Chapter Text
The first thing Sam notices is that a disproportionate number of people are wearing masks. When the third guy walks by dressed in all black, goggles and a muzzle , Sam finally asks it out loud. "Is that actual Kevlar?”
"Probably not." Steve replies. He eyes the small merchandise stand by the entrance with the glee of a magpie.
He is already turning towards it when Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. "You just bought two shirts and a sweatshirt."
"I know but --"
"They could give you freebies."
Steve lights up. "Maybe."
“So what's with the bondage convention?” Sam asks again.
"Their bassist wears that." He points to the muzzle-goggle-leather dude. "Their keyboardist --" He points to an individual wearing a red and gold helmet. “Wears that fairly frequently, though he tends to change the helmet design.” Steve is big enough and handsome enough that the woman inside opens the faceplate to sneak him a quick wink.
"No one knows what they look like?"
"Just some of them, it's, it's a show."
"Metal's weird." Sam pronounces, gazing up at the stylized poster flanking the side of the stadium. It resembles a movie poster, with appropriate superhero dynamics, a blue background and lots of stylized orange flames. "Lots of theatrics, huh?"
Steve laughs so hard they come to a full stop in the middle of the walkway. They hustle to the stadium entrance and the guy at the gate takes a quick look at their wristbands and redirects them down a large ramp way. They're let through a massive entrance and enter a tiny corridor.
A door slides open and a dark-haired girl with pin-up girl half-sleeves and curves like highways walks out. She's wearing Doc Martens, a loose, sheer black shirt and studded jeans. She heads straight for them, beaming.
"You're the contest winners, amiright?" She asks. "I'm Darcy, marketing manager. I am so happy you both won the prize. Mostly for me, since I get to take you around. Last time I got stuck with a couple of emo boys who just couldn't stop moping, and I was the saddest . Sadder than them, even."
Sam grins, infected by her enthusiasm. “I'm Sam. This is Steve.” She sticks out a hand and they shake.
"Hello." Steve says warmly and despite the massive metalhead vibe, he manages to look about as harmless as a puppy. Harmless enough that Darcy swaps to his arm and pets Steve's bicep like it's alive.
Sam shoots him a challenging look. "Is that how it is?"
Steve raises an eyebrow at him. "That's how it is. Besides, I'm much better looking." They both laugh while Darcy beams.
Darcy takes them around backstage (and around the actual stage). She snaps a couple of photos standing next to the empty drum set. She tweets a photo of the three of them, captioning it as #hotdate and they exchange Instagram follows. They explore the photographer's pit, the bouncer's area and the guitar line-up, Darcy chatting happily the entire time. She even takes them to the parking lot, because , as she puts it, “all the backstage action is there.” Two enormous food trucks dominate the right side of the parking lot, dwarfing even the tour bus. She snags them a couple of burritos and forces them to eat.
Steve learns that his favorite band is also a foodie group, with a tendency to travel with four-star chefs. Sam learns that Darcy used to be Jane's assistant, before she became part of the traveling rock star circus. Jane is Thor's wife.
"Thor?" He has no idea who Thor is.
"Yeah, we had the same reaction, too." Darcy says, finishing up her nachos. "Let's go meet and greet!"
Steve practically vibrates with excitement as Darcy leads them to the band room. "I'll fetch you in a bit," she says.
A beautiful strawberry-blonde woman wearing the highest heels Sam has ever seen meets them by the door. She demonstrates a brutal efficiency by plucking Steve's phone out of his hand within two minutes and replacing it with a thick bundle of papers. She then expertly flicks through the photos and hands it over to a shorter, stocky man.
"Happy will see to it that you get this back, later." She hands them two pens. “Sign this please.”
"Nondisclosure agreements?" Sam quickly reads through the fine print. "Oh. Oh . Really? We get to meet them pre-show?”
Steve looks like his birthday came early. "For real?"
"For real." She says. "Congratulations! I'm Pepper Potts, by the way."
"Thank you, ma'am," Steve says and she looks slightly surprised, but then grins with real pleasure.
The band room is bigger than anything else Sam's ever seen. It's three times the size of their apartment in DC. An enormous white couch stands next to a wall, covered in huge pillows and cozy afghans. Plush carpeting the color of fog covers the floor.
The huge blond man standing next to a fully-loaded buffet table is too Nordic and too gigantic to be anyone else besides a Thor. He waves a pita at them in lieu of a greeting and gestures for them to come in.
Steve slides his backpack forward and opens it up.
Steve politely waits until Thor finishes what he's eating and then hands him the drawing. "I hope it's cool."
Sam rolls his eyes. The drawing is a stylized rendition of Thor shredding on an enormous guitar as a storm rages in the background. It looks like a Heavy Metal cover. Thor's eyes darken to a deeper blue with pleasure. "Take a look, Natasha!" He shouts, beckoning to someone they don't see
"Take a look at what?" A purring, Russian-accented voice says from behind them.
Sam does an admirable job of not-jumping as the tiny redhead dressed in yoga pants and a sports bra patiently waits for them to turn. She takes the drawing from Steve and studies it, her green eyes razor-sharp.
"SRogers?" She asks. "The Captain America series, right?" In the drawing, her eyes are hooded under a domino mask. Steve chose to paint her in sedate watercolors standing on the stage with a mike in one hand, looking down at a shadowy crowd.
Steve blushes. "Yes."
"I'm a fan. Natasha Romanov."
"So am I. Nice to meet you."
Sam can see the little hearts, or something. He coughs a little.
Natasha tucks the painting under one arm and turns to walk across the room. She knocks on an adjoining door and a sleepy, bespectacled man with graying hair opens it. Sandalwood incense and the faint sound of chimes follow him out. He looks annoyed and Sam doesn't quite catch what Natasha whispers to him, but it sounds like a threat.
Sam cannot believe that this is the man responsible for the frenzied, double-pedal drum solos the band is famous for. His print shows him playing the drums, a hulking shadow of a frenetic beast looming behind him. He grins at Steve and shakes his hand.
Then they meet Stark, who is suave even in bare feet and jeans and earnestly complaining about “Bruce's meditation mojo and how it ruins vibes” when he walks into the room. He has a large rock glass in one hand and the latest smart phone in the other.
He squints at Steve's drawing and then says. "I like this suit. If I have one made, will you sue me?" Steve laughs and Stark brings out his phone to take their picture. He puts his mask on to do it though. The drawings charm them, or Steve charms them, or something because within minutes they are fed (again), offered expensive liquor and Stark starts to hit on Steve with a single-mindedness that borders on ferocious.
"If I weren't married, I'd hit on you. Wait. I am hitting on you.” A sly grin. "I wouldn't know what to do with all of you, though."
As they chat, Sam makes a mental note to ask Steve why he likes this band. They seem, well, blissfully normal. Stark may be a borderline alcoholic, and this Sam deduces from the speed by which the booze in his tumbler disappears. He tries not to watch Natasha do a strange, flexible yoga move that involves a handstand and a split, because that would downright rude.
If Steve blushed any more he'd be anemic.
Then they start to suit up. They don't do it in front of them. They disappear in stages. Stark, for example, walks back in dressed in a black bodysuit designed to hide nothing, deliberately flirting with Steve. Natasha reappears once, wearing a leather catsuit. Thor breezes by, but Sam can't see anything but the cape.
For a few minutes, they are alone in the big, plush room. It's only then that Sam notices that Steve's clutching one more painting.
The final member of the band makes an appearance fifteen minutes before show time. He stalks into the room wearing black Kevlar armor (with some shiny glitter things that Sam guesses is for the stage). His combat boots are so well made they barely squeak.
There's something dangling from his neck (a mask?) and he's got a pair of goggles in one hand. That isn't what holds Sam's attention though. The man has a shoulder to fingertip tattoo -- a sleeve that gives him the illusion of a metal hand. Then he realizes, belatedly, that it isn't a tattoo. It's some sort of prosthetic, one that continually grinds and whirrs as he moves. His waist-length hair hides his face from view, even when he pours a cup of coffee and drinks it like a dying man.
He turns to them with a dispassionate expression and Sam is struck by how ridiculously handsome this dude is, despite the greasy hair and the stubble. His eyes are a dark, almost ice-blue.
Steve goes silent and still, a warning Sam knows well. Sam reacts as quickly as he can by stepping into Steve's space, set to protect. It's been a couple of years since they were active and what is making Steve react this way . When he glances over, he sees that Steve is in shock, mouth agape, blue eyes cloudy.
"B-bucky?" He stutters.
"Who the hell is Bucky?" The guy says coldly.
He reaches up and fixes the muzzle onto his face. He slaps the goggles on, salutes them and leaves the room.