Chapter Text
The sun was low, but the heatwaves still swirled above the blacktop. Steve Randle wiped his hands on a rag already too stained to bother with. The DX garage was quiet as Steve closed down the shop. He did a last walk through the lot, checking cars like always. Not just to make sure the cars parked there were supposed to be there, but Steve couldn't help checking out the beauties of the classic vehicles. There would be no reason for Socs to drive their broken-down cars or cars in need of oil changes all the way to the DX on the greaser side of town if Steve weren't there. Everyone knew their car would be taken care of by Steve Randle.
Working on cars had always been Steve's happy place, but it became more so over the past year after two of his friends died. It was tough seeing Ponyboy come out of that, but he came out strong. Soda worried to death every day for his little brother, but that was starting to calm down. Darry's stress didn't seem too bad since he got custody of his brothers and could do as he pleased without the state down his throat. And Two-Bit. Well, Two-Bit seemed the same. To Steve anyway. Sometimes he wondered if Two-Bit took time to reflect on everything, or if he was a ticking bomb.
Steve made it to the bottom of the list on the clipboard. No squatters. Tomorrow he'd be able to knock out plenty of the cars. Same old, same old. Steve walked into the garage, hung up the clipboard, and made sure all the tools were put away. Just as he was about to lock up the garage, a familiar face wandered in.
Tim Sheppard strolled in his usual leather jacket with the same old look in his eye like he'd seen too much, and none of it impressed him anymore. Steve liked Tim. He was definitely someone you wanted on your side in a fight. He was fun to drag race with. But sometimes Tim didn't care too much, so Steve didn't entirely let his guard down.
“God, Randle, don't you know how to clean up for the ladies?” Tim smirked.
Steve shook his head and returned the sly smile. "I'd like to see how clean you come out after five oil changes."
Tim chuckled, sliding his hands in his pockets. He wandered into the garage and glanced at one of the tool racks. “Anyway, I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d say hey.”
“You just saying hey,” Steve eyed Tim, “or is there more coming?”
Tim stared at Steve for a moment too long, and Steve’s stomach gave a small twist.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Tim said.
"Yeah? About what?"
Steve didn’t know it yet, but the one-hour conversation Tim was about to have with him was going to leave an awful feeling in his stomach, and a tough decision to make.