Five people Damon hadn't been in life (or death) and one that he could have been; Stefan cameos.
Disclaimer: I don't own any borrowed quotes, The Vampire Diaries, Once Upon a Time, Women of the Otherworld, Gossip Girl, Hunger Games, or Twilight.
Warnings: Spoilers for any sagas/series this is crossover-ed with and mild profanity. That is all.
i am who i am
"I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be
I know what I am.
I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be
I know what I am.
I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be."
-Band of Skulls
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1. A Fairy Tale Character and/or his Storybrooke counterpart
Damon Salvatore was the town's functional drunk that slept with anything in a skirt – it was the truth and acknowledged by everyone in their tiny little settlement in Maine. He was the Sheriff's deputy, but found he had little to do because Graham was more than capable of handling everything that the stern handed Mayor didn't (or couldn't, when she was busy with school functions for her little brat, Henry). Damon had no children or wives (hence the sleeping with anything in a skirt, ahem) and his parents were both dead of miscellaneous maladies. He had a single sibling, a younger brother who seemed to have been in high school forever (but had only really been three years – he was a junior now). His brother, as opposed to Damon, was one of the most sensible people Damon had ever met (he is often the straight man for Damon's zany antics).
Overall, Damon would have said his life was a droll, monotonous circle of boring routines until Emma Swan drove into town to return the Mayor's wayward son (Emma's birth son, Damon would later learn). He spotted Emma first when she was being brought in by Graham on the Mayor's orders, and he gave her a two fingered salute in greeting.
"So, what'd you do to get put in the slammer on your first day rolling into town?" Damon drawled with a cheerful smile and what his brother labeled his "Damon eyes".
Emma was not swayed by his charm. "You ever hear of a thing called tact? No? Find a dictionary." And she'd turned her head, her wavy blonde hair bobbing over her shoulder in its ponytail. Not to be dissuaded, Damon opened his mouth to retort, but Graham gave him a warning glance and intercepted.
"I got a call from the school a few minutes ago; they need you to pick up your brother because of some fighting incident. You should get to that," Graham said baldly and Emma quirked her eyebrows at Damon.
Damon smiled and because of Emma's blatant curiosity, winked and leaned in to stage whisper, "I taught him everything he knows; Father had a horrible arm and Stef was too young for Mother to teach him anything yet." It startled a short snort from her, and Damon smirked before taking his leave, satisfied as the cat that ate the canary.
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"Why were you in a fight this time?" Damon's fingers tapped on the steering wheel while Stefan brooded in the seat next to him. Typical. They were still sitting in the parking lot. "'Cause, you know, if it was over a fair maiden's honor, I totally understand." He looked over at Stefan, but there was no reaction. "Or maybe your manly man-ness was threatened? Or maybe-"
"We're going to be late," Stefan said flatly and Damon rolled his eyes, not even bothering to ask 'for what?'
"Did you have to throw your weight around to show those dicks who was boss?" Damon continued.
"They were talking about you again." Stefan kept his eyes faced forwards and his lips had barely moved throughout the confession.
"What it my dashing good looks? My irresistible charm? My unflinching ability to listen to Taylor Swift?" Damon wiggled his brows.
"About how you were . . . after Katherine." Stefan's green eyes slid over to gauge Damon's reaction.
Damon shoved his flash of anger down and forced himself to grin and he threw an arm over Stefan's headrest. "So . . . about my raging drunkenness and my untoward way with women?"
Stefan merely glowered; he was much more sensitive to the town's gossip about his older brother than Damon was to it himself. After all, much of what they said was true. He didn't have any (read: many) hard feelings. So what, after Katherine's use and manipulation, he'd slept around a lot more and he'd taken to morning, afternoon, and evening drinking? He was a little more crude . . . a little more reckless.
Graham had straightened him out, anyway, and there weren't that many hard feelings.
You either sober up and get yourself together for you and your family, or you're fired. Then you'll be on the street because we both know that Gold doesn't care why you can't pay the rent; just that you can't.
Which had all been true, but Damon liked being obstinate, so it had taken a few more weeks before he'd gotten his act together. Unfortunately, by then, he was known as the town's heartbroken drunk skank.
Which was totally fine by him, but around that same time Stefan had taken to fist fighting in the school's corridors. Which wasn't all that fine.
"Ignore them next time," Damon advised sagely and started his old blue Camaro. He rolled down the hood and they blasted away from the High School with the music blaring. "It'll make life easier!"
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The next time Damon ran into Emma Swan, she was in the jail cell as opposed to being booked.
"You still here or did you just make a return trip?" Damon asked idly as he found his badge in the drawer. His eyes flicked up and watched as Emma grimaced.
"Back again."
"A repeat offender; I like it," Damon smirked and settled into his swivel chair. "Where's the Sheriff?"
"With Regina," Emma said shortly and looked down at the floor.
"You're not much of a talker, are you?" Damon knitted his fingers together behind his hand, "Oh, and don't get any ideas about Graham – he's Regina's bedfellow and if she has any reasons to suspect you're moving in on her man, I'd expect a noose around your neck instead of handcuffs on your wrists."
Emma shot him a wry smile. "I'll keep that in mind, Bruiser."
Damon's hand fluttered to his heart. "You wound me, woman."
"Your ego could use some deflating," She shot back and Damon wiggled his brows suggestively.
"Something else could use –"
"Don't even finish that sentence," Emma remarked dryly and then she arched one of her own brows. "Don't you have work to do?"
"Not really," Damon admitted and then bent double to pick up his decanter of bourbon. "'S why I brought this to work with me today. Wanna share?"
"Shouldn't," She said, but her eyes lingered on the bottle. Damon picked out two shot glasses anyway and poured her one.
"Probably not," Damon said, even as he drank the shot and slid the other one through the bars of the cell. "But I do a lot of things I shouldn't. Cheers."
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Damon's visits went much the same with Emma Swan as the first two, and about half were interrupted by Stefan's schoolyard fights, Regina's whims, and one memorable time, Graham's death.
After, Damon was promoted to Sheriff and Emma to his Deputy.
Things settled again and an air of normality was reached.
Then, of course, it all came crashing down.
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Damon Salvatore was the town's functional drunk that slept with anything in a skirt – it was the truth and acknowledged by everyone in their tiny little settlement in Maine ever since his nasty break up with fellow townie, Katherine Pierce, before she died in a car crash as she was escaping Storybrooke, Maine. He was the Sheriff and Emma Swan his Deputy and together, they solved crime.
Then August Booth came to town and Jefferson happened and Regina tried to kill Emma with her poisoned apples and the curse was broken with true love's kiss.
And it turned out that Damon Salvatore wasn't just a functional drunk and a trollop; he was the Cheshire Cat from Wonderland, who liked his riddles and smiling, smirking games with little Alice (who'd he'd discovered was Elena Gilbert, of all people!). He and Jefferson had been close friends in their past life, and irritating, order-inclined Stefan had been the White Rabbit.
Curiouser and curiouser.
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When Emma and Snow disappeared back into the Enchanted Forest and Charming came to take over the Sherriff's office, Damon was having none of it.
"Who were you, anyway?" Charming/David Nolan asked suspiciously.
Damon gave his Cheshire grin (pun!), and wiggled his brows. "Can you guess Your Highness? I'll give you three guesses and the first two don't count."
Charming gave him a glare. "I don't have time for you crap, Damon."
Damon decided to be nice and give him a clue. "That was rude, you are! Rabbit knows a thing or two and I myself, don't need a weathervane to tell which way the wind blows."
Charming was clearly wracking his brain for the answer and suddenly he snapped his fingers and pointed. "Cheshire cat!"
"Bingo," Damon drawled, "Do you want a prize? I can have it wrapped up and shipped to your house with a small fee." He used his pointer finger and his thumb to indicate an inch of space.
"You can help me get a hold of Jefferson, then," Charming continued, "He ran off, before, and I need him to help me with the Hat."
"What makes you think that I'll help you track down my friend?" Damon asked shortly and Charming snatched Damon's shirt front aggressively.
"The faster we get that Hat, the faster we get Snow and Emma back. Maybe we'll find a way for all of us to return to our land."
The idea was appealing, but . . . did he really want to go back to being a crazy cat and sending his brother back into a body of a white rabbit with an obsession with time?
Damon shrugged out of Charming's grip and gave him a smirk. "I don't think so, Charming. You're not my prince and I should think that it will be amusing to watch you all flounder for a while. Have a nice day." He waved for Charming to leave, and finally, he did.
When he was gone, Damon picked up his jacket and set out; he may not want to go back to Wonderland, but Jefferson owed him a favor and Damon did rather like Emma Swan. At the very least, he enjoyed teasing her, and it just wouldn't do for her to be stuck in the Enchanted Forest for the rest of her days.
But he would leave Charming in a rut for a bit yet; the man was the only person that got on his nerves more than Regina and was as irritating as the Queen of Hearts.
2. A Werewolf Not Bound to the Moon, but to Pack Regulations
One of Stefan's first memories in life was watching his father being cut down and mauled by a wolf two times the size of that of a normal canine. Stefan was five, small for his age, and trapped in the protective embrace of his brother's arms as the twelve year old boy held him back from the carnage. He didn't remember anything before his father's death; only what came after, when the dusty brown wolf prowled towards them and snapped at each of the children, drawing blood from both before Damon finally managed to pull the trigger on their father's Winchester rifle and nailing the beast in between the eyes.
The wolf had fallen dead and the two boys had raced back towards their summer cabin where their father had taken them for a fishing and hunting trip in South Carolina, on the property his parents had owned before they relinquished it to their son at the time of their deaths ten years prior.
The boys would lock themselves in the cabin, but the damage had been done; they would Change into some of the only known child werewolves by themselves and grow up orphans and mutts in a world that would give them few chances in life and even fewer choices.
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The Salvatore brothers would learn this later in life: for some males, becoming a werewolf is a birthright; a genetic gift passed from father to son, the first change. For everyone else, a bite is required, and that bite is usually deadly. Very few humans survive (let alone children), because when most werewolves attack, they attack to kill. Then there's the ordeal of surviving the transformation itself, both physically and mentally.
From the same wolf, they'd fine that werewolves are divided into two distinct groups: Pack werewolves and non-Pack, commonly referred to as "mutts". It's thought that while mutts are not organized in any way - and are usually loners - most actively avoid drawing the Pack's attention.
Before they learned this though, the brothers Changed for the first time; a horrid, painful ordeal that left them breathless and whimpering with tears streaking their faces at the end of the process of nearly an entire day. Stefan lifted his muzzle and blinked green eyes and found a dark brown, almost black, gangly wolf pup easily two or three times his own size with large paws and blue irises lying across from him.
The dark pup yipped and nudged Stefan, making him chuff and tuck his tail between his legs. Stefan got a good look as himself as he hid his face away from the bigger animal; his fur was a light brown, almost blonde that matched his human hair color – a stark contrast from the other's dark coat. He was small still, and unbalanced and uncoordinated as he experimented with his new limbs.
Damon (for he realized that the other had to be his older brother) made a chuffing noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter and it made Stefan curl back his lip in irritation. A pitiful growl slipped out of his throat, making Damon's chuffing laughter grow louder.
The resuming scuffle knocked over two end tables and a lamp, but the two remained relatively unharmed. Once it was over, the realization that their father was never coming back set in, making Stefan curl himself into a corner, making his body as small as possible as if to hide from the truth. His light eyes darted around the room and he whimpered when he saw Damon crouched on the floor, his body shuddering and contorting out of shape. It was numerous minutes before he was actually a twelve year old boy again, and his face was nearly impossible to read.
Slipping on his earlier shredded clothing, Damon crawled over to his brother and settled the still-wolf pup into his lap.
"I don't know what happened," Damon whispered into his ear, "but we'll be okay. I'll figure it out."
Stefan looked up and licked the top of Damon's hand; his brother seemed to be sad, despite the words of comfort he was uttering into Stefan's erected ears.
He let his eyes slide shut and he fell into a deep sleep.
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It was nearing afternoon when Damon, head resting on the white paint chipped wall, woke up with fluttering eyelashes because of the squirming mass in his lap. He looked down and in a fascinated daze, couldn't force his eyes away from his brother's Change from wolf pup back to human child. The ordeal looked as painful as it felt, and it felt like an extremely intimate thing to be watching.
Heaving the five year old boy up onto his shoulder when the Change was completed, Damon stood from their place on the floor and carried Stefan up to his bedroom. Dark brows furrowed as the boy seriously considering what he was going to do; he was twelve and he realized that with no father or mother to take care of them, and no relatives to speak of left in the United States, he and Stefan would be put in the system and split up. They couldn't live in the cabin forever; someone would launch an investigation about their disappearance and eventually come to the cabin in search for them.
As Damon tucked Stefan into the bed, the answer was becoming clear to him; he'd just take Stefan and they'd go away. And they wouldn't return.
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Stefan woke up, surprised to find himself a little boy again as opposed to being the pup he'd fallen asleep as. He blinked round eyes as they focused on his big brother, who was standing a little stiffly as he shook Stefan awake.
"Come on, Stef, we've got to go. Here's some breakfast," Damon shoved an apple in one of Stefan's hand, and the younger boy closed his fingers around the shiny red surface before tucking it into the front pocket of his jeans.
Clearly impatient, Damon grabbed Stefan's other wrist and tugged the five year old along with him through the cabin and out the front door.
"Where are we going?" Stefan asked as he pulled out the apple and bit a chunk off of its exterior. "We can't leave Daddy here."
"We have to," Damon said gruffly and shoved his curls out of his eyes before looking back at Stefan; the boy was having the same problem with his own hair. "He's dead."
Stefan sniffled and tears pooled in his round orbs. "I know that," But he looked down at his bare feet trudging in the marsh grass. "But . . . why do we have to go?"
"The police will come," Damon explained carefully, "and then we'll get split up. You don't want to go live with another family, do you?"
"You'll be there, right," Stefan's bottom lip stuck out.
"No, I just said we'd get split up, dum-dum," Damon rolled his eyes and Stefan sniffled louder. Sighing, Damon clutched Stefan's hand tighter in his own. "But we're running away, so that won't happen."
"Why are we running away in the forest?" Stefan's voice was plaintive.
"Because we're werewolves now," Damon lifted Stefan up and set the boy on his hip as the marsh started to get particularly soggy and the child was liable to get stuck in the squelching mud.
"Like in your favorite movie?" Stefan asked inquisitively, twisting in his brother's hold to look at Damon's face. "That was scary."
"We're different werewolves, like that one that killed Dad," Damon explained wearily and eyed the trees coming up in front of them; shelter? They'd have to find some way to trigger the Change so they could catch some food . . .
"Why are you not sad?" Stefan's question jarred Damon from his thoughts and he paused, foot hovering from its place in front of the other.
"I'm sad," Damon told him unconvincingly.
"Nu uh," Stefan shook his head.
"Shut up, Stefan," Damon growled and started forwards again, hands tighter on the little boy's body to keep him in place.
"Daddy said not to say that," Stefan accused and tugged on Damon's shirt front, "He said it wasn't nice."
"Dad's not here, like you so kindly pointed out five seconds ago, Stef, so his stupid rules don't apply anymore," Damon glared and felt his temper rising and his skin tingling.
"What does apply mean?" Stefan wondered and Damon had to roll his eyes at his brother's attention span.
"Forget about it."
They reached the forest in the late evening, and then spotted a small thicket that looked like it might have been in use the previous winter, but had been abandoned that spring. The brothers settled in for the night; Damon smoothed down the floor of the thicket and cleared the sharp twigs and branches that poked them in uncomfortable places.
Damon bit his lip and tried to ignore his hunger as he settled down with Stef; he'd eaten toast and milk that morning and he tried to forget that Stefan had only had an apple the entire day. Both were starving, but dark had fallen and Damon wasn't going to risk their safety for nothing; he'd noticed their night vision was much better, but not as good as to catch anything of any substance to eat.
"Damon," Stefan whimpered, "I'm hungry."
"I know," Damon murmured, "Just go to sleep and we'll find something in the morning." There was a shuffling of leaves and grass in their thicket and then Stefan was cuddled to his back as Damon curled up on his side. He closed his eyes and focused on his wolf.
"Change," He whispered to himself, "Change, Change."
When whispering aloud did nothing but make Stefan tremble, Damon stopped, but kept the mantra up in his head.
He fell asleep on an empty stomach and a burdened conscience; maybe they should have stayed at the cabin to wait for the police after all.
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Stefan woke up the next morning blinking and stretching, surprised to find he'd Changed in his sleep – and so had Damon. A little excited, he gave a small yip and chewed on Damon's left ear to get his attention.
Startled, the larger pup jumped awake, blue eyes flashing even as his lips curled back to reveal sharp fangs as opposed to Stefan's milk teeth. Stefan yelped and ducked down and waited for his older brother to calm down before popping his head back up.
He blinked and watched Damon circle the thicket, smelling every inch of it. Then, he turned and gave the blonde pup and wary glance and he chuffed quietly. Damon started out of the thicket, and an excited Stefan bounded after him, tail wagging of its own accord. Damon spun around though, chuffing again and nudging Stefan back to the thicket.
Stefan's tail drooped; he didn't want to stay by himself! He growled softly but Damon only rolled his eyes and turned back around, nose to the ground. Stefan huffed and, not to be outdone, pushed his muzzle into the dirty and snuffled, imitating his big brother. He followed Damon and was relieved when the older boy didn't force him back this time to wait.
They trotted through the forest together until Damon shot off, chasing something Stefan couldn't see or identify by smell. His ears sat up and he stumbled over his feet until he caught up to Damon, who was digging a hole in the ground, seemingly widening another animal's home.
Upset, Stefan let out a plaintive cry that Damon growled dismissively at. The bigger pup seemed to give up, turned around and heaved a sign before trotting along again, slowing down only to let Stefan catch up.
The younger's eyes were round with awe as they walked through the forest; the trees were taller than ever and everything was so alive! Squirrels chittered to each other and birds sang; he'd even seen a porcupine fluff up its quills. There were so many new and different smells that he'd never noticed before he'd . . . Changed.
Something rustled to his left, making Stefan's ear twitch and soon his whole head swiveled to see what new thing to be discovered. The rustling continued, so, shooting Damon a quick look, darted over to the brush and pounced. He grasped something with his paws and lifted one up to see – and a tiny white mouse darted out and ran towards Damon.
Stefan yipped and Damon swung around, eyes narrowing until they focused on the small rodent. The larger pup jumped and missed the mouse and the little critter scurried away into a new hole in the ground. Both wolf pups sighed, distraught, until Stefan's attention was diverted by another rustling.
By the set of Damon's ears, Stefan knew that he'd heard it too. Together, they prowled over to the original thicket the mouse had been in, and pounced.
It flushed out an entire family of mice, making nearly twenty flee in a panic. In his excitement, Stefan tripped over his paws, though Damon kept his feet as he lunged for the little critters. Stefan stayed on the ground until Damon turned back to him with his jowls filled with tiny mice.
He woofed and Stefan scrabbled up and sniffed at the mouse; though they had not smelled particularly well when human, as a pup and on an empty stomach, Stefan found them delectable. Damon dropped a dead mouse to the ground, where Stefan quickly inhaled it, barely stopping to chew. When he looked up, Damon had dropped another one and was licking his lips from his own snack. Stefan snapped up the second mouse and found that still, his stomach growled in hunger.
Damon whined in sympathy, but nudged Stefan up anyway, making the pup walk back through the forest. They walked side by side back to the thicket, their new life, together.
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Time, Damon and Stefan soon found, became irrelevant as wolves. There was no set schedule, but these things were always the same; they woke (sometimes as humans, sometimes as wolves), played, hunted, ran, and slept. They were always on the move, away from their father's cabin, away from their home state.
They learned to control their Changes so that they spent most of their time as wolf pups; they could cover more ground with four legs as opposed to two.
One day, they came across others like them.
Damon lazed in the sun, keeping an eye on Stefan as the little guy pounced on butterflies and chased voles from their hidey holes beneath the ground. They were at the edge of water in a forest; it was a large spring with a waterfall at one end. Trees surrounded them on all sides.
An unfamiliar scent wafted across Damon's nose, making him twitch and sit up. Ears swiveling, Damon listened for signs of other life and was startled to realize that most of the game in the area had fled quickly and silently for their homes deeper in the forest.
He let a soft growl slip from his throat; a warning to Stefan, which made the pup still. Stefan's green eyes found Damon's and the blonde pup trotted over to his older brother. Damon stood, eyes focused on the tree line. His body trembled when the leaves shook and he stepped protectively over Stefan when it became apparent that they weren't alone.
A golden yellow wolf stepped out of the trees and Damon marveled at his size; he was enormous and easily twice Damon's height and three times his weight, dwarfing little Stefan. He growled a little, lowering his head and pulling back his lip to show his menacing teeth. Stefan whimpered and Damon's eyes narrowed, but before any of the wolves could do anything, another scent blew towards them, the only precursor to the arrival of a pretty woman with silvery blonde hair.
She held up her hands in an unassuming manner and she slowly lowered herself so that she was almost level with Damon but she met his eyes in a show of dominance. "I'm Elena Michaels. This is Clayton," She inclined her head back to the yellow wolf. "We're like you."
Stefan snuffled beneath Damon and took a tiny step forward in curiosity. Damon growled softly and Stefan stilled, making Elena Michaels' lips twitch.
"We were just passing through when we caught your scent," Elena continued cautiously, "You two are much too young to be out here on your own and your little brother there is too small to have been a natural born werewolf."
Damon's lips pulled back over his teeth in desperation, hoping to scare her off. He didn't want to go back into society where he and Stefan would be put in the system and split up as soon as they were found to be orphans.
"I can't in good conscience leave you out here by yourselves," Elena was saying earnestly, "not without explaining the rules to you and offering you a place to stay. You don't have to Change back; I'll do all the talking." She folded her legs underneath her though the other one, the yellow wolf, still prowled the small meadow.
Damon kept Stefan between his paws and listened to the other werewolf explain about the other supernatural entities in their world, and the rules that structured it.
To explain their own species, she said this: for some males, becoming a werewolf is a birthright; a genetic gift passed from father to son, the first change. For everyone else, a bite is required, and that bite is usually deadly. Very few humans survive (let alone children), because when most werewolves attack, they attack to kill. Surviving the transformation itself, both physically and mentally, was another matter entirely.
Werewolves, she would continue, are divided into two distinct groups: Pack werewolves and non-Pack, commonly referred to as "mutts". It's thought that while mutts are not organized in any way - and are usually loners - most actively avoid drawing the Pack's attention.
Elena Michaels and Clayton Danvers were bitten werewolves and part of the Pack, led by a Jeremy Danvers. Elena was the alpha-elect and Clayton her, second, enforcer (and mate). They'd been on mutt business, warning a newly turned 'wolf to stay about from maneater tendencies when they'd come across Damon and Stefan's scents. Clayton, Elena explained, had been turned as a child about Stefan's age. He'd lasted on his own for a long while before Jeremy found him and brought him back into society and to the relative safety of the Pack.
"We could do the same for you," Elena Michaels finished quietly, eyes steady and imploring, "You and your brother could return to Stonehaven with us in New York; it'd be a fresh start. It would be safe."
Damon twitched. Twelve may have he been, but he certainly wasn't gullible or stupid; he also had a knack for when people were lying to him. Either Elena Michaels was a damned good liar or she was telling the truth. The question was, did he risk the chance on these wolves or continue out the wild where they'd have to survive the coming winter?
Stefan made a quiet noise and Damon's mind was made up. His icy blue eyes met Elena's and he nodded his head sharply, one time. A slight grin of relief spread across her features and he motioned for the Damon and Stefan to follow her. Damon looked down at his brother one more time to find his bright green eyes staring up at Damon, trusting him.
Damon just hoped that that trust wasn't misplaced.
3. An Upper East Side-er With a Nightclub
Forget silver spoons; Damon Salvatore was born with a pure gold chalice in his hands and the world at his feet, his to command. His father was Giuseppe Salvatore, one of the richest men from Wall Street and his mother was Victoire Salvatore, a famous French fashion designer who was at war with the Waldorf family.
He was a prized child; with symmetric facial features, his mother's beautiful hair (curly, dark brown), and enough charisma to choke on, he was the child envied by mothers all around. They'd whisper to themselves, "He's such a beautiful child" "So talented too; he's a dab hand at the piano" "He's just like his father" "So smart with money, I hear" and so on and so forth. It seemed the only one not taken with him was his actual father.
"He's a laze-about" "I was working my fingers to the bone at his age" "He's got the girls lined up for him and they'd all spread their legs; it's disgusting". He never had a good thing to say about his son, but his wife almost made up for it for being such a loving and patient mother. Later, Damon would have a brother that their father would love and their mother would hardly be able to look at for her indiscretion that had caused his birth.
When his father found out about the affair, Victoire would be six feet under ("A bad car accident, poor dear"), Damon was eighteen and graduating St. Jude's for Boys (boy had Mr. Prescott been glad to see that last of him), and Stefan would be eleven and starting St. Jude's in a few years. Giuseppe would be a nightmare for the rest of his life, bitter and cold shouldered to everyone.
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In High School, Damon had been the go-to guy if you were a hot girl and wanted sex and/or if you wanted a wild party with an abundant amount of alcohol. He'd been popular and three years ahead of the (in) famous NJBC - Chuck Bass, Nathaniel Archibald, Serena Van der Woodson, and Blair Waldorf.
When Damon was twenty-two, he used his trust fund to open up a bar called "Thy Mystic Hall", which was really just a nightclub for high school students to sneak into and an excuse for him to watch women undress on stage. One of his usual customers was the legendary Chuck Bass, womanizer of his generation, next to only Damon Salvatore himself. (Damon was loathe to admit that Chuck was quickly rising in the world and might even give him a run for his money one of these days.)
"What can I get you?" Damon drawled, "You look down. Girlfriend dump you? Daddy stopped funding your exploits?"
"Know all about that second one, don't you, Salvatore?" Chuck snapped and his eyes shot up to Damon's face, red from a lot of alcohol intake already. Damon's horrible relationship with his father was legendary – everyone knew about those two Salvatore men, fighting like dogs over money and freedom and how to spend both.
"You need to sharpen your knives, Mother Chucker," Damon winked slyly and brought out two tumblers and a bottle of bourbon. "Because that didn't even sting." While the fights were famous, Damon was even more known for ignoring every word that poured from his father's lips and letting it roll right off of his back.
The glare Chuck leveled Damon only made the latter smirk wider. "But if you need to poetically wax about your love life, go ahead. You know what they say; a bartender is the alcoholic equivalent of a psychologist. Or something like that."
Damon winked.
4. A Tribute
Damon Salvatore was born to Victoire and Giuseppe Salvatore in District Four, and seven years later, his little brother Stefan joined them. They lived close to the beach, where their father would take out their boat and fish in the depths, while their mother wove nets and made trinkets for the market. They were comfortable and their lives would have been utterly perfect, if it hadn't been for the reapings that happened once a year, every year, since as far as they could remember.
Damon, as opposed to many of the other children of Four, did not plan to volunteer; he had plans with his life, he was happy to tell anyone and everyone who would listen (and those who wouldn't, too). He would grow up and become a trident welder or maybe something even more exciting, and marry the pretty girl down the street with long beautiful hair and captivating chocolate eyes. Maybe they'd have children and pets, fix up a house, and travel the other side of Four. But whatever those plans were, they never involved going into the Arena.
When he turned twelve, Damon wore his best clothes while Stefan sat on his springy bed and battered him with any and all curious questions that a five year old could think of. Their mother came to collect them and then they'd meet their father at the Reaping. He was registered as a first timer by a gruff looking Peacekeeper, and then he'd crossed his fingers and, thankfully, some other poor sap volunteered (misguidedly, Damon thought, but not all were as clever as he) after an unlucky lady had been drawn (eighteen years old, blonde and beautiful with conniving blue eyes).
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When he was thirteen, Damon had the same ritual: talk to his hyperactive brother, get registered, and wait with the other thirteen year olds while he poked Mason Lockwood in the back with one of his sand crusted fingernails, and cross his middle and pointer fingers on his left hand, praying that he wouldn't be picked.
He wasn't.
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When Damon was fourteen years old, his neighbor Finnick Odair was reaped and then later, won the 65th annual Hunger Games. Damon hardly ever saw the boy, after, and he wouldn't figure out where he would go and why for a few years more.
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By the time he was fifteen, Stefan was eight and their mother was dead of an incurable illness. Damon wasn't reaped, but he almost volunteered to get away from his father's glaring eyes and swift switch.
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Damon started dating the dark haired beauty he'd almost admired when he was sixteen, one of the Pierce twins. She was kind and clever and sassy in turns, before she was reaped and sent to her premature death in the Hunger Games.
He took up stealing his father's bourbon when it suited him.
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During the 68th Hunger Games, when he's seventeen, Damon is reaped. From the audience, Stefan, only ten, screams and cries until the Peacekeeper forcibly makes him stop (by unknown means, because Damon cannot force himself to look back and see). The other tribute from Four had volunteered; she was a year older than him and had quick eyes and red hair. When she caught him looking, she grinned savagely; her name, Sage.
They rode the train in silence except for the clinking of their glasses and their Mentors – Finnick and Mags – gave them advice that each teenager filed away in their memories for safe keeping. When they arrived at the Capitol after a night of no rest, it was a shock; everything was so bright, and so, so, fake.
Damon hated them all.
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Damon's Stylists had him in little to no clothing for Chariot introduction, which had been a shining gold colored net knotted to look like one of those old timey speedos. On his head was a matching colored crown that was ornately decorated with tridents. His face, they told him, was practically already perfect, but they still had to put make up on his pale complexion. Sage had been dressed up as a sexy mermaid, and the girl had had to plaster a fake smile on her face to keep from scowling at the indignation.
During his training, Damon dabbled in a bit of everything; knot tying he did well, so he focused on the physical aspect of everything. He tried bows and arrows and tridents, but nothing clicked with him. Swords were too heavy and whips made him shudder.
Blue eyes flicking around the room, they eventually settled on a pair of wrist cuffs; they had tiny, almost needle point edges that would descend with a single swift motion. Slipping them on, he flicked his wrist to the dummy and was surprised to find that two of the needle like knives embedded themselves into the soft spot of the neck like fangs.
He quirked an eyebrow and went to find hunting knives to compare to and practice with.
(Ending up using both in during his private session, Damon made it away with a solid nine.)
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Caesar Flickerman was a strange, vain man on first impression, and a naïve, irritating one at parting. Damon thought he looked ridiculous, but was saddened to say that he wasn't even the worst one there. Damon's own outfit was better, exempting the fact that it left little to the active imaginations of the Capitol's people. But as Damon's motto was frequently, "If you've got it, flaunt it," he smirked for the audience and gave them what his little brother had dubbed his "Damon eyes".
They went wild and Damon's disgust only grew.
"So, Damon," Flickerman smiled easily, "A 9 as your score; that's a pretty big accomplishment and what we all want to know is this; how'd you do it?" He leant forward eagerly and the audience waited with a baited breath.
Damon, playing to his angle as one of the most attractive tributes since Finnick Odair, leaned forwards as well, as if to tell a secret, and seductively whispered with an arched brow, "I don't kiss and tell, Caesar," with a wink towards a mass of ugly Capitol women.
Flickerman reeled back and roared with laughter. "That you shouldn't," He crowed and wiped tears from his eyes. "So, I hear you've got family back at home . . ."
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Eventually, Capitol frivolities ended and the Games had to begin. Sage and he had forged an alliance based on sexual desire and a need to watch each other's backs for the first few minutes of the Games, where they'd find something each from the Cornucopia. The other tributes that year were faceless in his mind; Damon didn't want to think about the other children he was about to murder to get back home to his brother and their friends.
The Arena that year was a dense rainforest, Damon found to his discouragement, but he didn't let any of it show on his face, keeping his cocky grin. He and Sage would make it through the Games and kill the others; then Damon would get rid of her, the only thing that would be standing between him and District Four again.
(Later, after he'd won, he'd figure out why Finnick Odair was hardly ever home in District Four.)
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When Damon was Twenty-three, his little brother was reaped.
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When he was twenty-four, they joined the Rebellion together, joined Finnick and led by Katniss Everdeen.
5. A Fake Vampire That Doesn't Burn in the Sun
In 1864, when Damon Salvatore wakes up with granite skin that sparkles in the sun and bright red eyes that suddenly see everything, all he can say is:
"Are vampires not intended to burn in the sun?"
Next to him, his brother is still turning, trembling and his heart is slowing until it just . . . stops. Their Creator, Damon knows is a beautiful liar called Katherine with dark brown curls and rosy red eyes that'd manipulated and used them. However, he also knows that she is not with them.
When Stefan wakes up, bewildered and frightened, they leave Mystic Falls and overseas; Damon had always wanted to see their homeland, Italy, anyway.
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It doesn't take them long to figure out that Katherine's little gift – compelling others to do her bidding with only her sugary sweet voice and pale, exposed fingers – was not a generic vampire power, but one unique to her. They also figured out that they had gifts too; Damon's natural charisma had turned into a variation of Katherine's power. He could compel them to do what he wanted, but without touching his victim at all; he mere sound of his voice could lull everyone they'd come across into complacency if he so desired, everyone except for his brother. As a part or as a secondary gift, (neither boy were quite sure) Damon could manipulate memories as well, from adjusting them to erasing their every trace.
Stefan, finding that during the days of his change in which his memories were returned to him, that he wanted everything out and away, influencing him to an impact that forced his gifts to manifest into a flexible mental and physical shield that he could will into being with a thought. It was strong enough to keep people from noticing their very presence, and so that the people they crossed simply moved around them as if they were not there. Because of the mental aspect, none of Damon's tricks would work on his little brother.
The Salvatore brothers' "gifts" were special, unique, like all vampire powers, and they would soon become known to the most powerful vampires in their world.
The Volturi.
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In 1915, the Salvatore's were in Italy, visiting their family's old property that their father had sold so many years ago, when they were found by three elusive vampires with eyes that matched their own, and silky black cloaks that covered their bloodless skin.
"You'll come with us now," The girl in the middle said, her voice icy indicating that no protestations would be tolerated. Her hair was corn wheat blonde, and her eyes were narrowed into slits. On either side of the vampire was two more; one large and gruff, the other lean and sly. All of them looked like trouble.
Stefan turned faded red eyes to his brother cautiously, but Damon only shook his head once. To Damon's frustration, his younger brother stepped forwards the three vampires with his hands loose at his sides.
"I do not see why need to come with you," He said calmly, "You are only three others like us. If you would like to talk, we can do that here, Ma'am."
The blonde's nostrils flared and the grunts at her sides grumbled and shifted on their feet. "Do you not know who I am? Who I serve?"
Damon quirked his lip. "No. The Mafia? 'Cause we do not follow the rules of those jokesters."
One of the male vampires arched a brow. "Something like that, Mister Salvatore."
"We are the Volturi," the girl said, "the vampire world's discipline and law. You two are to come with us to meet the vampire we serve, Aro, and his brothers. You are even more ignorant that we had previously thought, and so it is even more impervious that you come with us." Stefan's eyes flicked to Damon in a silent question, and the older Salvatore smirked and nodded.
They would go and meet Aro and his brothers; what was the harm? They would learn more about the world that Katherine had abandoned them to, and if it got messy, they could always make a clean get away with Stefan's shield and Damon's mind tricks.
"Why not?" Damon finally asked and he and Stefan followed the three vampires to the heart of Volterra.
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Aro turns out to be just a single shade from being completely crazy; his brother, Marcus, is disengaged and disinterested; and his other brother, Caius, is bloodthirsty and conniving. None of those qualities will be helpful if they attempt an escape.
When they arrive, Aro claps slowly and doesn't even bother to rise from his seat, though Stefan tips his fedora hat and Damon roguishly grins.
"You rang, Your Majesty?"
Aro laughs delightedly. "You are just as the rumors say." He titters again with pleased laughter. "You've grown quite famous; the handsome Salvatore brothers who trick and charm their way into making humans bleed themselves dry for you and having the hospitals give you blood." He leans forward and puts his hands together, making his fingers meet at the tips.
"It's rumored that you have some . . . marvelous gifts. If you would . . ." He extends his hand and looks expectantly at Damon, who arches his brows and shoots Stefan a look, who has his brows furrowed.
Damon claps Aro's hand in his and watches Aro's eyes excited eyes dim and then light back up. "So, you're the Shield, then?"
"That's my brother's talent," Damon says, wary now, but was about as likely to show his nervousness as Stefan was to stop writing in his journal.
"He can Shield others then, as well," Aro says, eyes alight, "how wonderful. Then you, Damon, have the, ah, memory altering ability?"
Damon grins wickedly, because if Aro doesn't know the rest of his "talents", then he's not going to tell him. "That would be me."
Aro licks his lips and claps again, making Stefan edge closer to Damon (not that he blames him, but still, Damon rolls his eyes at Stefan) and cross his arms defensively.
"How marvelous," Aro says again, this time to his brothers, who look only slightly interested in the proceedings, as opposed to the little blonde, who is riveted to the display. Damon notes that she looks jealous, and shudders. Ew.
"We would love it if you two were to join us, here in Volterra," Aro continued grandly and he spreads his arms wide, as if this is the ultimate honor.
"Thank you, but no thank you. I like my creepy, old vampires that live in ominous castles to stay on the page, if it's all the same to you," Damon salutes with two fingers.
Stefan interrupts hastily with a pointed glare shot in Damon's direction. "What my brother means to say is, is that we will have to pass on your doubtlessly generous offer. We like to travel, Aro, and we were only passing through. Maybe we will have a chance to visit in the future."
Aro is clearly disappointed, but he lets them leave Volterra with an escort from two of the vampires that had brought them there (they learned their names later; Demetri and Felix.)
Ten years later, they would meet Carlisle Cullen and his family. Decades after that, they'd be called to stand witness to the Volturi about a half-vampire-half-human little girl, born to a human and her vampire mate.
Before that though, they will revisit Mystic Falls and meet a girl called Elena Gilbert that remarkably looks exactly like Katherine Pierce.
+ 1. An Elderly Man
Damon Salvatore is ninety-two when he dies peacefully in his sleep, children, grandchildren and nieces and nephews surrounding him and his faithful little brother at his side.
Before he died though, he'd married a beautiful Gilbert girl, while Stefan had married a girl he'd been betrothed to, the lovely Rosalyn. Damon had been the owner the town's tavern, which he had bought off of Jonathan Gilbert some years before the older man's death. Damon's eldest son had taken it over nearly a decade previous, and he ran it with his cousin, a child of Stefan's.
In the last days of his life, Damon had thought about his youth, and the beautiful girl called Katherine that had swept into town, dazzling all that had been in her path.
The day before he dies, Stefan is sitting in the wicker chair beside Damon's deathbed and he thinks he sees a shadow sweep into his room and place a ghosting kiss on Stefan's cheek before he feels her lips graze his forehead.
"We could have been great together, forever, all three of us," She might have whispered, but when Damon had opened his eyes, there had been no one there but the wind from the cracked window and the creaking of the wicker rocking chair that Stefan was sleeping in.
He snorted and thinking himself senile, closed his eyes.
Damon's last lingering thoughts were on what if it had been the three of them, forever.
Fin.
Thoughts? I hope it wasn't too bad, but I had some ideas that were never going to become full length stories, and thus, the drabble story returneth.