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It was a treacherous path to go to the tomb, and to be honest with themselves none of the apostles really had it in them to go to it. It was a reminder, a depressing reminder, and it was also a place where Caiaphas and Annas’ soldiers, or the Romans’ soldiers, or the mob, or anyone who just wanted a piece of them would know exactly where to find them.
So it was usually just Mary who made her way through the winding urban streets, as she had in a different life, not sure what she was looking for here any more than she had been before.
When she went to the tomb and he wasn’t there, her first thought was that the Romans had gone too fucking far this time. Body stealing was really on a completely different level, but what did you expect from people with absolute power?
But then, after that anger faded (the anger that was always there, had been baked into her since birth, since the day the Romans had first taken over), she had another thought, a strange one.
The thought to go check one more grave, an unmarked one this time.
And that was where she found him. Well, to be quite clear, that was where she found them both.
***
Jesus couldn’t have explained it to anyone else, how he just knew things. But he had felt the moment that Judas had died, felt it harder than the lashes, the beatings, and the nails. It had been a stab in his gut that had bowled him over.
This was supposed to be his sacrifice, his death, not Judas’. That had never been a part of the plan. Or maybe it always had been, who knew anymore?
And then he had seen him, heard him, asking him things that didn’t make sense. Maybe it had been all in his head or maybe, somehow, Judas was still out there, still within reach. And so he had known, when it had all worked out the way it was meant to – three days in the making – that he had to at least try.
This wouldn’t be like Lazarus – this wasn’t to show everyone what he could do, or who he was.
This would be something else, and maybe he wouldn’t be able to figure out what that was until he had done it. If he could. Maybe it had been too long.
Judas looked like he was sleeping, maybe, other than the awful bent of his neck and the way he was still curled in on himself, like he had sobbed himself to sleep even in death.
Lazarus had come forth when called, but this might be trickier.
Jesus leaned forward, wrapped his arms around Judas and held him – Judas had always been so odd about physical contact, wrapping his arms around Jesus one second and shoving him out of the way the next. This was the only time he hadn’t fought it –
And then, he started to. His body jerked, his eyes whipped open, and he fought like hell. He yelled, and screamed, and pleaded in a sobbing voice, barely audible, but “no, don’t, I can’t, don’t” seemed to be the main words.
“Judas, it’s me. I’ve got you.”
The eyes, wider now, the sobbing down to a whimper. And then – “my neck hurts”.
“One second.” A touch, along the side of it, as Judas flinched, then relaxed.
“You’re back,” Judas mumbled, and then, “I’m back.”
And with that, he collapsed.
***
Mary had been watching all of this, silently, because there really is not a way to politely interrupt your dead friend bringing your other dead friend back from the dead.
And then she turned and high-tailed it back to the camp, because that had to be where they were going.
They couldn’t just be leaving them all behind, leaving her behind. Could they?
***
Judas was dead weight, though at least no longer literally, as Jesus carried him back towards the camp. He’d have to explain to them all what had happened – he couldn’t just burst in and tell them that he was back. They would feel like they had been tricked, maybe, or they would feel like they had been vindicated, maybe, or Simon would use it as another reason that Jesus should go float over and just lay waste to Rome.
There were Roman patrols out, but somehow they didn’t even seem to notice them. Maybe they assumed that Jesus was taking a drunk friend home from the bar. If they only knew.
***
“You’re not going to believe this,” Mary tried to explain. “But I went out to…” She made a gesture with her hands. Words were already beginning to fail her. “And… Jesus was there. Walking around. Oh, and Judas too.”
“Stop drinking already,” Thomas said. “You’re not going to get me to believe some nonsense like that.”
“Okay, Thomas, maybe shut up okay?” Mary said. “I’m not drunk. What, are you? All of you have been sitting around, not talking about what happened, not doing anything, just sitting here drinking.” She reached down and picked up a bottle on the ground. “I’m pretty sure this is Judas’, anyway.”
“Bought with blood money!” Simon declared.
“That hasn’t stopped you from drinking it!” Peter shot back.
“Can we backtrack to the ‘people are coming back from the dead’ part of the conversation?” Bartholomew suggested.
“Like I said, they’re both walking around as much as you or I. So maybe we should stop bickering like children and put on our ‘I’m glad to see you’ faces.”
***
Judas started to stir around the time that Jesus made it back to camp, and his explanations and welcomes were cut short.
“Let’s find a safe place for him,” Jesus said, and if the others had any complaints about Judas being brought, quite literally, back into the fold, they didn’t share them. At least not now.
There was a blanket in the corner, and a pillow off to the side, and Jesus set him down there, pulling the blanket over him. It was a bit bumpy, but at least he would have a place to rest for a while.
And then Jesus tried to get up, to ask Mary to look after him. He’d have to attend to things, there were other people he’d have to see. He didn’t know exactly what, but he figured that he would know as he went on.
A hand flung up and grabbed Jesus’ ankle.
“No, please. Don’t go.”
He turned around. The apostles were crowding in, snaking their heads over, watching.
“Can you give us some room?” Jesus asked. They backed away. They still listened to him; he supposed that was a good sign. This wasn’t for people to watch. He crouched down and smoothed down Judas’ wisps of hair with a careful pat. “Judas, hey. It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
Judas’ response was babbling, blubbering, panic. Jesus didn’t realize the cause, at first, until he followed his eyes to their target – Jesus’ hand, the skin having healed awkwardly around a nail wound.
“It doesn’t hurt. Not anymore. Here.” He reached out and took Judas’ hand in his own, then squeezed it. He watched as Judas traced it with his own finger, his eyes still full of tears, and then slumped back, exhausted again.
“You should leave me here,” Judas said suddenly, “You should have left me there, left me dead. Leave me in a puddle, leave me in… drag me through the…”
But Jesus cut him off.
“I’m not leaving you. After this, you choose where you go. You can go with the other apostles, and it might be dangerous. You might be persecuted, you might die. Or you could go off and live a normal life. Run a store, own a farm. Fall in love. Whatever you want to do, Judas. But not this again. This is the one thing I don’t want for you.”
***
Mary hadn’t been snooping, really she hadn’t. She had just turned her head around the corner to see if either of them needed anything.
And she heard Jesus singing – he’d always had a nice voice.
She recognized the song, too. Of course she did.
“Everything’s alright, yes, everything’s fine, and I want you to sleep well tonight… let the world turn without you tonight…”
Mary smiled. Maybe they were all singing against the tide, still, but for tonight it would be okay for all three of them. And she never thought she would be able to say that again.