Shit.
How much of that conversation had Billy heard? Maybe, if he'd heard too much, Steve could say that he'd been talking about someone else. Someone Billy didn't know. That would work, right? If they hadn't used Billy's name specifically... had they? He cast his mind back as far as it would go, searching for Billy's name in the conversation at all but couldn't find it...
Maybe he was in the clear...
"Hey, Hargrove!" Steve's voice was too high and too loud and he had answered too quickly. "You're early today!"
"Smooth," Robin breathed in his ear as she passed behind him. She was leaving, Steve knew by the squeeze she gave his wrist, but before he could ask where she was going or why, Robin had already vanished, the soft swinging of the backroom door the only evidence that she had come or gone.
"I really know how to clear a room, don't I," Billy muttered, watching Robin's retreating form. His grin was toothy, and Steve could see that he was trying to find a space between Billy Before and Billy now, but his voice held was none of the malice of Billy before, and none of the playful mirth of Billy now. And Billy knew that he couldn't settle, Steve could tell by the little crease between his brows. Again, Steve was struck with the urge to smooth the wrinkle out with his fingers.
"She's not too fond of me," Billy observed more than asked, keeping his distance from the counter as he hovered somewhere between that and the door. He didn't have a stir stick in his mouth, Steve noticed. Was that why he was gnawing on the inside of his cheek? Because he had nothing else to work between his teeth?
"Yeah, well..." Steve chuckled, drying his hands on his apron as he glanced at the door through which Robin had vanished. "It's not personal, I promise."
"Yeah, it..." Billy sighed as he worked one of his hands through his hair and pulled roughly enough to jerk his own head to the side, "Yeah, it is."
"What? No, of course it's not. Robin is... she's..."
"I called her a dyke once," Billy interrupted, his hand still tangled in his own hair, his eyes glued to the floor. His voice had been so soft that, for a moment, Steve wondered if he'd heard correctly because certainly, he hadn't. No, no Billy had said something else. He'd said, literally, anything else.
I called her out of spite once.
I mauled her bike for fun.
I'll fall on your right, dunce.
I'm all for a hike, hun.
But none of it sounded right and he'd seen the way Billy's lips curled around the words as he spoke.
I called her a dyke once.
Simple as that. Steve's jaw clacked shut and tried to work this new information into what he was slowly learning about the man who had given it to him. But it was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. No matter how Steve shifted and twisted and rotated what he had been told, it just didn't fit into the picture he was building of Billy in his mind. But it did slot perfectly into the memory he had of the other man from years ago, seamlessly fitting into place alongside a hundred other horrible things he knew about Billy Hargrove from before he died.
And he tried. Tried to remember that Billy when he was alive was different from Billy now that he was resurrected. And to his credit, Steve had been able to pull this man away from the one who beat him half to death at the Byers' house, setting them apart as different entities. He was even able to pull apart this Billy from the one who pinned Lucas, untangling what he was coming to understand of Neil from what he was coming to understand of Billy.
But this... this was different. With Lucas and that whole night, Neil had been a looming threat. A promise of violence leveled against a frightened child who already knew the taste of his own blood. Steve had some understanding that if Neil somehow came to find out that Max, his precious Max, was hanging out with a black boy, Billy would bear the weight of that sin the same way he bore the weight of the rest of Neils's perceived transgressions. He was terrified that night, but fear is hard to work with. Fear doesn't feel productive. Not like anger does. Not like violence and fists and screaming does.
With Robin... there had been no threat. Neil didn't even know Robin. Wasn't connected to her in any way. Billy had simply been cruel for cruelty's sake.
Steve followed Billy's glance towards the door through which Robin had vanished and he had to root himself to the tile to keep from running after her. He had to ignore the way his heart shattered because he knew Robin was back there suffering. He knew she was huddled in on herself, unable to stop the rush of horrible memories as they crashed over her. He knew she was crumbling in on herself, her sobs breathy and weak like they always were on nights when nightmares kept them both awake.
His arms itched to hold her, to drag her onto his lap and stroke her hair, soothing her with gentle reassurances that she was safe, that he would never let anything hurt her ever again. His lips itched to press against her hair and her cheeks and her forehead. Her hands and her arms and her eyes and anything he could reach. His whole body itched to shower Robin with everything he had, anything she asked for, until she came back to herself and could stand again.
But, bubbling just below the roiling and sickening worry he felt for his friend, Steve was angry. So angry. It had taken Steve a long time to not want to avenge Lucas and whatever injuries Max had born as he navigated the labyrinth that Billy had built to avoid Neil and his violence. Tried to understand motivations and reasons and use fingers and teeth and words to try and separate the threads of Neil and Billy to try and find where one ended and the other began.
But here it was again. Fresh and acrid and nasty. Like when Billy had appeared, leaning and arrogant and eyeing him and Eddie up at the police station. He could feel his hands curling into fists at his sides and his jaw ache as he set it too hard.
But under the fear and the worry and the raw visceral anger, there was something... not softer... but less sharp. Because Steve was shocked. Shocked by the candidacy of the other man as he was by his general demeanor. If Steve listened closely, he could detect the edge of regret in his voice. And it was strange, Steve would be the first to admit it. Strange to see Billy nervous and uncertain, shifting his weight as though deciding if he wanted to flee or stay.
Plant your feet.
Billy didn't. He just kept fidgeting and shifting, shoving his hands into his pockets because he didn't know what else to do with his hands and casting a furtive glance in the direction of the swinging door as though waiting for Robin to storm back out before continuing, "Caught her making eyes at a girl in study hall. Asked her from a few rows down if she was... you know..." And he could see it too. He knew the study hall room at Hawkins High as well as he knew his own apartment. He could see Robin sitting at her desk, stealing glances at some faceless girl the same way she stole glances at Vicky when she was in the cafe. And he could see Billy, sprawled out to take up as much room as he could like he always did back then, watching Robin as she watched some other girl.
Billy glanced at Steve in the same fitful way he had been glancing at the door, his sharp teeth worrying at his lower lip. And that was strange too, the way Billy was looking at Steve and searching for... something. Support? Reproach? But Steve didn't feel any of those things, at least not directed at Billy for the moment, so he schooled his expression as much as he could, trying to keep the roiling in his stomach away.
He tried to focus on Robin, and what was best for her, because she had always been his first priority. Would always be his first priority. And it was strange that Robin had never told him what Billy had said, just made vague mention of general assholery. She never mentioned that he'd literally put her life in danger, even if it was only once and in passing. She'd kept that close to her heart and listened to Steve pine and gush and wonder about Billy and said nothing. She said nothing because she must have known how hard Steve was working to navigate his own complicated emotions for the other man and didn't want to add to them. Because while Robin was his first priority, Steve knew that he was Robin's first priority.
And so she had been shoving down whatever fear and anger and anxiety Billy Hargrove awoke in her in favor of keeping things as simple for Steve as possible.
Shame washed over Steve and he wanted to beat himself as badly as Billy had all those years ago. He wanted to slam himself into walls and break plates over his own head and bash his own face in. He hadn't seen it. He hadn't noticed a damn thing about Robin's pain and he wanted to kill himself over it. He'd assumed the tightness in her jaw was general mistrust... He'd assumed... he hadn't even asked. He hadn't bothered to find out what Robin's hesitation was about.
And he called himself her soulmate. He didn't even deserve to be called her friend.
Billy speaking again broke through Steve's misery.
"Makes sense why she doesn't want to be around me," he finished with a nod of his head, as though confirming something to himself. "The shit I pulled... it was dangerous for her. Could have gotten her hurt or worse..."
"So..." Steve wasn't sure if probing was the best idea on the face of the planet. He didn't have a very steady bead on Billy for the most part, but things were suddenly more complicated. Was Steve picking at this for his own edification? Or was he just poking at a bruise to hurt Billy? Or, was it something about the way Billy's shoulders slouched forward, hunching over to make him look smaller, or in the way his hands twitched and fidgetted in his pockets that spurred Steve on?
"So why'd you do it? If you knew it was dangerous?"
Billy shrugged like a kid who had been caught lying, his eyes riveted to his shoes. When he glanced up at Steve his brows were tight across his eyes. He met Steve's eyes for an instant and then flicked his gaze away again.
"Dunno," he finally huffed. "I can't... god, it feels so shitty, but I can't remember why I did it. I didn't even like the girl she was fawning over... can't even remember the chick's name right now..."
But Steve knew. Suddenly the faceless, nameless girl in the study hall had a face and a name that rolled off his tongue.
"Tammy Thompkins," he supplied softly.
Billy clicked his fingers and his deep, deep frown quirked up just a hair of a fraction.
"Tammy Thompkins," he repeated. "Yeah, it was Tammy Thompkins. I don't even know if I believed myself or not. Not like it matters, anyone breathes some type of way... small town like this..."
"People have ended up dead for less," Steve finished for Billy.
Silence stretched between them and Steve almost thought he heard Robin shifting around in the back. Could he hear her crying? Or was he making that sound up?
"Why are you telling me this," Steve asked suddenly, his voice harder and sharper than he wanted. Billy still didn't meet his eyes, instead watching intently as his toe dug into the tile beneath him. But he didn't shrug. Instead, his jaw worked, grinding his teeth together as if he was trying to hold something back. When he finally looked up, Billy had defaulted back to a petulant sneer for just a second, falling back into familiar anger. And it was only for the barest fraction of a heartbeat, but it was enough to send Steve back a half step.
But then Billy seemed to physically force the expression away, smoothing his brows with hard fingertips and grinding his lips back down into a deep, loud frown.
"Whatever..." Billy gestured to the space between himself and Steve, "Whatever this is... it's... nice." And that sent Steve back a whole step because it was nice, but there was something about Billy admitting it that made him feel... gooey inside. Just a little. Underneath all of the anger and confusion and shame, something softened again.
"And I'm not used to having nice things. I... I usually break them. Or they... you know... they get broken."
Neil.
"I don't want to... This shouldn't be... It's nice and..."
"Yeah," Steve finally breathed, forcing his fists to unclench the same way Billy had forced the aggression from his stance. He tried to recover the ground he'd gained if only to reassure Billy that he wasn't running. Billy mirrored him, moving close enough to the counter to rest his fingertips against the surface.
Billy still didn't meet Steve's eyes and Steve still didn't look away.
"I didn't want... anything..." Billy waved a hand in the air as though that meant anything, but Steve knew. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew, and supplied a soft, "yeah, I hate surprises. Thanks."
"She's obviously important to you..." Billy trailed off, flattening his hand against the counter. He didn't lean any weight on it, but Steve cocked his hip and rested his weight against the other side.
"She's my best friend," Steve confirmed with a nod, ignoring the glance and the small smile it earned from Billy. "Best I've ever had."
"Must be nice," Billy mused, leaning ever so slightly against his hand, allowing his gaze to drift to Steve's waist. And while Billy's gaze settling there wasn't unusual, this time it held none of its usual heat. No visible thrill or palpable desire. It wasn't a feeling like a hand settling on his extreme midriff with the promise of going lower. It was grounding. Like Billy needed to have his eyes on Steve to feel steady, but couldn't bear the weight of eye contact. And that kind of cracked Steve. It created a hairline fracture around his heart because all too suddenly, Steve knew why Billy had done what he'd done without needing to be told.
And, unfortunately, he also gained more insight into the type of man Neil was.
"Yeah," Steve answered, "yeah it is."
Billy still wasn't looking at him and his stance was still tight and small. Steve's heart cracked again and he cursed himself for being so soft because Billy had hurt Robin and Steve wanted to avenge her, but Billy was just as black and blue as she was, wasn't he? He was suffering too and Steve didn't want that either. Steve had this radical idea that suffering was entirely superfluous and super fucking stupid and didn't want anyone to have to do that. And suddenly he wanted to gather both Robin and Billy up in his arms and kiss them both all better. Hold them both so close that nothing could ever touch either of them ever again. He wanted to act as a meat shield for them both, which was so strange and so confusing because one had hurt the other but that had only happened because that one was so deply hurt that the only way to ease some of that hurt was to hurt someone else. Hurt them in the same way he'd been hurt.
Steve's mind ran in circles as Billy shifted, caught somewhere between running and staying, physically braced for Steve to lash out like he knew Neil used to. But Steve wasn't Neil. Never would be. Would put himself down first. But he also wasn't an all-forgiving saint who would just absolve everything without conflict.
So, Steve found a middle ground. He passed his hand through Billy's gaze, smoothing down the front of his apron, and then brought the hand and Billy's gaze with it up to his eyes where he scrubbed his forehead absently.
"I'm not the one who needs to hear this, you know," Steve finally said, forcing a smile he knew looked fake and painful, but Billy took the offering, gaze flickering briefly behind Steve's shoulder and then back to his eyes before he nodded.
"Think she'll listen?"
And Billy's voice was so small and so weak and so pained that Steve nearly crumbled. He nearly reached out for Billy's hand. He nearly launched himself over the counter and wrapped himself around Billy like armor.
But Robin beat him to it.
"Munson's coming over for dinner tonight," she called from the swinging door. She was leaning on the frame heavily, her gaze downcast, her arms crossed over her chest. Steve loved her. He loved her so god damned much. He wilted against the force of his affection, wondering at how senselessly, selflessly brave she was as she extended the invitation to Billy in Steve's stead.
"We've got room at the table if you want. Beats eating alone in an RV."
Her gaze flicked up to Steve's eyes and then found Billy's where she held them.
Steve could see her trembling. And as he glanced over at Billy, he could see him doing the same.
"Robbie," Steve began, but something in Robin's stance stopped him. It was guarded but pretending to be relaxed, quivering with either fear or anger, but it was resolute. She was stone, which was so unusual for her, and Steve stopped in the face of it. He marveled at her stillness, at her quiet, gentle bravery. Robin was always a bang, and never a whimper, but here, right now, in this moment, she was barely a whisper, and Steve had to strain to hear her.
"And if you want to apologize to me then, you can."
Steve watched as Billy watched Robin, looking for every inch of himself like prey. Whatever tension Steve had siphoned from the other man's body flooded back in full force. He kept his stance tight, his arms wound around his center like Robin's were. His whole body looked coiled and ready to run, but he kept himself planted on the spot as though he were afraid to do so. Like maybe he thought Robin's sight was based on movement, and if he held himself very still and kept very quiet she'd lose track of him. Maybe that was what the tremble in his limbs was from. Maybe he was shaking from the force of keeping himself still when Steve could see every cell in his body telling him to run. Maybe that was what had him tipping his chin up and to the side, some kind of primal show of submission, begging whomever Billy thought was threatening him to leave him alone because how could a creature who so willingly shows its throat be a threat?
Another crack split across Steve's heart because Steve wasn't a smart man, but he knew a learned behavior when he saw one.
Finally, after an eternity of silence, Billy finally nodded, glancing at Steve before he answered, "Yeah... yeah okay. I'll be there."
Steve's heart flipped itself inside out and he had no idea if it was anticipation or dread.
"Pizza gets there at 7," Robin went on, slowly releasing the grasp she had on her own ribcage. "If you show up early we're putting you to work setting up."
Another nod from the blonde as he mirrored Robin's stance, relaxing if only marginally. The silence between the two of them extended painfully and Steve just stood there, struck dumb by the tension still thick in the air. It made his skin break out in goosebumps and his jaw work so hard that he was worried his teeth would crack.
"Maybe getting in good with you will make Max a little softer on me," Billy finally offered, forcing himself to smile. Robin mirrored Billy this time, her smile small and thin, but there. She nodded through a huff of laughter and offered another olive branch in a breathy, "yeah... yeah maybe."
Another silence that made Steve's skin crawl spread out between the three of them, the hum of the cafe around them buzzing around in his skull unpleasantly. He broke it with a tentative and calculated risk.
"Max, man," he sighed, glancing at Billy as he scruffed himself. "I don't know... you didn't see how angry she was this morning..." Steve's voice was weak despite the strength he tried to put behind it. Robin, every god in heaven bless her, took his hint and scoffed, pushing off of the door frame to retake her position where she leaned heavily on the warm espresso machine.
"Yeah, evidently Steve is supposed to get you to stop buying her food," she eyed Billy as though gauging his reaction. From his peripheral, Steve could see Billy's grin grow shy but more genuine. He returned to leaning on the counter, his eyes still on the tiles beneath his feet.
"Like I have absolutely any control over what you do," Steve finished, relaxing his own stance as he returned to leaning against his hip.
"Well, good luck with that." There was a chuckle in Billy's voice that gave Steve a small glimmer of hope. "I'm not certain I have much control over what I do. Not sure what makes you so special."
"There's a lot that makes Steve special."
There was a bite to Robin's voice that made both men flinch, but below it, Steve glowed. A moment later, however, another blanket of silence fell over the three of them, nearly suffocating the faint sliver of goodwill that had begun to shine between them.
"You're -- ah..." Billy scruffed himself as he visibly searched for words. "You're one hell of a guard dog, aren't you Buckley?" And Steve watched as Robin looked caught between being offended and being flattered.
Please settle on flattered, Steve wordlessly begged her, glancing between the two. Just as she was about to settle on offended, and just as Steve watched her lips form whatever scathing rebuttal she was planning, Billy cut in.
"That's good." There was uncertainty in Billy's voice and Steve wondered if he also clocked the subtle shift in Robin's expression. "Softie like Steve needs a good line of defense."
"Steve can be his own line of defense," Robin bit back and Steve just wanted to beg her to let it go. Beg her to acknowledge that Billy was trying.
But Billy had it covered.
"Sure, when it comes to other people," he began, turning to face Robin more fully as though Steve had vanished altogether. "Hell, he went toe to toe with me to protect the kids."
"I'm right here," Steve hissed, reaching out to slap at Billy's shoulder. The other man didn't so much as glance in his direction, holding Robin's eye contact as he went on, "but when it comes to himself?" He clicked his tongue, slowly falling back into a familiar stance as Robin's expression settled into the softest ghost of a grin. "I dunno. I don't think he holds himself in high enough regard to go to bat for himself."
"You might be onto something, Hargrove," Robin agreed, wagging a finger at him as she spoke. "You don't even hear the way Steve talks about himself. If I hear him call himself dumb one more time, I swear to god."
The betrayal. Billy grinned another toothy, wolf-pup grin as Robin played into his brand new game and Steve hoped against hope that this wasn't a new regular thing for the two of them.
"Like, right here, guys," Steve insisted, tossing a rag at Robin that sailed passed her shoulder. Just like Billy, she didn't flinch.
"Pretty boy calls himself dumb?" Billy asked it like it was the most unbelievable thing on earth and Robin only nodded grimly.
"I mean... obviously I don't mean it," because even though they weren't acknowledging him, Steve felt the need to defend himself. "It's just a joke like... you know, a joke..."
"Does he know that he's talking about your best friend like that," he asked like he was asking for directions, but it made both Robin and Steve stop in their tracks because...
Well shit... Steve had never thought of it that way. And from the look on Robin's face, she hadn't either. But with it put like that... Steve would rip someone apart for hurting Robin... he'd come really close to it with Billy just a second ago. But how would he react if Robin was the one tearing herself down? Or Nancy? Or, god forbid, one of the kids. Steve chanced a look at Robin who had fixed Steve with a stare so incomprehensible that it made his stomach twist.
"If I had a best friend," and didn't that thought just shatter Steve right through his aching core, "I don't think I'd let anyone talk about them like that. Not even the best friend in question."
Another stretch of silence, no less heavy, but somehow less suffocating. Steve watched the other two, trying to decode the look that passed between them. It felt terribly important, between the way Robin clenched her jaw and how Billy nodded almost imperceptibly. But then the moment passed and whatever had to be communicated was and Robin broke the tension with a flippant, "so did you come here to reminisce or do you want something?"
Billy's laugh was a balm against Steve's frayed nerves as much as the tone of Robin's voice was. Neither was even close to what he was used to hearing from them, but it was a start.
"Actually, I was sent with orders from on high," Billy sighed, producing a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket. "Boss and some of the guys want a little something extra this morning, and I was sent to assist."
"Aww," Robin cooed as she began preparing the machine in front of her, "what a good little intern you are, Hargrove."
"And I'm pretty too," he shot right back, flashing her a smile that was all teeth and no bite but still made Steve's whole stomach flip over on itself. Robin only fixed Steve with a look and Steve wondered how he was supposed to control the behavior of a man that they had all agreed was uncontrollable.
"Just give Steve your money and shut up," Robin finally sighed, turning her full attention to her work and ending the conversation there.
For Steve's part, he tried to allow things to fall back into something like cordiality between himself and Billy. Something closer to what it was like when he'd first started coming to the cafe and they both stood around half-awkwardly and tried to make small talk. He ignored the glances Billy threw at him, busying himself instead with cleaning whatever he could get his hands on. He grinned when he accidentally caught Billy's eye. He even allowed Billy to run his fingers against the back of Steve's hand when he took his money, convincing himself that it was another grounding gesture and that it didn't send fireworks up his arms.
He had to, because if he didn't, if he glanced up at Billy when his fingers, baby-soft and devoid of all callouses courtesy of whatever brought him back, Steve worried that Billy would sink to his elbows against the counter below Steve and he wasn't ready for anyone, not even Robin, to see them play that game. He wasn't ready to share that side of Billy Hargrove. And something inside of him wondered if he every would be. But he pushed that wondering away and instead let a not-uncomfortable-but-not-quite-comfortable silence cover all of them, where in which Steve putzed around the kitchen, Billy shifted on his feet, and Robin worked quietly at the machine, running down the list of orders and occasionally hassling Billy for his handwriting.
"In what universe does this spell 'latte', Hargrove?" Steve recognized the playful derision in her voice, but watched Billy carefully, worried that he hadn't picked up on her cadence. And for a moment, he didn't, bristling and squaring his shoulders like he was going to fight.
And then, like magic, he didn't.
He deflated, glanced at Steve, and sneered back with the same mirthful lilt, "In the universe where I've never seen it written down before."
"You're in here like every day," Robin nearly threw her hands up. "How have you never seen that word?"
"I'm not exactly inspecting the menu," was the off-handed response, and it sounded so casual because Billy didn't inspect the menu. He knew what he wanted and he never strayed from that order. But it was the way his voice hit baritone that rattled Steve's bones and the sideways glance he threw Steve that stole exactly all of the air in his lungs.
No, it never was the menu that Billy was inspecting.
And Steve spent the rest of the time Billy was in the cafe decidedly not meeting Billy's eyes and definitely not watching him when Billy looked away. And not nearly getting caught staring when Billy flicked his eyes back at Steve.
"You know I owe you, right," Steve finally sighed once Billy's car roared back down the street, overburdened with drinks and pastries.
"Oh trust me, Stevie," Robin barked a laugh around her words. "Trust me, I am very aware of how much, how deeply, and for how long you owe me."
"You name it," Steve reinforced as he approached Robin, winding his arms back around her. "Lunch? Dinner? Spa day? I'll do the dishes for a whole month for this."
Robin made a face like she was considering the offer, her head lolling from one side to the other. Steve mimicked her expression and movements until she laughed, and she answered, "I'm reserving my favor to cash in at a later date."
Which sounded ominous as hell, but he still planted a noisy kiss on Robin's cheek. He would have gone for the other one, but she wrapped a rag around his face instead and pulled him away by the bunched fabric at the back of his head. Despite the way the inhalation reeked of stale water and slightly soured milk, and the way lint coated the inside of his mouth, Steve laughed and let Robin twist away from him with a hysterical shriek.
And he left that as well as the questions still swirling around his head unspoken. Because once a teacher had asked him if something he'd blurted needed to be said, right that second, or even by him. And Steve decided that these things didn't need to be said. Right that second. Or even by him. It was Robin's pain, and so Robin would lead the way.
They would talk about it. Absolutely they would. When nerves weren't so raw and they weren't so uncertain. Steve knew by the way she watched him for the rest of the shift that she wanted to tell him. And he wanted to know why she kept her silence when Silence and Robin weren't even on the same continent. He wanted to know why she didn't stop him when he pined (because yes, he pined for Billy Hargrove, even if he denied it out loud). He wanted to know who else knew about what Billy had done. He wanted to know what to do next to keep the tenuous peace he had found in the wake of the dead walking again.
But that was for another time. A time that didn't ache like the space behind Steve's heart, caught somewhere between a walking question mark and the only sure thing he'd ever known. A time that wasn't fragile like the smile that Sure Thing gave Steve on her way out the door at the end of her shift, leaving him in pensive silence for the remainder of the day.