Thank you to Ladybugs and Sethclearwaterforever for favoriting. I really appreciate it. That was the prologue, so now I give you chapter one.

Chapter 1 : The Biggest, Bloodiest Rumble Tulsa Had Ever Seen

3rd person.

Dally sauntered down that street as if he owned the whole town. Which he did, in his mind. Yeah, Dallas Winston wasn't afraid of a nice battle now and again. It gave him a nice rush when he had the opportunity to pummel some unlucky bastard he despised with everything he had to the ground.

That's how he felt on a cool spring's evening, swooshing past houses and cars and trees as he made his way to the north side park. The park was fairly small, holding only a set of swings, one of which was broken. But it was open enough for a good rumble between the Socs and the greasers.

It was dark and gloomy looking as he walked up, and the only thing that stood out to him was the separation of gangs. At least fifteen Socs created a wall along one side of the park while the greasers brought up the other half. Dally grinned, always proud of himself for making a lasting impression when he walked in on a rumble late.

"You were supposed to be here five minutes ago, you bastard," Tim Shepherd hissed.

Dally smirked, not remotely phased, as he took a spot next to a fellow greaser.

"And where the hell are the others?" Tim spoke.

The truth was, Dally had left for a rumble without any of his buddies. He hadn't meant to, even though he didn't mind, but they had all had some sort of hold up. Darry had insisted he was busy with bills and shit at home. Two-Bit was drunk out of his mind, even more than usual. Sodapop and Steve were off working at the DX, insisting on the importance of being there, and Johnny and Ponyboy had both conveniently fallen ill.

Dally scoffed as he thought about it, "Excuses."

Either way, he didn't answer Shepherd's question and soon the normal ritual of announcing the rules began.

"Alright, remember, no weapons. Only fists," one of the greasers announced.

Everyone nodded, though they knew it all by memory anyway.
Dally quickly scanned his surroundings for a comparison of grease to Soc. It looked like there were a few more Socs, and for a second it bothered him before he shoved it off, knowing he could and would take them all on one by one if he had to.

The rumble began with the sound of a foot stepping forward. A hard, unwelcoming face glared back at Dally, looking him straight in the eyes as if to say, "That's right. I'm takin' you on, ya filthy grease."

Dally smirked, "Hit me."

That poor bastard, Dally thought, I hope he likes the idea of a new face. He's got no idea what he's doin'.

And the battle began. Dally jumped the unknown Soc before he could even blink. He threw him to the ground with one quick shove and began swinging at him until his fists grew tired. He got up and kicked him too many times to count, punched him in the gut and the face. Slammed his head into the ground until it was beyond recognition. The boy was helpless, and his previous look of stony hatred slipped away slightly with every blow.

Dally didn't realize he had taken it too far until the boy was just a bloody lump. His hair was caked to his forehead with blood and his lips and eyes were swollen shut.

Dally stepped away from him slowly, guilt rising in the pit of his stomach. Carefully, he backed away, hearing only a few groans escape from the Soc. His breathing grew heavier. It was all he could hear as the sounds of the other fighters vanished completely. He turned his head to see what was happening around him. It all appeared to be in slow motion, as if a silent movie was playing. It no longer seemed real. Tim Shepherd and his younger brother were also slamming Socs to the ground. And hardly any of them had the ability to fight back.

Dally looked back at the Soc he still didn't know the name of and contemplated what to do. He had never meant to go this far. He was swallowed in guilt as he fell to the ground in dizziness and crawled towards the boy. His switchblade fell from his coat pocket and he picked it up, inching forward. Maybe he could put the poor Soc out of his misery. God, there was so much blood. Blood everywhere. That boy was done. He was a mess, and Dally didn't even have a scratch on him.

His decision came to him just as a force too heavy and strong for description came down on his head. It sent powerful waves down his spine, cracking it and causing him to crumble along the way. The last thing he had heard before the blow was the distant sound of sirens heading his way. But he was out the instant the force made contact with him. He fell limp towards to cement, just like a rag doll. Blankness. Absolute, deafening silence. Who knew silence could be so goddamn loud?

There were only about ten Socs left. Five of them had fled the instant sirens could be heard in the distance. Five of the remaining Socs were sprawled on the ground, one of them being the boy in worst condition. The one who had dared to take on Dallas Winston. The eleven greasers remaining, besides the collapsed Dally, stood in shock as the Soc who had delivered the blow to his head stepped backward, gripping a pan tightly in his fist.

A pan. He had brought a pan to the rumble, clearly against the rules. But what did rules matter now?

"No one messes with Randy," the Soc with the pan whispered down at Dally's limp body, "No one."

His whisper broke crisply through the silence, enough to send chills through everyone in the park.

It was pitch black now. It was hard to even see the silhouettes of each greaser and Soc still left. The only obvious glints of light were the shimmer of Dally's dropped switchblade and the distinct piercing of the police car lights as they grew brighter down the street accompanied by the frightening sound of the sirens, screaming into the night.