“I’m not checking him, you check him.”

“I checked the other guy!”

“You’re on check duty.”

“You invented check duty! Yesterday! And I had it then too!”

“It’s a weekly rotation!”

“God! Fine!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” A mutual glare, and the scruffier centurion steps up to the base of the cross.

“Hey, man, you okay?” he asks, and pokes his crappy dull twice-mended spear gently–gently, he will swear so many times in the years to come that it was gently–at the guy’s side.

He gets a face full of blood and water for his trouble.

“Oh GROSS,” Longinus sputters.