Work Text:
When it first came into existence, all it knew was cold. The brush of a soft breeze through an open window, the shadows of the workshop. The Creator had fashioned it after themselves, a horned figure crafted from the celestial metal of Heaven. The same material that God had curved into blades for his favorite sons, daggers for his soldiers. A metal that would know His presence. The Creator made it to be attuned to Him, to shine when near Him. They made it as a tool of faith, a symbol of trust and love for Him, a token to represent Heaven on Earth.
Days and years passed like dust motes in honey summer sun, until the Creator went away. It wasn’t sure if they died, or simply left. It sat on it’s workbench, divine gleam dulled with time and neglect. It wasn’t sure when the man came through the door, it may have been centuries. The shine of sunlight and the growth of spring never changed.
The man took many things, but he was no thief. It knew he had great respect for the power and importance of the Creator’s work. He found it, and he put it away in his pack, to study later. That was the first time it left the workshop and came in contact with humanity.
The man kept it, safe and clean in his own workshop. He wanted to know why it’s Creator made it, marked it as special. But it could do nothing apart from reveal it’s connection to God, and it could only do that in His presence. The man found nothing of its secrets before the amulet changed hands again. This time, it was a thief that came for it. She came for the man with fire in her eyes and fire dancing along the tips of her fingers.
“ Witch ” he called her. She only laughed, torched his papers, set the books and knowledge and wisdom aflame. She was fire, and the man burned along with his research. She grabbed whatever managed to escape the inferno and ran, cackling at the acquisition of her new riches. She slid the cursed rings on her fingers, draped the enchanted jewels around her neck and her wrists, dug into her own books, darker books. She wielded her magic as a sword, without respect.
Again, it lost track of time. It knew it was with the witch far longer than it had been with the man, shorter than with it’s creator. She cared not for the balance of dark and light, nor for the amulet’s secrets. She felt the power of the metal, and only kept it with the hope that it would bring her more power and wealth. But it was blest, and immune to her iniquity.
It was saved once more by a man coming through the door, much different than the first and yet, quite the same. He was old, and broken by time. Not enraptured by discovery, but driven with a single-minded mission. His respect was guided by fear, hate, and a strange emotion it had not felt before. Guilt, it would find it to be called. The man knew how to dodge the witch’s fire, how to smother her wicked flame. Soon she was gone as well. The man collected her stolen riches, carefully concealing them in boxes of white magic, protection magic.
Though the man was no scholar, he researched the items still. He shut the cursed rings away, hid the enchanted jewels, and closed the books. He was perplexed by the amulet, however. He could not feel it’s inherent power as the witch could, but his numerous tests did nothing to reveal ill-intent or traces of dark magic, so he let it stay. It enjoyed his company, because despite his anger, there was warmth as well. Again, it was left alone, only this time the house was filled with life and movement.
It was through the man that it first met them . It was at a time when the world grew colder and the green slowly faded to brown and black and nothing. It knew this to be winter. The man retrieved the amulet for the first time in many years, and he brushed it’s face with his thumb. He brought it a piece of twine and threaded it through it’s head, letting it dangle from his fist. The next thing it knew, it was in the hand of yet another.
Youth, hope and excitement were what it knew of this new human. A small boy brimming with wonder at the world, so different than the man, and yet the man cared for him all the same.
“ Give this to your daddy boy, it’s a Christmas present from me, ya hear ?”
“ Thanks Uncle Bobby, dad’ll love it !”
And so it went with the boy, an inconsequential trinket pulled along the ever-persistent current of life. The boy took great care of it, keeping it only in empty pockets and never setting it down where it might be lost. He found scraps of newspaper, and wrapped it carefully. But as the night passed on, it felt the boy’s hope dwindle. When he next picked it up, he had changed. Wonder and innocence replaced with fear and still, as he removed the paper he had so thoughtfully molded and gave it away, the amulet experienced the strongest feeling it had ever known.
The Creator had a love for growth, life and God. The Learned Man had a love for knowledge and history. The Witch had loved weath, power and pain, and the Old Man who saved it from her had a love for humanity and these boys. But as it was handed from one brother to another, it knew that this was a pure, unbreakable love. The eldest brother slid the twine over his head and the amulet sat over his heart, and it was content.
It stayed like this for many years, time now having a meaning in it’s once lonely existence. The brothers were not like the passing of the seasons or the cycles of the moon. They grew and they changed and they felt sadness, fear, rage. The eldest was not quite a man when the youngest left them, breaking off like an iceberg melted into the sea. The brother it was with cried, though he allowed no one to see. The pain of their separation ached and stung, but soon they were reunited. Along their journey went, the amulet a turbulent passenger. It had grown fond of them as much as they grew fond of it, and soon it became more than it was before, more than the Creator had intended it to be.
But that was the miracle of His creation, to be made for something and to become much more. Somewhere it knew, through its connection to Him, that these boys were special, but the amulet could do nothing, say nothing, simply exist.
It felt the brother’s despair when it seemed the youngest had been taken from him forever, felt the mark he placed on his soul for him, and they were reunited once more, but where there was hope there was only morbid certainty. And though it had no voice, it grieved with them.
Time passed, and then stopped. It was ripped from the eldest by invisible claws, landing crooked and bloodstained as he was dragged away into oblivion. It found itself again in the youngest’s hands, soaked in sorrow and his brother’s final tears, and then over his heart, where he knew nothing but pain.
Pain and pain, desolation so intense that the amulet wondered if God had created this, had let it happen. And if He did, for what reason. Misery crushed the brother, and though he searched for something to put him back together, everything he found only broke him more. It knew of demons, of their blood and of their lies, and it grew to lose itself in them. The darkness that followed was unlike that of the witch’s. The youngest’s darkness was empty, lost, alone and scared. As he sought revenge, he yearned for redemption.
But the eldest returned, and the amulet was pulled along once more. Sightless, soundless, hopeless.
The soldiers had come again, holy mission sure and sound. But the brothers continued to fall apart, shining stones crumbling to dust. The proud soldiers cleaved them like a ship’s bow cutting through water, all swords and flame and certainty. And so, the worst came to pass.
The angel who had fallen knew of the amulet, felt it’s connection to Him, wanted to use it for its purpose. It went with him, and lost sight of the brothers, all of its power focused on finding Him, finding answers. It wasn’t long before it was back.
The brothers had been to heaven, had found a way to God, and He had refused them. Turned them away like a butcher denying a stray dog his choice cut. He did not want to be involved, did not want to help, did not care. And the eldest was defeated. Alone, lost, empty. He tossed it away, scorned anything hallowed in His name, so with the youngest it remained, lost but not quite done.
The youngest pulled it from darkness to care for it once more. Keeping it only in empty pockets and never setting it down where it might be lost. He did not wear it as he once did, because he did not want to upset his brother. It had first learned guilt from the Old Man, but with the youngest brother, it knew nothing else. He kept it close by him for some time, and it was in a small pocket when it felt the change.
The body was no longer the brothers, it was a vessel for one of His sons, the Fallen One. The Fallen One knew of the amulet, of the rings in his pocket, but he did not care. Much like his father, he did not burden himself with the troubles and thoughts of mortals unless they were important to him.
It was still there when he fell. Latched onto a body with two minds at the wheel, falling endlessly into what it would learn soon to be Hell. It resonated with the bars of their prison, and knew that it and the brother could never hope to escape from Heaven’s work, so precise and elaborate it could’ve only been His work. The Fallen One raged against the walls, against his father, against the souls in his company. The amulet was there as they were ripped to shreds.
The angel that was almost human came then, flashing celestial feathers and trailing inhuman screams behind him. He could not spare even a second, almost got trapped in there with them, but he didn’t reach everything. It left with the body, still a physical form, and watched as the darkness swallowed the souls once more.
The body found it in his pocket, and he did not care. He put it into a bag on the bottom of his belongings, and did not touch it again. The amulet was glad, because the body was empty, cold. It had come to crave the warmth of the connected souls and the emptiness of the body was even worse than the darkness that had once consumed the brother.
Then all was silent. It was like back at the Creator’s workshop, with its company being soft glimpses of light through fabric. Time passed in ignorance once again, slight movements the only clue it had to goings on in the outside world. Nothing had meaning.
That was why the light was such a surprise. A hand, reaching through the bag, pulling and removing things one at a time. The amulet was lifted from its home, and once more it was in the hand of the younger brother. It could feel that he was whole again, if you could call him whole. The brokenness of his spirit was akin to when his brother had been taken away before, but the brokenness of his mind was new, sharp and painful.
He gripped the amulet so tightly in his palm that its horned face drew blood, the red liquid staining its holy metal. It had been bled on by both brothers now. The youngest seemed relieved by the pain, but he did not stop crying, not for a long time.
It was longer before they were reunited this time. Long enough that the youngest found something to hold him together. Something ephemeral, but there. All he needed was to be held together for a while, he told himself. Then he would be alright. His shattered heart and mind pressed against the veil he had hidden them under and still, he said he would be alright.
When finally the eldest returned, the veil was ripped from him and he was lost, even with his brother. Many nights as they lay side by side - neither sleeping, both pretending - he would take it into his hand once more, and squeeze until blood dripped down his arm, staining the sheet. He made sure it was covered when his brother was looking.
Even when they gained a new home, he never locked it away again, never put it in darkness to rest. He kept it near and safe, only in empty pockets and never setting it down where it might be lost.
It was with him as he began to get ill, and it recognized the aura of His influence. Trials, breaking him apart again. Something was always breaking in him, but he didn’t care. He spit his blood into sinks and watched it drip down his arm when he held the amulet at night. He always held it tight enough to bleed.
When he was pulled from the church, burnt and beaten, and he slid away into nothing against the cool metal of his car and the rough warmth of his brother, he kept a finger on the twine just barely hanging out of his pocket. His brother didn’t notice.
There was another angel, the amulet understood that they were all fallen now. He let himself into the youngest and slid down deep, but it knew he was there, just as it knew when the Fallen One was there, or when the soul was not. He was not empty, he was too full. But the angel was healing him, trying to fix something that had always been broken.
When the angel surged to the front and left their home, he did not remove it from the brother’s pocket. God had not cared, the Fallen One had not cared, and neither did he. To the sons and the soldiers, it was merely a symbol. Something to be pitied and forgotten as their father had forgotten them. Only one cared anymore, but he was buried. Broken.
The angel was forced out and he was lost again. There were no feelings it knew that matched the ones left behind in the body, the body that had been through so much, and the soul that had been through more.
His brother had betrayed him, and it wondered if it was time at last to leave them. If the bond had been stretched past its limit and snapped like so many other things in their lives. But the youngest would not let go. When his brother sought revenge, when he took on an evil that could not be stopped, the youngest kept it still. His fingers rubbing smooth its face until it could no longer be recognized as the Creator’s work. He rubbed it and told himself he wouldn’t lose his brother again, then he made himself bleed with its horns.
It did not leave his side, smooth and bloody symbol that it was. Though he was vanquished, he tended to it. Keeping it only in empty pockets and never setting it down where it might be lost. It did not know what he was hoping for, why he still hoped.
The amulet felt when the Darkness was freed, divine metal humming with ghastly plangency as she sprung forth from the nothing in which she was trapped. It suffered with the youngest as her power infected him. But he drove it back and he found his brother again and he was filled with hope. It understood now, why they were His favorite creations. The broken brother, in so many pieces, was still together, still fighting. It wondered if it could still consider itself holy, when such things existed.
And then He returned. Aeons of existence and it had never fulfilled its original purpose, the calling of its first master. Cradled in the hands of the brothers, it told them of His coming, but it could do no more.
Its job was done, and it found itself fading away. Not in any physical sense, but away from awareness and the warmth of the connection it had so long belonged to. As the brothers passed it on, it saw at last the face of God. And it was the face of its Creator, of the Learned Man, of the Witch, of the Old Man, of the Prophet, of the Demons, of the Fallen One, of Humanity. But it was not the face of the brothers.
For a moment it felt again the purity of their love, the bent but still not shattered bond it had experienced the first time it touched their skin, and then there was darkness, and all it knew was cold.