Kreese takes it too far with Miguel, and Johnny finally admits he doesn't know how to fix things alone. Johnny's POV, third person limited.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Karate Kid or Cobra Kai. I'm not making money from this. I'm just a fan.

Chapter One:

Coors Light

"Hold that there," Johnny demands, shoving the can of beer against Miguel's face. He clenches his teeth at the sight of the shiner. Johnny's seen a fair share of black eyes in his time, and this is gonna be a bad one.

"I don't need it." Miguel limply pushes away the beer, but Johnny isn't having it. He grabs his wrist, slams it down, and shoves the icy Coors Banquet against his eye again. Too exhausted to resist, Miguel curls his lip in a last-ditch attempt at defiance. Even pressed up against the wall, Johnny can see his legs shaking. It's an effort for the kid to keep standing.

To be honest, Johnny's shocked Miguel is still standing. Hawk had kneed him in the dick when he was down, cawing like some cheesy-ass raptor while he did it. The asshole. Johnny shudders at the image of the five Cobras circling in on Miguel, Kreese leaning into the action, his teeth bared in a malicious grin, egging them on. Show the anchor baby who belongs here!

The whole thing had been brutal. Not that Johnny hasn't thought anchor baby himself when the kid's being all annoying and stuff, but with his grandma detained by ICE and Miguel obviously freaking out about it, it's just…

He doesn't know what it is.

He'd saved these loser kids – taught them how to defend themselves, how to be badass. And somehow, it's exactly that badassery that's turning them against him. Which shouldn't be surprising, because that's his life, isn't it? One shitshow after the next.

Kreese stole his dojo 'cause of some bullshit legal mumbo-jumbo, and now he's stealing his students. And the more Johnny tries to step in and stop the evil bastard from hurting his kids, the more it makes Johnny look like a wimp, and the less respect the kids give him. It's a goddamn nightmare.

Maybe Johnny is a wimp. He suppresses the memory of thick hands around his neck, his trophy snapped at his feet, the parking lot blurring, Bobby's terrified protests blotting out as he struggled to breathe…

But it isn't about him right now. It's about Miguel.

With an expert strike, Johnny swipes the piles of paperwork off his desk, clearing the space in one go. "Sit your ass down and let me take a look at your injuries."

"I'm fine."

"Fine? Have you seen yourself? You're so black I can't even tell you're Mexican."

"I'm Ecuadorian."

"Whatever."

"Sensei Kreese is making me stronger," Miguel says through clenched teeth. He hacked up a loogie and spit a dark red glob blood onto the desk. For the first time, Johnny notices his braces are gone. "The cops would do worse. I can take whatever he gives. I'm no pussy."

"No, you're not." Johnny sighs. He needs Miguel to understand, but he has no idea what to say to him. It's rare Johnny wins a fight that isn't fought with his fists.

Kreese has been targeting Miguel since day one, to make a point to Johnny. A point about who's boss. A point about how pathetic and soft Johnny actually is deep inside. Kreese hurts Miguel because he knows the boy means something to Johnny. Coors Light – Kreese's derisive nickname is proof enough it isn't about Miguel.

Jesus. Maybe he is going soft. Maybe Kreese is right. He should stop worrying about protecting Miguel and let Miguel protect himself.

Thing is, Miguel isn't protecting himself. What do you do when your star pupil starts saying he "deserves" to get beat if he's not strong enough to fight back? That he's "lucky" to have Kreese teach him what it takes to be a man? There's no getting through to Miguel, not after how he reacted when he found out Robby is his son.

The closer Johnny gets to Robby, the worse things get between him and Miguel.

"Listen, flaco." It's an insult he's picked up from another Spanish-speaking student, and it seems to get Miguel's attention, because his head shoots up in surprise. "Setting five students against one who's already injured isn't a fucking fair fight–"

"Life doesn't give you a fair fight," Miguel interrupts. His voice cracks on the word fair. Johnny doesn't know if he's still going through puberty or if he's about to cry. He sure as hell hopes it's the boy's balls dropping because he has no idea what to do with a crier.

"No mercy, remember? Winning a stupid tournament against wimpy, entitled millennials is nothing compared to what's out there in the real world."

There is an uncomfortable silence for a long time. Because what can Johnny say? Miguel is repeating back the lessons he'd taught him, only on steroids. And frankly it wouldn't be surprising if Miguel were on steroids, too.

"How's your mom holding up?"

"How do you think she is?" Miguel snaps. "She's lost her mom. And she can't even make rent now that they've taken Yaya–" He pounds his fist against the wall and let out a sharp gasp of pain. Johnny doesn't blame him; Miguel's knuckles are destroyed from training with that damn wooden mannequin.

"I can cover your rent until–"

"I don't need your help. When I win this fight, I'll have enough to fix things. I'll pay the rent. I'll pay for a good lawyer–"

"I'll pay for a lawyer."

Miguel scoffs. "Like you could. You don't even own Cobra Kai anymore. You're an employee." It's hard to take the look of disgust coming off a kid who once idolized him.

"Listen, Miguel. Just shut up and listen for once, okay? Whatever you need, I'll take care of it. Shit, I'll let you and your mom move in if it comes to that."

"You didn't even raise your own son. Stop trying to raise me."

The little shit knows how to hit him where it hurts. He'll teach him–

Miguel flinches. It's the shock of that sight that pulls Johnny back to reality. His hand is curled in a fist, raised to strike. It had been so instinctual, he hadn't even known he'd moved. He drops his hand to his side, his rage gone.

Miguel was never a flincher, not even in the beginning.

A flush is heating Miguel's cheeks. He's ashamed for that flash of fear. But Miguel isn't the one who should be ashamed. He isn't the full-grown man ready to beat the shit of a skinny kid who can barely stand.

"I'm sorry, sensei," Miguel mumbles. He hasn't called him sensei in weeks. "I didn't mean it. I don't know why I said that." Before Johnny can see it coming and do something to stop it, tears are streaming down Miguel's cheeks.

Miguel is finally at his breaking point. Four months of being beaten and berated by Kreese, and Johnny's the one to push him to the edge. Four months of bitter defiance and rage, and now the boy's crumbling in a heap of self-loathing and shame. He's turned the ruthlessness meant for his enemies on himself.

Johnny knows those highs and lows all too well.

"I'm sorry, sensei." The kid is sobbing uncontrollably, and Johnny suddenly has a flashback to Robby as baby, wailing and wailing and there was nothing Johnny could do about it, no way to fix it, he was a failure as a parent–

"Quiet!"

Miguel nods in obedience, forcefully wiping the tears off his face, but he only cries harder, sucking in the air as if he were drowning. His legs buckle and the Coors falls out of his hand, but before his ass hits the floor, Johnny grabs him under his arms and pulls him up.

"I don't want you to see me like this," Miguel says, words mushed together, snot streaming over his bloody mouth. His forehead lolls against Johnny's shoulder. Johnny would be shocked if Miguel is back in full form in two months, he's that bad off.

How had he let things go this far? Johnny sweeps Miguel's dark hair out of his eyes, trying to calm him down, even though he sucks at it. "It's okay," he says lamely.

"I can't handle it anymore," Miguel chokes out. "I can't. I just can't do it. I'm nothing but a pussy quitter, and I'm so messed up I'll never win the fight, and it will be all my fault when we can't get Abuela back. I need you, sensei…"

Christ. He needs another beer. No. He needs a bottle of whiskey. Beer isn't gonna cut it tonight.

"You're not a pussy," Johnny says. He pats his shoulder in an attempt to act fatherly. Miguel hisses in pain at the contact, but leans into it all the same.

"You're not a quitter," Johnny says, voice low and authoritative. "You're smart. You know when to walk away, ya hear me? You know when to ask for help."

"You never need to ask for help."

It hits him right in the gut.

He should have asked for help months ago. He'd known he was in over his head but he refused to see it. And it is all his fault Miguel is crying like a wimp. It is all his fault Miguel will probably be pissing blood for a week after that jab to the kidney. None of this would have ever happened if hotshot Johnny Lawrence hadn't been too damn proud to ask for help.

Kreese had been a father to him, had toughened him up and straightened him out and beat him down – he'd been the only person Johnny had never been able to defeat, even counting LaRusso, because the never-ending oneupmanship between them is different. It's equal.

No fear in this dojo – that's bullshit. Whenever Kreese is around, all Johnny feels is fear. And the man knows it, no matter how hard Johnny tries to hide it.

There was one person in the world who had put Kreese in his place. One person who'd stepped in and saved Johnny from being choked to death in a parking lot. A little old oriental who Johnny never even liked. And that old man is dead. Miyagi. How could he forget the name when LaRusso named his lame-ass dojo after him?

Even if Johnny hates Daniel LaRusso, even if the bad blood between them will always boil, LaRusso would do what the old man would've done. He'd help Johnny. He'd stand up to Kreese. Johnny doesn't know how, but he would. That cocky, scrawny bastard always finds a way. It's the Jersey in him. Johnny has to give the guy some credit, no matter how much he hates him. Robby told him it was LaRusso who encouraged him to start hanging out with dear ol' dad again.

Still…things have to be really bad to go to LaRusso for a favor. Johnny pulls Miguel off his shoulder and takes one last glance at him. At least the sobbing has stopped, but the kid is still…wet and red-nosed and bruised to a pulp and pathetic. Johnny doesn't even want to rub it in as a joke. No crude humor is gonna fix this.

He props Miguel up on the desk, ensures he's stable enough to sit, and picks up the beer from the floor. He hands it over. "On your face."

"It's not even cold anymore," Miguel protests as he takes it.

"So drink it."

Miguel gives him a quick glance to double-check for approval, pops the tab back, and the beer comes fizzing out over the top. He jerks his neck back and chugs it. When he's done, he wipes off his mouth and gives Johnny a rueful smile. "You need to start buying craft beer. That stuff is rank."

"What do you know? You're a teenager. I'm not gonna drink some girly shit nobody's ever heard of. Coors is a man's drink."

"And Coors Light?" Miguel asks, bitter.

His hand is on Miguel's shoulder again. It feels awkward, like a limp fish just resting there. "Coors Light is pretty okay."

It was the wrong thing to say, as usual, because Miguel's eyes are getting all watery again. Miguel swallows; Johnny can see the kid's Adam's apple bob up and down. "Thanks, sensei."

Johnny clenches his teeth. His throat is tight but it's probably just a cold or something dumb like that. Allergies or whatever. Not that he's pussy enough to get allergies. "Come on kid, let's get you to my car."

"We going home?"

He's tempted to say yes. He's tempted to slink back into his apartment, quit Cobra Kai, and forget any of this ever happened. It's more enticing than the alternative. Johnny imagines LaRusso's smug face as he begs for help. He feels like a dog exposing its belly. A loser.

And then he thinks of Miguel, calling him sensei. He thinks of Miguel limp in his arms after the Halloween dance, when he promised himself never to let him down again. He thinks of Robby, reining in his recklessness, finding it in himself to forgive his deadbeat dad for checking out on him. Robby, showing up on Saturdays to watch action flicks and shoot the shit. Robby, slowly, slowly learning to trust him. Miguel, who already does…

He isn't going to let those boys down.

"No." Johnny squeezes Miguel's shoulder and helps him to his feet. "We're not going home. We're going to fight back."