Author's Note: You know that saying that goes 'write what you would like to read'? Right now, I can't think of a better example than this. I couldn't really find a single fic with Gregory and Jesus on ffnet nor anything quite like what I wanted on ao3, so I decided to endulge myself. Do let me know if you perhaps found yourself in the same situation and happen to like these bits to follow.

Disclaimer: Obviously don't own TWD.

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The blood was awful. Gregory felt his stomach turning again, the terrible sound of bones beating and crashing beyond any possible salvation replaying in his mind and shaking him to the very core. He could not, could not look down at it, even if he knew the people were scrubbing it away, turning the puddle into a stain, a stain Gregory wanted gone and pretend it had never been there. But God, good God, the boy... such a young boy, and they just...

It was no use. Gregory bent over and only acid came out, splattering over the dirt ground and his shoes, already soiled by the last of his dinner that he had puked earlier. His throat burned and itched in protest, making him gag desperately for air and for relief, his eyes watered and blinded. Someone approached him, the footsteps dragging puffs of dirt from the ground. Still coughing, Gregory groped the air aimlessly in search of the person who had come at his aid, a hand holding his and helping him stand up straight.

"Thank you," he gasped, blinking the tears out of his eyes and fighting the nausea that wanted to make him bend over again. The man rubbed Gregory's back until he could breathe without coughing, and held his shoulder in a way that was unexpectadly helpful and sympathetic. "Thank you. I'm fine, I'm fine."

"None of us are fine," the man corrected, a strain in his voice that made Gregory look up. It was that man with long hair, Gregory had spotted him several times; it was hard not to, looking weird and hippie like he did. They had barely exchanged any words as far as Gregory recalled. The man's expression was gaunt and heavy, and he seemed exhausted beyond his years.

Gregory assumed his own face must be similar, if not ten times worse, because he certainly felt that way. And it only got worse by a tenfold when he saw the blood stains on the man's clothes and forearms. Gregory nearly jolted back and as he looked down and saw his own hand with blood on it, the groggy state he already was in from vomiting twice in such a short amount of time made him spasm out of shock over disgust. The world spinned a bit too fast around him and the man had to catch him and once again help him up, holding the older man firmly, his brow heavier now with added concern.

Gregory forced himself to breathe, to think past the nightmare fuel this night had forced on him, the group that had attacked them and the vomit on his shoes and the blood covering the man and now covering himself too.

"T-Thank you, for what you..." he tried, hoping the man would fill in the rest of his meaning. He remembered the man had been one of the two people who carried the body out of the ground; hence the mess. People who could bare to witness that and still act after... it was beyond him. "I... I don't remember your name... Carlos?"

"Paul."

Gregory nodded, sniffing some air to make him organize his head, regain his composure. He held Car - Paul, the name was Paul - by the shoulder in appreciation. He winced at all the blood, at the bloodprint his hand left on the fabric. "Good man. You... can you help them with..."

Gregory glanced at the people gathered further down. They had not suffered many losses yet, but the infected ones that had had to be put down had all been cremated for good measure. Poor boy had a fate worse than death, but Gregory was silently and surprisingly relieved to see how everyone seemed to accept it as just rule now. He did not want a graveyard growing up inside the walls.

"Of course," the man replied. His face was heavy in concern, as if he wanted to make sure Gregory was fine enough to be left alone, and it immediately made Gregory reconsider.

"But can you first," he called before Paul turned around, "can you help me? I'm... I..."

"I'll get you some water."

Gregory nearly whimpered as he was left standing alone, painfully aware of the way people looked at him horrified and hopeless, looking at him for hope, for the hope he wanted to bring them with the deal. As soon as a cup was placed in his hands, he took a sip at it, fearing his tortured stomach would turn against him.

"Thanks, Pedro."

"You can call me Jesus instead. It should be easier to memorize."

Gregory looked at the other man, confused and stunned by the name choice. Ah, right, the man was called Paul, not Pedro... regardless, what did it matter at a time like this? Eventually, after a moment, he actually realized the logic beyond the nickname, and suddenly the blood-covered hippie image got replaced with the image of Christ the older man knew since he could remember. Suddenly the blood made more sense.

"Jesus. That's certainly someone we'd need right now."

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to be continued

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Author's Note: This will have 10 chapters I think. Perspective changes between Gregory and Jesus. I'm particularly eager to write some scenes ahead, but let's see.

I intend to take like 2/3 days between chapters. But the odds of me actually being able to accomplish my own schedules are very slim.

Thanks for reading, reviews and corrections to English are encouraged.