2685/Thesis Projects

Thesis Projects
Date of Scene:	02 October 2017
Location:	Mercy's Garage
Synopsis:	Dean had received a text from Sam saying Mercy could use some help fixing a car. It turns out the car has been all but destroyed...
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Dean Winchester

---

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There is a war going on in Mercy's Garage.

A battle being raged.

It's between (wo)man and machine. A car to be specific. To be even more specific it's a Ford Fusion. This car has been through the ringer. The top of it has been crunched downward, every bit of glass has been shattered out, and it'll truly take a miracle for this car to be put back together; but try, Mercy must. She gave her word she would.

So, every spare minute she has to work on this car she does. And today is no different. While nothing looks overtly repaired upon the car there are signs that it's been worked upon. The side mirrors have been removed and so has the driver side front door - that alone came off in two pieces. Now Mercy is struggling with the hood of the car, as she tries to get a peek inside the engine. "For the love - come on." Mutters the woman, even as she employs all her 'considerable' strength. While the hood looks undamaged it's clear by the struggle to open it that something is broken; whether on the inside, or the body has been warped just enough to make it stuck.

"Don't make me open you up like a tin can." The coyote mutters some more, before she momentarily stops struggling with the hood. A baleful looks is focused upon the offending part and after a second she'll slam her fist hard down upon it. That apparently hit seems to work, as a soft click is heard and the hood loosens slightly.

Dean Winchester has posed:
A familiar figure treads into the garage. His shuffle-booted steps have him pausing at the edge of the room, aiming not to draw too much attention to himself until needed. His arms cross comfortably over his chest and he leans against the wall. His weight shifts from one foot to the other and he finally steps forward. "Need a hand?"

He shoots her a crooked grin but whistles sharply as he walks around the car. "Sammy texted me. Saying you needed a hand--assume this is the car?" The grin extends. There's no question that he's intrigued. "So what on earth happened, Mercy?" His smile fades.

Carefully, he walks to the hood and spies it. "Think two bodies'll make a difference?" Because he's able and willing to pull it with her. There's no way he can do it on his own. Those aren't delusions he suffers from.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The sound of that shuffle-footed step and the scent of the man entering the garage is heard and smelled.

It's enough to bring the coyote's gaze sharply around. There's a tension within her shoulders at the sudden appearance of Dean, but when Mercy sees who it is that arrived, there's some relief. Relief that it's someone known versus not.

"I could use a hand, sure." Comes the easy response from Mercy to that initial question of his. "And yes -" Is the more wry response from the coyote, "- This is definitely /the car/." Curiously, Mercy will watch the elder brother pace around the car, only responding once he's back to the hood, near her. "While I don't have the whole story it was apparently in a fight. Between powered individuals, I'm imagining, with how much damage was done."

That last question of his earns another wry look from the woman, "I hope so. I have doubts this tear-down and repair is going to work, but I gave my word I'd try. So, I'd appreciate another set of hands and eyes. Sam says you've some skill with cars and the struggle to keep them running smoothly."

With that silent offer to help with the hood, Mercy steps back up to the car. The hood is just loose enough to offer a handhold - really a fingerhold - between the edge of the hood and the car body. It's enough for the coyote, but Dean might find it a touch harder to find a sure grip upon it. Either way, when both put their backs into it the hood will finally rise upward, a sound of tortured metal proceeding it.

First glimpse of the inside doesn't show any catastrophic damage, at least with that initial look.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Dude," Dean murmurs as he looks under the hood. He sucks on the inside of his cheek and bends over to get a closer look at the engine. "This... Is better than expected," he cants his head to look up at Mercy. His hand reaches for the side of the machine, allowing him to maintain balance while taking a long look at the machine.

"Yeah, I work on my own car," he finally offers with a vague shrug. "Dad has a way with cars and pause dit on. Even worked as a mechanic for awhile when I was almost-respectable," he actually winks at that. Hunting is never respectable. Everyone knows that.

"Whose car is it?" His eyebrows draw together. "Might be best to pull out the guts and build something new. Unless that person is committed to it. 'Course, we could build it to be nearly identical if whoever you promised would want that. I mean, it'll take work to track parts, but..." his lips purse.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Once the hood is up it stays up, even without any additional internal support. That's both a good and bad thing; good because the rod that supports the hood wouldn't have budged from its resting place and bad, since that likely means it needs repaired. Or replaced.

Like Dean, as soon as the hood is cleared from the engine and all the various parts inside, Mercy will start to visually inspect it.

"Mm." She agrees noncommittally to his initial assessment. "Definitely better than I expected." She finally agrees verbally, as she doesn't yet see any major damage to the majority of the components. Eventually, as they dig within the electronic engine they'll find some cracks and stress fractures that'll need to be repaired within the frame and the housing, but so far it still looks good.

His mention of being a mechanic earns a quirk of a grin from Mercy, even as she shakes her head slightly at his question about the owner. "So, I can't say I know." She begins, "It's sort of the situation where the person who brought it in wanted to keep it on the down-low, so I didn't ask too many question. She just asked I try to save it. There's also an issue with the car insurance - which likely means they have none."

Straightening from that review of the engine, Mercy will step to the side, more towards the body of the car and that crushed roof of the vehicle. "I had that thought." She agrees, "Of doing a total rebuild, but there's also the situation of money. Money is going to be a problem for her too." A sardonic look is sent Dean's way, "Do you see the boat I'm in with this? I'm hoping we'll be able to save the majority of the frame and the guts, with the potential of re-building the actual body."

Now it's Mercy's turns to walk around the car, as her gaze looks at the crushed portion of the car. "How's Sam?" She'll ask, a seemingly innocent question there, but one that holds a shade of worry to it for the coyote.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean straightens. It's a posture that seems to snap everything not place as he considers the importance of funds in all of this. "You know," his eyebrows lift, "if it makes sense, it's possible to get the cash." Winchesters are basically criminals at the best of times. "I mean, I always think that less..." he watches Mercy carefully to gauge her reaction to his words "...reputable means of getting things done needs to have justification. Even a bit."

There's a twitch of his lips. It's a tell in his own way. He has no problem with bending the law when the situation warrants it, and credit card scams have been Dean's old friends these ten years past. He was running them well before he could legally drink.

"Yeah, I get the boat. I can give you some labour for free," he offers lowly as he sizes up the damage. "But parts'll still be killer. Even if we can get some of the exterior from the dump. And matching colour'll be a struggle." He cringes at that. Paint is always an expensive part of the job.

But the question about Sam has him ducking underneath the vehicle to check out the undercarriage. "Fine," he answers. But Mercy, with her keen hearing, can catch it. No one catches it. When Dean says the word, there's a hitch in his throat and a change in his heartbeat. He's worried. He mostly keeps his cool despite it.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
That first part -

That earns a faint quirk of eyebrows in confusion, before Mercedes Thompson connects the dots. Once those dots are connected Mercy shakes her head, "No. I understand there are some circumstances that warrant that particular necessity, but this isn't it." And while others might sound scandalized, Mercy doesn't. She's lived long enough to know that not /everything/ can be done lawfully, but it's clear Mercy ins't the type to get in on that particular money-making scheme.

His offer of free labor, however, earns a better expression from the coyote. A quirk of a grin, "Great. I'll definitely take you up on that. I'm pretty sure I can throw in some free beer for you too. And pizza." There might be some homemade cookies in there too, but that's not said. Not when he mentions paint. That brings forth another pained expression from Mercy. "Let's not talk about paint until we get the car in actual working condition. Then I'll consider that particular horror."

Of course, when he goes beneath the car to check the undercarriage out, he'll find some definite issues. For one, the undercover is completely gone. It probably fell off somewhere. Thankfully those particular shields are more cosmetic than actually needed. With it missing it's easy to get a good look at the various parts beneath. Quick glance shows the muffler and a portion of the exhaust system has been torn off. There's likely something wrong with the back tire axles, as well, though it'll take more than just a general looking at to figure out what's going on.

From his position, Dean should be able to track Mercy by the movement of her feet, as she moves to this point and that, as she waits for him to pop from beneath the car.

The hitch within his voice is heard, as is the change in his heartbeat. It's enough for the coyote to crouch downward, near where she expects his head to be, "Fine as in 'fine I don't want to talk about it'? Or fine as in 'you don't realize I know he's not fine'. Or something else all together?" The last is said with a faint sense of grim humor.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"It's a mess down here," Dean observes not-helpfully. "Gonna need to get a new muffler. Exhaust system, geez. And those axels are gonna need replacing if the car is gonna have a shot in hell of outrunning anything." He whistles again. "This is some pretty fantastic damage. Seriously. We might be able to save the bones though. She might be able to handle it." She. Cars are always notoriously women with him.

He slides out from underneath, sitting along the floor of the garage as the coyote makes her observation. Dean can feel his lips purse and his expression tighten. The edges of his lips twitch. It's not a smile. It's not a grimace. It's something else entirely. Nothing about him is easy. He's tense and terse and it shows.

Being so-called-out when he's so used to lying has Dean curl into himself some. His head hangs and his hands scrub his face. "Fine s in... there's nothing I can do about it so he needs to be fine right now." His eyebrows lift to punctuate the point and he shakes his head. "He's a mess," he finally admits. "He's a mess, and I can't fix it. Hell, I don't think even he can fix it." His eyebrows lift again. "And no, I didn't know you knew anything was up."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The mention of axels, exhaust and muffler needing replaced and repaired earns a sigh from the coyote. It's enough that she rises from that low crouch and moves to a work bench. Upon the work bench is a tablet with neat writing already upon it. A pencil is picked up and Mercy adds a few more lines upon it; clearly she's keeping a list of everything that need repaired. It's the only way to keep it straight right now.

When Dean slides from beneath the car Mercy turns, her gaze upon the young man. She can see and scent the tension within him. If he expected to hide his emotions from Mercy he's going to be possibly surprised.

She watches the elder brother scrub his face and listen to his words. When he's finished speaking Mercy nods towards a work bench, where a folding chair is already next to it. "Yes, I know. I smelled the change in his scent." Which might be an odd thing to say, if Dean weren't a hunter and likely used to the strange, "Why don't you take a load off. I'll get some beer." And with that said Mercy does just that. She'll go to the back of the shop, to a small fridge, and pull out two bottles of cold beer. One of the beers will be offered to Dean, no matter whether he stayed standing, or sat down. "You can't fix it yet." Mercy states firmly, "Yet being the word there. But, I agree that it'll likely take something more than what you or he can do to fix it. Liam might be able to help."

Dean Winchester has posed:
The slide from the floor gives Winchester the elder a few moments reprieve from his own thoughts about the car. Dean groans when he hoists himself back to his feet. His shuffle-steps take him to the chair. He slumps into it. Allowing himself to groan again once he settles with little ceremony. "Man. Have you just ever felt tired? I mean... really tired?" He casts a long look at Mercy. "All I wanted was for Sam to be okay."

The beer is taken with a small nod and smile of thanks. Dean appreciates it. The cap is popped off and he takes a long swig. "You think Liam can do it?" His eyebrows lift with the question. "Sam isn't okay," he finally settles on. "All I tried to do all my life is watch out for him, and I've just... I screwed the pooch on this one." His tongue wets his lips. "And it's my fault. I should've..." not been possessed. "Something." His eyes lid lightly and he takes another swig of the beer. "I still don't know what's with Hydra and what they wanted with him either. I know they got him hooked on the demon blood, but," he doesn't finish the thought and just takes another drink of the beer. Liquor is easier.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Yes." Is Mercy's answer to that first question, full of sympathy and empathy. His next words, about wanting Sam to just be ok, likewise earns a sympathetic look from her. Though she doesn't necessarily say anything to those words. After all, there's not much she can say to them. Sam isn't 'safe' and anything she might say might come across badly or taken wrongly.

When Dean takes the proffered bottle, Mercy takes a second to pop the cap from her own bottle. The little metal lid is tossed casually upon the nearby work bench, even as she takes a second for a sip from her bottle. While Dean settles into that folding chair, Mercy doesn't. Instead she settles against the edge of that nearby work bench, even as she casts a look to the younger man. His question about Liam earns a thoughtful look, "I think so. I hope so. If not he might know who can." Is what she'll finally end with on that particular subject, then her gaze is returning back to Dean.

Again, Mercy listens to what Dean has to say. Her expression turns back to sympathetic and worried, as Dean expresses some of what he feels and some of his own worries. "I don't know the whole story behind this demon thing, but I highly doubt it's your fault." The coyote says, not realizing just how wrong she is, "If we can get him back from Hydra and everyone else, then we can figure out how to fix this, I promise."

And while her next words might sound like a joke, they're really not. "Then afterwards, we can go get Hydra and destroy them for what they did to Sam and everyone."

Dean Winchester has posed:
Mercy's words cause Dean to hone in on the floor in front of him. His body tenses again and he fights the frown that still manages to draw the edges of his lips downwards. "I think..." he starts and then stops. "I /don't/ think I deserve any absolution there." He casts her a long look. "I practically raised Sam." He actually smirks at that. "Until recently I let myself believe that wasn't really true, but it is. I fed him. I clothed him. I bathed him. I scared away the monsters under his bed. I raised Sam."

"Pretty sure that means I get to have both the credit and the blame. This one? Probably on me." Somehow. For not showing up earlier when Sam got in trouble with Hydra. For getting possessed by Alistair so Sam needed more blood. For not telling Sam more about Azazel sooner.

He takes a swig of his bear and threads the fingers of his free hand through his hair. It's a welcome distraction, or a strange comfort that he can't articulate.

"Thanks," he finally lands on about fixing it. "Just feels like everything's spinning out lately. What I wouldn't give for a simple straightforward hunt again..."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The coyote tilts her head slightly to the side at Dean's words. A question is there, but for now, Mercy doesn't voice it. She gets the sense here that they're on uncertain ground.

"Credit or blame." Mercy states, "You did the best you could, I'm certain of that. That's all you can ask of yourself and all Sam can ask for too. I can tell Sam thinks you're the best big brother. If he didn't he wouldn't worry equally as much about you as you do of him."

His thanks causes the coyote to nod, before her expression turns sympathetic again, "Feeling like everything is out of control is never fun." She agrees, "Times like these it's good to have a project at hand." With those words Mercy slides an obvious look at the broken and battered car, "Good thing you have one." It's a little humor she's trying to interject here, but when she looks back at Dean her expression turns somber again.

"We'll figure it out." She offers again, even as she asks with some curious, "Sam has mentioned hunting too. I don't think he's ever explained what exactly it is you two hunt. Though I have a guess - things that go bump in the night and other typical magical oddities that seem to crop up unexpectedly and numerously."

Dean Winchester has posed:
The uncertainty is catching. A smirk follows the mention of doing the best he could. "Probably could've done better if I'd realized I was doing it. Like, for real, I mean." Dean's voice turns gruff, but strangely quiet too. "Would've been easier if Dad hadn't said /take care of Sammy/ and had just told me to raise my brother. Honestly. Then at least I'd get it." He rubs his chin, feeling the stubble there and assessing that he should probably shave.

"Yeaaaah," Dean virtually sighs at the car. "Don't mind doing the work. I like working with my hands. And playing with making things work? Yeah, that's fun. But man. This one isn't a project. It's a damned thesis with everything that needs doing." But he doesn't say no. "Haven't built one from the ground up in an age. At least it'll be worth the time and energy if whoever owns it appreciates it."

As far as what they hunt. "We hunt anything that needs hunting. Honestly? It's a bit of this a bit of that," he issues her a one shouldered shrug. "It's all about making people safer. Making the world safer. I know that's weird and cryptic, but it's what it is."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
What he says about his father earns a look from the coyote. She'll stay silent a moment as she considers what to say there. Or rather, if she should say anything. Finally, the coyote will hedge simply with, "Sometimes parents are guessing or struggling with how to do things just as much as we are. Though that doesn't make any of it right. Especially for children."

And while more could be said Mercy doesn't expand much beyond that. Not when she's getting hints that the relationship there wasn't necessarily the best. Between sons and father, that is.

The quip about the car project being a thesis earns an amused snort from Mercy, "I think they'll appreciate it, yes. If not I'll make sure to press upon them how much this tear down and rebuild really cost; both in money, sweat and curse words."

His explanation of hunting pulls a nod from Mercy, "Not all that weird and cryptic. Not really. Not after all we've seen lately. Besides, not sure if you know, but a wolf pack raised me. Weird and cryptic are two things I definitely know of." While half her bottle is finished, Mercy still sets it aside and straightens from the work bench, "I wouldn't be surprised if our two worlds intersected at some point and we just never realized."

Dean Winchester has posed:
The bit about John earns Mercy a sharp lift of Dean's eyebrows but nothing else. John Winchester has entered a place of betrayal in Dean's mind. But the bit about crossing paths, that he will agree with. "Probably. Feels like all worlds intersect," Dean agrees. He finishes off the beer. He's been drinking like a fish lately. The bottle is set on the work bench and he presses to a stand.

"Alright, we can work on that thesis in a few days' time. If you're good with it, I can let myself in and plug away. At the very least, we should get the parts running. Can worry about the body after?" For now though, Dean has to be going. He glances towards a clock on the wall. "I gotta run. Promised Jo," his cheeks actually warm, "my girlfriend, that I'd be home on time tonight." He winks. "Trying to make good on it. Take it easy, Mercy. We'll chat more later, I'm sure." With that he slips out the garage.