"I've got good news and I've got bad news," said Natasha. "Which do you want first?"

"The bad news," said Steve.

"Of course you do. Sorry, it's gotta' be the good news first."

"Then why did you-"

"Em is scheduled to participate in the Rap Battle, but Em is short for Emil, not Emilie. Now, I have a lot in my repertoire, but not that- at least not without some serious contouring, and all I brought is eyeliner. So. Can any of you boys sing?"

"You've heard us do karaoke," said Tony. "You know we can't."

Sam, who refused to do karaoke on principal, could sing a little. He didn't want to admit that. He liked nice jazz clubs, Smalls and the Birdland. He didn't have anything against rap, but it wasn't his cup of- well, all they seemed to have were plastic cups of beer. The audience was already either drunk enough to spill on the seats or drunk enough to piss on them. He couldn't tell the difference from the smell.

They had to go through a metal detector, like at the airport, and there were a lot of signs that said "No Moshing." Sam didn't even know people moshed at rap battles.

"Um…" said Steve.

"Steve, there's a reason they gave you a speaking part in Star Spangled Man."

Steve blushed but pushed on. "No, it's just…"

Tony followed his gaze. "What, Barnes? He doesn't speak."

"It was one of his jobs before the war. Singin' in a nightclub for Joe "the Wop" Catalano on Broadway and Fitty-Thoid street. Later they made it the Boidland Theater. Ella Fitzgerald sang there."

They all took a moment to appreciate how Steve's accent came out whenever he talked about the Good Ol' Depression, before Tony said, "Okay, but he won't know anything from this century, and also: He doesn't speak."

"They wouldn't have taken away his singing," said Natasha, and Sam felt himself blanch, because he hadn't realized that was a thing they could do. He tried to get his shit together, because he already felt too white for this place.

"Why not?" asked Steve, who was also blanching, and Sam stopped worrying so much about looking white.

Natasha looked amused in that way she had that meant no one else would find whatever it was amusing. "They didn't just teach us ballet for combat training. Even weapons are designed to be beautiful."

"A fine point," said Tony, "but consider this: He doesn't speak."

Barnes held out his metal hand. Natasha handed him something, and his fingers snikt shut around it before Sam could see what it was. Barnes started pushing his way towards the stage with determination and liberal use of his elbows.

"What was that?" asked Steve.

"The eyeliner," said Natasha.

Steve's brow got all furrowed in a way that would never cause wrinkles, the bastard. "Maybe this isn't such a good-"

"It was your idea," said Natasha.

"But-"

"And it was his choice."

That shut Steve up for five whole minutes. Sam timed him.

Eventually, Sam broke the silence by whispering, "Do you think he's going to do the raccoon eyes or…"

A few minutes later, they watched Barnes murder strut onstage, and okay, at least that fit in. His eyes were less raccoon and more Nicki Minaj. Barnes clipped the microphone to his shirt. It took him a few minutes, because he was used to wearing earwigs without mics, and because his hand was shaking. He must have gotten someone else to do his eyeliner.

The instrumental music started, and Sam started to feel sorry for Barnes, steering wheel incident be damned. He should have admitted he could sing a little, and his mama would never forgive him for letting this poor white boy rap in front of people who were probably drinking urine, and Tony had a point about the not speaking, and-

I gotta' do a nickel,

'Cause you wouldn't drop a dime.

You're the one who wants a cell

But I'm the one who does the time.

It's just catchy till they catch us.

Then the bad rap is the thing

That we can't get out of our heads,

So they send us to sing, sing.

Rags will beg to shoot our mugs.

'Til their rap sheets tag us thugs.

So you'll think I'm worth a mill,

But I still ain't worth a buck.

They tell you that we're free,

'Cause we think our yards are lawns

And when we eat our Mystery Meat

It's paired with Perignon,

Our cells are our life,

And our squad's got ten cars,

But if we're free,

Why we always hittin' the bars?

I'll die living large,

But freestyle ain't free,

'Cause they'll always have

A charge for me.

And okay, maybe the mic drop was Barnes actually dropping the mic because his hand was shaking so hard, but damnit if Sam didn't give him a standing ovation, and not just 'cause his chair was covered in urine.