AN: This is a series of short one-shots about the first time the first-tiers ever tried their acts, when they were still with the Baron, but after he'd met Phantomhive and sort of gone off the deep end, which is why he's so despicable here. Also Dagger's time is loosely based off another one-shot I read and I couldn't get the basic concept out of my head so I'm not claiming the idea is entirely my own but I can't remember the name of the author so... please be nice :) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The First Time

Joker

Having not had an arm for a good part of his life, Joker would have been genuinely surprised if he was suddenly a master at hand-eye coordination with his new prosthetic. As expected, he was not. It hadn't been his idea to be the ringleader of their new fledgling circus -he still wasn't sure why Father wanted them to be a circus in the first place- but what Father said, went, and so Joker was the ringleader.

And contrary to what the others might have believed, Joker wasn't as in to the idea of a circus as they were. Sure, his new prosthetic made him feel normal, but he didn't suddenly believe he was going to be the best ringleader there ever was. He still had trouble eating with his new hand, let alone juggling. And having lived in the gutters for eighteen years, his social skills were lacking, and the idea of standing before a crowd, was a little daunting.

But he put on a smile because the others enjoyed the idea so much, even if they were still just a fledgling circus, with mediocre acts, who were hardly ever tipped and had the occasional rude audience member boo them, if they had an audience at all. That was certainly not a confidence booster.

Joker was also extremely self-conscious of the clothes he now wore, brightly colored and sure to attract attention. As the adopted son a a nobleman, he had expected clothing that made people look at him as though he was worth something, not ludicrous circus clothes that made him look like a clown and feel like a fool. But he didn't complain. It'd only make him sound ungrateful.

But more than the clothes and the act, Joker had to prove he could do something, even if that something was juggling. He wasn't about to get on the trapeze or the tightrope. Never.

The first time he had tried juggling, he couldn't get his new hand to work right, and couldn't keep even one ball in the air for more than a few seconds before it came crashing back down on his head. They didn't really hurt, but it was frustrating, especially because Father and the others were watching him and everytime he failed, Father's eye narrowed.

But Joker kept going, until he could successfully juggle two balls at once, albeit a little slowly. He was certainly proud, and Doll cheered him on, but one look from Father and he knew it wasn't enough.

"You think juggling two balls is enough to keep an audience? If this circus fails…" Father let the words hang and so Joker tried even harder, getting up to five. But even that wasn't enough. He had been at it for hours, his flesh arm hurting and his prosthetic sore where it attached to his shoulder, the joints not moving as smoothly. He fumbled and dropped the balls on his head so they bounced off and landed in the grass. Doll snickered, but Father only frowned, "If all you can do is be a fool, at least you're a good fool."

Joker wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, but he smiled anyway, because he could juggle. He had an act.

Beast

Father had purchased the tiger cub from a man who had gotten her all the way from Asia. Beast didn't know where Asia was, but it must be far, because Father stressed that the tiger cub had been very expensive. Beast was determined to do her best.

At first, the cub -who Beast named Betty- wouldn't listen at all. This only frustrated Father, and all of his yelling scared the cub into cowering behind Beast's legs. So she tried yelling at it, but she hated how it made her feel, when the cub did as she asked as quickly as possible. When Father wasn't watching her practice, Beast played with the cub, teaching Betty tricks like sitting and jumping over things for treats and a scratch behind the ears.

She was so proud, she couldn't wait to show Father how her hard work paid off, and Betty did everything Beast asked, sitting and rolling over and lying down, jumping over rocks and standing on her hind legs. Joker clapped, but at a withering glance from Father, stopped, as the man eyed Beast with barely concealed rage.

"You think this is a pet?! This is a business investment! You haven't taught that beast anything useful! You treat it like a kitten! It's a wild animal you useless girl. Here."

Beast gingerly took the whip Father offered, and cracked it experimentally in the direction of Betty, who still did as Beast asked. Beast swallowed thickly, "But Father if Betty does it without pain then-"

Father ripped the whip from her hands and cracked it harshly so it stung Beast in the arm and she dropped, clutching it to her chest. Her eyes shone with tears but she bit them back as he tossed the whip at her, eyes cold, "Again, and this time, use the whip."

Beast didn't like using the whip, but she did so anyway, her arm stinging as she cracked it over Betty's head. By the end of the week, the tiger cub could jump hoops flawlessly at only a small crack of Beast's whip. But she never let Beast play with her like they used to. Beast regretted that, but now she had her act, and that was all Father cared about.

Dagger

Dagger was rubbish at throwing knives. They could hit the target, but not the center, and every failed attempt earned a harsh, "Again!" From Father. It made Dagger wince, and it scared him, but he'd throw again, each time his hands shaking worse and worse until the knife simply landed in the grass.

Dagger stared at it in horror, not daring to look at Father and the others. Dagger didn't want to do this anymore. Ever since Father had suggested they form a circus, it had been nothing but practicing and insults. Dagger hated it, and he hated Father. He wasn't the kind man who picked them up out of the gutter. That man was gone, lost during one of the many surgeries Father had had to change how he looked.

Finally Dagger looked back, finding Father staring at him, the eye not covered in bandages cold and his entire frame radiating anger. Dagger swallowed, picking up another knife to try again without prompting, but Father held up a hand, "Joker."

Confused, the older boy looked to the wheelchair bound man, who nodded to the target. Dagger's jaw dropped in horror, and he was already shaking his head even as Joker set his jaw and moved to stand in front of the target.

"N-No," Dagger protested weakly but Father bellowed, "Again."

Dagger raised the knife, aiming anywhere but at Joker, not caring if it went over the target completely, or in the grass again, as long as he didn't hit the older boy, his older brother, his best friend.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," repeating it like a mantra, Dagger tossed the dagger, and it embedded itself in the target, inches from Joker's head. His hands shook less as he threw, determined not to hit Joker, so determined he hit every space on the board he aimed for, everywhere but Joker.

"Good," Father murmured and Dagger dropped his hand, glad he didn't have to throw anymore-

"Turn around."

Dagger did so, letting himself smile, because it was over and he did it, he didn't hit Joker once-

"Now throw."

"What?" The question was out of Dagger's mouth before he could stop it and Father's eye narrowed, "Throw," he repeated coldly and Dagger's hands shook again as he turned the knife in his hand around, aiming back at the board, where Joker still stood, and threw, backwards, praying to God he didn't hit him.

He didn't. The knife landed on the target, and Dagger collapsed in the grass in relief, as Joker approached, smiling half genuinely, and half in relief, Dagger could tell. The older boy ruffled Dagger's hair, "I knew you could do it."

Dagger had never thought Father would make him throw at a person until he could aim, and do it well, but he should have known Father wasn't a patient man. He hadn't hit Joker. He had thrown at Joker, but he hadn't hit him, therefore Dagger had an act.

Doll

The first time Doll tried the tightrope, she was alone with Father in the dining room, a rope tied from one end of the balcony above to the other side. Below lay only the wooden table, polished to shine, and Doll could see her reflection as she stood on the balcony, peering over the edge.

"There's no net Father," she called to the man below, but he only pressed his hands together, frowning, "And? There won't be a net when you do this during the show. Now go."

"But-"

"Now."

Doll swallowed thickly, picking up the umbrella from the umbrella stand to balance as she pulled herself onto the balcony. The rope was rough under her bare feet, and she teetered back and forth dangerously on the thin surface. She stepped forward so both feet were on the rope, umbrella held out to balance herself, though she shook with fright.

She could only see with her undamaged eye, and so it threw her depth perception off, and still she walked, carefully, and soon she was in the middle. It wasn't easy, and she had had many close calls, but the umbrella helped to steady her.

"Now, do a handstand," Father called up to her and Doll swallowed thickly, looking at him with her eye wide. He didn't waver in his decision, "I see you do them all the time child, do one now."

Gently, Doll tried to drop her hands to hold the rope so she could raise her feet, but the displacement of weight sent the rope rocking back and forth, throwing her from it. She grappled for the rope, catching it in time as it dug into her palms painfully, her hands sweaty and already slipping. The umbrella had fluttered down to the floor, and Doll frantically tried to pull herself back up, but all of her strength had left her, and she knew she was going to fall and be seriously hurt, or maybe even die.

Terrified, Doll did the only thing she could think of: she called for her Big Brother.

"JOKER!"

The rope buckled a little, and Doll noticed it was coming undone from where it was tied on the opposite side. Stuck in the middle, even if it fell and Doll rode out the fall, she would crash into one of the pillars still some fifteen feet up, and then fall to the ground.

The door to the dining room was shoved open and Joker took one look at Doll's predicament before racing to stand beneath her, having to climb onto the table. He held out his arms, giving her a reassuring smile, "Let go Doll, I've got ya."

Swallowing thickly, Doll did as he asked, trusting he would catch her, and catch her he did, her momentum sending him to his knees, but he had caught her, and she was safe. Trembling with fright and crying nearly hysterically, Doll clung to her Big Brother as tight as she could, knowing she would have to get back on the tightrope sooner or later.

Father wasn't pleased with Joker's interference, but after the table was wiped clean, the rope resecured and Doll's umbrella retrieved, he was allowed to stay and watch, to catch her again if she needed it. Doll's face still shone with tears as she tried to swallow them, trying to forget that for saving her, Joker had received a slap from Father. It wasn't her fault, that was what Joker said.

Taking deep breaths, reassured that Joker would save her if she fell, but not wanting to give Father another reason to hurt him, Doll walked the whole tightrope, only wobbling once or twice. Slow and steady, that was the key, and on her third successful walk, she did that handstand, and she didn't fall. Doll had her act.

Jumbo

Jumbo was quite literally the definition of a gentle giant. He didn't like hurting others, with words or physically, and he didn't like the idea of breathing fire, even if it was what Father wanted. It was simple, Father had said. All Jumbo had to do was spit at the torch with fuel that he held in his mouth.

"If you breathe in, you'll get burned," the man had warned, and Jumbo nodded, not saying a word. The first time he tried, the result wasn't nearly spectacular enough for Father, and so Jumbo tried again. Holding the fuel in his mouth without swallowing wasn't too hard, until he sneezed, sending a powerful burst of fire into the air that had the others clapping and Father nodding in satisfaction. But Jumbo had accidentally swallowed some of the fuel, and he was sick for days, the others tending to him and fretting over him as Doc took care of him.

"You don't swallow the fuel, you imbecile," Father had barked harshly, but the next time Jumbo breathed fire, the blaze was just as impressive as when he had sneezed, and Father gave his approval, so Jumbo had an act.

Peter and Wendy

They had always been together, nearly inseparable, and so it only made sense that Peter and Wendy had a joint act. Father proposed trapeze, and just like the other acts, there were many things that could go wrong if you were inexperienced.

Pushing off from the makeshift platform in the yard wasn't hard. Jumping off, catching, and dangling from your legs was hard, but Peter wasn't about to let that idiot in a wheelchair think he was weak. Peter jumped first, catching the other trapeze bar flawlessly and smugly performing as though he were a professional. Father hadn't praised him, but he hadn't insulted him either.

Peter didn't really care what that man thought anyhow. He did care about Wendy, however, so when Father told her to let go, and told Peter to catch her, Peter knew he couldn't let her go. He'd catch her, and he would hold on, refusing to let her fall. And he did. Less smugly than before, because this wasn't about him, this was about Wendy, who smiled up at him as they swung back and forth, "Thanks fer catching me."

Peter snorted, "Like I'd drop you."

They finished their joint act, and while the others congratulated them on such a good job, with so little mistakes, the two adults trapped as children cast a glance to Father, Baron Kelvin, who was watching them with an unreadable expression. Peter took Wendy's hand and she squeezed reassuringly. Yes, this first try had gone well, but they knew it could just have easily gone badly. But Peter was sure he'd never let Wendy fall, just as she'd never let him fall. If that was what that stupid man wanted, they would do it.

Snake

Having spent a majority of his life in a cage, being ogled at and taunted, Snake wasn't extremely excited to perform in front of people. It was just like the cage, except there was no cage. But they were still going to whisper and point and laugh. Snake was determined to try, however, for his new friends, his family, the first-tier members of Noah's Ark Circus.

He could talk to snakes, that was true, but that wasn't an act, and so Joker decided that Snake should perform some sort of dance. Though his snakes listened, they had a hard time moving as quickly as he needed, or not getting in each other's way. After every failed attempt, Snake expected yelling, and insults from the others, but Joker always smiled encouragingly, "Good try. You'll get it, don't worry." Their unwavering faith in his abilities had Snake determined to get it right, and when he did, they all clapped, and Doll hugged him tightly, cheering for him. And it made Snake smile, this kindness and encouragement.

What Snake didn't know, was that while they were trying to help him to do better, the first-tier members also wanted him to get it without incentive. They wanted him to learn his act and do it well, so that he felt proud when he finally got it. They wanted him to enjoy it. They didn't want him to learn it out of fear.

Joker didn't ever want Snake to feel his act was worthless or his efforts useless.

Beast wanted Snake to figure out his act all on his own, the way he wanted, without someone interfering.

Dagger didn't want Snake to think anyone was ever in danger if he failed.

Doll wanted Snake to like what he did, and to never get hurt doing it.

Jumbo never wanted Snake to feel as though his failures made him stupid.

Wendy didn't want Snake to push himself to do what he couldn't. Peter didn't care, but if he did, he wouldn't want Snake to feel pressured to do anything he didn't want to do.

They never wanted anyone to feel as they had, learning the acts they did. For every moment they enjoyed them, there was that second of remembering of their first time. Of how Father had made them feel, of what he made them do. Just like he was doing now. So if Snake could learn his act, do what he liked, and enjoy it, then he was already better than them. He was free from Father's constant disapproval and twisted learning methods, and that was why they'd never tell him their secret. Because Snake was better than all of them, and they would keep it that way.