#shalby sibling

[hughiecampbelle]

Pedigree (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,211

A/N: Has it been a million bajillion kajillion years since I've written? Yes. Do I feel good about this? Yes strangely enough :P I've been reading a lot, so maybe that's helped. I haven't been feeling good lately, but this makes me feel better. It makes me think I haven't run out of words, that I'm not trapped in this block forever y'know? 💞  Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

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You were out for blood. 

You wanted his head on a silver platter. Served to you. You wanted his mouth hung open, gory and gummy, his teeth pried from their sockets. You wanted his eyes, those eyes that bore so deeply into your marrow, eyes that undermined you every time he saw you, bright and cruel. Mocking. Pried wide open, watching his empire fall. The rest of him scattered. Discarded. Did it really matter? It used to. You used to fantasize about the day they brought him to you. All the ways you’d tear him apart, butcher him like he has done to so many. Leaving a single bullet hole, if he was lucky. Often, he wasn’t, not in your care. You wanted him to suffer the same way he has made you your entire life. Since then, you’ve come to a realization: those fantasies, with their theatrics, were childish. The kind of thing he himself would laugh at, call adorable, naive, cute. That laugh. It haunted you now. His head, his eyes, teeth, that is what you needed. He was all bark and no bite. Until then, you wouldn’t be satisfied. 

Once upon a time you worshiped him. He was your world, everything you wanted to be. Demanding, diplomatic, daunting. You wanted to follow in his footsteps, to rule with an iron fist. You did as you were told without a second thought, his toy soldier. You stitched a smile across your face every time he spoke to you, the anger and disappointment reigning in his voice, his words. How sharp they used to be, slicing you to ribbons. You’d be bleeding, hemorrhaging out on the floor by the time his speech was done. And when he was, when the air was thick with dismay, you collected your innards and thanked him, slipping back into the shadows until you were needed again. He spat insults at you from the time you could understand them. A few times you’d dodged a glass of something toxic, smashing into the wall behind you. Shards glittered across the floor, crackling beneath the soles of your shoes. It was your job to clean it up. It was your fault. Everything was. When a scapegoat was necessary, you were the first to come to mind. Given odd jobs beneath the rest. Ones that could have gotten you killed. Should have. Sometimes, you wished it had. Would that have made him care? Mourn your loss? Would there have been any change to his temperament? Probably not. There were always others desperate enough to slink their way into your position, the lowest of the low. Desperate enough to get close to him, to know what liquor he liked, what car he drove, what clothing he wore in hopes that it would rub off on them. Give them the same power. It made you sick. 

To him, you were nothing. Worthless. Incapable. There had never been a softness for you the way there had been for the others. You’d begun to think it was you. There was something wrong with you. Had you said something? Done something? Too many nights you lay awake, wondering what he could see that you couldn’t. There had to be a logical reason, hadn’t there? There had to be something in your flesh, your bones, your muscles. Something structurally, genetically, impossibly wrong. A speck in your eyes. An eyelash out of sorts. A freckle, a scar, a mark on your body that shouldn’t be there. Years you spent looking, watching, waiting for it to be explained so you could fix it and finally win him over. Small acts of kindness. Leaving him freshly picked flowers. Doing everything he said. Being well behaved. You stayed to yourself mostly, understanding things were different than before. He’d changed. They all had. He was monstrous. Hungry. Tormented. Every night you’d hear his screaming, crying out, crumbling from the inside out. In the morning, no one said a word. It’s been many years since then. You wondered if it was your memory distorting things, changing your own behaviors. No, no you were sure you’d been nothing but kind.

Whoever Tommy saw when he looked at you, whatever he saw, was not you. That much was clear. 

He blamed you for her death, Pol. He put that target on your back, on your chest, between your fucking eyes. The silence was the worst of it. The berating, the anger, the destruction, you’d grown used to it. It had become a dance, in a way. You knew all the right steps, all the best apologies, until he’d finally calmed down long enough for you to catch your breath, to straighten out the mess. Not this time. You were dropped from the family without a second thought. Ice ran through his veins. He wasn’t just changed, he was unrecognizable. Your throat was raw from pleading, sobbing, trying to get him to listen. To understand. On your hands and knees begging. You had no part in this, you were being framed. No one could believe you. You’d slipped up, gave out information you shouldn’t have. Thats the conclusion they came to. He didn’t just ignore you, he killed you. Murdered you. Everyone, everyone you ever loved, all the people you considered family, by blood and not, turned their backs on you. You wanted to pound your fists into the floorboards until they bled. You wanted to scream and cry and throw a tantrum. You would have prayed to a God that had never listened before that very moment if that meant he would give you a minute to defend yourself, proclaim your innocence, save your soul. The decision had been made, there was no going back. The Shelby name no longer belonged to you. It never would. If only you’d known how fast that title could be ripped from you. 

They moved on. None of them have reached out, spoken to you in secret. There were no letters, no calls, nothing. You grew a hard shell. Learned to adapt. To be on you own, completely alone. Without them, without him, you came to realize you were never the problem. You had never done anything wrong. You had not been born with a defect only he could sense. You were a child when he’d come back, so young, so fragile. You took his words to heart. All those years spent at the bottom, the youngest of the family, had taught you more than you ever thought. People believed him to be bulletproof. He was indestructible. Godly. You knew though, you knew the weakest parts of him. What kept him up at night. What drove him mad. You couldn’t get back all that time, all those years, your entire life. You couldn’t turn back the clock. You couldn’t make him change his ways. Those, he was too set in, a creature of habit. But you could make him pay. You could make him regret everything he’d ever said and done to you. Make him beg like you’d done countless times, your pleas ignored, berated. You could make him fear for his life. And when the time came, because it always would, you would not hesitate to pull the trigger the same way your brother had.

[ashadowbetweenworlds]

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