I'm Only Heading Down

Notes: Warning: While this story does not explicitly detail sexual abuse or deal with rape (in the very definition of the word), it does deal with descriptions of non consensual ( or dubious consensual) touching. This also deals with guilt and self directed blame. I have debated posting this for quite some time mainly due to the heavy and rather dark subject matter that is extremely out of place in this particular fandom. I know there are a few stories that deal with rape and abuse as a main plot point, however this story does not contain a definitive healing with the help of either romantic or non-romantic partners. It is a story that I have tried my best to write respectfully and properly. It does not guarantee a bad ending, but it's not going to end completely wrapped up, either.

I wrote this partly because some of the best novels I have read and films I have watched deal with this subject matter, and also partly due to the recent coverage of the Larry Nassar case. I felt compelled to take my chances and write something atypical. This is not meant to be a head-cannon or an explanation for Johnny's actions in Cobra Kai, it is only a story that explores the concept. This story will try and follow as closely to canon-universe as I can.

Thank you for reading this authors note, and I do accept any criticism if you may have it. The main purpose of this was to write a story that I care about, and one that allows me to explore a different voice.

Consider this authors note a trigger warning.

I Don't Know How I Feel (and I Blame You)

"You have real potential, you shouldn't waste that."

"Training has made a difference on your body."

"You're my best student, Lawrence."

Johnny laid on his bed, curled up with a pillow. He made sure to lock his door, he didn't need anyone walking in on him like this. Nobody was supposed to know he was even at home. Not his mother, not any of the guys, and definitely not Sid. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. He was trying not to ruminate everything for hours like he normally did, obsessing over every detail of it until he got a headache. He didn't really know at he was dealing with. Was he taking it the wrong way? Was he looking for meaning that wasn't there? He wasn't too sure of anything really.

Did he even mean to?

It could have been an accident, something that happens all the time. He was stretching, he needed a bit of help. It surely happens sometimes, or at least he imagines it does. Of course, when it actually happened he wasn't even sure he felt it until he tried it again. Different position this time, since he had told him to try a split but he couldn't quite go down all the way. He probably didn't realize how high his hand was. He took it away quickly anyway.

"Just try and relax."

He tried to after that, he really did, but the second time he stiffened visibly and he couldn't help it. He wasn't used to people touching his thighs. He'd never really realized how intimate touching someone's thighs actually is. You never realize something like that until it actually happens. You just think about it, how it must be or must feel.

"Can you relax? You're tense."

Of course he was tense. It wasn't like there was something outright wrong with it or anything so he felt stupid to be uncomfortable with it, but he didn't like the idea of someone's hand in that particular place, so far up his leg. Just one little inch more and–

He shook his head, trying to stop that thought in its tracks. He was way over thinking it now. It wasn't like that. What the fuck would he even have to do with him like that? He's not like that. He wanted to help. It's a one-off, a slip-up.

After all, you're the favourite and everyone knows it.

Special treatment just for you.

The sudden feeling in his chest had Johnny squeezing the pillow in his arms, nuzzling his face in it until he couldn't see anything else. He wanted to be held; he didn't know why the urge is so strong but he wants it. Could he call someone over? Ali wanted nothing to do with him anymore and he couldn't blame her. Clearly, physical intimacy wasn't an option. He thinks for a moment that maybe Bobby would come over if he asked him to. Maybe he could talk to him about it, get this out of his own head.

Reluctantly, he crawled from his bed and dialed one of the only numbers that he'd bothered to learn by heart.

My Throat is Sore

Today he asked him to stay behind after class. Bobby gave him a questioning look that bordered on concern. He told him just to wait for him, he knew he would. He was wary of everything now, much too on edge for Johnny's liking. When he had told him, Bobby was adamant about reporting him to the cops or something, but that was quickly refused. They could take care of it themselves.

When he steps into his office, he's standing there looking him over. He becomes fidgety under his gaze.

"Take that off for a minute."

Johnny's voice is unsteady. "Take what off?"

"The gi."

The blonde gapes slightly. But he didn't have anything on underneath–

"C'mon, I don't have all day. Strip, off." He says it so casually like he's not asking him to take off his clothes in front of him. Against his usual instinct, the blonde hesitates more.

"Why, sensei?" He's never really asked him to do this before.

"Because I asked you to." There's a finality there, a little menacing and Johnny can feel his throat tighten up, choking out any chance of a retort. "I'm checking you over, I can't do that with your clothes on. That was a rough spar today, your parents wouldn't be very happy if I sent you home with fractures would they, Mr. Lawrence?"

There is no no. He says nothing and nods. Taking a little deep breath he begins to disrobe, taking off the top first in hopes he can get away with one piece at a time. No such luck.

"All of it. It'll be faster if I can check you all at once."

Slowly, Johnny complies. With no clothes on but his underwear, which were now deemed greatly unfavorable due to the natural tightness of them, Johnny's skin breaks into little goosebumps. He's fidgety again, gnawing at the inside of his mouth as hands once again make contact with his skin. Over his ribs, his spine, over his chest, where a noticeable change in pressure is felt, and he can't help but make a little sound in his throat, recoiling slightly at the intrusiveness.

For a second he stops. "Does that hurt?"

"No."

He hates the way his voice sounds, and he's sure that the tone makes it all the more clear the effect that this has on him. It's like admitting weakness without saying it. He's sure he doesn't have to even say anything, why else would this be happening anyway if he hadn't picked up on it first? Isn't this how it starts?

Fingertips press into his ribs, then stop just short of the dips below his hip bones. His eyes close as his face is handled, feeling much too shy to look his sensei directly in the eyes. For a few moments, there is an ugly, contemplative silence and Johnny's eyes don't open until he hears him speak again.

"Good, you look good,"It's a bit low, husky even. Standing there in his tight underwear, he looks good.

He can feel his eyes watering, heart beating so fast he's half afraid he'll tear an artery. Johnny doesn't bother to say anything back. Without even leaving the room he pulls on his clothes; he figured leaving the room just to cover up would look absurd. He stands there, waiting to be dismissed, and once he's given permission to leave he practically darts out of the building, Bobby hurriedly by his side and asking all sorts of questions in a worried jumble of speech.

He only makes it a few steps before he notices himself start to drool, and Bobby has to jump back to keep from getting vomit on his shoes.

What Have You Done?

He paces in his room, back and forth. He's upset and conflicted.

Why him? Why this?

He trusted him. He liked him. Now he can barely stand to be there anymore. The one thing he was enjoying in his life right now, and even that was tainted.

How could he act like nothing had changed? It makes it even worse, knowing that he's not affected at all by his constant near-tears state every time he's near him for too long. He was somewhat jumpy now and often flinched a little when people tried to touch him unexpected.

He visibly tensed up whenever he walked near him. Warm-ups were nerve-wracking, and yet he still had the audacity to criticize him for his lack of focus.

He seethes. Go fuck yourself, you're absolutely sick. Pacing doesn't work that well in such a limited space, and he nearly knocks into his bed.

How could he?

He hates him, he really does.

A little voice pipes up: but you keep going back there. What happens now is your fault.

For the third night that week, Johnny can't sleep. Eventually the room gets brighter, the house gets noisier, and his mother, very sweetly calls him downstairs for breakfast. He just hopes he doesn't look as tired as he feels.

Of course, Laura is quick to notice he's off. She's always quick to notice every single thing that is wrong or could be wrong. Usually he's grateful for not having to vocalize everything that he needs, to just have someone that can tell just by looking at him or because he's acting differently, but today he wishes she wasn't so sharp and she just left for work without saying anything, leaving him to languish in peace.

"Sweetie you look tired... didn't you sleep last night?"

"Yeah uh, I guess I just stayed up too late." He yawns, because of course his body betrays him at every opportunity. She isn't fooled.

"You don't look so good," Her hand goes to his forehead, "I hope you're not getting sick or anything..."

He looks around for Sid but it doesn't seem like he is gracing him with his presence today. He'd know if he were downstairs, the minute his mother suggested he was sick, oh he'd definitely fucking know by now.

He tries to quell her worrying. "I'm fine, really. I just slept badly I guess."

She affectionately scratches his head, "Do you wanna stay home?" He considers it for a second. But then again, where would that leave him? Alone in his room to think about it all day? No thank you. He'd take droning through useless lectures and his friends' antics before he did that for another 12 hours straight.

"No thank-you. It'll probably go away once I'm doing something." All the better to distract himself with.

She looks hesitant, but smiles anyway. "If you say so. But, if you change your mind, I have a break from noon until 1 so I could pick you up and drop you back home if you don't feel up to the whole day." Lying to her almost hurts more when she's this concerned, and all she thinks is that he got a night of bad sleep. Oh good god, he couldn't tell her, ever. This was too much to make her deal with.

He tries to smile but he knows it doesn't come out right. "Thanks, mom."

Easier With Friends

Sleeping at home is hard. Bobby at least comforts him enough that he can manage a few hours uninterrupted. With one arm slung over his ribs, the other rested on the pillow just above his head. He was starting to get sleepy like this.

"You're okay, Johnny." He says it to him like he was afraid his voice might scare him away, might make him dart and run like a deer whenever you move too quick or too loud. They're close, but not touching. "It's okay."

Johnny blinked slowly, mentally tallying the events of the past 16 or so hours. He didn't flinch when Tommy hugged him and he didn't stay behind when asked either. He knew he'd get chewed out for that later but for now, it was a small victory at the very least. At that point though he wanted to just sleep a little. It had been a while since he'd slept through a full night and he was physically and mentally exhausted.

Johnny finally acknowledges his statement, slightly raspy voice being muffled by his place on the pillow. "I'm okay... " He says, agreeing and his voice quiet. He breathes in deeply, quietly.

It's easy to sleep like this. He desperately hoped he didn't leave, he likes this, whatever it is. He lets his gaze drag up from Bobby's stomach to his face, and sees that his eyes are closed. He figures he must be tired lately.

A pang of guilt hits him. He's tired from staying up with you, taking care of you. Always being over here for hours on end. You did this because you opened your stupid mouth. And now-

"Hey."

He looks at Bobby again, grey eyes open and looking at him with intent.

"Try not to think too much, okay? Just try to get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up, so don't worry. I'll be here. I won't leave until you want me to." He never wants him to. Just stay forever.

Johnny's eyes are heavy, drastically edging towards sleep, the adrenaline rush long having passed as soon as Bobby had pulled him into the car and driven him to his house. He lets his eyes close again, and this time he feels a touch on his head, a very gentle stroke to his hair.

"I'll protect you, I promise."

In Your Hands Now

Class is going well for once. He isn't bugging him or standing near him too long, it's like he's just another student. He still asks him to lead the class in exercises. Routine jab-punch procedures. For a moment things feel normal.

After class however, is not.

It's not even directed at him but he can't help the anxiety that hits him like a freight train. The fact that it's meant for someone else might even make it worse. Actually, there's no question, it's undoubtedly worse. A friendly touch to some guys shoulder, innocent enough that he'd think nothing of it unless he already knew. By then you're in too deep. Maybe someone else wouldn't be as much of a coward as he was and speak up, to end this whole thing and be stronger than he ever could be, but he still doesn't say anything even after class. He watches him leave to the changing room to get dressed and doesn't say a word to him.

He doesn't even wait for Bobby, he doesn't even change out of his uniform and he probably looks absolutely ridiculous with a bag full of stuff, walking haphazardly across the busy street barefoot to his mother's car. Sid takes one look at him, clear exasperation on his face like he's already tired of him, and drives him home without a word.

He sprints upstairs to his room and into his closet where the door is closed abruptly, taking a handful of sweater sleeves to his mouth, he's already hyperventilating, breathing so hard he's afraid he might pass out. The clothes easily muffle the majority of the sound that comes pouring from his mouth so aggressively that he can feel it scratch the inside of his throat. Eyes still closed, he breathes in deeply, in and out once. His thoughts are muddled and coming all at once.

You can't go on like this.