Title: Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
Author: The Emcee
Summary: Bilbo, an omega, is rejected by his alpha, Thorin, and it kills him.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: I wanted to make you all snot cry! So snot cry, darn you! This is, obviously, AU-ish/Omegaverse-ish, so yeah… R&R. Enjoy!
I'll Be Your Nothing
He should have known. He should have thought things through. He should have been more careful. He shouldn't have allowed himself to become so blind. But he didn't want to know. He didn't want to think things through. He didn't want to be careful. And he didn't care if he was blind.
At least, he didn't before.
Now though, Bilbo had made a horrible, horrendous mistake: he had taken the Arkenstone and had given it to Thorin's' enemies. Not only had he betrayed his friend and the only person he'd ever call king, Bilbo had betrayed his alpha. At the time, he had believed that he was doing the right thing. He thought that he was helping Thorin and keeping him safe from harm.
Obvious, he had been wrong.
Not only had he enraged the king, but he had also lost him as a friend and…and as his alpha. In front of the Company, Gandalf, and Bard the Bowman, Thorin rejected Bilbo and told him never to step foot in Erebor if he valued his life. The dwarf had told him that he had no need of such a cowardly, foolish, and deceitful omega as Bilbo. And he hadn't changed his mind after the Battle of the Five Armies, even though Bilbo had fought just as hard as any of the others, which surprised him because he hadn't been feeling very well when it was time to take up arms.
Bilbo knew why he had felt so horrible during the battle and why now, as he made his way back to the Shire, he felt even worse. He didn't bring any medicine along with him when he stole away in the middle of the night. What was the point? Medicine and herbal remedies wouldn't cure this. There was no cure to bring an omega back once their true alpha rejected them. In all of the records and books that told stories and tales of omegas who had been rejected, not one of them survived. They all died. And while Bilbo no longer thought of himself as the most intelligent or clever of beings (his mistake with the Arkenstone had proven that), he wasn't stupid. Above any and all else, there was one thing Bilbo Baggins was sure of.
He was going to die.
Regardless of if he wanted to or not, regardless of if Thorin miraculously showed up out of the blue and took him back, Bilbo was going to die. His heart and soul were set on it and his body was more than happy to comply. In a way, he was kind of happy that he was dying. It was better than living as a hollow, empty shell who felt numb all of the time. Not only that, but Thorin was still alive and well and, as an alpha, he'd be able to find another omega, one who was actually deserving of him. Bilbo was nothing compared to Thorin.
Thorin was a dwarf king. He was a member of royalty and he was strong and more than capable of leading his people and restoring Erebor to its former glory. Bilbo, on the other hand, was a lonely hobbit of middle age who had no home to return to. Yes, he still had Bag End, but that didn't feel like home anymore; the Shire didn't feel like home anymore. Home was now and would forever be where his alpha was because even though Thorin rejected him and didn't love him, Bilbo still loved him and he would until the day he drew his very last breath, which would probably be before he even reached the Misty Mountains.
His body already felt sluggish and slow. Bilbo knew that it was shutting down. He was surprised; it had taken it longer than most accounts. As he forced his body to press on, to head back to the Shire, to the place he had once thought of as home, the world around him swirled and shifted as though it were ripples in the water. Every so often, his feet would stumble and he would trip and fall down. On a few occasions, it took him a good five minutes to get back up and continue; on others, it took him far longer.
But his suffering wasn't meant to last a life time; it was only meant to kill him. Bilbo supposed that he ought to be thinking about all of the things he regretted doing in his life and all of the things he'd never be able to do. However, all he could think about was Thorin and how much he loved the stubborn dwarf king, his alpha. Even though Thorin would never accept him even dead, Bilbo still could not curse him for doing this to him. This had been his fault, not Thorin's. To him, Thorin's rejection had been justified.
No longer able to walk or even stand, Bilbo fell onto the cold, hard ground. He could feel every his heart beat slowing down second by second. His vision failed him and so did his hearing not too long after. Everything around him was cold and numbing and dreadful. It made him long for the comfort of his alpha, the alpha he had betrayed. But there was no comfort for him except the comfort that death brought.
And finally, with one last, tiny breath and one last, small, weak beat of his heart, Bilbo Baggins died.
Thorin had known the instant Bilbo left this world.
He had been in his bed chamber, pacing, thinking about how wrong he had been to cast his hobbit, his omega, his mate away just like that. In his anger, he had been blinded and had thrown away the one and only person was meant for him, who had been born for him. Thorin should have trust Bilbo more; if he had, then perhaps he would have seen reason sooner. But the gold sickness had caught him fierce and hard and it fought to keep hold of what it caught. It was only after the Battle had ended and the hobbit had begun to make his way home that Thorin noticed it.
The itch beneath his skin; the anxiety flowing through his veins; and the impeding sense of doom and fear and panic. He hadn't been able to sit down or rest because of it and he didn't know where it came from. And then, suddenly, he realized what was going on. By the time he had figured it out, however, it was too late.
His blood ran cold. Every happy thought died. The world around him lost all of its color and nothing, not even the fire burning brightly, could bring him warmth or cheer. A deeper sorrow and despair overtook him; not even the loss of Erebor and the devastation Smaug had brought to his people compared to it. Tears came to his eyes and fell freely and for once, Thorin did not object nor did he try to hide them. Why would he? How could he?
Bilbo Baggins, his burglar, his hobbit, his omega, was dead.
Everything in his entire being was screaming that fact at him and Thorin's knees buckled and he felt to the floor, tears falling unabashedly. His fault, this was all his fault. If he hadn't rejected Bilbo, then his mate would be with him safe and sound. He would be able to see Bilbo's smiling face, his warm, kind eyes, and hear his voice. He would be able to touch his hobbit, hold him, caress him, and love him like he had deserved. And, more importantly, Bilbo would be alive and full of life and happiness.
But Bilbo wasn't alive. He would never open his eyes again nor would he speak or laugh or smile. Thorin would never be able to apologize for his foolishness and idiocy nor would he be able to make up for it. He would never be able to look into his omega's eyes; he would never be able to touch him, hold him, or love him. There was no way for him to turn back time; there was no way for Thorin to correct his mistake.
But he would go out and find his burglar, his mate, and he would bring him to the Lonely Mountain, to home, even if it killed him. And Thorin would personally craft the finest, most beautiful tomb ever to be seen and inside he would place the most precious treasure ever to be found: his Bilbo. That is what he will do.
For now, however, all he could do was weep until there were no more tears to cry and until his voice was too hoarse to sob.
Bilbo jolted awake and gasped. Tears were pouring out of his eyes and streaking down his cheeks. His chest rose and fell with every pant and heave. Beside him, Thorin's body shook with wracked sobs and the great, dwarf king cried as though he had lost something dear to him. Fearful and needing his alpha, his mate, more than the other needed sleep, Bilbo shook the dwarf awake.
"Thorin…" Bilbo said. "Thorin!"
Blue eyes snapped open and Thorin shot straight up. His sudden movement startled the already jumpy hobbit, but Bilbo didn't move. Instead, he stared at the king as his tears lessened and stopped all together. And then, Thorin's blue eyes met Bilbo's and their breath hitched. Everything around them fell away until it was just the two of them and then, Thorin pulled Bilbo into his arms and held him tightly, protective.
"I'm sorry! I'm so, so very sorry," Thorin said, his voice thick with emotion and fresh tears tumbling down his face. He nuzzled Bilbo's neck and breathed him in as he held him close.
"Forgive me? Please, Bilbo, forgive me. I…I wouldn't be able to take it if you blamed me or if you left me…" Thorin's hold on Bilbo tightened and Bilbo clung back, his body trembling against his alpha's body.
"Thorin…you don't need to ask for forgiveness," Bilbo told him gently, tears coming to his eyes and his voice filled with sobs. "It is I who should ask for your forgiveness. Were it not for me…"
"No! You did nothing wrong. The offense lies with me and me alone; not you."
They held each other and cried until no more tears came. Bilbo chuckled to himself through his tears as he realized that, perhaps, they had shared the same nightmare. Eventually, they calmed down and lay back down in the bed, Bilbo snuggling against the dwarf king and Thorin holding him close in his arms.
"We both shared a nightmare," Bilbo said softly. Thorin hummed in agreement.
"So it appears," the dwarf said. He placed a kiss on Bilbo's head and pulled him closer, afraid to let him go. Bilbo didn't protest; he was just as afraid as Thorin.
Silence fell down upon them. The mountain was peaceful and quiet; the only sound in their chamber was their breathing. But even though he was in Thorin's arm, warm, safe, and loved, Bilbo feared falling asleep again. That nightmare had felt so real…so awful… He didn't want to have another one, but he was also tired and needed the rest. Snuggling against his alpha, Bilbo kept telling himself that it was only a dream and nothing more, that Thorin hadn't rejected him and that they were there.
"I'm not…mad or anything… You know, for you taking it," Thorin's voice broke the silence and caused Bilbo to look up at him. His blue eyes were gazing down at the hobbit with sincerity and truth and love.
"You weren't yourself. You needed a wakeup call," Bilbo said. "But there were a few moments when I thought that you'd…" His throat closed up and he cleared his voice before he started speaking again. "Well, you didn't. And then that horrible battle… I thought I had lost you."
"You didn't." Thorin's arms were strong and warm and protective around him.
"I'm still sorry that I took it," Bilbo whispered softly. Thorin's fingers tilted his chin up and he placed a soft, loving kiss on the omega's lips.
"Do not apologize about that again. The fault was not yours, but mine. I allowed the gold sickness to overwhelm me and in my madness I almost lost you," Thorin told him firmly, but gently. "I am still sorry for that, for everything, and I know that I can't ever truly make up for it, but I will try."
"Don't beat yourself up, Thorin. I forgive. I always will," Bilbo said before kissing his king hungrily. Thorin's hands stroked his bare back and the calluses on his hands made Bilbo shiver pleasantly.
"Mahal, I love you," Thorin said, his voice rough and just as hoarse as Bilbo's. The hobbit straddled his lap and he could feel Thorin's passion pressing against his thigh.
"I love you, too, my king," Bilbo said before he kissed his alpha again.
As they made love, all thoughts of the nightmare vanished from both of their minds. All they knew was each other and nothing else. Nothing else mattered to them. It was just the two of them.
A/N: So, how badly do you guys want to punch me? =P