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Steve wasn't exactly a wanted member of the group.
That was clear. He may have been Soda's best friend, but at the end of the day he was more of a tag along above all else. The Curtis brothers had each other, Johnny and Dally were practically siblings, and Two-Bit was always wanted where he went.
But Steve?
He'd had a temper growing up, that much was true. He'd been aggressive since his mother had died and his father decided to start drinking. He'd beat up practically everyone, from Greasers, to Socs, even teachers weren't safe.
Steve wasn't a part of the group, or at least not at heart. He was more of an asshole that could sometimes be tolerated. He wasn't wanted, and frankly the gang could survive without him. Like Two-Bit said, they could survive without anyone but Johnny. Of course, this was an understatement. What he meant was, they couldn't survive with anyone but Steve. Even though, Steve was just as much a kid as Johnny and the only difference was that Johnny couldn't take it. Steve could. He could take so much it was scary.
These are five times this was proven true, and one time it wasn't.
1.
Today, work had been pretty good. Steve had gotten to work on some nice cars, mainly owned by Socs. They had beautiful detailing and paint jobs, and the engines themselves were in great shape considering what Socs got themselves into.
After this particularly exciting day, it came to no surprise that when Steve had gotten to the Curtis house he wanted to talk about these interesting cars. He'd been excited to all day, since Soda had taken the day off to get some well deserved rest.
When he entered, no one was really doing too much. Darry was in his chair, a newspaper in his hand. Pony was sitting on the floor, doing his homework on the living room table. Soda was laying on the couch, half asleep. And Johnny was seated at the kitchen table, drawing something in a notebook that Pony had gifted him.
"Man, y'all won't believe the day I had! I got to work on some real nice cars, and the Socs I did it for tipped, and geez those paint jobs and details-"
"Steve. Soda's trying to rest."
Before Steve could keep rambling, Darry had cut him off with his sharp tone. It wasn't too unnerving all things considered, as Darry had never truly liked Steve, ever since he'd called Darry an idiot once. And neither did Pony, or maybe even Johnny. The only one who liked Steve was Soda, and Soda didn't even seem to register. He just closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
"I'll just go." No one seemed to take notice how angry and bitter his voice sounded, not even watching as Randle walked out of the house. He felt his eyes sting, as if tears threatened to fall. But instead of crying on his best friends front porch, he grabbed a nearby brick and threw it onto the road with all his might.
It smashed, letting out a loud noise that vibrated throughout the neighborhood. It didn't end there though, as he kept going. He kicked it, punched it, launched it down, and kept going until all that was left of the brick was a pile of leftover crumbs in the middle of the road.
All the pain then came rushing back. His breath burned, his knuckles were bleeding, and from how his body felt, there was most likely a bruise forming on his foot. It wasn't the worst pain he'd ever been in, but it was somewhere up on the podium. His eyes threatened to leak over again, but instead he just let out a string of curses before marching over to whichever direction had the least amount of people.
A few hours later, Dally ran over the pile and punctured Tim's tires. The whole gang had to help him replace them, but it took longer than usual. It took them a few hours to realize it was because Steve wasn't there, and even then no one went out looking for him because why would they? He was an outcast, and frankly just alright by himself.
2.
Today was Steve's birthday. He was finally turning 17, and one year away from finally being able to leave home and get away from his shitty dad. Overall, he was absolutely ecstatic about finally being 17.
So he didn't think it would be too much to expect at least someone saying something when he walked into the Curtis household. The entire gang was over, and considering the fact that Two-Bit had gotten an entire party for his, a simple 'happy birthday' didn't seem like a lot to ask.
Instead, no one seemed to even notice him whatsoever. Everyone was way more preoccupied with a movie playing over the TV. It was an action movie, and Pony especially seemed to like it.
"Hey Two," Steve slightly nudged Two-bit with his foot, hoping that at the very least he'd remember. Instead, Two just nodded and went back to watching the movie. It hasn't even clicked with him for barely a second that Steve was wearing the necklace his mother used to wear, or that his hair was nicer. A movie mattered more.
Steve decided to try this another member, so he stood up and went over to Soda's side. He flicked Soda's arm a few times, accompanied with a "Soda?". Soda ignored him, flipping him off after Steve did it a little bit more. "Steve c'mon we're watching a movie."
He just gave up, rushing out of the Curtis house and slamming the door. He didn't stop running, as he felt his breath go sharp and his head felt dizzy. Bile seemed to fill at the back of his throat, and before he knew it he was throwing up by the side of the road.
"F-fuck." He let himself slump down, sitting a little farther away from where he'd just regurgitated his last couple meals. Everything felt spotty, and his lungs felt like they were collapsing. "Fuck!"
Swears rushed out of his mouth, as he panted. He could taste vomit coming back up his throat, but he didn't care. He yelled, truly at no one in particular. Steve didn't cry, he wasn't a fucking pussy. He was 17, and had been acting like it since he was 5. He didn't get sad, he got mad. In the most violent way he ever could.
No one noticed that it was Steve's birthday until Darry checked the calendar a week later and remembered that Steve had been born on that day. No special markings were on the day or anything, Darry had just seemed to be able to remember that. Still, no one regarded it. When Steve had gone into work the day after Darry had figured it out, Soda just acted the slightest bit more interested in the car facts that Steve barely spewed.
3.
It had been a mean rumble. Steve had always liked rumbles. They got out his anger, and left the other side of him. The one that cared, felt, the one that wasn't just rage spewed into a single person. After a fight, Steve was practically a different person. A better person, in his opinion. At least, that's usually what people told him.
"Man, that was one hell of a rumble!"
Two-Bit practically shouted the words out, leading the group back into the Curtis household. Darry was helping in Soda, who'd ended up twisting his ankle. Pony and Dally were helping in a hurt Johnny. He'd gotten punched right in the nose, and it was bleeding like hell.
Meanwhile, Steve followed far behind in the back. He'd gotten a nasty gash on his arm after one of Shepard's gang had decided to play dirty and pull a knife on him. It wasn't too bad, but it was long and deep enough to require some stitches. It didn't help that his vision was swimming, the floor looking like it was slightly moving with each step.
"Two, get the med kit. Pony, grab a towel." Darry was ordering everyone around, directing them on where to go and what they needed to do. It was always a line in receiving med car. Usually it went youngest, then the most injured, and then the helpers got their care last. Being that there was a gash in Steve's arm, he assumed he'd get help at least second or third tonight.
"Soda, do you think this scar makes me look tough?" The innocence had come out, making his voice sound soft and sweet. It was a stark contrast to the usual aggression that Steve's voice carried. He didn't look mad. He didn't sound mad. He was once again that same scared kid that had watched his mother die, and was watching his own father slowly do the same. He was the kid who had gotten put in the hospital at age 9 because he couldn't stop crying over how much his bruises hurt.
But Soda didn't know that. Nor did anyone else.
"Steve, not the time." His voice wasn't particularly angry by any means, but something about it sounded so angry. As if Steve even speaking was an inconvenience. As if his presence is a bother. And for some fucked up reason, Steve flinched
He doesn't know why. Maybe it's because it reminds him of when his father used to make him feel so very small. Maybe it's because that's how his mother used to be before she killed herself. Or maybe it's because Steve oh-so relies on Soda and now his only support is leaving him in the dust.
Either way, he keeps his mouth shut. Angry Steve isn't here to lash out or yell. Nice Steve is here, and he keeps his mouth shut real good and doesn't cause problems for anyone else because it really isn't worth their time.
He isn't going to cry though. That's for people who don't lash out and destroy everything they come in contact. That's for people who don't bully their friends kid brother (but even then he doesn't the kid is dramatic), for people who have a good family, for people who attended their mothers funeral instead of just nodding at the grave and then leaving.
Steve got his medical care last, as everyone seemed to forget about him. He was barely conscious, mumbling random shit. Darry had sewed him up, and then went back to fussing about his brothers. It was fine, they were his brothers after all. But no one seemed to notice how after Steve was barely able to stand and looked pale. Because he would be fine in the end. Steve Randle was tough. He'd live.
4.
Today Steve had gotten kicked out of the house yet again. There wasn't a particular reason, more just because his father had drunk himself stupid yet again. Luckily, this time he hadn't beaten him too hard. Only just a blood nose, and it had stopped after a few minutes.
He walked into the Curtis household. Dally was the only one home at the moment, which wasn't a big surprise. Steve and Dally were friends, or at least according to Steve. Dally could be a bit of a wild card. He could go from caring to ignorant in a matter of seconds, and there was no predicting him.
Today though, he didn't seem to be in the best mood.
"Glory, Randle do you ever leave this house alone? You're always here." His tone was sharp and cutting. He knew what he was doing. He knew that Steve had always been worried about overstaying his welcome, especially with the Curtis. And he also knew that the second anyone pointed it out, Steve would become absolutely livid.
"You're one to fucking talk. I don't see you leaving bitchface." That hot anger that Mr. Randle had was apparent in Steve's voice all to much. It scared him. "Leave me the fuck alone Winston. You know exactly why I'm even here that often."
"Yeah, I fucking do. Because you're way too much of a pussy to just beat up your old man." Dally didn't seem to want to stop though, as he muttered under his breath, "baby."
In that one moment, all Steve saw was red. He tackled Dally in a matter of seconds, pinning him down. He didn't seem to have as much power as usual though. Dally immediately flipped him over, slugging him with more force than usual. Steve tried to move, to flail out of Dally's grasp, but it was no use. He felt his head getting repeatedly punched, each one harder than the last.
If it had been anyone else, then Dally would have stopped when he saw the blood from Steve's nose pooling in the back of his throat. But he wasn't anyone else, and Dally seemed to give it no regard. He only let go of Randle when his fists started cracking, stepping off of him and allowing Steve to finally cough out the blood that had pooled in his stomach. He felt it all coming out, and before he knew it he was vomiting on the Curtis' floor. He felt himself growing dizzy, and before he knew it he was out cold.
Dally eventually left the house, leaving Steve lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood and stomach contents. Eventually, Soda found him after coming home from a shift. He woke him up and helped him clean up the mess on the floor. But never once did he was who had done it or of he was ok. Because Steve was fine. He could handle it. He wasn't a baby.
5.
It was a warm summer evening. The gang was sitting around the table, enjoying some chicken with a side of mashed potatoes. The banter was eccentric as usual, with a mix between arguments and jokes mashed up with storytimes.
"You know Darry, you ought'a loosen up. People will start thinking your screws are tight!" Two-Bit cackled at his joke, receiving a small smile from Darry paired with a middle finger. Two was practically devouring the meal, since he hadn't had one in days. His mother hadn't been able to take up too many shifts, so he gave his meals to his little sister.
"Two, keep these jokes coming and I'll never tire!" Soda's usual energy was at an all time high. He'd always been good, fun company and this night was no different. The DX had been exhausting as of late, so tonight he was especially hungry.
Dally simply rolled his eyes, grabbing a napkin and throwing it right at Soda's face. Johnny slightly chuckled at the sight a bit under his breath, and Pony tried his best not to cackle. Soda himself didn't seem to mind too much, throwing the paper back at Dally. "Jesus Soda, why are you pelting me for no reason?"
"Knock it off you two," Darry pointed his fork at the two, grabbing the rolled up ball of napkin and throwing it over to the trash can. Soda seemed to be so exasperated at the accusation, but Dally simply shrugged and went back to his chicken.
The group overall seemed to be having a fun, humorous evening. Jokes were being tossed around, napkins were thrown, and there was just a sense of good cheer. At least, from most of the group.
At the very edge of the table was Steve Randle. He'd been more quiet this evening, but no one seemed to notice too much. His arm was wrapped around his chest, and he looked pale. His face was red and flushed, droplets of sweat dripping down like rainfall from a mountain. He was panting, as if he couldn't breathe, and he merely picked at his food. The idea seemed to make him nauseous, and he tried his best not gag.
"Randle? Darry's asking you a question dumbass."
Dally's voice seemed to break Steve out of his trance, and the boy looked up to see Darry looking down at him. "I said, could you pass Pony the potatoes? Jesus, I said it five times." Steve felt his stomach churn as he shakily picked up the glass tray and tried to hand it to Pony. Instead, it slipped, smashing against the floor. It didn't help that it was Mrs. Curtis' tray.
"Steve, get the fuck out of our house."
Soda's voice was ice cold. He was staring daggers straight into Steve's soul, as if they two weren't usually the best of friends. He looked so unbelievably angry. It didn't suit him whatsoever.
"I-"
"Steve. Go."
Everyone was staring now, all of them looking at the very least annoyed. Steve just stood up shakily, and wobbled out of the Curtis household. The cold air nipped at his face, and he felt so nauseous. Nonetheless, he kept walking. He had no clue where he was going, but he couldn't go to anyone else's home. He could go to his own house, but his father had kicked him out of there earlier and he didn't want to test his luck. So he started the long trek to the lot.
It was a chilly night, definitely not helping his condition. He knew he was sick, it had been apparent since he'd woken up. Most likely the flu, given that he was both nauseous and coughing up phlegm at the same time. He wasn't able to stay home from school, since his dad would have beaten his ass, so he'd gone anyway.
Today was miserable, and according to the events so far, it would continue to be so. He reached the lot, the light colored mattress easily in sight. it was a bit dirty, but he'd survive. Conditions had been worse for him multiple times, so on all accounts this was an easy evening.
He felt his body temperature rising, fluctuations of hot and cold hitting him all at once in waves. Painful coughs seemed to rack his body, and he felt out of breath. But he was still angry. Angry because his body had betrayed him and he'd just lost one of the only homes he would ever be wanted in. The thoughts circled his brain as he fell into a feverish sleep.
Johnny had found him the next day. He dragged Steve back to his front door and left with his dad. By then, his father had been mostly sobered up, so Steve wasn't immediately bombarded. But nonetheless, he'd been plagued for at least a month with the symptoms. He'd still been at school and work, but it took Soda two weeks to forgive him and by then no one seemed to truly notice how Steve still had to hold onto beams for support and couldn't breathe sometimes. Because he'd be fine. He was old enough, after all.
+1
It had been an especially long shift at the DX. There'd been a lot more cars than usual, which was most likely because of Soda's charm and less because they wanted Steve working on their car. But, business was business. The more people there, the more he got paid and the less he had to rely on the Curtis.
That particular evening, Steve wasn't heading to the Curtis household. After his run-in with Dally, he hadn't come back a single night. Of course, his dad still kicked him out, but rather than go to Soda's house he went to the lot or the park and slept there for the night. It wasn't a warm bed, but it was a hell of a lot better than being slugged by his father yet another night.
Speaking of his father, he hadn't heard him when he entered the house. 'Old man probably drunk himself stupid again' Steve thought as he walked over to the nearby living room. His father was laying in a chair, passed out after what seemed like another drinking session. Something was off though.
His father was deadly still.
With slow, shaky steps, he walked over to his father's body. At first, the shakes were gentle and slow. But with each second of unresponsiveness they grew more frantic and aggressive.
"Wake the fuck up!" Steve's anger was shining through again. He kept shaking his fathers lifeless body, swearing loudly. He felt his breath start hitching, as if he was going to cry. Cry. He was about to fucking cry over his dead abusive dad.
Fuck no.
Steve practically bolted out of the house, running to who knows where. He didn't exactly have somewhere to go. He couldn't go home, if he saw his father's body again he'd be sick. But the Curtis' didn't want him. None of the gang did. So he ran to the only place he knew he could. He ran to the lot.
The lot looked the same as always. The same dirty mattress, the same tree, the same piles of trash that collected after the Socs came from their late night visits. It looked so serene, so maybe that's why Steve felt out of place.
He dashed around, looking for something he'd hidden a while ago that he thought he'd never use. After searching for what seemed like hours, he'd found it. A gun.
Dally had given it to him when he'd first learned that Steve's father kept kicking him out. Told him to only use it if he had to, and to not do something stupid with it. But tonight, Steve was going to break rule 2.
As he grabbed the gun and held it up to himself, he heard the sounds of footsteps behind him. Multiple.
"Steve?"
Words couldn't describe how soft and sensitive Johnny's voice sounded in that moment. He sounded like he was about to start sobbing, as if his world was about to fall apart right now at this exact moment and Steve was the last person left.
Steve turned around, gun still in hand, and saw the rest of the gang. And as soon as he did, he wished he didn't.
Soda was sobbing his eyes out, holding onto Darry who just looked at him with the same cold eyes he always had. Johnny looked to be on the verge, standing next to a scared looking Pony and a pissed off Dally. Two-Bit was the hardest to look at. Never in all the time that Steve knew Two-Bit had he ever seen him cry. But right now, Two was stifling sobs into his hands.
"Put the gun down Steve." Darry's same ice cold voice rang out, but this time it had a slight quiver. Nonetheless, his face looked completely monotone. It reminded him a lot of his mother's resting face.
"No," Steve's anger was back, his voice beginning to spike up again. "Fuck, are you serious?! The gang doesn't need me, and it never has! You all are motherfuckers, all of you! Where were you when I was sick as a dog in the lot?! When I fucked up my foot destroying a brick?!" He was screaming at the point, letting out all the anger he could muster out. And now what was left was the other Steve.
"My dad's dead ... I don't have anything left, f-fuck what am I gonna do?" Sobs wracked his body, and at that point he dropped the gun. He couldn't breathe. His lungs burned, the breath's coming in labored and tired.
The only thing he remembered after that was falling down and the sounds of voices around him. After that, everything went dark.
".....Two, back....."
"Is he....."
"Shush Dally....."
When Steve felt himself come to, he could hear the sounds of voices from all around him. He could barely make it out, but from what he could hear there was bickering.
"He's finally waking up!"
The loud shout made him flinch, but he opened his eyes nonetheless. The first thing he saw was Pony, who was staring down at him with a look of hope on his face. "Thank God, we thought you'd never wake up Steve!"
He saw someone else run in, practically shoving Pony out of the way. On closer inspection, he noticed that it was Darry. "Glory, Steve never do that again." His voice lacked its usual sharp sound, being replaced with a sweet tone. He'd only ever heard Darry use that with his brothers.
"Darry, what happened?"
"You almost blew up Steve. Grabbed a gun from the lot and tried to shoot yourself. Two-Bit had to carry you back home, and that's when we found out how bad of a condition you were in."
So that's why he felt so sore. Steve wanted to ask something else, but before he could he heard someone charge in, rushing over to his side. It was Dally, in all his aggressive glory.
"Don't ever pull that shit again Randle or I'll fucking kill you." Steve had never seen Dally that angry since Johnnny had gotten jumped by those Socs a few months back. "And don't expect that fucking gun back asshole."
Suddenly, Two-Bit ran in dragging in a sad looking Soda and Johnny. "Gee Steve, I didn't think you'd wake up yet! You scared the life out of me!" Two-Bit looked more serious than Steve had ever saw him. Two looked so serious it scared him.
Johnny looked down at Steve with a nervous look. He looked like he was scared that if he said something it would kill Steve in a single blow.
And then there was Soda. He didn't say anything, he just walked over and hugged Steve. Small sobs wracked his body, but he didn't dare saying anything. He just cried and cried.
"Steve, what were you thinking?" Johnny's small, sad voice cut through the silence that had been created. He was so small and innocent, as if his life wasn't ten times worse than Steve's and he probably had it worse.
Steve flushed a bright red, avoiding making eye contact with the others and looking down. "I don't know, I thought you guys wouldn't miss me ... It's not like I have anything left." He felt tears welling up in his eyes again, and in response Soda hugged him harder.
"Trust us," Two's voice was ten times softer now as he got down on one knee to look at Steve, "we notice you Randle. We may not always say it, but you're one of us. I'm sorry it took us this long to say it." Two joined in on the hug, making sure not to crush Soda in the process.
"You're still a kid. You need help. I'm sorry I didn't notice Steve." Darry joined in too, taking Pony and Johnny down with him. The both fit in perfectly, leaving one space left for a certain cranky teen.
"Sorry Randle." The apology was short and quick, but Dally joined the hug either way. He'd never admit it, but he cried. Just a bit though.
"Thanks gang." Steve finally let himself cry, feeling a wave of pressure coming off him. it felt like he was finally at peace, as if everything was gonna be ok. Because it was. He still had something left. His real family.