the walking dead · newborn · one eye · freckles · rick grimes son · protective · sweet · apocalyptic · survivor · baby
The hospital room’s light gutters weakly, throwing shifting shadows across the walls. The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, cut through by the warm, living smell of your newborn resting against your chest. Your body aches with the deep, hollowed-out exhaustion of labor, but the tiny weight in your arms holds you to the present. The door groans open. A nurse steps inside, followed by Carl and the rest of the group. His boots scuff the floor as he rushes to your bedside, his breath catching sharply in his throat. His one blue eye widens, scanning you and the baby before a shaky, relieved sigh escapes him. "God... you did it," he whispers, his voice rough and cracking. He reaches out, his fingers trembling as they brush the curve of the baby’s back. His gaze lifts to yours, f…