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Chapter Text

It all began, as most things do in The Carnival, with Booth. Specifically, what he said. And, if the reader knows anything about Booth, they will know what he said.
Unfortunately for him, he said it in front of Leon Czolgosz, at a time when the anarchist happened to be actually paying attention to what people were saying. And while Leon had never stood up to John before , he had had enough. He had spoken with Goldman a few days before, (on the Balladeer’s inter dimensional phone.) and that had given the quiet man enough courage to do what he was about to do.

“Don’t say that slur.” Leon stood, taking three steps to booth, voice low but deadly.

Booth merely scoffed , though he was just as surprised as the others that Leon had spoken up. “And what are you going to do about it, Czolgosz?” Booth asked in that sickly sweet tone, with an air tainted of corrupt innocence, Leon’s ears ringing with whispers of “break the bottle” and “pull the trigger.” Calling him to violence, to take control of himself. But no. Leon wouldn’t act on John’s wishes and murmurs.

“You will not say the words.” Leon repeated, one hand curling into a fist “I am warning you, John.”

Booth scoffed, rolling his eyes and muttering what he had called Lincoln under his breath.

Leon punched him.

The Proprietor looked up from the glass he was filling with bud from a can for Byck glanced up, hearing the crack and spotting Booth stumble back. He stifled a chuckle before shouting “No Violence! Unless…” the god of this purgatory snapped his fingers.

The walls of the bar that the nine assassins, the balladeer and the proprietor were in crumbled, falling away into the ground, the roof disappearing. Charlie let out a scream as his chair was suddenly pushed to the side, as the rest of the chairs in the room followed, Moore, hinkley, and Zangara all falling off their seats. From the center of the room, a stage two feet up rose from the floor, Czolgosz and Booth caught on the lifting platform as a boxing square was formed, red white and blue ropes connecting the four posts.

The Proprietor hopped over the bar wall, a grin on his face as it disappeared, much to many of the assassins disappointments. The floor turned to the dirt of a carnival tent, as a red, white, and blue star spangled canopy dropped from nowhere to cover the room. A spotlight illuminated the ring, as the Proprietor adopted his announcer voice

“Hello assassins! Welcome to the first fight club!”

A scoreboard bracket suddenly appeared, showing the order of the fights, with four branches in total.

Hinkley raised his hand “there are only nine of us?” He whispered, causing The Proprietor to laugh. “That’s what you think kid!” He snapped his fingers yet again, and three of the four brackets filled with names, the fourth one a shorter bracket, with only “first round losers “ and “second round losers.”

“What the hell! Why is my name on the list!” The Balladeer shouted from a corner. The Proprietor just smirked. “Asshole.” Bally groaned.

“Who are Harold and Chris? Why do I have to fight two people!” Byck complained.

“Oh, those two? Don’t worry about it.” The Proprietor grinned as he snapped his fingers yet again and the tent flaps opened and three people, one man and two women, stumbled in, as though they had been walking, but missed the last step of a stairwell.

“You could have let me call ahead!” The Balladeer grumbled as man helped one of the women up, while the other stood on her own.

Leon Czolgosz, still staring at booth, didn’t notice the entrance of the three. Suddenly, a bell began ringing loudly. “FIGHT!” The Proprietor screamed.

Loud, so loud… Booth rushed Czolgosz, calling him Yankee scum. Leon, on reflex, ducked, then punched Booth, making the man stumble back, giving a shout of pain. Booth attempted to go in for another hit, calling Leon a “race traitor”, but Leon kicked him in the leg. The bad one. John screamed, and Czolgosz started to kick the downed man, who shouted insults up at Leon. years of pent up frustration escaped the anarchist, deaf to the shouts, only startled by the bell. Czolgosz froze, before crouching beside the now crying and trembling Booth, a tired look in his eyes.

“We have our first winner!” The proprietor crowed, ecstatic and grinning madly, the others having watched the fight in stunned silence.

“Where are we!” A woman’s voice asked, fear etched in every syllable.

“Welcome to the carnival, Mrs Maine.”

Chapter Text

Booth was dragged out of the ring by a snickering Proprietor, Leon walking numbly out of the ring, slumping into his chair in the corner with a groan. That was stupid. He never meant for his argument to turn into this. He just wanted Booth to be less of a racist jackass. The noise of the fight still rang in his mind, the noise of crunching bones turning up memories of just after he had shot McKinley. The man flinched, as the ghosts of angry onlookers pummeled him violently, slurs and taunts and the heat of glass whirling in his mind like the all consuming maw of Charybdis.

“Our next fight will be Charles Guiteau against Sarah Jane Moore.” The Proprietor announced , grabbing the mic attached to the ceiling. “Ten minutes, same place!” He crowed, looking practically ecstatic. This was the most fun he’d had since Hinkley had arrived forty years ago!!

Emma Goldman rubbed her eyes, staring at the carnival, her eyes scanning the board and the assassins. The Balladeer wandered over to her and the other two non-assassins. The Narrator mouthed an apology before walking over to the Maines, who were clutching at each other and panicking.

“Hello!” The Balladeer grinned, waving at the two “My name is The Balladeer, and don’t worry, this is only a temporary stay.” He gave a grin that was only slightly forced. “The Props over there just wants to make you folks fight some of the residents here. Then you can go back to…” Balladeer looked down at his phone for a second “rich Protestant heaven? That place sounds boring. “ he chuckled.

The couple seemed to look even more confused. “But where are we! Is that… oh my god, Christine, that’s the immigrant who shot at fdr!” Harold stated, shock in his eyes. Christine gasped “what is this place!”

The Balladeer just shrugged. “Purgatory. For would be assassins. Zangara is here, but you won’t be fighting him.” The narrator pointed at a short man curled up on his chair, letting out a groan of pain every few seconds.

“Now, why don’t you two find a seat. The next fight is about to start. “ the Balladeer shooed them over to two chairs, while Goldman found a seat on the far end of the tent, coincidentally sitting next to Leon, still lost to the memories of pain and murder.

Charlie Guiteau, a grin on his face and a slightly mad look in his eyes, hopped up into the ring.

“Hello, My fellow Americans! I am Charles Julius Guiteau, Author, Lawyer, Preacher, and the next Ambassador to France!” The man gave a quick bow, tipping his hat to the two women who just recently entered. “I know that The Divine is on my side! God himself will grant me victory! And, if you would like to hear more of my thoughts, please buy my book!” The man pulled a copy out of his sleeve with a flourish “The Truth is a series of musings written by me, about Creation, Destiny, and The Divine.”

As Charlie rambled on and on, Moore stepped into the ring, a look of annoyance on her face. If the man said one more word, she wouldn’t wait for the fight to officially start.

Guiteau whirled around to face Moore, his grin never faltering as he tucked his book into his pocket. “How do you do?” He smiled in his half-insane fashion, tipping his hat at Moore. The Proprietor rang the bell to start the fight.

“It is such a-“ Charlie was about to talk about the weather, planing on comparing the radiance of the sun to Moore, still determined to make her the wife to the next French Ambassador.

Moore was having none of Guiteau’s bullshit. Frustrated abd fed up, the woman punched Charles. In the side of the head. The man dropped like a stone, hitting the mat with a thud. Moore couldn’t help but to chuckle a little bit. Hopefully he wouldn’t attempt to flirt with her again.

“We have a winner!!!” The Proprietor cheered. The fight was short, but it was still funny. The others would be longer anyway.

Chapter Text

Charlie Guiteau was dragged out of the ring by the proprietor, dropped back in his chair unceremoniously. Moore wandered over to sit next Fromme, giving her a big grin. “That was so much fun!” The older woman chattered, beginning to dig through her bag. “I wonder who I’m gonna get to fight next!” The middle aged woman sounded almost childlike in her excitement.

Fromme smirked as she looked up at the fight bracket. “I’m gonna get to fight The Balladeer! That’s almost better then the time we turned him into Oswald!” Her smile drooped slightly as she recalled how even that hadn’t managed to shut up the twerp. He had just re-materialized as soon as Johnson was sworn in. Annoying fucker.

Leon Czolgosz slowly started to get back into a better mindset, beginning to leave the funk the fight had put him deeper into. He glanced up, eyes widening as he spotted Emma Goldman sitting besides him, a notebook and pencil in hand. Czolgosz stammered, staring at her in shock. “M-ms Goldman, I-“

Goldman glanced up, nodding at her anarchist comrade. “How are you, Leon? It’s been a while.” The anarchist offered the man a hand for him to shake. Leon stared at it, then shook it. “Err.. I suppose it has. How is… how are your comrades?” Czolgosz swallowed nervously. Many of them hated him for ruining the anarchist movement in America. “They are alright. We all wish we could be back on earth. Making change.”

Samuel Byck, sitting next to Zangara, eyed the Maines. “So, do you know those two?”

The shorter man nodded, gesturing at the couple. “They were at Miami “ the Italian immigrant muttered. “There when I shot at Roosevelt….” Byck nodded. “Did they fight you? Or did they just watch.” “Watch.” Joe muttered, fidgeting with his hands. Byck grinned, standing up and cracking his knuckles. “This is gonna be fun!”

Standing up, Byck walked to the center of the ring, adjusting his Santa hat. Meanwhile, The Proprietor approach the husband and wife. “You two. Have you ever been in a fight before?” Christine shook her head no, as did Harold. The Proprietor sighed. “Well.. it isn’t that hard. You just punch and kick. Then you have to keep him down. Now get in the ring!” He clapped a hand on Harold’s shoulder, grinning.

Harold and Chris slowly stood, both looking rather terrified. Byck, on the other hand, looked as confident as a drunk protester in a Santa suit. He grinned, making the universal “come at me bro” hand signal as the others entered the ring.

“FIGHT”

Byck ran at the couple, landing a punch square onto Harold’s chest , the man letting out a huff of pain as the air was knocked from him. He stumbled back, and Byck grinned, only to double over as Chris kicked him in the pants. “Fuck!” The man practically screamed, shocking the couple, swinging and missing at Chris.

“Hey! Only one hit to the pants is aloud! Don’t do it again!” The Proprietor shouted

“Only one per round?” Fromme pouted, looking really disappointed. The Balladeer swallowed nervously

Byck swung at Harold, hitting him in the shoulder, then grabbing the shorter man and shoving, almost throwing him into Chris, knocking them both to the ground.the two struggled to get up, but couldent, until The Proprietor called it.

“SAM BYCK IS OUR WINNER!!” The man shouted, raising one of Sam’s hands in the air, while Harold and Chris slowly got to their feet “c-can we go now?” Harold stammered out nervously. The Proprietor shook his head with a smirk “why don’t you take your seats.”

Chapter Text

After watching Byck beat up the couple, Squeaky was even more exited to fight! That annoying twit Balladeer was going down! Most of the assassins here had been wanting to beat him up since forever. Some of them less so after they turned him into Oswald… but some even more, Squeaky especially.

Leaning into her chair, Squeaky glanced over at Moore. “I wonder if I’m gonna get to fight Hinkley too! I wanna beat the pulp out of that fruity fucker.” She chuckled slightly at her terrible pun.

Moore grinned at the word play. She did appreciate a good joke. She chucked “hah! Fruits are pulpy!” She explained the joke aloud, kinda ruining it. Fromme sighed.

On the other end of the tent, The Balladeer was sitting , guitar in hand, tuning it softly. Zangara wandered over, the Italian clutching his stomach, before sitting on the chair beside him. (His old seat was being occupied by an unconscious Guiteau.)

“Do you know a song by… the songs in Miami. “ the man gestured with his hands like a grand marshal conducting a band, as though he were the folks that provided a score for his assassination attempt. He rather liked the music, even though it was for the capitalists to enjoy.

The Balladeer shrugged, closing his eyes for a moment, before perking up in recognition. “You mean Sousa, right?” The short man just shrugged. “You probably do. I can play some, but it is a lot better with a full band.” He strummed a chord, only for The Proprietor’s voice to startle the room.

“Time for our next fight!!” He beckoned both Fromme and The Balladeer into the ring. Fromme hopped into the ring with a wide grin, while The Balladeer was far more hesitant, standing with his guitar in hand.

As The Balladeer stepped into the ring, his face suddenly lit up, strumming his guitar and beginning to sing
“Noooowwwww come on folks and listen well to the story that I tell! It’s that of a crazy lady, in love with the man from heeeellllll-“ squeaky let out a shout, her beads out, charging Bally. The Balladeer shrieked, running away, circling the ring with Fromme chasing behind like a slapstick comedy routine, The Balladeer strumming his guitar, half-singing half-screaming “Fuck fuck fuck oh shit oh no!”

Eventualy though, he stumbled, and Squeaky caught up to him, kicking him in the back of his left knee. “Crazy!”the narrator shouted, dropping his guitar. Fromme jumped on it with a crunch and a twang, The Balladeer almost seemingly to visibly crumple with the instrument, The Narrator reaching for what was left of his instrument, tears in his eyes, only to be yanked back by Squeaky’s beads wrapped around his neck.

“What the fuck are you doing!! I-I can’t even die!!” The Balladeer choked out, much less light hearted then the cursing earlier. Squeaky just grinned, a look of insanity mixed with her state of perpetual highness.

After a few more moments, The Balladeer shook his head quickly , gasping out “I Surrender!” Desperately.

Very reluctantly, Squeaky let go of him, fastening her beads back around her neck with a grin before flouncing out of the ring as The Proprietor shouted “We have a winner!” However, rather than just leave the guitar in pieces, The Proprietor stepped into the ring to help the slightly-crying man pick up the peicses of his instrument. “It’ll come back together, you know.” The Proprietor sighed, scooping up a snapped string.

“Just like the country.” The Balladeer added, with a faint smile.

“Nah. Because I prefer to have at least one other sane person in hell with me.” The Proprietor said in a slightly defensive tone.

“Just keep telling yourself that.” The Balladeer chuckled, collecting the last of the pieces, his sadness gone as he returned to his seat.

Hinkley, who had been sitting besides Oswald, glancing over at his inspiration. “Those two are gay, aren’t they?” Oswald just shrugged “Probably.”

Chapter Text

As The Balladeer exited the ring, Zangara wandered over to Czolgosz and Goldman. “I fight Oswald next. He is a military man. You fight the police before, yes?”

Goldman blinked “err…. No. The police have fought me?” The anarchist stated, giving a slight shrug. Leon shook his head as well. “Didn’t you serve in the military too, Joe?” The anarchist asked the Immigrant. Zangara nodded “but not the Americans. Cop, Military… all the same. All work for capitalists.”

Goldman nodded. “That’s true. You’re the anarchist who tried to assassinate FDR, correct?” Guesseppe shook his head rapidly. “No left!” He insisted. “I’ve tried to convince him but he won’t budge” Leon stated, attempting to impress Goldman, to show he had tried. Goldman just nodded though. One did not need to have the exact same ideals as everyone else, or the world would be such a boring place.

On the other side of the ring, Lee was sitting next to the first successful assassin, watching the man who had convinced him to shoot the president begin to stir. Was he bitter? Yes. But did Lee regret his choice? No. He had a family now. He had Wilkes now. The actor was annoying, but he was also passionate, and Lee was rather fond of his southern drawl, even though he would rather get shot again than admit it.

“Damn. The anarchist did a number on you.” Lee chuckled as Booth groaned, rubbing his head. “Is this what the immigrant feels like?” He clutched at his stomach, whimpering in pain.
“Yeah… I’m gonna be fighting him next” Oswald grinned. “I can totally kick his ass.” The man sounded far more confident than he had in life, at least, pre-assassination.

John liked him confident. More than he would admit.

“Kick him In the stomach, he will go down fast. Then kick Leon’s ass for me.” The actor glanced at the man who, if their lives were a play, would be his foil. Lee nodded “will do, John.”

Christine sat besides Harold, the pair still confused, but a little less terrified. “This place is crazy…” Harold whispered, leaning on his wife. “This must be what hell is like… purgatory is a catholic construct… but we are in heaven, so we were right…..” “the afterlife just makes no sense. There are multiple ones and they don’t interact.” The Balladeer poked his head into the conversation, shrugging, before wandering off, leaving the husband and wife in a state of stunned silence.

The Proprietor called Zangara and Oswald to the ring, drawing the attention of the assassins.

“Fight!”

Oswald ran at Zangara, going on the offensive and getting him into a corner, the Proprietor standing just outside the ring beside them. Zangara threw the first punch, but he missed, knocking the ref hat off of The Proprietor instead.

“What the hell! You aren’t supposed to hit me!” The Proprietor shouted, as Oswald kicked Zangara in the stomach, the short man howling in pain and sinking to his knees.

Oswald, thinking he had won, turned away from Zangara, as The Proprietor began the countdown. “Ten… Nine… Eight…. Seven… Six” Zangara groaned, pulling himself to standing, letting out a groan. He leaned on the ropes for a moment, before letting out a shout and slamming into Oswald, knocking him to the floor, holding him down as Oswald struggled. The Proprietor grinned, exited with this turn of events. Zangara threw punches, as did Oswald, but eventually Oswald stopped, and The Proprietor declared the winner.

Zangara left the ring, sliding under the boundary ropes, before returning to his seat by The Balladeer, while Oswald, cowed a little, returned to Booth.

Chapter Text

The Proprietor glanced around the tent, taking note of everyone in the room. The square tent was full, fuller than usual. The wealthy couple was sitting on one corner on chairs that they had stolen from Leon and Byck. Emma Goldman, Leon Czolgosz and Joe Zangara were all occupying the next corner. Squeaky and Sara were sitting between those two corners, the older woman holding a bucket of kfc , the pair chattering eagerly. In between the second and third corners, the tent flap to leave hung shut. None of the guests could go out, if they tried to make a run for it. The Proprietor planned for everything. The Balladeer was in the third corner, Guiteau was still passed out on a chair between the third and fourth corners, the reason for why things weren’t quite so loud. In the fourth corner, hinkley was sat on the floor, strumming his guitar lightly and muttering to a peice of paper, likely a picture of Jodie. In the space between the fourth and first corner, Booth and Oswald were talking, with John looking rather annoyed at Lee. Byck was wandering the ring, talking with Moore, squeaky, and the anarchists, his hat and sign proped up by hinkley. The Proprietor glanced from Hinkley to Goldman. That kid was getting destroyed. As long as Goldman was willing to fight. Hmmm… what do Anarchists hate? Oh. Yeah. The Proprietor grinned. This was gonna be wild.

The Proprietor stood up from his folding chair, walking over to the trio of anarchists, oozing a sleazy, confident aura. The man clearly had spent his whole existence in a position of power, and he most certainly enjoyed flaunting it. He was a wealthy white cisgender heterosexual (ok fine. That last one was a lie.) male. His life was one of privilege.

Emma Goldman eyed him suspiciously as the other two just sighed, used to his shenanigans. “What do you want.” Leon Czolgosz stated, voice actually holding some emotion, an odd mix of desperation, fear that Goldman would have to leave, but also defiance. If The Proprietor was going to attempt some shenanigans, Leon wouldn’t sit there and take it! He would protest.

The Proprietor just shrugged, before snapping his fingers, conjuring up a massive poster with “GO GO GOLDMAN” written on the white background in bright red. “You are going to want this for the fight.” The one native-born American of the bunch took the banner slowly, eyeing The Proprietor for any sign of there being some malicious trade. And there would be something similar. But this was just The Proprietor saying thank you for starting the fights, and for the entertainment.

Czolgosz held on to it reluctantly, rather confused, as The Proprietor walked away, sauntering over The Balladeer, now holding his healed guitar, re-tuning it with a small smile as the soft twang of strings reverberated in the air around him. The Proprietor leaned over him, reaching down and plucking at one of the strings without warning. The Balladeer almost hissed, clutching his guitar to his chest as one would a child. The man of chaos chuckled, strolling towards Hinkley.

“Hey kid, worried about the fight? Afraid it won’t go right?” He crouched besides John, his grin slightly condescending and his voice singsongy like it was when he first introduced Hinkley to his carnival. “Hey kid, might be tight… but you don’t know her. You probably could beat her.” Hinkley looked dubious “she was talking with Czolgosz and Zangara about how she hated Taxi Driver.” The Proprietor lied with a smile. Hinkley looked annoyed. No one was allowed to insult his Jodie!

The Proprietor returned to the center of the room, before calling in everyone in to start up the next fight. Hinkley was the first one in the ring, while Goldman was hesitant, only stepping into the ring after glancing back at Czolgosz, who was holding up the sign, the man giving a small smile.

“This is for Jodie“ Hinkley stated to the room as he took his position in one corner. ”My queen, my love, my goddess!” Hinkley continued, as he carefully tucked the picture of her into his pocket, as though it were a favor from his lady and he were a great knight, preparing to ride into battle. The Proprietor, standing, leaned up to fake-whisper by Goldman’s ear “his twelve year old girlfriend.”

Emma Goldman had been intending to forfeit. She did not like violence, even when it was necessary. But, a rage filled her suddenly, almost as strong as the feelings that consumed her when Most did an about-face, denouncing the ideas he supported before, while Sasha was sitting in a cell for enacting those ideas. She saw red. (Looking back, The Proprietor was likely messing with everyone’s emotions. Or maybe it was the Carnival itself.) The anarchist grabbed the folding chair that The Proprietor normally sat on from outside of the ring. She picked it up, before whipping around and slamming it into Hinkley’s chest. The man gave out hardly any more sound than a pitiful whimper, his glasses smashed on the ground. With practicality a roar, Goldman brought the folding chair down on John, rage fading with the second hit. John wasn’t moving, and the room was deathly silent.

“…. Go Emma!” Leon Czolgosz cheered, and the room erupted in loud cheers. The Proprietor grinned, applauding rapidly. “This is so much fun!” The man looked like a kid in a candy store as he dragged Hinkley back to his corner. Fight Club. Almost as fun as murder!

Chapter Text

Thirty minutes after Goldman destroyed Hinkley, The Proprietor called out how the next round of fighting would go. “Sara will be fighting Leon, Sam will be fighting Joe, and Squeaky will be fighting Goldman. Our next round will be in ten minutes!”

The small mob, wich had been mingling and talking amongst themselves, slowly returned to their initial seats, aside from the Maines, who had stayed by themselves the entire time.

Leon and Moore entered the ring at roughly the same time. Leon dosent like to fight. he isnt a violent man. Normally. But then again, this mess had began because he had punched Booth. But everyone has limits. And Leon had no grudge against Moore. sensing his hesitance, The Proprietor whispers ”hey buddy, she’s a cop. Go ham dude.” into his ear. Leon still didn’t want to fight, but he couldn’t help but think of how Goldman got her arm broken by the pigs. not by Moore though. still… he wouldent tap out. rather, he would defend himself if he had too. (Besides, he had gone through so much. He needed a way to relieve his stress. And beating Booth’s ass had strangely helped a little.)

Moore also wasnt looking forward to this, well, not as much as she had been with beating the ever-loving shit out of Charles. prick had deserved it. Then again… this kid was still a killer. and it would be fun to fight Fromme! (she could totaly take Fromme. and Byck. and Zangara. Goldman she didnt know, but she did beat up Hinkley… but even Booth could have beaten him up, that doesn’t say much) so Leon and her would fight.

The two walked to the center. They shook hands, with Moore saying “may the best win” with a grin. Leon replied “yeah, may the best….”, his eyes a little distant.

The bell rang to fight. Moore threw the first punch, Leon blocked, steping back. moore punched again, hitting his wrist where the scar was. Leon then kicked Sara in the leg, and Sara responded with a kick of her own. the fight continued for a while, before leon got thrown off balance by a well-placed roundhouse kick. the anarchist droped, and the ex-cop pinned him to the ground, holding him for ten seconds.

The Proprietor exitedly shouted ”We’ve got a winner!” (he had bet on her) Leon slowly got to his feet, shaking the woman’s hand. ”they taught you well in cossack school.”
“I’m no Cossack anymore, they fired me, so no worries man.” Sara replied, smiling.

Behind them, The Proprietor grinned smugly as he counted a wad of cash. “I’m gonna buy a car!”

A rather annoyed Balladeer groaned “you can’t even drive.”

The Proprietor just shrugged “so?”

Chapter Text

Byck confedantly stepped back into the ring, tossing the can of budd light he had just finished behind him. the silvery progectile hitting Hinkley in the face. Fromme snickered loudly as the incel droped for the second time that day. The Proprietor didnt hide his laugh though. He had bet on a fairly long match for these two and had a bag of popcorn ready.
Zangara entered the ring at the same moment Hinckley got whacked, so most everyone missed as he clutched at his stomach. It had been worse since his first fight. He was used to the pain, though.
the pair walked to the center of the ring, Byck giving a “you’re going down fucker” with a half-joking grin, looking down at his opponent. Zangara glared back “i doubt it, pilota di merda” Sam merely grinned “i dont know what the fuck that means” just as the bell rang.

Zangara lunged, attempting to knock down the man. Byck shoved him back however, swinging and missing because of his inebriation. Joe landed a hit, before Byck tackled him, but Zangara crawled out from under him after scratching at his shoulder ”crazy ass fucker!” Byck shouted, kicking at Zangara before getting up.

The fight went on for about six minuites, the longest so far. Byck would tackle, Zangara would scratch, or on one ocasion, bite, then escape. The Proprietor was loving this, and The Balladeer was filming. he will be making this a song once he finishes the Fromme song.
Despite his drunkeness, Byck was still going strong. eventualy, a wave of bad pain hit Zangara, and he doubled over, letting out a groan. Byck tried for a final tackle, using all his strength to pin him down for the full ten count.

The Proprietor grinned, shouting ”BYCK WINS!”, holding up the man’s hand. Zangara let out another groan, still on the floor. Emma Goldman grabbed his sholders, geting Czolgosz to help her help him to a chair. Zangara was fine, and even Byck wandered over to check on him ”no hard feelings bud?” the man asked, Zangara giving a grunt and nod as a reply.

Chapter Text

The Proprietor glanced over at The Balladeer. “what would you say to a double or nothing? If Goldman wins, I pay you back and then double. If Squeaky wins, you pay me double.” The Balladeer shrugged, glancing at Fromme, who was chattering exitedly with Moore, then to Goldman, calm, speaking with Czolgosz and Zangara. “Hmmmm…. Sure. I’ll take it.” The Balladeer grinned, writing it down then taking a time stamped photo if props decided to cheat.

Squeaky entered the ring, her beads at the ready, giving a big grin and two thumbs up at Moore, then mouthing a slur in Hinkley’s direction. Goldman blinked, but then again, she may have misread her lips. She may have just been saying “fuck you”, in which case, that was fine, Goldman held similar sentiments, curse words were simply likely to take away respectability.

“Are you in an abusive relationship? Because The Balladeer implied you were, and I’m here if you need help” Fromme looked pissed “don’t you dare talk that way about my god! Charlie is a hero, the messiah! And that asshat Balladeer is a lying fagot.” She did not just- the bell rang to start the fight.
“This is gonna be fun!” The Proprietor grinned

Fromme lunged for Goldman’s neck with a hiss, Goldman sidestepping smoothly “do you even know what that word mea-“ Fromme hit Goldman in the stomach, the anarchist doubling over, before reaching over and grabbing the girl’s arm “it means piece of wood” Goldman stated firmly, as Fromme clawed at goldman’s arm. “Meant to be destroyed.” She dropped Fromme, who started kicking at her. How many times had Goldman been beaten up by the police? A lot. This was nothing new- to be fair, the scratching was new. She shouldn’t have rolled up her sleeves.

She pushed Fromme back, only for the cultist to run back at her, screaming a “FOR CHARLIE!”. Goldman spun her, before putting her into a headlock. Squeaky kicked and scratched at Goldman’s face, but Goldman did not let go. “Everyone is worthy of life. And everyone is worthy of love, and must be permitted to love who they desire, how they desire, and how many. Love is love, Lynette. And being homophobic is not ok!” Goldman pushed her against the barrier, pinning her as she spoke for the ten counts, her arm and face bleeding a little. Again, the pigs had done the same to her before. “We have a winner…” the proprietor grumbled, as the balladeer looked smug. Leon cheered, and Hinkley gave a weak cheer at his tormentor getting owned only to get punched by Czolgosz. The Proprietor was too busy sulking to notice.

Chapter Text

in the aftermath of the final fight, after shelling out a wad of cash to The Balladeer, The Proprietor turned to the group assembled. ” alright idiots.” he grumbled ”tomorrow, Booth, Guiteau, you two, Hinkley, Oswald, and” he fliped a bird in the smirking Balladeer’s face. “Then, you three who lost today” he gestured at Zangara, Czolgosz and Fromme ”will be fighting, along with a pall of mine and the creation of these weirdos on this internet thing called… Tumblr or something stupid” ”whats the internet?” Booth asked, and The Proprietor just shook his head. If it was explained to Booth, then by the time they finished, the country would have collapsed. ”then, the winner of each match will figh-“

“sorry im late uwu” a young man with a twinkish face, wearing a binder patterned with leon and goldman and berkman and kroptkin and bakunin’s faces on it ”hi! im Cooper st. John and i tryed to kill Dumpy trumpy because he wouldent let me get top surgery! im ananarchist too uwu :) ”

Leon especialy but everyone else looked confused as fuck. What in Columbia’s name was happening… and who was he.

Chapter Text

Seven people (six people and one demigod) entered the ring. The balladeer grinned. This was gonna get him so many views on you tube. He touched the GoPro on his cowboy hat, then glanced at Moore, who was recording with his camera, who gave a thumbs up, indicating it was rolling.

Harold and Christine both glanced at their opponents . “We should fight Booth! That loathsome murder should be dead!” Harold insisted, but Christine countered “that hinkley fellow… he’s a pedophile! We should go after him! Think of our daughters!” Harold simply gave a nod “true. Let’s.” He smiled at his wife

As the couple charged, Oswald strode to Charles, opening his lunchbox like one would open a suitcase full of cash in order to bribe someone. Inside were two fifties. “Drop out and they are yours.” Lee grinned. Charlie gave the same response he gives to the proprietor at the start of the show, grabbing the cash and the hopping out of the ring. Lee grinned, shutting the case, before turning to Booth, still wet and trembling “allies?” Oswald asked, lifting his lunchbox. Booth nodded weakly, slowly getting to his feet.

Oswald then threw the lunchbox at The Balladeer’s head. He ducked but it hit his hat and broke his GoPro “damnit I was filming!” The dude shouted, picking up the pieces before exiting the ring with a huff.

Hinkley had to be dragged out of the ring,

The two pairs face off. Booth got kicked hard in the leg, his broken one to be exact. The man fell harder then he did leaping from the President’s box. “Abraham Lincoln was one of our best presidents!” Harold shouted as he kicked Booth’s side.

However, Chris wasn’t doing so well with her side of the fight. Unfortunately for her, Oswald had plenty of experience with beating wives.

“The couple… actually are the winners!” The Proprietor shouted, somewhat amazed.

Moore handed the camera back to The Balladeer as Zangara groaned. He had been hoping for the two annoying rich fucks to loose but ah well. His fight was next. He took a swig of pepto Bismal. This was gonna be fun.

Chapter Text

Zangara is the first into the ring. He has drunk almost three quarters of the pepto-bismal. One cannot overdose on the stuff, or Zangara would be in real trouble. Is stomach wasn’t hurting now, a rarity he was very grateful for.

Booth watched the fight from a chair a few feet back, his leg still throbbing from what those two Yankee fuckers did to him. Beside him was Charles, holding up his two fifties and rambling about how great Grant was. Another yankee. If booth wasn’t in so much pain, he would attempt to make Charlie shut it. But he couldn’t, so he forced a grin, one trembling hand wiping away sweat from his brow

Fromme wandered into the ring, shooting a dirty look at Goldman, who was sitting alone, pen and paper in hand. The proprietor fellow had just had a very interesting conversation with her about the fact that she had been in contact with and somewhat inspired at least three assassins (Berkman, Czolgosz, Schwartzbard.). Goldman simply shrugged. She was never the biggest supporter of propaganda by deed, as violence was what the capitalist class did to the people. Then again, she was a prominent anarchist, and had supported it in her younger days, when she followed Most. The Proprietor couldn’t stop giggling as she recounted their falling out. She didn’t see it as funny, rather a juvenile action.

Leon Czolgosz and that other new kid were still missing. Zangara, leaning in one of the corners, glanced over at Fromme. “Any idea where Leon and the boy are?” Zangara asked Fromme, who just shrugged, as she was currently muttering to a picture of Charlie.

The Balladeer seemed to notice this too, the man/god/narrator talking with moore, byck, (neither of whom were talking about their attempts, rather their kids. ) “I’m gonna go find Czolgosz and….” He shuddered at the mention of the oc “him.”

The balladeer stepped outside the tent, spotting two figures embracing in the distance “oh shit!” The narrator mutters under their breath. “That was not supposed to happen. We have to keep that kid now, don’t we?” Cooper wasn’t like the other assassins. Like The Balladeer and The Proprietor, Cooper was not historical. He wasn’t even semi-historical like the bystanders. He was a creation of ten strangers online. He was not like the rest of them. His existence was semi-permanent at best. And Czolgosz was dating him now. (Of course, he wasn’t, but Bally didn’t know that)

Oy.

Balladeer sighed before walking up to Leon and Cooper “so that’s what a binder is for then? And you couldn’t get the surgery you needed? That’s… just awful, Cooper.” Leon said, Cooper having just explained trans people.

Bally cleared his throat , startling the two. “Y’all need to get inside. The fight is about to start.” Cooper blushed, and Leon looked embarrassed. They untangled themselves, both standing up.

“You go in.” Leon said to Cooper. He walked off, but waited at the tent flap “don’t you DARE tell the others!” He hissed, looking seriously pissed, a rarity for the mostly stoic man. He didn’t want the others to think something was going on that wasn’t actually happening.

The Balladeer sighed, but nodded. “You aren’t actually dating, correct?” Leon nodded his head “good. Now, hurry up.”

Inside the ring, The Proprietor looked at his watch. “For fuck’s sake!” And now the Balladeer had snuck off somewhere. Great. “Asshole.”

Well, speak of the devil. He glanced over to see Bally enter, St. John and Czolgosz in tow. Ahh, they were getting attached. Good. It would suck all the more when Cooper would be deleted from the carnival, sent back to the wastes of tumblr. Of course, none of the others, not even Bally would know that. After all… this was hell. And what better way was there to taunt Czolgosz then by giving him a friend then taking it away. Or… possibly Cooper could stay… but only if he or Leon won. Just to spice things up a bit.

Cooper and Leon entered the ring, The Proprietor handing them a pair of shoelaces and two glass bottles respectively.

“Fight!”

Leon’s back was to the other three as he carefully set down his bottles. Zangara ran at the much taller man, pepto bismal bottle in hand. He tackled him from behind, but Leon flipped him, the two starting to wrestle on the ground.

Cooper, who had been told not to interfere with any fight involving Leon unless if it was going badly turned to face his opponent, a woman who had just gotten beaten up by Goldman for being homophobic. “Hi Lynette!” The young man said cheerfully. After all, she surly had learned her lesson.

“So you and Leon are dating now?” Squeaky asked, a mocking glint in her eyes. Cooper’s cheeks betrayed his slight crush, Leon focused on Zangara, oblivious to Fromme as Cooper turned the color of revolution. “You’re basically a woman anyway, all you’d need is boobs and you two would be normal.” Squeaky smirked, not knowing Cooper was trans or she wouldn’t have said that, before whipping at Cooper with her beads.

“Oh shit.” Goldman and The Balladeer muttered in unison, one pissed, the other vaguely nervous. “Oh SHIT!” The Proprietor cheered excitedly. This was gonna be a wild fight!!!!

Stunned, Cooper got hit with the beads, before snapping into action. He charged, screaming “I’m a MAN you transphobic bitch!” Tripping Fromme before beginning to choke her like she did the balladeer. “I’m a man, I’m a MAN and you have NO RIGHT to tell me otherwise!!” Aside from the emotions that result from being chocked, Fromme mostly looked confused. She was just trying to be homophobic!!! Of course the kid was a man, he just wasn’t acting like men should! However, she soon had to surrender.

Meanwhile, the fight between Joe and Leon continued. Leon had height advantage, but Joe wasn’t in pain and that was awsome. Currently, he had Leon in a headlock.

Wanting to further spice things up, the proprietor came up with a plan. “The winner of the bracket gets to add one thing to the Carnival!” A collective gasp went up, as the assassins looked at each other.

“Why didn’t you say this before?” Oswald shouted, looking very very pissed. In fact, every eliminated assassin looked furious.

“We fought! Where is our prize!” Charlie shouted, jumping to his feet “you give us no prize even though I won the first game!” This gave most of the others pause, even those fighting. “It was never a game. I killed McKinley because he was the enemy of all the good working people!” Czolgosz stated, his voice deathly soft “that wasn’t a game. None of that was. And this… this is just you trying to use us for entertainment.”

The Proprietor simply grinned, hopping into the ring and whispering in the anarchist’s ear “But you are still gonna fight… if you want Cooper to stay. I doubt the others would waste their addition on keeping him around.”

Leon paled, as The Proprietor flashed him a smirk before hitting the bell to restart the fight. Zangara, now desperate for a pepto bismal fountain fought with renewed vigor. But when it seemed that hope was lost for Czolgosz, Cooper rushed over, pulling Zangara off of Leon, pushing him to the ground. Leon grabbed Cooper’s arms “I told you to let me fight for myself Cooper!” But the kid merely shook his head.

Zangara got up, and Leon pushed Cooper aside, squaring off against the shorter man. They began punching at each other, Leon eventually landing a knock out punch.

The anarchist turned to look at Cooper, giving a small sigh. “I guess we have to fight now.” Cooper just shook his head. “I want to forfeit.”

Proprietor pouted “awwwww…. I wanted to see you two fight.” Before locking dangerous eyes with Leon and Cooper. Leon sighed, muttering an apology before throwing a punch at Cooper, flinching as his fist made contact with the other’s chest. Cooper stumbled back, gasping for air. With a mournful look on his face, Leon swept Cooper off his feet, almost letting him drop, catching him an inch before he hit the ground, then letting go.

The proprietor declared Czolgosz the winner, the man not even looking up as his name was called. He helped Cooper off the floor, not meeting his eyes, sitting him down next to Goldman before walking out of the tent

“Well? That wasn’t entertaining!” The Proprietor pouted, speaking to the room.
“Ten minutes, then you two fight him” he pointed at the couple in the corner. “Give me a show this time.

Chapter Text

Leon pulled into himself on the ground outside the tent. He hated this. All of this! That young man, no older than eighteen, created by a strange mix of admirers of the people in the fighting, brought into this purgatory from nothing, would be… erased! For what? The Proprietor wanting to flex his powers? Corrupt bastard. And this whole fight was Leon’s fault. But he had an obligation to Cooper. Even if the kid was fabrication, he still was half-alive. And life was precious. Goldman would say to help him.

Back inside the tent, the Maines were sitting besides each other, talking. “ I almost feel bad for the folks here, trapped with that madman, but then I remind myself that they are all murderers” Harold whispered to his wife, who had her head on his shoulder “I want to go back home, honey… but i am… having fun. We just talk and read and garden… our heaven has been so boring, darling.” Harold nodded, rubbing his wife’s shoulder. “All the successful killers have been eliminated, I think… though that anarchist is still in the running.” Harold gestured to Goldman. “And… I think we can actually win this.”

Meanwhile, Goldman was sitting next to Cooper, the young man with his legs piled close to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them. “I don’t understand… why did he fight me? I-I was gonna forfeit, he didn’t need to.”

Goldman met Cooper’s eyes, her own dark ones full of sympathy, mixed with a touch of rage directed at another. “I don’t know. My guess… the Proprietor is using his position of influence to make you two fight. “ this was strange for Czolgosz indeed. He was a shy young man, who rarely spoke up. Yet when he did, it was almost always in extremes. But, only against people who deserved it. Neither Zangara nor Cooper fell into that category.

Cooper gave a weak nod “he doesn’t think I’m just a stupid kid, does he? I just want him, want you guys to be… proud of me.” The man stared at his hands, a look of grief on them. “I killed Trump because he was bad. But what if I just made things worse for trans kids when I shot him?”

That was a valid point. Nearly every assassin had had a moment of regretting what they had done, aside from Booth and Guiteau. But in the end, none of them would choose to undo their deeds.

“Your assassination… never happened. You know that, right?” Goldman knew this, when one is so connected to something that’s alive, one can feel it shift. Cooper gave a nod. “I don’t want to go back to tumblr. I don’t want to be alone , or stuck with the Hamilton ocs.” Goldman had no idea what tumblr was, or what an oc was, but she did know that Alexander Hamilton was politically stupid.

The Balladeer poked his head out of the tent flap, eyes landing on the tall man on the ground. “Hey pall, come on! Props wants you to get back in there to fight.” The Balladeer plopped down beside Czolgosz, placing a hand on his shoulder. Czolgosz flinched.

“It’s my fault. The Proprietor is going to… erase… Cooper if I don’t win.” Leon grumbled, cap pulled low over his face. “He was… created… just to mess with us… but Cooper is still alive…”

“Cooper won’t be erased! He is just… oh no.” The Balladeer’s comforting smile dropped. Cooper would be sent back to the hell that tumblr historical musical ocs are damned to spend eternity in.

Leon dragged himself to standing, locking those tires, dulled eyes with the bright blue ones of the Balladeer. “I have a fight to win.” The anarchist whispered, silently re-entering the tent, The Balladeer following.

Harold hopped into the ring, offering his hand for his wife to take, helping her in. “Czolgosz… the name sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Harold muttered to his wife. “He must be an attempted assassin. Maybe he was from the Soviet Union?” Christine guessed, her husband giving a shrug as he handed her a mic.

Leon Czolgosz stepped back into the ring, carrying only one of his bottles. His tired eyes landed on each one, deciding to go for Harold first. However, he merely stepped forward first, shaking both his opponents hands.

The Proprietor, grinning, suddenly shouted “FIGHT!” Ringing the bell. Harold and Chris rushed Czolgosz, who did his best to dodge, shouting “Jesus supports mutual aid!” This distracted the couple, as Chris and Harold both took a moment to discern what mutual aid was. However, that single moment gave Leon a moment of surprise. The anarchist smashed the bottle down on Harold, the man dropping as glass fell around him. Chris screamed, as Czolgosz took rapid steps back, the sound of shattering glass triggering memories of burns and heat and the factory, memories he would only be startled from by Chris whacking him in the stomach with a microphone. Czolgosz doubled over, covering his head, and fumbling blindly to try and grab the mic when it next came down for a hit. Because he condemn see, he got hit in the back, but managed to grab Chris’s arm. Pulling her in before pushing her to the ground, the anarchist whispered “please surrender…”

Chris struggled to her feet, landing a punch on Leon’s shoulder, but Leon pushed her down again, forcing her to stay down till The Proprietor finally called it.

Leon didn’t meet her eyes, whispering an apology as he helped Chris up, then exiting the ring as Chris helped her husband, who was beginning to come too, Goldman rushing over, bandages in hand.

“Tomorrow, Goldman will fight Moore and Czolgosz will fight Byck!” The Proprietor announced, exited, though no one in the room really seemed to share his excitement.

Chapter Text

Zangara wandered over to Guiteau, sitting down on the other man’s lap. “What would you ‘ave done if you won?” He asked Guiteau, staring up at his boyfriend.

Guiteau grinned down at Joe. “Why, I would have gotten-“ hmmm…
A church! No. TWO churches!!! And a pastor! And an audience with god! And Jesus! And-

“Charlie?”

“Well… I would have… gotten Jesus to officiate our wedding, Guessepie.” Charlie smiled, oddly sincere and quiet for the usually crazy man.

Leon took the ice pack greatfuly from Goldman before walking to the far side of the room from cooper, and sitting against the tent wall, letting out a groan.

He slumped over, pressing it against his stomach. Bowing his head, the man wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes and stop all this now.

“Hey Leon?” The star spangled man crouched in front of Leon, popping a squat. “Look. I am really sorry you have to deal with all of this… but, look on the bright side! Only two more fights! You are so close to winning!!”

“And if I loose? You know where that boy goes.” Leon snapped.

“Then… what you do is try again” The Balladeer gave a reassuring smile.

Leon nodded, before standing and picking up his last remaining bottle.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! It is my sincerest pleasure to introduce you to the next fight. SAMUEL BYCK AGAINST LEON CZOLGOSZ!!!” Props blasted his foghorn, causing more than a few assassins to wince. Byck climbed into the ring, joining Czolgosz, his protest sign in one hand.

“Hey babe. No hard feelings when I beat ya?” The heavily intoxicated man reached out to shake Leon’s hand.

Leon shook it firmly, giving a head shake. “Not that you will.”

“FIGHT!” The Proprietor cheered, ringing his bell.

Leon threw the first punch, hitting Sam in the arm. The man just shrugged it off, before slamming his sign into Leon’s side, knocking the wind from him.

Leon gasped, stumbling back a step, before throwing the bottle at Byck- who swung his sign like a bat, hitting the bottle directly into the face of Charles Guiteau, who fell off of his chair, taking his boyfriend with him.

Byck ran at Leon, who tried to wrestle the sign from his grasp, only succeeding in breaking it. Byck tossed the pieces to the side, before punching leon in the chest, the man slipping through the ropes and falling out of the ring, landing painfuly on his back. Zangara couldn’t help but fear for a moment that Leon would be forced into the same predicament as the man who he tried to kill.

The Proprietor hammered on the bell, cheering. “WE HAVE A WINNER!!!”

Byck hopped out of the ring, quickly rushing to Leon’s side, as did Emma Goldman and Cooper.

“You alright, babe?” Byck asked, crouching beside Leon, who groaned, sitting up slowly.

“Cooper… so sorry…” the man coughed out, leaning heavily on Goldman and byck’s arms.

Cooper just stared back at him with tearful eyes. If only he hadn’t cut it! It flowed and healed when he sang!

Goldman and Byck helped Leon to his feet, taking him to Goldman’s chair. The woman gave Czolgosz an ice pack and water bottle, staring at Cooper and Czolgosz with concern.

“If I win, I’ll get you to stay.” Goldman promised the boy, who nodded greatfuly, sniffling.

“OUR NEXT FIGHT WILL BE SARA JANE MOORE AGAINST EMMA GOLDMAN!!” The Proprietor bellowed.

Chapter Text

Emma Goldman walked over to where Moore had previously been sitting. However, Moore had gone somewhere else, leaving just Squeaky in the seat. The younger woman glanced up at Goldman, a look of obvious annoyance in her eyes “what do you want.” The cultist sighed playing with her beads.

“I meant to talk with Moore. But I would like to talk with you, if you would listen.”

Squeaky rolled her eyes. “I don’t need you to preach anarchy to me, I have Charlie.”

Goldman sighed. “Fine. But… I’m supprised at your homophobia. Wasn’t Manson at least a believer in free love?”

“Oh.” Squeaky murmured, sitting down in her chair. The anarchist was unfortunately correct. She would…. Have to…. Find some other way to pick on John. Not that it would be hard, of course.

The Proprietor and The Balladeer were chillin by the fight circle, before another battle begins of course.

The Proprietor smirked down at the balladeer. “You really do suck that much at fighting, huh? You got your ass beat- by Fromme!” he laughed at him.

The Balladeer shook his head. “I don’t like violence, this fight club was your idea- why don’t you fight?”

“I’m the announcer, I can’t do that.” Props explained

“I could definitely kick your ass in a fistfight.” The Balladeer chuckled

“What about we wrestle?” The Proprietor smirked, leaning down towards The Balladeer.

“Oh, that’s different. You’d kill me.“ The Balladeer replied innocently.

“Not that kind of wrestling.” The Proprietor winked, bringing a flush to the cowboy’s cheeks.

Moore and Goldman entered the ring, Moore bringing her KFC and Emma leaving her chair.

“I heard you were one of the pigs?” Goldman asked, cracking her knuckles casually.

“Yeah” Moore shrugged “They had me spy on some left wing book shop. It turns out that y’all were right. I read some of your work. That’s why I tried to kill Ford.”

Goldman nodded. “But… surely you learned from the mistakes of Leon? Propaganda of the Deed does not work in America.”

“I know I know…” Moore muttered. “But I wanted to know who I was. And assassin sounded like a good thing to be.”

Goldman was about to respond, when Props chanted “FIGHT!”

Emma sighed, adopting a defensive stance, while Moore did the same.

“You will likely win this. I haven’t fought anyone since Most- and I was twenty three at the time.” Goldman conceded.

Moore shrugged “and I wasn’t a paticularaly active cop. But it will be nice to fight someone my skill level” before throwing the first punch.

Goldman dodged, before landing a hit of her own, on the shoulder that Moore shrugged off. The woman laughed, before lunging at Goldman, kicking her in the shin and sweeping her off of her feet.

Goldman caught herself on her hands, before pulling Moore’s leg, causing her to fall.

Moore then tackled Goldman, pinning her in a chokehold. She was an actualy trained cop.

Goldman kicked at Moore, but didn’t try any clawing. Why would she. Moore and Goldman were some of the few non-feral people in this carnival.

Moore withstood the kicking, The Proprietor starting the countdown, Goldman unable to escape.

The Proprietor blasted his foghorns. “SARA JANE MOORE IS OUR WINNER!!! OUR FINAL FIGHT WILL BE HER AGAINST SAMUEL BYCK IN FIVE MINUTES!!!”

Moore helped Goldman up, grinning at the younger woman, who rubbed her neck, wincing.

“That was fun! Thanks, Ms. Goldman.” Moore said, making her way to her seat, picking up the KFC.

“Call me Emma.” Goldman shrugged.

Chapter Text

Squeaky strolled over to Booth, who was drinking from his emergency flask and hanging out by the sidelines near the ring. “50 bucks on Moore,” she declared to Booth.
Booth spit out his whisky with a laugh. He started to choke, still having a muffled laugh. “Moore?” He asked between coughs. “You’re kidding, right?” He took another sip right after. These fights are no fun sober.
“She’s a strong woman who’s crazy in the ring. She can easily kick his ass no problem!” She grabbed Booth’s flask and chugged half of it. She forgot about her own drink at home.
He took the flask from her and snorted. “This conversation should’ve ended at ‘woman.’ How about this: I will triple the bet. I bet Sam will knock out Sara in the third round. Ain’t no way a woman can beat up a man. Especially Moore. She’s significantly weaker than Sam and just in general.”
She laughs. “You act as if you didn’t get your ass kicked in the first round! Oh, and, remind me! What is the men to women ratio? How many women are left? How long did I survive for?”
His face got red with anger. “Look, I purposely lost because I didn’t want to fight!I'm certain that most of them were just being gentlemen and didn’t want to hurt you ladies too badly!”
Squeaky laughs. “Is that what you say when you cry yourself to sleep with that L? I bet it is. This fight just proves that women are just as strong as men. Your sexist ass just can’t admit to it.”
Booth rolled his eyes and took a step closer to her. He gave her a playful grin. “Well, I guess we’ll have to prove you wrong, don’t we? I can’t wait to get that cash from you.” He started to walk away.
“I can’t wait until you try to prove that this conversation didn’t exist!” She called after him and laughed as Booth ignored her to watch the fight.

Hinckley sat down eating popcorn and sharing with Oswald. “Honestly, I didn't expect this to end up with Moore and Byck. Kind of lame,” he was talking with a mouth full of food.

Oswald took a piece of popcorn and ate it. He didn’t want to share with Hinckley, but he couldn’t find the popcorn machine. “Who did you think it would end with?”

He shrugged . “I expected Sam, of course, but I thought I would be in it too.”

Oswald laughed and choked on his popcorn. “You? You’ve got to be kidding me. What do you know about boxing?”

Hinckley’s face turned a deep shade of red. “I know a lot! And, who else would be in that ring besides me? Everyone is so weak. I could’ve easily knocked them out!”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and you did such a good job with Emma.”

“Hey, fuck you! It was just a miscalculation is all. Let me in again and I could easily take her out.”

Oswald snorted. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Keep telling yourself that, man. She hit you with a chair.”

Hinckley stared at him for a second before dumping the popcorn on Oswald’s head and storming off

Byck and Moore entered the ring, both grinning, the man incredibly drunk and the woman laughing.

“Just you and me, pal?” Moore giggled, fist bumping her friend and the man closest in age to her.

“Just you and me, babe.” Byck chuckled, cracking his knuckles.

“Fight!” The Proprietor cheered.

Byck swung at Moore, who dodged, before kicking at him in the leg. He shrugged it off , before attempting to put her into a chokehold.

Moore pushed away, kneeing him in the groin.

Byck let out an “oof” as he let go, doubling over. As he did, Moore struck out, punching him in the face.

The fight went on for nearly five minutes, and it was clear that both were equally matched. It was just a matter of who could stick it out the longest.

Both were panting in the corners. Byck leaned against the ropes while Moore was standing.

The woman made one last attempt, running at Byck and attempting to tackle him. Unfortunately, Byck was able to pin her to the ground.

“TEN. NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!!” The Proprietor screamed, counting down, before triumphantly yelling “WE HAVE A WINNER!!!!” As red white and blue ticker tape exploded from the ceiling.

Byck got off of Moore, helping her up, only for a Bucket of Gatorade to get dumped on his head.

“CONGRATULATIONS!!!” The Balladeer smiled, holding the bucket. He set it down, before strumming the opening chord of We Are The Champions.

“well folks? That’s a rap. “Props cut off The Balladeer before he could sing. “Time to send the rest of you back to whence you came“

“wait!” The Proprietor was interrupted by Cooper’s cry “Let me fight the winner! I never got a chance to do a one on one.” Cooper sounded and looked desperate, staring at the Proprietor.

The Proprietor glanced over at Byck who shrugged. “Honestly, sure. It’ll be fun.” As he stepped back into the ring….

Chapter Text

Cooper glanced at Byck nervously, biting his lip to make an uwu face. There was no way he could beat Sammy. He was too weak. He wasn’t strong like Leon- who didn’t love him. Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want to go he really didn’t want to go. But this was his one last chance to stay. He walked to the ring, nervously glancing over at his anarchist comrades, before hopping into it.

Byck gave the nervous eighteen year old a smile. He was gonna win but he would go easy on the kid.

“”OUR FINAL FINAL FIGHT!! COOPER ST JOHN AGAINST SAAAAAAAM
BYCK!!!” The Proprietor cheered, rolling with the unplanned turn of events. “FFIIIIGGGHHTTT!!!” He milked the words.

Cooper threw a weak punch, only to be felled by Byck, who punched him once in the face, and then pinned him with a knee to his neck. “This is racist!!” Cooper tried to gasp out. Cooper this is presidential assassin purgatory. There are no cops here. And you are white. WTF

The Proprietor slowly counted down, trying to give Cooper a chance to get up and have a less pathetic fight.

But Cooper was a disappointment as usual. And Sam kept him down.

“Well- Byck is our winner.” The Proprietor said, not very enthusiastically. “You four, get out.”

He pointed at the Maines, who hurried out of the tent flap, disappearing, at Cooper, who was being helped up by Byck, and at Goldman, who was speaking with Leon. The woman shook the other anarchist’s hand before walking over to cooper. But at the sight of the tent flap, Cooper began to cry pitiful tears. “Please please I don’t want to go with he Hamilton ocs!” He begged.

Props just shook his head. “Oh. No. Cooper, I am sending you to a place much, much worse. The Farmhouse. But there are no Hamilton ocs there. I’m not that much of a monster.”

Props pushed Cooper towards the tent, but he took a detour to hug Leon, before running through after Goldman.

The Proprietor and The Balladeer surveyed the carnival, a small smile on the second man’s face. “Thanks for being nice to him. That really was fun.” The cowboy muttered to the clown.

“If you liked it that much, we can do it again.” The Proprietor shrugged, holding out a hand for his foil to shake.

The Balladeer did, only to get shot twice in the stomach, the clown wheezing with laughter as the cowboy winced, before rolling his eyes. “Very mature, pardner.”