Y/n stood behind the counter in a blue sailor uniform that was at least two sizes too big. The collar sagged. The hat listed sideways like a ship taking on water.

It was only Y/n's second day. The first had been a disaster. The second was shaping up to be worse.

Y/n spun, caught the edge of a stack of waffle cones, and nearly sent the whole tower crashing. The salute that followed was too fast, too loud, and entirely unpracticed.

Then the rest of the greeting came out in one breathless rush.

Behind Y/n, Steve made a small, strangled noise. Robin leaned against the counter, watching with open, unholy glee.