Johnny schools the boys. Carmen schools Johnny. 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 Eleven:

Stupid

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Johnny slams his open palm against the steering wheel in time with each word, pounding out with the angry passion of a hair metal drummer. "All three of you boys are stupid. Except you, Robby. You're only half stupid. Next time, instead of calling me after it's too late, don't be a dumbass to begin with. Hear that?"

"You're really getting better at compliments, Dad," Robby deadpans.

Johnny whips his neck to the shotgun seat of his car and glares at his kid, even though a part of him appreciates Robby's attempts at keeping things light. There's nothing light about it, though.

Boys. Was he ever that idiotic when he was a kid? He thinks about the time he and the other Cobras pushed Daniel on his bike down a steep incline, and the unfortunate answer is yes. Yes, he was. So he doesn't technically have a right to be scolding them, but that sure as hell isn't stopping him. He's irate and relieved, and irate that the relief is getting in the way of him going ape shit on these kids. He needs to be angry enough that they'll be too scared out of their minds to do anything like this ever again.

When did he become the person on the other end of this conversation? At what point did he turn into the lame adult who shows up useless and too late at the end of the movie, like in Home Alone and The Goonies?

"What were you two thinking, fighting like that? This isn't one of your stupid video games. You don't get to start over when you die. You just die."

Hawk, the little shit, is doing his best to look bored out of his mind by Johnny's lecture, pretending like he isn't traumatized. For all Johnny knows, he isn't. From the rearview mirror, Johnny can see him wiggling a loose tooth with his tongue. But he can't be too angry at him, not after he stood up to Kreese. Something Johnny hadn't been able to do for years. Miguel at least looks shame-faced.

"You have no excuse to resort to that level of violence in a planned match. That type of fighting is for life or death situations only. What were you thinking?" And now he's repeating himself.

"Sensei, I had to defend you," Miguel answers firmly.

Which is somehow so childish and so mature at the same time that Johnny doesn't know whether he wants to slap some sense into him or give him a hug. Probably both.

Hawk shrugs. "To be honest, I just wanted to let off steam. I didn't think it would go that far, though." His tooth pops out of his mouth and lands somewhere in the pile of fast-food trash on the floor of Johnny's car. Hawk stares at Miguel for a second, face unreadable, and Johnny's ready to abruptly pull over and stop another fight, until Hawk lets out a chuckle.

"Think the Tooth Fairy will give me a dollar?"

Whatever animosity was between them (okay, hatred), Hawk is throwing away with a friendly shoulder nudge to his companion in the back seat – the same guy who knocked out that tooth. Miguel curls up the corner of his mouth, half pleased with himself, half accepting Hawk's olive branch. Still mistrusting.

"You were pretty badass," Hawk continues as he wipes the blood off his mouth. "Seriously, a broken bottle? That was a vintage street move right there. I guess you are a Jet all the way."

After a moment of hesitation, Miguel shoulders him back. "Damn it, Hawk, I was trying to suppress that memory. Now I'm never going to get that song out my head."

"That wasn't even the worst part. When Wendy Sanders sang I Feel Pretty, I felt suicidal."

Johnny shakes his head, astonished and possibly a bit disgusted. "Are you two seriously discussing a high school musical at a time like this?"

"Um…" Miguel says. "Yes?"

"Hawk, you're spitting out teeth. Miguel, I just set your goddamn nose." Johnny shakes his head. "Natural selection is lie."

Robby laughs, but he pinches his lips together in a firm, serious line when Johnny shoots over another glare. "You are not exempt from my wrath either, buddy." He points at him and accidentally speeds through a red light. "You're grounded."

"That's not fair! I called you!"

"And that's why you're only grounded for the weekend instead of the rest of your life."

"Sensei, you missed my turn," Hawk announces.

At least he called him Sensei.

o - o - o - o - o

He drops off Hawk and waits for him to get inside, and like a coward, he is quietly grateful for the fact Hawk has his own set of keys and there are no hysterical parents waiting at the door. Johnny doesn't have the energy to deal with another delusional mom who thinks her precious baby can do no wrong. Now that his business has been on the straight and narrow at Miyagi-do, with signed permission slips and release of liability forms and other bullshit, Johnny actually has to deal with parents. After dental work and attitude adjustment, Hawk's going to be just fine.

He's cooling down some, and even though he's still pissed at the boys, he's proud of them too. Not that he'd admit it. He's proud of Robby, for coming to him when he needed him. He's proud of Miguel, for standing up for him, for reining in his rage, showing mercy, even when the kid was certain his opponent had done the most heinous thing imaginable. And he's proud of Hawk, for seeing straight after a couple months when it took Johnny years to acknowledge the truth about Kreese.

o - o - o - o - o

He opens the door before she even has a chance to pound on it. He's been up waiting for this, hanging out on his sofa flipping through infomercials and true crime late night TV, pretending like he wasn't looking out the window, watching the slits between the blinds turn from black to blue to pink to white as he waited for her, a tight knot in his gut.

"I'm sorry," he says and the slap stings his face before the words can finish leaving his mouth.

Her eyes are bloodshot and she hasn't changed from her scrubs. "How much more does my boy have to take?" she growls. She grabs him by the front of his t-shirt and throttles him, and the door rattles as he smacks against it. "How many times do I have to come home to him like this before I realize the problem is you?" A sob escapes her throat and it takes everything inside him to look at her, to face this. "He was fine before you came along. Fine. And you," she shoves him, "you taught him to fight. You taught him to be angry. You, with your outdated, toxic macho bullshit. I trusted you. His nose is broken, his whole face is black and blue, he hasn't even finished healing from last time, and I can't take him to the hospital because I don't trust CPS not to steal him from me."

"Carmen, " Johnny whispers, throat catching, "you're right, you're right. I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry? You're going to be sorry!"

Shit, he has to hold it together. He can't show her that her angry tears are destroying him. That he'd get down on his knees and beg her to forgive him if it would do any good. "I failed him," he says. "I tried to protect him, but I failed him."

That catches her off guard, and for a second, her fury disappears, leaving only the motherly terror that ignited it. She releases his t-shirt, but her crossed arms are only mildly better. He did this. He caused her pain. He caused Miguel's pain, if you stepped back and looked the dominos.

"What happened this time?" she asks. The anger is still there, rumbling under a new layer of doubt. "He only told me he got in another fight. I wanted to let him rest, so I didn't, I didn't press him."

Johnny sighs, pulls a hand through his hair. "It wasn't just another fight. Do you want to come in?"

Carmen's jaw is clenched and she's glaring at him, but eventually she gives him a terse nod.

He makes her a cup of coffee, stale Folgers from yesterday that he reheats in the microwave. She's sitting on the sofa, her arms folded over her waist. When he hands the coffee to her, she makes a disgusted face and leaves the cup untouched in the center of his coffee table, next to, unfortunately, a spread-open copy of the latest Victoria Secret catalogue, addressed to the previous resident. He's never felt like more of a loser.

"I can make a fresh cup –"

"Just explain," she snaps.

Johnny doesn't bother to sit down. He couldn't remain still even if he did sit, so he paces. "Miguel fought without my permission," he begins, "trust me, I'd forbidden him, and I thought I'd gotten through to him. But even if I told him not to, he fought for my sake. So it's my fault. I take responsibility –"

"What do you mean he fought for your sake?" Carmen interrupts.

"I don't know if he told you much about what was going on at Cobra Kai, with Kreese –"

"He said your old instructor was teaching there, and that you had 'artistic differences' which is why you combined dojos with another instructor. I assumed there was more to the story, but to be honest, I've had a lot on my plate, and no time to worry about something as trivial as local karate politics."

Johnny swallows. "It's bigger than that. Kreese, turns out he owned the Cobra Kai name or whatever. I got a lawyer – it doesn't matter. The point is, I couldn't get rid of him. I didn't even own my dojo anymore. I hate that man, but I stayed at first because…" he pauses, straining for a diplomatic way of skirting the truth. "Because I don't agree with his teaching methods." It's a cop ou.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Carmen demands.

Johnny's pacing is growing faster. "I didn't want to leave him alone with the kids. He taught me when I was their age, and he's…he's harsh."

"Harsh?"

Johnny squeezes his eyes shut and forces out the word. "Abusive." There's an indiscernible noise – a hitch in her breath, perhaps. He opens his eyes and stares at her, forcing himself to admit it. She deserves the truth; it's her son who got hurt. "He was a sadistic asshole then, and he's a sadistic asshole now. He's not even physical with the kids anymore, but he… he messes with their minds. He's fucking poison – pushes them too hard, turns them against each other…"

Johnny can't hide his shame. He feels his shoulders slumping and he knows he looks pathetic, sounds pathetic. He'd told LaRusso his story, but he hadn't used wimpy, whiner words like abuse. Abuse is for victims, and he's not a victim. He doesn't want Carmen to think he's some helpless loser, or that he ever was. He can't stand for a beautiful, strong woman to sit there on his couch with her arms crossed and look at him like he's weak.

"I thought if I stayed, I could protect the kids," he says, and he knows he's talking too fast, repeating himself, rambling. "I was wrong. So me and LaRusso opened up the new dojo together. Which was working fine until Kreese threatened me. He promised to leave Cobra Kai alone if Miguel beat another boy. He was just using Miguel to get to me, because he knows… he knows Miguel's my favorite. I made Miguel promise he wouldn't fight. Obviously he didn't listen. And I got there too late."

God, he wishes he could skip past this excruciating moment of starched silence. He wishes she would get back to screaming at him, storm out in a rage. It's better than not knowing what she's thinking. It's better than her quietly judging him as less than a man.

"We can't make decisions for them, can we?" she asks at last. She sighs, and then her words are firm. "Miggy chose to fight, defying both of us and putting himself in danger. He's sixteen. He knows better. His anger has been out of control lately, for good reason, but… His behavior is out of line and he'll hear from me when I get home. I promise you that."

"Don't go too hard on him." Johnny finds himself immediately defending his student before his brain can catch up. "He had good intentions. He's a good kid. Every boy his age makes dumb decisions. Besides, it's still my fault. He would have never met Kreese if it weren't for me. Don't blame him."

Carmen gives him a long, hard look. Eventually, she turns away. "Don't blame yourself. You're not responsible for Kreese's actions. And when your past comes back to haunt you, you face it. That's what you did."

He knows she's not only talking about Kreese here, but her own ex-husband. He can bet she's had to give herself that speech a lot lately.

She stands, grabs her purse from the coffee table, and takes a moment to smirk at the catalogue spread, where a model dressed in a turquoise-sequined bra and thong set looks more like her than Johnny cares to admit. She seems more amused than offended, though. So at least he's spared a lecture about objectification or some shit like that.

She probably hates him for putting Miguel in danger, even if her tone has turned understanding. Or in that case, maybe she doesn't hate him, but pities him for what he's implied about him and Kreese, which is so much worse.

They pause at the doorway, both trying to come up with the least awkward way of saying goodbye.

"Look, I care about Miguel," Johnny forces out. "Like I care about Robby. Like he's my own kid. I know you think I'm a bad influence, but I tried to look after him. But I get it, if you don't want me around anymore. Trust me, I get it."

"I know you care about him," Carmen says. She looks him straight in the eyes. "And that's a hell of a lot more than I've learned to expect from most men. It means a lot to me – what you do for Miguel." After the weight of a serious statement, Carmen gives him a mischievous smile that does a decent job of hiding the strain she's under. "I'm sorry for slapping you, by the way."

Johnny grins, a little crookedly, and tries to ease the tension with humor. "You can slap me anytime you want."

She's not saying anything. Her face is unreadable.

Yeah, that did not go over well. And now he probably is going to hear that objectifying lecture. "Never mind," he says quickly. "It was a stupid joke."

"Was it?"

"Yeah it was, okay? Stupid. Sorry," he shoots out, defensive. He's a fifty-year-old man and somehow she's managing to make him feel embarrassed over a dumb, crude one-liner. She didn't seem like a prude, but whatever. He gets it. He's not with the times anymore, not that he cares.

"No. Not was it stupid?. I meant, was it a joke?"

And she's standing too close to him. He can see her gulp. He can see her pupils washing out those dark brown irises, staring up at him. She smells good, that faint wisp of coconut shampoo, the coils of her ringlets falling to her shoulders, a visible impression where her hairband held it back for the twelve long hours of her shift. He doesn't care that her mascara is smeared, or that she's wearing scrubs and sneakers, or that the bags under her eyes prove she's as weary and sleep-deprived as he is. He wants her. And he knows she wants him. He doesn't know how she could, when he's acted so weak, exposing his emotions and failures. But she does.

He closes the last inch between them, cups the base of her head in the palm of his hand, and leans into her. Before he can even finish leaning in to kiss her, she meets him there, and the door rattles as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and he steps off balance. When they stop to catch their breaths, an idiot grin spreads across his face, and he sees his own happiness reflected back in her.

He tucks her hair behind her ear and leans in for another. He's not thinking about how this will go over with Robby and Miguel. He's not thinking about how uncomfortable it will be later, if Carmen decides this is a one-time thing. He's not thinking about how he will probably ruin it. He's not thinking about the consequences. He's not thinking.

It's definitely not a joke, but it sure is stupid. There are worse things than being stupid, though.