The past is never dead. It's not even past. – William Faulkner. 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.

A/N: I'm sorry this story is posted so late tonight. I had a personal crisis to deal with. Thank your for your patience and thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think.

Chapter Nine:

A Hit Below the Belt

"Miguel, you and Samantha are up."

Samantha nods and makes her way onto the mat. Johnny's actually surprised that she hasn't given him any trouble since the dojos joined forces. He hates her less than he expected. Okay, so he doesn't hate her at all. Which is actually very annoying.

He looks over to Miguel, wondering what's taking him so long, and sees Miguel giving him a look, eyebrows up, chin tilted as he mouths what the fuck?. Like he can't believe Johnny would do this to him.

Johnny knows there's still some teenage drama surrounding his student, his son, and the daughter of his nemesis, but honestly, he couldn't care less. They're here to learn how to inflict pain on enemies, how to win a fight. Samantha needs to get used to striking harder and more deliberately, and Miguel needs to learn better coordination and not to neglect his footwork. And fighting each other's going to bring out exactly those weaknesses. They're going to make for a fairly entertaining fight, even if it's obvious Miguel will win.

"Miguel, get on the mat."

"But Sensei –"

"No but Sensei. You and Sam are the only pair that hasn't sparred yet. It's been three weeks since we combined classes and it's your turn. Now hit the mat and show us what you got."

Miguel crosses his arms, refusing to step forward. "I. don't. want. to. hit. her."

Johnny shakes his head and tightens his stance. He's gotta nip this in the bud before Miguel starts talking back to him again. "I don't give a shit what you want. Get on the mat."

"She's a girl." Miguel tries, this time sounding more sulky than defiant.

"Excuse me?" Samantha whips around to face Miguel. Her cheeks flush pink with embarrassment and anger. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You fought me," Aisha chimes in. "And lost, by the way."

"That's different," Miguel says through clenched teeth.

Samantha puts her hands on her hips. "How's it different? Are you saying I'm not strong enough to fight you?"

God, Johnny's sick of the 'girls can do anything boys can do' feminist crap. He doesn't know why the LaRusso brat has to get all defensive. She isn't strong enough to defeat Miguel in a fight. She's a good fighter – he'll give her that. In fact, she's the fastest of them all, and she can perform the flashiest stunts, too. No one in the dojo can hold a candle on her acrobatics or flexibility. But not only is she years out of practice, she doesn't have the upper body strength or ruthlessness Miguel has. And she'll never have them. It's rare to find a fighter as hardcore as Miguel, even among other guys.

"That's not what I mean," Miguel says, and now his cheeks are burning.

"That's what it sounds like," Samantha snaps, and it sounds like a challenge.

"Fine," Miguel grinds out. He steps onto the mat, glaring at Johnny with rage before he turns to Samantha. Miguel loosens his shoulders with a few shimmies and takes a fighting stance. But despite the first rule of Cobra Kai and everything Johnny has taught him, he's rolling on the balls of his feet, not making a move, and Samantha strikes first. It catches Miguel by surprise, right in the gut.

"Point!" Johnny calls.

Miguel recovers quickly. Soon, Miguel and Samantha are moving across the mat in all directions, blocking and sweeping and punching and kicking. They anticipate each other's moves so quickly and slither out of each other's attacks so gracefully, it almost looks like a dance. Samantha's harnessing her anger at being underestimated to excellent results. Johnny crosses his arms and cocks a smirk, impressed. The fight stretches on, minute after minute. It looks like they're going to exhaust each other before either of them gets another point.

They're in the corner of the mat, close to the exit door, when Samantha aims for a back kick to Miguel's face. It's a gorgeous kick, a full 80 degree angle to make up for their height difference, and her leg shoots out in perfect force and form. It would've been epic had she landed it.

But Miguel arches out of her reach at the last second and jabs his heel into her standing knee, grabbing her shoulders as her supporting leg buckles. With Samantha's balance off, Miguel flips her face-up on the mat. She manages to hit him with her airborne leg as she's coming down because he doesn't step away quickly enough. Miguel falls down, half on top of her, and in that nanosecond, Sam's already recovered from her own drop. She pins him efficiently and cleanly. They grapple for about five seconds until Miguel's upper body strength wins out and he flips their position. With Samantha now trapped under him, it's the ideal moment for him to make a strike. In fact, Johnny's waiting to call a point when they abruptly stop fighting, and Miguel shoots off Samantha like he touched a stovetop.

Over his shoulder, without even bothering to turn around, Miguel gives Johnny a look of pure hatred. "Happy?" he snarls. "Thanks a lot." And Miguel storms out of the dojo without looking back.

"Keep practicing," Johnny orders the class. He shakes his head as he steps outside and chases after his most infuriating student. What the hell is Miguel's problem, now? He was such a little shit to him when Kreese was around, and while Johnny can understand what was going on then, he's not going to tolerate another second of Miguel's lip.

Especially in front of Robby.

o - o - o - o - o

"What the fuck was that?" Johnny shouts. Miguel is facing away from him, tearing through Daniel's cheesy zen garden, his bare feet kicking up rocks as he beelines away, ignoring Johnny.

"Don't you dare disrespect me in front of the other students, Miguel. Who do you think you are?" Johnny grabs his arm and jerks him around.

"Give me a minute!" Miguel shoves himself out of Johnny's grasp and turns away again.

Johnny grabs him. "Listen, punk. You don't tell me what to do. I tell you what to –"

And as Miguel adjusts his sweatpants, Johnny suddenly understands why he stormed out.

"Oh shit, kid. Sorry." He's vicariously embarrassed and legitimately sorry for like, a second, before he bursts out laughing.

"It's not funny!" Miguel growls, mortified.

"No, it's hilarious."

"Shut up." Miguel closes his eyes and arches back his head. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I'm never going to live this down."

Johnny rolls his eyes. "It happens to every guy your age. I'm sure nobody noticed."

"Well, don't be so damn sure. You should've seen the look on her face. Why do you think I didn't want to fight her in the first place?"

"I thought you were pulling some sort of white knight noble bullshit," Johnny answers honestly.

"What if she tells her dad? I'm dead. I'm so dead. Is it possible to die of humiliation? Lord, please just kill me now. I can never face her again. It's probably going to happen again."

"Miguel, cut the crap. In the future, just visualize your grandma naked or something."

Miguel gives him the side eye, and Johnny realizes that bringing up his grandma was probably the worst thing he could've done at the moment.

Miguel lets out a sigh. "You know you really suck at the whole sensitivity thing."

Johnny shrugs. "It works, doesn't it?"

"That's not the point."

There's a long hiatus, until –

"So how are things?" Johnny tries, a little awkwardly. "Your mom all right?"

"I don't know," Miguel says. "Why don't you ask her?"

Johnny's been avoiding Carmen for a solid week. He's made excuses, about being busy at the dojo, about spending time with Robby…whatever convincing bull he can come up with.

The last time he saw her, they ran into each other at the apartment parking lot. Miguel was at school so they were alone for once, and they somehow managed to stand in front of her car and talk for two hours. One thing led to another and then Johnny was in her doorway, his arm pressed up against the frame, Carmen underneath him, her back flush against the door. He was seconds away from getting what he's wanted since he first laid eyes on her, and somehow he found it in himself to back off.

It was the most self-restraint he's shown in years.

There's nothing hotter than a woman feisty enough to slap him across the face (assuming he has it coming, of course), and Carmen's slap set him over the edge. He'd liked her before, but he couldn't get his mind off of her after that. He'd loved it when Ali smacked him all those years ago after that forced kiss, although he would never have admitted to it at the time. He likes chicks who are strong enough not to take his bullshit. Chicks who are stubborn enough to give him a run for his money, keep him on his toes. It's no fun fighting if you don't have someone who will fight back. Johnny likes the chase, the challenge.

Which is probably why he's divorced and alone.

So as much as he wants her, Carmen is off limits. He can't let his dick get in the way of things. Or let his feelings get in the way of things, if he's honest with himself.

He likes everything about her. How she smells, how she speaks, the curve of her hips, the shade of her lipstick and the way those lips purse when she's not amused with him. She's an ICU nurse, which is about the most badass job you can get. And she's about the most badass person he's ever met. She left her home, her friends, her family, started life completely from scratch, never letting a single obstacle keep her from providing for her son.

Johnny, well, he's spent the last ten years letting life get him down, giving up, failing to provide for his own son. He doesn't deserve a woman like Carmen.

If he's learned anything from screwing up so badly with Robby, it's that he's not going to do that again. Not to Robby, not to Miguel. No matter how much of a brat he can be, Miguel needs him. And if Johnny takes it further with Carmen, he's going to ruin everything. Because inevitably, no matter how good it gets, Johnny will fuck it up. He'll get drunk too many times, or say the wrong thing, or screw another woman he doesn't even want because he's self-destructive. And even if he did do everything right (although there's no chance in hell), she's nearly twenty years younger than him and would probably dump his ass for someone younger and more successful.

"I'm not asking your mom," Johnny says. "I'm asking you."

A flash of mistrust crosses Miguel's face, but it's gone so fast he wonders if he imagined it.

"We've got a good lawyer working for us now," Miguel says with a shrug. "It's crazy though. It's practically impossible to do anything. There's like a thousand loopholes ICE can use to keep Yaya locked there as long as they want her."

"That's fucked up," Johnny says, no matter the rants he's gone on about illegals in the past. The Diaz family are his illegals, so the rules don't apply to them. And it's a pussy move, locking up an old granny who never hurt anyone. Goddamn government overreach.

He puts a hand on Miguel's shoulder. "You're gonna stay strong, okay? Those ICE guys are nothing but a bunch of thugs with small wangs. We're gonna fight this and we're gonna win."

Miguel nods and Johnny knocks his head onto his shoulder, pulling him into a half-hug. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Miguel says. "Fuck those pigs. The only good cop is a dead cop."

And maybe the sentiment is earned, but chills run up Johnny's spine when he hears those words leave Miguel's throat, in that tone – cold and merciless and so far removed from the earnest boy in braces who came to him, begging for help with his bullies.

"Dad?"

Robby comes jogging outside. Johnny would tell him not now, but there's something to the tone of his voice that makes him look up.

And the chills don't go away, because Kreese is standing right behind his son.

o - o - o - o - o

That man's hand is on his son's shoulder. Johnny recoils, his fists curling instinctually, his abs tightening as he tries to force down a sudden lurching in his gut. Somehow, in thirty-odd years, his sensei has barely aged. Kreese should be pushing his seventies, but he's not hunched or frail, in fact, his muscles are thicker than ever. If anything, age has toughened him, turned him into the sort of rugged, bitter old man no one messes with in Clint Eastwood's movies. An intrusive image flashes in Johnny's mind, and that hand on Robby's shoulder, thick and veined, moves to his neck, pushing his head back, tightenings until Robby can't speak, can't breathe –

Johnny's arm is still around Miguel's shoulders, and unconsciously, he tries to pull Miguel in tighter just as Miguel slithers out of his reach, embarrassed to be caught in a hug.

"Get your hands off my kid."

Kreese jerks Robby forward and Robby stumbles into the rock garden.

"Well, if it isn't Coors and Coors Light," Kreese says as he makes his way toward them. "How quant." A vicious smirk crosses his face as he eyes the two of them up and down. "Did I interrupt something? I always did think you were a little too attached to the kid."

"Don't be disgusting," Johnny snaps. He steps in front of Miguel, and Miguel side-steps him. From the corner of his eye, Johnny can see Miguel's hands pressing up and down against the side of his sweatpants, building up nerve for whatever's to come. Johnny's still slightly in front of the kid, and that will have to do. He knows Miguel won't abide being fully protected. Robby jogs up and stands directly next to him on the other side. Johnny gives his son a hard look, and Robby takes a single step back. Robby's arms are crossed over his chest, his triceps flexed in a tacit threat.

Sam and Aisha have followed them outside. His four other students are peering out of the dojo's back door, assessing the situation. Aisha makes eye contact, and he can see she's itching to take Kreese down, but Johnny subtly shakes his head no. Sam's fingers soothe the back of Aisha's arm, and for once he's grateful for LaRusso's restrained "wait for the fight to come to you" methods. He doesn't want his kids taking up his fight. This is between him and Kreese.

"What are you doing here, old man?" Johnny asks.

Kreese stops right in front of him. Too close for comfort. Violating his personal space just to be an ass. Johnny feels a childish need to cross his arms and protect his center, but he knows it will give him a nanosecond of disadvantage if he needs to use them in a fight. So he keeps them at his sides, taut and at the ready.

"Funny enough, I came to ask you that exact question," Kreese says, that sneer not leaving his face. Like he knows something Johnny doesn't.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Answer the question. What are you doing here, Lawrence?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're getting handsy with your favorite student."

"Fuck off, sicko. Only a man like you would think hugging is gay."

Johnny once watched a nature documentary on apes when he was too drunk to get up and change the channel, and apparently you should never smile at an ape. Baring your teeth is a threat, a promise of violence. And that's exactly what it looks like when Kreese turns his smile to Miguel.

"Looks like those bruises are healing up." Kreese reaches out to touch Miguel's eye. Miguel flinches and steps back just as Johnny steps in front of him. Robby steps up, too. Kreese mutters "bitch" under his breath before letting out a chuckle. He turns his head lazily over his shoulder and says, "Good work, Miss Robinson."

And now Aisha's the one flinching, from guilt instead of fear.

He can feel Miguel shaking behind him, hear the pace of his breath escalate, faster and faster. And he knows all too well what's happening – the kid's trying to keep his cool, trying to suppress a panic attack. On the other side of him, Robby is breathing in controlled steadiness. His body firm and upright, hovering protectively over Miguel. He feels a sharp jolt of pride in his son break through his fear and finds courage expanding in his chest.

He's never going to let Kreese hurt these kids the way Kreese hurt him. Johnny remembers being thirteen years old, his knuckles black and blue from breaking board after board, that night when Kreese held him back for extra training after class, just the two of them. And he'd felt so, so lucky to be at the receiving end of Kreese's private attention that he would do absolutely anything the man demanded.

At the end of the night, when he'd been shaky and exhausted and dehydrated, Kreese had ordered him to do a hundred pushups on his swollen knuckles. Johnny remembers the strain in his back and abs and shoulders and arms. He remembers trembling, red-faced and sweating, the sharp jolts of pain vibrating from his knuckles to the rest of his body as he forced himself past his breaking point. He remembers his arms giving out, tears streaming uncontrollably out of his eyes. But that didn't deter him. He forced himself back up and tried again. And he did it – all one hundred of them. Even if he had to rush to the bathroom to up-chuck his dinner. Even if he'd collapsed onto the toilet bowl, bright sparks and and black holes dancing around the bathroom stall.

That night, while Jonnny was curled over a dirty toilet, was the only time Kreese ever spoke of 'Nam in any real way. Kreese had to make to his boys tough, make sure they survived whatever hellish nightmare life threw at them. Kill or be killed. No one would save you, even if you were sent to a jungle to save the world. Civilians were in denial, but it was at the core of every human interaction, even in the clean-cut suburbs, if you looked hard enough. No one would teach these boys the truth if he didn't.

Johnny remembers Kreese putting a hand on his shoulder, telling him he'd made him proud. Telling him he was strong. Telling him he was brave. And Johnny would've dropped down and done a hundred more, just to hear him say it again.

It took weeks for his hands to recover, in fact he'd fractured two bones, but the sickest thing of all was that he'd felt proud of his injuries. He'd felt lucky to be treated that way, because it meant he was special, singled out as better than all of his teammates. To Johnny, Kreese's attention, no matter how destructive, was a thousand times better than Sid's dismissal.

Johnny pokes his finger into Kreese's chest, taking a power move from the old man's playbook. "Get the hell out of here," he snarls. "Now. You have five seconds before I make you. You have no right to be here."

"And neither do you."

"You don't get to tell me what to do, old man. I'm not your student anymore. I'm not your employee anymore. I'm done with Cobra Kai."

"Actually, I do get to tell you what to do, John-Boy."

Johnny shakes his head, because now he has The Waltons opening theme in his head, and it only makes everything more disturbing. "I don't think you understand, grandpa. That's not how it works."

"No, I don't think you understand."

Kreese reaches into his leather jacket's inner pocket, and Johnny forcefully grabs one boy in each arm and slams them behind him, his heart running a mile a minute but time is moving excruciatingly slow. Adrenaline pumps through his body fast and intent and all-encompassing. Even the best martial artists in the world can't beat a gun.

Kreese laughs again, and Johnny's clear-visioned terror settles into a mix of relief and humiliation at his overreaction. Because it's not a gun. It's a thick wad of paper stapled at the upper left corner.

"What's this?"

"It's the non-compete clause you signed when you handed over the dojo."

Johnny remembers there was a ton of bureaucratic paperwork bullshit he'd had to sign when all that nonsense was going down. About forty pages worth of small text jargon that meant literally nothing to him, except that he was losing the life he'd built for himself in the past year, and the only way to keep a small part of it, the only way to put a barrier between his students and a 'roid-rage psychopath, was to the sign on a dozen dotted lines.

Kreese waves the paper in front of his face, like he's gained a beautiful victory.

"What it means, since you never learned to read, is that you can't teach any form of martial arts anywhere but Cobra Kai for seven years after you've left. And you can't bring any Cobra Kai clients with you to your new place of business, even after that time frame."

"What the fuck, that's not even legal."

"Actually, pal, it is. And you signed it."

"These kids can practice wherever the hell they want. You can't control that."

"Maybe I can't, but I can control where and when you teach."

"So sue me."

"Consider this a seize and desist. A warning. Trust me, Johnny, you don't want to be out of a job and using all your savings to fund your lawyer. You might be out of a home then, too."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Don't blame me. Blame yourself. You're the one dumb enough to sign something you haven't read. You had a good thing going, but you were too dumb to see that, too. You thought running away was going to magically fix your life? What a pussy."

"What's going on?"

LaRusso shoves his way through the students clustered at the door. He jogs up to them, tense and defensive, and steps beside Johnny, directly in front of Robby. "Get of my property," LaRusso says, and those words are a threat.

Kreese holds up his arms. "Sorry little buddy. Just stopping by for a friendly chat with your employee."

"He's my business partner."

"Well, not anymore." Kreese smacks the paperwork against his palm. "Are you aware he's violating a non-compete clause? Because I could sue you too."

LaRusso turns to Johnny and gives him a look of horrified frustration. "You signed a non-compete?" Like Johnny's a complete idiot. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Is not like it was a choice, was it?" Johnny snaps, suddenly feeling like a stupid little kid. How is it that everybody knows about this shit but him?

Johnny turns to Kreese and grabs at the collar of the man's t-shirt. He jerks Kreese toward him so they're neck and neck. "Guess you're too much of a pussy to handle this like a man, huh? Are you too old and frail to settle this the good ole-fashioned way? You need lawyers and courts to do your dirty work for you now? Is that it?"

Kreese looks down at Johnny's fist, straining his shirt. He carelessly flicks at Johnny's hand and it takes Johnny all the restraint within himself not the punch the man out.

"Those are big words coming from a little bitch like you," Kreese says, eyeing him up and down. "Think I don't remember what a pathetic crier you were when you first came to me? You were such a desperate tag-along, and now you're nothing but a washed-up has been. Look at you, running to LaRusso like a damsel in distress, begging a bigger, better man to rescue you from your mean old teacher. You're pathetic, Johnny. It makes me sick to even look at you."

"You're the one who's pathetic!" Johnny shouts. "You need to beat down on teenagers to feel strong. You know, someone wise once told me there's no bad students. Only bad teachers."

Johnny's eyes shift quickly to LaRusso, who, by the look on his face, hadn't known Robby'd shared that story with Johnny.

Johnny turns back to Kreese, his righteous fury renewed. "And you fucking suck."

Kreese scoffs. "You honestly think you're a better teacher than me? You want to prove it?"

Johnny's hands are coiled into fists. His teeth are clenched, his shoulders are hunched. He's going to kill him. "I can take you."

"Johnny, calm down," LaRusso warns.

"No, no," Kreese taunts. "Let's see what he's got."

"Fine," Johnny says. "We'll fight right now. I win, you rip up that piece of garbage and leave me, my students, and Miyagi-do alone. You win, I quit teaching karate forever."

"Johnny, don't do this –"

"LaRusso, stay out of it –"

"I agree to the terms," Kreese interrupts.

"All right then," Johnny says, bouncing on the balls of his feet, itching for the fight that's going to end this man's power over him once and forever. "Come at me, old man."

Kreese crosses his arms, and his smirk makes Johnny sick.

"We're not settling who's the better fighter. We're settling who's the better teacher. Miguel," Kreese directs his attention to Miguel. "Are you as much of a pussy as I think you are, or are you up for the challenge?"

Miguel's gaze shifts sharply to Johnny, his brown eyes wide. But before Johnny can respond, Miguel faces Kreese. Johnny sees his Adam's apple slide down his throat as he swallows his fear. "You want me to fight you?"

"You're not touching him!" Johnny shouts, knocking Miguel behind him.

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Kreese says. "Of course I'm not. It's my student against yours or nothing. Miguel versus Hawk."

"Absolutely not!"

"But Sensei –"

"No, Miguel! Don't you dare interrupt."

"Let the boy speak for himself," Kreese says.

"Leave the kid alone and get off my property," LaRusso cuts in.

"NO!" Miguel insists. "Let me talk." Miguel steps in front of Johnny. "I'll do it."

"Miguel –"

Miguel snaps around, and Johnny can't bear the look in the kid's eyes. It's the same way he used to look at Kreese – the love of a lost boy toward the only man who's ever paid attention to him, the only man who's ever acted like a father. Vulnerable and giving and unaware of how much of himself he's exposing.

Miguel will do anything for him. The way Johnny would have done anything for Kreese at that age. Johnny doesn't know if he can handle that responsibility right now. He wants to run from it. He wants to get wasted and give up. He wants to abandon Miguel and let him find some other sucker to be his surrogate dad. He wants to abandon Robby to LaRusso, who's better for the kid anyway.

But he can't give up. He can't let Miguel fight. He's not going to use his student the way Kreese used him.

"Sensei, do you honestly think I'm going to let him keep you from teaching karate?" Miguel asks, gesturing widely with his arms. "How you could think that of me? Karate's your calling. It's your life. And I don't want any other teacher but you. I'll fight. Let me fight and I'll make you proud." His voice breaks, like it always does when he gets overly emotional.

"Miguel, this is not your fight."

"It's your fight. So it's my fight."

"That's not how this works."

"It is how this works."

"Kid's got gumption after all," Kreese says with a snort.

"He's not fighting."

"You think I can't take Hawk, is that it?" Miguel crosses his arms. His eyes turn tear-dropped shaped and his lower lip actually pouts like a fucking Precious Moment. "Is it because of that beating? Because I was injured and that was five against one. I won't lose again. I promise."

"Miguel, this is not about you or your skill. I simply won't allow it."

"Why not?"

"Don't question me."

"But Sensei –"

"Quiet! My answer is final."

Miguel glares at him before dropping his gaze, his cheeks red. And Johnny realizes, a second too late, how Miguel must see it – that he was publicly rejected and scolded. Jesus. Which wasn't at all what he was trying to do. He was trying to protect him, but course he fucked it all up again. He always says the wrong thing.

"Miguel…" Johnny tries, gently this time.

"Whatever," Miguel answers through clenched teeth. "I get it."

Johnny really does not have the time or the patience to alleviate Miguel's inferiority complex right now. Not while he has to deal with everything else. Losing his career, his students, his self-respect, his income, his whole goddamn life. As long as he can get Miguel to back off from the fight, that has to be good enough for now. He needs to get Kreese away before this escalates further.

Johnny opens his mouth, but someone else speaks first.

"Get out off my property, you bastard."

LaRusso's got his back. And despite being the one reining Johnny in, LaRusso's hands are in fists.

"Now," LaRusso growls. "And stay the hell away from these kids."