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“can you hold still?”
“trying,” judas says through gritted teeth. the last of the adrenaline is making its way through his body, manifesting in the bounce of his leg, the fidget of his hands, to compensate for the way his entire body is just on the verge of shaking.
“you should have said something,” jesus tuts, using a little more elbow grease than is really necessary as he rubs at the dried blood on judas’s temple. “we had a medic there, we had people you were supposed to go to.”
“i didn’t need to,” judas says. “people were seriously hurt. this is nothing. it’s nothing i couldn’t deal with-”
“just because it wasn’t off the charts of your pain tolerance does not mean you can ignore injuries that need to be cared for.” jesus says. “you need - medical attention for this.”
“-nothing i haven’t dealt with,” judas finishes.
jesus’ lips purse into a thin line and he says nothing.
it was kind of a low blow, judas knows, because jesus has always shied away when judas discusses his past, like it’s the one subject that he has nothing to say about.
“i knew it was nothing i couldn’t come back here and clean up on my own,” judas says.
jesus tosses the damp, bloodied paper towel into the trash, and turns the tap on to wet a new one. silence has finally fallen over the house in the early morning hours, with everyone returned to their rooms to lick their wounds and get some rest. the only sounds now are those of the house settling, the tap running, and the rip of the paper towel roll.
“you should have been thinking about how i worry about you.” he says.
“i don’t know why,” judas says. his leg is still bouncing. he looks down at the tiles on the floor because it’s easier than meeting jesus’ gaze.
“because i do,” jesus says, and he takes a break from rubbing the dried blood on judas’s face in favor of cupping his face in his hand, rubbing judas’s cheek with his thumb.
judas burns at the touch, and not just from the pain that’s setting in as his adrenaline wears off.
jesus turns around to search the medicine cabinet, his hand lingering as it drops from judas’s face. he looks for something, and then returns to face judas with a new clean, slightly damp paper towel.
judas looks up at him, bleary-eyed, as the combination of exhaustion and the early morning hour starts to overtake him. but jesus betrays no such fatigue, his eyes intent on judas’s face, holding the peroxide so surely, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “gotta stay awake for me,” jesus tells him softly.
judas nods, then winces at the way it makes his heads throb harder.
jesus’s face screws up in concern for a second too long before he remembers to force himself to look calm and collected. “this part’s gonna hurt,” he says, nodding to the paper towel, which judas knows, but something about the warning is so sweet that judas almost melts.
it does hurt. it hurts like a bitch. judas hisses through his teeth as jesus dabs gently at the gash on his temple, eyebrows knit in concentration.
“you’re lucky you don’t need stitches,” jesus says through gritted teeth, but he speaks more from concern than anything else.
“if i needed stitches, i would’ve went to a medic,” judas answers, trying not to move his face too much.
jesus hums a response, like he knows he should be annoyed but he’s too preoccupied to think of anything to say.
judas curses when it gets particularly painful, and jesus says, “i know, i’m sorry, almost done,” but continues cleaning the cut for what feels like forever. judas shuts his eyes, tries to think of something to get his mind off of the pain but comes up with nothing, nothing but thoughts of the night they’ve just endured, so he tries counting to ten instead.
“all done,” jesus says, finally, and judas exhales with relief.
jesus gets to putting some kind of cream on judas’s cut. now that the worst of judas’s injuries has been dealt with and jesus can stop worrying about him being seriously hurt, worry about the rest of it sets in. judas sees it, watches how his eyes change from urgent concern to distant fear, hurt, anger.
“it’s okay,” judas says. “it’s over.”
the box of gauze pads simon had picked up from the store this morning is more than half empty now, as jesus looks through it to find one the right size to cover judas’s cut. he frowns, thinking about how many of them got injured, how close they came to complete disaster. how complete disaster is almost certainly on the horizon now, because it is more than certain that the sanhedrin will never let this go.
jesus shakes his head to himself.
he already knows how this will end.
he shouldn’t let himself be this surprised about things going the way they are destined to. the way they are supposed to.
“hey,” judas continues. “hey, doc. look at me.”
jesus looks at him, meets his eyes. the box of gauze is shaking slightly, betraying the tremor in jesus’ hands.
“none of this was your fault.”
jesus shakes his head. “don’t - judas, don’t try it. i’m not listening.”
“stop.” judas reaches out, places his hand on jesus’ knee, wincing at the pain from moving his hand.
“judas.” jesus says.
“no.” judas takes his hand away, cradling it to his chest but trying to keep it nonchalant, so jesus doesn’t start freaking out on him again. “we got out - we got everyone out, and we’re fine. everyone’s all fixed up - you’re fixing me up - and it’s all fine.”
“if this is your idea of fine-”
“cuts and bruises are pretty fine to me, all things considered-”
“-and court dates-” jesus interrupts.
“but they let everyone who was arrested go,” judas insists. “not even a holding cell, jesus, we’re fine. it could’ve been - you know how much worse it could’ve been for simon.”
jesus relents, his shoulders sagging in defeat, and judas thinks maybe he’s just too tired to keep arguing. “i know,” he says, but his voice sounds pretty hollow.
judas is silent again, also too tired to think of anything to say, his brain not awake enough to try and play the chess game of figuring out what it is jesus needs to hear.
“cmere, let me see your hands,” jesus says after he’s satisfied with the gauze he’s attached to judas’s forehead with medical tape.
his head injury might’ve been more concerning, more of a sign that oh shit, something is wrong, but his hands, he knows, are much worse. already, the bruises on his knuckles are making it hard to move his hands, and he’s pretty sure they look gnarly, but he hasn’t been brave enough to look for too long.
judas’s knuckles, sure enough, are bruised to shit and bloody, and just looking at them makes his head a little swimmy again.
“hey, hey,” jesus says, “’s alright. i’m gonna clean them, okay?”
judas forces himself to look away before he does something stupid like throw up or pass out. “uh-huh,” he says, his breathing a little shallow.
“it’s okay,” jesus repeats softly as he gets the next paper towel ready. “it’s okay, it’s okay.”
this time, when it touches his wounds, judas gasps in pain, biting down on his lip to stop himself from making any more noise. it’s worse than the cut on his forehead, much worse, and judas is properly lightheaded again.
he’s about to push jesus away from him when jesus starts talking again, soothing him gently. “i know, i know. i know it hurts, almost done.”
he finishes with one of judas’s hands and judas takes a few deep breaths, in and out, in and out. jesus tosses out more paper towel and then his hand is back on judas’s face, tilting his jaw up to meet his gaze.
“you’re doing so well, judas,” jesus says.
judas face burns under the attention. him and jesus - whatever him and jesus have going on between them - it’s definitely something, but judas doesn’t know what name to put on it, if he should even give it a name. it’s new, and it’s scary, and jesus has his whole saving-the-world gig which obviously takes precedence over whatever is going on between them. like tonight, when jesus had to lead a protest, and now has to act like more of a disapproving leader than a concerned boyf- boysomething as he cleans judas’s wounds.
not that he isn’t concerned, judas corrects himself.
he just maybe isn’t showing the concern in the way judas thought he would be.
judas swallows, taking another deep breath.
“ibuprofen,” judas says.
jesus smiles at him in a way that’s so soft and fond it makes judas’s heart forget to beat for a second. and then he leaves the bathroom in search of ibuprofen and water, leaving judas alone. without any eyes on him, judas takes a moment to let himself buckle under the pain, leaning against the bathroom wall and screwing his eyes shut, thankful for the solidity of the wall against the uninjured side of his temple.
jesus’ footsteps are too quiet, or perhaps judas is in so much pain that his audio perception just isn’t what it usually is, because he doesn’t hear jesus come back into the bathroom, so jesus just catches him in this compromised position.
“hey,” jesus says, holding out the pills and a plastic cup of tap water. “drink, baby.”
judas peels his head away from the wall, pausing for a moment as he adjusts to his own lightheadedness again. he reaches out to take the pulls - another wince - so jesus crouches down to meet his eye level, takes things into his own hands.
“here, drink,” jesus’ voice is soft and quiet as he holds the cup up to judas’s mouth. judas takes a sip, and jesus removes the cup from his lips, his gaze intent on judas’s, a gentle, guiding smile on his face that somehow makes judas feel less like he’s currently roasting in the pits of hell.
“now open,” jesus says, and he places the pills in judas’s mouth for him.
“another sip,” he instructs, like judas doesn’t know how to take pills, holding the water up to his lips again. but judas listens, takes another sip and swallows the pills and tries to ignore the warm and fuzzy feeling of being so taken care of.
“that’s it, baby.” jesus says, that smile still there.
judas doesn’t think he’s ever heard jesus use a pet name for him outside of when they’re actively fucking. jesus must be more worried about him than he’s letting on.
jesus is quick in bandaging the hand he’s already cleaned, which still hurts but not as acutely as it had when jesus was cleaning it. he wraps the gauze around judas’s hand gingerly, slowing down when judas’s breath hitches, taking care to keep judas as comfortable as possible. too soon, they’re back at square one, and jesus is looking at his other hand, and judas is almost childish enough to refuse treatment.
“gonna be so fast, sweetheart.”
judas nods, takes a deep breath, and then jesus is cleaning the bloody knuckles of his left hand and judas swears to god it hurts so bad he sees red. he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember how to breathe.
jesus talks him through it the whole time, something about how it’s okay and it’s almost over, but judas goes in and out for a second there, unable to focus on anything outside of the sharp pain. he swears it didn’t hurt this bad when he’d gotten the injury, which might be the magic of adrenaline, but still.
“all done, all done,” jesus says when the pain subsides, and he’s right there with more cream and gauze, wrapping judas’s knuckles a few times around. the sting hasn’t quite subsided, and judas is beginning to think he won’t be able to comfortably use his hands for a considerably long and agonizing amount of time.
judas is not aware that tears had escaped from his squeezed-shut eyes until jesus’ hands are on his face, wiping them away for him. “it’s over,” jesus promises him. “no more of that, okay?”
“okay,” judas answers, his voice a little hoarse.
his head is still swimming, and the idea of leaning against the bathroom wall again is quite enticing until judas realizes he can just lie down in bed.
“can we go to bed?” he asks.
“of course, baby.” jesus busies himself with putting away the various first aid items that are now scattered all over the bathroom, gaze flickering back to judas every few seconds as though making sure he’s still there. “are you sleeping in my bed or am i sleeping in yours?” he asks, nonchalantly, like there is no world in which they sleep in separate beds tonight, like he will not stand for being apart from him.
judas considers this for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of both - either way, he will get jesus in his arms, which is what he really cares about. he looks at jesus, at a loss, the decision-making suddenly too much for him.
“that’s alright,” jesus says, like he knows what judas is thinking. “mine’s closer, d’you wanna just go there?”
that question is more manageable, so judas nods, and jesus helps him stand from where he had been sitting on the toilet seat, careful to place his hand around judas’s arm and not take his hand, which judas appreciates.
the house is still quiet, save for the ever-present creaking and the sound of the heat coming through the pipes. they walk on careful feet through the hallway, and jesus stops, briefly, in front of the door to matthew’s room. “i need to check on them,” he whispers to judas.
saying them in front of matthew’s room seems awfully presumptuous, but judas has learned by now to trust jesus’ methods, so he says nothing.
jesus opens the door to matthew’s room slowly, carefully, and silently, opening it just a crack so the light from the hallway doesn’t seep in too much. sure enough, both of them are in there, simon and matthew wrapped around each other, a singular unit instead of two separate bodies. judas raises an eyebrow.
he had so thought that something was going on between simon and matthew, but had never, of course, dared to ask, allowing them their privacy the same way the rest of them allowed him and jesus their own privacy. tonight, though, had been different — it makes sense, then, that they wouldn’t be able to leave each other alone, to part from each other for even a second — and judas understands that, especially tonight.
jesus shuts the door as quietly and swiftly as he had opened it, and then they’re continuing down the hallway.
he doesn’t have to be as quiet when he opens the door to his own room. jesus changes into sweats and an oversized shirt, shucking his dirty clothes off and tossing them in the general direction of his laundry basket. he then turns his attention to judas, taking another shirt and sweats over to him, unbuckling judas’s belt for him and pulling down his pants, tossing them in the same direction as his own once judas has kicked them off. he looks at judas’s bloodstained shirt, his hands at the hem, looking into judas’s eyes, a question.
judas rolls his eyes but lifts his hands over his head compliantly, allowing jesus to take his shirt off for him. jesus is deliberately careful getting it over his hands, making sure the fabric doesn’t brush his bandages, and for all judas wants to bitch about being treated like a kid, he’s rather grateful for it. jesus dresses him similarly, taking particular care to avoid his hands again, placing a careful kiss to his forehead when he’s done.
jesus looks down at judas’s bloody shirt on the floor next to them, and bends down to pick it up so he can toss it into the laundry pile.
“throw it out,” judas says, looking at the shirt and then looking away.
jesus doesn’t second-guess him, just sets the shirt aside to throw away or turn into rags tomorrow. “all done, baby,” he says. “nothing to do but sleep.”
jesus’ bed is, as always, fastidiously made, and judas falters when he looks at it, wondering how he’s doing to find a painless way to do this, his hands aching the way they do.
jesus must be thinking the same thing, because he says, “why don’t i get in first so you can fit yourself in after me, and we won’t have to do any shuffling?”
that sounds like as good a plan as any, so judas nods. jesus lies down on his back, pulling the blankets down so judas has as much space as possible.
not that judas needs the space, because he folds himself into jesus’ side, laying on his stomach so the backs of his hands don’t face the issue of rubbing against the bedsheets. he places one of his hands on jesus’ chest, right over the steady beat of his heart, and leans his head into the crook of jesus’ neck, inhaling his scent.
jesus pulls the blanket back over them, careful to avoid judas’s hands, and cards one of his hands through judas’s hair gently.
“we made it,” judas says, voice already addled with sleepiness, now that there is nothing stopping him from it, all of his surroundings working together to make him feel warm and safe and comfortable. and held.
jesus hums, and judas can feel the vibration of it at the same time he hears it.
“we did,” judas continues. “and it wasn’t perfect, so we can talk about that tomorrow, but we made it back here, and we’re all gonna sleep safe tonight.”
“i know,” jesus says softly, craning his neck to kiss judas’s head. “all that matters right now is that i’ve got you.”
“right here,” judas says, pressing his lips to jesus’ neck.