Steve pulled at his green apron and sighed as he wiped down the counter. He needed to get home and finish his art assignment, but before he could do that he had to shoo the hobo out of Starbucks.

The hobo in question had wandered in from the rain just before Steve's shift and fallen asleep over a cup of black coffee. The poor guy looked cold and exhausted; Steve hadn't had the heart to wake him.

"Hey, buddy," Steve shook the hobo's shoulder gently, "I'm sorry but it's closing time; you've got to find somewhere else to go."

"Mmph, yeah, sorry," the hobo mumbled sleepily, brushing the strands of dark brown hair from his face.

"No, it's…it's fine…," Steve replied distractedly. He knew that face, he just couldn't remember where from with that long hair and scruffy beard.

That face haunted Steve as he caught the subway back to his Brooklyn apartment. Why did he know that hobo? The only time Steve stopped racking his brains was when he lost himself in his art assignment, drawing present-day Brooklyn as a curtain parting to reveal the same streets as they were in 1940.

The hobo was back when Steve arrived for work the next morning. He was looking less like a hobo now that he had showered and changed into clean, albeit rumpled, clothes.

"Hey, Steve," Natasha called from behind the counter.

"Good morning," Steve smiled, pausing to rub her shoulder as he tied his apron.

The next customers in line were a group of three men, and from the looks of it one was giving Natasha trouble.

"Hey, sweetheart, you're looking even more delicious than apple pie," the spiky-haired one smiled.

"Dean, are you sure that's wise?" the fluffy-haired one in a trench coat asked. The spiky-haired one, Dean, just ignored him. Steve decided to step in then, besides, he didn't like the way the shaggy-haired one was eyeing Maria, one of the regulars and damned if he was going to let the fact that the guy had a couple inches on Steve stop him.

Steve leaned over and put his arm around Natasha, kissing her head.

"Alright there, honey?" he asked before whispering "cookies if you don't kill" in her ear.

"Fine, sugar," Natasha replied, "now what can I get for you?" She asked, turning to the customers.

"Three black coffees, please," Dean ordered.

"And can I get a name for the cup?" Natasha asked sweetly.

"Sam, Dean, and Cas," Dean replied.

"Sweet dame you got there." The quiet voice interrupted Steve as he filled orders. He looked up and saw the downcast face of the hobo.

"Natasha? Yeah, she's a great friend," Steve smiled.

"You two aren't…together?" the hobo asked.

"No, Natasha's dating Clint from the makeup counter at the department store down the block," Steve replied.

"I see…," the hobo murmured.

"Tell you the truth I'm a bit of a punk," Steve continued.

"I know, Steve," the hobo looked up seriously.

"Bucky?" Steve stared in disbelief before pulling him in for a hug and a kiss.

"I always knew you were a punk, I just never thought you'd be a punk for me," Bucky laughed once Steve released him.

"I've always been a punk for you," Steve blushed.

"Great. You're a punk, I'm a punk, let's go dancing, what time do you get off?" Bucky asked matter-of-factly.

"Seven," Steve answered, not quite believing what was happening.

"I'll pick you up at eight, same address as when we were kids, right?" Bucky grinned.

"Yes," Steve replied, giving Bucky one quick kiss before returning to work.