Chapter Text
Judas and Jesus returned to the camp in the dead of night and roused the disciples to make a hasty retreat. They did not explain their absence, only that matters had taken a turn for the worse and if they did not leave now they were all in mortal peril. They set out together for the southern region of Israel, hopefully further away from the watchful eye of Caesar. They would sleep during the day and travel at night for at least a week.
The disciples grumbled, and Simon had wanted to stay and make a stand. However even he knew that support was dwindling. The crowd of fifty thousand had grown much quieter in the days after the sermon on the mount. Make the wrong move now and a time bomb would be set off early.
The travel was hard on everybody. By the time the sun rose on the second day Judas was tired to his bones. Jesus looked considerably worse. His frame had gone from thin to gaunt and his eyes were sunken in, looking out from above bruise colored bags and constantly swiveling around as if he could sense they were being followed. Mary clung to his side like a burr, trying to coax him to eat and tell her what was troubling him. Jesus only shook his head and would politely nibble at the food she offered, hiding it when she wasn’t looking. He often drifted to walk beside Judas. He felt better when he was by him. They had not spoken much since Friday, and barely at all in front of the others. There was a lot that had been left unspoken, and neither was sure how to say it, or when. They could not be sure of privacy, and they still had not decided what to tell the disciples or Mary. How could he possibly explain that the only plan they ever had was ruined? How could he tell them that he had thrown away his opportunity and responsibilities the moment he was offered a way out? No. Better to wait a while longer.
And Judas, though he hated seeing them so close, let Mary tend to Jesus as if nothing had happened between them. That was how it always was when they were with the group. And really, Mary was much better than he would be. Judas wasn’t much good at comfort. He was sure he was making the right decision leaving them to be. They had kissed, they had said they loved each other, but if Jesus wanted comfort from Mary he would not be the one to deny him. Not right now anyway. Maybe later. For now the jealousy was very much something he had grown used to.
Everybody pitched their tents in silence. Judas began unpacking his own and stopped when he felt a tug at his sleeve. “Stay in my tent tonight,” Jesus said quietly.
Judas blushed and looked around to be sure they wouldn't be overheard. “Are you sure?”
Jesus nodded firmly. “They won’t question it. If they do, you're my right hand and we need to check our route.” Jesus was already laying out the parts and Judas couldn’t help but notice how his arms were trembling. As it turned out he did not have the strength to drive the stakes into the ground. Judas quietly picked up the slack, making sure nobody’s attention was drawn to their leader’s weakness. They probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway. Everybody was too tired to do much besides focus on their own tents and fall asleep. Judas was more than ready to rest himself. When he was satisfied that the tent was stable he followed Jesus in, carrying both of their packs with him.
Jesus sat huddled in the middle of the tent and Judas was struck again by just how frail and hunted he looked. Everybody was tired, but Jesus had been troublingly so. He looked like he would collapse any minute. Everybody noticed today how his mood was swinging violently from morose depression to something resembling mania, complete with disturbing fits of laughter at wholly inappropriate times. “Did you sleep alright last night?” Judas broached the question cautiously.
Jesus shook his head.
Judas pursed his lips. “Did you eat today?"
Jesus shook his head again. “Can’t.”
“Why can’t you eat?” Judas fumbled. It upset him to see Jesus like this, he had no idea what to say but he had to say something.
Jesus hugged his knees closer to his chest. “Too anxious. Makes me sick.”
Judas had no idea what to do about this. He stood stiffly, painfully aware of how he was still towering over Jesus. He probably should have sat down by now. “Should I go fetch Mary? I’m sure she could find something.” He was embarrassed that he would even consider ceding this opportunity to come closer to Jesus, but he was fairly certain he wasn’t equipped to help with this.
“What? No.” Jesus sounded like he was surprised Judas would even suggest such a thing. “If I wanted Mary with me I would have asked for her. I want you. If- if you’re willing to stay that is.” His eyes ducked to the floor. He was about to ask a lot of Judas and he couldn’t find the energy to hide the shame it brought him.
Judas sat down across from him. “Is it okay if I eat?”
Jesus nodded and watched him lay out his food, neglecting to ask a blessing over it. Before he began eating Judas set his hand on Jesus’s knee. “I know you’re not ready to talk to the others, but you know you can talk to me. Right?”
Jesus nodded, staring at the point of contact. That simple touch alone had brought his heart rate down noticeably. Prayers had offered no relief from his distress, but apparently he still had this. He put his hand on top of Judas’s, afraid that it might be a hallucination. Judas noticed how he seemed to gain some relief from the touch and patted the ground beside him. Jesus immediately accepted his invitation, shuffling to sit beside him so that their legs were pressed together.
Judas ate in awkward silence. He wasn’t much good for comforting words. Nobody ever came to him for that, so he had very little practice. Jesus didn't seem to mind though, only wanting to rest his head on Judas's shoulder as he ate. Leaning on Judas felt good. It shouldn't, but it did. The story made no sense, the failed savior turning to his intended betrayer for support. Maybe their story had been broken when they met. After a while Jesus picked up a piece of bread and took an experimental bite. For the first time in days, he could actually keep it down. It took some time, but he managed to eat an entire piece of bread. Just sitting quietly with Judas was enough to work a small miracle.
At last he broke the silence. He felt that he owed Judas an explanation for his severely disheveled state. “I haven’t slept since Friday.”
Judas stiffened and looked at him with alarm. “It’s Monday,” was all he could find to say. He wanted to kick himself, he felt so useless.
Jesus frowned. “Is it really? I thought it was still Sunday.”
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Judas demanded, failing to keep a harsh edge out of his voice.
Jesus stared at him as if the question was stupid. His gaze was unsettling if Judas was honest with himself. “They’re coming for me, Judas. They must be.”
Judas sighed wearily. “You're not alone. They’re coming for both of us,” he corrected him. “I’m the one that ran with their money. But we set a good plan. They have other problems to deal with. I’m sure that they’ll give up in a few days.”
Jesus shook his head and took Judas's hand, trying to make him understand. “They have to find me.”
Right. Judas remembered how he had talked in the tomb as they waited for someone to claim him, and took in the frightened desperation and confusion on his face once again. “Is this because of the… the plan?”
Jesus squeezed Judas’s hand until their knuckles turned white. “God is angry with me,” he whispered. “I should be dead now. I’m supposed to be in hell.” His voice was small and broken. It broke Judas’s heart to hear it.
He patted his hand; he had seen people use that as a comforting gesture. It was a place to start. “But you aren’t. You’re here with me.”
Jesus let out a shuddering sigh and shrank a little more. “If I go to sleep I am sure that I will see hell.”
“Oh.” Of course Jesus was afraid. He was already prone to vivid dreams, of course he would expect nightmares after their experience in the garden. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked slowly.
When Jesus met his gaze again his bloodshot eyes looked absolutely haunted. “Will you stay awake with me?”
Judas was tired. He was exhausted. But he could not find the desire to deny Jesus his request. “Will you sleep if I do?”
Jesus sighed again and looked away, the angle of his face making his cheekbones appear even sharper. “I do not want to.”
Judas gently placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face back towards him. “You’re making yourself sick. Let me take care of you before you get worse.”
Jesus felt tears heating his eyes. He had never heard Judas speak so tenderly before. It made him want to try, for his sake if not his own. At Judas’s invitation he allowed him to undress him and fuss over mats that had been forming in his hair for the last week. He laid his head on his lap and allowed him to run a brush through his hair. Judas used his own oils for the task. They smelled cheap, but not unpleasant. They smelled like him. He smelled like him now. Jesus's body seemed to take it as a sign that he was as safe as he could be. “Judas,” he mumbled before yawning widely. “You’ll wake me up if they come for me?”
Judas hesitated, unsure how much affection was appropriate for the situation, then kissed the top of his head. "I'll stay up, I promise. You're safe here."
Jesus fell asleep much faster than he had believed possible, soothed by the presence of his closest friend and the soft repetition of the bristles and oils taming his hair. Judas had watched Mary from a distance more than enough times to know her routine. Privately he hoped he was doing it better than she would have, but he did not disturb Jesus to ask. He hoped that he would still want this when he didn’t feel so terribly vulnerable.
Judas stayed true to his promise. It was easier than he had expected. He could hear birds beginning to wake up and sing, and a slit of sunlight intruded through the tent flap. There was plenty to think about, plans to set for tomorrow and the day after. But that wasn't what kept him awake. He could not have slept if he tried. How could he sleep when the man he had loved in secret for years was now asleep on his lap? How could he look away when he was so lovely in repose? Every slight movement made his heart jolt and flutter like a schoolboy. His downturned lips were parted ever so slightly, and his breaths were so gentle and rhythmic that it was almost unsettling to remember that those same lips and lungs had stirred crowds with his wisdom and passion. It felt strange how he had touched those lips with his own, but the yearning to do so again was the only thing that made sense these days. Jesus was beautiful. He deserved all the love Judas had to give.
For the first time in a long time he could just study his face without interruption. He had fine, sharp features and weathered skin. Even relaxed he bore permanent creases from worry, and the dark circles beneath his eyes would likely never go away completely. But he also carried creases in the corners of his eyes, lines from joy and laughter. His hair was long, soft, and wavy, the same color as topsoil after rain, but streaked with coarse gray hairs. He looked much older and more tired than any man in his early thirties should. As the light grew stronger he could see that Jesus actually had a spray of fine freckles on his sun-beat skin, mostly decorating his arms. He was already a fairly short man, but he looked especially small nestled against him. Small and vulnerable, and so remarkably trusting. He looked so worryingly frail.
For a while Jesus slept quite soundly, exhaustion having finally triumphed over fear. It was nice, in a sad sort of way, that Judas was the one he trusted to keep him safe. After an hour, however, Jesus began to toss and turn. Occasionally he would mumble something close to words, but never quite anything Judas could discern. He would touch him softly and Jesus would flick his eyes open just a sliver, see Judas, and go back to sleep. Around mid morning he was caught in a dream too deep for Judas to reach him. His limbs were spasming, as though he were shivering with cold, and he clearly said "Let him go." Suddenly he sat bolt upright, shaking and sweating and gasping for breath.
Judas wrapped his arms around him. “What’s wrong?”
Jesus shuddered, his teeth still chattering. “It’s cold. You were there and it was so cold.”
“You're okay. You just had a nightmare,” Judas reassured him.
Jesus whimpered and clutched his head. “Not a nightmare, that’s a vision. I’m sure it is. And- and he was chewing on you and-” his hand flew to his mouth and he frantically looked for something to vomit into. Judas was unfortunately a moment too late and the small supper Jesus had managed made its retching reappearance onto the ground. Jesus groaned as his abdominal muscles continued clenching painfully to try and rid him of food that wasn’t there. Judas held his hair out of his face and rubbed slow circles on his back, fumbling for words. “I can’t-” Jesus couldn’t bring himself to say what his own punishment had been.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.” Judas kept his voice smooth and soothing the way he remembered his mother speaking when he was sick. He was fairly certain Mary would have started to clean up the sick by now, so he began pushing sand on top of it to dry it. There wasn’t much to hide anyway. Jesus stifled a ragged cry and curled into a ball, turning away from the embarrassing mess and trusting Judas to support the weight of his body. Judas decided then that Jesus would not be traveling on foot that night.
He wasn’t surprised when Jesus began crying into his chest. That wasn’t new to him anymore, and he expected he would be seeing that more in the coming days. He thought again about what Mary would do. Usually when Jesus was stressed or upset, Mary would start singing, so he should probably try that. Judas racked his brain for something he could sing. Eventually he settled on a song from his childhood. It was one he heard many times when people gathered together for comfort in trying times. He suddenly felt very awkward, much too shy to actually look at Jesus, so he fixed his eyes on the tent flap instead. He started by humming the melody, his voice strained and uncertain until the lyrics began to come back to him.
At first it seemed like it was working. Jesus stopped crying and sat still, listening to Judas sing alone for the first time. His voice was a rich baritone, the words felt soft against his ear. Judas had never showed anyone this side before, not since he had joined his ministry anyway. He was enchanting, and the first mumbled syllables imparted a calm stillness to his body and soul.
The spell didn't last.
The tune grew familiar. Too familiar. The song was a hymn. The kind people sing at funerals. The stillness turned into tension. It started in his shoulders and spread through the rest of his body with nauseating speed. Jesus went completely rigid, heart pounding so hard it must be audible. He wasn't breathing, he wasn't moving, as if the song were a serpent and he was a rabbit trying to evade detection.
It- it wasn't. It was Judas. It was Judas, and he was trying to comfort him. If it were anyone else singing he was sure he would have run away by now. And this was all wrong. He had heard the song more times than he could count. It was integrated into so many precious memories. It had brought him so much comfort before. The song was beautiful, it was good. How could it hurt him now? Maybe if he grit his teeth the attack would turn bearable. Maybe if he stayed completely still, the song would serve its purpose and ease his grief.
He couldn't stay still. His body decided that for him when it began to shake, still refusing to allow him to take more than the smallest, shallowest breaths. It was a struggle just to raise a twitching hand to pull Judas's shirt. “Don’t,” he said so softly he couldn’t hear it himself.
Judas stopped abruptly, shocked to see how violently Jesus was trembling. His eyes were wide with terror, he looked even more frightened than before. Judas was horrified that he had somehow triggered this. “I didn’t know-”
Jesus nodded, fresh tears tracing hot lines down his cheeks and soaking into Judas's shirt. “I didn’t either,” he sobbed. He buried his face in Judas’s chest and pulled him as close as he could, his devastation too shattering to be contained now. It was all too much. The structure he had relied on for his whole life was gone, wasted entirely. It had been grueling but it had been his. It had been him. Without it he felt like his skeleton had been ripped out. He was a tent canvas with no frame to make it useful, damp and growing stifling mold. Thoughts of worthlessness piled on like flies to shit. Horrible, agonized sobs wracked through his body painfully, muffled by Judas's chest. The crying exhausted him long before the tears had run out.
Judas did not say anything for a while, instead embracing him fiercely and trying to think of something to make things right. He was at a loss, and it hurt to see Jesus like this. He deserved the burden of course, and accepted it gratefully. That did not stop the silent, helpless tears of his own from falling down to anoint Jesus's hair. “We’re going to be okay,” he said softly. “Everything will be alright. We’re going to rest here for another day.”
“We can’t,” Jesus cried into his chest. “They’ll find all of us.”
“I won’t let them,” Judas promised. “Jesus, we don’t have a choice. You aren’t well enough to keep going at this pace.”
“I know,” Jesus croaked and pulled back to look at Judas, his gorgeous brown eyes now red and puffy. “Send the others ahead. I don’t want them to get hurt.”
Judas considered the idea as he wiped away the tears and mucus with his sleeve. They had the resources to make it work. “I’ll send some of them to the next town. They can bring us supplies. I have enough silver to get us something to carry your things as well.” He had meant to return the money to the priests at first, but now he was glad he had kept it. At least it could be useful when he got rid of it. He nudged Jesus off of him for a moment once his crying stopped so he could remove his now dirty shirt. "Drink what you can." He pushed his water skin into his hands and watched to make sure he swallowed at least a few sips.
Jesus sighed and burrowed back into his arms, resting his head over his heart and listening to the slightly nervous beat. “I trust your judgment.” He made it sound like trusting Judas was the most natural decision in the world. Like their story was one of two people who had always been in perfect harmony, who would never try to hurt each other.
That weighed very heavily on Judas’s conscience. He would never understand how he could be trusted after all he had done, but somehow Jesus found him worthy of that trust. Maybe that was what it meant when faith took precedence over reason. “I’ll try to live up to that. Do you think you can sleep again?”
Jesus nodded glumly. “Don’t think I can help it. Wait with me?”
“Shh. I will.”
Jesus relaxed at hearing Judas' promise once again, his eyes already sliding shut despite how badly he wanted to stay awake. He hated how much he was asking from Judas. Asking for help was fine. Help should be requested and given freely, he had always believed that. But this kind of need was something he had never prepared for. He never expected to be broken like this.
Maybe Judas was right. Maybe they would be okay. Maybe he could hold on to that.