“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!”
“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.