Work Text:
All Judas wanted to do was cry.
But that was something he couldn’t afford to do.
Even though he was beginning to feel settled, he’d still only been with the ministry for a few months. Judas feared the smallest crack in his facade could make all he’d built crumble.
Crying would do that.
Crying would make his chest hurt, his breath catch, and his voice wobble.
Crying would potentially out him.
He knew that if he did cry, it wouldn’t be silent tears or muffled sobs. It would sound like howls, his body shaking with exertion, his voice jumping up several octaves.
But it all hurt so much.
The pain in his foot and ankle was awful. Even with the splint, the slightest pressure sent jolts through him. The swelling may have gone down over the last few days, but the bruising definitely had gotten worse; red and purple splotches spanned from his toes to his lower calf.
The embarrassment was almost as bad. While Matthew may have been the only one to witness the fall, everyone knew about how he’d hurt himself falling from a tree. That wasn’t an injury typical of a grown man. And it wasn’t just the Twelve that knew, but so did Mary, the woman who had tended to him, along with most of the people that came to listen to them. Judas couldn’t exactly hide.
But he could see the worried looks. How people gazed upon him with pity. How they used soft words, speaking to him and about him as if he was a child.
He hated it.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Everyone was gathered around, listening to one of Philip’s stories, rapt. Jesus had left earlier to visit the synagogue, taking John, James, and Peter with him.
The tent he shared with Jesus wasn’t far. And beyond that it wasn’t far to the edge of the woodlands. If he did cry, he’d be a little more hidden. He could perhaps try to pass the sobs off as the cries of some poor wild animal that way. He knew they wouldn’t believe him, though.
Regardless, he wanted a moment of solitude.
He made to stand, stumbling.
“Here, let me help,” one of the women said, hurrying forward, hand outstretched as Judas wobbled.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled.
“Judas, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Elizabeth,” she said, introducing herself. “You risk damaging your leg further, where are you trying to go?”
Her voice was soft, but she didn’t speak down to him. She didn’t treat him like a child.
She’d just met him, she’d seen how surly and sour he’d been the last few days. There was no reason for her to be kind.
Yet she was.
Judas tried to mask the wobbling of his chin.
“I just want to rest,” he mumbled.
“With no eyes on you,” she observed. “You want privacy.”
He felt tears well in his eyes as he nodded.
“To your tent, then?”
“No, just to the woods behind,” he said, stammering slightly. “I like the trees.”
Elizabeth let him lean against her, walking slowly as he limped, avoiding putting weight on his injured leg.
“Mary’s been tending to you, right?” Elizabeth asked, her voice slightly clipped.
“Yes, and Jesus,” Judas replied between breaths that were a little too heavy for comfort.
“She is good at what she does,” Elizabeth muttered. “It certainly makes things easier for some folks.”
Judas could swear he could hear a trace of jealousy. But his mind was too addled to process why.
“I suppose you won’t be joining your friends in town tonight, will you?”
“Tonight?”
“There are plans for a shared meal and drinks at the tavern,” Elizabeth answered. “Myself and some of the other women will be dancing.”
Judas grimaced. He wasn’t a fan of taverns, with their loud patrons and crowded rooms. He avoided them at all costs. Nor did he like drinking in excess like some of the Twelve enjoyed.
Good thing he had an excuse.
“It’s taking us ages to walk barely a hundred paces,” Judas puffed. “I can’t get into town without being a liability.”
“I don’t think your Rabbi could ever see you as a liability,” Elizabeth replied. “You’re obviously his right hand man.”
Judas felt a small wave of affirmation, but it was unfortunately quashed by a wave of pain as he took another step.
“I try my best,” he muttered as the woodland grew increasingly close. “No matter what, it’s easier for me to stay here. I can rest and I won’t slow anyone down.”
Elizabeth tutted, but helped him down onto the ground. “Is there anything you need? Food, or water? A blanket? Company?”
Judas shook his head, then chose his words carefully. “Thank you for the help, but I would like to be alone now.”
She nodded. “If you need anything, please call for me.”
Elizabeth turned, and headed back towards the rest of the camp.
Judas let out a sigh of relief, that quickly became one of pain as he leant his back against a tree trunk.
Even walking that short distance felt almost unbearable.
He ripped off the splint with a groan, grimacing at the sight of his leg. The ugly bruising just reminded him of how much of an idiot he was.
Yet again, he blinked back tears, trying to swallow the sob at the back of his throat.
The release of a solid cry couldn’t happen until he was alone in the camp. He couldn’t risk it
Judas dug through his bag for the poppyseed elixir. He avoided taking the pain relieving concoction, hating the taste and the drowsiness it brought.
But he’d take that over needing to cry and being unable to.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
The sun was setting when Judas woke up.
The camp was quiet.
Everyone must have left, and Elizabeth must have said he would not be joining them.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the fading light, then frowned. A few metres away from where he sat was a small fire, with a few pieces of fish cooking over it. Bread and greens sat in bowls nearby.
“I was just about to wake you,” a voice said, and a vision of white sat beside him. “Everyone else is in town.”
“I thought you’d go with them,” Judas mumbled.
“I have more important matters to attend to,” Jesus said, giving Judas a small smile.
Judas’ lip trembled as he watched Jesus remove their supper from the flames, dishing up a bowl each.
“Why?”
“Because you are perhaps the most important thing to me right now,” Jesus replied, passing Judas his meal.
Judas took the food gratefully, but picked at it. His throat felt uncomfortably tight, making it hard to swallow.
“Judas, love? Are you not well?” Jesus asked.
That was all it took for Judas to break.
Hot salty tears splashed into the bowl as sobs wracked his body.
They were more than sobs; they were howls.
Every pent up emotion burst from him in a violent, painful wave as he bawled.
The physical pain from his injury, the embarrassment of it all, the aches from binding, the mental and emotional strain of holding himself together, his loneliness, his exhaustion, his fear.
It was all consuming, and he’d held it in for days now.
Jesus looked a little bewildered, but mostly seemed consumed with sadness.
He said nothing, but held his arms out.
Judas shakily placed the bowl down, and all but launched himself into Jesus’ arms, burying his face in the cream-coloured shoulder.
“I’m sorry!” Judas gasped. His voice seemed to have reverted to its original octave, higher pitched and breathier than how he’d conditioned himself to speak.
The tightness in his throat dissipated with each ragged breath, replaced by a tightness in his chest.
Jesus stroked his back softly, letting him cry, the tears dampening their clothing.
“It’s alright,” Jesus whispered. “The others cannot hear you. It’s just me.”
Judas sniffed, trying to pull himself together.
“You’re allowed to cry.”
It was enough to set him off again. Judas could hear his cries echo through the air, as Jesus hummed softly, the vibrations soothing.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
He didn’t know how much time had passed, but the sun was well below the horizon, and Judas could feel his eyes beginning to droop.
The sobs and howls had subsided into a sniffle, his eyes were prickly and dry as he had shed all the tears he possibly could.
Judas pulled away from Jesus, wincing, and his eyes widened with concern. “It’s fine,” Judas mumbled. “I just have to take my bindings off.”
Jesus nodded, and turned away, his eyes closed. “Let me know when I can open my eyes.”
Jesus’ thoughtfulness was something Judas was thankful for. His shaking hands found the end of the linen wrappings, and he unwound it beneath his tunic, pulling his robe close to his body, letting the fabric enshroud him.
He trusted Jesus, but he wasn’t fond of being seen in such a vulnerable state just yet.
He wasn’t fond of seeing himself that way either.
“You can open them,” Judas said quietly, shoving the bindings into his bag.
“Do you want to talk about why you’re upset, love?” Jesus asked.
“Everything is so much at the moment. I’m in pain and I’m embarrassed. My body and my mind are at war with each other. I can’t do the things I want to, and I’m running out of things I can do. I’m stuck here. Everyone just looks at me with pity, and they treat me like a child. It’s just lonely and it’s miserable. I want to do things, I want to be able to join you in town, to be by your side!” Judas rambled.
Jesus nodded. “I can’t pretend to understand some of what you’re experiencing. But I am sorry that it’s overwhelming. And I apologise that I haven’t been with you as much as I’d like.”
“The people here need you, Jesus,” Judas said with a sigh.
A warm pair of hands took his own. “We need each other more, I think.”
“You don’t need me,” Judas scoffed. “You’re you.”
Jesus’ face fell even further. “Judas, you remind me of what all of this is for. Of how important it is to love and to be loved. You let me be myself, to just be that man from Nazareth. I want, and need you by my side.”
“But I can’t be,” Judas said, gesturing to his leg. “I can barely hold my own weight, and I just slow you down. Besides, last night, Mary said it’ll still be a few days until I could even try to leave camp.”
“But that is soon. And I’ve almost finished work on a crutch for you.”
It took a moment for Jesus’ words to process. “You what?”
“I’m making you a crutch, to help you move around. That way you can put less stress on your bad leg.”
Somehow, Judas felt tears gather in his eyes. He thought he had none left. “You don’t have to,” he whispered.
“I know how much you value your independence,” Jesus said. “But also how much you value the company of a few as well.”
Judas gave Jesus’ hands a gentle squeeze, and let his head fall against Jesus’ shoulder again. “Your company mostly,” he mumbled. “But thank you.”
Jesus pressed a kiss to Judas’ temple. “Of course.”
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Their eyes fixed upon the dwindling fire, and Judas felt the familiar lull of sleep.
“Time for bed, I think,” Jesus said softly.
Judas nodded, and rested his hand upon Jesus’ shoulder, to use him as leverage to raise himself to his feet.
“Judas, what are you doing?” Jesus frowned.
“Standing up.”
“No, you’re not,” Jesus protested. “Let me help you.”
Too tired and emotional to argue, Judas slumped back onto the ground. He expected Jesus to offer a hand, but instead, one cradled his back, the other hovering by his knee.
“Can I carry you?”
Judas swallowed anxiously. “But—”
“But nothing. Nobody else is here, you needn’t worry about how people see you. Besides, this is easier and faster. I won’t risk you getting hurt further.”
Judas had to concede. “Alright,” he muttered, and Jesus’ free hand slid behind his knees.
Instinctively, Judas linked his hands behind Jesus’ neck, and with surprising ease, Jesus scooped him up.
Despite his thin build, Jesus was stronger than Judas expected. Beneath all the fabric, Judas himself was rather slight, but he still weighed significantly more than the little children who clambered into Jesus’ lap. Jesus picked him up as if he weighed next to nothing, and Judas felt his eyes widen.
Jesus’ twinkling blue irises looked down at Judas as he carefully carried him towards the tent. “What?” Jesus asked, a slightly teasing lilt to his voice.
“You’re stronger than you look,” Judas mumbled, blushing.
Jesus chuckled. “So I’ve been told.”
Being in Jesus’ arms was warm.
It was safe.
Jesus was safe.
Judas was carefully set down on the bedroll in their dark tent. “I’ll gather your things and prepare things for bed while you change,” Jesus said, and turned to go.
“Jesus?”
“Yes, Judas?”
Judas’ voice was small and anxious. “Can you please hold me tonight?”
Even in the tiny amount of moonlight that reached them, Judas could see Jesus smile.
“Of course,” he said, and the flap closed.
Judas shrugged off the day’s clothing, greys and faded blue replacing indigo. It didn’t take long for Jesus to reappear, carrying Judas’ bag, splint, and a lamp, clad in his own sleepwear.
Silently, he worked at reaffixing the splint to Judas’ leg. Even though his touch was gentle, it still made Judas flinch.
“Sleeping with that on is awful,” Judas muttered. “I wish it could heal faster.”
Jesus hummed in agreement. “I wish as such too,” he said quietly. “But we simply must do all we can, and pray for your recovery.”
Judas nodded, yawning, earning an affectionate smile from Jesus.
“Did you want more of that pain relieving medicine?”
“I’ve had some today already,” Judas said, then sighed, his voice dropping to a mumble. “I just want to be in your arms.”
Jesus extinguished the lamp and slid down next to Judas, wrapping them both in the blankets, then encasing Judas in his arms.
“I’m sorry for breaking,” Judas whispered.
“It’s alright. We are all allowed to break. We can all be repaired.”
Judas burrowed his nose into the blankets, as a strand of Jesus’ hair rested upon his cheek.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
Jesus pressed a kiss to the top of Judas’ head. “Rest, my love. All will be well.”
Judas could feel Jesus’ heartbeat, its steady thumping pulling him to the world of slumber.
Three little words swam in his increasingly sleepy mind.
But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t say them just yet.
Because telling Jesus, saying ‘I love you’ to him was something tumultuous and terrifying. And if Jesus didn’t feel as strongly, Judas knew he would break beyond repair.
It could wait.
He let himself fall asleep, safe in Jesus’ embrace.
Tomorrow would be a new day.