Miguel is tested. Miguel'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: If you tried to read this chapter immediately after I posted it, the formatting was wrong. Sorry!
Chapter Ten:
Mortal Combat
Miguel's phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket. Too pussy to fight?
It's Hawk's number. He's going to ignore it. He's going to listen to Sensei Lawrence.
He flicks his finger up the screen, flashing through the history of their friendship in backwards order. He knows he shouldn't, but at least it's not texting back. He looks at the crude memes they've sent each other, the boring homework questions, the karate scheduling coordination, the inside joke about Doritos they reference over and over… He stops at a selfie of them together. Miguel's making a muscle, half-ironically, his smile wide, and Hawk's sticking out his tongue, one hand slung around Miguel, one hand raised in metal horns. His blue hair is wet and flat because it was taken just after they'd showered following the tournament. Miguel remembers how good it felt, to be a champion. To be part of a powerful team. The two of them were like brothers, the day of the All Valley, the months leading up to it when they'd trained and sweated and bled together. Which makes it that much worse.
He feels his stomach recoil in hatred at the sound of Hawk's words, humiliating him for his reduced lunch. He winces at the thought of Hawk crushing his crotch with his heel, the sickening memory almost as real as the first time around.
His phone vibrates again, and he has to scroll all the way down to see the new text.
So much for being loyal to Lawrence. Isn't that why you left CK in the first place? You're really gonna let him lose everything because you're not man enough to fight?
Miguel checks to make sure the coast is clear, but of course it's clear. He's home alone. He's still not used to being home alone.
Screw Sensei Lawrence's overprotective bullshit. He's a better fighter than Hawk. He can win this. He's going to destroy the bastard. Hawk and Kreese both. He's going to make sure no one ever messes with him or Sensei ever again. No mercy.
I'm in.
Fucking A! Hawk texts back. I knew you'd be in. Miguel rolls his eyes at the tongue-out emoji. Who does Hawk think he is? Steve Tyler?
If I win, Kreese leaves Sensei Lawrence alone, Miguel types. No lawsuits. No contact. Nothing. He rips up the paperwork.
That's the deal.
Who's referee? We need someone neutral.
Referee? Did you forget the /s? No referee. We're not fighting for points. It's FTW.
What determines who wins?
The person who remains standing.
When and where?
Lot behind CK, midnight this Sunday. Keep it on the DL. It'll just be me and Sensei Kreese. Bring a second.
He can't tell Sam. He would never put her in danger. He can't tell Sensei Lawrence. He'd made it clear that he absolutely forbids him to enter this fight. He can't tell LaRusso, whose non-violence mantra is laughable.
He remembers lying on the sofa, Robby handing him more painkillers than an adult would allow. He remembers the pact that they'd made to look out for Sensei. To stand up to Kreese. To keep each other informed.
I'm doing it, Miguel texts Robby. You in as my second? Don't tell anyone.
o - o - o - o - o
Even in the nighttime November air, the stench of garbage pervades the vacant lot behind the strip mall. Miguel can feel the gravel roll beneath the thin soles of his Converse, and he wraps his arms more tightly around himself, his hoodie pulled up to block out the wind. Maybe acid-washed skinny jeans aren't the best pants to wear to a street fight, too restrictive normally, but his have become loose over the last few months. He's nearly as underweight as he was when he first met Sensei Lawrence, before he built muscle mass from his training. He hasn't been eating enough, and he isn't in his best shape, but it's too late to turn back now. He'll have to face Hawk as he is. At least he looks cool in the jeans (he'd seen a photo of Sensei in the same style) and the formless hoodie disguises most of the weight loss.
Robby's walking beside him, and from the corner of his eye, Miguel can see the cautious way Robby looks over his shoulder, using his body to half-block Miguel. Miguel doesn't need a protector, and it's a little irritating, but it's reassuring, too, knowing that Robby has his back in case Kreese tries to pull any shady shit.
It's weird, but he's feeling oddly nostalgic about the lot. Sometimes, before the other students signed up, he'd hang out here with Sensei while Sensei drank a beer and gave him life advice. Sensei would toss his litter into a pile next to the long line of garbage bins, never missing his shot. Miguel used to pick them up and sort them into the correct recycling containers, but after a while, he gave up on it, and there's a pile of Sensei's beer bottles and crushed cans, like a drunkard's cairn. (He was proud of that word when he thought of it – it's an SAT word.) Miguel misses that time, before Robby was around, before Aisha and the others were around, when it was just the two of them. Back when Sensei had faith in him. Now, he doesn't even trust Miguel to win this fight.
He misses the old dojo, the stenciled snake on the wall, the motto, the bold colors bordering the room. He even misses the smell of stinky feet and sweat and too much Axe deodorant. He doesn't know what LaRusso does, but that place always smells like cedar and lemon. Which should technically be nice, but it's just…less real to him. He misses hanging out after class and grabbing a slice of pizza at the minimart where Sensei first saved him. How could everything have changed so much in so little time?
Miguel's going to prove himself tonight. Even if Sensei has forbidden this, he'll make the man see the error of his ways. He's going to make his teacher proud. And then everything will be back to normal between them.
The homeless woman who used to hang out outside the dojo's strolling around and she gives him a nod. "Haven't seen you around in a while. Hey, are you selling?"
"Um…no? Why would you think that?"
"The covert midnight meeting," she says, and strolls past them, whistling. She's already high. "But mostly the hoodie. Makes you look like a dealer. Got meth?"
After a brief, absurd image of a public service Got Meth? poster, Miguel thinks about his dad, and wonders who else looks at him and sees nothing but a gang banger. Nothing but a suspicious brown kid in a hoodie. He wonders how much of their prejudice and assumptions are just shy of the truth. Maybe he's never actually seen hard drugs in person, or smoked more than one puff of pot with his Yaya, but his dad's a kingpin, so there's that. Stereotype confirmed.
"You don't have to do this, you know," Robby says, jiggling his keys in his pocket. He's antsy, and so is Miguel. It's three minutes to midnight and Kreese and Hawk haven't shown. They'll probably show up late on purpose to psych him out.
"I do have to do it," Miguel says, even though his stomach's lurching and he doesn't want to. "I have to protect Sensei. After everything he's done for me, I'm going to return the favor."
Robby gives him a reluctant nod. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
"Because he doesn't want you to do it. And I'm starting to agree."
"Are you losing your nerve?"
"Maybe," Robby admits. "I just…I have a bad feeling about this. I don't trust Kreese to play fair."
"Me either." Miguel swallows. "But that's life, right? Nobody plays fair."
Miguel jumps in place at the horror-movie creak as the back door of the dojo opens. Kreese exits with Hawk at his heels. He wonders how long they'd been waiting there, if they'd overheard their conversation.
"Well, look who bothered to show up. I'm impressed, Taco. I didn't think you had it in you. And you even brought your boyfriend. Cute."
Miguel crosses his arms and glares at Kreese. "There're two of you. It's only fair."
Hawk jerks his head up at him in a "too cool to actually speak to you" greeting. His infamous mohawk is gelled spikey and tall, and he's shirtless, the tattoo sprawled across his back displayed like warrior paint. He'd started out scrawnier and dorkier and meeker than even Miguel had ever been, but he's been getting more and more cut since he'd first joined Cobra Kai. Now, it's just absurd. Hawk is ripped. Nobody can gain that much muscle that fast naturally.
"Last chance to back out, Miggy." Hawk spits out Miguel's mom's pet name for him with derision.
"I'm not backing out."
Hawk sucker punches him in the gut, knocking him straight into Robby. "Good."
Robby instinctively catches Miguel and tries to help him up, but Kreese snatches Robby's arm and tugs him away from the brawl.
"One on one," Kreese says, at the same moment Hawk aims a sidekick to Miguel's crotch.
Miguel catches his heel, twists sharply, and flips Hawk to his face on the gravel. As Miguel's readjusting his stance, Hawk sweeps his leg against Miguel's ankle, grabs his tumbling form for purchase and the two of them beat into each other, messy and raw and dangerous. Miguel gets a good one to Hawk's mouth and snarls, "Too bad no one will notice the difference, Lip."
"You'll pay for that!" Hawk grabs him by the front of his hair and slams the heel of his palm into Miguel's nose. Everything goes black for a second, and the lower half of his face is warm and wet, and then the pain kicks in full gear. His nose is definitely broken. He can't even breathe out of it.
He hears Robby begging him to stop in the background. But fuck if he's going to let Sensei lose his life and livelihood to these evil shitheads. Miguel blocks Hawk's undercut punch and kicks in his knee as hard as he can. Hawk's scream is sharp and high pitched.
It's not like fighting in the dojo or a tournament. There's no one to call a point or time out. There's no rules to violate, no form to show off, no guidelines for sportsmanlike behavior. It's two guys slamming into each other with all their hate, doing whatever it takes to take down the other.
As Hawk comes down, he grasps Miguel's arm and jerks it out of its socket and they're scrambling in the gravel, attempting to pin one another as they knock over a trash can and the rotten waste spreads out over the ground. They roll in it, punch in it, kick in it, and Miguel's gut lurches at the stench of bad meat but he continues anyway. And despite using every last ounce of his strength, every last ounce of his energy, Hawk throws him at last, slamming the back of his head into the gravel, jamming his knee into his gut so he can't breathe at all. Hawk holds his neck down with one hand and jabs his fist into Miguel's ribcage with methodical repetition.
Miguel can't focus, the pain is too strong, he can't think about anything but how helpless he is. But he needs to hold on, he needs to figure out a way to get out of this, a last vestige of strength to reverse their positions, he needs to win, the stakes are too high to give up –
"Get off him! Stop! Stop!" Robby's screaming, and he sounds very far away.
He sees Kreese standing over them, a shit-eating grin spread across his face, but the man goes out of focus and Miguel realizes he's crying from the pain.
"Is it over?" Hawk asks, and he stops his strikes. "I think he's had enough." Miguel can't believe it, but he almost sounds concerned.
"It's not over until he admits defeat," Kreese says.
Miguel rolls his face away so at least he doesn't have to look at Kreese when he says it, and there's Sensei's pile of discarded beer, just inches away from his face, blurring in and out of focus. He blocks out the memory of the two of them together, that time Sensei showed him a block and brought him to the ground, and Miguel panicked about tetanus and Sensei laughed. He can't think of it. Not when Sensei will never be able to teach him again. It's all his fault. Sensei will be so ashamed of him. He hates himself.
"I give up," he chokes out, and Hawk releases his neck and sits back on his heels. Miguel curls into a fetal position, and now, he isn't just crying from the pain.
"Miguel," Robby's saying, "I called my dad like ten minutes ago. I'm sorry I told him, but I had to do something. He should be here any second. Okay? Okay? Miguel?"
And as he's saying that, there's the sound of fast, heavy footsteps, and he hears Sensei's voice, calling out his name from the other end of the lot.
Kreese turns in the direction of Sensei and his chin raises, like a lion looking up from the carcass it's devouring. And Miguel can see he's pleased. He'd wanted Sensei to come all along. He'd wanted Sensei to see Miguel defeated.
Kreese turns back to Miguel as Senei runs to them. "You're a pussy, just like as I always knew. Look at you, curled up and crying like a baby. Little bitch." He kicks his lower back and Miguel does nothing to defend himself, he just curls up even tighter.
"Sensei, look at him. He's had enough –" Hawk says, nervous.
"And to think, you let the guy who called ICE on your grandma defeat you."
Miguel's whole world goes suddenly still, and there's a high-pitched ringing in his ears.
"What?" Hawk shouts.
Miguel somehow manages to sit up and drag himself to a stand, and very calmly, he stares at Hawk. He's calmer than he's ever been in his entire life. All the pain he'd felt only seconds before has miraculously disappeared.
"You were the one who called ICE?" He doesn't recognize his own voice.
But of course he was. Hasn't Hawk been going on for months about illegals and taxes and job-stealers?
Despite his arrogance only moments before, despite the fact Hawk won, he's terrified. He's stepping back. "Miguel, it wasn't me, he's just starting shit –"
But it was. It had to be. Miguel reaches down and grabs one of Sensei's littered Coors bottles by the neck. It's still intact, but not for long, because he smashes the base against the gravel, and the lower half shatters.
Hawk holds out his hands in supplication. "Miguel, you have to believe me –"
With supernatural speed, Miguel grabs Hawk's signature blue hair, jerks his head back, and holds the long shards of the broken bottle against his jugular. He presses in so the glass pierces his skin.
"You're dead," he says, only now, the fury is back in his voice; it's choked up from the blood and tears streaming down his face. A little more pressure, and Hawk will be dead.
He deserves to die.
"Miguel, put the bottle down."
It's Sensei. He's standing right there, right in front of him. Miguel hesitates.
"He's the one who got Yaya locked up," he says, his voice breaking. "She's going to be deported because of him."
"Don't do this," Sensei says, his voice firm and commanding. But Miguel doesn't have to listen to him.
It would be so easy. All he has to do is strike upwards. He won't even have to do it that hard. And then justice will be served.
"Miguel," Hawk whimpers. "Come on, man! We used to be friends. You have to believe me. I like to rile you up, you know? That's it. That's all it is, just jokes. I don't even really believe that shit, I just like pissing off our sheltered, shallow classmates. I would never actually do that to you! You know me. Come on, please."
Miguel doesn't believe him. Not by a long shot.
But the sound of fear in Hawk's voice sends chills up his spine. And at the mention of friends, he thinks about every time they've goofed off after practice, every stupid text they've shared, every inside joke, every study session. He thinks of the time before Eli transformed into Hawk, after school one day at Dimitri's, when Eli couldn't take the bullying anymore, and he'd cried in front of them. And Sensei is looking at him like no man has ever looked at him before, like he's scared to death. But not for Hawk's sake. For Miguel's.
Miguel lets Hawk go and drops the bottle on the ground. His knees give out, his adrenaline gone.
"You fucking psycho!" Hawk shouts, and Miguel thinks he's shouting at him, until he sees Hawk shove Kreese in the chest. "Why the fuck would you lie about something like that? Did you want him to kill me?"
Kreese laughs and pats Hawk on the back like it's all a big joke. "It made for good entertainment. Didn't it, Johnny?"
And Miguel realizes with revolting clarity that Hawk hadn't been lying. He'd nearly killed him, and he hadn't even done it.
"You're sick," Sensei is saying, and he's standing in front of his three students, his arms stretched out to the sides to cover all of them, creating a barrier Kreese will have to fight through to get to them. Robby's picking Miguel up, helping him to his feet.
"Well, I might be sick," Kreese says, "but you're done teaching karate forever."
"No. You are."
It's Hawk, but he sounds more like the old Eli. His voice is soft and uncertain, like it used to be last year. And still somehow, speaking those words at all is a new kind of strong.
Everyone turns to him.
"What are you on about?" Kreese demands. The humor has dropped from his voice, so all that remains is the threat under the laughs.
"You're closing the dojo and leaving town forever," Hawk says, "or I'm going to tell the police you did this to me." He gestures to his face, which is a wreck. Miguel got his mouth better than he'd thought.
"After everything I've done for you –" Kreese says, his voice low and gravelly.
"You tried to get me killed a second ago."
"It was a joke. You can't take a joke? Don't be a whiny bitch –"
"If that's your idea of a joke, fuck you. I'm going to the police."
"You honestly think they'll believe the lies of some punk kid with stupid hair?" Kreese scoffs.
"I'll tell them you beat me up, too," Miguel says, or tries to. It's hard to speak with a broken nose. "Corroborating stories from honor roll kids – who do you think they'll believe? Especially when they ask the other Cobras? Think Aisha or anybody else is gonna stand up for you?"
"I don't think you want to land in jail for child abuse," Robby adds, voice cold. "I hear that doesn't go down so well in prison."
Kreese ignores the rest of them and turns to his last student, his voice as kind and fatherly as it had been mocking only seconds before. "Hawk, buddy, don't let these pussies influence you. Come on, man, we had a good thing going. You're like a son to me, you know that, I chose you –"
Hawk stands there silently, his arms crossed.
Miguel can see the moment Kreese realizes nothing he can say will change a thing. His face shifts, from paternal, to shocked, to dangerously pissed within the time frame of a second. If the shift hadn't been so sudden, his affection would've been entirely believable. Kreese is the best liar Miguel has ever met.
"Fuck this!" Kreese shouts. "Every single one of you is a loser. I'm done with this town. I'm done with you pussies."
And Kreese turns away, cursing and muttering to himself, kicking up gravel and punching the air, like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum, leaving without even a fight.