Please forgive me if this isn't so good. I've never really written for Bucky. Also, this takes place after Captain America: The Winter Soldier. I'm running on the thought that Steve isn't ever able to find Bucky.

He stands under the shade of an oak tree, observing the small family. They look like they're having fun on just a normal family outing. Having finished lunch, the mother has taken the son a few yards away to teach him how to fly a kite, but to no avail. He was tempted to snort a laugh; the son wasn't much older than a baby, maybe three or four years old. It was stupid to think that a child so young would be able to fly a kite on his own.

Then again, considering his parentage, it wouldn't much of a surprise if the child did pull it off.

The boy in question had grown bored of the activity, though, and scrambles over to where his father was watching him and his mother. The father allows the boy to knock him over and their laughter mixed together. The father tosses the child a foot in the air and catches him effortlessly while the boy squeals with delight. The mother smiles.

He finds himself perched high in a tree, looking in through the window of a little boy's bedroom. The same little boy he had watched in the park a week ago was being tucked into bed by his mother. She had just finished reading him a story from what seemed like his favorite book, and he watched as the mother kissed her son's forehead.

He's struck by the fact that their hair is the exact same hue of red, and then rolls his eyes at himself. It's genetics, he reminds himself, not a magic trick.

He shrinks back into the foliage when the mother walks to the window, hiding himself from her view. But she simply shuts the curtains and a second later he sees the light in the room go out. He waits a few seconds until he can see the mother go into her own bedroom before he drops to the ground silently and walks away.

He's once again perched high in a tree, this time over an elementary school playground. The boy started first grade a few days ago, and he seems happy enough. Even from way up here he can easily pick out the boy by his hair, which seems to get even brighter as he gets older.

He frowns to himself though when he notices a few older boys pushing the boy around. He's tempted to step in when the child does something he considers amazing. Each time he's shoved to the ground he gets right back up, and after a few times he punches the older kid in the nuts.

He smiles to himself. The kid is a perfect blend of his parents. He'll be just fine.

It's been a few months since he's last seen the boy, but he finds himself thinking about the kid constantly. He's surprised by the fierce protectiveness he feels for the kid despite not ever meeting him for real. But he feels like he has. He's been lingering on the edges of they kid's life since he was a toddler, watching him grow and play and at this point he feels like he knows the kid on a personal level.

He's can't really call him a kid anymore, though. He turned fifteen about a week ago if he remembers correctly, and that makes him feel so extremely old.

He wonders if he's going through a rebellious phase yet, taking after his mother. Or if he'd be like his father and be a total boy scout his entire life; follow the rules, respect authority and treat everyone well.

He finds he wants to meet this boy, his old friend's son, for real. He wants to actually talk to him and get to know him, but on the other hand he has no idea how to approach him. Or really how to talk to another human anymore, it's been so long since he had any company. It's a stupid idea. He tries to forget he ever had it.

When he actually meets the boy, it's less than ideal. The kid was being stupid and reckless with his friends, and when some guy comes after them with a baseball bat the kids naturally scrambled. It surprised them how fast the man was, and when the man brought the bat down on the kid's leg he automatically sprung up from where he was sitting on a bench.

He was over to them in a matter of seconds, but it was enough time for the man to swing the bat down again. He manages to catch the end of the bat, too preoccupied to worry about the fact that his metal hand was exposed, and yanks it from the man's grip. He fixes that man with an ice-cold glare and stands over the kid protectively. When he narrows his eyes the tiniest bit, the man turns tail and runs.

"Hey, thanks," a voice says from behind him. "You didn't have to do that."

"And you didn't have to be such an idiot," is his response. He begins to walk away.

"Hey!" The kid catches his arm, and he's surprised that the boy had been able to get up so quickly. "Who are you? I think I've seen you before."

He yanks his arm free. "You don't know me, kid. And I don't know you."

"No, I know I've seen you before. I don't know where, but you seem familiar. My name is James."

He smirks at his namesake. "I'm Bucky."