Chapter Text
December, 1992
It was cold outside. Really fucking cold. Judas zipped up his jacket (which did little to protect him from the harsh weather) and continued trudging along the slushy sidewalk. His boots were soaked, his feet were cold, and he just wanted to get back to his apartment as quickly as possible. It had been a long and busy shift. The coffee shop he worked at was always slammed around the holidays. He barely had time to take a smoke break during his shift, so he was a little on edge. He had tried to stop smoking back in the 60's, but it he always went back to it. It was a nasty habit that he was stuck with.
He hated New York. He didn't know why he moved here. He moved to the states from Germany in 1940 for obvious reasons. And besides, he had been in Germany too long anyway. People were probably getting suspicious of why he had looked 30 for the entire time he was there.
He had never married. It was too risky. He couldn't marry even if he wanted to.
He didn't know if he could ever love again.
He fumbled with the keys to his small, shithole apartment. He had been in this apartment for about five years now. Before that, he bounced around the states for a couple of years, before settling on New York. The apartment was cluttered, but not unclean. It smelled of incense and stale marijuana. It was dimly lit. The ceiling light stayed off at all times, so the only thing illuminating the room was the plethora of lamps. His shelves were covered in books and little knic-knacks. He took off his coat, hung it up, and immediately kicked off his boots. He made his way to his kitchen, searching for something to eat. The fridge was sparse. He hadn't been to the store in a couple of weeks. The cupboards weren't much better. A pack of stale ramen called his name. Just like it did last night. And the night before. Basically, he ate ramen most everyday unless he had been shopping. He pulled a pot (the only pot he owned) out of it's hiding spot and filled it up with lukewarm water. He turned the knob on the stove and it came to life. He lit a cigarette and cooked his small and bland dinner. It was...fine. It was ramen. Usually, he would crack an egg in it, add soy sauce, seasoning, whatever. But for tonight, it was just plain, boring fucking noodles. A familiar "mrow!" came from just beside his right foot. His cat, Chatul, which literally just means "cat" in Hebrew (Judas wasn't feeling very creative when he named her) pawed at his pant leg. She was a sphinx that he had found when she was just a little kitten. Some asshole had thrown her on the side of the road, just in front of his apartment door.
"Yes, yes. I know, you want to go outside, but its cold as fuck out and you'll freeze." He picked her fleshy cat body up and kissed her wrinkled head. "I'll have a kitty popsicle if I let you outside and I don't want that." She purred in response and licked his mustache. He smiled at that. He may have not had a lot in his life, but he had her, as pathetic as that sounds.
It was late now, around one, when he finally started to get ready for bed.
His bathroom was small. It had a bathtub/shower that was in desperate need of a scrub down. The apartment building was made in the 1960's, and it showed. To the tile lining the walls to the god-awful wallpaper, it was like the 60's threw up in there. The bathtub faucet squeaked as he turned it as hot as it would go. Water (a murky brown for the first few seconds of it running. Thank you, shitty New York plumbing) started coming out of the rusty faucet.
He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he waited for the bath to fill up.
He looked tired.
Well, he was tired. Extremely so. No matter how much he slept, he always woke up exhausted. His eyebags reflected that.
His hair was short and dark. It was naturally curly, but he never let it get long enough to see that. He needed a shave. He liked to keep his mustache and a little bit of hair on the chin, but the rest of it he kept shaved. His nose was sharp and angular. Truth be told, it was his favorite feature. At least, it was one of the only ones he could stand to look at. He was an attractive guy, sure, in the conventional way. But he could never see himself as more than a piece of dogshit on a shoe. He pulled his shirt over his head and examined his bare chest. Hairy, but not too much. His pants came off next, discarding them to the cold tile. His boxers soon followed. Then he lowered himself into the dangerously (almost boiling) hot water and let himself relax. He reached over the tub to his pants, where he grabbed the pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He had gotten it in Italy, around 1930-ish. It was beautiful. It was silver (fitting) with an intricate carving of a human skull. It was worn down from the years of use, but he still loved it. He refilled it whenever it ran out of oil so he could use it over and over again. It brought him some comfort. It was a constant in his life that kept him grounded. It reminded him of where he came from, where he's been.
What he's done.
He slipped further into the water, the cigarette burning between his fingers. He let his head go under the surface of the water.
It was quite. The water pressed against his face and muffled all noises from the street below.
It was quite.
It was quite, and it was warm.
------
"One medium Carmel Latte with oat milk for Carol?" Judas called out.
"Uhm, I wanted that iced." The lady gave him a quick look up and down.
"I'm sorry, I'll fix that right away-"
"Listen," she leaned in to get a better view of his name tag, "Jude. I have a meeting to get to, so why don't you hurry up and do your fucking job right, ok?" Judas gritted his teeth.
"My apologies, ma'am. I'll fix that for you. Just give me a minute." He hated customer service. It took everything in him not to cuss out every shitty customer he came across.
"Make it quick." She snapped.
Judas started making her new drink. Iced this time. Even though she never said she wanted it iced, he had taken her order, so he knew. He was so focused on making her drink correctly that he didn't even notice the man who walked into the café.
He didn't notice as the atmosphere shifted.
He didn't notice how the air felt lighter, smelled sweeter. The sun shone just a little brighter.
He didn't notice the man until he looked up.
He forgot how to breathe.
He forgot how to think.
He looked different than the last time he saw him.
For one, he was alive.
He wasn't covered in blood.
He wasn't beaten and brusied.
Judas dropped the newly made drink.
"Dude, what the fuck?! Are you fucking serious?!" The lady snapped, but Judas didn't even hear her. His mouth was agape and his eyes were wide open.
"Hey, asshole, I expect a refund!" Her voice was grating and loud.
But he didn't seem to notice.
"That isn't anyway to talk to someone, miss." His voice was smooth, yet firm. He hadn't heard that voice in over 2000 years.
Judas's hands started to shake.
"First of all, mind your fucking business. Second of all, Jude, I want your manager." He finally snapped out of his trance.
"O-our manager isn't here today." Judas stuttered, trying not to look at the man next to her.
"Jesus fucking Christ, whatever. I don't understand how your generation functions. Expect a raging review. You just lost a customer." She flipped him off and stormed out the door.
It was just him and the man.
The man.
Jesus.
Jesus was here, in his coffee shop, about to place an order, like nothing had happened. Like Judas hadn't killed him.
"Are you going to clean that up?" Jesus said softly.
"Fuck, yeah." Judas looked down at the spilled coffee then back up at the man.
It couldn't be him.
The resemblance was uncanny.
But it couldn't be him.
For starters, he didn't hear trumpets or whatever they said would happen when Jesus came back. He didn't see people ascending into the heavens with a godly light or some shit. He just saw a normal, very familiar (very alive), man.
"Are you okay?" The man cocked his head.
"What? Oh, y-yeah. You just...look like someone I used to know, that's all-"
"JUDE! Clean that shit up, quit flirting with the customers, and get a move on." A voice said from behind him. It was Ruby, one of his coworkers. He liked Ruby. They both frequented a gay bar not to far from the café.
"I-I'm sorry, sir. Let me clean this up then I'll take your order." His hands were trembling as he took some paper towels out from under the counter and wiped up the mess. He bent down to wipe up the coffee on the floor. He stood up and wiped his hands on his apron.
"Right, what can I-" but the man was gone. And laying on the counter was a crisp 100 dollar bill and a business card.
In bold black letters, it read:"Joseph's Woodworking" with a number and an address printed under it.
He flipped over the card with shaking hands.
A phone number was written down.
And a note.
"Judas, please call me."
Judas thought he was going to be sick.