Bucky ran out of batter and finished up the last pancake, setting it on top of the mountain he'd created. He pulled a plate down from the cabinet and got about four for himself. He went to the pantry to dig around for some cinnamon. When he came out, he found himself looking down at Stark Jr. . James scowled internally, but his face remained the same. 

Despite the things that had happened to him over the years, and despite whatever he may think of himself, Bucky hadn't changed much. He was still the same cocky son of a bitch that he was as a teenager, over playing his odds and rushing headlong into danger. Although he would never admit it, he was fairly similar to one Tony Stark. Maybe that was why he hated the man so much. From the moment James saw Stark on a newsreel, behaving with his usual flair, he'd decided that they would never get along. And then Steve died. 

The superhero Civil War hit everyone hard, but the death of the first Captain America had all but broken James. He was already lost, confused, trying to find a place in this strange new world, and then one of the few familiar faces he had left, one he still considered his best friend, was shot down like a dog. Bucky hadn't even gotten the nerve up to go talk to him yet, and maybe that was what hurt the most. And to top it all off, despite Rogers's death, Stark was still deadset on enforcing the damn law that killed him. As far as Bucky could see, Tony Stark had killed Captain America. 

So of course, at the time, it only seemed reasonable that he killed Tony Stark. Then again, at the time, he hadn't been a very reasonable man. Stark was lucky enough to walk away from their encounter. That was the same day that he guilt tripped James into becoming the new Captain America. It seemed to work out OK: Bucky got a job that kept him busy, Steve eventually came back to life, and Bucky avoided the hell out of Stark whenever he could. 

But now, here sat the man's son, who, as far as James knew, was very much like his father. James knew he should withhold judgement until he knew for himself; he owed the kid that much. After what happened to his grandparents... He had to remind himself that that was no one's fault but the Russians'. Still.

"Actually, this is my fourth arm," He said, balancing his plate on one hand as he went over to the table. Losing his left arm was something of an Olympic sport for James. "SHIELD designed it."