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How could the man meant to damn him be so beautiful under the moonlight?
Jesus had dirt on his palms. His knees were stained with the fresh grass of the garden, his soul stained from the pain of his unanswered prayers. He had barely had the strength to pull himself upright again when he heard the soft, timid footsteps approach. Yet here he was, standing in front of the man he had always called friend. Judas' face was solemn, his jaw tense with something unspeakable, unknowable. The feeling in Jesus' chest felt exactly the same. He wanted to reach out and cup his jaw, to feel the smoothness of his skin in the silence for one last time. But he found himself as still as the Roman icons. He was frozen in place, the moment etched in time. Judas had said something, a murmured fools . Jesus couldn't find himself focusing on the words, though. He honed in on the cadence, on the way his lips formed over them. The one thing that Jesus couldn't shake was how disappointed Judas looked, how decided.
Does he hate me this much now?
Jesus' heart thundered with agony, each beat a reminder that it was soon to be his last, and that it would all be at Judas' hands. He could swear blood still stained his temples from the sweat of the garden. He wondered if that's what Judas was studying on him as his eyes wandered over every feature. Something twitched in Judas' expression.
"Will you stop?"
It was a quick whisper, fallen from Judas' lips. If Jesus hadn't been staring, he wouldn't have caught it. Jesus' eyes flicked back up to his. He had held that gaze so many times, but he had never looked at him like this. Not once.
"What?" He asked. Or at least, he attempted. It was a soundless thing. Jesus couldn't speak yet. He could, however, hear them coming. He could hear the distant murmurs, the sounds of soldiers and their boots. He could hear the sounds of his impending death marching towards him swiftly. His racing heart was the beat that lured them to battle, thudding in his ears. Judas didn't repeat the words. His eyes just narrowed sharply, something furiously desperate brewing underneath his expression.
Will you?
His eyes were begging him.
Jesus' breath caught. He wished the whole world would just catch for a moment— that it would stop spinning and allow him to think. He wanted to say anything to get out of where he was. He wanted to tell Judas that they would be safe. He wanted to tell him that they could all go home and pretend none of this ever happened.
But he couldn't.
How could he?
That had never been an option. It had never been in the cards.
He shook his head instead, a slight thing that was barely even there. He was so weak in his answer that the wind that blew by nearly knocked him off his feet, swaying him side to side as if the response lived all the way in his core. No. He wouldn't stop. This was all there would ever be. This was it. This was who he was. His purpose would go unchanging.
No matter how much Judas wanted it to differ.
No matter how much Jesus wanted it to differ.
Something crumbled in Judas' expression— angry and afraid. His eyes dropped to the dirt for just a moment, his mouth smoothing into a grim line. Then, his eyes were closing as he heaved a sigh. He looked back up at Jesus. He looked as if it were the last time.
Jesus supposed it was. Both of their minds had clearly been made up. It felt like standing on the edge of the world, teetering on the cusp of before and after, the beginning and the end. It felt like the world should have shook. It felt like there should be roaring winds and guttural thunder. Jesus thought maybe there should be something more. But there wasn't. It was only this.
It was only ever this.
When it came down to it, Jesus guessed he was glad it was just the two of them. He couldn't have wanted this with anyone else. His fingers twitched helplessly by his side. He wondered if Judas would fault him if he reached out to hold his hand, if he would rip away. It's what kept Jesus from doing so. He could take all of this. He could take the humiliation. He could take the agony. He could take the finality.
He couldn't take knowing he lived in a world where Judas Iscariot didn't want to hold his hand.
But Judas' fingers were twitching, too, a breath catching in his chest. His eyes glistened as they searched Jesus desperately.
Still a silent beg.
Jesus felt his heart fracture, the tiny pieces almost melting away his resolve, tearing it from his grasp. He shook his head at himself, taking a step forward.
"My friend." His voice shook over the fallacy. He had always been wrong in using that word. Judas wasn't his friend. Friend was an understatement for what he was. Friend didn't even begin to describe them. Yet Judas shivered anyway, a tremble running through his bones as he snapped back to attention. He stared up at Jesus, eyes wide, expression closed off. Jesus took a deep breath of his own, filling his lungs with what would soon be scarce to him. He managed to give Judas a simple, shaking smile that twitched at the edges of his lips. It was just for him. It was only ever just for him. "What you're going to do, do it quickly."
The footsteps had stopped, just a hair away, really. He knew they were waiting for them at the edge, their sharp eyes trained on them. They were watching Judas' every move in the dark, studying him with an expected intensity. The air shifted. And Judas's expression closed all the way.
Judas' hand rose and for a moment, the look in his eyes made Jesus think he would hit him. Yet it was nothing of the sort. He touched his face tenderly, and then his other hand was rising too, cradling him gently. And that's how it ended. Judas' lips crashed against his with a resolute intent, Jesus' gasp catching between them. Judas held tight, but Jesus wasn't sure why. Jesus would have never pulled away for anything in the world. He kissed back, and if they were anywhere else, it would have made the angels sing, the stars fall.
His eyes fell shut, reveling in what was fleeting, the only true kiss he was ever meant to have, the sweetened warmth that had him feeling complete. Despite everything, despite the position, Judas' lips made him shiver. They were tender, gentle. They were loving. His hands were soft against him, an anchor in the midst of the waves of anxiety crashing in his chest. All too quickly, though, the touch felt foreign. It felt different. He went to raise his hand, to pull Judas closer so he could feel him in a way he recognized.
But as soon as he did, something in him lurched.
A chill rattled up his spine, something so cold it almost burned. It seeped through him. Something cracked around him. He went to back away, yet Judas' hands were still there. Jesus suddenly felt like his limbs were too heavy to move. A nauseating dizziness struck through him, making him keep his eyes slammed closed as it felt like the earth floor was ripped out from under him.
Something was wrong.
For a moment, he just felt weightless and hot— as if he had been tossed up in the air or thrown into too deep water. It was as if he couldn't find his footing. The earth might as well have been quaking and cracking beneath his feet. Something was pulling uncomfortably at him, and it felt like his bones were shifting and grinding together. His balance faltered, and all he could do was fall into Judas. At least that's what he felt like he was doing. A tumbling roar rang in his ears, loud and ear-splitting. He gasped into the kiss again, and he could have sworn he felt Judas do the same, a tiny vibration falling over his lips. But then the noise was fading into something else.
A laugh. A familiar one. A dusty, desert-dry crackle that ran through his bones, chilling his blood.
Jesus finally felt steadier as the sound echoed in his ears. He felt his feet on the ground again, even if he was swaying. He pushed Judas away, harsher than he meant to. It sent Judas stumbling a bit as Jesus whipped to the origin of the laughter, only prying his eyes open when faced with the hedges at the edges of the garden. His eyes seemed blurry, but even as he blinked, it didn't quite disappear. He stared, his breath heaving. There was nothing there. But it felt like there was. Jesus went to drop his hands from Judas' face— which was strange since he didn't remember touching him. Jesus looked at him.
Judas had turned to look at the source, too. Only it wasn't Judas.
It wasn't Judas.
Jesus' breath caught in a harsh gasp as he reeled back in alarm, his heart flying to his throat. He ripped his hands away as if he had been burned by hellfire.
Jesus was left staring up at a man with wide eyes— crystal pupils that didn't match the smooth fallen-leaf ones that he had grown so used to. Golden brown hair caught in the star shine, messy and tangled and long. Blood and myrrh tainted skin.
He was staring at himself.
"What—" Jesus began to gasp, but he choked on the voice, something richer falling from his lips. His eyes widened. as his hand flew to his throat.
The body that was his whipped to look at him, seeming stunned for a moment, only to quickly blink it away. He exhaled. "It worked. Jesus, it worked—"
The sound of his own voice ringing over his name made his head give a dizzying spin. He stumbled back in fear. He looked down at his hands only to see familiar ones, ones that he had studied like an art piece. They began to tremble. They were Judas'. His breath caught as his head whipped up to stare into his own eyes ."What—"
"Don't be afraid," his body— no, Judas whispered. "It's okay. I promise."
And before Jesus could do anything else, before he could question how, before he could scream, soldiers were laying hands on him. Only they didn't arrest him like they were meant to. They simply pulled him back by his tunic, shoving him out of the way. The world twisted. Jesus' mind twisted.
Judas was somehow in Jesus' body. Jesus was somehow in his.
He fell to the ground from the push.
He watched as they took hold of him— Judas — like he was watching a nightmare. His heart thudded violently. He felt frozen.
What?
This wasn't right. He was... They were arresting....
It was all going wrong.
Jesus felt like his mind was melting into a puddle. He would have said it felt like he was outside of his body as he watched it happen— but he literally was. He began to scramble upright, dirt burying under Judas' clean fingernails as he clawed at the ground to become upright again.
"Wait!" Jesus tried to cry out, the voice catching wrong and deep in his throat. "Wait, no! It's the wrong man—"
Someone sneered over their shoulder, someone that Jesus supposed Judas would have recognized. Yet Jesus had never seen the man a day in his life. "It's far too late for any foolish tricks, Iscariot. You have your money. Now make yourself scarce before we find reason to arrest you with the rest of them."
They turned away from him like he was nothing to be concerned about.
Judas cried out as they ripped his— No Jesus'. No his. No Jesus'. Huh? — stolen arms behind him violently.
Jesus felt an unfamiliar panic rise in his chest at the sound. He went to rush forward. "Let go of him!"
He was only knocked back by one of the soldiers, someone who growled a horrible name at him. Jesus scurried back on the ground, the dust muddling with his dizziness as he stared at the soldiers binding thin wrists. His heart thundered on and on in his chest. And he could only watch.
The others were beginning to rouse from their slumbers at all the commotion, slow and peaceful and confused at first before the panic set in. Then chaos erupted. Swords were being drawn from each side, the screeching slide of metal filling the night air. Teeth were bared, muscles strained, veins popping. Jesus was getting ready to scramble back up in an attempt to stop them— he didn't want them to get Judas hurt— when the voice came. Jesus' voice. But... not.
His head was beginning to ache and crackle like a bonfire.
"Why are you so obsessed with fighting?" Judas seethed in Jesus' resonance, his eyes narrowing as he spun around at Peter. It was more bitter and biting than the tone Jesus would have usually used. The words were so strained Peter flinched back, his sword actually lowering. "This— This is over. Go home, Peter. Go home to your wife. Go back to your fishing. This is done."
They were nothing like Jesus' words. It sounded like defeat. They cracked almost disdainfully, almost blaming. But they were final. Peter took another step back, his sword falling from his fingers and clattering to the ground. His eyes were wide, beginning to become wet. They glistened.
Judas' face contorted with sympathy and something unsettled. He hesitated. Jesus never hesitated. "Don't start crying. Don't—"
"Enough of this," one of the soldiers called. "We're to deliver him to the High Priest's house. The night only grows shorter."
Another nodded when it was clear all the disciples had frozen in place, no more protests to be made at Judas' command. "Make haste."
And before Jesus knew it, he was watching Judas be swept away. He shook his head in the darkness. It had all happened so quickly— It was all— He pushed himself up again.
"What did you do?" he called out, but his voice was breaking. Judas heard him regardless. When their eyes met, he looked tired, but he didn't look scared. Not anymore. Then, he smiled at him.
Judas smiled at him.
And a soldier pushed him forward, and they were gone.
It was all happening far, far too quickly.
Jesus tried to run after him, his throat swelling with panic as his vision tilted, but he didn't get very close. He was stumbling over the loose stones, his steps feeling foreign and wrong as he shoved past the others. Mary had caught his arms, her veil falling to her shoulders as she lurched with him. He spun to her, nearly hyperventilating.
"Mary—" He gasped out. "Mary, you have to let me go after him. I'm—"
But it wasn't his voice. It wasn't his name coming from Mary's lips as she whispered. He wasn't himself. Mary had no idea which man she was holding to.
Would she even believe him if he were to tell her?
There was nothing he could do to reveal it. There were no miracles, no divine intervention. He couldn't feel the ever-present tingle in his fingertips or the thrill down his spine like he usually did. He couldn't hear his Father. It was all gone. It was all wrong.
What was he meant to do?
Judas was going to be punished for a crime he didn't commit. He was marching off on his very own suicide mission. There was no way for Jesus to stop it. Not in this vessel, anyway. It was already in motion.
The plan had evolved into one that wouldn't work. It was pointless. It was just blood being shed. No one would be saved from this sacrifice.
No one except for Jesus.
So when he opened his mouth to protest, the only thing that fell forth was a hitching sound. He slapped his hand over his lips to try to stop it as he stepped back, but that didn't stop the tears from pooling in his eyes, his breath snagging.
Mary only followed after him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.
"Easy, Judas. You look like you're going to fall," she whispered as she sank to the ground with him.
He shook his head, more panic coming in place of words. She hushed him. It was gentle, but somehow stern. Mary had never spoken to him that way before. But he had always heard that sting, that conviction in her tone when she was trying to bring Judas peace. She reached up, fingers touching to his throbbing temples, prompting him down to her chest. With gasping, hiccuping breaths, he allowed her to bring him in.
"Judas, what did you do?" She kept repeating it softly, with equal amounts of anger and pity. "You beautiful fool, what did you do?"
Her fingers were dancing through his hair, trying to comfort the tears away, but it only made it worse.
This was wrong.
Everything about it was wrong. He felt so uncomfortable and unnatural like he was shoved into a tight space he could never fit in. The way he moved was off; the way he thought was off.
But most of all, the way Mary was holding him was off. She didn’t touch him like this.
"I need you to listen to me," Jesus whimpered as he tugged out of her arms. She began to shake her head, not able to meet his eyes. He reached out anyway, cupping her chin. He gently eased her sights to him. "No, Mary. Look. Listen. I'm begging you. This is all wrong."
The grief in her eyes was as ragged as a tempestuous storm on the sea. Her lips quivered and the look on her face was just short of raging. She reached out her hand, tapping her fingers under his chin. "It's not an excuse I want to hear, Judas. I don't need you to try to spin pretty words to try to explain this. Not this time. I know it’s wrong.”
"No, no. You need to let me explain—" Jesus implored her, his own lips wobbling. She shook her head, looking like she would deny him, and he couldn't let that happen. He needed to start moving, he needed a plan. Now.
"It's not... It's not an excuse. You need to listen. It's wrong. I'm... him. He's me," Jesus stammered out. Mary's lips parted, her eyes furrowing just so. It was confusion; it was concerned.
"Judas," she murmured, reaching out to brush his curls away from his forehead. Her words were carefully spoken, the worry in her irises turning his stomach. "What are you trying to say? You're... not making any sense."
A noise of frustration pulled at his throat. A new tingle burned in the corners of his eyes. "I know. I know it doesn't make any sense. That's what I'm trying to tell you. This is wrong. Mary. I'm Jesus. Judas— He's the one that was taken. Something happened. Something happened and I can't explain it and I'm scared and—"
Mary reeled back, taking her touch away, her eyes darting over every part of his new face. Then, she was slowly shaking her head. "Jude... no. Don't do this. Don't— No, I know this is hard—"
"In Magdala," Jesus burst out. "In Magdala, the demons in your head would scream your father's name. It would thunder behind your temples. Your mind would ache. You couldn't bear the light, you couldn't bear noise. Your brain was on fire. And you never told anyone this part. No one except for—"
"Jesus," she breathed. She said his name like it was the first time all over again. It was a whispered, twinkling thing. For a moment, the fact sat between them—an unmoving, heavy object. He could see her mind spinning just as much as his was. Her lips and brows twitched
as she studied him further, looking for something in the strong, soft features. For a moment, he thought she would deny it, shove him away, claim it was just Judas breaking. He wouldn’t blame her. Who would believe something such as this? But that's when the relief came flooding into her expression. "Oh, my—" Mary was gasping, but then she was grabbing hold of Judas' arms, pulling Jesus in, hugging him tight. Tighter than before. It was treasuring. She buried her nose against his shoulder as she continued to crush his bones. "I had thought..."
She always had endless, unshaken faith in him.
For a moment, Jesus just allowed himself to be held. He let himself be held like he was a shaking child afraid of the dark. He didn't see himself as much more than that at the moment. The thought flickered in his mind that he should pray, but no words came. He was coming up empty, a dried-up well with nothing left to give. There were no words. Because how could something like this happen? How could his Father...
"Judas," he whispered. "Mary, it's Judas. It's Judas—"
He finally pulled back for good, leaving the comforting fortress of Mary's soft arms. The tears ran down his cheeks, leaving behind burning trails of panic. He searched her face. It was stricken as well, even if it was melding with the relief and the release of anger. She reached out, touching his face. Something shifted in her expression as she let her fingertips drift down the soft, shaven skin of his cheek. Her lips parted with just a small breath, just enough to show... something.
Her fingers dropped to his chin, tilting it up. "We'll get him back."
Something in her words made Jesus' resolve click together, the world snapping into place and the panic muting as it was replaced with determination. Judas. This was about Judas now. And he had to stop him from going down the road that would do no one any good. He nodded, sucking a breath past his trembling lips. And he climbed to his feet, tugging away from Mary. His gaze found his chosen.
The others were panicking, plain and simple. Jesus was sure, however, that they weren't spiraling as much as he was. His hands shook as he took a step forward. He had never known what it was like to walk among them like this.
For a moment, he could only watch them. He supposed he always knew that the disciples acted slightly differently when he wasn't around. They weren't as composed, weren't as chaste. But this was chaos.
"Calm down," he couldn't help but breathe, a protective instinct running through him as he watched them unravel. They didn't hear him. And Jesus wasn't even sure which one of them he should focus on. Peter had disappeared from them. He had run. Matthew was standing frozen, looking like he wasn't far behind him. James was seething. John was crying. Simon looked numb, while Andrew rubbed at the bigger man’s back. They were getting worse by the second.
"You all need to calm down!" Jesus' voice raised, pleading and grim. "Do you think this hysteria will do him any good?"
He felt like a hypocrite for even saying it.
All the eyes snapped to him. The night air caught around them, a sudden silence plunging. But it wasn't obedience he saw in their eyes.
Jesus' breath hitched. And he took a fearful step back.
It was like they were all at once realizing what had happened as his voice rang out against the night. It shifted in their eyes, leaving something enraged and feral behind. He felt his throat constrict at the heated glares. He took another step back, any words he possibly had dying on his tongue. He had to remind himself that it wasn't himself they were seeing. But even so...
Judas.
This is how they were looking at Judas.
He parted his lips with a wet sound, a shaking breath escaping as he went to explain, but then Thomas was starting forward.
Thomas. Jesus' disciple, but Judas' friend. His closest friend. The one who had wrapped his arms around him at the Passover supper earlier in the night. The one who understood Judas to a fault. The one who Judas sought out when Jesus and Mary couldn't be enough. The one who always spoke up for Judas. The one who calmed his attacks. The one he laughed with. The one who could make him smile. The one who Judas trusted.
The one who's fist was crunching into his nose.
Mary let out a cry as he hit the ground once again. A fitting place for Jesus these days. "Thomas!"
The pain wasn't like anything Jesus had felt before, bone sliding against bone, snapping and cracking. He smelled the blood as it began to pour down his face. He let out a crying whimper as he brought his hand up to cup it, even though the throbbing was spreading throughout his face, ice-cold pain radiated all the way to his ears. He could taste the blood running over his tongue. He spat. And then he spat again. He couldn't hear what was being said over the ringing in his ears. But then all at once, it shifted to a rage. Because it wasn't Jesus he had meant to hit.
He had meant to give this pain to Judas.
His head snapped up, not caring that the blood was staining his hands, running down to his neck. Thomas went to hit him again with clenched teeth, but James caught him with a mumbled he's not worth it.
And that's wrong. Because of course, Judas was worth it. Of course, he was. He always had been.
It makes Jesus snap from the ground, voice snarled with pain and thick with emotion. Mary rushed to his side, touching his arm. She tried to wipe some of the blood from below his nose, but Jesus gently pushed her hand away.
"You're his friend!" Jesus shouted. "You're his friend, and this is what you would do?"
Thomas panted, tears wetting his cheeks. His brows furrowed with confusion, but then he shook his head angrily as he shoved James' hand off his shoulder, attempting to storm forward again. "You have some nerve talking about what a friend should do. And I’ll tell you one thing, Iscariot. You are no friend of mine!”
That last part was screeched as he glared down at the bloodied man beneath him. His eyes were hard, filled with horror and devastation and rage. And so much contempt. He pointed a shaking finger at him, accusing. "What you have done tonight, Iscariot— It's unforgivable. We'll never forgive you, and he won't forgive you. You're a murderer. You're a coward . You're a—"
"Thomas, enough—" Mary was crying now, too. Everything was a disaster. Jesus clenched his teeth together, eyes narrowing.
"Who are you to say he doesn't deserve forgiveness?" Jesus hissed in return. "That is not your decision to make. You don't get to act like—"
"Why the hell are you speaking in the third person?" Thomas snapped, and then his eyes narrowed. "You let madness control you? You're a madman, now? That's what this is? You damn fool—"
“The only fool here is you! I said it’s not your decision to make! Now be quiet for a moment!”
The authority in his voice was unmistakable, the type of voice that commanded waves and cast out demons. It shook through the air and every jaw snapped shut. It wasn’t a miracle. Jesus was sure it wasn’t. He lifted his trembling hands, rubbing at his temples. He massaged at the smooth skin as he tried to find his own words once more. Then, he slowly raised his head. His voice was a strained, attempted gentle. It was pleading.
“I can… appreciate your disturbance and your confusion. I truly can. But if you forget the teachings as soon as a crisis hits, maybe they were never ingrained in you in the first place. Take a breath, calm down, and listen to me, my brother.”
Thomas breathed heavily. His eyes flicked over him. Something twisted in his face. Hateful. Disgusted. “…Since when do you call me brother?”
Jesus blinked in confusion. He had always—
Ah. Right.
Judas hated the term. He thought it fatuous when it was spoken to someone who wasn’t blood. He supposed it was a good thing he was never trying to impersonate the man; he would have been horrible at it. He could have never truly been the man. The way of speaking, the personality, even the way he carried himself...
Jesus winced, prodding gently at his far-too-tender nose. It would bruise. It was most definitely broken. He had been in Judas’ body for mere moments and he was already messing it up. The thought was dizzying. “He doesn't— I—Allow me a moment to explain. Listen to me.”
The quiet lingered. Jesus could hear the rustle of wind in the leaves, the heavy and frantic breaths of the panicked chosen. They stared back at him, almost blankly.
”I am... not who you believe me to be."
The words left his mouth awkwardly. His fingers flared by his side, the nervous energy thrumming through them. It was an odd feeling. He wasn't necessarily used to it. It felt wasp-buzz horrible. For a moment, he could only stand with their silence, feeling a heat creep up his neck.
Then, Andrew's shaking voice rose.
"No, Judas. You most certainly are not."
Jesus took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "That’s…Not what I’m saying. I’m telling you that I am not Judas. I’m… Something happened. When Judas and I—"
“Judas and you?” Philip interjected. It was so alarmed, it had Jesus’ eyes flying open. “Did you just say that? Are you truly trying to claim—”
"Blasphemy," Thomas hissed as soon as the words left Philip’s lips. "Pure blasphemy. You expect us to believe that? Do you find us stupid?"
Jesus couldn't help but take a step back as he raised his voice. He lifted his bloodied hands in a placating gesture. They were still thrumming, his muscles like a pulled bowstring. "I would never find any of you stupid. Not ever. I know it's confusing. I know it's a lot. I don’t understand it myself. But this is as true as all the words I have spoken in my life. I am Jesus of Nazareth. I am he."
Another silence ripped across them.
Simon's cold laughter shattered it after a moment. It was a rough, stabbing sound. "No. No. Of all the vessels, the Messiah would not choose Judas Iscariot. This is an ousting. A coup. You've overthrown him for power. You only want to take his place. It's cleverly idiotic. Only you, Judas, would be able to come up with a plan like this one."
Jesus' heart sank. "No. That's not what's happening here. There is no power— There shall be nothing. The only thing that matters is freeing Judas from a prison he doesn't belong in. That's the only motive I have. If I wanted power, why would I want us to free him?”
It sounded rational to Jesus’ ears, but by the looks on the disciples’ faces, they weren’t buying it. Jesus’ heart was beginning to slowly pick up in rhythm, the thuds sounding in his ears, melding with their words.
"You are asking us to believe far too much," Nathanial spoke up, his voice a murmuring wind blow of disbelief. "This isn't... How is that even possible? It's... It's not possible."
There were waves of agreement with him. Mary slowly slid up next to Jesus, her palm pushing against his. Jesus couldn’t truly find comfort in it at the moment. His eyes searched over them, frantic, begging.
“Judas would never—“
“Do you truly not know your own Lord when he speaks to you?” Mary’s voice sounded cold. Jesus’ eyes went wide as he turned to look at her. His mouth dropped a bit as all the men whipped to her. They went to protest but she cut them off with a sharp gesture. "Was turning water to wine possible? Was feeding five thousand? Was raising the dead? Was casting demons out of a Magdalene possible?"
They stared at her, breaths heavy. Jesus matched their looks. This was slightly manipulative, but… it was working. He could see it in her sternness, feel it in the fire of his own soul. Her words were that of a priestess, strong, powerful, fiery. They were melting beneath her, the tension turning to…shame. Amidst his panic, he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. She had come a long way.
She looked down her nose at them. "Nothing has ever been impossible. Not with him."
Something about the way she said it made him think she wasn't talking about God. He slowly closed his gaping mouth, turning to look at the eleven. They stood stunned. For a moment, it was just silence. Eerie. Broken. Silence.
Mary’s hand pulsed against his. He could feel that she was shaking.
Because God knows what they would do to the body of Judas Iscariot if they did not know who inhabited it at the moment and they thought he sent their Rabbi to his death.
The blood was still running down Jesus’ throat.
"This is the Messiah," Andrew murmured after what felt like an eternity in its own right, mimicking the words his missing older brother had once said. And slowly, they all began sinking to the ground. They hid their faces in shame, not wanting to look at the face of their fellow disciple, the man they now worshiped.
That was all Mary needed. She turned to Jesus quickly, placing her hands on his chest. "We’ll search his things. We’ll read everything we can. I'll handle it here, with them. Find him. Go get your boy. We’ll fix it."
She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and then was giving him a light shove away.
Jesus didn't have to be told twice.
But footsteps followed after him.
“I’ll go alone.“ Jesus’ voice was harsher than he had meant it to be. Yet a whimper was making him turn. His heart softened. Thomas was reaching out to him, standing just a foot behind him.
“I… Master…”
“...Thomas.”
Thomas fell to his knees in front of him. "My Lord. Forgive me. I didn’t—"
Jesus placed his hand on his curls, silencing him with a comforting sound. Thomas tipped forward, burying his face against the blues of Judas’ garment.
And it did so much to prove to Jesus just how far blind faith and manipulation would take them all.
They let him in.
Come to see your Master?
It was sneered, mocking. They were practically laughing in Judas' face. Jesus kept his head down, even if he was wilting on the inside. He supposed Judas' apparent betrayal gave him more leeway than he would have otherwise been given. One of the priests sent him a mocking invitation, calling after him while he passed. The cold, shrill voice echoed off the corridor, the words chasing after him.
Stay for a while if you wish to see him bleed.
Jesus' stomach gave a sick lurch. But he didn't retort.
He just knew he had to see him.
The stones were winter-quiet, his footsteps sounding like the first fall of snow. His steps twisted as he cut around corners, his hands touching to the cold walls of the prison. It was wet and dark and smelled. It was a horrible place. One that none of them should have ever found themselves in.
And yet...
"Judas."
It was weak when he called out. It barely made it out of his throat, much less into the depths of the cell. Judas simply remained curled on the ground, where he was pressed to the furthest wall. His clothes were torn and tattered, white scraps showing wounded skin beneath it. Blood mixed with grime and sweat.
He looked dazed and scared. Muddled, more than anything.
It broke Jesus' heart.
"Oh, Judas," Jesus murmured, his hand shaking as it rose to clutch to the bar. "What did you do?"
Judas' shoulders gave a tremble, and it was so odd for Jesus to see what such anxiety truly looked like on his own features. He wondered if this was how Judas saw him the night of the temple, if it was what tore at his heart enough to find a way to do this. Judas shrank back as if he had been hit all over again, pressing the bruised, gaunt cheek to his knee. Jesus almost questioned when the last time he ate was before he realized he was staring at his own body. Something sank deeper in his chest.
"Judas," he repeated, sounding frantic. "What did you do? Talk to me."
Judas lifted his fingers to his lips absentmindedly, letting the tips brush over them. It was like he was seeking comfort on the lips that didn't belong to him. Jesus shivered. It was almost like he could feel it. "I made a deal."
"A deal?" Jesus rasped. "What do you mean a deal? A deal with who?"
Jesus already knew.
The cackling laugh.
He had been offered a deal once, too.
But Judas just shrugged, burrowing deeper.
Jesus let out a long, despairing exhale as his head tipped forward, pressing against the stone of the prison. He knew this wasn't about Judas. Not truly. He was a means to an end, a scapegoat for the plan's neglection. He had wandered right into the trap that had been set for Jesus. In more ways than one.
Jesus could feel breath heaving in his chest as he pulled his gaze back up.
"What have they done to you?" Jesus couldn't help but whisper. He looked horrible. Truly horrible.
Judas gave a shrug with his new, narrower shoulders. "What they usually do with the criminals... That's what I am now, isn't it? They're going to..." Judas' breath caught anew. He didn't finish the sentence. But Jesus still knew what he meant. The execution. The torturous one meant for him. Judas reached his hand up, combing his fingers through the hair that was far too long for him. He gave a humorless, soft chuckle. "It's... heavy, Jesus. I don't know how you... how you carried it all these years."
"I carried it with pride because it was my burden to bear." Jesus was fronting a bit as his own voice came still, quiet. He had never been proud of it. He had always been horrified of it. It haunted his dreams, the ending. He couldn't imagine having it suddenly thrust upon him like this. "It was my purpose. You're not going to be able to handle it. You were never meant to. It's not for you. It's mine."
Judas let out a shuddery breath. "Not anymore. H-He said this was the only way to save you. This...body was going to die one way or another. This blood was going to be spilled. You... You never said anything about your soul. You didn't say it had to be snuffed out, too. He made sense. He said that there just had to be a kiss to seal it. He said that's all it would take to save you. And that I should just let the rest play out. You... You don't have to be the one to do it anymore."
Jesus felt as if he were moments away from panicking. He didn't know what to do with this. It didn't even make any sense.
"Judas," Jesus rasped. "You're a sinner. A wretched man."
Judas slowly raised his head, staring at Jesus with stunned, sparkling eyes. The words surprised Jesus, too. Lips parted and closed, gaping and quivering with a hurt that ran deep like a winter shiver. When his voice came, it was a wounded whisper, nearly breaking. "Why would you say that to me? Why would you say that to me right now?"
Jesus swallowed hard, his heart thudding with aching throbs. He had to continue. He had to. "You're so flawed. You're jealous. You want for things of this world. It burns you up to see people have things when you think they're too wicked to deserve it, when there are suffering people who could use it more. When you could use it more. You're lustful. Your heart delights when you see a pretty man or woman looking back at you. You're downright mean at times. You've been selfish. Your dreams are those of the flesh. Everything you are is of the flesh. Your mind, your soul...You're not the flawless sacrifice. This is for nothing . The whole point is the soul . And yours is in tatters."
Judas just stared at him for a moment, his breath picking up. He was battered. The skin of the body he was inhabiting was beaten and discolored. His entire torso was bruised. But nothing would compare to the broken humiliation and heartbreak crossing his features. Jesus felt something in him snap.
This was my fate.
This shouldn't have happened to my Judas.
...
This shouldn't have happened to me.
He felt his eyes glaze over as he watched Judas wince and begin to rise. The moonlight pooled in through the bars, illuminating his face as he pulled himself to them. He reached up a shaking hand, letting his fingers wrap around the metal. He leaned close, until the only thing separating them was the damned pen.
He spoke low and slow. It was strange, hearing him without it being his voice. The words were carefully held and drawn. Rhythmic. "That's too bad. Because I'm the one they're getting. The only one. I'm not letting them touch you. Not now, not ever. I don't give a damn if it's your soul they want. They'll never be able to find it. I'll be keeping you safe."
Jesus stared at him, shaken by the resolution in his voice, stunned that Judas thought he would ever accept this. He opened his mouth to speak, but Judas cut him off.
"You get the life that I would have had," Judas murmured, trying to sound optimistic. "You're free of all of this. You can—" He gave a strained, wet laugh. "You can toughen up my hands and sell your work. You can move more freely without people recognizing you. No one will hunt you or call for your head anymore. You can make a life, a family. You can—"
Jesus slammed his hand against the bars, making them rattle. "I don't want any of that without you!"
Judas flinched back, his expression melting into something more devastated. His lips parted, yet nothing came. For a moment, there was nothing but the two of them, meeting their own shattered gazes for the first time. The silence was thick. It said so much.
"Don't do this," Jesus whispered brokenly after a moment. "I... I'll just start over. I'll do it all again."
Judas’ face crumbled a bit before smoothing back out.
"Do you think anyone would listen to you while you look like me?" Judas questioned gently. "You said it yourself. I'm a wretch. An anxious Sodomite. Everyone knows that. No one is going to believe you're the messiah. Not anymore. And I know you wouldn't let me die in vain."
"Judas..."
"Do not let me die in vain," Judas' voice was beginning to quiver, and Jesus could tell he was more scared than he initially looked. His dark eyes began to swell with tears as he heard the tremors in the other man's tone. "Don't make me do all of this just so you can kill yourself anyway. If you even think about it, please... just...Just don’t. Don't let this be for nothing. ”
Jesus' breath came in a thin, thready thing. "You... You're asking me to sacrifice the world for myself."
He meant that in so many ways. Sure, if he were to live his life selfishly, the world would be damned. But it would also be his world stumbling up that hill when the sun rose, He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
Judas gave a faint, sad smile. It shook Jesus to his core. It might have been Jesus' features twisting, but it couldn't have been more Judas if he tried. He had seen that smile often, but it was for him and him only. That was Judas' smile. "I'm asking you to live."
The smile wavered as Jesus shook his head.
"You think this ends it?" Jesus continued on, his defiance building. He was croaking at this point. "You think this was the stopping point? You're wrong, Judas. It doesn't end with you. It wasn't even supposed to end with me. Our people— They're going to keep going. They're going to keep trying. And there's just going to be more and more death. There will always be bloodshed. This was just the beginning. My death was going to help. Yours won't. And I'm not going to stop. Especially if you meet your death tomorrow. I'm never going to stop. Because it is for nothing. Absolutely nothing at all."
Jesus was shaking. His words, his limbs, his face. Judas was inches apart from him, yet he couldn't be further away. Judas stared at him with those shimmering blue eyes. They flickered over him. Studying. And everything about him softened.
"Your life could never be nothing, Jesus," Judas breathed out.
All at once, the breath caught in Jesus' lungs, a choking, rasped sound scratching in his throat. His body felt hot and cold at the same time.
He could hardly comprehend when Judas continued to speak.
"You said it yourself. There is no greater love than a man who would lay down his life for his friends," Judas murmured, his voice faint as he continued. "And yet you refuse to let me follow your own example. You've never liked hypocrites, Jesus. Don't start becoming one yourself."
"We're not friends, Judas." The words numbly fell from Jesus' lips before he could stop them. His eyes flashed as he looked up at Judas, the tears still making thin paths over the claret bruisings. He thought that would make Judas cry more, that he would see the words as a dismissal instead of a confession of something more.
But Judas' lips gave a tremble. And then he nodded, his voice a mere whisper. "I know. I've always known. That's why I have to do this."
Judas' fingers reached between the bars as much as they could, his fingertips nearly frozen when they made contact with the emotional heat of Jesus' cheeks. He hadn't even realized he had started crying until Judas was smearing the wetness under his eyes, trying to wipe them away. His voice went soft. "What happened to your nose?"
Jesus couldn't help but give a sharp, humorless laugh. "It's your nose, Judas. And it was... just an accident. Don’t trouble yourself with it.”
Not when you look the way you do. God, there wasn’t an inch of him untouched—
"Well. See to it that you’re not so clumsy next time.”
Judas gave a weak smile, but it was faltering quickly. He looked away, straining to see the moon. His lips parted with a breath.
“The sun will rise soon," Judas murmured, his voice soft and a bit emotional. "I suppose I will be able to see it from the palace. I do hope it's a lovely one…I wish for you to look as well. Watch it with me. I want you to… always watch with me." His voice choked off. He turned to Jesus, his eyes shining. "If nothing else... stay alive to watch over the sunrises for me.”
He whispered. And it felt like a goodbye. These were meant to be Judas' last words to him— soft and sad over his lips.
And Jesus could only nod as he crumbled into a mess of tears.
When Jesus returned to the camp, he felt the weariness pull at him. His legs ached and his head throbbed. His heart was crushed into tiny shards that didn't even resemble pieces anymore. It had broken him to walk away, to leave Judas in that cell.
But he couldn't stay by his side. Not when he had work to do.
He found the disciples sitting around the fire, doing...nothing. Nothing but nursing wines and ales. Peter had returned looking worn, regretful, guilty.
And the way he was looking at Jesus told him that the others had filled him in.
“What are we doing?” Jesus nearly snapped. “Why are we just sitting and not researching the scrolls? We don’t have much time—“
“We have no time at all,” Thomas sounded numb. “We’ve heard from some sympathetic priests. Judas— or well, you, is being tried in just an hour.”
Jesus felt faint, he looked up so quickly. "What? No. No, it's still night. We should have more time. That’s not Law—“
“They want it done quickly,” Andrew murmured, staring into the fire. “They’ll sentence him quickly. He’ll be executed before dawn—“
“No! No, don’t even say it!” Jesus erupted. He turned on his heel, prepared to march right back to the prison. “Get up. Get up, we’re going to break him out somehow. We’ll….”
“How?” Matthew spoke up with a trembling voice. “With no miracles? No anything?”
“We will find something! There has to be— You said there were sympathetic priests. Maybe they could get to him. Or we could have someone look the other way. Or—“
“My Lord… It’s not…“
Jesus was about to interject when he saw the disciples share a glance, something crossing over their gazes. It was world-stoppingly nervous and cold.
“…What?” He demanded.
No one spoke. They all looked like they were daring each other with their eyes, the crackle of the fire growing louder. Jesus could hear his own breath.
“What?!“
They all jumped.
"…If we save him, is it still going to end the same?" Simon questioned, not looking over at him. Jesus, in turn, stared at him so pointedly, the edges of his vision blurred.
"What?"
"You said…once… it was always meant to end the same. And now… knowing what we know…to me, that sounds like it's between you and him when it comes to survival. Why bring him back if he's just going to use his life to end yours?"
"Are you kidding? Look at how far he's gone," Mary snapped as she spoke up. Her arms were full of scrolls as she stopped in her tracks. "Clearly he doesn't want Jesus dead, Simon. That's not even rational. He's not going to do anything. He's being manipulated."
"Judas is our brother," Peter said, still sounding shaken. Mary sighed, giving him a pointed thank you. But Peter spoke again. "But, My Lord... You're the Christ. If Judas wants to give his life for you, is that not the most honorable thing? Who are we to stop him?"
"He is making way for you to do the things we always dreamed of doing," Simon encouraged, quickly tacking his words on. He threw his arm out for emphasis. "This... This could all work together for good. He's making the path for you to save our people, to raise your army. He's giving you time, Rabbi—"
"No. No, don't say—This is all wrong," Jesus breathed out, his voice ringing with fear. "This isn't— This isn’t what I wanted. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I'm not letting this happen to him," Jesus protested, looking at them all with watering eyes. "How could you— How could you possibly even suggest—"
His breath wavered and caught, making it to where he couldn't even finish. His chest constricted painfully. And his tongue went dry.
"Maybe it's the only option we have," Simon spoke up. "They think he's you. They're not going to waste any time. How are we meant to free him without risking you as well?"
"It was a miracle," Peter spoke up, voice rickety. He had always been as furious and turbulent as the sea he was raised on and scooped out of, but now he was still. Nothing more than a delicate creek, barely pushing at all. Jesus' heart cracked for him. "Maybe... Maybe you did this without realizing it. Maybe God did it. Maybe this is the will. Maybe this is how it's meant to be."
"No," Jesus was quick to respond. "No, it's not. This is something else. It has nothing to do with me or God. Judas did it on his own. I had... I had no idea. I would have never— never in my life put him in this position."
"But..." Andrew's brows slowly met. "...How could... How could Judas even do something like this? How could he have the ability? It's..."
"It wasn't only Judas," Jesus bit out, correcting, the truth hanging in the air. Because, truly, Judas could never have done something like this. Not ever. Judas had no power. He dragged a hand down his face, trying to shove back the rising emotions that came at the thought. Judas had said it himself.
He made a deal. The disciples would condemn him for that alone.
This isn't how things were meant to go.
He shook his head.
"The how doesn't matter right now," Jesus croaked, his fingers shaking as they dropped. He found that his stolen form actually trembled a lot. Jittery. Restless. Or maybe it was just the situation he found himself in. "It doesn't matter. How are you not understanding? Judas is going to die!"
The words rang out around them, hanging in the air like a man on a noose. Jesus' gasping breath followed.
"He's going to die," Jesus despaired. "And you're all letting him."
They all stared back at him, wide-eyed and scolded. But no one agreed.
Instead, John just shifted. "Maybe... Maybe we should cast lots about it—"
Jesus didn't stick around to let him even finish.
Judas' tent was always cozy, clean.
There were never many personal items. Judas traveled light. But it still smelled like cherry incense. It still had his thick, leather-bound book that was filled with parchments and numeric equations and records of all of their spendings. He still had the quilt his mother had crafted for him in a nest on his bed roll. It was undeniably and heart-wrenchingly, Judas' place.
Jesus ran his hand over the makeshift table that was set up in the corner, the plank rough and unpolished under his fingers. He let his short nails line every divot, tracing. How often had Judas done the same? His heart gave a warning pang of grief.
He swallowed hard.
If— when — he got Judas back, he would make him a nice bureau. One where he could write his calculations and computations comfortably. But also something more permanent. But a bureau needed a home. An actual home, and not just the tents that they moved around with them, his belongings heavy on his back.
He would give Judas the comfort of safety he always yearned for. The comfort he had always deserved.
Why did it take this to make Jesus realize he wanted to give it to him?
His mouth was quivering over a sob before he ever realized what was happening. He hunched over the wood, hand flying to his eyes as his nostrils flared and quiet wailing sounds fell wetly from his lips.
Judas was going to be in pain. Judas was going to be gone.
And he didn't know how to fix this.
A hand fell on his shoulder and his heart leaped, and just for a moment, he let himself believe that it was Judas. He gasped, pulling his hand away as he turned.
But Judas was in a prison somewhere. And it was Mary's concerned face staring back at him. He didn't say anything. He just let out a whimper.
"Come here," Mary whispered. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then she was pulling him into her arms, and Jesus let all of the grief pour out of him.
He's not sure how long they stood like that, but when Jesus began to come back to himself, he couldn't help but feel like it had been a waste of time. His tears did nothing to help Judas.
Jesus wasn't sure what would at this point.
"You know, back there with the apostles... You didn't really sound like yourself." Mary stroked through the curls. Jesus shivered from the sheer wrongness. His hair didn't usually feel like this. His neck was cold. He grabbed to the fabric of Mary's dress, burying deeper. "You sounded like Judas, Jesus. You had his fear. It shook in the same exact way."
"I am afraid. He doesn't know what he’s doing. This wasn't his idea," Jesus whimpered. "It couldn't have been. He wouldn't have even thought it was possible. He couldn't have dreamed of something like this. You know him just as well as I do. He wouldn't have messed with the occult. How did this— How could I have let it happen? How could I have given him the opportunity—"
Jesus could picture what had happened. Judas had been targeted. Judas had been approached. Just as Jesus had been in the desert. He tried not to shiver again as he thought about it— Judas alone in the dark of night with a serpent singing in his ear, playing into all of his anxieties and things he was horrified of. Then, giving him a sweetened way out, an offer he couldn't refuse.
The same voice that had always come for Jesus had come for Judas. And Judas hadn't been strong enough to withstand it.
Jesus' face was hot with emotions as he let out a keening whimper, leaning heavily into Mary, just letting her cool fingertips soothe him as they always had.
“Don’t go there yet. I found something.” Mary whispered when he calmed enough. Jesus pulled back as he gulped for air, his eyes widening.
“You found— Mary, you should have said something! Is it—“
Mary placed calming hands to his chest, trying to ground him. “I don’t know. I can’t be sure. I couldn’t understand all of the Latin. Only bits and pieces. We had found it in Judas’ pack. He’s always been more fond of sticking to Aramaic for his personal readings, so I assumed—“
“Mary! Out with it! What did you find?!” His voice was sharp, desperate, hopeful. He reached up, letting his trembling hands wrap around Mary’s wrists. “Tell me. Tell me it’s something.”
She took a deep breath. “It’s something. It’s definitely something.“
Jesus crumbled forward with another sob.
And that’s how they ended up with Judas’ mother’s quilt wrapped around them desperately tearing through Latin scrolls that Judas had somehow acquired. Jesus was never letting Judas out of his sight again when this was over. Because he had never even known Judas read Latin this well. He didn't even know where Judas had gotten them. He didn't even know when.
Just how long had Judas been planning this?
Jesus read countless incantations, tales of witchcraft, and spells he could hardly comprehend. All the while, he comforted himself in the only way he could, a reminder like a Roman war chant in his head.
Judas wasn't gone yet. He was alive. His heart was still beating. Even if it was pounding painful in some cold, horrible cell. Jesus wondered if his own beat in time, if the rhythms of their hearts were echoing each other even now.
Jesus let his eyes close, his hand sliding up to feel the ferocious, frantic slamming affixing them. This was Judas' heart beating in his chest. The thought made his face crumble with despair and a bit of sickness at the thought. He rubbed back and forth, trying to soothe away the stabbing ache that was ever present. Yet something made his brows meet even more. Something felt unusual, even though he was already in the wrong body. He rubbed slower, and that's when it hit him.
Judas’ hamsa.
Jesus' eyes went wide as he let his fingers touch to his throat, only to find nothing there. There was no twining cord, no smooth, rounded beads. Jesus had played with it enough on Judas' neck when they were the right way around to know what it should feel like. And it was absent.
It had not been absent in the three years Jesus knew Judas.
He would have never parted with it, probably worn it to his death, unless…
Unless he found more important use for it.
Something clicked all at once.
"Mary."
Mary made a non-committal sound, her finger sliding down one of the scrolls, eyes flickering quickly over the words.
“Mary.”
The shaking tone of his voice made her head snap up, her breath catching. “What? Did you—?”
He smacked at her arms before grabbing her close.
”It’s a talisman. Judas made his Hamsa into a talisman. That’s what— That’s what he did—”
”A talisman—Wait!” She slammed her hand down on his floor. “I read something like that!”
Jesus felt his heart plummet as she went tearing through the scrolls, her eyes skimming over words as she tossed endless ones to the side, muttering under her breath, prayers and curses alike. His breathing was picking up and he didn't even care to slow it. Especially when she found it.
"There has to be another kiss with the Hamsa. The power is…" Mary gasped out, looking up at Jesus from the scroll. Her eyes were wide and wet, and for a moment, her lips moved soundlessly. But then… "Jesus… Jesus! It can be reversed! It can be– "
Before she could say anything more, Jesus was swooping her into an embrace and kissing her with all the warmth of the sun.
And he sat her down and took off out the tent, the sounds of her sobbing exhilarations spurring him on and following him into the night.
Because it had all become clear.
And he knew what he had to do.
"That doesn't belong to you."
Jesus couldn't help them— the first words out of his mouth as the serpent apparated in front of him in the dark, depths of the hidden woods. Though, he didn't look much like a serpent at present. He didn't look like he did in the desert with Jesus either, though. The man in front of him was tall, his skin nearly glowing blue in the starshine, his smile easy. He was wrapped in a dark cloak, one that fit his muscular form in all the right places. He looked attractive, gentle.
Just Judas’ type.
Jesus let out a sigh. Satan couldn’t take Jesus’ form. That didn’t mean Satan didn’t know how to play to Judas’ tastes. If Jesus had been able to read them, he knew this entity would have been able to as well. Judas had never been subtle. Not even to mortals.
"I would say it does belong to me." His voice was satin and silk. Honey and milk. "It was a gift from a… friend. He asked me to keep it safe for him. He’s…going to be too occupied to watch it for himself."
Jesus’ heart cracked at the reminder, but he took a deep breath, clenching his eternal trembling hands into shaking fists. He tried to hang on to the resolve he had in the desert. But it was so much different now. The stakes were so much higher. Jesus had never felt more grounded. He had never felt more… human. Judas being in danger… it made him feel fragile. It made him feel alive and cursed. For the first time in his existence, he was scared of the being in front of him. Still, he attempted to keep the firmness in his voice. “Lucifer… What have you done? Judas was an innoce—”
“Oh, don’t give me that. You and I both know that boy was never meant to be an innocent in all of this. He was meant to be the damned. I know the plan just as well as you do. His blood would have never gone unspilled. In fact, I think this future is a better one for him… Don’t you agree?”
Satan reached forward, flicking his forehead. A sharp pain and flashes of hellfire and sparkles, strangely enough, made him wince back, glimmering through his mind’s eye. Jesus lifted his eyes to glare at him. “He had a chance of living after his betrayal. He always had a chance. He would have sought forgiveness."
Satan rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. "Another statement… Another falsehood. Honestly, Godling, what’s the point of you coming to me with your tail tucked between your legs if you’re just going to continue to lie to yourself?”
Jesus swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbing like he was actually gulping down a forbidden fruit.
"Ah, do not be so frightened. You know, I do not object to you and that boy both living," he purred, reaching to run his hand down Jesus' jaw. "I never have. I would love to see the two of you flourishing. Your death is not what I crave. Neither is his. That's something you'll have to take up with your Father. Isn't that funny how that works? I'm the Lord of sin and yet all the bloodlust belongs to... Well, someone else."
"This is not my Father's work," Jesus hissed coldly, his eyes whipping to follow the slinking creature. "My Father is not in this."
"Is that what you think? Well, that’s just not so. God is allowing this, child," Lucifer grinned. "Just like with Job. We can always push, can't we? Just to see how things go? This is my little game, my little experiment. So where is He right now if this is all important? Why is he not stopping me? Your theories aren't coming to fruition, are they?"
He was coiling like a snake, moving as smoothly as a feline. Jesus faltered, his eyes falling to the ground as his breathing picked up. He shook his head. He wanted to protest, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t. The preacher had no more sermons left to give when he couldn’t believe the words himself. Satan’s chuckle reverberated through his bones. Then, his hand was on Jesus’ shoulder as he leaned in close to his ear, his breath feeling like ice against the burning flesh.
"Do you know how I convinced your human?"
Jesus' lips twitched, the possessive words making his stomach coil. He flinched at them. "He’s not my—I don't own—"
"I offered him the world, just as I offered to you. It was for a fun little investigation I had in mind. I was ready to give him anything his little heart could desire. But do you know what he wanted? Do you know what he chose? He chose you. He chose you and your safety. It's sickening."
Jesus' eyes burned hot, a shaking well brimming up. For a minute, he couldn’t speak. He couldn't move. He couldn’t breathe.
"It's sickening that he loves me?" Jesus rasped, something accusatory in his tone.
Satan's lips curled up, a purr in the back of his throat. "No. Not at all. It's sickening that you could never love him the way he loves you. Because you're not willing to make the sacrifices. You're ready to fall back in line, a good soldier. You'll fight for the damned souls of this world and yet you won't fight for his heart. Because his love scares you more than death ever could. Now, I tire of you—"
Panic shot through him like a lightning bolt as he felt Satan begin to fade from him, the darkness waning.
"I want to make a deal," Jesus rushed out. He turned, grabbing for Satan. His fingers curled over the Hamsa as it swung. The intricacies of the metal were cold and sharp against his tips.
Satan paused. His eyes shone in the darkness as they widened with excitement. "Oh? Is that so?"
Jesus couldn't speak over the lump in his throat. His heart pounded dangerously in his chest. But he nodded. A quick, desperate thing that sent curls bouncing— He still didn't know how Judas always got them to stay in place. He would ask him when this was all over.
Satan's grin deepened as he stepped forward. He lifted his hand, the back of his knuckles stroking down Jesus' cheek. The other hand was placed over his own, holding it in place in the center of his chest. "The perfect lamb wants to make a deal without even being tempted. Aren't you afraid of betraying your Father? Or is this you falling?"
Jesus stared at him with fear in his eyes. He knew what this was. He knew what it meant. But he didn't let go of the hamsa. "Let me save him."
It was a begging sound, but there was also something stern and commanding that ran through the words.
"Well. Aren’t both of you just full of surprises? You should have led with this. Of course, I'll get you inside, little brother," Satan purred, touching his chin. "I'll give you time to get out. But I can't make your Father love you again when it's all over. I can't take away this experience from your human. He asked for it, after all. He won't forget. And I can't make him be okay with this... change of plans."
"That's okay," Jesus breathed. "It's fine. I just... Let me save him. I need him alive. I need him—"
Jesus' voice shattered, tears brimming hotly over his lashes, his heart aching as grief clawed at his throat.
“I need him. "
The wind was quiet. So was Satan’s expression. For a moment, Jesus thought the stillness was all there would ever be. He had never known a time more quiet. He couldn’t tell if the silence was good or bad. It was just… silent. It was just stillness. And history could have gone either way in that sparing glimpse of fate and choice.
Then Satan chuckled. It was a surprisingly warm sound.
"Oh, I know you do." Satan wiped away his tears with his knuckle. "Stop weeping. You shall have him safe by sunrise.”
Sunrise.
Sunrise.
Jesus hoped it would be the most splendid sunrise Judas would ever set his dark eyes upon. He couldn’t wait to see the pinks and oranges reflected in the mirrors of his soul, no matter how broken and damaged it now was. He wanted to see the light touch his pale, bruised, torn skin. The sunrise would be a new beginning, a closing of a book that should have never been opened in the first place. God, Jesus hoped Judas enjoyed the sunset.
Because Jesus knew that, personally, it would be the best thing he could ever possibly lay eyes on.
A new day. Just for them.
The larger being slid the amulet of his own thick neck.
Then, Satan leaned down, placing a kiss on his forehead.
And the Hamsa was hung back in its rightful place once again.
Judas' breath rattled.
It was the first thing Jesus heard as he walked through the empty corridors, his footsteps nearly silent. There were no shouting priests, no snarling Roman soldiers. The whole entire place was empty. Shockingly empty. He’s sure the walls of Herod’s palace had never known this much quiet.
Yet, there was no one there.
Save for two souls. Two lost ones. Two souls that could only be completed with each other. Two souls that had a lot of damn healing to do.
"You shouldn't be here," Judas rasped when Jesus walked into his line of sight. Judas’ eyes were puffy, but they undeniably softened when Jesus stood before him. Wounds marred his skin. Jesus knew they ran deep. Too deep. He had gotten worse. He struggled closer, his heart pounding in his ears.
"You shouldn't be either," Jesus whispered. "Neither of us should be. And I'm finally starting to understand that."
Judas was panting on the floor. The bruises had darkened. But he was alone. Jesus walked forward carefully, not wanting any sudden moves to startle him.
"They left," Judas whispered. He writhed on the floor, trying to turn to see Jesus. His hands were shaking at his chest, fingers curved at the pain. "They just left. What did you—"
He crouched down at his side. He reached out, pushing back the strands of loose hair that hung in Judas' face as he cradled him. And Judas' eyes locked on the dangling hamsa. His expression changed.
"No," Judas whimpered. "No, you can't. You can't—"
Jesus hushed him gently, running a hand over the side of his face. He sounded devastated, like he would start sobbing at any given moment. Those blue eyes were swimming with unshed tears, threatening to fall. He thought it was over. He thought he would be the one to sit back and watch Jesus die.
"It's alright," he assured in a whisper. "It's all going to be alright now. We're going to be okay. I swear it."
And he leaned down.
Jesus is the one that kissed Judas, in the end. He pressed his lips right against his and it was so much different from the first time. He felt tears sneaking down his cheeks as he opened it, the plush of his own lip odd between the ones he never grew used to. His hand was weaving in the long, wind-tangled hair. The smell of sweat and blood was sharp around them, but it just didn't matter. It was them. This was them. It didn't matter what body they happened to be in. It would always end here.
A betrayal and a kiss.
But they would be okay.
They would carry each other home.
And the sunrise was indeed the most gorgeous either man had ever seen.