Chapter Text
I could send you down there again.
He shakes his head, looking at the world of men underneath him. He sees a young girl, barely older than he was when he argued with the rabbis in the temple, laughing and crying at the same time while her father shows her pictures of a beloved long-dead pet rabbit. The rabbit sits by his side, waiting for the girl to come to him. He never moves from that spot. Not ever, not once.
Jesus joins him sometimes. He joins all those that are waiting-he has the time, can be in so many places at once. He knows what it's like to wait, he knows how lonely it can get. And he's jealous, because no matter how hard the waiting can get, all these creatures know that in the end they will be reunited with those they love.
He doesn't have that certainty. He barely has hope.
You miss it.
The voice in his head is warm, gentle. But he knows it's a mirage. His Father is many things, but gentle is not one of them. He's cruel and kind, loving and hateful, a teacher and destroyer. But not gentle. Never gentle. Why should he be, when the world he created is not? Gentleness comes from humans, and humans alone.
"I don't want to go back," Jesus replies. Sometimes he can see his Father, from the corner of his eyes. Sometimes he can hear his true voice. Only Elijah and Moses ever had more. He could have more, if he were to give up on his humanity fully. Become like the angels. Michael and Rafael and the rest of them. If he does that, he'll be giving up the human parts of himself.
He'll be giving up the nearly-nonexistent chance he has of ever having that reunion.
"There's nothing down there for me," He adds, and the rabbit shuffles a bit. The girl is hugging her new pet, a cat, but there's room enough in her heart to love them both. The human heart is large enough to love so much.
He loves them all, every single human, every single creature. Loves them with the fervor of a mother with her children. Sometimes he wonders if it's wrong of him, that despite that there is still one he loves more. But even God has his favorites among the humans-why shouldn't he?
Hearing his thoughts, the voice in his head sighs deeply, you can.
Jesus hears the part that he doesn't add-but does it have to be him? Must it be Judas?
"Why do you want me to go back?" He demands. "Is there another job you have for me, down there?"
No. What has happened has happened. What they did with your teaching is now on their conscience.
He grimaces. They have done so much good-and so much bad. So much that makes him want to scream in horror.
"Then why?"
You have watched for so long. You deserve to be a part of it once more. Not as my son, this time.
Jesus huddles into himself, "No crucifixion?"
No mission. Life.
Life. The great gift of humanity. Life that starts and ends, and doesn’t go on and on forever. He should have had that, that peace and calm. He doesn't, because he's missing something.
"It won't work," Jesus warns. "You know it won't. I'll live my life and come back here and be like this. You know that."
A pause, a pregnant silence between the two of them, and then the voice says, I know.
Jesus closes his eyes, trying to stop himself from hoping, but asking anyways, "Will you…will you give him back to me?"
A pause.
Yes. He has suffered enough.
Jesus wants to say that he never should have suffered at all, not for one moment. That his actions had been done out of love, a mistake, that he didn't know what he was doing and never would have acted if he had. But he knows it's pointless. He's railed at his Father for that so many times, it's never made any difference. And besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. He'll have him back.
And Jesus bursts into tears.
*
He's born the second child and first son of a family living in the city of New York. His father is called Howie, his mother Rebecca. He's got an older sister, born four years before him, called Mara.
They call him David at birth, which suits him just fine. He remembers how they called him King of the Jews and it amuses him, in a dry, bitter sort of why, to be named for the greatest king the Jews ever had.
He's born with all the memories of his life, from birth to death to waking up again. And he knows why he's here, that his father sent him. But he doesn't remember anything of Heaven. The human mind can't comprehend that sort of thing, or it will go mad. He's glad for it, glad that the dreams are not returning, those dreams he had from the moment of his birth where he saw things, gained knowledge no child should be burdened with. He doesn't have those now. It seems his Father kept his word-he is no longer the Son of God.
His new family is Jewish, and he's born on the eve of the first night of Hanukah. When he's brought home two nights later, he watches from the safety of his mother's arms as his father helps his sister light the menorah. It made him miss his father. Not the one in the sky. Joseph, who taught him carpenting, who held him when he slept. He knows that he's seen his father in Heaven, but he doesn't remember it, and suddenly the ache is so strong in him he just wants to go back.
Except he doesn’t, not truly.
*
His sister reminds him a bit of Mary Magdalene. She has the same inner kindness, the same reverence for life. She comes to his crib and hands him toys, lets him hold her finger in his small hand. Her smile, though, reminds him of a different Mary. His mother. So happy, so loving towards him. Mara will make a wonderful woman, when she grows.
When he starts crawling and walking and his world expands, Jesus is sent to kindergarten while his mother returns to her work. This is another thing he didn't have, in his first life, the ability to interact with children his age. Well, his physical age. He enjoys it, still. Their soft hands around him, treating him like another one of them.
School is even more exciting. All these new things to learn. Once again, he must have seen all these things in Heaven, but he doesn't remember. Computers are new to him, as are all those wonderful new books. Jesus can't read all the books he'd like, without letting it clear to those around him he's more aware then other children.
Jesus's father likes to read those books out loud to his mother while the family sits in the living room, and Jesus can sit there, pretending to play his games or watch Mara with hers but really listening intently. His favorite book so far is The Martian. He loves hearing tales of humans working together.
Making the world better as they go.
The first eight years of this new life go like this, slipping by in a haze of pleasure and love. He sees the pain of humans, but as a child, he's protected from the worst of it. His days are filled of play and learning, and there's so much for him to learn of this new world. In the evening, when he's put to bed, he snuggles deep into the covers and dreams of Judas.
But when he's eight, his sister dies.
It's a bright day in the middle of the summer. Their father has to work, so his mother and grandmother-his mother's mother-takes him and Mara to the zoo. They go around, seeing all the animals, until Jesus's small body has had enough, and the family sits down to have lunch.
Mara finishes eating first, and she swings her legs back and forth, and then tugs at their mother's arm, "Mommy, can I go back to the lions?"
The lions are close by, just around the corner, so Jesus is not surprised when their mother nods her agreement, "If you want, sweetheart."
"Can Davey come with me?" That's Mara. She always wants someone to look after.
"Your brother isn’t done eating," His mother replies. "We'll be there in a few minutes."
He regrets not going with her afterwards, so much.
When they get up and go to the lion encloser, they don’t find the young girl. Calling out gives in to screaming, to getting the zoo guards, to getting the police. It reminds him of chad gadya: this hope ate that hope ate that one afterwards. At some point Jesus tries joining in the search, but he's caught by his frantic mother and kept in place.
The next few days go by in a blur. Jesus keeps close to his parents, knowing they need him as much as he needs them. There's something in him that knows that he won't get his sister back. That after all these days, the chances that she'll be found alive are rather small.
Her body is discovered a week and a half after her disappearance. Jesus manages to eavesdrop in a few conversations between the police and his parents, and he learns that she'd been killed a few hours after she was taken, probably by accident, before anything could have happened to her. He closes his eyes, wanting to thank God for small miracles-but he knows better. God had no hand in this. This was the realm of men.
During the shiva, when the family sits for the seven days of mourning, people come up to him and say, we're sorry for your loss. They bring food and help around the house, and his grandmother reads him some books so his father doesn’t have to. He looks at all these people, each trying to help, a community coming together, and tries to convince himself it evens out the horror inflicted on his sister. He can't quite get there.
Jesus watches silently as his family comes apart. He tries to help, tries to explain that they will see Mara again, that she's watching over them, that she wouldn't want them in such pain. But this just makes his mother cry harder and his father leave in a rage. They have no belief in God, and he doesn't expect them to. Why should they, when they have never seen God? When He is as far away as a dream you've forgotten you even had?
He's not sure himself, how much he believes. How much he knows, that's one issue. But how much he believes-well.
*
No one names their son Judas anymore. He knows why, and it breaks his heart. The idea that Judas, his Judas, his beautiful and loyal and loving Judas is synonymous with betrayal makes him want to curl into himself and cry.
He has a different name now, everyone but himself calls him David. But the idea that he will see Judas again, and not be able to call him that…he's not sure he can handle it. Jesus finds it very hard to believe that there is ever a world, ever a time, that he will look at his friend's face, call, Judas, and not be answered immediately.
Judas.
Yes, my Lord?
Judas!
It’s all right, I'm right here.
Judas…
It's me, I'm the one that betrays you.
He knows he called to him in Heaven, over and over again, and wasn't answered. But that was because Judas couldn't hear.
*
He used to say to himself, I am Jesus, son of Mary and Joseph, to remind himself that he was only a man. A man with a purpose, a man doomed. But still just a man.
And then he'd died and came back and was Jesus the Son of God to everyone. And the one person who should have been there, should have grabbed him and yelled, you are Jesus, son of Mary and Joseph, wasn't there anymore. Because he was dangling from a tree by the time Jesus got to him.
So he was Jesus Son of God until he died again.
Now he tells himself, I am Jesus. He doesn't need reminding of whose son he is, it's all too clear. There is no question, no wondering. He looks at the man putting him to sleep at night and never has to remind himself: this is my father.
He tells himself, I am Jesus, brother of Mara, because even though he isn’t afraid of forgetting, it comforts him to say it. Even to himself, a statement of belonging. He is Jesus, he belongs to Mara.
It's the same reason he tells himself, I am Jesus, lover of Judas.
*
His family starts to pull itself back into place. It's beautiful to watch, the way his parents, who've been flinching from one another for years, began returning to lean on the other when the pain gets too hard. He watches as his father holds his mother and his mother hushes his father at night.
Jesus thinks of his first mother, left alone in the world after his death. His father Joseph had already been taken away years earlier, and then her son as well. She'd known that was what would happen, had agreed to it when the angel had come to her. It hurts, knowing that. That she agreed to birth him knowing he will live a short life, die in such horrendous pain. But now he wonders if she also knew he would be given this second chance, this new life.
He wants to believe that she did. Even though he knew it had been the right thing to do, birth him to save humanity and allow them their chance to return to Heaven even if there was no hope for him.
Still. He can't stop the anger inside of him. He'd cried for her, cried like a child when they nailed him to the cross. He'd just wanted his mother. She hadn’t come. She couldn’t.
*
They go to Israel when he's thirteen, to celebrate his Bar Mitzvah. It's odd, to be there. They go to Bethlehem on his request, and he sees the land he was born in. It looks nothing like what he remembers, of course, but there's still something in the air that reminds him of his father's strong arms hoisting him up, his mother's kisses. He's probably imagining it, but it still makes him want to cry.
Jerusalem does make him cry. He walks down Via Delarosa, remembering the pain and humiliation, and doesn’t try to stop the tears from pouring down his cheeks. His mother rushes to him, cupping his cheeks and asking what's wrong.
He tells her he's crying for Mara, and he is, in a way. He's crying for all the pain humans have ever inflicted on one another. The pain that had been inflicted on him, the pain inflicted on his sister. The pain inflicted on his love that forced him up that tree.
Jesus doesn't need to explain all that to his mother. Something in her eyes flicker, and he can tell she understands. Not fully, of course. But she understands that the pain is greater than the pain that comes from a single wound to the heart. She holds him close and hushes him.
*
He starts to wonder, when he's a teenager and his body is flooded with hormones, what it will be like when he sees Judas again. If Judas will know him, if he'll cry. If he'll be angry.
Probably. Judas always hid everything behind anger. His jealousy of Mary, his fear that he wasn't good enough, that he wasn't doing enough. Jesus hadn't realized at the time, not as much as he should have. He never even considered Mary to be in competition with Judas, never considered her presence to be any threat to their relationship. The idea had been so very foreign to him that he hadn't even considered the possibility that it wasn't all that foreign to Judas. That perhaps Judas was afraid of her.
Judas, who never thought he deserved anything. Who gave every piece of himself away to help others, because he didn't think he was worthy of life otherwise. Judas, who'd taken money to help the needy and berated Jesus for using oil when there were others that needed it more. Jesus had never considered that Judas had looked at their own relationship the same way.
Why should he keep Jesus, when Mary needed him as well? But he had, and that must have tormented him so. The false idea stuck in his head that he was selfish, wrong to love someone who could love someone else.
It had probably never occurred to him that Jesus couldn't love someone else, and besides, Judas needed him more then Mary. That not everything was a commodity to be traded. And if it was-which it wasn't-that he was worthy of some of it as well.
Jesus wonders what it would feel like if Judas didn't know him at first. If he had to build their love from scratch. He hopes that's the case, then he can fix all the mistakes he made.
He wonders if Judas will be different. He himself feels different already.
*
When he's fifteen, he gets his first chance to lose his virginity. He's invited to a party at the house of one of his schoolfriends when said friend's parents are away. He tells his parents that they're going to have a sleepover. His mother nods in agreement, busy with her work, but his father takes him to the side.
"I know it's going to be a party," His father says, and then grins when Jesus's eyes widen. "Come on, give me a little credit. You think I never partied when I was your age?"
This is, Jesus realizes with a start, the first time he's had this type of conversation with any of his fathers. The conversation when the father looks down at his son and acknowledges that he is growing, and will be a man soon. That they will be closer to equals.
"Just make sure you don't drink more than you can handle, David," His father says, and then hands him a pack of condoms. "And this is for…well. Just so you're ready."
The party is loud and happy, and Jesus finds himself sitting next to a classmate of his called Agatha. Agatha shuffles close to him, and he immediately knows what she wants.
It's as if time stops for him, and he looks at the frozen eyes of the girl by his side. Her eyes are a dark brown, like chocolate, like Judas's.
Judas had been his first, and his last. It hadn't been the same for his love, he knew. Judas had slept with many people before joining Jesus's mission, men and women both. But not one afterwards.
It had shocked Jesus, when he learned that, and for a little while he had had to force himself to stop feeling a bitter jealousy. Judas was not his property, he did not belong to him and owed him nothing. And besides, it had happened before they had met. Judas had not slept with anyone in the year they travelled together, before Jesus had kissed him for the first time.
Still, he had so wanted to have been Judas's first. Not just because Judas was his first and a silly little part of himself thought their love meant more that way, but because he hadn't known what he was doing that first time. For the first time, he'd been the student and Judas had been the teacher. It had been frightening, he hadn't wanted Judas to feel that he couldn't pull his weight. Who would want a lover who fumbled like a scared child?
That first night had put all other nights in Jesus's life to shame. Just the thought of it made him warm. Nothing before that had ever felt so real, and he'd never seen Judas look so very peaceful as he had that night.
Jesus looks at the girl in front of him. It wouldn't be right, to give her what she wants. His heart isn't his to give, it belongs to another. Why should his body be any different?
*
"You need to start thinking about graduation," His mother says to him, when he's seventeen. They've gone together to Mara's grave to put stones there. Flowers, too, but Jesus prefers the stones. Stones stay longer, they have a weight to them. When he looks at the white grave, with the name of his sister in English and Hebrew, he can see all the stones he's ever put. Here's the large brown one from when he was nine, here's the beautiful white one he found on a trip to Florida.
Jesus hopes Mara enjoys the stones, but he knows they don't matter to her anymore. She is beyond such things.
"About what you want to do afterwards," His mother adds.
He shakes his head, unsure of what to say to that. He doesn't know what he wants out of life, other then Judas. His whole former life was geared towards a singular goal, he's unsure of how to choose for himself. From so many different options.
"You can take a gap year, you don’t have to start studying right away."
Jesus bites his lips, "Can I travel?"
"Of course, honey," That makes his mother smile. She seems to like the idea. "Where would you like to go?"
He wants to say Israel, but he also doesn't think he could handle going back there. He wonders where Judas would be. That is where he wants to go. Judas is somewhere out there, but he has not guarantees that he will be able to find him.
Jesus can't think of anything worse than spending this lifetime searching for his love, only to die of old age having never found him.
"I suppose I'll go to Europe."
*
He enjoys Europe quite a bit. France's food is wonderful, the Alps are stunning, England is fun. He goes to the Vatican and wants to throw up when he sees all that wealth.
There are new friends to be made, his fellow travelers as well as locales in every place he goes. He sees the beauty of humans, and the ugliness in them and it's stunning to watch.
But it's not what he wants, they're not what he wants. When he's approached by girls and boys who want to take him to bed (well, mattress or sleeping bags, usually. Travelling teens and all), he gently and carefully denies them.
He's a bit surprised by how often these things happen. When he points that out to one of his friends, said friend laughs fondly and ruffles his hair, "That would be because you're hot, dumbass."
Is he?
He looks the same as he had in his first life. Judas called him beautiful, but he'd always assumed the attraction others felt towards him was only because…. well, of who and what he was.
It seems that some of it came from something else.
*
He decides a few months into his trip what he wants to do with the rest of his life. He's going to go back to America and study sculpting. He wants to make art, he misses carpenting. He doesn’t want to do anything dramatic; he just wants to create something beautiful.
He gets accepted to a few undergrad art programs, and decides to go to a university in Boston. It's not that he feels he needs to live far from his parents, but he wants to give himself a chance to build a life outside of their sphere of influence. He wants to see what he will become when left to his own devices.
The first few weeks of classes go by in a blur. He enjoys them, makes new friends and settles down into this new dorm. There are parties and more people to be gently denied and classes with more things to learn. The art history classes force him to stare at paintings of himself, and his Father, of Mary Magdalene and…. Judas.
It doesn't look at all like Judas, just as the rest of the paintings don't look at all like any of the people they proport to portray. It's not that he expects the painting to resemble anyone, but still. Seeing that painting of Judas sends shivers down his spine.
Judas hanging from the tree. That is what they choose to paint. Like Jesus himself is so often painted on the Cross. It hurts seeing himself, but seeing Judas is like being whipped again.
A month into the university year, his father calls him. Jesus is in the dorm room, doing some homework when the phone calls, and he pushes the papers away, more then happy to hear from his father.
"David? How are you?"
"Today is going well," Jesus replies, curling into a chair.
"Hmm," His father hums. They sit on the phone in silence for a few moments and then his father adds, "You sound a bit down."
"I'm all right."
"Yeah, you are," His father agrees. "But I don't remember the last time you sounded actually happy."
Jesus chews his lower lip, "How is Mom?"
He hears his father snort, "She's fine, son. Now tell me what's wrong with you."
Jesus's fingers trail over the wood of the table. For a moment, he feels a different wood, wood scratching over his skin as it tries to rip off his bones, gravity fighting with the nails. Blood trickling down his forehead from the crown they placed on his head, and why hadn't they listened when he told them that he didn't want to be king, that he wasn't king-
"David?" His father's voice is soft and warm, and Jesus clings to it, lets it comfort and console him. "Tell me what's wrong."
He chokes, "There's something missing."
Fingers trailing his skin, a laughing voice in his ear, a warm body in his arms, allowing itself to be held tightly by him. He wants Judas, he wants him so much.
"David, buddy…You're nineteen. Everyone is missing something at this point. And you have the rest of your life to find out what you need."
He knows what he needs, but the words do comfort him. Only nineteen, he has the rest of his life ahead of him to find Judas. To be whole again.
Jesus falls asleep that night with a smile on his face, hope burning bright in his chest again.
Later, he'll wonder if that was what did it. If the hope was so bright that Fate itself (or perhaps his Father), decided to intervene. Because the next day, it happens.
*
The next day, after class, Jesus and one of his new friends, a girl called Maggie (who somehow reminds him of Simon, with the same clever eyes and kindness and violence warring in her soul) go to Starbucks to get some coffee to help survive the next class. They stand in line behind a group of girls with colors in their hair, and Jesus and Maggie spend their time waiting quietly deciding which of the hair colors looks the best.
And then the jingle of the door opening catches Jesus's ear, and then he hears a sound that makes him freeze in place.
"I'm not saying that, dick, stop putting words in my fucking mouth. All I'm saying is that if you take Marx's side in this argument, you have to take into account-"
Maggie groans, drowning out the voice for a moment, and Jesus wants to scream, "Here he goes again."
Move, Jesus tells himself. Turn around, now-
The man isn't looking in his direction when Jesus turns. He's looking back at his friend, who's the one speaking now. But Jesus doesn’t need to see his face to know who it is. The voice is enough, and his body takes away any shred of doubt he may have had (not that he had).
He looks exactly the same. The same long and lean body, the same dark hair (it's cropped close to his head now, it used to be longer), the same ears the same way his hands wave in the air the same gentle wrists oh Lord it's him it's him it's-
"Judas," Jesus whispers. "Judas."
The man stops in the middle of a hand wave, and turns.
"Yeah?"
No matter what, no matter where they are, when Jesus calls his name, Judas answers.