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
( ... )
"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."
"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."
"Holy shit," breathes Jason, and because he never fucking thinks before he does, he bolts up there onto the stage. His hands naturally go for the collar and only imagining his sister shrieking STOP at him, as she often has when he gets impulsive, has Jason standing still, hands clenching.
"Fred, sugar, what's all this?" he finally manages instead, making sure all of his bulk goes to blocking her from view. "Well, I dunno what the fuck it is but don't you worry, sweet pea. Don't you worry."
"No! Don't!" Fred shrieks, eyes wide, because for a second, it seems as if he might try to touch it, might try to take it off, but she's seen what happens when they come off. She remembers seeing someone whole and fine one minute and their head completely gone the next.
It's still cold against her neck, like new. It might not be disabled. It's like when they first put it on her, back in Pylea. Except, maybe she never left.
"Fuck," Jason yelps, and his hands go up in the air. "I won't, I won't." He sucks in a deep breath. "Jesus, what is it?" Okay, try to be reassuring, he told himself. Try to be a big brother type.
"It's so we don't run away, that's what they're for," Fred says, and while it may answer his question, answering him wasn't what she set out to do when she began speaking. She's trying to work it through, trying to remember and forget all at the same time.
If asked, he'd... Well, he'd probably own up to the truth, to be honest. He didn't give a toss about politics, found it rather laughable that there was even an attempt at it in a place like this, so, there was really only one thing worthy enough to drag him all the way out there.
Her.
So, he'd found a spot in the back, lurking in that special way only a former creature of the night could do. When she made her way to the stage, there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, warm and oddly proud. She seemed so fragile up there, but he knew as well as anyone how deceptive the cover of that book really was.
But she was also his to protect, as much as anyone had ever been, so when she collapsed, he was already halfway to the stage, elbowing his way bodily through the crowd, likely knocking over a few unlucky spectators along the way.
He vaulted up onto the stage, skidding to a stop on his knees at her side. "All right, love," he murmured, his hands hovering near the odd device now locked around her neck. "Fred, open your eyes."
She opens them, not because she's at all convinced that anything is all right, but because she recognizes his voice. Spike. She knows Spike.
But when Fred does open her eyes and notices his hands hovering near the collar, she backs away, pushing her heels against the wood of the stage as she tries to scoot backwards. "Don't touch it!" she shouts, her own hands flying to her neck to rest lightly on the metal there.
It shouldn't be there. the collar shouldn't be there at all, but if it is, she can't take it off. Not now, not yet.
She skittered away like a frightened animal and Spike lifted his hands up, palm out where she could see them, dipping his voice into a low rumble. That same soothing voice he'd used with Dru, more times than he could remember. All those years of talking her down from moments like this, looking into her eyes and knowing knowing she was seeing past him, seeing something he couldn't.
"Wouldn't dream of it, pet," he said, inching a little closer to her, calm as he could manage in the face of all that terror staring back at him. Truthfully, he was frightened for her. He knew she wasn't the type to get worked up over nothing.
"Fred, I know you're scared, but I need for you to tell me what that thing is. You can do that, can't you?"
"It's there, isn't it?" she asks, instead of answering Spike's question. Her eyes are still wide and frightened, though the question should be easy to figure out the answer to, on account of her fingers touching the collar.
So many improbabilities. So many inconsistencies. How could she have thought any of this was real? The simplest explanation is generally the right one, and none of this is simple.
Blink and Sawyer would have missed it. But maybe that doesn't matter, because what strikes him first is Fred's expression. He knows that something's wrong in those eyes, terrified and wide, the shape of her body immediately buckling as she staggers back on the stage, and that's all that he needs to start towards the stage as quickly as he can, knocking a couple of chairs down in the process, footfalls so heavy on the stage that they vibrate a second after each step.
Impossibly, the first thing he does is grab for a hand of hers, few touches more intimate and personal than that of a hand brushing along an arm, fingers twining. His free arm slings around her right after, shielding her from the audience as he leans in, murmuring close to her ear.
"Fred. Fred," he says, voice strained but soft. "Fred, you hear me? It's Sawyer."
The sudden change in demeanor reminds him of someone. Of Charlotte, he remembers suddenly, the look on her face, one of recognition and fear alike- and for a moment, he forgets that he's on Tabula Rasa, that this island won't continue to toss them through time and leave each of them dislodged. His hand tightens on her shoulder and he shakes his head.
"Fred, we're still here, we're on Tabula Rasa. The hell do you think we are?" Sawyer's eyes travel to her collar, and he looks for some way to undo the device.
Not really being into politics, Xander had never really paid attention who was on the council, except to vote for people he knew would make good leaders. Despite this, he often tried to at least catch a few of the speeches, just to see where people felt the island was going.
When he saw Fred on the list, he knew he had to stay for hers. She may have worked for Angel but he couldn't hold it against her and thought of her as a friend.
He was already grinning, amazed at how brave she was for just being up there as she began. And then it felt like he blinked and there was a collar around her neck and Fred was shutting down on the stage. Xander didn't even think before he was out of his seat, heading up for the stage.
"Fred. Fred? Hey, come on, look at me." He said as he jumped up on the stage and slowly started for her, not wanting to spook her further.
"It's not there. It's not there. It's not there. It's not there, is it?" Fred says, eyes still squeezed shut, wanting to look down for the collar, wanting to reach for her neck again, but afraid of what she might see or feel there.
It's all so impossible: the island, Angel, Los Angeles... Occam's Razor says that she should still be in Pylea. That she never disabled the collar and any minute now, someone's going to push a button and shock her and it'll be back to work. Back to starving all over again.
Xander kept moving slowly forward until he could reach for her hand. He didn't dare touch the collar, having had enough experience with magical items to know that touching was never of the good. Who knew what it would do to Fred or him?
"Well, I can't answer that if I don't know what 'it' is. But unless 'it' is something other then the silver thing around your neck, I have bad news."
"Oh god, it's real. How can it be real? How can it be here?" Fred replies as she looks down and confirms what Xander's said. But if it's here, then she must be somewhere else, right?
She's still in Pylea.
"You're not supposed to be here." she says to him.
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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."
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"It's okay," he says, "we're gonna get this off of you."
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"Fred, sugar, what's all this?" he finally manages instead, making sure all of his bulk goes to blocking her from view. "Well, I dunno what the fuck it is but don't you worry, sweet pea. Don't you worry."
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It's still cold against her neck, like new. It might not be disabled. It's like when they first put it on her, back in Pylea. Except, maybe she never left.
This isn't real. None of this is real.
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"Can't take it off. Oh god."
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Her.
So, he'd found a spot in the back, lurking in that special way only a former creature of the night could do. When she made her way to the stage, there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, warm and oddly proud. She seemed so fragile up there, but he knew as well as anyone how deceptive the cover of that book really was.
But she was also his to protect, as much as anyone had ever been, so when she collapsed, he was already halfway to the stage, elbowing his way bodily through the crowd, likely knocking over a few unlucky spectators along the way.
He vaulted up onto the stage, skidding to a stop on his knees at her side. "All right, love," he murmured, his hands hovering near the odd device now locked around her neck. "Fred, open your eyes."
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But when Fred does open her eyes and notices his hands hovering near the collar, she backs away, pushing her heels against the wood of the stage as she tries to scoot backwards. "Don't touch it!" she shouts, her own hands flying to her neck to rest lightly on the metal there.
It shouldn't be there. the collar shouldn't be there at all, but if it is, she can't take it off. Not now, not yet.
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"Wouldn't dream of it, pet," he said, inching a little closer to her, calm as he could manage in the face of all that terror staring back at him. Truthfully, he was frightened for her. He knew she wasn't the type to get worked up over nothing.
"Fred, I know you're scared, but I need for you to tell me what that thing is. You can do that, can't you?"
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So many improbabilities. So many inconsistencies. How could she have thought any of this was real? The simplest explanation is generally the right one, and none of this is simple.
Reply
Impossibly, the first thing he does is grab for a hand of hers, few touches more intimate and personal than that of a hand brushing along an arm, fingers twining. His free arm slings around her right after, shielding her from the audience as he leans in, murmuring close to her ear.
"Fred. Fred," he says, voice strained but soft. "Fred, you hear me? It's Sawyer."
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Not here in Pylea. Unless she's just imagining him, like she likely imagined it all. It can't all be real at once. Or maybe she's not.
"You can't be here. You're not supposed to be here," she says, and she looks up at him, eyes still wide and frightened even though she knows his face.
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"Fred, we're still here, we're on Tabula Rasa. The hell do you think we are?" Sawyer's eyes travel to her collar, and he looks for some way to undo the device.
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When he saw Fred on the list, he knew he had to stay for hers. She may have worked for Angel but he couldn't hold it against her and thought of her as a friend.
He was already grinning, amazed at how brave she was for just being up there as she began. And then it felt like he blinked and there was a collar around her neck and Fred was shutting down on the stage. Xander didn't even think before he was out of his seat, heading up for the stage.
"Fred. Fred? Hey, come on, look at me." He said as he jumped up on the stage and slowly started for her, not wanting to spook her further.
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It's all so impossible: the island, Angel, Los Angeles... Occam's Razor says that she should still be in Pylea. That she never disabled the collar and any minute now, someone's going to push a button and shock her and it'll be back to work. Back to starving all over again.
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"Well, I can't answer that if I don't know what 'it' is. But unless 'it' is something other then the silver thing around your neck, I have bad news."
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She's still in Pylea.
"You're not supposed to be here." she says to him.
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