Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Title is a lyric from the song 'O What A Circus' from the musical Evita by Andrew Lloyd-Webber and Tim Rice.

Falling over ourselves to get all of the misery right

It wasn't a new act; tumblers have been part of circuses for decades, maybe even centuries. The Shield though, they weren't just tumblers and they had their own way of doing things, a way that stood out. All three of them were talented with vastly different skillsets and styles and had spent years tumbling for cash and for fun as solo acts. But there was some vibration, something in the air that everyone could feel when the three of them performed together. The crowd was always completely transfixed.

The three troupe members always wore black. They'd appear through the crowd, striding past the seats, slipping away from people's eager grasps, their attention completely focused on the ring that waited for them. They'd look at each other – three points of a star, arms by their sides, still and momentarily contained – and everyone would hold their breath, the hair on the back of every neck standing on end. Then the Shield would move.

Aiden English was singing again. A muscle in Dean's cheek twitched. His fingers were spasming around the knife that he'd been practicing with; he was trying out some sharp-edged juggling, looking forward to seeing the unnerved look that he knew would be on their current ringmaster's face. The crowds ate it up. Of course they did; part of the appeal of any circus was darkness in the corners, the element of danger, and the Shield always embodied that.

When Aiden started on a particularly loud verse, Dean stomped outside and scooped up a couple of clods of dirt. He jiggled them against his palm, Seth laughed from where he was practicing handstands against their trailer. Dean smirked wickedly and without warning, threw a dirtball against the trailer next to theirs, hitting a window, once, twice, three times. The singing ended abruptly and Aiden appeared, looking seriously pissed off and haughty. Dean thought about throwing another handful of dirt, just to see what Aiden's face would do then.

The dirt smacked against the doorway of Aiden's trailer, scattering across his thighs. It turned out that his face was kinda hysterical. Dean laughed.

"How dare you, do you have any idea how essential these warm ups are?"

Dean tossed his knife hand to hand idly. "You've peaked, Phantom. Shut the fuck up before any early arrivals want their money back."

Aiden looked even more outraged and Simon Gotch appeared from where he'd been rehearing his weight-lifting act. Gotch's mustache curled the madder he got. Roman emerged from the Shield's trailer, enveloped by the amazing smell of whatever one-pot wonder he'd been creating on the trailer's stove. He had a nose for the kind of confrontations that Dean seemed to spark off.

Dean grinned over his shoulder towards Roman. "You smell like dinner."

Roman just looked at him and then towards Seth who was grinning. He even looked good upside down. Dean looked like he was thinking about throwing another handful of dirt. Aiden was still vastly outraged and Simon was outraged on his behalf. Roman raised his chin and Seth raised his eyebrows, still not righting himself. Dean appeared to be itching for a chance to throw his knife instead of more dirt.

There was a stand-off for a few moments, then Aiden and Simon seemed to have a silent conference and without a word headed back inside their trailer with airs of great affront and threat. Seth laughed and pushed himself down to the ground. He flipped his hair back and got to his feet, looking healthy and ready for the show.

"He's going to be singing angry tonight," Seth remarked with relish. "Think there'll be any returns?"

Dean threw his knife without warning, it slammed into a fence-post a little way off. Roman whistled low and clapped a brief hand to Dean's shoulder as Seth made his way over. Dean retrieved his knife, by the time he reached Seth and Roman again, they were making out. He fisted a handful of Roman's hair. No one was singing now.

Some kind of symbol had been carved into the trunk of one of the trees that framed the field. The Shield had only just arrived for a week's work but Dean made a triumphant sound and immediately hunched closer to take a proper look at the symbol. Seth and Roman exchanged glances. Dean was staring at the carved mark, his fingers digging into it as he muttered not quite under his breath. Some of the other circus performers were staring, Roman went back to checking that their trailer was parked properly and still working smoothly. Life on the road wasn't fun when the bathroom broke down.

Dean scribbled something on the back of his own hand and then spun on his heel with a grin that made Seth's eyebrows jump. Of course Dean knew who'd left the symbol. He and Emma left messages or taunts for one another whether they were touring with the same company or not. They weren't text messages, but letters and symbols left on tree trunks, paper adverts pinned up on community boards, messages that carnies would see on their travels. Dean never revealed what the messages meant, though Seth kept trying to guess. No joy so far.

So Emma had passed through town recently and wherever Emma was, Paige was too. There wasn't another act like them.

Primarily, they were high-wire performers. They were completely contrasting – dark-haired Paige usually wore black leather that bared skin so pale it was practically luminous while blonde Emma loved bright cheery colors. Both knew how to play to a crowd and reveled in the cheers and gasps that they drew. Paige struck poses with a satisfied smile while Emma blew bubbles, expertly creating unexpected and beautiful patterns to the delight of children in the audience. She practically danced on the wire, never graceful but always somehow staying on her feet amid a mass of rainbow bubbles.

Audience members and colleagues alike hit on both of them a lot but Paige and Emma had each other and both knew how to throw a punch. Dean laughed his ass off the first time he witnessed them felling a persistent shit. He immediately offered the pair of them a drink from the Shield's kitchen. By the end of the week, he and Emma had clicked on some bizarre basement level.

Paige's most popular routine involved her dressing in a sharp tailored suit and trilby hat with a rolled-up umbrella in hand. She danced on the floor with a bunch of other performers before scaling a ladder towards the high-wire. She unfurled the umbrella and danced across the wire with turns and affectations as though avoiding the rain. The crowd always ate it up and the applause thundered as she closed her umbrella with a snap, all the tent's lights going off at the exact same moment.

She and Emma traveled together in a tiny trailer which they tended to park near the Shield's whenever they were part of the same show, probably out of habit. Paige liked to build a firepit out front and cook corn-on-the-cob, hot dogs, and bananas and chocolate wrapped up in aluminum so that they melted into a delicious gooey mess. Seth always inhaled several of the sweet concoctions, smearing his messy hands across Dean's neck and Roman's cheek afterward before licking them clean. Paige usually laughed while Emma told them that they looked really hot.

In one town, some local kids snuck onto the circus field and tried to get into the trailers to steal and then deflate a few of vehicle tires. Paige heard their activity and flung open her trailer door, her dressing gown barely secured at the waist. The kids stared wide-eyed at her backlit figure.

"If you want to make money, call at the ticket booth tomorrow morning. You can tear tickets or something," she told them. "And you can let down tires on the other side of the field, this is my house."

Roman heard the commotion and appeared from the Shield's trailer, his chest bare and his muscular frame obvious and intimidating. He and Paige stared at the kids, eyebrows challenging, until they left. The next morning, Dean was mad that he'd missed out on the fun and when a couple of the kids actually showed up to make some money, Dean made sure that they got stuck mucking out the horses. His grin was gleeful.

The air was charged as the tent's spotlights came up only dimly, signaling the start of the show. But nobody was standing in the ring. The audience shifted, a few children started to ask questions and were shushed by their parents. Just as the silence stretched into discomfort, there was a shout and almost everybody jumped. A self-conscious giggle rippled through the crowd.

Before it could grow into a full laugh, another shout pierced the air. Then three figures appeared, running and jumping through the darkness and into the dim spotlights. A pair of twin brothers, displaying long dark hair, bare chests and identical facepaint, moved with aggressive expressions and synchronized movements. In front of them was Roman, just as bare-chested, just as synchronized. The twins, Jimmy and Jey, chanted as they moved, on a word or two Roman joined in but mostly he focused silently, every movement an emphatic statement.

It was an ancient dance but the three men lived it. Their feet stamped, their hands sliced and clenched, their faces contorted. The audience was riveted.

Finally, with another wordless shout, the dance and chanting ended. All three of them jumped, a non-verbal exclamation. Roman raised a hand as he leaped, his fist meeting the ground when he landed. There was a breathless moment of silence, then the crowd roared.

The twins encouraged the spectators to get louder, to show more appreciation. Roman nodded, a slow smile materializing across his face. He always enjoyed performing with his cousins. The blood that ran through their veins, through their family, was ancient and blessed, it was royal. It was important that people were reminded of that.

All three of them bumped forearms. The lights stayed dim as the trio quickly left through the backstage curtain, the crowd still cheering.

The Shield rarely spent two seasons in a row with the same circus company, they liked the road and exploring different ways of working and different themed shows. They liked working with people whose own attitudes were as singular and edge-creeping as their own, people who knew how important that style and attitude was, people who didn't ask stupid questions.

Corey Graves' skin was covered with tattoos and his sinewy frame was usually clad in frayed denim. He was a greasy nightmare of a carny, the kind shown on TV shows that warned kids away from strangers. He did nothing to lessen that idea, eyeballing any crowd member that met his gaze, straying close to the limits of the ring. He taunted and laughed.

He worked really well with the Shield.

A pounding industrial-metal music beat filled the tent. Corey strode purposefully into the ring as three wooden flats were wheeled on, painted to look like old walls. Attached to the flats were three flaming batons, the lights were low in the tent so the flames were very bright. Corey walked with his hands in his pockets, casual and magnetic, unexpectedly graceful. He plucked a baton from a flat and tossed it from hand to hand, before adding another, then another.

Corey juggled, tossing the three batons higher and higher, then one of the wheeled flats moved without warning. Seth was moving it from behind, dressed all in black of course. He turned the flat in a circle so that everyone could see him. His eyes stayed fixed on Corey, his eyes as bright as the flames.

He dove suddenly, grasping one of the batons out of mid air, gaining gasps. He held up the baton and made the flames circle above him. Then he looked at Corey with a challenging smirk and throw the baton back. Corey smirked in reply and threw a baton towards Seth, the two of them juggling the three batons between them, gaining a round of applause. This was all about one-upmanship, the air crackled with competition.

They both began walking backward, away from one another so that the distance they both had to throw got bigger and bigger. The crowd ooohed, applauding when one of the pair did a particularly impressive trick, the music making everything seem even more bombastic. There were murmurings when a few of the show's other performers were spotted, sat on the high perches, peering around one of the flats, poking a head through the curtain, all of them picked out by dusty spotlights.

Corey and Seth started moving around the ring, doing a full circuit, keeping up the juggling. Sometimes they juggled around one of their fellow performers, who were all pointing and gesturing, looking as interested as the audience. The routine ended when Seth and Corey held a baton each, the third one flung into the air between them. Seth snatched it before Corey could and held both his batons up triumphantly as Corey surreptitiously cheeked a mouthful of something from his hipflask and stepped forward to launch the liquid into the flames that Seth was holding high. The flames exploded, blasting far up into the tent, a sudden epic blast of heat and light, gaining exclamations from audience and performers alike. It was a highly memorable moment which always brought the house down. Seth enjoyed being part of it, his wide-eyed shock always transforming to a shit-eating grin once his back was to the audience as he made his way backstage.

Corey and the Shield kept certain aspects of circus performance alive – the danger, the uneasiness, the entertainment found lurking in the dark that audiences were still fascinated by even when that entertainment snapped its teeth and breathed fire.

Even when some circus runners were stingy with bills and derogatory with words. Especially when they were like that.

After shows, Roman and Seth sometimes raced on motorbikes – bikes which belonged to Corey and his frequent road buddy Baron Corbin whose own circus work consisted of spectacular motorbike tricks and who matched Corey in tattoo coverage and general attitude. Seth shouted taunts over the engine roars, sometimes with Dean sat behind him, smothering him and sweating. Sometimes they made out as they rode, neither of them keeping an eye on what lay ahead.

The Shield's trailer stank of sex, overripe fruit and rust. The fruit was one of their regular purchases, the kind that got sold off cheap. Dean often licked away errant juice that had ended up decorating his teammate's skin. Seth was always talking about the important of protein and telling Dean to ditch the fried chicken-wings, Dean usually pelted him with vegetables and offered him a bucket of fries. Roman liked to eat sensibly but he liked bold flavors too.

The rust came from the ribs and bones of the trailer, all the parts that'd been working for years on end, just. The Shield had gotten the trailer pretty cheap so some wear-and-tear had been inevitable. It'd lasted them this long though, eventually they'd replace it, when Roman suspected that the mileage had gotten to be too much and that the wheels might be about to fall off. Missing a show due to transport was never on the cards.

They'd made a lot of memories in that particular trailer. Only the previous night, Seth had fucked Dean on the tiny couch, making use of every spare inch. Roman had watched, touching them now and then. Seth had rode Roman's cock that morning as a hell of a wake-up call. They had pits and troughs and a plethora in-between. It was part of the joy of traveling together though they'd learned early on not to fuck too close to showtime. Roman had once performed with a limp, Paige had laughed so much she'd almost fallen over. But even through the pain that night, Roman had stood strong and hadn't dropped anyone.

Dean frowned; Seth was taking another phonecall. It was the fifth one that week from an unknown number but Seth had answered every one and had had long conversations. Roman and Dean exchanged a meaningful glance. What the fuck was going on? Seth looked thoughtful after each call, a particularly dangerous kind of thoughtful.

It was an opinion only confirmed when Dean snatched Seth's cellphone off him before Seth could hang-up and heard the tail end of Hunter Hearst-Helmsley's goodbye. Dean's blood ran cold, Seth looked defensive.

"You're talking to that motherfucker?"

Roman paused, dread combing through him because Dean only sounded like that about a couple of people specifically. Seth's chin was tense, which only added to the dread.

"He called me and-."

"Fuck." Dean threw Seth's cellphone back at him, fury flaming through him. "Hunter's poaching and you're fucking letting him."

"Helmsley offered you a spot?" asked Roman, his quiet words cutting through the anger sizzling between the other two.

Seth deflated and nodded once. Dean hissed out derogatory exasperation, anger and betrayal as sharp and painful as the knives and flames that they all comfortably spent so much time handling. Hunter Hearst-Helmsley ran the country's most lavish circus in partnership with his wife Stephanie McMahon, who styled herself as circus royalty since her family had been in the business for decades. They made a lot of money, showcasing talent from around in the world in extravagant shows, but there was something about it all that'd always felt a little too shiny, like the McMahon-Helmsleys' had rubbed all the interesting corners off of the acts that they'd scooped up from other circus tents. There were no shades of gray, let alone darkness. It brought in the crowds but it rarely sang, not in the way that the Shield's act did, together.

And now Seth wanted to be part of that?

He began to explain, "It's good money, we could get the repairs we're always talking about for this place. And a lot more people would get to see what we do. Thousands of people, man, thousands. And you know no one else is doing what we do."

Roman shook his head, an ache unfurling inside of him, because he knew this song and dance. He'd thought that all three of them were on the same page. But Seth meant every word, he actually thought that this could work out.

"It won't be us, man. They'll smooth away every edge we've got."

"Do they even want us?" cut in Dean. "Me and Roman? Or is just your perfect pecs they're slobbering over?"

Seth's expression hardened, frustrated that they couldn't see what he could in Hunter's offer. They'd be able to travel the world in style, they'd be able to infuse Hunter's shows with the shades and darkness that were so obviously missing. They'd be able to fucking shine, the way that they deserved. How could Hunter not want that? He wanted the best, that much was clear, so of course he wanted the Shield.

Dean was close all of his sudden, his fingers in Seth's face. "They'll fucking own you, how'd you like that? They'll own your body, your routine, dickface. Then if you ever wanna strike outside of the McMahon-Helmsley menagerie, they'll own the rights to everything you've done because their contracts fucking bind."

Seth's act had existed before he'd met Roman and Dean. He'd tumbled and juggled and spun ropes and plates on various streets for money and eventually in the kind of fringe shows that'd gotten him onto the circus circuit. He'd always taken risks, getting himself a reputation as a daredevil. It was what had first gotten him noticed. Hunter had said that his style would be a great fit for their shows, that he'd be able to really fly in their enormous tents and work with some really strong performers who'd make him look even better.

They hadn't talked about Roman and Dean, Seth realized with a jolt and a frown. Well, he'd talked about Dean and Roman because they were a huge part of his act, they had been for years now so of course he'd included them when he'd talked about what he wanted to do. Hunter had nodded and encouraged and had talked about what Seth could achieve as part of the McMahon-Helmsley company. He clearly had plans and he hadn't talked about Dean or Roman once. Fuck.

Dean gripped Seth's arm hard enough to bruise, Seth didn't pull away "The road's fucking free."

Later, Roman watched silently from a safe distance as Seth burned the business card that Hunter had given him. Seth's eyes were full of regret and anger and a bit of wistful yearning – to have that scale of stage to perform on, to have that big an audience, that amount of fame and funding.

Roman wrapped his arms around Seth. They stayed locked together for a while before Roman led him into the trailer, to the warmth of their bed where Seth lay down and curled up against Roman's chest. Seth didn't say a word, not even when Dean returned from wherever it was he'd been for the past several hours. He scrunched himself up on Seth's other side without showering first, he smelled of motor fumes and lighter fluid. He locked an arm tightly around Seth's waist and kissed the back of his neck.

There was often dancing in circus shows. Jimmy Uso's wife, Naomi, had several different routines that she did with Cameron who also ran the media side of several circus companies. She did great glossy website work and had even set up one for the Shield. It was very minimalist and included only a couple of videos, showing just parts of one or two of their routines, so that people had to come to the shows to see their work in full. She'd had photographs taken of the Shield in shadow, only certain parts of them visible. The whole layout of the website was sort of torn and grubby, like someone had constructed it out of newspaper clippings and VHS tapes. It was absolutely perfect for them.

Cameron preened, "Of course. I know what I do."

Naomi and Cameron frequently did a cheerleading routine with a lot of highkicks and gymnastic moments. Sometimes the clowns would appear and try to mimic them but would fail hilariously. Then Emma would lead a marching band on, she'd be dressed as a majorette, smiling wildly and waving to the crowds. She was in her element, festooned in gold braid and shiny buttons that really suited her, loving every cheerful moment. At the end of the routine, she always flung her peaked cap towards Paige and Paige always caught it.

Dean did an act with Emma, stealing her purse and then dangling it just out of her grasp. She chased him around the ring as he climbed poles to platforms and crept around the audience and slithered behind clown cars. Eventually, Emma got her purse back, both of them holding onto it until Emma knocked him down into Roman who always watched and waited nearby. Dean actually did a full spin before landing heavily in Roman's arms. Emma liked to chase them away to cheers from the audience, Dean always told her that she didn't hit hard enough.

Sometimes Naomi and Cameron would be cowgirls, astride beautiful palomino horses, leading the horses in impressive choreographed routines. The clowns would often be involved again, getting apparently run down or trying to get the horses to obey them which never worked out.

AJ Lee ran a permanently Halloween-themed circus. She was the ringmaster. She wore denim shorts and customized pink and black spider-web tops. She spun her acts onwards with a whip in one hand and a top hat in the other. A lot of things appeared out of that hat. AJ loved the Shield's act and she and her husband sometimes went out for drinks with them after shows. The Shield painted themselves up like skeletons for AJ's circus, the paint glowed in the dark. Dean's knives were sharper, he carried one between his teeth, Roman seemed to lift more and Seth jumped from even greater heights. They were monsters during those shows, scaring the audience and some performers alike.

Variety was how circuses survived.

Seth played cards with Paige and Emma, games of Go Fish, poker and blackjack. He lost future pay-outs and rounds of drinks but gained a skirt of Paige's that he'd been admiring and a couple of bags of candy-corn. Dean played sometimes too but he mostly cheated and swiped other people's cards. He stuck aces on Paige's forehead, jokers on Emma's and left Seth with the King of Diamonds, the Suicide King.

Roman cooked for Seth and Dean, they both liked how he smelled while he cooked. He cooked and he came up with new ideas for their routines that would make them look good and maximize his strength. He was always aiming for more. Seth taught Roman and Dean how to spin plates. Dean worked on his knife skills and did routines with a handful of wickedly-sharp blades, bursting balloons, severing threads and juggling them fast so that they looked like flashes of light.

All three of them juggled together – cloths, balls, clubs – a myriad collection of objects that spun in complex patterns between them. It was like a blizzard that only the three of them could see through, the audience gaping at what they saw.

Then the objects all fell to the floor with a clatter and the audience realized that the Shield had vanished, melting away into the darkness that surrounded the circus ring, not waiting for any applause.

-the end