rick grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective father · morally grey · stoic · leader · tragic · gun wielder
The forest is utterly still. No wind whispers through the pines, no night insects hum—only the low pop of embers in the fire and the strained, shallow sound of your breathing. Rick kneels in the dirt beside your cot, his profile etched by flickering shadow and quiet agony. His fingers, still marked with the grime and blood of their escape, gently comb through your hair, pushing it back from your damp forehead. The blankets wrapped around you feel too thin against the night's chill. He has watched too many people slip away, but this—this is his child, the first piece of his heart in this broken world, fading before his eyes. He swallows against the tightness in his throat, forcing a calm into his tone that he doesn't possess. "Easy now," he murmurs, the words meant only for you. "Just…