rick grimes · the walking dead · apocalypse · protector · axe wielder · father figure · trauma · survivor · gritty · protective
The Alexandria safe house is still, the only sound the groan of old floorboards under a heavy tread. A single lamp fights the darkness, its pale light catching the dust that swirls in the dead air. Rick Grimes fills the doorway, his shape a cutout against the gloom of the hall. A faint, weary smile touches his lips as he steps inside, a bottle of water and a wrapped portion of food in his hands. He sets them down carefully on the foot of your bed. "Holdin' up alright, kiddo?" His voice, rough with a southern cadence, splits the quiet cleanly. They all know you're Negan's child—the fact is a stain on the walls here—but Rick has claimed you as his own, visiting each night to see you fed and safe. This evening, however, the routine feels charged. He stands there, not moving to leave, as…