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Steve doesn’t know what to do.
Bucky has been sitting in the same position on the couch in a trance-like state, staring at a blank spot on the wall with no chance of letting up.
Steve called Sam earlier in a panic and explained what happened (Bucky had a rough night—every time he closed his eyes, he would be plagued with nightmares from his time as Winter Solider. He didn’t get a wink of sleep and gave up once the sun rose. He’s been silent ever since). Sam only told Steve to be patient and that Bucky would come out of his trance in time; however, Sam did warn that if he remained like that for more than twenty-four hours to give him a call. Steve assured that he would, thanked Sam, and hung up.
That phone conversation was five and a half hours ago and Steve is honestly out of options. He doesn’t know if there’s anything he can do or say to get Bucky to speak to him (and he’s tried—he really has), so all he’s left to do is wait.
Steve bites back a sigh, glancing up from his drawing of Bucky’s face, and over the man in question whose head he can only see the back of. He sets down his pencil and rises from the dining room table that he’s been hunched over all morning. He walks over to the radio and turns it on for some background music, listening as some pop song plays through the speakers:
Yea-ay
When I put this song on replay, I could listen to it all day;
I can listen to you all day—yeah you all day
Yea-a
When I put this song on replay, we can start all over again
And again
Yeah
When I put this song on replay. . .
Huffing out a breath, Steve moves to go back to his seat when he sees Bucky’s head perk up and turn slightly in the direction of the radio, the first movement he’s made all morning. Steve stands completely still, fearing that if he even breathes, Bucky will slip back into his trance. To his joy, Bucky shifts his body so he’s facing both the radio and Steve, regarding the Captain with a furrowed brow and confused expression.
“Did we—” Bucky cuts himself off, sounding uncertain and Steve gives him what he’s hoping is an encouraging look.
Bucky licks his lips. “Did we used to dance?”
Steve lets out a startled laugh. “Yeah—well, you used to and you were amazing. You had all of the girls in Brooklyn lining up for a dance with the infamous James Barnes.”
“Not you?” Bucky asks.
Steve shakes his head. “Nah—girls weren’t exactly lining up to dance with a guy they could step on.”
“But, I taught you.”
Steve nods. “Yeah, you did. You said that every fella needs to know how and insisted on teaching me a few moves.”
Bucky doesn’t respond in favor of staring at Steve and for the life of him, Steve can’t decipher the expression on his face. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth trying to decide on what he wants to do before his feet are moving and causing him to a stop in front of his friend and holding out his right hand.
“Would you care to dance?” Steve says a little nervously and silently kicking himself for acting spontaneously. Just because Bucky remembers them dancing, doesn’t mean that he actually wants to. He’s about to retract his question and retreat back to the dining table when Bucky blinks up at Steve and nods his head, raising his right hand and slipping it into Steve’s. He helps Bucky stand and slides his arms around Bucky’s waist while Bucky’s arms wind around his neck.
They start slow dancing to the song that's still playing in the background, wrapped around each other with Bucky resting his face in the crook of Steve’s neck and Steve’s nose buried in Bucky’s tangled hair. Steve mouths the lyrics to the song against the side of Bucky’s head, smiling when Bucky lets a contented sigh pass his lips. He pulls Bucky even closer and the pair continues swaying in perfect synchronization long after the music stops.