Damon Salvatore was known for being cocky, selfish, and arrogant even from a young age. All his life he was and never was one for rules, always causing trouble, always being blamed. Damon was a man with many voices and thoughts that keep him up at night, even before the war, before the tunnels.
The war was hell on earth for the men that fought at day, but it was even worse at night, in the dark with sound of gunshots sing the men to sleep. The dark is where the monsters hid and whispered in your ear, trying to tell you secrets. If Damon had learned one thing it had to be to never listen, because that how his own hell came to life.
It was dark, smelled of iron and musk from the men digging to have an advantage against the enemy. Damon and Thomas always kept close, always. After days of digging and tears they were so close, so close to having a break from the mud and grim, so close. Yet not close enough.
"Come on guys ya? Pretty soo' we gonna have drinks in one finga' an ah women in the other!" Came a desperate encouragement from Danny.
The only reply he got was a grunt from Thomas and a laugh from Damon, the first laugh in a long time, but was sadly cut short.
Thump.
Damon knew better than to speak too loudly, he tapped Thomas.
Thump.
Thomas turned with a confused look on his face, as did the rest of the men. They finally heard the sound.
Thump thump.
Fear and excitement coursed through Damon's veins. Oh how long has it been since he had finally felt alive again.
Thump thump thump thump.
Then silence, pure silence. Thomas grabbed onto Damon's hand unknowingly, purely out of instinct. Freddie and Danny slowly came closer, so close. Yet not close enough.
The pain hit damon before anything else, the blackness came next, the screams that came after was just the icing on the cake at this point. If only he had moved just a little faster, if only he was strong enough, if only he didn't blackout. Things would have been different, but they are on hell on earth what did he expect.
Damon woke up to the feel of fire on his bones, through his skin and teeth. After days of being tortured, his mind being manipulated and turned to stoned, he finally cracked. He told the Germans everything.
He told them the plans, secret bases, weapon numbers, everything. It hurt, it hurt a lot knowing he may have killed his brothers and friends because he was to damn weak.
It hurt even worse when a strange man came in a few hours before he was to be killed by the Germans. It hurt when the strange man bit his neck and held him down. It hurt when the man paralyzed him from the pain and had his way with him. It hurt when he passed out once again from exhaustion. It hurt when he finally accepted he was going to die, unloved and unwanted.
It all happened to fast for him to truly process what had happened. Damon woke up thirsty, really thirsty to the point it was painful. His gums burned as did his neck and lower half. It hurt to much. He was sad and helpless, confused and hurt, but most of all he was angry.
So angry he didn't realize he ripped the chains that held him captive for days on end off the walls and off himself. Damon was blinded by rage, much so that he scratched at his back in attempt go to calm himself, to the point where it bleed but the attempts were weak willed. Damon snapped once more.
It was blurry Damon remembered. The heads being ripped of the owners bodys, the blood that was split onto his dirty cream shirt, the screams he yelled out in pain knowing he had possible killed his friends, and most of all the blood he had drank. Blood and so many regrets, so much so he couldn't feel anything at all anymore.
His comrades never heard from him until the war was over. The one that took it the worst was Thomas. How much Thomas had missed Damons stupid flirts and dumb winks toward him. His partner in crime, his other half, his brother.
All men were shocked to see the man they thought was dead come up to the podium to receive his medal when the day had come. When they had received their medals. His face is what shocked them the most. It was hard and cold, Thomas picked up something else though. He saw a face of a man in pain, a man like himself.
When the ceremony was over Damon had only spoken a few words to his comrades and had only spared a glance at Thomas. He was different, hell all of the men were after the war, but the only difference with Damon was he seemed more knowing, more observant and blank. He now held a pained face everywhere he walked. Everyone had assumed it was from the injuries he had gotten from the war. Thomas knew better, especially when he ran off without a goodbye. America is were Thomas assumed Damon went to. Damon always talked about slaging an American for the longest time. So it only made sense
Damon soon made a name for himself. He was now a notorious hit man that never failed at what he did best, killing. He was in control of almost everyone and everything in the United States by the time Thomas, John, and Arthur had heard anything from him.
If Damon had kept one thing the same it was always letting Thomas know were he was, call it an intuition or a bad habit that hasn't died yet.
It is now 1919 in Birmingham, England, Thomas shelby had just talked to the woman he calls his aunt in a place he no longer believed in. Many say he is a dark and cold human being and it is true, but under the smell of death and cheap cigarettes he does have a heart for his family and friends.
People with enough common sense moved for Thomas Shelby as he walked into the betting shop he owned with his brothers, into Polly's home. He was met with his supposed to be innocent brother, Finn sitting right before the blazing fire place. Seeming to be doing nothing until he throws something into the fire quickly.
"Finn" was the only thing Thomas says before Finn knew he was in deep shit.
" Arthur's mad as hell." the tiny boy says trying to distract Thomas from beating his ass. Instead though Thomas picks up the cigarette that the small boy had thrown into what he thought was the fire but was actually the floor and throws it into what the fire.
" What does a 10 year old know about hell, eh?" Thomas asks the child.
" I'm 11 Sunday" the boy states. Thomas with a laugh walks away into the betting shop.
Everyone knew you would always find at least one Shelby in the betting shops, and most of the time they were correct.
Thomas walked over and sat down at his desk and took out a piece of paper. Thomas thought long and hard before writing.
Today The Garrison 8 o'clock,
Thomas Shelby
Thomas sighs in satisfaction, puts the letter in the envelope, and gives it to a blinder to deliver to the man that he knew very well, the man he could trust with his life. Thomas soon called for a family meeting.
*timeskip*
"Alright now that we are all here, we have somethings to discuss. " Thomas announces. While his family was in the small room in the Garrison. "I've sent a letter to someone who will be able to help us. One of the only men I would trust my life with." Thomas started. Instantly the shelby boys new who he meant. As they were all close during the war. The Shelby men all had smirks on their faces.
" Fucking hell tommy, who is it? Go on then." Polly stated.
" His name is-" Thomas started. Getting cut of by a ruckus outside the Garrison. All the Shelbys went to see what had happened, some already knowing who it was based on how loud it was. All of a sudden the doors burst open and there strutted in the man that was once pronounced dead.
"Im back~."
