By: Dana
Summary: How different things could be.
Characters: Pippin, various others
Pairings: None
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Alternate universes, angst, character death
Author's Notes: Just what the title says: five things that never happened to Peregrin Took. Unrelated ficlets, varying in size. Beta thanks to Hyel, Vensre, and Puddle. (Hello, subtext.)
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

1. A Knife In The Dark

Terror overcame Merry and Sam and they threw themselves flat on the ground. Pippin was left to stand his ground alone, against a slow advance of shadows, a hissing in the night, and Frodo at his back; and Frodo was there, quaking, as arm and shoulder they bumped together.

Pippin's eyes grew wide as Frodo grabbed with one hand, taking a fistful of Pippin's weskit and pulling him even closer. Wide eyed, and wider then, as a breath caught in Pippin's throat, tasting of courage that was choking. When Sam was there with Merry on the ground; even Pippin could tell it should have been the other way around.

"Stay back, Frodo," Pippin urged, pushing back against his cousin and stumbling over bare earth. Frodo's breath hitched and his grip loosened. Loosened, as if he were caught in a struggle, and Pippin felt terror against his flesh, the fine hair at the back of his neck and on his arms and the backs of his hands standing on end.

"Stay back," he repeated, and the world stopped, as Frodo's hand tightened like a spasm and fell as abruptly. Frodo was gone, and Pippin turned, wonder mixing with fear, and stopped dead in his tracks as Frodo's struggle began anew.

"No," Pippin whispered, as Frodo stood ring-in-hand, mute terror showing clear in his eyes. "No," again, but no stronger than the first. It was a trigger-moment, when the world started, and Pippin lurched forward, knowing opportunity when it was revealed clear before his eyes.

And Frodo gave a twitch as the ring slid home, and Pippin hit empty air – but the solid weight of his cousin's body as he grabbed for Frodo's hand.

They were falling, then, and there was a scrabble on the ground, as Pippin seemed to fight with empty air. A strangled cry, and a hiss, and a shriek, and Pippin rolled into the hard firm force of a solid wall – or maybe just the hard firm weight of Frodo's back.

Frodo, yes, and dread filled his eyes as he looked at the darkness that came. A moment, yes, and Pippin threw himself over Frodo-who-couldn't-be-seen, shielding him as that darkness surged.

Pain like ice pierced Pippin's shoulder-blade and spread quick along his arm. He could hear Frodo underneath him, shouting, and darkness blurred his vision as he rolled to his side and fell hard against the ground.

Frodo's voice, then, a sudden surge of strength: O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!

But darkness had fallen, and Pippin's eyes closed against the night.

2. The Ring Goes South

The plodding of his pony's hooves were a steady beat against the soft ground. He had traveled as far as Bree with a pair of elven brothers, but there at the far edge of the city, they had turned back to the east, back to Rivendell, and Pippin had rode on alone.

Evening was stretching the shadows long and low and Pippin rode with his head high. There had been no need to tie him up in a sack, though he was sure it had been contemplated, but Frodo's resolve had been firm, even more so than a distinguished elven lord's.

So he had put Rivendell and his cousins and even old Sam at his back, riding with an escort; better to make sure there would be no running back.

He had gaped and he had argued and he had used all his best cards. But Frodo had been firm, yes, and Pippin had been unable to look Merry in the eye. They would need him, he was certain, they would need him, and he had been sent away.

Now Merry and Frodo were out on their adventure and Pippin, like a child, had been sent home. Well, he would show them, when they returned; and they would, triumphant, and Pippin would be there with open arms.

His frustration was spent and there was only resignation (and hope, if only a fool's hope) left behind. Pippin turned his pony from the East Road with a sigh, with the Brandywine a stone's throw to his right, followed the old river road southwards to Crickhollow and Brandy Hall beyond.

Fatty would understand, and maybe he might laugh. It had been foolish for them to go, at all, and this would prove that Fatty had been right. Maybe this was a gift of hindsight; what else could it be?

The plodding of his pony's hooves were a steady beat against the soft ground. Time passed, and there was Crickhollow, standing in shadow with firelight like a beacon welcoming Pippin home. Home, yes, and this was where he was meant to be.

When Sharkey's men came and ruffians sought to overrun the Shire, Peregrin Took was among the first to fall.

3. The Scouring Of The Shire

Dinner sat content in their bellies, and Frodo would soon be flying into deadly peril. It was with great conviction that Peregrin spoke: "Are you very sure that I should not go?" he asked of Merry, while Frodo sat back in his chair, his disbelief evident in wide grey eyes.

Merry gave a nod, took a long draw from his pipe. "I am more than just sure, Pippin. And I remember us already having this talk."

"Yes," and Pippin smiled, giving Fatty a sideways glance. "We already did. And you, Master Bolger, take care of our cousins, or I'll be forced to box you upside the ears."

Fatty's laugh was hollow. "Don't tempt me now, Pippin."

Pippin shrugged and closed his eyes. "There's room enough for one of us, here, and not the other. If you really want to say – "

"No, no," and Fatty was hasty, "I do want to go. This is my one and only chance for adventure, I think."

Pippin laughed and opened his eyes. "Keep your adventure, cousins. I'll stay here and keep house."

They all shared a laugh, even Sam, and Frodo shook his head, eyes still wide and incredulous. "You surely must be joking, Merry," he said, a frantic note in his voice.

"No, cousin," and the tone of Merry's voice was almost grim, and determined, but there was light in his eyes. "We really do understand, Frodo, and we will see you through to the end – and old Fatty here will be at our side."

Frodo sat back, shaking his head. "I do think that this calls for a toast."

Sometimes Pippin thought that he had lost track of time – he most certainly had lost track of his cousins – and there were days where he wondered if he would ever see them again.

When Sharkey's men came and ruffians sought to overrun the Shire, it was a cool autumn day that gave him Merry. Merry, tall and knightly, grey-eyed and stern, and Pippin felt that he had forgotten Merry in the long months between now and then, because this was not the Merry that he had bid farewell to on a long ago October morn.

"I should have insisted," Pippin said and tears flooded his eyes. "And if I hadn't, then it should have been you, because it had been too long since I last saw you, Merry Brandybuck, and now…"

"Now, what?" and Merry almost smiled.

"I'm looking at a ghost," Pippin said, gripping Merry's hand, feeling it cool and tense and he bent his head, waiting, listening to the sound of Merry's breath. "I should have insisted," he said again. "Fatty never was the very best of company, after all."

Merry did laugh, then, clutching Pippin's hand tight. "I came – "

"I know, I know, and you certainly did take your time."

Pippin looked up, then, and it wasn't Merry in Merry's eyes, looking back at him, and he felt his self break as if from the force of some physical blow.

And there was still a home to free, the Shire to be raised, and it would be an age before Merry would speak to him of all that had passed; and even all was not all, and Merry had secrets now, and scars.

But right now, Merry, too-tall, leaned close, and kissed Pippin's brow. "I should have insisted," he whispered, against Pippin's curls, "I should have insisted, because I feel like I'm missing myself."

"Poor old Fatty," Pippin said, some time later, when Crickhollow was closed and dark, and winter had come again and gone, and the Battle of Bywater had been fought and the Shire had been reclaimed.

"I do think that this calls for a toast," Merry said, and Frodo conceded, as Pippin nodded, both raising their mugs.

Pippin was raising a toast to say good bye to those he didn't now know.

When Frodo leaves, Pippin doesn't understand, and though he promises to, Merry never does tell him why.

4. The Palantir

"Look at me!" said Gandalf.

Pippin looked up straight into his eyes. The wizard held his gaze for a moment in silence. His face grew gentle, but for a moment longer, and Pippin's gaze blurred and his jaw went slack. "Pippin? Peregrin Took, look at me!"

Pippin moaned (and he had been doing so well), his eyes rolling backwards to knock hollow in his skull. "Pippin, look at me!" he said again, but there was no answer.

Merry's voice rose up and Gandalf shooed him away. "Quiet yourself, Merry. Pippin, lad, answer me."

Pippin groaned and Gandalf pressed his hand against the curve of Pippin's cheek. Closing his eyes, and focusing, and reaching down deep. But there was no nothing, there, when there had still been a spark of light before.

But he was not dead.

"Come back to us, Pippin. Come back to us, now."

But Pippin only jerked – his body convulsed as he was seized by a great spasm, his mouth wide open in a silent scream, his back arching and his hands tightening into fists and his legs twisting like his bones would break – and then he jerked again. Gandalf held to him tightly as Pippin grimaced, face twisting in pain, and you could not read him, not then, and the look in his eyes, as he met Merry's gaze over Pippin's twisting body.

"Quiet now, lad, quiet now," Gandalf soothed, and it was as much for Merry, a distraught whimper choking him, as it was for Pippin, who was shaking violently in his arms.

"Quiet now. He is gone. He is gone."

A frantic cry – and Pippin burst into tears.

"What is wrong with him, Gandalf?" Merry asked (demanded), swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in his throat (a visible release of tension, but there was fear in his eyes, as he looked at Pippin's now still form.)

"His shadow lingers."

Gandalf lifted Pippin gently and carried him back to his bed. Merry followed, and sat down beside him. "Watch him for me, Merry. And call me if there is any change."

Merry nodded but did not speak as he clutched Pippin's hand tight.

Over the plains Shadowfax was flying, needing no urging and no guidance. Less than an hour had passed, and they had reached the Fords of Isen and crossed them. The Mound of the Riders and its cold spears lay grey behind them.

Pippin had yet to respond.

Tall ships and tall kings
Three times three,
What brought them from the foundered land
Over the flowing sea?
Seven stars and seven stones
And one white tree.

Pippin would have thought Minas Tirith a wonder. Gandalf soothed a hand through the hobbit's limp curls, and nodded his thanks to Ioreth. He left Pippin alone (and he was indeed alone) there in the Houses of Healing; if there was a place here in Middle-earth, even under Sauron's shadow, that Pippin might heal, it would be there.

When Gandalf had gone, Ioreth touched Pippin's cool hand. "Such a pity," she said, knowing that even one so small could have been great.

When Merry sees Pippin, he knows that they should both be dead.

But there is a king in Gondor, now, with his healing hands.

(And Pippin is beyond even Aragorn's reach.)

He would wake at night, screaming; fighting off some demon that only he could see. There was little they could do for him, but Ioreth would hold him, and rock him, and whisper soothing words against his ear.

But that was too little and it was too late.

One grey day, after six nights of dark dreams, the gates of the city are broken, and the horns of the Rohirrim sound at dawn; but for the Steward and his line, it is already too late.

(And Pippin's sleep is calm, and his mindless dreams are sweet.)

Merry holds Pippin, now, as grey smoke dissipates into a grey sky. "Come back to me, please," Merry whispers, and wonders if this is what it feels like to be dead.

Pippin would have liked to see Rivendell, again; now it seems a fitting home, for a soul lost beyond light, in this fading land, in the fading of this time.

When Merry, Sam, and Frodo leave him behind, they go with a heavy heart, as if Pippin is already dead.

(Maybe it would be better if he was. But they are hobbits, and that is not a mercy they would give.)

Two years and a handful of days later and Merry sees Pippin again; but this cousin does not know him, indeed, he does not seem to know this word at all. Slack-jawed and blank-eyed, Pippin stands at Gandalf's side, one hand clasping Gandalf's tight.

"It is better this way," Gandalf said. "I would not let him give me the slip."

"But Gandalf – " and Merry chokes on that name; what can he say, now, here, with Pippin's blank eyes and tears in Frodo's, and such understanding, such compassionate understanding, shining in Gandalf's gaze.

"Surely there must be some other way," and Merry sounds lame.

"Go in peace," and this is said to Merry and Sam alone. "I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil." And it is more than just that: give those you love this chance, this one last chance. Sam can see it, because he can feel it, and it is there waiting in Frodo's eyes. But Pippin's are lifeless, blank and grey.

Merry does not even think to hug Pippin goodbye.

As the ship sails away, Merry and Sam stand side by side; and they watch the evening deepen to darkness and the shadow of a ship on the water was soon lost in the West.

The first thing that Pippin will see (and remember) is a curtain of grey rain turning all to silver glass.

And maybe he might even wonder why Merry did not even think to hug him goodbye.

5. Mount Doom

Pippin wakes feeling something wet underneath his hand. Something wet, and something warm. He groans, and his vision blurs. Something is wrong, but he isn't sure what. The stars are shining, even here; there is something wet and red and sticky on Pippin's fingers, and his temple is throbbing as if the bone has cracked.

His back aches, his legs are sore, and his vision won't come back into focus. He coughs (coughs, because there is ash in the air, and his nostrils are burning), coughs, because his lungs are aching, too.

"Frodo."

Pippin's mouth is dry (and his head hurts more than he should be able to imagine) and there is hard grit underneath his hands as he pushes himself up on his knees. And he wobbles, and his vision is still blurred, and the air is eerie; still and calm, too calm, and he can feel it press down on his shoulders, willing his back to break.

He isn't sure what happened, but he is certain that this isn't the way it should end.

"Frodo," plaintive, now, and Pippin blinks his eyes, rapid, trying to clear the fog. Too much, too quick, and he slumps backwards, smearing blood and dirty grit on his cheeks.

(He wants to cry, because this isn't the way that it should end.)

"Frodo?" again, because Frodo should here, too – because the sky is a swirl of red and black and white and grey, and Frodo should be here, because Pippin remembers that as having been so. And Frodo should be here, because if it isn't, then that means that Pippin is here in this dead grey land, and he's all alone.

His head is aching, and again his vision blurs.

When he had found Frodo – and he had lost Merry, and whoever knew where Sam had gone – Pippin had planned on stopping him there. But he did not understand the will of a Baggins, or perhaps, this Baggins alone.

And Merry and he had always intended to go wherever he went, and Pippin guessed that he alone could go in Merry's stead.

"I am coming with you, Frodo Baggins, whether you like it or not!"

And he had flung himself at Frodo's departing boat.

He should have not left Merry – and Pippin wonders where Merry is now, wonders if his cousin is still alive. Because he isn't even sure if he is (and that doesn't worry him as much as it should) and he wipes moisture from his eyes and takes a deep breath.

He'll start with a step; it's always best to start with a step.

He lifts one leg and then the other (and the world seems to pitch and sway) and Pippin would be ill, violently so, if his stomach hadn't been as dry as bone. Frodo should be here, and he isn't, and Pippin is alone amid sharp rock and flat grey plain. The sky is burning and Pippin can feel it under his skin.

"Frodo!" he cries, but his voice is a whisper (he can't remember his last drink) and a sudden flash comes to his mind, malice and a wide, wicked grin. "Gollum," he coughs, stumbles. His body aches and he winces, and wonders why he hadn't seen it before.

But there wasn't anything surprising, there.

He stumbles, falls flat on hard ground, and his knees knock against stone. "No," he gasps, shaking his head. "No," because it can't be, it shouldn't end this way, and that is Sting lying sheathed under his hand.

He grips the sword, sitting back, mute in his exhaustion. He thinks that he should cry, but he isn't sure. He doesn't know what this means, after all. Maybe Frodo has made his way to the very end.

Pippin's Frodo is strong enough, after all.

He clutches Sting close (his fingers wrap hard around the old sheath) and he holds it flat against his chest. His eyes won't give him mercy, now, and Pippin feels that he is falling back. His head is aching, and his lungs are, too.

Maybe it should not end this way. (But he can imagine that Frodo will see this task done.)

Pippin guesses that if this is his tale, then it has come to its end; and his thoughts flee as pain dulls to a low roar and he sees no more.