AN: So... this story came about as I was reading The Hobbit and falling asleep watching Groundhog's Day with Bill Murray, an odd birth to a story but a fun one.

I do hope that at least one person out there comes to enjoy this as much as I've come to enjoy writing it, especially when it comes to later chapters and things start getting... weird.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit in any way, shape or form; only the plot line is mine.

Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins and Belladona Took, grandson of the Thrain of the Shire, sat up in bed with a gasp.

The last thing he remembered was falling asleep next to his beloved nephew Frodo while watching the sunset over the bow of their ship as it made its way to the Undying Lands, and now he was here.

Here in a place that looked not unlike his old bedroom back in the Shire, but... slightly off.

There was his Mother's quilt- her one and only partially successful attempt at sewing, Bungo had refused to let her near a needle or thread afterwards- that Perigrin Took hadhad 'accidentally' set on fire thirteen years ago, and the mirror his poor Frodo broke twenty years ago cutting his hand and finally those curtains... he was sure he hadn't seen that pattern in at least forty or fifty years, not since...

If he didn't know better he would think this was...

Jumping from his bed with an exclamation, and noting the easy movement of normally stiff and achy joints absently in his shock and haste, Bilbo scrambled for the kitchen and the calendar he always kept there.

Six months.

He had somehow been brought back to six months before his Dwarves were to arrive.

He had a chance now to save his friends from their fates! He might even be able to save his precious nephew from having to carry that drated Ring if he was lucky.

With a prayer of thanks to whichever Valor had provided him with this miricle and a Whoop! of joy, Bilbo began planning.

Things would be different this time.

Six months passed quickly and then Gandalf the Grey arrived at Bag End with a merry twinkle in his eye and a surprised gasp on his lips as he found, instead of a stodgy and proper middle aged Hobbit, an adventure hungry Bilbo Baggins who was already prepared for a trip- his excuse being a planned trip to Rivendale to finally meet Elves when asked.

With a wide smile, Bilbo gave a wink to the Wizard and asked if he should prepare dinner for more than himself that night.


The Dwarves were just as loud and rambunctious as he remembered, Bilbo speculated with a smile as he watched them tear through the veritable feast he'd been working on for days now.

He'd had a moment's hesitation when Fili and Kili had arrived- he'd nearly wept to see their young and alive faces again- but had pushed through and now everyone looked to be having a good time.

Jumping slightly at a heavy bang on his door, Bilbo hurried to answer it and confront the Dwarf who had haunted his guilt plagued dreams for so many years.

Swinging the door wide, Bilbo had to bite his tongue to keep quiet as memories of an endless battlefield and ice-blue dying eyes filled his vision and the wailing cries of the injured filled his eyes.

"...lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all if not for that mark on the door." Bilbo came back to the conversation in time to witness Thorin's overly dramatic entrance.

"Lost? In the Shire? Well, we certainly won't be letting you near a map if that's the case." Bilbo huffed out with a small smile, hoping to forego the insults that had started off their journey the last time.

As Thorin turned incredulous eyes on him, Bilbo simply smiledsmiled wider up at him.

"So... this is the Hobbit."

"And you are a Dwarf, one who has yet to even properly greet his host I might add. Now come along, you must be hungry and I'm sure there's still something left we can find to feed you." Smirking up into those ice-blue- Alive!- eyes as Thorin gritted his teeth against what he had planned to say, Bilbo led the way into the dinning room.

This time around he wasn't going to be cowed by a few glares or grumbles, this time around he was going to enjoy himself as much as the Dwarves would!


Bilbo gasped as another spasm of pain passed through him from the wound he had received protecting Throin's back during the battle.

His Dwarves- ALL of his Dwarves- were alive, and that was what mattered; he could leave this life- his second life- in peace knowing that.

His foreknowledge had come in very handy on the road, even if his Dwarves hadn't realized it, and had gotten them all to this point with less injuries than the first time.

The Trolls had been easily taken care of with a little manipulation and some well placed arrows from Kili, and he hadn't been able to stop smiling once he held Sting in his hands once more.

Visiting Rivendale had been a bittersweet experience. He had spent the last years of his life in those halls and yet now he was supposed to be there for the first time, friends he had known for years looked upon him with curiosity and no recognition.

If he hadn't gotten used to it with the Dwarves he might have wept.

The Thunder Giants and the Goblin tunnels had given him the most difficulty- especially that long fall into the darkness to confront Gollum and gain the Ring- but he managed. Though he did forego confronting Gollum entirely and simply took the Ring and followed the path he barely remembered, but remembered nonetheless, and got out of there in time to meet up with the Company.

He could have done without the confrontation with Azog, though. Though Thorin's surprise when Bilbo managed to blind the White Warg was almost worth it.

And Mirkwood...

The first time around he'd been so preoccupied with first finding his Dwarves and then finding an escape route that he hadn't really paid much attention to the beauty of the place, but this time he had. It was truly magnificent, far grander than Rivendale in many ways.

But he couldn't say that Smaug had been made better or easier with repetition. The Fire Drake from the North had been just as terrifying the second time around as he had been the first!

And the gold sickness!

He hated to have to betray his friends a second time with that shiny stone just to snap them out of it but it had to be done, and now he lay in one of the healing tents with a wound too grievous to heal but with the satisfying knowledge that his Dwarves were all alive and well and would stay that way.

They were there with him now, holding his hands and stroking his brow; promising that he would always be remembered as a hero of Erebor.

Bilbo had passed the Ring off to Radagast before they had arrived, trusting that the plant loving Wizard could handle the cursed bit of gold and saving his Frodo from having to ever even see it.

With a feeling of contentment at a job well done and a second life well spent, Bilbo Baggins breathed his last; one of the countless casualties of the Battle of Five Armies...

With a gasp, Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins and Belladona Took, grandson of the Thrain, sat up in his bed back in his old bedroom back in the Shire.

Pushing the blankets off himself he raced for the kitchen and the calendar he kept there.

One year.

He had one whole year to wait before the Quest for Erebor was to begin.

Running a hand through his sleep tossled curls, Bilbo had only one thought pass through his mind.

Just what in the name of Yavanna was going on?