2056/We Got Your WMD Right Here

We Got Your WMD Right Here
Date of Scene:	19 August 2017
Location:	West Harlem - Mercy's Garage
Synopsis:	Fred and Mercy get together to build more BOMBS. Secrets of Sam's scent are however revealed. And visions. So many visions.
Cast of Characters:	Winifred Burkle, Mercy Thompson, Sam Winchester
Tinyplot:	Tayaniye

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Winifred Burkle has posed:
Though Mercy and Fred have not been face to face since the terrifying rescue of Sam Winchester from the grip of Hydra, they have talked and arranged a meeting. It's now almost a familiar travel to the coyote's garage. Fred makes her way into the garage after a brief knock. She knows by now that the other woman's sense are heightened and after the events of the past week, she's sure that she is on high alert.

"Hey Mercy," Fred greets with a bit of a smile. Her walk has a very slight limp to it: the wound from the hydra's poison healing but not quite gone just yet. She calls no attention to it, nor does she bring it up. Of the two of them, Mercy suffered the greater loss with the killing and then capture of her friends. "I brought some parts. Also tacos. Figured we could use some good building food and nothing's better than tacos. I woulda brought waffles, too, but those are harder to travel with. They tend to get all soggy."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"And no one /likes/ soggy waffles." Mercy remarks to the other woman, her garage the same as ever. Mostly it's clean except for a few different work benches which olds the variety of odds-n-ends that the two women typically need.

Already there seems to be a assembling line, if you will, of taser bombs being built. That's what Mercy is currently working upon. She's carefully connecting a few wires from one end of the grenade-bomb to the other. It's only when the wires are secured that Mercy finally moves her attention away from the weaponry and over to Fred.

The coyote watches the other woman critically for a few silent seconds. She can still see that limp yes, but if Fred doesn't bring it up, neither will Mercy. Or, at least, not in the straight forward way. Instead Mercy goes for oblique as she asks, "Hey Fred - how're you doing? How's Sam? Dean?" See what she did there - she totally made it a group effort, not just worry for the other woman.

"Let me grab some napkins, plates and drinks." And with those last words of hers Mercy is moving to the other side of her garage where a cabinet sits. Those items will be retrieved from said cabinet and brought to a clean work bench.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"Exactly!" Fred says with a nod. Moving forward, she sets the bag of tacos down on the bench, ready for them to eat whenever necessary. There's a wide variety in there and quite a few of them: even a burrito or two just in case! Curiously - unable to help herself - she takes a look at the assembly of the different bombs in various stages of completion as she answers the very tactfully asked question.

In fact, Fred doesn't even get the hint that Mercy is fishing for how she is doing as she asks about the others. "I'm okay. Angel's worried about my ankle, but he's just a worrier. Sam says he's fine. Dean's trying to protect Sam." It's a mixed bag, it seems. It's clear that while 'Sam says he's fine' she doesn't really believe that. And she can't even really tell what is going on with Dean. "I also think he could use some more friends. Dean, that is."

She leans over the bomb that Mercy was just wiring to inspect it a bit closer, unworried about its explosive nature. "How are you?" she asks, more pointed, without as much guile as the other woman generally has. "I'm sorry about your friends."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The coyote keeps an ear turned toward Fred and their conversation; not that she'd really miss out on it. In such an enclosed space as the garage her keen senses are a girl's best friend. For drinks the two have a choice between two beers, two waters and two sodas, which are pulled from a small fridge at the back of Mercy's workspace. The drinks will be the last things placed upon the work bench that now holds the bag of tacos, plates and napkins.

"I'm glad your ankle is healing." Mercy says honestly, even as she drifts back to the assembly line of bombs. "That hydra was crazy." She mutters, and while she has some new ideas to drop on Fred, those ideas aren't yet spoken about. Not when Fred touches upon Sam and Dean, but mostly Sam.

As to that last question and statement of Fred's, Mercy will allow a faint roll of her shoulders express how she really is, a shadow of sadness in that movement of hers. "I was upfront with the threat level - they knew what they were getting into." Those words more for herself than anyone else. Mercy's gaze turns aside for a few seconds, whatever internal thoughts shielded from casual observance for that brief time. "Even with their deaths the pack will take care of those left behind. They always do."

And then, to shift the conversation away from the talk of those dead wolves, Mercy moves to something easier for her to talk about; though just as worrisome, "I was going to give Sam a call. Ask him to come back to the garage once a week. I'd like to keep tabs on his scent. Try to keep track of whether it's getting better or worse." And the way Mercy speaks of that she clearly assumes Fred is in the know about the oddities found within Sam Winchester's scent.

Assumptions. Terrible things they are.

As for the bomb that Fred inspects it's a neatly made thing. The joints and seams flawless. The wiring neat and tidy without any crossed sections, or excess loops.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
What she knows of Mercy, Fred has little concern over whether the woman will be able to hear her as she travels the short distance about the garage to get them drinks. "It really was. I was talking to Angel and he said that decapitating and firing the original head generally kills them. So, if regular bombs didn't do the trick, we might need something more like magical fire. Maybe the magical equivalent to a Molotov Cocktail that we stick down both mouths."

Turning away from the bench she reaches out a hand to place on Mercy's arm when they speak of the members of the pack lost and kidnapped. "We'll get Daryl back." She might not be able to read Mercy or her thoughts well, but that she certainly will say.

The assumption that Fred knows all about Sam and his scent is met with a bit of a surprised expression. "His scent? Is something wrong with it?" There's an immediate and visceral clutch of worry in her stomach when Mercy says that. She has known Sam is not as fine as he continually says that he is, but this is something she hasn't known. "What would that mean? If he smelled different?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Magical fire Molotov Cocktails.

While Mercy doesn't necessarily say /that's perfect/ the gears within her head begin to turn. That's going to be remembered and when she next sees Loki she's going to ask for help in making them.

As to the mention of Darryl and getting him back - that causes Mercy's expression to turn worse for a heartbeat. Fred's hand upon her arm almost causes the coyote to blurt out the knowledge of his death, but Mercy stops herself. Instead the mechanic just shakes her head somberly - neither agreeing or disagreeing with what the other woman says.

The talk of wolves (thankfully for Mercy) is tucked off to the wayside, instead now the mechanic's expression turns from worry to surprise. Surprise and an expression that clearly says 'aw shit what did I just do'. It takes Mercy a moment to find her words which easily allows Fred to ask all those questions of hers. "He didn't tell you." She states, her expression shifting to something closer to frustration now. "Well, guess that cat is out of the bag now." Mutters Mercy, even as she shakes her head, "Yes, his scent is different. I smelled it when we first rescued him and when he came to the garage that difference was still there. I can't say /what/ that means, but I'm guessing it can't be good. A person's -" And she searches for a word here, "- core scent doesn't shift like that. Not unless something has changed drastically within them. A terrible disease like cancer, or some other serious illness or a terrible injury, or some horrible mental trauma."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Either luckily or unfortunately for Mercy, Fred witnesses the somber shake of the head but has no way of discerning that it means she already knows the fate of Darryl. She, instead, interprets it as a sad nod of acknowledgment of her decree. That seems to be a recurring theme in the group of people committed to rescuing Claire and putting a stop to the Winter Soldier. Or saving him, whichever.

In fact, even the exciting idea of the magical molotov cocktail is put to the side when Mercy describes what it would take to change someone's core scent to her. A terrible disease, a cancer, a mental trauma...these are all on the table. Arms immediately cross and she holds herself a little for a bit of self comfort. "No, he didn't," she says, the worry immediately clear in her voice. "Does he know?" Her first instinct isn't that Sam would lie to her or even omit something important such as this. She knows his need to pretend that everything is fine, but this seems beyond even that, if it is as serious as Mercy states.

"Is it...is that something fixable?" she asks, voice soft.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Yes, he knows."

Is what the mechanic states immediately, before any of Fred's other questions and/or statements are addressed. "I told him." Mercy's head cants to the side as she considers the other woman near her. "He mentioned Hydra giving him shots. I'm going to make an assumption here -" Even though assumptions is how she got in trouble in the first place, "- that whatever they injected him with has changed his scent."

It's that last question of Fred's that causes Mercy's expression to turn even more somber. "I don't know. I hope so, but I can't promise that it is. We have to figure out what's going on first." And while Mercy could assure Fred that 'Liam' is looking into it, she doesn't. Not right now. Too many secrets have dropped this evening, it seems. "I'm sorry, Fred. I figured he would have told you."

Then, trying for a tiny bit of humor Mercy adds, "Men. I swear, if they had their choice they'd fix everything with duct tape."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Sam knows and didn't tell her. There's a part of her that hopes this is all part of his recovery, there is another part of her that is furious that he lied to her. Both sides war with each other. "He was being checking out by SHIELD," she says softly. That she certainly knows. "They've been taking a lot of blood for tests to try and figure out what it is that might have been done to him, but they haven't found anything yet."

And then the bomb drop. She's unsure if it's possible for him to return to how he was. There's an immediate frown, a crease of her eyebrows. "Okay," is what she immediately said. She didn't think it was possible to return to Pylea - didn't think LA was even real for years and yet she still made it home. Scents? Scents can be fixed, too. "It's not your fault," she says sincerely. "He's been..." she frowns, it seems unable to keep secrets of her own. "He's been trying to pretend everything is alright. It's how he's been healing." It's an explanation, but one that still merits another conversation with Sam, certainly. "Sometimes people don't want to talk about what's going on."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The mention of blood tests is nodded at. Yes, Sam told her much the same thing. And that they didn't find anything. Those words stay silent now that Mercy knows she's walking in a minefield of secrets.

She is not a good secret keeper. Not.

The emotions warring within Fred are likewise scented by the coyote and that causes Mercy to watch the other woman. There's empathy in her expression, her gaze, but she waits to see what Fred will say before offering anything else.

Again minefield here.

Men. Troublesome they are.

"Well, I imagine that's a coping mechanism that most people would use. Like you said, pretend everything is fine even when it's not. You should probably talk to him though and I will too. To let him know I'd like to keep tabs on his scent weekly."

She'll scrub a hand through her hair, well her bangs at least. Her braids don't do well with that sort of thing. For those that are just joining the two women sit near a work bench that has an assortment of partially assembled bombs upon it. A bag of tacos and several types of drinks on another work bench, just waiting to be eaten, but for now ignored.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester doesn't realize he's walking into a minefield today. He drives a new Dodge Charger that he's thinking about buying up to Mercy's garage. In fact, he doesn't even realize Fred is here. His thought is he's going to get this car checked out by a superior mechanic, without having to listen to his brother lecture him over it. Or maybe he just figures he'll give Mercy some business. Either way, speak of the devil and he comes rolling up with classic rock on the radio, looking for all the world like he's just...fine. No cause for worry whatsoever.

He's even wearing a suit, fresh off some sort of thing or another that had him in need of a suit. The thing is rather sharply tailored, and he wears it with a natural grace, like some part of him was born to wear such things.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"I know after Pylea I just needed spend months in my room, not talking to anyone." Fred either assumes Mercy knows about Pylea or that she already told the other woman about her time there. Either way, it seems like a thing that she has no problem bringing up at the moment. "People've got different ways of coping," she repeats, as if both convincing herself and Mercy.

"If something is wrong, we should find out," she agrees. There is clear worry there. Something severe had to happen in order for Sam's scent to change and the fact that it has not recalibrated is a part of that.

The classic rock outside the garage is met with a blink and a tilt of her head. Sam? The arms remain crossed over her midsection. It's a strange mixture of happy to see him and worry and also a bit of anger that will greet Sam as he brings the Charger for Mercy to take a look at. Something has certainly happened in the time since he saw her last.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Pylea? That brings a questioning look from Mercy. Almost she asks where that is, but for the moment her question stays silent.

Instead Mercy nods with Fred's other words, "Agreed. The sooner we figure out what's going on the better." And while more was just about to be said Mercy's keen ears pick up the approach of a vehicle and the music that accompanies it. Much like Fred, Sam will find Mercy's gaze focused towards the man in a suit. While there might be a hint of ironic humor held within her gaze that sardonic amusement vanishes when the young man's scent reaches her nose.

It's enough to warrant a second flare of nostrils as Mercy scents the air again. Worry clearly morphs across the mechanic's face as she takes note of the changes found within Sam Winchester's scent. New changes.

"Sam." Greets the mechanic, her attention on the man versus anything else. She heard the difference with that car he rolled up in, but that difference is ignored for now.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Hey ladies," Sam says brightly--

Until he notices Fred's stance. He clears his throat. "What's up?" He asks the question a bit too casually as he gets out of the car. He puts his hand on the hood, and says slowly, "I was-- I mean did I come at a bad time?" He looks from one to the other. "Because I can come back..."

Oh yeah, this is just perfect. He has a bad feeling about this.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred can't help but glance at Mercy as she watches Sam's approach. While she may not be good at social cues, the flare of her nostrils is enough like an animal response that it seems to convey that things remain the same with Sam. The worried look is hard to misinterpret, too.

"We were putting together some new bombs," Fred explains to what he might have been interrupting. "Something that might be some help against the hydra." Lower case h on that one. She looks at the car with a bit of a curious look. Where he got the car is certainly a conversation to be had at a later time, but for now her focus is on something specific.

The thing about Fred is that she has little to no poker face. Most of the things that she thinks tends to tumble out of her mouth unbidden, despite her wants or the like. "Is something wrong?" she asks him. "You're not smelling right to Mercy." She doesn't mean to call Mercy out like that, but she can't help herself. She's worried about Sam and those are the facts.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
It's true, it's hard to miss that worried look on Mercy's features. Especially as she begins to tease apart Sam's scent. The human side and the not. It may take a handful of minutes for the coyote to figure out just /what/ she's smelling, but when she does her expression shifts even more. The lines of concern that are there upon Mercy's face suddenly etch themselves deeper; bends her mouth downward. Almost has her saying something -

- but, not yet. Not when Fred asks that question of hers. An important question. And while Mercy should feel guilty for revealing a 'secret' in this particular case she doesn't. Her gaze holds very little apology right this moment, only concern.

For now Mercy waits to see what Sam says. To hear his explanation to Fred's inquiries.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester grimaces and drops his head. "I-- honestly forgot about Mercy talking about my scent, Fred. I'm sorry. Truly. I got distracted by Dean running off, and then him being hurt, and then that hunt..."

If coyotes can tell truth from lie by smell, this is all true. He's earnest about it, and raises his hazel eyes to both of them. "Please forgive me. I feel fine, I promise." Fine is not what he feels. He feels uneasy, sick with shame, he feels like he needs to go hide somewhere for the rest of his life, but probably only the uneasy shame actually translates into some sort of smell, the corresponding pherenomes blending with that sulfur in perhaps unpleasant fashion.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Unable to help herself, Fred moves forward. She's not the best on social cues, but the reasons for why he did not tell her check out. It's been hectic the past week or so and she knows how much Dean's disappearance weighed on him. After reading Mercy's own worry, her focus remains mostly on Sam. She has no idea that Mercy might have more information or that the concern deepens. Instead, she's past being able to see Mercy in her peripheral vision.

"Okay," she says as an acceptance as to why he didn't tell Fred about what Mercy told him. That she can understand. Hands reach out to wrap about Sam. "But, you're not fine, Sam. This scent thing, it only happens if something has really changed. Even if you feel fine, we have to figure out what's going on. I know you've been doing a lot of tests with SHIELD, but maybe there's something else we can do. "

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There's a slow nod from Mercy and while Fred may not be able to see it Sam might, depending on his angle and how directly he faces the coyote. She can tell the truth with that initial statement of his, and while Fred moves closer to Sam, Mercy stays right where she is.

Next to a work bench.

Fred's explanation about the change in Sam's scent earns a quick look from Mercy, before her attention is back upon Sam. Combine that with Sam's insistence that he's fine (which is a lie) cause Mercy's to finally speak up. "It's changed, Sam. Your scent. Before it was just a sharp note riding along with your scent." And she'll pause to look between Sam and Fred, "Now it's enmeshed with your scent. No longer just piggy-backing off of you, but part of you." Her eyes narrow in consideration as she inhales a third time, "That's the best way I can describe it." And here is where Mercy sounds apologetic as she delivers the news about his scent.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester clears his throat and smells distinctly uncomfortable. He looks down and says, "I don't know what to do about it," he admits. This isn't really a lie either. "Or even what the end result is supposed to be. Just...gotta deal with it, I guess."

The uneasy shame is back. It worms over his face. "Mentally and emotionally I'm okay though." Half true. Somewhat true. Sometimes true. "It's just...something to deal with, is all. Look I..."

He takes a few steps back towards his car, as if he's really just going to go right ahead and flee right now, given half the chance.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
From her position, Fred does not see the nod from Mercy. Instead, her attention is focused on the man in front of them. When he backs up at her approach, she immediately stops. Her hands clasp in front of her. The last thing she wants to do is to make this whole thing harder on Sam. In fact, what she wants is the opposite: to help him and soothe him somehow. Though she stops her approach, she doesn't back up. Instead, she remains where she is, between Mercy at the work bench and Sam backing up toward the car.

"We're just worried, Sam," she tells him, that very emotion clear in her voice and in her expression. "And we want to help. That's all."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Poor Sam. While her senses don't necessarily make everyone an open book, it's enough that Mercy catches those scents of not lie, lies, and also shame. When he backs up Mercy echoes Fred's own words, though not necessarily movements, since the coyote hasn't moved from her original spot.

"Listen to what Fred says." Mercy urges, her hands rising up before her in a hopefully placating gesture. "That's what friends are for. To help. We can help you find answers." Mercy continues with, her head canting slightly to the side with those words of hers.

It's only now that the coyote shifts slightly in place, that movement possibly betraying indecision, or perhaps more accurately consideration. Consideration on what to say to the young man to stop him from fleeing. "I don't think you can fix this on your own, Sam."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Fred stops her approach like he's a skittish sort of a horse, and the shame migrates from Sam's smell right onto his face. He lowers his eyes. "I'm sorry, Fred, I don't want to-- I don't mean to--" His voice is shaking just a little bit, and he takes a step back towards her. His smell shifts to something else again: Mercy Thompson will perhaps realize in that moment just how much he truly does love the physicist, because for a moment all shame is wiped from him, all skittishness, all uneasiness. And even quite a bit of the demon scent. Love, being the most powerful force in the universe, even beats that back.

He also owes Mercy bigtime. She's rescued him twice, once from crazy animals, once from Hydra. She is definitely a friend, and Sam's scent reflects trust.

He trusts them both. It's himself he's not so sure about. He opens his mouth. Perhaps to tell them. Everything.

As if summoned by that thought, the darker part of him roars forward, reasserting itself. He closes his eyes for other reasons, presses his hand to his head. The smell of sulfur is sharp. He presses his hand to his forehead, and a wave of magic sweeps through him.

"Guys," he says softly. "It's a vision. Hang on. I think it's about The Winter Soldier."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred doesn't have the sensing powers that Mercy has. Nor is she as good at reading people. That doesn't come naturally to her. But, she does know something about skittishness - that's what she was all about for months. When it looks like someone wants to run, she knows it's better to pause rather than rush in. She's grateful for Mercy's more eloquent words on the subject that also help get him to stay.

The tension in her shoulders relax just slightly when he takes a step back toward her. "It's okay." There's still some worry, but it's not as pressing as it was just moments ago. Now that he's moving back toward to her, she moves back forward to him and reaches out a hand to take his. "I know."

As he presses a hand to his forehead, she moves forward all the closer. She's heard him speak about his visions, but this is the first time she's seen them in action. The worry returns again as he says that it's about the Winter Soldier. Instead of saying anything, she just stands nearby, watching him.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
All those scents swirling about. They're read by the coyote's sensitive nose. And while she can't always identify everything something that is easily read is the scent of love. When Mercy perceives that particular scent from Sam, the elder woman can't quite stop a faint smile from quirking her lips upward. A moment of lightness within what's otherwise a rather dark and depressing conversation.

The mechanic's gaze shifts between the two for a silent second. Simply watching the Scientist and Hunter interact.

It's only when that sharp scent of the demon returns that Mercy's expression changes again. It's back to worry. Worry and concern. That concern only gets worse for Mercy when that secondary scent increases - roaring back - stronger, nastier. It's enough to cause Mercy to reach for the small Lamb of God pendant upon her necklace. While she doesn't necessarily clutch she will touch it lightly, as if readying for something. Though perhaps unneeded when Sam finally speaks of visions versus in tongue. Which is what she expected.

That mention of vision causes Mercy to step forward, her expression intent, "What do you see?" The coyote asks.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam keeps a hold on Fred's hand. He finally drops the hand from his forehead, opting to wrap it around her instead. He buries his face in her hair for a moment. The visions don't hurt as much as they used to, but there's still some pain. It's still disorienting.

At last, he says, "I've got a date. And I think a time. Calendar. Clock. Construction site maybe, maybe a junk yard. There's metal everywhere."

His voice sounds detatched, disoriented, far away. "And some sort of giant magnet, one of those big round ones on a crane? I see him, he's...I can't tell what he's doing. He's in and out of the stacks of stuff. I just caught a glimpse of his arm for a moment." He names the date and the time, adding, "This might be our chance to ambush him and get Claire back." He shivers as the vision ends, feeling cold. His scent returns to equilibreum, the human and the demon mostly balanced, now. More balanced than before, in fact. Just slightly more integrated. A little less at war. He feels compelled to say, "Hydra knows about them though. My visions. My visions and the telekinesis and my past were about all they asked of me, save for a few questions here and there about you guys. It might be a trap, but...we might not have a choice but to use it anyway if we want to save her."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As Sam wraps his arm around her, Fred circles hers around his waist and holds him tightly during the vision in an attempt to anchor him somehow. When at least he speaks, she tilts her chin up toward him. There's a studying expression as she listens to him recount what he's seen in that far away voice.

A junkyard at a certain day and time. Her own mind jumps to the conclusion that Sam already has drawn: it could be a trap. Even if they didn't know about Sam's visions, she assumes that Hydra and the Winter Soldier are a few steps ahead of them. They knew where she lived, texted Mercy from Claire's phone when they were discussing the whereabouts of the disappeared Sam.

After he shivers, she squeezes his hand, still held in hers. "If we know where he is at a certain time, we have to go," she agrees. "We'll just have to be even more prepared."

Still holding on to Sam, she turns her head toward Mercy, "We were going to work some on getting more bombs. What do you think? We can be prepared enough to try and get him to tell us where they're keeping Claire."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Mercy's expression holds a note of amazement to it; specifically when Sam mentions the date and time. To have a vision so specific seems miraculous to the coyote.

Though with all she's sees and knows you'd think it wouldn't, but it does.

And then once the vision is over Mercy searches for her notebook and pen. When it's found the coyote quickly begins to jot everything down Sam said. At least what Mercy can recall. Date. Time. Magnet crane, junkyard setting, everything. Fred's words brings the attention of the mechanic back to the duo. She nods to Fred's questions, "Agreed and yes, I think we can get prepared in time. We have the EMP grenades, the taser ones, the sleepy-time, possible hellfire molotov cocktails -" Because that's what Mercy has nicknamed them in her mind, "- and also potential portal bombs. Before we thought of the hellfire cocktails I had the idea of possibly imbuing some bombs with a set spell that will toss the hydra into a portal - in case we can't defeat the various heads."

"And yes, I believe we'll be able to get him to tell us where Claire is. We have some ways to do that." Mercy murmurs, those last words of hers causing a small bite of sardonic humor to be heard within her voice. She realizes how that sounds; that the bad guys are the ones that typically say that versus the good guys.

Sam Winchester has posed:
The vision ends, and Sam sighs.

"I couldn't get the name of the place," he grumbles. "It's hard to direct them like that."

Mercy lists off her arsenal, and Sam holds Fred for a moment more, grimly. He looks down at her. He'd like nothing more than to keep her far away from the Soldier, but given she's honestly done better than he has in terms of fighting this particular battle he can't bring himself to try to make that argument. He squeezes her one last time and says, "It's going to take a lot of footwork to figure out which place we were looking at. There's an awful lot of places it could be. No guarantee it's in New York City or anywhere at all. Fortunately, this kind of tedious footwork is something I'm very good at."

He flashes them a quick, self-conscious smile. "Just gotta start searching for a place that matches the visions. I'll get Dean and the Impala, as I gotta return this car. A test drive won't cover all this. We don't have that long to search before our deadline hits, so I'd better get on it."

He looks down, gently, at Fred. "Are you going to be okay? I'd offer to take you but you and Mercy are bomb-building."

And, conveniently for him, this has derailed any and all questions about his /smell/. Which really makes him a little self-conscious. He's kind of a guy who works hard to smell good, and here comes demon blood just fouling it all up for him.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"Hopefully there's only a few junkyards around city limits," Fred attempts a bit of optimism. Her tone isn't exactly convincing, seeing how the conversation they've already had and the fact that they have something more solid in terms of a plan to try and find the Winter Soldier with the hopes it will lead them to Claire. A thought occurs to her: "You should try and bring Angel. He's good at finding things and he has said he wants to meet you. This might be the perfect opportunity for that."

Mercy listing off of what they have prepared is met with a few nods. With all of that fire power, they'll certainly get his attention. However, the mention of a 'portal' bomb that might transport the hydra somewhere else is met with an immediate reaction from the scientist. She goes rigid, eyes wide, turning away from Mercy. After a moment, she shakes her head violently. "No. No portals."

The answer as to whether Fred is okay or not is not answered verbally, but perhaps certainly in a different way.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"It's more than we had minutes ago." Mercy states, echoing Fred's optimism there. "Otherwise we'd be chasing our tail with every potential lead that we could find."

The Charge is given a look now by the mechanic. "And when this is all over bring this one back around. I'll give it the once over." Mercy continues with, even as her eyes turn back to Sam, "Friends and family discount too."

It's, however, Fred's reaction to the mention of portal bombs that causes the coyote's attention to shift back to the slimmer woman. Surprise can be seen within Mercy's expression - having not expected Fred to nix the idea of portal bombs. Automatically Mercy smells the air and what she reads within Fred's scent causes the mechanic to pause. Because of that insight to Fred's emotional state Mercy reconsiders her argument in defense of the bombs. Instead, concern has replaced that surprise and the coyote says slowly, "Alright - we don't have to do portal bombs." A subtle look is shifted to Sam; a question there in that look of Mercy's, "Perhaps we can do something of a binding instead? Or a sleep stasis spell. Something to take the beast out of the equation. There are definitely other ideas we can run with."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam is instantly stroking Fred's hair in response to this, mantling protectively over her with all his might. He drops a phrase into her ear, something meant for her ears alone, and then meets Mercy's eyes with his own empathy-filled hazel ones.

Of course, she might have coyote's hearing. Either way, what he whispers to her is, "There isn't a dimension in existence I wouldn't follow you to, and we already know Angel can get in and out when he needs to. It won't ever be like the last time again. You're not alone anymore. We're all here for you."

When he raises his voice to community conversation levels again he adds: "Sleep stasis sounds good. It's appreciated, you stepping back from portal bombs. A binding couldn't hurt either. It's too bad there's no way to build a Devil's Trap for a Winter Soldier, unless you do know of a spell? If you do, if it's a hedge sigil sort of thing, well, me getting in beforehand and hiding them like crazy is not at all out of the question. I just need to know the right sigil to use."

Even now he is reluctant to let Fred go, even though he had nodded, a little, to her idea of seeking Angel out. It's something that needs to be done anyway, after all. But he won't leave her in distress, anymore than she was willing to leave him in distress.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
While there are few people who would consider Fred 'normal', she has yet to actually exhibit the writing on walls, the turtling into herself or the desire to hide in a small, dark place she deems safe that was her behavior after returning from Pylea. There are no caves here, though there certainly seems to be a few places she'd consider ideal in the terms of hiding. She doesn't do that, though. Instead, she closes her eyes and presses her face against Sam's chest, creating a little dark space for herself there.

Her body remains rigid despite the protective shelter Sam provides to her and the immediate acquiescence of Mercy about the bombs is one that she hears, but has no immediate way of answering the appreciation. Sam's words are heard, but it's more the focus being pulled away from her that helps the most. Her face presses into Sam's jacket and her body slowly starts to relax, though she doesn't say anything just yet. The words are a bit trapped in her throat.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
That retreat of Fred's is seen. The fear within her scent still smelled.

It's enough for the coyote to look at Sam again this time apologetically.

His whispered words are likewise heard and while they cause her gaze to sharpen with more questions, the mechanic stays mute. This is definitely not the right moment to ask.

Instead Mercy will step away from the two, even as she says, "Let me grab another beer." Not that Mercy advocates drinking and driving here, but it's something to do, "And you can tell me what you mean by Devil's Trap. I get the sigil part, I think, but I won't lie the rest of what you said was pretty much Greek to me." And with one last look at Fred, Mercy moves to the back of her garage, intent on letting the couple have a moment or three of privacy.

It's the least Mercy can do since it was her words that caused the young woman such pain.

Sam Winchester has posed:
@emit Sam Winchester is content to let Fred shelter in his chest as long as she needs to. He actually opens his tactical jacket and half wraps it around her, both to add more shelter and so that she can feel Feigenbaum's furry form against her arm. He presses closer, dipping his head over hers, just...holding her there. He can't really think of any more words that might help, but he can tell for himself that hiding is helping, that not talking about it is helping. Mercy withdraws, so he forgoes his commentary on Devil's Traps or anything else of the sort.

Instead, he just stands there, a solid presence who to Fred's nose doesn't smell weird at all. Beer and woodsmoke, gun grease and herbal shampoo. Right now, he's just Sam, big, solid, and ready to take on anything on her behalf if she needs it from him. She has been there for him so many times. He will do whatever it takes to help this storm pass for her.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
From the safe circle of Sam's arms, Fred just stays there for a few more minutes. Finally, an arm reaches out to wrap around his waist. The words he and Mercy speak are a bit mumbled to her through the jacket.

She can feel Feigenbaum in the jacket pocket as well as Sam's steady breaths. Eventually her own rapid intakes start to match his. Slowly, she starts to extricate herself from him, though she remains close. Her eyes are down, embarrassment written clearly on her face.

While she still holds onto Sam, she glances over at Mercy and then turns back to him. "Sorry," she says softly. "Didn't mean..." to turtle in on herself at the very mention of a portal bomb. "It was just..." she doesn't have a good explanation.

Sam Winchester has posed:
He reaches out to cup her cheek with one hand, gently trying to tilt her face upwards so he can look into her eyes. "We all cope in our own ways, right?" he says softly, trying to project rock-like steadiness into his every word. "That's what you told me. There's no need to apologize. Or explain. I get why something like that would be upsetting for you."

He drops his hand from her face and lays both hands on her shoulders instead, squeezing gently. "No-regrets zone. No-judgment zone. Well. You can judge me if you want." A phrase that has double meaning with the hot coal of the truth he really needs to tell her burning at the back of his mind. But not here, and not now. Dean has already figured it out. There is probably no hiding from it. Sooner or later they'll talk. But he's not sure he wants to do it in Mercy's garage, either.

Dean wants to help him.

He's sure the women will too.

But what if he's beyond help?

None of those thoughts show on his face. He favors her with a bashful, self-deprecating smile. "I mean. I do have terrible fashion sense. I mean I'm about 50% sure this suit makes my butt look fat and everything."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred leans her cheek into the palm of his hand, eyes still downward. But, when he tilts her face up her large brown eyes move upward to meet his. Instead of verbally agreeing, she merely nods. Right now she's not sure she has the actual words to say what she wants to.

When his hand drops from her face to her shoulders, her chin drops down again. This time it's not in shame or embarrassment, however. Some of that still remains, but instead she just says, very gently, "Thanks, Sam." There's an easily heard tone of appreciation and warmth in her voice at the fact that she doesn't have to explain it and knows that he won't judge her.

A ghost of a smile crosses her face when he says that the suit makes his butt look fat and she shakes her head, a bit of the color returning to her face now. "I don't think that's possible."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Now /that/ compliment will produce a rakish, wicked grin from one Sam Winchester. And the comment he murmurs in her ear really is only meant for her ears alone. If the coyote listens in and gets her ears blistered it will be her own fault. "Well, you have my full permission to feel it up and check whenever you like." He even goes so far as to waggle his eyebrows at her. Dean is not the only flirt in the family, he's just a bit more discerning about when he chooses to turn that on, and who he chooses to turn it on for.

But he sobers. All joking aside..."There are probably things we should talk about. But I think I should go find this junk yard. If you'll have me, I could come over tonight?"

Normally he doesn't ask. But...he does now for several reasons. First, this whole conversation opened up with the whole 'you smell like a rampaging evil' bit. Well, not in so many words, but Sam knows what the smell likely is. Second, because she has been triggered, and that might mean she prefers to be alone. He chooses her place specifically because he's aware she's been triggered, knowing her own haven, her own refuge, will be preferable to his and Dean's increasingly messy bachelor pad. Increasingly messy mostly because Dean never picks up after himself, but...Sam would feel petty in the extreme if he called his brother on that /now/.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The smile widens just a bit as Sam's voice lowers and Fred blushes, glancing to where Mercy went to ensure the other woman didn't hear. Fred shakes her head just a bit with a laugh, not quite ready to banter back, but appreciating it.

As for the things they need to talk about, Fred nods. "Of course you can come over. I'd like that." Retreating into a small space seems to be off the itinerary for the moment. Plus, she is happy to know that Sam is willing to talk to her rather than flee. "I'll disarm the axe."