bad things always happen here.

[walkswithheroes]

It isn't the preparation that's the problem.

If it weren't for the fact that the last time Fred rode a bike, she wasn't nearly dragged into a hell dimension, 'just like riding a bike' would be a good analogy for how Fred feels about preparing her speech for council. It reminds her more of preparing her p-dimensional subspace theory than would like, but it's easy and familiar, and she knows how much of a statistical improbability it is that the same thing would happen again. She's read her talking points to just about anyone who would listen: to Spike, to Buffy, to Sawyer, and despite knowing her speech nearly backwards and forwards by the time she walks up on stage, there are still butterflies in her stomach. She still can't shake the memory of the last time.

Still, she presses onward; Fred's been through worse things than a plain old boring old speech. She's seen demons and vampires, decapitations and prophecies... heck, she's even had her life personally threatened a couple of times. This should be a piece of cake. Though, she still takes in a nervous breath as she walks onto the stage for her own turn to speak.

"Hi, everyone," Fred starts, a nervous smile on her face, and she waves, "I'm Fred Burkle. You guys might know me from-- well, maybe you don't know me at all and you're tryin' to figure out who the heck let me run for council in the first place, actually..." she trails off, realizing she's gone far from the point. She really should have written a joke to open with to break the ice.

Only, when Fred looks down at her hands for a second, trying to decide if she should come up with a joke or just go on with her speech, something happens.

She knows immediately what it is. After five years with the collar around her neck, she still feels it there sometimes, the metal on her neck that's been there so long that it's been warmed by her own body temperature long ago, slight weight a constant reminder of how very far from home she is. It's familiar and terrifying all at the same time, and her hands immediately go to her neck when she realizes there's something there that hadn't been there a moment before.

"No, no, no, no," she's saying, crowd forgotten as she takes a few steps back on the stage, eyes wide, legs nearly buckling, "It's not real, it can't be here, it's not real."

She's muttering to herself now, eyes shut, trying to will the feeling away, trying to come to her senses. And then her legs do give, and she nearly curls into a ball there. Maybe it's all been a dream. She never left Pylea, she never left Los Angeles, she never met Angel and the others at all. But the metal against her neck is still cool, still new, like when she'd first gone through the portal.

It doesn't make any sense. It doesn't make any sense.

None of this makes sense.

[Takes place during the council speeches this week. For those of you who don't know, the collar looks like this (couldn't find a clear shot of Fred herself wearing the collar, alas). Warning: it's going to be very difficult to calm her down, and she's not just going to let someone touch the collar at first. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey in regards to who actually takes off the collar. Email or ping me if you have any questions.]

Comments

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

Dean hadn't even been sure he was going to the speeches until he found himself there at the edge of them. The last council round he'd been nominated, had actually dragged himself onstage and given an embarrassing speech, only to lose in the end. That was for the best, he'd believed it to his bones then as now, but still, it'd stung a little in that way that losing always does.

But he's not sorry to have found himself here again, especially when Fred moves to take the stage. She's cute up there, fingers fluttering at her sides, brown hair tumbling forward into her eyes when she ducks her head, and silently Dean cheers her on. She might be nervous, but she's smart, she's brave and she's got this.

It makes it all the more shocking when she stops all at once, hands flying to her throat. Dean doesn't know what's happening, but the look on her face has him moving at once, pushing past the people at the edge of the stage and vaulting up, on his knees beside her mere seconds after she goes down.

"Fred?" he asks, reaching with both hands to steady her shoulders. "What is it, are you hurt?"

[pylean-cow.livejournal.com]

"It's not there. It can't be there!" Fred says, and there's a moment before she even notices that Dean's there, that there's anything other than herself and the hard ground and the collar that shouldn't be there at all. Dean shouldn't be there either. Not there in the cave with the collar. He should be back on the island.

If the island even exists. Maybe she never left Pylea, never went to Los Angeles, never went to the island at all.

She looks up at Dean, eyes wide and scared and unfocused.

"You shouldn't be here. You can't be here. You're supposed to be on the island."

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

"I am on the island, honey, and so are you," says Dean, "just breathe for me a sec, okay?" Carefully, he lifts his hands higher, settling them over her own in an attempt to peel them away from what looks like a circle of metal around her throat. Whatever it is, it wasn't there a moment ago, which can only mean it's something from home sent expressly to fuck with her.

"It's okay," he says, "we're gonna get this off of you."