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 second chapter and third chapters are told in Eric's perspective.

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, allusions to domestic violence & domestic abuse, alcoholism, blood, violence, broken bones, physical and emotional spousal abuse, potentially triggering scenes, language and allusion to past and present abuse, after-care and a few heart to hearts.

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

Chapter Three

"Do you have anything to drink?" Pete croaked, eventually breaking the silence just when he thought the man might have fallen asleep sitting up. Finding it hard to tell through the sticky lashes and swollen lids as Pete clicked his jaw experimentally. Testing the give and gingerly probing a spot that had already started coloring. Dark with what promised to be a truly spectacular bruise.

It was probably going to put Aaron's old one from Rick to shame, easy.

He handed him a glass of water without reply. Trying not to look like he noticed when the man struggled to sip it down. Split lips cracking as he took a couple of swallows and made a face.

"Water? Really?" Pete remarked, sighing disdainfully before emptying it all the same. "Don't you have anything stronger?"

"You drink too much, Pete," he replied, as firm as he dared before folding his hands primly in his lap. Watching the man watch him before Pete snorted – a mirthless, sour sort of sound that faded out almost as soon as it was voiced.

"You're probably right."

The quiet that spanned was less than wholesome. Stained through with the smell of antiseptic and sweat as Pete sipped slowly at his refilled glass, plucking idly at the bandages wrapped around his chest and the cooling plaster on his broken cheekbone with growing interest.

"Did you do these?"

He nodded, pleased. "Pre-med remember? And I had help anyway," he added, suppressing a wince as his overused ankle twinged in reminder.

"Who?"

"Carol. Olivia was here for a bit, but she found out pretty quickly she doesn't do well with the sight of blood, so she regulated herself to the duty of guard dog," he explained fondly, remembering the way she'd bustled out the door, stomping down the porch to clear the small crowd of onlookers who'd started gathering on the lawn. "You couldn't ask for anyone better in my opinion."

"Huh, I didn't think she liked me very much," Pete commented, nonplussed. Tipping his head from side to side, trying to ease the sore muscles in his neck. "Carol, I mean. She came to the door the other day, asking about Sam, I, well-"

"I don't know think she understood what was going on," he countered, fingers drumming against the leg of his jeans thoughtfully. Mulling over the words as he spoke without filter. Unwilling to start telling half-truths now that Pete was listening without censure. "Not many did, I think."

"She told me Sam had started hanging out at her place – getting clingy. And that she suspected you were beating Jessie, maybe even the kids. She apologized, more than once if it makes a difference. Came here just as we got you settled with a couple med-kits and more than a bit of experience. She didn't say it, but I think she told Rick what she thought she knew and he took it from there."

The corner of Pete's mouth twitched, straining to pull upward before the thick of the plaster stopped the movement. Making a soft sound in the back of his throat as he closed his eyes, slumping against the headboard with a quiet huff.

"At least they both had their priorities in order-" the taller man murmured, turning his head so that his discolored skin kissed the sun. "-the kids. Good to know there are people other than me looking out for them. Takes a village, right?"

"Rick was thinking with his dick," he replied bluntly. Cutting in almost angrily, unwilling to let Pete doll out credit where it wasn't deserved.

He shook his head when Pete cracked a lid at him. Surprised by the forcefulness behind it or maybe just the fact that someone was taking his side for once as he sat up straighter in his chair, setting his book off to the side with a decisive slam. Fighting off the after-images of Rick losing control like he were swallowing down bile. Imagining he could feel the brunt of it as Rick had seized the reeling man by the throat. Refusing to back down even when Pete made no move to retaliate.

That should have been the man's first clue.

But he hadn't wanted to see.

He'd only wanted to see what he believed - what he thought – confirmed.

"Carol was, well- she was thinking more with her heart," he allowed, running a hand through his short hair. Missing Aaron keenly as he mulled over how his partner was going to take all this. "You two might have more in common than you think, if I'm right."

It took a minute for comprehension to dawn. But when it did, he was surprised at the conflicted expression that flickered across Pete's bruised face. He sipped at his own glass quietly, hoping the man might take heart knowing that even at the end of the world, he was not alone. As terrible a thing as it was.

"At least-at least we didn't go through the window," Pete commented finally, the ghost of a smile attempting to make tracks as the attempt at humor startled a full out laugh from him.

"So cliché," he agreed, chuckling. "That would have been utterly unforgivable."

He let his thumb coast across the side of the book cover, smoothing the feathered pages with a series of even, rhythmic strokes. Giving the man a chance to think, to collect himself and decide how he wanted to rebuild his barriers as Pete stared down at his lap aimlessly.

"Is Rick-?"

"Honestly, I don't know, after the fight, well- he shut down," he answered, a bit too quick on the mark in his hurry to banish the strained silence. "Deanna and Michonne are dealing with him I think. I can check if you want?" he offered.

But instead of answering Pete just gave him the side-eye. Resigned. Peering through puffy-red lids like he was honestly waiting for him to say something else. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, nervous but resolved to wait the older man out.

"Don't you want to know why I stayed?" Pete finally rasped, avoiding his gaze as he looked about the room at random, determinedly not looking at him. "Why I-I- took it?"

"Only if you want to tell me," he answered honestly. Relieved to find that the response was automatic. All but ingrained after a couple dozen NGO seminars too many. Either that or it was just human. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was instinctual and what had been taught – learned by example over the span of one's formative years until all natural meaning was lost.

"You don't owe anyone anything, Pete. No explanations. Nothing."

"Maybe I do," Pete returned, self-scathing, tone harsh under a rattling cough that made him clutch at his ribs. Knuckles going white under the strain. "Maybe I should. I let it go on too long. The kids-they didn't deserve that."

"Neither did you," he insisted, leaning forward as Pete jerked back – startled at the sudden move.

But if the man heard the words, he gave no sign.

Instead, he just started talking. Hedging at first, but then faster and faster. Like if he stumbled, if he tripped over any of the words he'd stall and never be able to start again. Forcing him by proxy to sit and simply listen as what felt like years of physical and emotional abuse went free-falling without filter. Showing no sign of stopping even when the light from outside started to lessen, greying out in fractions, and Pete's voice morphed into something pain-laced and hoarse.

"-so, with my hours at the clinic and the mandatory shifts at emergency, there was no way in hell I could bargain for even a measure of full custody. I tried to get part time, but my student loans and- well, in the end she'd get at least partial custody. And I knew that if I left there was a chance, a chance she'd take the kids. Or take it out on the kids and I couldn't- I couldn't let that happen…" Pete remarked, trailing off lamely in favor of rubbing his hands over his face. Self-loathing almost tangible before he shook his head, laughing cruelly at himself.

"I swore that once upon a time that actually made sense," he sighed, defeated, eyes blank as he stared – wounded and severe – at the opposing wall. "Sound pretty pathetic, doesn't it? Or at least that's what people are going to believe, anyway."

"People tend to believe what makes sense to them. Me and Aaron? We don't make sense to most of them, maybe even you for all I know. You and Jessie?" he replied, regretting the name immediately as the man flinched. "It's same thing. It's not how the narrative is supposed to go, in their heads," he finished looping his fingers around his head once, then twice, as if to illustrate his point as Pete surprised him by nodding.

Somewhere outside, the sound of raised voices rose and fell, waspish and angry until he leaned back and shut the window with a snap. Disliking the way the mere sound had made the man tense all over again.

"What happens now?" Pete ventured, eyes darting from the door to the window, then back again. Only relaxing when a handful of moments trickled by and the only sound was the quiet discussion from downstairs as Sam and Ron debated whether the dice landing off the board was cheating.

It was the familiarity of that, perhaps more than anything, that put Pete at ease. Sighing audibly as his throat worked around a set of hand-print bruises. Struggling against the thickness around his windpipe as he emptied another glass of water in short order - lids drooping.

"At the risk of sounding absolutely patronizing, what do you think happens now? What do you want to happen now?" he answered, not quite managing to mask his wrinkled nose as his lips twitched at the cliché. Having tried and failed to find some other way to say it before giving up for the sake of continuing the conversation. He didn't want the man to clam up now. Whatever the course, it was time to face what had been happening – what was happening - not run from it.

"Pete, I honestly mean this when I say that everything is up to you now," he continued, sitting up straighter in his chair as he fixed the man with an assessing look. "It's your call. Yours. And no matter what happens out there, that's how it's going to stay. She can't hurt you anymore. Not you. Not the kids. Not even your future. Whatever she had over you, that's over. Done."

The bed creaked as Pete shifted. The staunch sound of red-wood warping against its binding screws as the larger man looked over at him. Wordless but thoughtful.

"From where I'm sitting that sounds too good to be true," Pete finally admitted, huffing a mirthless chuckle into the scraped curl of his palm. Eye flickering over the traffic signs they'd nailed to the wall over the past year. Four way stop, U-turn, before skittering way nervously from the Dead End centered by the far closet.

"Take it one step at a time," he suggested, as soothing as possible without straying into anything disingenuous. "You have the entire community behind you. Let them do the heavy lifting. Stick with what is happening right now – what you want to do right now."

Pete's expression was washed out as he met his gaze. Half-lidded and etched through with more than a little bit of pain until he nudged a couple pain killers in the man's direction. Taking note of the way the man swallowed them easily, the water more of an afterthought than anything as his chin dipped low.

"I'm tired…"

"Then sleep," he returned, smiling small as the man sunk down in the sheets, seemingly surprised at his own candor as sallow eyes fluttered closed. Exhausted and deep-set as bruised fingers fisted at the comforter worriedly. "We'll all be here when you wake up, I promise."

The breathy huff half-startled him when Pete turned his back, taking most of the sheets with him. "That's what she always said," the man murmured, half out of it. Speaking more to himself as his words started to slur around the edges. "I promise…I promise. She cheapened it."

"But I am not her," he returned softly, sympathetic tears prickling as the full breadth of what this man had suffered – what this family had suffered – grew staggeringly heavy in his mind's eye. "And I'm not going anywhere."

No one deserved this.

To be used so harshly by someone who was supposed to love them.

"Follow through on that and maybe it will be a start," Pete returned, the muscles in his shoulders uncoiling slowly as sleep coasted in at the wings. Taking the man easily as he wobbled quietly to his feet, shaking out one of the patch-work quilts and covering him gently as a congested snore wheezed out into the hush.

"You can count on it, Pete."

It seemed only fitting, in a place that was all about second chances, that Pete and his boys would get a second chance of their own. A new life rich with everything their community could provide and more - if Deanna had anything to say about it.

After all, this place wasn't just a community, it was a future.

He had a feeling that given time, even Pete would come to appreciate the sentiment.

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.

Reference: Final thank you to onedayyoujustchange for vetting this story in its entirety. I hugely appreciated your professional and personal guidance during the course of this story and I would have been nervous indeed in posting it without your assurances.