Re: [Facility: Tony/Steve]
[Steve didn't know about the post-War narrative of men and their fragile masculinity. He didn't know there were stories, a strong cultural belief that men shouldn't cry. Soldiers cried. Or most did. Some were too shellshocked, numb with loss. But most cried. They were human and they suffered the same breadth of emotion as everyone else. It was because of this that it didn't occur to Steve to suck it up. He didn't openly weep, but only because he'd never been one to do that. He was a bottler by nature, taking too much upon himself.
But he cried now. The tears were quiet and he wiped at them with the back of his hand when he heard the air vibrate and gathered that Stark had arrived. His hands were slimy with blood, viscera, and strands of white, lab coat threading, starched and itchy on his bare palms. He had most of the bodies cleared from the basement, and his entire front showed the count of his endeavor, slick as it was too.
Steve turned, empty-handed, to look at Stark.] Hey. [His brokenness was open on his face and he didn't hide it. His eyebrows contracted hard.] I don't think it was Bucky.