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Jesus is shaking.
Last night, he and Judas had screamed at each other until they were both blue in the face. Judas had stormed away.
Nobody’s seen him since.
His phone goes unanswered, and they can’t find him in any of his usual haunts.
“Mary, I’m worried.”
“You fight a lot, Jay. I’m still not sure this is a particularly healthy relationship for either of you,” Mary reasons.
“I know, but I can’t help it. I care about him. Even if you don’t.”
She presses a kiss to his temple. “I do care. Let me wrangle the keys from Peter. We’ll drive around and see if we can find him.”
———
Ten minutes later, he and Mary are in the battered old truck the Twelve share, despite it being registered in Andrew’s name.
“Are you sure you’ve checked the scaffolding near the fish and chip shop?” Jesus asks.
“Yes, and the bench by the bridge, the parking lot behind the train depot, and even the park opposite the synagogue,” Mary says exasperatedly.
Jesus fiddles with his bracelets. He’s not sure where else Judas could be.
Mary’s phone lights up.
Simon: he’s back.
Simon: he’s fucked up.
Simon: don’t tell jesus that.
“Mary, we have to go back to camp.”
She glances at him. “What do the messages say?”
Jesus repeats them, even the last one.
“Fuck,” Mary breathes.
———
They pull up and Judas is sitting on the curb, curled in on himself. Peter extends a bottle of water towards him and Simon looks on disapprovingly.
Mary slams the car door and Judas jumps.
“What happened?”
“He’s taken something. Fuck knows what,” Simon says, glaring.
“Give us some space,” Jesus says, crouching down next to Judas. He gently rests a hand on Judas’ shoulder. “Hey.”
Judas looks up, and his eyes are wide with panic. “No, no. Leave me.”
“Jude, it’s me.”
“No, Jesus. No. Go away. I don’t—”
Judas’ sentence is cut off by violent hacking. He takes a moment to breathe, and deliberately avoids Jesus’ gaze. “I fucked up. I am fucked up. Jesus, I don’t want you here.”
“What’d you take?”
“It’s not your business.”
Jesus sighs. “Can we at least get you into your tent, and we can talk when you’ve sobered up?”
Judas laughs, cold and bitter. “Oh, of course. You wanna talk. That’s all you wanna do. Well, I don’t care. You shouldn’t care. So about instead you leave me the fuck alone?”
He’s digging in his pockets, probably searching for one of his awful cigarettes. But Jesus’ eyes widen as the ginger-haired man pulls out a little plastic bag.
“Oh, Judas,” he whispers, and reaches forward.
Simon is quicker, and snatches the item. He rips it open and throws it into the muddy gutter, ruining it.
“Simon,” Judas growls.
“Mate, we both know I’ll deck you. Think twice,” Simon replies.
“Here, Judas, let me help,” Jesus tries.
Judas shoves him away. “Fuck off.”
Mary takes Jesus by the wrist. “C’mon sweetheart. Leave him for now,” she says softly. “We all know he’ll come find you in the morning, once whatever he’s taken has worn off.”
Judas glares at them, but Jesus can swear he sees a flicker of the vulnerability that Judas hides beneath his tough exterior.
Jesus sighs. “Okay.”
He lets Mary lead him away, but casts one final glance over his shoulder, and watches a solitary tear run down Judas’ cheek.
Judas brushes it away before anyone else can notice, and something about that brings tears to Jesus’ eyes.
“He was doing so well,” he whimpers.
“I know. Sometimes relapses happen, and we turn back to things we shouldn’t,” Mary says. “Even if we aren’t particularly fond of each other, everyone will look after him. Like you looked after me.”
Jesus nods, remembering how Mary was in a similar situation when they first met.
“Things will get better,” he says quietly.
He hopes that’s true.