pineslog | the adventures of bucky barnes, totally normal small-town mechanic

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the adventures of bucky barnes, totally normal small-town mechanic

Who: Bucky Barnes and ANYONE
Where: Pretty much open to anywhere in town.
When: February 14th - 20th
What: Catch-all for Bucky trying to blend in even though he's got more of his memories back. IT'S HARD. HE DOESN'T TRUST ANY OF YOU (except for Steve and Nat).
Warnings: None yet, but will update if necessary
[Open]

I: ESTABLISHING A ROUTINE [OPEN]
Ever since his accident (or what the nurse claimed was an accident-- he wasn't so sure he believed it then, and he finds the story even more dubious now), things have been coming back to Bucky in fragments. Mostly images and impressions, certain knee-jerk reactions to this and that, largely devoid of the greater context. Some of them contradict each other, but each memory feels equally real, which makes it difficult, to say the least, to sift through them and figure out which life he really led. Is he Bucky Barnes, local mechanic, Idaho born and bred, star pitcher of the baseball team who never set foot outside the Midwest until he joined the army? It sounds right, sounds perfectly grounded and normal and like the kind of life he should've lived.

But he's not so sure it's real. In fact, he's all but certain that he's the other Bucky Barnes: the guy from Brooklyn whose formative years were marked with hardship and scarcity. He remembers joining the army, same as the Bucky Barnes who fits in here, but this time, he never returned home. He fell, he lost his arm, a scientist gave him a new one-- it explains the robot arm, which none of the memories of a nice, normal life in Wayward Pines can even begin to do. There are fragmented recollections of torture and experimentation, then large gaps punctuated with brutal, efficient murders.

He remembers being nobody. He remembers shooting Natasha. (Who once kicked him in the playground? Who's dating his best friend? No, no, he's not so sure...) And he remembers giving his all to try and eliminate Steve. (A constant in both lives. If nothing else, at least he can be certain about his friendship with that skinny, scrappy punk.) He remembers the mission, and he remembers abandoning it and working at becoming a person again.

Despite the gaps and muddled imagery, the broad strokes of a life are there, so outlandish that he shouldn't believe them. But there's something intimately familiar about not knowing who he really is, not remembering large swaths of his life that... well. Maybe it's crazy, but it makes it all the easier for him to believe that he really is the World War II vet turned brainwashed assassin turned fugitive.

But who else-- besides those few, familiar faces from the past that he's chosen to believe in-- is in the same situation? Who can he trust? This town is strange enough as it is, and until he has a real bearing on things, he knows it's best to keep his head down and keep on blending in. Be the Bucky Barnes that everyone else seems to know.

Easier said than done, he supposes. After all, he doesn't even know how to fix up cars. Basic repairs and maintenance, sure. He's got that. (Any knowledge that might help with a mission.) Anything more than that? Well. He gets by as best he can, and in his off hours, he tries to teach himself anything he can about cars and motorcycles.

Besides that, he tries to keep to a routine that allows him to maintain his false life while trying to learn more about the town and its inhabitants. (Prisoners?) Wake up early. Eat light. Go for a run. Get ready for work. Eat again. Stop by the coffee shop. Head to S&D Automotive. Pretend to know what he's doing. Eat lunch. Keep working. Then visit the shops and chat with 'friends' and 'neighbors.' If nothing else, Between the sPines is usually a safe bet; he's got a thing for pulpy action, adventure and sci-fi books... and the occasional romance novel. Don't give him that look.

After that, he's equally likely to go to a bar for a drink (because that's the normal thing to do-- and it helps that he can't get drunk, so drinking doesn't compromise him, anyway) or return home to Steve and Natasha.

II: DATE NIGHT [CLOSED]
So, he's not certain, but he's pretty sure this is his first date since 1940-something. And while he wouldn't be comfortable agreeing to a blind date under normal circumstances, very little about this place is normal, anyway. Even the quaint, too-normal small-town aesthetic doesn't sit right with him. But: what would the Bucky Barnes of Wayward Pines do?

He'd take advantage of the free dinner and movie, obviously.

(Besides, it could be fun! Meet a girl, show her a good time... Thanks, Ghost of Bucky Barnes Past.)

His date for the evening turns out to be Emily Grey. Dr. Grey? Chronic overachiever, that's what he remembers from that life he's pretty sure he never lived. At least she's friendly, and he's pretty sure he's doing a good job of seeming relaxed and casual in return, despite how awkward he finds this entire date. It doesn't help that there were issues with the movie they were supposed to see, so they were stuck watching some romantic comedy about two neurotic people flip flopping between love and hate for 90 minutes.

And now, here they are, at one of Wayward Pines's more... romantic restaurants, specially decorated just for Valentine's Day. Time for more small-talk while they wait for their food to arrive.

"So, that movie, huh?" Look at him, he's quirking that charming half-grin of his and everything. "That ending sure was something. I almost thought she was gonna marry the cheating boyfriend near the end." Yeah, right. Even if he doesn't remember much, he knows a cliche when he sees it.

III: WILDCARD
UHHH choose your own adventure if you want to do something not mentioned in the starter!

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Part of her wants this all to be real. Everything would be so much simpler, a promise of sedate contentment in a place safe from the worries of the world...but even the counterfeit Emily who keeps popping up in her memories left sleepy Wayward Pines for distant horizons. The Emily whose instincts tell her to trust none of this is so much harder and sharper that it cuts right through the facade of a gentle life in small-town Idaho. Besides, she's quite sure the US Army does not issue power armor to its personnel, not even the special forces, much less the medical corps...or cybernetic limbs to the ones injured in the line of duty.

Yet again she drags her eyes away from Bucky's arm, her manners having repeatedly failed in the face of her curiosity all evening, circuit diagrams filling her mind as she can't avoid mulling over how she would design it, even as Bucky goes on discussing the alleged plot of the movie. Having to make Wayward Pines-approved small talk about that stupid thing will be what kills her, she's certain. RIP Emily Grey, murdered by lazy screenwriting.

"Well, that wouldn't have been a very happy ending, now would it?" she says with a sunny smile of her own, as if the plot weren't at least as old as Shakespeare. "The rain ending right as they kissed was..." Nauseatingly overdone, that's what it was. "...cute."

Emily chases a bit of pasta primavera around her plate with her fork. One of these days she'll learn not to fill up on breadsticks.

Stefan doesn't know Bucky, not really. He's sure of it and yet. The memories are still very much there even if everything else inside of him is screaming that they're fake. He belongs in Mystic Falls not Wayward Pines. A truth he doesn't dare voice outside of hushed, secretive conversations with his brother Damon -- even when he carries the definitive proof around in his pocket, keys to a car that's nowhere to be found in this sleepy little town.

The real memories come back at the most random moments. Stefan watches a bit distractedly as Bucky works on whatever task he's given him for the morning, as he's suddenly struck with a vision of a blonde-haired girl. The torque wrench he's been idly passing back and forth between his hands clatters suddenly to the floor.

[ So it was a whim. Or, rather, it honestly was more like Natasha took a new route to the soda shop for her lunch break today which passed by a pet store which happened to have a window full of adorable animals on display. Tiny little fluffballs of cat, just barely old enough to be aware from their mother. Scottish folds, the owner had said when Natasha had dropped inside to inquire. Dropped off by one of the locals who couldn't really take care of an entire litter of kittens. She'd spent her lunch break playing with them, and by the time her shift at the store was over, had decided.

Which is why she is, now, returning home twenty or so minutes later than usual, a plastic bag of various kitten paraphernalia in one hand, and a cardboard box making various distressed peeping noises in the other. She still has another trip to make, so she sets both box and bag down on the living room floor, crouches for a brief moment to coo softly at the noisemaker inside the box in gentle, baby talk Russian, and then she slips out the door again, to grab the larger items (litter box, cat tree, giant bag of kitten food). ]

It doesn't escape his notice that she's got an interest in his arm, though she's far from the only one in this town whose gaze tends to linger on it. Most of the time, Bucky does what he can to keep it covered, but it's not as if he can wear long sleeves and a glove over one hand at all times. Especially in a restaurant, where he has to de-layer and de-glove. The shirt he's got on only goes down to his forearms, leaving the rest of it out in the open. As if the metal plating and slightly unnatural movement of its joints aren't conspicuous enough, there's also the light, mechanical whirring that accompanies every flex of his fingers and rotation of his wrist.

Bucky, of course, acts like it's nothing, like the arm's perfectly normal and his date definitely isn't looking at it like she wants to pull the plates off and take a peek inside. Instead, he continues to smile, keep the conversation light, and work at his steak dinner (something his mind still reflexively regards as a rare and cost-prohibitive treat-- which is why he jumped on the chance to order it with the voucher).

"Cute," he repeats with a chuckle. "Yeah." He's really trying to sound sincere here, though who knows if she'll actually buy it. He chews on a piece of steak thoughtfully, thankful that at least there's a free dinner to be had in all of this. With his metabolism, he could probably finish off his plate and hers... though he's pretty sure that's not the best way to impress a date. And Bucky Barnes of Wayward Pines would definitely try to impress.

Which probably means he should stop describing scenes from the movie and start saying... anything else, really.

"Sometimes I wish they'd show what happens after. The relationships never seem sustainable." From his limited experience, anyway. But even if he has a long way to go in catching up on all the movies since The Wizard of Oz, he at least knows that the kinds of romances pictured in these movies are better left as flings. "And she must've lost a lot of money on that cancelled wedding."

Another oil change. He likes oil changes, because they're routine and typically uncomplicated, one of the tasks he can do without having to worry too much about raising Stefan or Damon's suspicions. Whether or not they're in the same situation as him, he has no idea, so it's best to play it safe and keep up the facade in their presence. It wouldn't be too difficult-- he can play friendly and outgoing, since it comes naturally to him-- if not for the fact that his knowledge of car repair is somewhat limited.

He's just about finished, leaning over the engine as he pours the last of the oil into the fill hole, when he hears the clang of the wrench hitting the ground. Bucky looks over his shoulder at Stefan, lingering on the man's face before shifting his gaze down, taking in his body language.

"Everything okay?" he asks, brow knitted in concern-- that part, at least, being sincere. He screws the fill cap back on and wipes his hands on a rag, turning fully to face Stefan.

[ By now, Bucky's familiar enough with Steve and Natasha's respective routines to notice when there's a deviation-- even a little one like a slight delay in returning home. Natasha may not be late enough to cause any concern, but he makes a note of it as he starts to prepare dinner, just in case too much time starts to pass.

Luckily, she returns just as soon as Bucky finishes flipping through a cookbook to settle on something fairly easy to prepare for dinner. Or, at least, he assumes it must be Natasha, since Steve's still at work with another engagement. With some of the ingredients for beef stroganoff laid out on the counter, Bucky heads into the living room to see what's going on to send her in and out of the house.

When he gets there, there's no Natasha (though the door's open, so he figures she's just getting something from the car). What he does see: a box on the floor. A box making squeaking sounds.

Curiously, Bucky crouches down to investigate, trying to peer at the creature from the little holes in the box. ]

Currently out of a routine, Damon waits two weeks before Bucky even sees him in person. If pressed, he mentions recuperating from the mass-accident, but in truth the Packrat as Stefan had called him had nabbed his daylight ring, which Stefan got back easier than the alcohol. Go figure. Despite that, and despite his first day back turning over several memory leaves in succession of one another, he decides to play the part and return the next day, teaching himself a system his muscles seem to remember. When he even pauses for a second, a name or a task falls on the tip of his tongue. Because Steve stopped in his first day, his memories of Bucky are less hazy, but no more fully-formed. They're more concepts. Stefan's apprentice. Does what he can. Damn good baby mechanic.

Staying on the outskirts, and judging from afar, he can't help but wonder if his memory is playing tricks on him again. He makes small mistakes, or asks a question he should know the answer to. But, Bucky's an apprentice and they're there to teach him.

In an effort to get to know the person he should know with the added benefit of gaining some new information, he decides to invite Bucky to join him for his lunch hour.

Watching from afar, he waits until Bucky's wiping his oily hands with a rag before approaching him.

"...Bucky." He's trying the name on for size.

The more of himself he's managed to regain, the harder it is for Bucky to strike a proper balance between keeping to himself and playing the part of the Idaho born-and-bred Bucky Barnes who doesn't exist. Problem is: the former's generally a good way to stay under the radar (one of his top priorities until he learns more about what the hell is going on here), but here in Wayward Pines? He has to go with the latter more often than not. Suddenly withdrawing from the routine and friendships he supposedly once kept would likely draw unwanted attention.

But there's only so long he can blame any fogginess on his part on 'the accident,' which has made it somewhat more difficult to keep his cover going without raising any eyebrows. Particularly now that Damon has reemerged. Bucky doesn't really have any specific memories of him, just a sense of who he is in the town of Wayward Pines. So he mostly keeps his head down, tries to focus on work (despite the occasional 'not actually a trained mechanic' setback), and limits his conversation to light small talk.

He's wiping down his hands-- focusing a little more on making sure the metal one's clean-- when Damon addresses him. With a slight furrow in his brow, Bucky glances over at him.

"Yeah?"

It's not like Bucky isn't easy on the eyes, but cute guys are everywhere and sophisticated prosthetics seem to exist only on him and inside Emily's head. Who could blame her for being interested? Maybe he'll let her scan him, or is that more of a third date kind of thing? So many unwritten dating rules!

"Apparently baristas in Manhattan can afford 2,000 square foot apartments despite never actually going to work, so she probably won't miss a hundred thousand here or there." Emily likes an escapist fantasy and a happy ending as much as--okay, way more than--the next girl, but some things just strain credibility.

Giving up on her plate, she sets down her fork and reaches for her wine glass instead. Dessert is more important than the entree, always, and she needs to plan for that. "Her investment portfolio must be amazing. Is New York a community property state? I hope she signs a pre-nup with the new guy."

"How would you like to join me for lunch?"

It's a layered offer. On the one hand, it's a friendly olive-branch, in order to get to know the kid who works for him. On the other, it's a calculated move. He needs to learn what and who Bucky knows, about him, about his brother, about their business.

"I know Stefan and I usually go, but, maybe for a change we can. My treat." Keep him occupied, learn what he can. The longer he spends with a person, the longer he "remembers." Can he even call it remembering? For Damon, vague notions need to be clear memories sooner rather than later. False or not, he and Stefan need to know what they're working from - by coloring inside the lines.

For now, anyway. The rules are there for a reason and maybe he is wary of them, like Malia is. The punishment draws his curiosity, but not enough to step outside the box. Again, not yet.

"Wash your hands and I'll meet you outside," he adds, not giving Bucky a real chance to answer, leaving him in the garage while he gets fresh air. Stefan will be okay if they don't do lunch today.

Hell, if she makes sure to be in the right place at the right time-- namely, whenever Bucky needs arm maintenance-- Emily might just get a chance to scan it and possibly even fiddle around with it. Just... don't get any ideas about sabotaging it for a chance to fix it for him.

This time, his laugh is genuine, maybe because there's nothing a New Yorker likes more than talking about New York. Not that he's even been back there in... quite some time. The Manhattan of today isn't a whole lot like the one he knew, but he's aware of the sheer absurdity and total impracticality of the lifestyle shown in that movie.

"I must've gone into the wrong line of work." He takes a sip of wine, even though he doesn't care much for the taste and the alcohol won't even affect him, anyway. But the glass is there, and you're supposed to have wine on a fancy dinner date, so here he is.

"I see that relationship lasting six months, tops, before a charming British guy shows up at her coffee shop." Cue: romantic hijinks. Bucky watches Emily for a moment, noting how she doesn't seem to be as into her meal as he is, then adds, "How's the food?"

If Bucky were answering freely and honestly, he'd say no. He doesn't do lunch. At least, he hasn't joined anyone for lunch for decades, far as he knows. (Admittedly, he doesn't recall everything about his own life, though he knows-- frustratingly-- that it's not all because of this place and whatever brought him here.)

He's a little tempted, even, to lie and say he has plans with somebody, or that he already brought his own lunch, but doesn't get a chance to go that route before Damon makes the decision for him. So he just offers a lopsided smile, the kind that used to come naturally to him.

"Well, if you're buying..." He shrugs and tosses the rag over with the tools. "I'll just be a sec."

Yeah, he may sound casual, but the idea of a one-on-one lunch with someone he's supposed to know (but doesn't really) has him on edge. Those intrusive memories of a life in Wayward Pines can only take him so far. But he washes up and slips out of his mechanic's overshirt, swapping it for his coat. After he pulls on his gloves (winter, at least, makes it easy for him to have a ready-made excuse to hide the metal hand), he heads out to join Damon.

The air's brisk, at least, and somewhat pleasant. Not like the cold really bothers him.

"So. Where are we heading?"

Damon doesn't have much to do while he waits, particularly missing his smart phone right about now, but Bucky joins him eventually.

One foot in front of the other, he leads Bucky around the corner to a supposed favorite of his and Stefan's.

"Lagomarchino's. Heard of it?" And without skipping a beat, he barrels forward, again taking the initiative. "Of course you have, we live here." Whether he's playing the part for the camera on the corner of his shop, convincing himself of something he knows not to be true, or reminding him how layered their entire interaction is, is unclear. Damon, for his part, dresses the part, his heavy 90's overcoat covering a black v-neck he'd gotten back from the sheriff and baggier pants than he'd like. "I just thought it was high time I get to know the guy who works for me. You and Stefan have your whole--" He wags two fingers, not sure that's actually what they have, or if he's witnessed it this week, but it sounds about right. "I thought I should probably ask a few questions. Maybe let you ask a few of your own. Bonding."

Without football. It occurs to him that bonding could involve football. And road trips. But, this trip is on foot.

The look Bucky shoots Damon lingers, perhaps a beat too long, his brow knitted in something that could be read as concern. Or suspicion. It's a toss-up, really. Whether the slip's calculated, to get Bucky to follow suit, or genuine, he's careful with his response. "Yeah, of course." Everyone knows it. With a casual shrug, he adds, "I used to hang out there after school."

It's a lie, of course, because he went to school in Brooklyn, over three-quarters of a century ago, and he knows it. He remembers.

"Our whole..." he repeats, a note of amusement in his voice as he follows Damon's hand gestures. Despite his casual demeanor, though, the thought of some impending bonding has Bucky increasingly on edge. He huffs out a laugh. "Questions? Sounds more like an interview. Bonding usually involves beer and pool."

At least, it does to Fake Midwestern Bucky.

[ The box peeps at him again, a pair of yellow eyes staring out at him from the shadows inside. Whatever it is, it's tiny, it makes noise, and it seems scared.

Luckily for them both, that's when Natasha comes back inside, a litter box in one hand and a bag of litter in the other. She shuts the door with her foot, wincing a little as it slams a little harder than she meant it to, and steps around the corner to see Bucky in a staredown contest with the box.

She snorts a little, sets the litter and litter box down on the threshold of the living room and moves to crouch beside him, peering at him for a second before moving to open the box without a word. ] Want to help me name him?

[ And out she pulls a tiny, fluffy, black kitten. ]

As if there were an actual interview in hiring Bucky.

"Mentor-mentee thing going on. It's cute. Greasy. You and I don't really get to interact." And really, he's just saying this because he believes this is how it could be. He's flying blind right now. "Now, now, bonding involves two people getting to know one another better. Whether that be over lunch, on a road trip, throwing around the football..." He continues, half shrugging. "Do you have a football on you?"

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the adventures of bucky barnes, totally normal small-town mechanic

Totally normal date with totally normal people

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at home, around the 15th

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