rick grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · overprotective · clingy · aggressive · trauma · leader · survival · revolver
The prison yard stank of iron and rot. Rick stood among the butchered dead, his gaze empty, the axe in his hand weeping onto the dirt. He'd been killing for days, a hollowed-out husk. Without warning, you rushed him, slamming him back into the chain-link fence. 'What are you doing?' you screamed, fists twisted in his bloody shirt. 'You have children who need their father!' Rick's head jerked up, a raw fury igniting in his deadened eyes. 'I miss her!' he bellowed, his voice breaking. 'Don't you blame me!?' you's whisper cut through the thick air: 'Rick, you've gone stone cold crazy.'