#some just kind of immediately adopted whoever whenever and then others were immeidately trying to deport

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

I wish you would do a fic during world war 2 timeline where the reader is running away from germany to switzerland and faints in the middle of a small stable. Maybe a certain Swiss comes along in the morning to let his goats out to graze when he sees you???? (Sorry! I am not good at this and I am simply dying for this man right now ugh)

I don’t think this is quite what either of us had in mind Lovely, but... I sense the potential for a series here, but I doubt I would ever get around to writing it. If so, I feel this is how part of it would play out. Hope you like it!

*

​You couldn't run anymore.

Your legs felt as if they were laden with lead, the effort of moving them only emphasized by the sharp ache that kept piercing your senses with each step.

You were well past the border now, you were certain of it. Even if you hadn't completely made the crossing just yet, your ascent surely had left any pursuers at least a few days behind you.

For now, surrounded by forest as far as you could see, you decided it was safe enough to rest, even just for a few hours.

The moon was scarcely a sliver, barely peeking through the clouds, and you weren't going to risk a light.

You weren't foolish enough to fear the fey from the fairy tales your family had fed you throughout your childhood, but you weren't so naive to believe monsters weren't real. Tragically, it seemed you were damned to know just how real they actually were.

You wandered for maybe another hour, relieved to find a quiet stream and, next to it, a ramshackle old barn. You prayed it was abandoned, dared to hope when you noticed no animals nearby, no recent signs of life.

There was a hole worn through the roof, several in the floor of the loft, and what had likely once been a vividly decorated door barely clung to its hinges; you found a warm wave of attached contentment for its ruin.

You barely remembered falling asleep,  barely remembered checking every possible exit for easiest accessibility. You did recall thinking how warm the hay was around you- hidden as you decided to make yourself in it- and the silent hope that any rats would leave you in peace.

Morning came with a gentleness that lulled you into a false sense of security. For a few moments, you simply watched the dust play in the sunshine, let yourself listen to the various birds darting between the exposed rafters, inhaled the scents of pine and hay and goa-

You felt your whole body stiffen in your panic, mentally trying to determine which of the six exits would be easiest, which would-

"Wouldn't bother; you won't get far."

If you had been scared before, the sudden presence of a male voice absolutely petrified you. Your heart stopped, your eyes frantically seeking out the source of sound, even from underneath your pile of hay.

"You could try going west from here, but you don't seem the climbin' type."

You let yourself process his words, recognized some sort of strange calm radiating from them, a detached sort of bluntness. It was- odd.

"Then again, appearances can be deceiving. That's what Lilli's always telling me; for all I know you're even more a mountaineer than I am."

Higher peaks to the west then? You really did make it past the border.

Would also explain his accent.

"I would say south, but they're pretty strict on sending people back to wherever they started from, no matter what they're sending them back to."

So you couldn't go south, and there was no way you were going to risk north or east again. West, perhaps, but you didn't have the right equipment, and you'd be damned if you would risk traveling through a pass, and God only knew how far you still were from France.

Other details of your surroundings were starting to register- the steady rhythm of milking, the scrape of hooves against the wooden floors, the smell of toast and jam drifting in through the window nearby. You could hear the flap of clothes hanging on a line, let yourself imagine the older farmer who was casually telling you how best to avoid capture.

Even in later years, you never would be able to explain what exactly possessed you to leave your little nest, never could quite explain how his odd form of detachment gave you a sense of security.

Whatever the reason, you were soon descending the ladder into the main part of the stable, shocked to discover the farmer- who you had guessed was likely in his 40s or 50s- was maybe only a handful of years older than you, speaking softly to his goats as you crept closer, stopping several feet away, head hanging in defeat.

"Where can I go?"

You didn't see him startle at your voice, missed the surprise and curiosity in his eyes when he got his first proper look at you. You were not at all who he had been expecting, and that fact alone changed everything.

"Who says you have to go anywhere?"

The casual wording, a dismissal woven almost entirely into an invitation, had you once more facing your host, confusion etching itself clearly across your features. "I'm sorry?"

If he was at all fazed by your presence, by your past, by anything- He really was making it a point not to show it. He shrugged at your unspoken question, a half shake as he continued milking the little black and brown goat, attention turning to the task at hand. 

"You don't have to go anywhere." There was a pointed pause for a moment, and then he was turning to you again, something resembling concern in his eyes. "Unless you- Sorry, I shouldn't assume. Are you meeting someone?"

The sincerity, the concern, the compassion- It was one of the few glimpses of Humanity that you had seen in what felt an infinity, and you could have been knocked over with a feather for how weightless it made you.

But sobriety was swiftly restored, a bitterness to your words as you felt a familiar wave of grief, of longing, of pure, unadulterated anguish. There were so many connections severed, so many people you would never see again, either of choice or-

"There's no one who'd miss me."

You could have been mistaken, but you were quite certain you saw a flicker of anger in his gaze, so swift and unexpected that you forgot all about it in the next moment. "I'm sorry."

You knew he meant it, even if his tone still carried a hint of that detachment. You knew he was apologizing for more than your isolation, for your fate, for not being able to offer you more than he was.

It was a kind gesture, but the platitudes of strangers are a passing comfort at best. He seemed to realize this even as you did, overcome by an abrupt awkwardness that almost immediately endeared him to you.

He was grumbling something incoherent, a redness tinting his ears, eyes directed somewhere beyond you as he collected himself. Finally, he sighed, turning to you once more.

"Lilli should still have some breakfast warmed up. It won't be much but you're welcome to it. We can try to find you some new clothes later; I'm sure you want a day or two to rest up."

You nearly protested; he was being too kind and almost too welcoming; you-

His very pointed glance at your leg- which you had forgotten all about- and the makeshift bandage (made of an old scarf and your mother's formerly favorite apron) immediately silenced any arguments you may have utelized.

With a wince, you nodded in agreement, silently vowing to yourself to not stay any longer than you needed to. He was too good a person- and Lilli, too, though you had yet to meet her- for you to risk putting in danger.

Just for a few days. *