Chapter Text
Steve woke up, knew something was terribly wrong and ran. It wasn't thought out and he had no real idea of what he expected to happen, because part of his brain still thought he might be somewhere in a HYDRA base in Europe.
But wasn't, not even close.
When Director Fury walked Steve back to the headquarters of the organization called SHIELD, Steve had gone along quietly, taking in the amazing changes of the city he thought he knew.
But his shock wore off as doctors ran a battery of tests and Fury's people grilled Steve on what he did, and did not, remember. They asked him questions about his life in a way that was distant and clinical. One researcher, Dr. Kane, was a nice, matronly woman with salt and pepper hair cropped as short as a Marine's, who asked Steve a lot of questions about how he felt. He generally answered by simply saying "confused." She chuckled each time and tapped a note into the pads they all carried around with them, which Steve figured out on his own was some kind of transmission device.
Dr. Kane studied the nurse who was taking a skin scraping from the inside of Steve's arm, then looked up at him. "I don't mean to pry, Captain, but we'd like to know exactly how you handled the death of Sgt. James Barnes?"
Steve stared at her, and for the first time she looked a little flustered. "We know you were close friends and grew up together, and his death was traumatic for you. I'm just trying to gauge your mental landscape, if you will."
"As far as I'm concerned, he died two days ago, ma'am. I'm not handling it very fucking well."
The entire room stopped and the nurse taking his sample stepped backwards, appalled. She glanced at Dr. Kane and then hurried out.
Dr. Kane was looking at him hard, her eyes flinty and betraying her intelligence. Steve kept his mouth shut by dent of pure willpower.
"My apologies, Captain. Somehow I don't think it has really sunk in with anyone, including me, that for you the last 70 years did not happen. For you it really was just yesterday."
Steve clenched his jaw. "Yes, ma'am."
She tucked her tablet under her arm. "We're done here for today. You're going with Dr. Lankes over there for a very long, very boring debriefing on the history of the 20th Century. By this time tomorrow, I sincerely doubt you'll be caught up," she said with a kind smile.
Steve nodded at her, too exhausted and broken to even feel gratitude.
The next six days were a crash course in gross generalizations of history: post WWII, the Nuclear Era, the Cold War, Civil Rights, political upheavals and the changing of presidents. Steve was not entirely sure how he felt about Ronald Regan being president. He had loved him as "the Gipper" in Knute Rockne, and even done a few military shorts with him during the USO run. Ronnie was a nice guy with a great sense of humor, but he was also a controversial former president who died in 2004.
That summed up a lot of Steve's feelings about everything.
It was hard to get mad about the stupidity of the Cold War when reading the speeches of the proud colored man, Dr. Martin Luther King. It seemed for every major step forward—the U.S. had landed men on the damn Moon—there was a huge hurdle of injustice and stupidity to overcome. Steve's analysis of the mess in Afghanistan consisted mostly of "What the hell?" The morning after watching footage of 9/11, when he saw two majestic towers he had never once envisioned in New York crumbling to dust, Steve shut himself in his room and cried. By the time he was done, curled up on his bunk in his small quarters, he was not entirely sure who or what he was crying for: 9/11, Bucky, all those wars, the Holocaust, himself.
When he emerged, there was still so much he did not know, but he was ready to move on. He told Fury he wanted quarters outside of the SHIELD facility, he wanted civilian clothes, and he wanted to know if he had any money anywhere.
Fury tried to stare him down, but he was no Colonel Phillips. Steve stood in his office with his arms folded and stared back at him.
"Fine. I'll get it arranged."
"Thank you." Steve relaxed.
"You should know: you were never declared dead." Fury leaned forward, setting his elbows on his desk.
"That's odd," Steve said, buying time. He was not sure what Fury was getting at, but he was sure that Fury was a man who always had a point.
Fury's lips twitched. "It was a political move. No one wanted to be the guy who killed Captain America, even on paper."
"Right." Steve nodded. He could see how that would happen, and all the political bickering which would go on over his death. It was just ridiculous enough to be true.
Fury huffed. "You have 70 years of back pay."
"WHAT?" Steve gawped before shutting his mouth.
"A special trust was set up by Howard Stark, SHIELD, and the Army. Stark's lawyers are the trustees, while the Army gets to keep 10% of the interest earned from the money sitting around in investment accounts. I'm getting too much fucking paperwork on my desk about transferring the monies over to you, now that you've shown up alive and kicking. What you need to know is that between the paycheck that was deposited regularly and the return interest on investments, you're a multi-millionaire."
Steve felt around and stumbled into a chair. "What?"
"Keep in mind that a million dollars won't buy what it did in 1945. Legal should have some documents for you to sign in a few days, it's a real mess because honestly there was no plan for ever transferring the funds over to you. Everyone thought you were dead."
"Everyone except Stark."
Fury squinted for a second. "You mean Howard? Yeah, he never gave up. I just assumed he was crazy. I wasn't wrong, but then neither was he."
Steve parsed the statement. "There's another Stark?"
Fury sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, the first time he had ever shown anything resembling an emotion around Steve. "Yes, there is. His son, Tony."
Steve's jaw dropped again. "Howard had a son?"
"You sound pretty surprised by that."
Steve mentally back-peddled quickly. "Director Fury, as I seem to have to remind you people every day, 1945 was last week for me. Last I knew, Howard was enjoying being a bachelor. He enjoyed it a lot," he stressed.
Fury grinned. "He enjoyed being a bachelor long after he got married."
Steve cringed, trying not to think about what that implied. "And his son?"
"Enjoys being a bachelor. A lot." Fury frowned again. "I'll get you a brief on Tony Stark, he's hard to explain without sounding like a tabloid. Especially since…I'll send you the briefing." Fury waved the comment off. "The point of this conversation is that you don't have to worry about money, not now, and not for the rest of your life. I don't know your current net worth, but it's well over 20 million, last I checked."
"Oh my GOD."
Fury just stared at him, unimpressed.
"Sir, my annual pay as a captain was $2,400 dollars. I got a rent allowance of $45 I never used. I thought I was rich. My art career never topped $1,500 a year. Now you're telling me I'm richer than Howard Stark? Or as rich as he was…I suppose his son is worth a lot more than I am?"
"Tony Stark is one of the top ten billionaires in the world."
Steve felt his brain shutting down at the word "billionaire." He rubbed his temples.
"Get out of here, Rogers, and have your existential financial crisis somewhere else. Go see Agent Xu about getting access to your money. She'll figure out everything about finding you an apartment of your own as well. If I need you, I'll find you."
Steve stood up, saluted, and walked out the room at least 20 million dollars richer than when he entered. The future was a crazy, crazy world.