Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This is inspired by the popular "Jessie as the abuser rather than Pete" theory expanded on by Ikkleosu. Despite prevailing spoilers debunking the idea, I couldn't let this intriquing idea for a twist go so easily. Please use your discretion while reading, this story deals with some heavy subject material. – The first chapter is told in Rick's point of view.

Warnings: Spoilers for all the ASZ episodes. Follows the idea of fitting into canon as a 'missing scene' type of fic whenever the big reveal happens. *Contains: adult language, adult content, domestic violence, domestic abuse, blood, violence, broken bones, physical and emotional spousal abuse, potentially triggering scenes, language and allusion to past and present abuse.

Sleeping Sirens (a thousand curses on you and yours lest you dismiss my fears)

Chapter One

He wasn't really aware of what was going on outside the rage roaring through him. Finding himself barely afloat, barely able to form a conscious thought beyond the sense of righteousness that fueled him.

After what Carol had said the night before. After what had been niggling at him – cancerous and gaping – every time he'd seen the two of them together since the day they'd all arrived. All it had taken was the sight of Jessie limping down the back steps of the pantry. Sighing in frustration as Olivia chirped sympathetically. Helping her with some boxes as the cheerful woman filled the sullen silence with something about being an eternal klutz herself, almost always falling down the main set of stairs in her house.

He hadn't even stopped.

He didn't have to.

Didn't need to.

Didn't want to.

He'd seen enough. Seen enough to know what had to be done.

What he would have to do.

The tips of his fingers ghosted across the clips of his holster.

After all, who would blame him?

There was no place for that kind of man here.

People like Pete didn't deserve safety.

A wife.

A family.

They didn't deserve this life.

Not like he did, not like-

He felt a grim smile spread across his lips, tugging at the chapped outsides as he took the front steps of Jessie's house at an easy lope. Feeling the biting chill of the wind flash-freeze across his teeth as the expression went feral. Hopeful. Anticipatory.

He didn't slow. He just turned the knob – unlocked, perfect – in mid-lunge. Rocking the thick pane on its hinges as the door hit the opposite wall with a shuddering thud. Startling Pete from where he was crouched on the edge of the sofa, in the middle of unwrapping a thick tensor from around Eric's ankle.

The man's hair – a drab, faded sort of straw – flared out as he stumbled to his feet, half in front of Eric as the red-head struggled to sit upright. Staring wide-eyed around the curve of Pete's left hip as a strangled note of surprise issued in the air above their heads.

"You son of a bitch," he hissed, crossing the distance before the man could get his mouth to work. Crowding into his space as the taller man took a step backwards, then another. Ignoring the sound of Eric talking. Ignoring the strange, thin sort of whine that got wrenched from Pete's lips when his back connected with the wall. Shaking the photographs and framed art as the sound of footsteps running up the front porch after him barely registered.

"What did you do, huh?" he growled, one hand slamming out, connecting with the drywall just beside the asshole's head as the wall concaved with the force of it. "Was knocking her around not enough for you?"

"Rick, I-I don't-" Pete started, stuttering, face a strange white-washed pale where he'd expected anger-red and huffing excuses that ended when he hauled back and jammed his elbow into the man's gut.

"No! You don't get to speak," he bit out, feeling nothing but contempt as Pete keeled over, clutching his stomach, dry heaving across the rug as he spluttered and gasped.

Something inside him purred, stretching out with sharp claws and lithe muscles. Like a great cat playing with its prey before eating it, he couldn't deny that something in him wanted this. Craved it even.

"Rick!"

"You don't get to touch her," he hissed, dragging him up by his hair as Pete cringed – flinching – balling his fist and held it up by the man's chin like a threat. "Not her, not your kids, not ever again. You hear me?!"

It was vindication. Classical aggression. A release he didn't even know he needed until his knuckle split across the bastard's cheekbone. Feeling the crunching split of fragmented bone as he hauled back and punched him again. Something in him howling as the man cried out. Trying to shove him away. Trying to-

"Rick! Rick, stop!"

He ignored the man's upraised hands.

The subtle tells.

The growing group of people milling just behind him.

His chin tipped up, blood flecked and brutal sharp as his next hit snapped the man's head back. Sending them both to the floor as he rained down punches, slaps, hits, even the jab of his knee when he could manage it. He shook off the hands trying to pull him up, trying to yank him off the prone form as Pete curled small underneath him – quivering and protective.

But that only made him angrier – enraged.

He didn't deserve what he had and now he wouldn't even fight for it?

Pathetic!

"Look at me," he growled, trying to get the man to face him. "You're going to answer for what you did to her, to your kids. But for now, think of this like a down payment…I said look at me, you bastard!" he yelled, fingers slip-sliding in red as he grabbed the man by the shirt collar and wrenched him to his feet.

It wasn't until a collective gasp shuddered through the room that he looked down – stopping dead. Coming to a cold stop only a few seconds behind the rest of them when he realized that the force of his grip had rucked up Pete's double layers. Baring a ruined, discolored torso that had nothing to do with the damage he'd managed to inflict.

Because there were already bruises there. Deep seeded purples and grays. Mottled reds and the harsh slashes of long finger nails. New, old, fresh, aged. Pete's torso was like a living, breathing canvas of abuse and he- well, he shuddered backwards. Repelled. Frozen.

This wasn't what he'd expected.

What he'd thought.

He'd been so sure.

So confident.

So blind.

The hush was dynamite. A muted explosion without voice or sound. Just the heaviness of silence and half a dozen tongues that could not find the words to express themselves.

But the man caught in his grip had no such qualms.

Because instead of shying away, for the first time, Pete lurched up, seizing his shoulders in a strength that firmed into him like the greatest shame. All horrified mortification and dawning guilt as thick fingers dug deep into the curl of his collar. Looking up at him through a swelling eye as Pete caught his gaze and held it, bringing him down inch by inch until they were level with each other. Breathing in the backwash of the other's breaths as the bitter tart of blood and sweat intermingled between them.

"You really are all the same…" Pete remarked brokenly, gargling through a mouthful of blood and mucus that'd already started trickling out the corner of his mouth. Leaking twin ribbons of deep crimson like water from a cracked basin.

"Got laughed out of the police station, t-then the court house," Pete hiccupped, spitting a mouthful of red across the hardwood as his head lolled – weak - legs crumpling underneath him.

He clutched the man instinctively, putting his weight into keeping him upright as the sallow sheen of new and old bruises hazed like blasphemy across his clearing vision.

He didn't understand.

He'd been so sure.

So sure that Jessie had been-

"I tried to get a restraining order, temporary custody…anything. But they didn't believe me. They-they just fucking laughed," Pete hissed, pained and barely lucid as a horrible, retching laugh gurgled from ruined lips.

Somewhere behind him he was aware of Carol and Michonne moving forward. Of Eric hobbling to his feet, ghosting along the sidelines of his vision, bandages trailing. Precursors to the tide of people – Deanna, Reg, Olivia, Tobin, Spencer, and more - about to surge forward and try to make themselves useful.

Anything to lessen the coarseness of it all as the collective shock and guilt thickened the air. Turning the room suffocating and tight as Pete yanked him down another inch – wavering and barely conscious. Looking like he was about to say something more before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped. A sudden dead weight that took them both down to the floor in a jarring, half-controlled fall that found them sprawled together.

His heart got caught in his throat when the angle caused Pete's head to fall back against his chest – a parody of a loving embrace – as he held the man gently, half-cradled as someone, Eric maybe, called for the first aid kit. All too conscious of the man's hurts as Pete looked up at him, eyes unfocused but strangely strong all the same.

"Y-you hit harder than she does. It's funny though, hers always hurt more…"

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter, please stay tuned!

Reference: A heartfelt thank you for onedayyoujustchange for vetting this story personally for me. I wanted to ensure I portrayed the subject matter both accurately and respectfully. I hugely appreciate your professional and personal guidance on this matter, my dear.