preferred not seeing Thorin and his nephews almost getting themselves killed, but he still wouldn’t change a thing.
He would, however, would’ve liked it if Kíli would just stop moving.
“Kíli, if you dare to try to get out of that cot, I will tie you to it.” He snapped. “Trust me, it won’t be the nice way, either.”
Said prince huffed, but stopped trying to move to get up. He was at least propped up so he was sitting comfortably and able to watch over his brother and Thorin, but it still didn’t seem to be enough.
“I hate this.” Kíli stated. “I hate that I can’t even move on my own! That I can’t help them!”
Bilbo sighed softly, hobbling over and tucking the blanket a little more snuggly around him. “I know you do.” He conceded. “But hopefully, it won’t be for-.”
He was cut off when pain lanced across his head and he hissed, flinching away from the touch of a gentle hand in his hair. Kíli had immediately jerked his hand away, which Bilbo was thankful for, even if his head still throbbed.
“Bilbo…?” He inquired softly, looking as if he were slapped. “Bilbo, what did I…?”
“You did nothing.” Bilbo stated, rushing to cut off any thoughts that were possibly foolish. “I just… I got hit on the head. Nothing serious, I assure you.”
“Nothing serious?” Kíli parroted, voice rising in near hysteria. “Bilbo, I barely touched you!”
“It’s fine.” Bilbo insisted. “Trust me, I’m a lot better off than you are, right now, and I would like to focus on you because of that. It’s just a bump, is all. Nothing that can’t be fixed with some time.”
Kíli frowned, displeased and suspect, before he looked at his hand. His palor was already rather washed out, so it was weird for Bilbo to see what color he did have drain away.
“Bilbo…” He whispered, showing him his hand. “Bilbo, you’re bleeding…”
Said hobbit frowned, reaching up to touch his head. Something cold settled in his belly once he felt that his curls were wet.
“Oh dear…” He muttered, looking at his now blood-covered hand. “I… Oh dear…”
“Oin!” Kíli called out, once again trying to get out of his cot. “Someone, please get Oin!”
Bilbo wanted to try and keep Kíli in his cot so he wouldn’t aggravate his own injuries. Truly, he did, and he would’ve succeeded if he didn’t pass out to the sounds of Kíli screaming for a healer.
x
“You’re not allowed to scare me like that again.”
Bilbo wanted to argue that Kíli had already scared him plenty, but he decided not to argue. There had been too many scares these past several days (or was it weeks? Bilbo lost count), so he could agree with Kíli to some extent.
Still, it was rather interesting that the tables were turned, now. By the time he had woken up, Kíli was given leave to get up and walk around, so long as he didn’t over exert himself. Now, however, Bilbo was being told he had to stay in bed so he wouldn’t aggravate the injuries he didn’t know he had. Truly, he only thought he only had a bump on the head and, perhaps, a sprained ankle. Of course Oin had to chastise him and tell him what he really had was a broken ankle, a gash on the head that probably left him rather concussed, and a couple of bruised ribs.
“I’ll try not to.” He finally answered, feeling a warm hand clasp one of his firmly. “So long as you do the same.”
Kíli then grinned. “At least I get to take care of you, now.” He said, and his grin looked far too mischievous for Bilbo to feel comfortable. “Perhaps it is I who should tie you to the cot. I can also try to make sure it’s the nice way, as well.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Thorin growled from his side of the tent, clear from gold sickness and still on bedrest. “There will be nothing until we’ve all recovered, or until I can move as far from this tent as possible.”