Protesters had always been bearable. Intense, yes. Hurtful, definitely. Good for business? That was debatable. Barnum had always kept an eye on them with the one in the back of his head. The troupe never performed when he thought it may be unsafe, and those nights he slept with them at circus. Except he never really slept, more like paced around quietly while the others were asleep. There were occasional exceptions, on the nights when Lettie couldn't sleep and found him perched in a spot where the entrances and exits were easily viewed. Without a word, she'd join him, and just sit in the quiet. She knew why he was awake.

It was another Wednesday, like any other. Their number had ended just as great, just as big, as all their previous ones. The crowd filled the stands, even overflowed into the aisles. It was fortunate they had plans to expand, that way they could bring in more money to disperse among the troupe. This time, protesters had the nerve to come into their show just to scream profane insults at them as they wrapped up. Horrible, awful words spilled profusely from their rotten tooth-filled mouths. Their faces were twisted in hate-filled expressions.

Barnum sent an ice-cold glare their way as he pulled his people out of the ring, a warning to not take it any further. They glared right back.

Most of the night passed uneventfully. Barnum and Phillip had stayed late in his office to discuss the possibility of traveling over mugs of coffee. He respected Phillip's aversion to alcohol in an attempt at a healthier lifestyle; not just in the physical sense. So that it may be easier for the younger man, Barnum had also cut off his liquor intake supportively.

The clock over the bookshelf read a quarter to midnight. Over the past half-hour, they'd gotten a bit off-topic on the subject of new acts they might squeeze into their routine. Barnum wholeheartedly supported the idea of blindfolded tightrope-walking over flames, but Phillip avidly tried to talk him down from the matter.

"P. T, I'm telling you, we're not going to find someone who does that for fun . Why can't we just..." he trailed off, eyes flickering behind Barnum's shoulder through the office window. Muffled shouts reached their ears.

Turning to see what the commotion was, a weight settled in his stomach. Protesters bunched up in a circle in front of the entrance, visible in the upstairs office. The numbers were larger than any group of thugs who'd messed with them, totaling up to around forty or fifty. In the center, a man held a human-sized straw figure with a red coat draped over its shoulders. A black top hat sat on its head, a 'King of Humbug' sign settled over its chest painted in red letters. They lit it aflame. He heard Phillip give a low growl from behind.

Slowly, they seemed to realize he and Phillip were looking down at them from above, and turned their chins up to him. Fingers were jabbed, obscenities shouted and the figure was shaken to emphasize their message. Barnum huffed, downing the last bit of his coffee, wishing it was something a little stronger.

A hand fell gently on his shoulder. "They're small-minded people," Phillip said. Something in his voice suggested he'd said it before. "Don't let their ignorance pull you down."

Barnum nodded silently, staring into the pit that seemed as if it wanted to tear him to pieces.

He woke up unsure of where he was, but a sharp crick in his back reminded him that he'd fallen asleep over his desk in the wee hours of the morning. Wool grazed against the exposed skin of his neck above his collar. Phillip must've draped a blanket over him. The rich aroma of hot coffee wafted past his nose. Prying his eyes open, he was greeted by the sight of a steaming mug of the hot beverage, accompanied by a plate with a bagel.

Cup and bagel in hand, he made his way downstairs with stiffness stretching through his limbs. The air was quiet. "Phil?"

No one answered. He finished his coffee and put the mug away, then pulled his coat on. He was in need of a warm shower back at his house. As he pushed the building door open, the wood thudded against an object on the other side. A murmured curse tainted the air.

"Hey...er, what are you doing here?" Phillip leaned into the space between door and frame, keeping it from opening all the way.

A look of confusion crossed Barnum's face. "I'm going to freshen up at home. And you are...?"

"Actually, I need you to find something for me. It's a book, about two inches thick with a brown leather cover. Check everywhere. Literally, everywhere."

"Okay, Carlyle. What's going on?" He tried pressing into the door.

Phillip fought back, "No, come on. I need that book." He pushed against the door.

"Phillip."

The younger man froze. A defeated sigh escaped his lips. He nudged the door open further. The look on his face told Barnum that he'd happened. "I tried to take care of it before you could see."

What was he talking about? Phillip Carlyle didn't hide things from P. T. Barnum. He stepped past the threshold and turned. The straw figure the protesters burned the night before had been pinned above the entrance. The straw was black and charred. Some of the jacket was black with soot, most of it had been burned off. Around it, a message had been painted onto the brick in large, white letters, but had partly been scrubbed off with soap and water. He could make out what it had said, though:

DIE SCUM

A little something crumbled in Barnum—maybe it was the hope of ever finding peace with those who disagreed with his show. But on the flip side, something else in him ignited. Spite. Who were they to say what they could or couldn't do?

"C'mon, let me help you. You shouldn't have to do that by yourself," he chided lightly, grabbing another sponge from the bucket of water at the foot of the ladder. He found it slightly amusing that Phillip needed to use the rung above the one where his own feet were planted.

Phillip pulled a second ladder into view and climbed the rungs. He began working on the figure's bindings, while Barnum scrubbed at the paint.

Charity's hand was small and soft in her husband's large and muscled one. It was not, however, weak. Charity Barnum had never been weak.

Her hands had held Barnum's as a young child after her father struck him across the face. They trusted him to pull her through the hedges and into the house they both dreamed of dwelling in. They opened dozens and dozens of letters that sent aches of painful loneliness throughout her being. She lost count of how many letters she'd written addressed to him, yet could never give. Those hands trusted him to keep her from plummeting off the edge of their home's rooftop. They trembled as she held the newspaper, an image of her lover's mouth against another's. She packed her bags with those hands.

And they embraced him when the two finally worked things out.

But by the end of that day, they were trembling. They covered her daughters' eyes.

She'd finally been shaken.

"Oh, look at the flowers!" Charity pointed to a garden shop display window as they passed along the sidewalk. "Purple carnations are my favorite."

It never ceased to amaze Barnum, how brightly the world could adjust with nothing but a pure smile from Charity Barnum. It certainly brightened his. He squeezed her hand in his a little tighter. Over the period of time it took to walk to the girls' school, they laughed and talked about birthday presents they might could give to Helen, because God knows Barnum wasn't about to tell her about what went on last night and earlier that day.

Caroline and Helen exited the building, gaining speed when they saw their daddy waiting for them with open arms.

"Daddy!"

"Girls!" He scooped them up, knowing that he could never again smile as big as he was right then. "How was school today?"

Caroline drew back, still keeping a grin on her face. "I got to read out loud in class!" Then her expression pinched into a sour look. "Johnny tried to kiss my cheek though. I told him no and he didn't stop, so I hit him in the arm."

Barnum gasped dramatically. "That's my girl! That's what you do if a boy won't leave you alone even though you asked him to. My little princess, growing up."

"Hey!" Helen exclaimed. "Me, too!"

"Of course you are, dear! That's why you're getting taller and taller," he hooked his hands underneath her armpits and lifted her into the air, spinning around. "And taller and taller and taller!"

She squealed with glee. Looking past Charity's shoulder, his own smile faded when he saw a couple of thugs a ways back, hanging out against the brick exterior of a shop. They were watching them. Charity sensed his discomfort and instinctively placed a hand on Caroline's shoulder.

"Phin," she said gently. He met her gaze. She mouthed, What's wrong?

He shook his head. "Nothing, dear. Tell you girls what, how about we stay the night at the circus with Phillip and Anne and the others?" His question was quiet, so only they could hear.

Helen gasped. "And Lettie?"

Caroline jumped. "W. D, too?"

"For sure. Alright, let's go."

Charity knew something was wrong before he'd even proposed the sleepover away from their house, but did not say anything. It was clearly something he was hesitant to bring up in front of the girls, so Charity let it be and decided to confront him about it later.

Barnum pushed his family in front of him, tossing a subtle glance over his shoulder. The two thugs followed. It was that exact moment he began praying. Dear God, don't let them hurt my family. I don't care what they do to me, but it's me they want. Not them. Just, please allow them to make it safely to Phillip and the others.

First, they skipped the street to their house, and instead headed straight for the circus. Then Charity caught him looking over his shoulder. It struck her what was happening. Not her family. Not if she had anything to do about it.

Barnum realized that she knew what was going on, and shushed her quietly.

"Phin—" she started to hiss.

"Hush, Charity," he silenced her quickly. His voice was low enough that the girls, lost in their own conversations, didn't hear him. "Don't let them know we're aware. Listen to me, if anything happens, you get straight to the circus and don't look back. Phillip's there. I can meet you there in a while."

Her breath hitched in her throat.

They passed large glass window, in which Barnum could see their reflection. Two more thugs joined the duo behind them, and they began closing distance. Barnum leaned to Charity. "As soon as we turn this corner, duck into the alley and wait for them to pass."

Charity then tapped her girls' shoulders for their attention. "Listen," her gentle voice was quiet. "Do you girls remember how we play hide and seek at home?" They both nodded. "Good. That's what we're about to do now. You have to follow me and can't make a sound, alright?"

They nodded again, brows furrowed in knowledge that something was wrong.

Barnum savored the touch of Caroline's hair, the soft curve of Helen's shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss to Charity's temple right as the corner came.

"Go!" He shouted.

Thy darted forward into the nearest alley while Barnum rocketed across the street, tearing his coat off and leaving it to the mercy of the sidewalk; it weighed him down and the red was too easily spotted in a crowd. Weaving in between commuters and the occasional carriage, a chin over his shoulder confirmed that all four were onto him, and he nearly laughed in relief. The flower shop wooshed by, which told him he was halfway to the circus. Charity and the girls needed time to get there, so he cut left into an alley that emptied out on a busier street. Away from their destination. He was thankful for all those years spent working on the railroad—he'd built up quality muscle all over. Without it, he'd be in the hands of those thugs behind him.

Caroline and Helen's shoulders shook with sobs, tears streaming down pink cheeks. Charity had hands on their backs, guiding their feet, aching from running, down the sidewalk and around staring strangers. She considered holing up in a shop to see if they had a phone, but the risk of wasting time for a disappointing 'no' was an all too real fear in her heart. Besides, what would the police do? They likely wouldn't lift a finger to help Barnum, for fear it may rise questions of their 'integrity.'

"Don't slow down, keep going!" She encouraged, panting not only from the exercise but the adrenaline, too. "Your body is capable of so much more than your mind thinks."

She noticed Caroline's chin tilt up bit at those words.

The door handle was in her grasp not soon enough, but flung it open and shoved the girls through. "Phillip!" She shouted.

Footsteps thudded on the staircase. "Charity?" He came into view, concern etched in his features. "What's going on?"

She was out of breath. "We have to go find Phineas, he was being chased by thugs." He bolted back the way he came, voicing for her to follow. "Caroline, Helen, up the stairs, now!"

"What the hell happened?" Phillip usually watched his language in front of the kids. Right now, Charity didn't care.

"We picked the girls up from school. Phineas noticed a couple of thugs watching us. He had us hide while he distracted them and ran off. There were four by then."

She noticed his muscles clench, freezing for just a second. "What?"

He ducked into his office and came back out with his coat, passing by Charity and not meeting her eyes.

She followed him closely. "Phillip, tell me right now."

Phillip sensed her anger, but doubted it was directed at him. He opened and closed his mouth, not really knowing what to say or how to say it. "I didn't even think they'd follow through...." He half-mumbled. Three steps remained; he jumped them.

"What are you talking about?"

Phillip threw his jacket on. "Last night, when we stayed late, protesters were making death threats. They just took it to a whole new level." He opened the door that led to the sparsely-populated streets and gestured for Charity to come with.

Charity pulled the girls along with her. She wondered if it'd be wiser to leave them at the building, but no one else was there, and who knew if there were other protesters waiting for her to leave her children unattended in the circus building? At least if they were confronted out in public, they had her and Phillip and the other pedestrians to be aware of it.

The cold breeze took her breath away; she just pulled Caroline and Helen closer.

Phillip picked up his pace a little, not quite jogging, looking up and down streets for any sign of his partner. "Where did you last see him?"

Charity thought hard. He'd intentionally led the thugs away from them, away from the circus. "Hardman Street, but he's likely headed west of there."

Barnum's legs were starting to tire. Who knew thugs were athletic? This was the sixth block he thundered down. Hopefully Charity and the girls were safe by now. He whipped around a corner, then ducked into an alley, resting against the building. His chest heaved. Maybe he should up his workout regime to increase his endurance.

The street was quiet. Nobody passed. He considered peeking outside a moment later, but a chorus of shoes thudding against pavement down the far end of the alley caught his attention. They'd cut him off. He surged into the open street street only to get shoved back by heavy hands. Snickers filled the area when he fell on his back.

"Not so brave without your freaks, are you?"

Barnum was silent, not giving them the satisfaction. He simply stood up and brushed the dirt off his slacks.

They laughed. The one behind him kicked his knee in as another sent a fist to his face. It didn't knock him all the way down; he was more built than they might've given him credit for. He spit out a wad of blood and glared, once again rising to his feet. "I'm not going to fight you."

"Well, that just makes our job a whole lot easier, right, Harry?" The other one behind him taunted.

The big one who'd shoved him back in the alley's face twisted with irritation. "We don't use names, Vince." His face fell when he realized his mistake, then mumbled a defeated obscenity.

Barnum would have laughed if the situation had better odds.

"I'm sure your bitch would fight back."

Barnum craned his neck to look at the one behind him. His world started to turn an angry shade of red.

"She looks like a fighter. Especially to keep those little brats safe. I bet I'm stronger, though."

Every nerve tingled, his breathing was shaky. Nails bit into the palms of his hands. "What did you say?"

"I said, your bitch—"

Barnum launched his whole body into a assault, tackling him to the ground. Fists pounded against the thug's face hard and fast, hardly giving him time to process what was happening. His head even snapped back against the pavement a couple times. Just as he was about to drop a knockout punch, hands grabbed his shirt and yanked him back.

A boot crashed against his chest. Barnum caught the foot and twisted it, feeling the bone crack. He leapt to his feet, back hunched in a fighting stance. With his lips pulled into a snarl, blood spilling from his lip, clothes astray and dirty, he was sure he looked like a feral animal. Harry pushed himself backwards, limp leg dragging along.

Vince lifted his leg to jab a foot at his hip. Barnum turned and drove his foot into his standing knee, instead. He collapsed in incoherent cries, cradling his injured knee.

A hook to the side caught him by surprise. He grunted, turned and blocked an incoming punch. With a simple flick of his wrist, the fist in his grip snapped with a bone jutting out of the skin. Barnum hurled his boot against his shin and sent the man tumbling down.

Barnum wasn't aware of anyone approaching until Charity's voice rang out. "Phineas!"

It was a split-second distraction that allowed the last man standing to catch him across the jaw, a blow that threw off his sense of balance and left him stumbling to the ground. The man made his way toward Charity. That was what set him off. Barnum clawed at the ground, a growl hitting the back of his throat, and lunged at his legs.

They both went sprawling, but it was Barnum that gained the upper hand. He threw fists into his face, one after the other, never relenting. Skin broke.

"Phin, stop!"

He didn't slow down. The bones in the other man's face began to strain.

"PT," he heard Phillip urge, "get off him, now. He's done."

He still didn't stop.

When he felt a pair of hands tug at his shoulders, he instinctively threw his elbow back. It landed in Phillip's face. While he was sorry, he still didn't stop. His fists were bloodied from both his and the other man's blood. It was splattered up past his wrists. The man's face was unrecognizable, and Barnum wondered if his brain still functioned. But it didn't matter—he tried to touch his wife. They stalked his girls. They terrified his family. Nobody ever attempted such a thing without repercussions.