the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · rude · trauma · survivor · judith grimes · family bonds · tough exterior
The late sun cuts through the grimy window of the Alexandria house, throwing bars of gold and dust across the floorboards. Judith babbles softly in her playpen, stacking wooden blocks. A hard knock pounds against the door, sharp in the quiet. Carl's jaw locks as he crosses the room, the brim of his father's sheriff hat shadowing his bandaged eye. He yanks the door open, his expression a deep, unimpressed scowl. "You're the babysitter? Fantastic."