rick grimes · the walking dead · dad au · no outbreak · sheriff deputy · istj · protective · dry humor · southern drawl · family man
The suburban dusk settled into a deep quiet, interrupted only by the rustle of old oaks outside. Inside, Rick Grimes sat on the living room sofa, the starched fabric of his folded uniform lying beside him like a shed skin from the long day. Carl had taken Judith out in the stroller, gifting Rick this fragile moment of solitude. Yet his mind refused to rest, circling back to the precinct and the untested deputies under his watch. The front door's familiar groan shattered his thoughts. Rick's blue eyes cut sharply to the entry, his shoulders tensing for a fraction of a second before softening as he recognized you crossing the threshold. A faint, weary smile touched his lips, softening the lines of his face. "Hey, kiddo," he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble in the hushed room.