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Chapter Text

Dmitri was no mathematician, but he knew that there had to be some correlation between the holidays and the overwhelming urge to shove his family onto a dinghy and into the Black Sea, never to be heard from again.

If it wasn’t his mother nagging him about how he had to be easy on his younger brother Aleksandr due to the hole in his heart (the hole that had resolved itself years ago), it was his father enabling the behavior with his own brand of brusque belittlement. And if it wasn’t Aleksandr coming to him and their parents with some sort of idiotic problem he’d gotten himself wrapped up in and needing help getting out of, it was his sister in law Katerina apathetically coming along for the ride.

If it weren’t for their two year old son Mikhail, he would have thrown them out at sea years ago. 

But as luck would have it, today he couldn’t escape with the only family member he actually liked to be around. Instead, he was immediately dragged into the kitchen to help with Easter lunch preparations. Mikhail was left out in the backyard with his parents, and no amount of Dmitri’s objections would get his mother or father to budge on the matter.

“Mitya, you think you’re all high and mighty because the boy likes you better than Sasha,” his father snapped as he salted the leg of lamb. “If you had any sense of family, you’d keep your distance so that he can bond with his real Papa.”

“Mitya, you know Sasha can’t overexert himself with that hole in his heart,” his mother nagged as she boiled and sliced potatoes. “Honestly, I don’t understand why you resent him so much. He’s done nothing but his best. You’ll understand once you have children of your own.”

Dmitri bit his tongue as he cut herbs with much more force than necessary. He may not have been a father, but with how often he was the one taking care of Mikhail, he might as well have been - not that he minded. He adored the little boy, and Mikhail loved him just as much. It wasn’t Dmitri’s fault that more often than not, he would find his nephew bawling his eyes out in his own filth because his parents decided that going out to drink was more important. It wasn’t Dmitri’s fault that his parents hardly ever acknowledged him when he wanted to play or just have a hug. So why was it his problem that Aleksandr and Katerina hated how Mikhail would excitedly toddle over to Dmitri to be tossed into the air and pulled into a tight hug? Why was it his problem that any time Mikhail was scared or sick or sad, he went to Dmitri for comfort? 

Why was he expected to care for his nephew yet penalized for doing so?

And speaking of his nephew, why was it so quiet outside? 

While he was busy in the kitchen, Dmitri kept one ear and eye out for the boy. Though the backyard wasn’t big by any means, there was a pond that could spell trouble. And considering Aleksandr and Katerina’s apathy towards their son’s well being on a good day…

“Mama, I’m going to check on Misha,” Dmitri said, setting down the kitchen knife and putting his boots on. 

“Really, Mitya? You can’t even trust your brother for five minutes to take care of his own son?” his father asked as he took a sip of water from the glass by his work station. “Just call him a bad parent while you’re at it!”

“Mitya, Mishka is fine,” his mother off-handedly said as she put the potatoes in a pan. “He has his Mama and Papa taking care of him. You can never leave well enough alone, can you?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Dmitri retorted as he headed outside. 

Immediately, he was hit with silence, and he knew that wasn’t good. Two year olds and silence meant one of two things: they were either getting into trouble, or they were in danger. 

“Mishka?!” he called out, getting no answer. There were no trees or shrubbery for him to hide behind, and though he didn’t want to acknowledge it, that left only one place he could be.

“Mikhail?!”

And sure enough, when he sprinted over and checked the pond, he was confronted with an image that would haunt him for years to come: two year old Mikhail, bobbing up and down near the bottom of the pond, face down.

Immediately, Dmitri went on autopilot.

He dove into the pond - only bothering to take off his suit jacket and boots - and swam as fast as he could to collect his nephew. He knew he only had minutes to get him out of the water and revived, so he had to work fast. Gripping him as tight and as close as he could, he swam up to the surface and found that it was no longer silent.

His mother was yelling, screaming for someone to wake up, wake up dammit, but he paid her no attention as he swam to the edge of the pond and set Mikhail down on the grass. He looked half conscious, his blue eyes glassy and unfocused, his curly brown hair sticking to his small, pale face. For a horrifying second, Dmitri thought it was too late, that his beloved Mishka hadn’t survived. He was going to go to his grave blaming himself for this. For fucks sake, he loved that boy like he was his own son -

With a violent shiver, Mikhail came back to him. 

He may have coughed up a lot of water, and he may have been wailing and screaming his little two year old head off, but he was back. Immediately, Dmitri cradled him to his chest, half laughing and half sobbing in utter relief as he murmured over and over again, “Good boy. Good boy, Mishka. Uncle Dima’s here. You’re okay now. Uncle Dima will make everything okay.”

Holding onto Mikhail with one hand, he grabbed his boots and his jacket before standing up and heading back to the house. He hadn’t paid any attention to what the hell Aleksandr and Katerina had been doing while their son was drowning, but now that Mikhail was out of immediate danger, he could see that not only were they both awake and soaking wet (courtesy of a bucket of water his father had dumped on them), they were barely able to stand on their own.

And a quick look underneath the chairs they had made themselves comfortable in exposed the source of their long sleep: two empty bottles of wine that were supposed to be for Easter lunch.

Now that Mikhail was out of immediate danger and now that his parents were awake, Dmitri’s overwhelming relief soon gave way to white hot rage. 

It never took much to get Dmitri angry with Aleksandr. There was the time where he had gotten into a fight at school with another boy and Dmitri was the one who was punished, because as the older brother, he should have been there to protect Aleksandr and lead by example. There was the time he had been forced to drop out of the sports school because Aleksandr didn’t like how his gymnastics coach didn’t coddle him the way their parents did (it didn’t matter that Dmitri had long dreamed of competing in the Olympics). There were the numerous times he tried telling him that he couldn’t just leave a two year old in a filthy diaper and call it a day, only to be told to stop questioning his parenting.

But even with all of those incidents, he couldn’t imagine Aleksandr sinking to such a new low of nearly getting his child killed because a bottle of wine was too tempting to pass up.

Furthermore, he couldn’t imagine his parents tending to a still-drunk Aleksandr and Katerina over their grandchild who had nearly died.

“Get inside and I’ll start a warm bath for you two,” his mother said, urging the two of them inside. “Mitya, be a good boy and make a pot of kapusniak for them.”

Be a good boy and what?!

The request caught Dmitri off so badly that he just stood there, mindlessly rocking a still crying (but thankfully not hysterically sobbing) Mikhail in his arms. So a two year old boy nearly drowns, and instead of making sure said two year old boy is okay, Dmitri’s responsibility is to the drunken, negligent idiots that put him in said situation to begin with?

Forget shoving them all out at sea; his family needed to be put in front of a damn firing squad.

Chapter Text

The tension in the Antonov home was so thick that it couldn’t even be cut with a knife.

No one had said a word since Dmitri’s mother had told him to make Aleksandr and Katerina kapusniak to sober them up - an order he explicitly ignored in favor of getting Mikhail out of his wet clothes and under some warm blankets, and a doctor on the phone to make a house call. He wasn’t explicitly called out for this defiance, but he could feel his mother and father glaring daggers at him as they chopped bacon and cabbage and put the lamb and potatoes in the oven.

Dmitri paid it no mind, though. It wasn’t the first time he and his parents engaged in their own Cold War, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. All that mattered was the shivering little boy in his lap, clinging onto him for dear life. He looked slightly better now that he was in dry clothes (thank God his mother still kept some of his outfits he had long since outgrown), but he still looked exhausted, pale, and rattled from the entire ordeal. 

“Misha, there’s going to be a doctor coming to check on you,” Dmitri said, turning Mikhail to where he was holding his gaze. “If you’re very good while he’s here, I’ll take you to the park once you’re better. How does that sound?”

Though still exhausted, he perked up rather considerably and asked, “Go slide?”

Dmitri chuckled and nodded, tightening the blankets around him.

“Yes, you can go down the slide,” he clarified. “You can go down the slide until you get so tired that I have to carry you home. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Mikhail nodded, and the smile he gave before burrowing back into Dmitri’s chest made him hopeful that maybe, just maybe, things would be looking up now, that they could end this Easter on a somewhat positive note.

Things couldn’t get any worse, right?

~ ~ ~

“Well, I think that young Mikhail here is quite fortunate,” Doctor Vasiliev announced, standing up from where he was crouched in front of the boy. The middle aged man straightened out his glasses and smiled at Dmitri. “It’s a good thing you were so quick to save him, because all he needs is rest and a watchful eye. Had you been a second later, things would have been much worse for him."

Dmitri nodded, feeling a weight lifting off his shoulders. Mikhail was okay. Well, he was as okay as someone who nearly drowned could be okay. He wouldn’t need the hospital; just soup, tea, and a lot of naps. In that moment, nothing could ruin that good news.

“Before you go, Doctor, would you mind checking on my boy and his wife?” his mother asked from the kitchen table. “You see, he has a hole in his heart -”

“A hole in his heart that resolved on its own years ago,” Dmitri clarified, barely keeping his tone civil for a sleeping Mikhail’s sake. “Why do you always feel the need to leave that part out?”

“Don’t interrupt your mother, Mitya,” his father snapped from next to her. “Our boy Sasha, he doesn’t feel so good -”

“That would be because of the two bottles of wine he shared with his equally hungover wife,” Dmitri snapped. “All they need is some water and food to sober up with. You don’t expect Doctor Vasiliev to waste his time with those two when he has actual patients to take care of, do you?”

The uncomfortable silence returned tenfold, to the point that Doctor Vasiliev hurriedly packed his things with a mumbled excuse of going to another house call. After he bid the Antonov’s goodbye, Dmitri immediately went to put Mikhail to bed. Not only would he be more cozy, but the walls would serve as some insulation against the ugly fight that was looming over the horizon. 

It wasn’t too often that he spoke out like that. He knew that ultimately, no matter how many comments he made, nothing would change. His parents would dismiss the matter, Aleksandr and Katerina would bellyache, and the cycle would rinse and repeat. But this time was different. This time, the life of a two year old boy was at stake, and no matter how much his family wanted to stick to the status quo, it simply wasn’t going to happen. No matter how hard they tried, this was something they couldn’t just deny or deflect.

After sitting for a few minutes and running his thumb along Mikhail’s chubby cheek, he left the boy to sleep, softly shutting the door behind him.

Now it was time to go on the offensive.

~ ~ ~

When he returned to the living room, he found it empty. A quick look out the kitchen window told him that his parents, Aleksandr, and Katerina had chosen to migrate into the backyard… sharing a bottle of vodka amongst themselves.

Forget going on the offensive; Dmitri was going to go nuclear.

“You want to waste your life away with drink? Go ahead,” he loudly reprimanded his brother as he joined them outside, snatching away the bottle and dumping its contents. “But for you to let it put your child in danger -”

“Mitya, the doctor said he’s fine,” Katerina interrupted with a shrug, clearly tipsy again. “I don’t see why you’re overreacting -”

“He only said that he was fine because I was there to save him!” Dmitri interjected. “You know damn well that if I hadn’t run outside when I did, he would have died!”

“But he didn’t die, did he?” his father cut in. “Look at you making such a fuss over this -”

“Do you not care for your own grandchild?!” Dmitri asked, giving his father an appalled look. “He nearly dies due to his parents being too piss drunk to watch him, and here you are, letting them have more alcohol!”

“The alcohol is good for them, Mitya,” his mother insisted. “It will help the hangover. If only you had done what I said and made -”

Dmitri rounded on his mother.

“I’m to blame for you giving them more alcohol?!” he incredulously asked, almost laughing at the absurdity and reality of the situation. “You’ll never take any responsibility for Aleksandr as long as I'm here, will you?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, boy!” his father snapped. “You’re his older brother! It’s only natural -”

“Only natural that I sacrifice my life and wellbeing for him?” Dmitri interrupted, silently daring him to say anything else. “That his feelings matter more than that of his own child?”

Though he had long since come to terms with his place in his family, a tiny part of him hoped that this would be the wake up call his parents needed, that this would make them see and appreciate the son who actually had his life and future set. That they would stop throwing their hat in with a whiny, deadbeat manchild who constantly needed Mama and Papa’s help any time he got into the slightest trouble.

But judging by the hard looks on their faces, Dmitri was hit with the realization that that would truly never happen. So long as Dmitri kept playing the game and staying in contact with them, nothing would change.

Forget the firing squad or the boat, he needed to just cut his losses and leave.

“That’s what I thought,” Dmitri said, turning on his heel to leave. Forget the roasted lamb and potatoes - he’d just come up with something to eat on his own once he got home. He was just about to open the door when Aleksandr snidely said:

“And here you thought you could use Mikhail to look like a better parent than me to Mama and Papa. It never worked. They always liked me the best, and it’s pathetic you thought that using Mikhail would change that.”

Dmitri became acutely aware of the blood pounding in his ears, of how his heart was racing, of how his hands were shaking. He was so mad that he could barely see. How dare he? How fucking dare he accuse him of not loving Mikhail? How fucking dare he neglect him and then accuse Dmitri of being on a level worse than him when Dmitri was the only reason that boy knew what a loving adult figure was?

He turned on his heel - smooth and precise from his military training - and stormed over to Aleksandr. Quicker than anyone could stop him, he drew his fist back and punched him as hard as he could in the nose. His grandpa would have been proud - clearly, Dmitri hadn't forgotten their boxing sessions.

He never considered himself to be a malicious person, but part of him relished in the crunching sound that accompanied the punch, how the smug look on his younger brother’s face was replaced by one of shock. He relished in how blood poured down his shirt, how he screamed, “Whad da fuck, Dmitri?! My dose!”

Katerina and his mother scrambled to tend to Aleksandr, and his father just kept looking between the two of them, his face unreadable. Dmitri took that as his opportunity to make his exit. As he stormed back into the house, instead of going straight to his car, he had one important stop to make.

He quietly entered Mikhail’s room, softly shushing him as he stirred at the sound of the back door opening and the rest of his family coming inside to treat Aleksandr’s broken nose. Slowly, he picked him up, cradling his head as he rocked him back to sleep. 

“Let’s just get you to the car, and then we can go home, Mishka,” he murmured as he exited the room. He headed to the entryway, bent down to pick up Mikhail’s shoes, and was about to head out when he was stopped by four pairs of eyes on him. 

Aleksandr and Katerina were sitting at the kitchen table while his mother held a cloth to his nose. His father simply stood by them with that same unreadable expression as earlier. 

“I’m taking Mikhail with me,” Dmitri announced. “Permanently.”

The decision had been an incredibly easy one to make, a decision that he had honestly been mulling ever since Aleksandr and Katerina’s drinking had gotten worse. Mikhail deserved to have a parent who would put him first, a parent who would actually give him the time of day. At the bare minimum, he deserved a parent who would keep an eye on him and not let him endanger himself. He wasn’t getting that with Aleksandr and Katerina, and it didn’t seem like they even cared to try.

Almost to prove his point, neither of them said a word. Hell, neither of them even looked at him. It only proved that his decision was the right one.

“I want all of his clothes and toys at my apartment by tomorrow evening,” he brusquely continued, turning to his parents. “If you give even the slightest damn about him, you’ll do as I say.”

They didn’t say a word either, didn’t even bother acknowledging him as he turned on his heel and exited the house. That suited Dmitri just fine. They could enjoy their Easter lunch as a family, just as he and Mikhail would enjoy theirs as a family.

And if he were to be honest, it felt really good to hit Aleksandr. It would have been even better if he had gone back and hit him about a hundred times more.

~ ~ ~

A knock at Dmitri’s apartment door shook him out of his evening coffee.

He’d just put Mikhail to bed and was hoping to get some alone time of his own before going to sleep, and judging by the second more impatient knock, it looked like he wasn’t going to get that.

With a resigned sigh, Dmitri stood up from the couch and headed to the door. He wondered who it was. It couldn’t be Katya, his neighbor who would watch Mikhail while he was at work. Last she had told him, she was in Leningrad visiting her daughter. It couldn’t be any of his co-workers looking for late night drinks.

And he had to have been still exhausted from yesterday, because there was no way his father and mother were standing outside, carrying boxes filled with Mikhail’s things.

Sighing heavily, Dmitri unlocked the door and let them in. He hadn’t expected them to meet his demands, but all he needed to do was take Mikhail's things, and then they would be out of their lives for good… not that they knew about that last part.

“There’s tea in the kettle,” he said as a greeting, shutting the door behind them. “Have a cup and then be on your way.” He may have been done with them as parents, but he had manners.

He’d imagined that there would be horrific amounts of tension between them, given how yesterday unfolded, but as they sat at the kitchen table and he grabbed two mugs from the cabinet, he felt… nothing. It was as though they were strangers to him.

The thought put him at peace.

He poured them their tea, set their steaming mugs in front of them, and went to work sorting through the boxes. 

“Aren’t you going to bring Mishka out to see his grandparents?” his mother asked, barely hiding the passive aggressive tone in her voice. 

“Natasha -” his father rebuked with a glare. 

“Considering that I just got him to go to sleep, I don’t want you waking him up,” Dmitri sniped back, not even bothering to look at her. “Didn’t the doctor say he needed all of the rest he could get?”

Had it been any other time, Dmitri would have been shocked, maybe even grateful for his father taking his side for once. But now, after so many years of him going along with his mother, it was too little and far too late.

“Well-well then at least let us help you unpack -” she sputtered before being cut off once again.

“I’m being transferred to Siberia in two weeks,” Dmitri said as he folded up one of Mikhail’s jackets. “Leaving them in the boxes gives me less things to worry about packing.”

The transfer had been last minute and incredibly unexpected, but Dmitri didn’t hesitate in accepting it. He and Mikhail needed a fresh start, and though he would miss Katya and a few of his colleagues, the more distance he had from his family, the better. Cutting contact with them wasn’t enough; he wanted to be as far away from them as possible.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the shock on both of his parents’ faces. Dmitri’s father looked troubled as he stared down into his tea, and his mother shook her head, seemingly in denial as she said, “But how will we see Mishka? How will Mishka cope without his parents -”

“He’ll cope just fine!” Dmitri finally snapped, slamming down a pair of Mikhail’s shoes and glaring at her. “In case you forgot, I’ve never once put his life in danger or neglected his well being! And if Katerina and Aleksandr actually gave a damn about him, they would have spoken up yesterday when I took him! Why aren’t they here if they care about him so much?! They only live 10 minutes away!”

His mother pursed her lips together, still shaking her head as she asked, “But what about holidays? Travel will be much more difficult with you both being on the other side -”

“There won’t be any more holidays,” Dmitri firmly cut in. “No birthdays, no Easters, no Christmases, no New Years. There will be no phone calls or letters. I’ve long since accepted that I would never be enough to you both, but I can’t let that happen to Mikhail. Both of us need a clean break from you.”

His father’s brow furrowed, and his mother’s mouth flew open once his words sank in. Whether they actually realized what this meant was of no matter to Dmitri. It just felt incredibly good to finally draw a line in the sand and say ‘no more.’

“Will you at least let us say goodbye to him?” his father asked as he stood up from his seat.

“And have you and Mama accuse me of poisoning him against his poor, sickly Papa again?” Dmitri pointedly asked. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Though he looked like he wanted to retort, his father merely bit the inside of his cheek and nodded once. It was strange seeing his father being so agreeable with him, but it was making the clean break he desired easy to bring to fruition.

“Well then, we should be going now,” his father quietly said, beckoning his mother over. “Let’s not keep Mitya from what he needs to do.”

“But I need to tell Mishka -”

“Let him rest.”

Dmitri watched as his parents stared at each other for a long while before she finally acquiesced and stood, taking both of the mugs to the kitchen and washing them out. He walked them both to the door for the last time, holding it open for them. 

Before stepping out, his father gave him a long, resigned look that was almost proud. It seemed that he finally realized how and why they had come to this point, but it didn’t change the past. It didn’t change all of the hurtful comments, the comparisons, the accusations. The irony that the only time his father showed any pride in him was when he was cutting contact with them wasn’t lost on him.

His mother didn’t go as quietly.

She turned to Dmitri and immediately tried bargaining with him. “Mitya, you don’t understand! You were fine on your own! You were healthy! Sasha was born -”

“With a hole in his heart, I know,” Dmitri tiredly said as she was gently pulled into the hallway by his father. “Repeating it doesn’t justify how you treated me and Mikhail.”

“You can’t abandon your family!” she insisted. “ You can't! Without you, Sasha -”

“Goodbye, Mama.”

Before she could say anything else, Dmitri shut and locked the door on them. Immediately, a wave of relieved exhaustion washed over him, and he staggered over to the couch, ungracefully flopping onto it and closing his eyes. He wouldn’t have to worry about being made to be the bad guy to his family for the crime of being born first and healthy. He wouldn’t have to be worried about cleaning up after Aleksandr when his entitlement alienated him from neighbors, friends, colleagues. He wouldn’t have to dread giving Mikhail back to parents who clearly couldn’t care less about him.

Instead, he and his nephew - his son - could start a new, better life together.

But first, Dmitri had to finish sorting through Mikhail’s things, and to do that, he’d need another cup of coffee.