Defection AU Starter

His movements are mechanical, automatic, as he quietly packs away all evidence of who he is as a person. Sure, he can't take everything with him, there will be a void left behind, evidence that *someone* was here. But none that it was specifically him. His postcards are carefully packed away in folders between his favorite books, Hunter's dog tag around his neck with his own, all his notebooks and scratchpads and bits of writings and drawings and musings joined with the postcards and books. A cassette player and his favorite tapes. All his clothes. Even his guitar and that old rat skin- there will be nothing left of him when he's done here. Nothing left but a single scrap of paper, explaining his lack of existence, and some of his savings in MGR, to hopefully soothe the bite of abandonment, and the void left behind.


"I am sorry it came to this. I will not be returning. I cannot lie anymore- to you, to our son, to Alex, to Miller, to myself and everyone around me. I cannot be here anymore. I wanted to do right by you, Anna, and by our son, but the truth is that I never loved you and I never wanted him, and I never wanted to be with you or live this way. Though I respect you a great deal, you deserve a better man, and he deserves a better father. I hope you find that man, maybe he will be willing to even pretend to be the real father- it would be better that way. It would be better if he never knows about me growing up.

Please tell [the word Alex is scratched out here] my father too that I am sorry that I could not be a better son. That I took so long to realize he is the father I always had. That I didn't call him father enough before I left.

It would be better if you all forgot about me. Please do not come looking for me. You will not be happy with whatever you may find.

I wish it could have been different.

Artyom"


His body feels like lead even before he weights himself with the load of his entire life, to begin his trek out. To his shame, he's planned this at least a few weeks in advance- Anna made plans to visit Polis with the baby, To visit her father, so that he could get to know his grandson a little more. Artyom didn't even have to volunteer to stay behind- it was understood that someone needed to stay home and keep working as part of the station community. He had shifts he needed to work. How convenient.

His head's been swimming down the drain for months lately. He's never been at ease ever since Hunter's disappearance and the start of his first journey, but everything became so much worse after Him. After that Red who charmed and wormed his way into Artyom's naïve graces, into his trust and friendship, only to shatter it all in one fell swoop. Artyom's head swam with rage then, rage and immense hurt and guilt at letting himself be such a fool to be tricked so. But that rage fizzled out faster than he could have expected, replaced only with the growing hurt and an aching longing for what that shortlived friendship could have become. He was doomed the moment the little Dark One told him at the Red Square that Pavel radiated only sadness, no killer intent or anger or hate. When Artyom realized Pavel's shouts of 'obey the orders!' were more to himself than to his soldiers, that he never fired directly at Artyom, only wasting bullets at the ground where Artyom might appear if he were stupid. That Pavel was clearly goading Artyom into killing him. The tragedy of their friendship laid shattered all over the filthy floor of the Iberian Gate when Artyom delved into Pavel's mind and saved him from the souls of the damned, fixed a fresh filter onto his gasmask, forgiving him as he could forgive himself. They both did monstrous things, for causes they thought were right, and they both were wrong. But at least Pavel never successfully committed genocide. Who was Artyom to judge?

And he thought that would be it. That he could move on. For a while, his thoughts were occupied with other things. With getting to Polis, with revealing the truth of the Red Line's machinations, exposing Korbut and Moskvin, of defending D6 from the Red invasion, of potential self sacrifice, only to be spared at the last second by angels themselves, of not fucking dying. But as he laid in his hospital bed, with nothing to do but think of all his dead companions, the many rangers that perished, what the future may hold, the departure of the Dark Ones... still his thoughts wandered to that damned communist. Did he survive? Did he make it home- was he allowed to live? Did he wind up at the D6 invasion somehow, was he one of the many Reds Artyom mowed down with a minigun? If he was alive, what was he doing? Was he trying to help hold the Red Line together? Was he on the run? Was he- Was he-

And it never stopped. Sure, sometimes something would distract him now and then. Like Anna quietly informing him that she was pregnant, much to Artyom's horror as he feigned amazement. Anna could tell he was disappointed. In a way, so was she. Even if the Rangers weren't reduced nearly to ashes, it would mark the end of her career. And, in a way, Artyom's as well, as he would have to settle down to provide for his new family. They made plans, and got married. They both knew they were settling, but that was kinda how it worked in the Metro, wasn't it? There's no such thing as true love anymore. But Artyom pretended more than Anna. And maybe, if he wasn't such a damaged failure, they could've at least found some measure of happiness together. Anna was almost happy. Artyom was holding it all back. It was all his fault.

But even in the gaps between all of that, between Anna's frequent checkups with Polis' doctors, between Miller's disappointment and disapproval at their arrangement, between Artyom's growing depression from this life he never wanted falling on him so suddenly, from a decision he never wanted to make that still makes him sick to think about, and from the constant void he's felt in his heart ever since his first journey that's only worsened since his second, between the haunting thoughts and dreams of his failures and guilt, still thoughts of Pavel haunted him. And it only got worse.

Pavel entered his dreams. Memories of him came unbidden in Artyom's waking hours. And it wasn't even always the memory of his betrayal, of the damage and hurt he's caused. In fact, it was frequently just snippets of memories of the jokes he'd make, the charming way he'd motormouth to fill the silence, the way he never even once questioned that Artyom was quiet and so easily adjusted when Artyom first had to communicate with writing instead of a voice, his smile, how warm and full Artyom's heart had felt at the time. An inkling of that warmth and fullness would enter him at these recollections- he'd wake from dreams or snap out of memories wanting to smile or actually doing so. And that only made the following ache worse... now accompanied by disgust at what the fuck is wrong with him this time, to feel so nice remembering such things?

At first, he rationalized it with his lack of closure combining with his heart and mind trying to mourn for the friendship that could've been. But it grew too much for that explanation to cover it, too frequent. Whenever his mind tried to escape from his current troubles, it always defaulted to Pavel, to the way his face was just a little lopsided, always looking like he was ever-so-slightly smiling on one side even when he wasn't, and how frequently he actually did smile. To how much it hurt when he betrayed Artyom, because Artyom had liked him so much. At how it hurt worse when Artyom realized Pavel really did like him, too, and his anger at the lines that drove them to conflict. When it wasn't nightmares of the horrors he's seen and done, it was dreams of Pavel. He'd try to shake away the thoughts, but it was either his growing misery with his new life, or Pavel.

He was becoming obsessed. He started thinking of deeper reasons of why it went wrong- what could have been done differently. Clearly, Pavel had felt he was in danger of severe punishment if he'd returned home from his failed mission without something to make up for it- something like a ranger with information, and a potential spy for the Red Line. Maybe if Pavel felt he could trust Artyom, if he had been willing to give up the Red Line if it was willing to give up on him, if he had been willing to let Artyom defend him, like he had with the Nazis. Artyom wouldn't have let him die. Maybe if Pavel had realized what he was doing was wrong, maybe if he- maybe if Artyom- maybe if they-

Artyom found himself occasionally looking down at his paper when he'd been aimlessly, mindlessly doodling and sketching, only to see Pavel smiling up at him, rendered in pencil. Precious scraps of paper burned as Artyom feared what someone would think if they saw it, as if anyone would recognize some nameless drawn man. He was going crazy. It was Anna and the coming baby and the void in his life on one side, and the unbidden memories and obsession with Pavel on the other. He prayed that maybe when the baby was born, fatherly instinct would wash over him and change things.

But it only got worse. Surely, Anna had to notice. Alex did. Artyom had to frequently shrug off his father's attempts to pry at his depression, even if it hurt them both to do so. Anna, poor girl, tried so hard to be a good wife and a good mother, bless her. Excused Artyom's occasional escape out into the Metro to find some scrap of adventure, some bandits that need dealing with or some nosalis nest that needs clearing out. She at least understood Artyom had this itch that needed to be scratched, whether she liked it or not. But it never quite worked, and he only slipped further and further.

But none of them, especially not Artyom, could have guessed he'd slip so low. It came to him so suddenly, when Anna left for Polis. This was his chance, he suddenly thought. He could pack his things and vanish in the night. Take a rail car. He could trick anyone that asks on the way that he just absolutely needs to join his wife in Polis or something and must leave immediately, newlywed things you know how it is. Lie. No one would ever know. And he could... he could...

He could kill himself, really. Or he could find Pavel. Find closure. Maybe disappear with him. Disappear into the Red mass. To think, the temptation of treason suddenly finds its snag on him? It's not that he cares about the Red Line. But what else is there for him? He can't live like this anymore. It's Pavel on one hand, death on the other, isn't it? And he doesn't even know if Pavel's still alive. If he's not, then, well... neither will Artyom be, anymore.



It's been a long fucking trip with his heavy packs and heavy heart and heavy mind weighing him down, an uncomfortable amount by foot. But unlike before, he was in no hurry, and was able to take safer, more official routes. No tagging along with ex-bandits through dangerous side tunnels infested with mutants and haunted by anomalies, or risking the surface, and no getting captured and having to deal with dangerous epic escapes into unknown territory, out of the frying pan and into the fire. He made his way through the Exhibition-Riga Alliance stations and easily into Hanza- a Ranger, and a respected citizen with a full valid passport and a handful of bullets will do that. And then just one station down from Prospekt Mira to the intersection where the Red Line crosses the Hanza circle.

Finally, he finds himself in line to enter the first of the Red stations, having himself looked over and his passport checked. But this time, he finds himself stopped by the border guard dealing with him. "Don't usually get refugees on this end of the Line, from Hanza." He says, with a snort. "Sorry, kid, but even on this end, there's a wait. We have enough refugees we're struggling to house and feed as it is. We can't let you in just yet."

"Um?" Is Artyom's eloquent response.

"You can stay out here or go back to Hanza, it's your choice, but you'll have to wait a while before we can let you in-"

Artyom fumbles with his clipboard, much to the guard's confusion when he starts to write suddenly, and he gets the usual odd looks when he turns his writings to the guard. It's the same song and dance every time, "What, you mute?" and embarrassed nods, please just get on with it. They usually get on with it quickly enough, and so does this man. "I'm not a refugee." Artyom wrote, "There's someone in the Line I'm visiting."

That earns him another funny look. "You trying to pull a fast one on me, kid? You've got to have everything you own on your back, there- that's not for someone 'just visiting'."

Artyom growls in aggravation- caught in the lie. He sighs, then, and writes a halftruth instead of a lie this time. "I am still not a refugee, and there is someone specific in the Red Line that will take me in and have a place for me. You do not need to worry about finding me someplace, if he is still alive."

That gets some consideration this time, but also some scrutiny, which Artyom somewhat expected. "And who is the 'someone specific'? You know I can't just let you in on your word of that."

Artyom takes a breath and holds it as he writes the name carefully, "Pavel Igorevich Morozov."

That one earns a raised eyebrow, and the guard glancing over at his comrade, just as surprised. "You know Comrade Lieutenant Colonel Morozov?" The other one asks, and Artyom nods, his heart jumping to his throat- is he still alive, then? And apparently got a promotion, too... Artyom remembers him being a Major. The first still looks somewhat skeptical. "You going to give me proof? Anyone can just say the know a Red Line official whose name they may have heard."

Oh no, a savvy guard. He continues, "If I went and found him, right now," Artyom doubted he could, for all he knows, Pavel could live all the way down in Ploschad Revolyutsii instead of anywhere near Krasnye Vorota, but they both knew that wasn't exactly the question, "would he corroborate your claim?"

Artyom, frowning dead seriously, gives another nod. Pavel is definitely alive, then. That means whether Artyom is, too, is riding on this. The guard is slightly taken aback by Artyom's serious and earnest conviction, but he's still uneasy. "You... still have to wait." He says after a moment's hesitation, and Artyom's heart fucking drops into the pit of his stomach. How can he wait? How long will he have to wait? He's still got a good chunk of his MGR savings with him, but how much of it will he have to blow in money-hungry Hanza just to survive while he waits out his turn to the station-

His panic spiral is interrupted by the guard continuing only a moment later, "You don't really seem like the type to lie about that. I'll have an urgent message sent to the Lieutenant Colonel. If you really are telling the truth, he can come bail you out and bring you in. Okay?"

Artyom's eyes go wide, and hope surges through his veins again. Wetting his dry lips with his tongue, Artyom nods eagerly. But then, just as the guard is about to turn away, probably to do as he claimed, Artyom fumbles with his clipboard once more, and has to grab his elbow to regain his attention. The guard looks at him funny and Artyom starts to write quickly, "In your message, please tell him this very specifically, it's important and will definitely bring him here."

The guard nods after reading, waiting, and Artyom continues. "Tell him, 'there is a Musketeer looking for Athos'. He will know what it means. And please, consider it urgent."

Honestly, this exchange just about tempts the guard to just let Artyom in. That's too specific for him to not have been telling the truth... but also now Artyom's gone and made him curious. The guard agrees, and Artyom is gently shooed away while he retreats into the station, probably to have the message sent. Artyom can only hope the messenger is particularly speedy, as he sighs, and goes to... find someplace dry and not too lumpy or cold to sit and wait. If he has to wait long, if Pavel lives far, he supposes he can sleep here, maybe occasionally fetch food back in Hanza...


Luckily, Artyom may not have to wait long- Sooner than Artyom could hope, the messenger finds Lieutenant Colonel Pavel Morozov, claiming an urgent message has arrived for him from the guards at the border with Hanza. The message being a piece of paper with a description of a short young man with dark hair and a lot of belongings, asking for him, that says 'there is a Musketeer looking for Athos'. Will Pavel now hustle his way to the border gate, to find an incredibly tired young man sitting off to the side of the dim tunnel, knees drawn up and arms folded over them, head resting on them with his face buried in the crook of his elbow, and surrounded by all these bags, a heavily laden backpack and equally heavily laden duffelbags- there's even a guitar strapped to the fucking backpack! The poor guy may be dozing by the time Pavel arrives at the gate, to boss his way through and meet with the only other person in the world who would've ever called himself Pavel's fellow Musketeer...