Five minutes to curtain.

Eight twenty-five in the evening, their last show for this Wednesday night. Barnum was always an energetic one; even after three shows that day, he was still excited for this performance and the joy they could spread. Normally, everyone else would be ready to hit the sack, but this past week had been filled with more positive auras. The only reason that could be, was the lack of discriminating, unpleasant articles published for the city to be influenced by. The troupe was happy. He could see it in the way they prepared for the show backstage. Lettie hummed a soft tune as she touched up her makeup and hairdo. Anne's legs were stretched into an effortless splits while W. D. pushed on her shoulders; quiet jokes were exchanged between the siblings. Constantine and Jeremy conversed nearby in hushed tones and loud smiles.

"Places, everyone!" he called out exuberantly. It went without saying that he was also thrilled about the very welcomed turn of events, but he couldn't deny there was a voice in the back of his head, constantly nagging at him. Don't get too comfortable. They'll come back, harder than ever.

He did his best to ignore it.

They filed into position, still carrying small conversation, but their newest recruit caught his eye. Bella was stiff as cardboard, breathing rigidly. It made her leotard appear constricting and bun seem clunky. It was perfectly understandable that she was nervous. Tonight was her first night of performances. She did excellent in the previous shows, but it must've been overwhelming. Still, she showed tremendous promise in all the weeks of rehearsals she'd participated in.

Barnum took notice of her discomfort and approached her with a hand on her shoulder. "They don't know it yet, but they are gonna love you," he repeated the words he'd spoken to dear Lettie a couple years prior.

She met his eyes with a kind smile brightening her own. It was a silent thank you .

He gave her a wink before turning back, only to have Phillip clap a hand on his shoulder. The dimmed lighting suited his ringleader jacket, with how gold crossed the middle.

"We've got a nice crowd out there," he said. "Let's blow them away."

The lights shut off, sending hushed gasps through the audience. That was his cue.

"Ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for."

His voice broke out quietly yet demanding of attention, immediately silencing the whole room. With his footsteps echoing quietly as he parted from the troupe behind him, the tension could be cut with a knife. The words came naturally, almost as easily as breathing. The percussions began to build up and he found himself thudding his cane against the ground to the rhythm.

The intensity of the first verse came to a climax, and that's when the rest of his troupe flooded into the ring in an explosion of light, color, and life. Every single time, every single show, it pumped adrenaline and euphoria through his body like nothing he could describe. This was his home, and this was his family. This was where he belonged. Each and every line he belted out was filled with passion as he made eye contact with people in the crowd. He found that was best when attempting to convey the personal message of the song.

His eyes found a young boy smiling ear to ear and jumping to the music. A girl found the strength to take her friend's hand timidly before they both blushed. A grown man had tears shining in his eyes, mouth parted in awe. These were the reactions that moved him, the raw emotion and feelings that his show helped uncover. It meant the world and beyond.

The song came to a loud close, just as big, just as dramatic as all of their other ones. The audience exploded into applause. Barnum stood there, soaking it in, drowning in it, because the love and approval reverberating from the hands of strangers never got old. He let out a small laugh as he met eyes with Charity in the crowd, smiling just as big as him, clapping just as loud as the others. Casting a glance over at Phillip, he realized he was enjoying this just as much. It was evident by the broad smile, panting chest and lively posture.

The lack of excitement from a few gentlemen in one of the aisles drew his eye. One reached inside his coat, the others following suit, and light glinted off the steel barrel of their revolvers. Before he had a chance to react, their arms were fully extended and brandishing the weapons.

"Gun! Get down!" he screamed, but the volume of the audience seemed to overwhelm his warning.

The gunshots were louder, though.

Charity watched him collapse.

It was more like knocked back, really. With every bullet that pierced him, she counted three, his body jerked in a way that shouldn't have. It was only when he hit the ground did the realization of what just happened seemed to register to the people around her. The air was filled with chaos and panic as people fled for the exits, and what else could she do but pull her children protectively to her chest? The shooters, whoever they were and wherever it came from, could still be in the building, and she wasn't about to leave her children alone for them like a hearty meal.

It took seconds for the bleachers to empty; it felt like an eternity since she could only watch helplessly through tightly-packed bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of her husband. Shock and fear were still rippling through her body. Eventually, she was able to push her way through the thinning crowd and found herself wrapped in Lettie's arms. She'd run straight into her.

"Let me keep the girls," she said, voice thick with emotion. Her eyes were watering.

All that was needed to convey her gratitude was a simple facial expression, but Lettie understood. Charity raced off to the figures that crouched around her husband on the ground. It was Phillip and W. D. The latter, in his purple outfit and cape, turned towards her in surprise.

"You shouldn't be here, Miss—"

"He's my husband. Don't tell me I shouldn't be here." She understood his intentions were pure, only having her best interest in mind. But she was strong, and she was Barnum's other half. She needed to be by his side. However long it may be, however hopeless the situation, however painful and emotionally crippling the rest of the night might be, she had to be by his side.

So W. D. snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

Her attention turned towards her husband, whose face was contorted in pain, eyes scrunched close. His shaking hands were pushing weakly at Phillip's palms, which were pressed against P. T.'s chest. A few inches from his heart.

"Damn it, P. T., you're losing a lot of blood! Quit trying to push my hands away!" Phillip demanded, frantic. Phillip Carlyle was panicking. Blood still gushed between his fingers.

"Girls," P. T. gasped. "Where...."

Charity's fingers found Barnum's hair. At the gentle caress, his eyes fluttered towards her. They were fearful and bloodshot. "I'm right here. The girls are with Lettie."

He sighed as his eyes started to drift close. Fear gripped her heart like a vice; she couldn't move or speak or breathe.

Luckily, W. D. was there. "Hey, hey!"

His eyes jerked open blearily.

"Keep your eyes open, Barnum."

"Phin?" She asked softly, despite the debilitating waver tearing at her voice, then let her words turn more authoritative. "Listen to me. You're going to stay awake. Not just for me, but for Caroline and Helen as well. Do not leave us."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, choking back a cry, and nodded. She rewarded him with the best smile she could muster.

Phillip shifted his weight down again in an attempt to slow the bleeding some more. A strangled scream was torn from the back of Barnum's throat. It sent shivers down her spine. Tears tracked down his clammy cheeks.

"Liza should be here any second," Phillip mumbled, his eyes fixated on the bleeding. "They've sent for an ambulance."

Where was Liza? She'd been here earlier to support Bella for her first show. Maybe she'd run backstage to grab her bag.

"'M sorry, Chairy," he rasped. The old nickname brought back nostalgia for times far better than this. His words were slurred. The energy, the joy, the life, was leaving his body. "Love you girls. So...much."

A whirlwind of emotions threatened to implode inside of her. "Don't speak like that, Phineas," she rebuked. Part of her was angry that he'd even thought to say those words. "The doctor's almost here."

True to her word, Liza executed a knee slide, which would've made any baseball player proud, to Barnum's other side with her leather satchel in hand. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "It was hard to get through the crowd. Then I had to find my bag backstage with Bella's stuff."

She motioned for Phillip to move his hands once she'd grabbed a pair of scissors. He complied, but obviously reluctant.

"Listen, P. T.," she enunciated each word clearly and loudly. "We're going to help you, but only if you let us, okay? Let us help you."

Quick as a whip, she sliced the middle of the black vest with embroidered gold, then ripped the white button-up undershirt open. She stuffed a wad of gauze against the wound. Truth be told, it was difficult to tell where it was through the blood. Charity's heart dropped when Liza cut the jacket in order to carefully maneuver her hand under his back, prodding skin in search of the exit wound. Phin loved that jacket.

Barnum hissed through clenched teeth when her fingers abused the torn flesh.

"This is the worst of them, it looks like, and I've only got time to take care of one. We'll have to wait until we get to the hospital to care for the others."

Liza continued to work fervently, cleaning the wound and bandaging it in only a matter of seconds. The only matter was that two other bullet wounds riddled his body. It was hard to find the other two, given the fact that a bright red jacket encased most of his body, but now that Charity looked closely, she could find bloodpools in the fabric. One in his left shoulder, and the last right above his left hip. This would be devastating. If it didn't kill him—Charity then chided herself for such a though—just the idea of nerve or muscle damage was terrifying. Not Phineas. Phineas, who jumped and danced and played with their girls. It would destroy him.

One battle at a time, she told herself.

Liza handed a wad of folded gauze to Phillip. "Keep pressure on his shoulder," she instructed, then took her own fabric and pressed it into Barnum's hip. Hard.

Phillip winced as he followed her lead, knowing full well that the need to keep the ringmaster alive outweighed his desire to keep from hurting him.

Barnum's back arched against the pressure, but there was little room for movement. The heels of his boots dug at the ground. Charity grasped his hand to give him an anchor to reality, to the world, to her. The lack of strength in his cold grip was unnerving. He'd always had such strong hands. She found herself choking back terrified tears. She wouldn't spend these possibly last moments of her husband's life crying. He needed her.

W. D.'s head snapped towards the doors. "Over here!" he shouted, waving his arms. Thank God he had such a deep, commanding voice

Charity moved so they could place the canvas stretcher next to Barnum.

"One, two, three—" two medics lifted Barnum and set him on the stretcher. He cried out weakly, all energy sapped from him.

They lifted him up, but his hand shot out to grab Phillip's bloodied one. "Girls..." he gasped. He didn't have to finish, because by the look on the younger man's face, he understood what he'd meant.

Then they carried him off, and left the circus eerily quiet.