The Greatest Showman: March One-Shots

27. Destroy It

pt. 2 of "backpack" 💥

....told you these last ones wouldn't be as lighthearted (aka what i do best -- liveee for the dramaaa😝) enjoy!! 💙💙

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The oddities, firefighters, policemen, and other personnel all anxiously gather around the former circus, now just a pile of rubble and dust and ashes. Their home, a victim of someone's wrath as it came crashing down just minutes before. They don't speak, because they all know what's on their minds: Anne, W.D., and Phillip were still inside when that backpack presumably exploded.

The oddities try to explain what happened to the firefighters: the fear they felt when W.D. came to tell them they needed to evacuate; the stomach lurch when they were all in the process of doing so and he and Phillip turned around and ran right back inside; the screams that were involuntarily elicited when they heard the deafening explosion, followed by the building's crumbling to bits.

"There are still three people in there," they cry, but the firefighters don't move. Because they know—there's no way anyone could have survived this.

Suddenly, a familiar voice starts shouting from behind them, feet slapping the ground so hard they nearly create an earthquake. All eyes turn to see P.T. himself, racing towards them and the rubble.

"What happened? Is everyone all right? Why..." He's breathless, and that's when Charity and their daughters round the corner, stopping in their tracks when they see the wreckage. "Everyone's out, right? Why isn't anyone doing anything?"

No one speaks, fear having gripped their throats.

"Mr. Barnum," one of the firefighters begins, right as a couple of other ones decide to venture out towards the pile, deliberately and obviously ignoring the chief's orders. The chief, who was the one to speak, watches them leave with hopelessness, and a bit of confusion.

As this is going on, P.T. is able to take roll of everyone who wasn't in the circus when it crashed to the ground, a fist squeezing his heart so tightly he can feel it pulsating in his throat. His knees turn to jelly when he realizes who isn't out here, but the adrenaline carries him towards his broken creation nonetheless, a strangled cry of defeat ripping through his vocal cords.

The firefighters try to stop him from tearing through the stones practically two-by-two, as if he's just turned into the Hulk. They tell him that it could cause other stones to topple over, further injurying those who are underneath it. But he doesn't listen, not even a little bit. He struggles, tears and dust stinging his eyes and pain searing his muscles, as he continues only what a father would do for his children.

And, in a way, his three trapped friends are more like family than anything else, more like his actual sons and daughter.

The firefighters have stopped, because they know they're not going to be able to get through to him. Everyone's hearts break at the scene; nobody's ever seen Phineas Taylor Barnum like this, and they probably won't ever again.

Lettie and Charity console Caroline and Helen, soothingly rubbing their backs and trying to shield their eyes from their father and the wreckage. But they want to look, because they know that, if the tables had been turned, Anne would be out here consoling them, too. They may be young, but they've been able to figure out who's trapped.

Finally, when P.T. has nearly reached the end of his adrenaline rush, he finds a hand. He calls back to the firefighters, who immediately come rushing over. Together, they work to uncover the body—or bodies—of whoever that hand belongs to.

It's Phillip. P.T. had known it from the start, he just didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to even entertain the idea that he and W.D. and Anne are underneath this pile of certain death.

He presses two fingers to his junior ringmaster's neck. Nothing. He drops to his knees in agony, the stones almost immediately cutting up his skin.

W.D. is a few inches beside Phillip, and it takes the firefighters a couple more minutes to uncover him as well. P.T. is too busy looking down at the crumpled, scratched, bloody form of someone he once knew so well. Someone he once smiled with and laughed with. Now gone.

He doesn't see it because his eyes are somewhere else, but one of the firefighters shakes his head, two fingers against W.D.'s neck.

Strangled cries sound from the eager and anxious watchful oddities as they nervously look on.

That's when P.T. notices something else: the slightest movement from underneath Phillip. Something that could only be seen if one was intently looking towards it. Gingerly, P.T. moves the young ringmaster's arm to the side, and finds another arm: slim, and slightly darker. He gasps, panic filling his insides.

He doesn't want to break Phillip more than he already is, so he shakingly places two fingers to Anne's wrist.

A steady pulse presses up against them.

P.T. is beside himself.