⨾𓍢ִ໋ the lakes pt2
warnings: mentions of attempted suicide, reader + rick going insane, hallucinations, mentions of cannibalism, whole load of angst w/ fluff , isolation, age gap (readers in their early 20s), themes of guilt, paranoia (just the usual rick emotions basically), depression from reader, mentions of michonne, andrea, jim etc
pairings: rick Grimes x gn!reader - s2-s4
word count: 3.4k
songs I listened to while writing: the lakes, same ol' mistakes, who is she?, it almost worked, dagger, western nights, tongue, this is me trying
a/n: Thanks to my beloved writers server i've decided to make the lakes a series!! Im so excited to write this for you guys I have high hopes for this fic and where its going to go <3
moodboard - p1 - p3
You remembered how it had been before this. Waking up to the sound of crickets chirping in the early morning, having the ability to wake up knowing you were somewhat safe on the farm that your group, no matter how much you disliked being with them, had found sanctuary on. You'd really taken that for granted.
You were left behind, surrounded by the walkers that invaded what had became your home these past few weeks, only company being Andrea as you both made your way out with the little rounds you had left. Michonne had came through like the last gift god was willing to give, more so for Andrea than yourself but still, you were thankful.
You knew why this had happened, of course you knew why. It was the raft of god, condemning you to hell for what you had done, for laying with a married man. You had been unlucky, and that continued to follow after the fall of the farm.
The little relief you had felt with Rick that night meant nothing now, surrounded by walkers at all sides, Andrea screaming your name as the two of you were on either sides of the horde.
Locking eyes with Michonne as she held Andrea back, you knew the choice she had made. As always, it wasn't for you. To believe that even for a second that it could've been was foolish, when had you ever been first pick after all?... you surely weren't to Rick, that being clear when he had left you behind and now, you weren't to Michonne.
The days blended into each other after that, always alert for what was coming, walkers or basic threat, anything set you off now. It didn't take long for you to realise nobody was coming to save you, Andrea and Michonne weren't coming back, why would they? Nobody ever came back, at least not for just you. Back at the CDC, you were mean't to die there, you wanted it more than anything. But Dale had came back for Andrea and you had put in your piece, spoke your truth on how the world would never be the same, how it was better to go out on your own accord. But the old man had shut you down, spoke about Jim and how he wouldn't have wanted this for you and so, had you walking out the building with him and Andrea. You wished you'd never left, wished you'd died there because everything that had followed after the CDC proved the point you had made that day, the fact that the world you were living in now would only get worse.
Maybe it would be better to let go, let the walkers rip you limb for limb as they should've done before all of this. You'd been so close to using your last round and driving a bullet into your skull, the impact of it killing you once and for all on your own accord. That was until you saw him.
'Jim?'
You whisper, barrel of the corroding gun still pressed gently against your roughened skin, head cocked to the side as you try to make out the figure before you.
'you need to get up.'
The voice mutters towards you, a little incoherent but you can still make out the words enough to turn your head again, peering up to the man you now recognised to be Jim, sickly pale in the same way he had been when you left him.
'I'm not listening to a dead man...'
You laugh this time, but the noise comes out dry, scratching at the insides of your throat from the lack of appearance in these past few months. Turning to squint up at him again and seeing the pity he held in them lifeless eyes, you sigh, dropping the gun and letting the pistol bounce once against the forests fallen leaves and leaning back defeatedly against the hollow trunk at your back.
'happy now?'
You murmur, looking up from your gun which lay unused at your side and he's gone, leaving you all by yourself once again.
It had been a while since Rick had seen you in his head.
After Lori's death he'd lost it, shouting up at walls he seen the woman's face in, scaring not only his son but everybody else around him. The prison had became his own personal hell, trapping him within its walls and the visions of you and Lori along with it. Their leader, the man who had hauled them through everything so far, gave them hope, was quite frankly losing it. And it wasn't stopping there.
Rick thought back to the first time he had heard you, the crackle of your voice coming through that broken old telephone down where Lori had passed and how his body had jolted, frozen in place at the sound of your rasp.
'what happened Rick?
You'd asked, and all the man could do was cry, whimpering into the phone as he fell to the floor, tattered cord tangling with his movements.
'm'sorry y/n. m'sorry, 'm so sorry'
He repeats over and over, needing to apologise, not just for leaving you behind but for what he had done to you, having you feel the way that he had also felt just to completely avoid you on the following days after the event. He hated himself for it every single day, now more than ever as you cried quietly into the phone, mirroring his own sobs which broke between the words he tried to speak.
'I was gonna' end it- thought I could keep ya' both alive n I-'
He stops, teeth clenched tightly in his mouth, stopping himself from crying even more than he should've been. But he just couldn't, he was breaking, and you weren't there to pick up the pieces. You were gone, and so was Lori. That was more than enough to send him into this state of psychosis.
The days after the phone call, it had only gotten worse. Watching Lori turn into yourself was what had him fully break, crying loudly for you to go away , taking out his gun in a fit of hysteria and scaring off the group that had came to him for help, now ushered away by Glenn. He was losing it, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. All the group could wonder was why he had called your name in the midst of this breakdown and not his late wife's. Michonne, stood off to the side, had her head bowed low, hiding the guilty expression on her face as she remembered what had happened to you in the end, a memory that was all too familiar.
Hershel had gotten him out of that hole after he had found him outside the next day, wandering out of the prison fence and talking to himself incoherently. Hershel knew something had to be done after michonne had came to him, explaining how she had been with you before all of this. Putting the pieces of the story together, Hershel knew he had to help. The people needed their leader, Glenn couldn't live up to Rick, no matter how hard he would try, he just couldn't. So, Hershel had to get him back.
Hershel was no man that judged, Rick knowing that well enough spoke of his troubles, helping the older man understand why he was out there and that there was an answer in all of it. Hershel met him halfway, telling him the half-truth on what michonne had mentioned about you still being out there, still fighting with nothing left to fight for and with the news of your survival, Rick made his way back.
He had hope again. With the protection of the prison and having it turned into a real home after the Governor's leave, him, Michonne and Daryl tried their hardest to look for you. The group searched across the entire state for any signs to where you might have gone and where the Governor may have been hiding, holding out hope for his own sanity and Michonnes.
You wouldn't be found. At least not until God had deemed your suffering enough.
After the brief encounter with Jim, you did what you could to keep going, even when it pained you to do so. You knew if you were to put the barrel to your head again, your brain would conjure up another person you spent your days missing, a sick way to keep you alive, even if there wasn't many options on the list of people to visit, you couldn't bare for one of them to be Rick. Instead, you kept going, killing lonesome walkers that stumbled across your path down the Georgia roads until you were stopped at a railway track, observing the area as you always did now and stepping onto its tracks.
You figured staying on the tracks was safer than the woods you were accustomed to now. Before, you would've said the opposite of that statement. But before, you had the safety provided by Michonne's two chained walkers, even with how sick it may have been, it was nothing compared to what you'd seen in these past few months of survival. You'd only survived now out of either sheer luck or severe punishment. Either way, you supposed you were to be grateful.
Walking slowly down the tracks, you noticed a sign, moving closer to the slab of wood held up by a rather weathered pike and reading the words that were there before you.
Sanctuary
for all
Community
For all
Those who arrive
Survive
Maybe it was sheer luck after all.
The first night after the prison had fell, Rick had dreamt of you.
He wasn't sure if he was dreaming at first... the pain in his side remained, still rested atop of the couch him and carl had found the night before, having to adjust by themselves for now.
You walked steadily towards him, bringing light to the darkness of the room. He hastily adjusted, rubbing his tired eyes and looking upwards to not only see yourself, but Judith, cooing softly against your unblemished chest. You looked the same as you had the last time he had seen you, not through altered visions his mind had conjured but from the farm, purely you.
'Rick... your face.'
You observe, voice laced with concern as you lean forward towards him, delicate fingers grazing against the coarse cuts which were now etched onto his face, blood dried and cracking whilst you held Judith closer.
You felt so real. Rick could feel the heat of your skin against his own, a feeling he hadn't felt since that night... how he had missed it. He lets his eyes flicker shut at the notion, his own hand coming up to take the hand held closest to his face and hold it, squeezing just once to test that you were really there. Really with him in this moment, with Judith.
'you've gotta wake up Rick... Carls worried'
you whisper softly after a few seconds of shared silence, squeezing back into Rick's hand with a tender smile, one which was broken around its edges but there, for him.
He shakes his head at the words you speak, letting his eyes flutter back open and onto your face, taking it in while he still can, holding your softer hand to his own.
'jus'... let me stay for a little longer, please.'
He whispers, pleading now as he looks up, thumb caressing the skin atop your knuckle languidly, scared that if he applied too much pressure, you and Judith would disappear.
'you need to wake up... keep Carl safe.'
He reachs for your hand as it slips but you're gone, leading him to lose his balance and fall off of the shabby couch. He gasps for air, rasping as the pain of his injuries immediately hit, throat itching harshly at itself. He reaches for Carl, trying his absolute hardest to speak the boy's name as he cries, the sound of his snivels tearing him further apart than the dream of you and Judith had already done. However, Carl drops his weapon with the lack of response from his father, sobbing harder as he begins to speak.
'I can't... I was wrong. Just do it.'
He whimpers, Rick's strained hand outstretched to him , voice clawing its way out of his scratchy throat before he finally gruff.
'Carl... don't go outside. Stay safe.'
He struggles on the words but, he continues, doing what you had said and keeping Carl safe. He couldn't lose anybody else.
With that, he turns over again, collapsing against the floor and silently praying that you will return through his slumber again.
Terminus was anything but sheer luck.
The track to the sanctuary had been longer than you had hoped, avoiding at all costs other groups, knowing the trouble they brought from fleeting experiences along the way. You dealt with it when you had too, no regret, just the need to survive by any means necessary. Was that not how people got by now?
Walking through the gates of Terminus and seeing the laundry baskets and hampers already had you feeling uneasy. The domestic life this place was already beginning to offer felt too good to be true. After being on your own for so long, the ruminating thoughts had switched off. But now, they were in overload.
What if this place is wrong? What if Rick and everybody are already here? What happens if you turn the corner and the place has been overrun with walkers?.. knowing your luck, you really wouldn't be surprised.
But even with all the thoughts, you turned, clutching onto the last of your weapons - a small and dainty pocket knife situated in your jacket pocket. You knew it would do nothing if there was a horde but still, you were prepared.
And there there was, a woman, mid 50s maybe, stood opposite a burning grill, cooking what you had guessed at the time to be deer with a welcoming smile on her face.
'Hi, I'm Mary. Looks like you've been on the road a while.'
She speaks, the smile on her face turning pitiful as she looks over your appearance, catching the bruises and cuts, as-well as the rips and dirt on your once clean clothes. But with no response from yourself, she sighs softly, voice still soft as she speaks again.
'Let's get you settled with a warm plate. Welcome to Terminus.'
'that deer?-'
clunk
After finding Michonne and Daryl, Rick made a beeline for Terminus, knowing that if there was somebody the group had holed up after the fall of the prison, it would be this place.
The events of the night before were still replaying in his head. The feel of his teeth sunken into human flesh, hand held tight around his blade as he stabbed the man who touched his son. It'd all happened so quickly, in a fit of rage, he had let Carl, Michonne, Daryl, all of them, see how far he had fallen into the darkness.
He knew none of them blamed him, how could they when he practically saved them?... Nevertheless, knowing his son now rested with Michonne inside the stationary car restless with the memories of his father acting the way he had had him feeling a whole lot worse.
With his back against the car, he reached into the inside of his jacket pocket, doing his best to not ruin the pages of the journal but then failing miserably.
'shit'
He grunts frustratedly, moving to wipe the remnants of blood smeared across his hands against his already browning shirt. To think that the shirt had once been white was slightly amusing.
He picks up the journal once again, specks of red now smeared slightly across its front which Rick just sighs at the sight, no energy for anything else, leaning back further against the car as he opens it up.
When the prison had fell, he'd been insanely grateful to himself that he had slipped the journal into his jacket pocket earlier on into the today, thinking he was to be going on look out into the night. But of course, that was cut short.
He can't help but smile weakly as he always does at the first few pages. Light sketches which had been done by yourself back at the farm, are what were depicted on its pages, some of the farm's appearance but most being sketches of himself.
He flicks again, fragile pages crinkling against his nimble fingers as he reads the poems, finding his favourite towards the end of the journal and staring down at the words for a few seconds. He remembered the first time he'd read this piece of yours, the night after the fall of the farm, curled up in a deserted car with Carl on his lap and needing some peace during this time. It did nothing to calm him, at least not then. It however, did now.
‘if i follow you to the river,
would you come and bring me peace?
will you stay with me forever?
will you chase me in my dreams?
if i throw it all in the river,
if i let my thoughts run free,
would you stay here forever?
would you come be lonely with me?’
Delving back into the old memories, he hadn't noticed that he had began to cry, not until Daryl placed down his crossbow, metal clanking against the rusted car's metal and knocking rick out of his trance.
He sniffles, grasping the book and closing it shut as he moves to put it back into his tattered jacket pocket, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand quicker, not wanting the man to see him like this, no one for that matter. But Daryl batted no eye, handing him a much needed rag to wipe his face, no words needed just, a shared look, a look that mean't that he knew. He knew.
You didn't fight it. What was the point of fighting against four walls of steel? The pain from where you had been hit on the back of your head was gone now. Once again, you were left to your own devices, trapped in a container in a place disguised as good. God really fucking hated you huh?
You weren't sure how long you'd been here now. Long enough for them to chuck in small amount of foods you refused every once in a while but, not long enough for them to kill you. What sort of sick torture even was this? If they were going to eat you, why not just do it now? You wondered for the 100th time, staring at the same red walls as you had for the past however many hours.
Something was happening though. The day before, all you had heard was gunfire, banging on the container for help that never seemed to come but then, it was gone, leaving behind its eerie silence with it.
You were about to doze off, it being the only thing you really could do to take your mind off the current situation at hand until the sounds outside of the container grew again. But this time, it wasn't just gunfire.
You banged louder than you had all the previous times, voice breaking from the lack of water as you shout for help again, praying that somebody, anybody, would get you out of there.
The screech of the container's lock moving up had you stilling, fists bunching up incase of any threat that was to come your way. The adrenaline running through your bones was running faster, prepared to attack for any reason deemed necessary. Prepared to run. Hide. Anything.
So, as soon as the door swung open, you attacked blindly, pouncing onto the man before you, voice too broken to scream, just a cry coming out weakly.
Yet, he pushes back, having you stumble into the hands of another, catching his own breath doing so.
‘please- jus’ , let me go'
You fall against the second man, squinting at the sun you hadn't seen for much too long, eyes flickering shut in defeat as you weakly beg. It was the first time you'd ever even done so. Your voice was weak, barely audible with the sound of gunfire and walkers all around you.
But they heard, heads turned up, especially Rick’s which was to the back of you when Glenn, stood in-front of the two of you, realised who exactly they'd let out.
‘y/n?’
© 𝘬𝘺𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥𝘥 2026
@rickgrimesismyboyfriend @rottingwaif52 @kitty-grimes @lovestriuck



















