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Bilbo huffed as he shuffled forward just as the sky darkened. He had gone out searching whilst the sky was brighter than he would have preferred, but he hoped to find somewhere safe before rushing back to the abandoned burrow and grabbing Frodo.
They needed somewhere new, somewhere safe for the last remaining member of Bilbo’s family.
He hadn’t seen them often, after all, apart from Primula and Frodo, all the other skunks he was related to were as solitary as he, though not as ornery and reluctant to socialise as he.
It was with a heavy heart that he realised that orneriness was probably the reason he hadn’t gotten “The Sick” like his other family members. The fact Frodo was alive and unsick was a miracle.
Bilbo had found more and more of his family with “The Sick” and had gone to check on the few cousins who were pretty stationary.
It was pure luck that he had wandered near the last burrow he had seen Primula in and heard little Frodo’s cries.
Bilbo had run as fast as possible and had seen Primula twitch on the floor, a pool of drool by her muzzle.
Bilbo had rushed in and grabbed Frodo by his scruff before depositing him by the entrance of the burrow. He had then gone back to Primula.
Sadly, it was already too late so Bilbo had sat cooing at her, so she knew she wasn’t alone, as she passed back to the Great Woods, where all Skunks returned at the End. Bilbo had wasted no time in running out of the burrow, grabbing Frodo again and leaving the burrow behind.
He had walked for 2 days before finding an abandoned burrow that had no scent of Skunk anywhere around it. All Skunk kits were taught about “The Sick” and to avoid anywhere it had been found, in case they got it too.
He had left Frodo curled up, whimpering as he went to find somewhere safer for the oncoming winter. The burrow they were in wasn’t safe for them. It was in an area too open, with the scent of predators too close for Bilbo’s peace of mind. So that had brought him here, looking for something better.
Sadly, he had been out all night and still hadn’t found anywhere. With a heavy heart, he made his way back to where he had left Frodo. Grateful that the kit was at the age where he was able to walk and move and eat something other than his mother’s milk or Bilbo would have lost him too.
He rounded the hill back to the abandoned burrow and looked towards the entrance to their temporary home.
Bilbo suddenly tensed. He could smell Frodo in the wind. He shouldn’t be able to smell Frodo, he should still be safe in the burrow.
Bilbo rushed towards the burrow, calling out for Frodo, his worry clear in his voice.
Bilbo rushed inside and realised Frodo wasn’t there. Bilbo took a moment to breathe, to hope that the kit was still alive somewhere, but sadly he was not overly hopeful.
After a few moments of standing there, his eyes closed, he rushed back out of the burrow and picked up the kit’s scent. He immediately started following it.
It meandered around, as if Frodo was playing (a real possibility for a kit his age). Bilbo sighed as he shuffled along, eating up whatever insects the kit had disturbed on the way. After all, he had walked all night, got a fright and still hadn’t found the lad. He was hungry.
That led to another thought. He hoped Frodo had eaten. He was young. He needed food to keep his energy up. Maybe that was where he had meandered off to. Still learning how to hunt successfully meant most hunting lessons turned into playful ones for kits his age.
Bilbo squinted as the sky got brighter, as the sun rose higher and higher. He wasn’t made to be out here in the daytime, but he couldn’t stop looking. He had a kit to find after all. One who wouldn’t just walk in a straight line, no. He had gambled and frolicked all over the place. And, catching another scent, one of other mustelids, Bilbo realised Frodo wasn’t alone.
He wasn’t overly worried. Frodo’s scent was still happy, no smell of fear or pain in the air. Just the kit and whoever he was playing with and their scents mixing and covering each others.
The other scent was stronger, so obviously an adult had come along at some point and Bilbo followed that. It led him straight to the entrance of a burrow with the largest badger Bilbo had ever seen at the entrance.
Bilbo had met badgers before.
In fact, one long lonely winter when he was much younger, he had had a bit of a... liaison with a fine older male badger. One that Bilbo had never quite forgotten and would never admit, but he was the reason he had never really felt the urge to mate with another and have his own kits. He had wanted THAT badger, even though he was a skunk.
His cousins, Lobelia and Otho had found him after their couplings and figured it all out by the scents Bilbo had been basking in after his badger (whose name he had never quite learnt) had been long gone.
It was part of the reason Bilbo had been shunned by most of his family. He however, had held his head up high, though. He wasn’t ashamed by his liaison, just sad it had ended and after many more winters of returning to the same burrow each winter, he had never seen him again. That had made him sadder than any member of his family (apart from the recent situation with Primula) ever could or would have.
So all of this rattled in Bilbo’s brain as he tried to remember the basics of what his badger mate had taught him of his language and culture. The way Bilbo had taught his own in return.
It had been a rocky few days to start with, both unsure how to communicate but with the snows starting to fall and them being trapped together during Bilbo’s torpor and the badgers inactive periods, they had found themselves nestled together more and more for warmth. The grooming had probably been the highlight of the then young Bilbo’s life, if he was honest with himself.
It wasn’t skunk behaviour, but apparently badgers lived together and groomed one another every evening, so Bilbo didn’t see an issue with it.
Bilbo had spent time in mutual foraging grounds with other skunks afterwards and it had felt like his heart was hurting when he was all but ignored.
He had wanted his badger back; he wanted to snuggle and be groomed and have conversations on the tastiest grubs and to hole up every winter, no longer alone.
Sadly, it was never to be again, but he was glad he knew enough about badgers to place his front paws down and attempt to squeak in Badger to get the large, scarred male to see he wasn’t a threat.
Of course he wasn’t; he was half his size, Bilbo thought with a snort to himself.
He waited whilst the other got closer and looked him up and down before it growled and stomped back into the burrow... sett. Bilbo remembered HIS male calling them setts not burrows.
Bilbo cautiously followed behind the large male. Making soft cooing noises, one to call Frodo, and two to let them all see he was not a threat. He could smell many badgers down here and it had him on edge.
He was slowly making his way through the badger sett when he heard it, a squeak he recognised.
Bilbo didn’t waste a moment. He wiggled past the much larger male and ran towards the squeaking, ignoring the male’s barks at him.
Bilbo ran, following Frodo’s voice, calling back to him.
He skidded to a stop when he saw not just his Frodo, but a whole lot of little badger kits all snuggled up together. Ah, that would explain why the other badger was being so rude, he thought to himself as he slowly walked towards the little dip where they were all nestled together.
Just as he took a few steps closer, he was knocked clean off his feet and sent flying into the closest wall. Bilbo was wise enough not to move as he slowly made softening vocalisations and kept his body down low so it was clear he wasn’t a threat.
He forgot all about the growling badgers when he heard a terrified squawk from Frodo. Bilbo rushed forwards, using his smaller body size to his advantage, and slunk between the surrounding males.
He jumped into the nest, grabbed Frodo by his scruff, and jumped out just as quickly. Slowly backing away with his kit in his mouth, eyes searching for an escape route.
He was once again backed up, but this time with a crying kit.
Frodo’s crying seemed to have a positive effect on the surrounding badgers though. One peeled away to sit with the crying badger kits, who were obviously scared about the intrusion into their sett.
Bilbo felt bad, but not bad enough to let his guard down. He just had to wait for a moment, the right moment until he could..... There it was. Without a thought, adjusting his teeth on Frodo’s scruff so he was secure, he careened off as fast as possible to find what he was sure was the way out.
He was almost out. He could smell the outside. He ignored the running and noise behind him.
He was almost at his freedom when he had to stop, quickly. His legs went out from under him because of the speed he was running. In the entrance, right between his freedom, was a badger male, blocking the way out.
Bilbo let out a wail of despair as he backed himself up, curling around a now crying Frodo. Hopefully, considering they had been kind to him before, they would kill Bilbo and look after his kit. He could do nothing but hope. After all, there was no one else to care for poor Frodo. They were all gone and he would be alone, the way Bilbo had been for so long.
Bilbo was waiting. He could feel someone’s breath on the back of his neck. He waited for those teeth to dig in as he curled even further around a whimpering Frodo. He waited for his death to come at the teeth of the home of the ones he had invaded; he supposed. He waited for the moment he would be sent back to The Great Woods, where his body would feed others and just hoped Frodo would be well. He sent one last rumbling reassurance to the trembling kit as the breaths picked up, as though the badger before him was getting excited about his soon to come death.
Bilbo couldn’t help but grumble about it. If they were going to kill him, they could at least be a LITTLE disturbed about it, he thought.
The badger above him must have somehow understood his Skunk speech. Must have realised what he was grumbling about, even as pressed tightly around Frodo as he was.
They let out a chuffing laugh as Bilbo lay there, frozen, as they slowly licked between Bilbo’s ears. Letting out their own coos. The badger then let out a soft, keening noise. One that Bilbo would recognise anywhere.
Of all the setts, of all the badgers, it couldn’t be!
He slowly lifted his head, peeking up tentatively.
His heart almost stopped at the glorious sight before him. It was him. He was here. Looking older, more grey around the muzzle, but he was here!
Bilbo was stunned into silence as he stared at his badger.
The badger stepped back and made some sort of communication to the ones further in the burrow. It must have been reassuring as the large, scarred male backed off, grumbling something to himself.
Bilbo just lay there, eyes transfixed on his badger as Frodo squirmed between them now that he could sense he didn’t have to be so still, so silent.
The badger looked between Bilbo’s paws at the squirming bundle and made an enquiring noise, one Bilbo recognised from before.
Bilbo slowly unfurled his paws and let his kit pop up. He slowly stood, keeping Frodo beside him. Just in case. After all, it had been many seasons, and maybe the badger didn’t care for him the way Bilbo still did him. Maybe he had forgotten all about how much he had seemed to care for Bilbo before.
Bilbo didn’t have to worry. The badger slowly lowered his much larger head and gently pushed Frodo with it, breathing his scent in.
He seemed reassured by whatever he smelt as he grabbed Frodo by the scruff and walked further back into the den, Frodo between his teeth.
Bilbo followed on shaky legs, unsure what was happening and with no idea what to do.
He followed his badger as he meandered through all the other badgers, who were now watching them but kept their distance.
He walked right back to the nest and deposited Frodo in the centre. He gave the more awake cubs nuzzles and a few placating grooming licks before barking something at the female who was laid close by, obviously on kit duty.
Bilbo stood there, watching as Frodo settled himself between the much larger kits and just went to sleep, as though everything was alright and he was safe.
Bilbo supposed he must have been if these badgers were happy for him to cuddle with their kits. He wasn’t so sure about himself, though.
He turned when he heard an annoyed huff. His badger was standing there, waiting expectantly. Bilbo had no idea what he was expecting. He was using Badger speech, not their mismatched version, so Bilbo was unsure what to do.
The other male must have realised as he walked behind Bilbo and started herding him to a corner. Not too far away, and still in eyesight of the nest, but enough that they were out of the way and with a small amount of privacy.
Bilbo watched as his badger plopped down on his side, waiting expectantly. It took him a moment to remember that he had liked to curl up behind Bilbo so he could groom his head and ears.
Bilbo plonked himself close by, but not as close as his badger wanted as he wasted no time in moving closer and paw handling Bilbo until he was in a comfortable position.
Bilbo tried to remain alert and defensive, but the first swipe of that tongue between his ears had him all but melting into the floor. He couldn’t help the happy rumble he let out as he relaxed for what felt like the first time since he had last seen this male. HIS male.
Bilbo was so relaxed, eyes on a sleeping Frodo that he took a few moments to realise that his badger was trying to communicate with him.
He strained his ears and tried to make sense of what he was saying. Oh... it was a name. Bilbo suddenly understood.
He slowly raised his head and repeated the name. Thorin. A strong, lovely name for a strong and lovely male.
Bilbo shyly repeated his own a few times until his badg.. Thorin understood him.
The first time Thorin said Bilbo’s name, he couldn’t help himself. He let out a little yip of excitement before gently nipping his jaw and licking it better to soothe it. He looked down, embarrassed by his own outburst.
Thorin just rumbled lowly and Bilbo felt it flow through every part of himself.
He slowly lowered himself again, allowing Thorin to drape over him as they settled.
Bilbo dozed off, surrounded by Thorin’s scent, able to pick out Frodo’s tiny kit snores, before he allowed himself to drift off. Surrounded by what he had been missing all these seasons, his mate and a home.
Maybe neither he, nor Frodo, needed to be alone anymore, was his last coherent thought before Thorin’s heat beside him allowed him to rest. Bilbo fall asleep surrounded by the scent of home, the scent of belonging.
