Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Steve

It was one of those days where literally everyone was either busy or not around. Soda was off somewhere (he wouldn’t tell me where), Dally was chilling in the cooler, of course, Superman was picking up an extra shift, TwoBit was probably somewhere..., even Johnny and the kid were off at the lot doing Lord knows what. It was like a ghost town at the Curtis house.

So, naturally, Steve found himself going to the edge of town. He picked up some anonymous clothes from a store nearbye, not having the strength nor the tolerance that day to put up with his "dad". So going to his house was out of the question. He got a pair of baggy trousers, a black t-shirt, a cap and sunglasses. He wore them and disguised himself so well, his own mother couldn't even recognize him.

Steve walked for a good ten minutes and strolled to one of the street corners taken up by two other guys in similar clothing accustomed with Steve and a girl with blonde hair and pink streaks.

The girl turned, and as Steve walked towards them, he caught her eye. "Aye guys! It's Dodger," she raised a brow and laughed.

The other guys turned and yelled in greeting.

The raven head was the first to stand up. He slapped Steve's back, "Welcome back Dodger."

"Good to be back, Hopps." Dodger (Steve) replied heartily.

The young red head, gray eyed boy, who reminded Steve an awful lot of TwoBit, grinned saying,"Nice to have you back, man."

"Yeah, it's nice to see you haven't forgotten about us." The blonde girl added.

"I can never forget 'bout this place." Steve said. "Sides it gets kinda weird not having you and Happy Feet on my ear every second." Dodger grinned, "Sometimes the light can miss it's flies."

"HEY!" The two younger ones protested.

Steve blinked, "Hey what?" Steve asked innocently.

"Hey Twinkle Toes, that's what!" The red headed boy, Happy Feet, grinned. Steve threw an arm around the youngest and scruffed the kid's hair. Twinkle Toes was another nickname they called him at times. The little shit came up with that one.

They all had nicknames for each other. No one knew their real names, and that's because they all had different lives. They didn't want Tulsa and its Greaser/Soc shit to ruin their little group. Steve never told anyone from his gang of these guys. Not even Soda (who he considered a brother.)

But when you have something like Steve had, you would do whatever it takes to keep it safe, right? Even if it means keeping a secret. You dig?

So the foursome agreed they would just give each other nicknames. They would do what they do for hours on end, then sooner or later, out of pure exhaustion and satisfaction, they would trudge through the roads or grass or wherever the hell they came from and return to their homes the next day. Or even stay at the corner. Steve doesn't know what they do, because he never stayed too long to find out. They all came to their corner every so often. Steve was the rarest visitor, so it was nice for them all to have the rest of the day together.

What would they do, you ask?

Well...it's something Steve never told anyone. And he never plans on telling anyone anytime soon.

It's a secret he'll take to his grave.

Steve comes here to dance...ish.

Shit, yes. He comes here to fucking dance.

What are you gonna laugh, jackass?

Steve's been doing it since he was eight. It was when his life wasn’t so shitty, and his mom was home, and his dad had an actual job and kept the drinking to a minimum, and he had his sister... He would waltz with his mom to old records playing at their old house, before he moved to Tulsa when he turned ten. Then... it all went to hell from there, let’s just say that. He found theses guys when he was twelve.

Just the four of them. Most of the time it was a "friendly" competition against the other groups. Winners get a bunch of money too, so that's always a bonus. And they almost always win. They were known the Cornerstreet Gang.

But believe it not, Steve wasn't there for the money.

Steve Randle truly, actually liked- no loved to dance.

Steve Randle.

Likes to dance.

You see why he won't tell.

He loved it almost as much as he loved cars and fixing them. Even more at times.

What can he say, he loves the rush of it.

The bumping and thudding of the rhythm. The literal flying as the song goes under his feet and gripped his arms moving them in such a fashion that he can't even put into words. The sound of the beat hitting his eardrums repetitively making its point known. The instruments and lyrics combining together making a perfect harmony for him to move, giving him a deep rush of adrenaline that he can't begin to fathom why anyone would do drugs.

But he steered clear from school dances or dancing in front of people at all. Not that he would go to a school dance anyway, it's crap. As well as places like Buck's or the Dingo or where people dance. Too afraid he'll get too ahead of himself. Better to stay away without risking the sure to be questions of why and how he could dance.

Not that he would be embarrassed. Steve Randle doesn't do embarrassment.

"Actually," the black haired boy, Hopps, cut through his thoughts. "You came at the perfect time, Candypop got us a date with the guys cross town."

Candypop smirked, "Why do you look so surprised? I'm the only one that gets us these events." She was putting her hair in a ponytail and started to head where Steve would assume is downtown.

"See ya guys!" She yelled waving them over. Candy has a lot of energy. Steve bets that she and Soda would be great friends.

"Hell yeah. Finally." Hopps said and sauntered down the street right after her.

"Let's go, man." Happy Feet urged. "It's been a long time since we all did this together." He too followed Candypop.

"Too long." Steve agreed.

If he wants to do it, he's gonna fucking do it.

Gotta Be Tuff And Cold rule be damned.

It had been way to long.

Steve's gonna fix that.

Chapter Text

Dally

Dally hovered over the antique in front of him, like a ghost.

Black and smooth. He could see his reflection on the board of its polished wood. The white keys calling almost in an enchanting way.

He looked around the church basement slowly. Everyone had left. He was alone.

The guests left first. As well as some family friends after that. The funeral was a small gathering. It was simple and short. He knew Mr and Mrs. Curtis would have liked it. But before the guests could leave, Dally left too. It was all too much. He didn’t expect to stay long. Dally knew he disappointed the gang, he could tell. He couldn't deal with it. He couldn't even comfort his friends (not even Johnny) when they cried, because he didn't know how. So he left, more like ran, trying to ignore the painful stinging in his eyes, leading him to rub them until they were red.

Coward.

Curtis' have always considered him as family. That’s what they said anyway.

Oh yeah? What kind of fucked up "family" can't even stay for the funeral of your friends’ dead parents.

A lousy one, that's for sure.

He came back though, red-eyed and with his cheeks pathetically flushed hours later. But by then everyone had gone home, and it was a dark evening, almost morning. (Damn his erratic sleeping schedule.) The only thing that lit up the room, was the moon shining through the window, though it wasn't much. That was alright. Dally didn't need much light.

He found himself wandering through the belongings the couple owned. Before he found the piano he was staring at.

It had belonged to Mrs. Curtis. Dallas had found himself countless times hearing the magical music. At times he would be sitting on the arm of the couch pretending to hear Steve's boasts about how he chased away four Socs with a busted bottle, but really his ears belonged exclusively to the soft lull of the music Mrs. Curtis played.

He stared at it wistfully, and before he knew it he was sitting on the leather chair, hands on his lap as if waiting for something to happen.

He looked at the marble white keys, and his fingers grazed the surface of it like it was a ghost.

He had never touched a piano like this since New York. When his mother was still around to teach him. Never had he played a song for ten years. (Mrs. Curtis caught him once staring and offered him a try. He vehemently refused.) Never had he felt the smooth keys beneath his fingers for so long. Dallas Winston wouldn't- couldn't be caught dead playing such a delicate instrument...

He tapped it.

He flinched his hand back almost immediately.

It made a noise, no a sound.

It was like a beggining to a story. It was pretty, Dally had to admit.

He hesitated, Fuck, what the hell am I doing? This was wrong. It was wrong to use such a thing that belonged to someone else. Oh, but the temptation was killing him.

He looked at it nervously, as if it would screech or break if he put his dangerous hands on the pretty piece.

Dally tapped it again. This time on a higher note, continuing the story. He did it again, but this time with confidence. As he did the deep measure.

He breathed in, almost as if preparing himself for a great battle. He leaned back then he pushed himself forward, his fingers landed on the keys as if taken by a magnet.

And he flew.

His hands flew over the keys taping and landing delicately as he spelled out the deep music of Pale Blue Eyes that filled the darkroom bringing it to life. His mother played that to him. “It reminds me of you, Dally,” she had said.

Dallas rubbed his eyes again and continued playing.

The hood had no need for music sheets as he knew the song by heart. To Dallas, playing the piano was like riding a bike. He could never forget how to play. His blue iced eyes melted, and he let them close, and he let himself succumb to the music, and he swayed as he played.

It was a well-kept secret that Dally loved to play the piano. In fact, it was so well guarded that the only person that knew was his mother, who was long-dead now.

He never plans on telling anyone. They probably wouldn't understand. He doubts they would make fun of him, but that doesn't mean everyone in Tulsa won't start yelling and gossiping, "Dallas Winston plays the piano! What a pussy!" He preferred to be known as they know him now. Not even Johnny, who might understand on some level, could be told of this secret. This was something only Dally could know. It was just best that way.

If someone were to listen (but if they were and sneaking up on him, he would personally take care of them) it would be clear that Dally had done this a dozen times before. But that was years ago, a different life.

All thoughts of the recent deaths of his family receded as he let the music wash over him.

The tunes he played were sometimes light and airy while others were darker toned and sad. It was a surprising balm to his hurt heart.

Unbeknownst to him, a certain dark-eyed Greaser came back as well. Johnny sat in the shadows between the big door and the corner wall. If anyone asked he would tell them it was not his intention to sit and listen. Truth be told Johnny Cade had been on his way to stay in the room for a while. Thinking that if he stayed around something that reminded him of the Curtis parents he might not feel so much pain of them being gone.

Now to say that Johnny was shocked when he walked in at the sight laid before him, he would have been like saying hell was just hot, a vast understatement. The instant his tired and upset mind registered what he was seeing he froze. All the nervousness fled from him like a cat from water. Johnny wasn't ready for something like this. He stood in the doorway observing the unbelievable spectacle before him. His senses came to him then and he ducked away quietly and sat behind the huge door, he peaked out to the side to look.

Dally had his eyes closed and head bowed almost as if he were praying. And perhaps he was, Johnny didn't know. Five minutes ago he would've doubted that Dally would pray on a day like this, but then again he would've doubted that Dally would ever play the piano, and yet here they were.

Dally playing the piano was something he had never thought possible and knew instinctively it was a rare sight.

Johnny closed his puffy red eyes and let the notes of the piece relax his mind. It took him only a moment to recognize Presley's 'Can't Help Falling In Love,' one of Johnny's favorites. Dally played it beautifully. The shy Greaser was one of the few in Tulsa who could say he knew the tuff Greaser well, but this was new.

This was a side to his friend he had never seen. He wasn't sure how he felt about this revelation. On one hand, he knew everyone had their secrets, and this was obviously one of Dally's. Listening it was clear that the hood let himself be vulnerable while he played, and so he hid that part of himself. Johnny knew better than to feel hurt by the secret. He knew what it was like to have something to keep to yourself.

He sighed. He felt like he was intruding on this private piece of his friends, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. Part of it was exhausting but a larger part was he wanted to listen to Dally's playing.

It was nice seeing his walls dropped and it was refreshing to see beneath his carefully constructed mask. The moonlight shone through the window and illuminated Dally's face, making it glow. Johnny watched in awe as the blonde's mouth twitched upwards forming the semblance of a smile.

Johnny smiled widely as he now thought of it. Perhaps Johnny was not the only one who needed the magic music.