Blake pov
Robby grits his teeth at the sight of my back wounds.
"What the hell happened to you?" Robby asks in shock.
"When you ran off at the high school, let's say Noah brought out the rings again. I don't know if you heard about how I got my scars or not, but I'm sure you can put two and two together," I answer without emotion.
For the first time, thinking about the rings didn't come with a sudden adrenaline rush or any sort of brief flashback.
There's no way I was simply moving on from the trauma because it would be there until the day I die, but maybe completing the circle in a sense brought my brain a sick sense of closure.
"So, what do you need my help with?" Robby finally asks looking rather pale.
"Replacing the bandages on my own is already difficult with a mirror, but it's pretty much impossible without one," I nonchalantly answer and grit my teeth when peeling off the rather crudely placed strips.
The skin on Robby's face is still a sickly shade of pale compared to his usual pigment so I finally ask what the problem is.
"I just… don't do well with blood," Robby answers putting his hand up.
My jaw drops.
"Y-you… don't do well w-…? You literally do karate, a combat sport where people bleed pretty often. I'VE LITERALLY SEEN YOU BLEED BEFORE!" I shout incredulously tossing my arms in the air before letting them fall back to my side.
"That's different! When it's mine, it's just not the same," Robby remarks rather flustered.
"You're telling me you've never given anyone a bloody nose? Not even by accident?" I remark almost amused.
Robby shrugs and shakes his head.
"Wait a minute, last year at the All Valley, during our match, you punched me in the face and made my nose gush blood. That didn't gross you out," I argue.
"I didn't notice!" Robby retorts.
"You totally did. There's just no way you didn't see that medic swarming me and shoving tissues into my nostrils. I-I almost had to forfeit, but luckily it wasn't broken. You're telling me you didn't notice to any of that?!" I ask in disbelief.
"Not really, Mr. LaRusso was coaching me during that. Not to mention, you also hit me in the eye so he was making sure it didn't swell," Robby argues pointing his finger at me.
I throw my arms into the air and put them on my head. I take a deep breath and try to think. The motion actually causes my wound to sting like hell, but I've grown somewhat used to it. I can't help but notice the pain has only gotten worse and not better.
"Look, we don't exactly have medical supplies for stitches so the bandages are the best we have. If I don't get at least that, It'l get infected. If that happens, possibly gangrene, then I die," I say calming down.
Robby folds his arms.
"You potentially dying seems to be a recurring problem," Robby says with no emotion.
I glare at him. This immediately brings back my anger from earlier.
"I get it. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You already killed Miguel, why not take another Cobra Kai WITH YOU RIGHT!" I scream.
Robby's eyes widen. He stops breathing and his eyes get glassy.
"What did you just say?" He remarks in an ominously calm voice.
He takes a step toward me, but I back up on instinct realizing what I said was unnecessary, plus I'd never seen Robby make this face. My emotions were clouding my thoughts at the moment and I soon found that I was shaking with worry, but also fury.
"You heard me… murderer," I spit with venom looking directly into Robby's eyes.
Robby's frozen expression quickly shifts into one of fury and he rams his body into mine. He wraps his arms around my midsection and drives me directly into the ground.
Unfortunately, the fact that I'm shirtless causes the dirt on the ground to dig into my still open wounds which brings a fiery hot agony.
"You call me murderer after what you did to Noah!" Robby screams and goes to punch me.
Before he brings down his fist, I scream at the top of my lungs as the pain in my back becomes too great to ignore.
The reminder of Noah only made the pain worsen then I realize that my eyes are red rimmed and blurry. Everything hurt physically and emotionally.
The pain in my back only reminded me just how real this was. I blink rapidly and hate that a small tear rolls out of my right eye.
However, before I let embarrassment creep into my chest at the fact that I'm shedding a tear in the presence of Robby fucking Keene take over, my now cleared vision shows Robby also mirroring my red eyes.
The skin on his face now glows scarlet as he rolls off of my body and sits cross cross on the ground beside me.
Robby aggressively buries his face into his hands and his shoulders begin to shake as his breath quickens.
Was Robby… crying also?
As I cautiously move into a sitting position, Robby aggressively stands up, picks up a rock and throws it as far as he can into the open field in the distance.
"FUUUUUUUCCCCCKKK! FUUUCK! FUCK!" Robby bellows with a loudness I've never heard before falling to his knees and punching the ground as hard as he can.
I stand up and hiss at the pain in my back but do my best to ignore it. I was more intrigued with this.
As much as I hated Robby, it was in my nature to feel sympathy for someone in this state. Robby's eyes are squeezed shut and his teeth are gritted as he quietly cries in a quadruped position.
His his fingers dig into the mud under him as I see tear drops make small wet spots on the ground. I decide to just let him have his moment as I need to reel from my own emotions.
We were just kids man. As much as we screwed up, we were still children.
I pick up my shirt and use it to wipe my tears. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down and prevent an emotional breakdown from anxiety and physical agony. I slip my shirt back on and just wait. By now, I've calmed down and wait for Robby to finish his moment.
I attempt to think of words. Despite everything, I still hated Robby with nearly every fiber of my being but for the first time, I can see that he feels bad for what he did. At least I hope so.
Whether he was crying simply from fear of jail and missing the people close to him or legitimate guilt is something I'd rather not question. A whole new feeling of helplessness crept into my body as I realized I couldn't win a fight against Robby like this. I was borderline crippled because the pain from my wounds made moving my left shoulder and arm a painful challenge rather than an everyday motion of second nature.
After another minute, I hear footsteps and see Robby trudging back to the caravan. He glares at me when we make eye contact. I sigh.
"Listen… this isn't ideal. For either of us, but I know what Noah meant to you," I remark giving Robby a sympathetic expression.
Robby, now intrigued doesn't role his eyes or scoff like I'd grown accustomed to him doing whenever I spoke. He simply listens.
"When I was helping clean Miyagi Do, he told me you were his first real friend. Don't get me wrong, I can't see it, but you meant a lot to him. Like Miguel meant a lot to me. Despite everything, Miguel would probably want me to help you if you were the one with gashes on your back. If it's not for me, do it for Noah," I genuinely say.
Robby freezes for a second before looking to the ground.
"Diaz would want you to let me die," Robby remarks with no emotion, but also no malice.
"No, he wouldn't," I retort keeping the genuine tone.
"Why not?" Robby asks with a sardonic chuckle.
"Because it was never who he was. He may have hated you, but he'd never want you to die. He'd never wish that upon anyone," I remark in a sad reminiscent voice.
Robby leans back against the car and hunches over, placing his hands on his knees and hanging his head.
"So can you manage to swallow your vomit for long enough to help me replace my bandages or not?" I ask after a moment of silence.
Robby just looks at me without emotion.
"I'll try. Can't guarantee anything but I'll see what I can do," Robby uncertainly answers.
The pain has gotten worse over the last hour. It gets to a point where any movement out of my left arm results in a painful hot flash.
Once we drive for another thirty minutes, Robby pulls over and finally agrees to help change my bandages. We climb into the back and remove my shirt gritting my teeth at unbearable stinging sensation.
Robby's reaction is one I was not expecting because he gasps.
"Come on, you've already seen them. They couldn't have changed that much," I remark impatiently.
Robby scrunches his nose in disgust before opening the car door and vomiting onto the ground outside.
"Jesus, how are you this much of a pussy about it?" I remark growing frustrated.
"You don't get it. It smells awful dude. It's not even bleeding anymore, the scabs are yellow, green, and leaking… puss. Dude, it's infected and it's bad. Really bad. If you could smell it you'd puke to," Robby remarks in a raspy tone.
"How is it already infected?" I ask growing anxious.
"Think about our conditions throughout the last few days and I'm sure you can put that together," Robby remarks with the old sarcasm I was used to before all of this.
I turn my head back and sniff the air. I nearly gag. To my utter horror, Robby is right. My gashes are infected.
"Fuck, we can't go to the hospital. I'm screwed," I whisper panicked.
"Ok, relax. Look, I can try to drain the pus, but it's not gonna tickle. We don't exactly have any sort of pain killers," Robby remarks tying his shirt around his nose to block out the stench.
Dread fills my body as I begin to sweat. Simply moving at all hurt like hell. I couldn't imagine having a sharp object digging around.
"Do we have anything decently sharp and clean?" I ask with dread.
Robby sighs.
"It's not much, but it's all we have," Robby grimaces and pulls out a small pocket knife from his backpack.
"You've had a knife this whole time?" I ask growing suspicious.
"No, got it during the last shopping spree. Figured we'd need it at some point. It can pick locks if you use the thin blade," Robby answers casually.
"Ok," I sigh as my body heats up and I keep sweating.
"You're gonna have to stay still because this will cause you to twitch. I'm gonna tie you down with the seatbelt," Robby reasons.
Despite that someone I had only ever seen as an enemy was holding a pocket knife and about to tie me down, I knew I had no choice but to comply.
I sit on my knees on the seat with my back facing Robby as he straps the seatbelt around my body in a rather makeshift attempt to tie me down.
Robby gets out the container full of Clorox wipes and begins to scrub off the knife.
I shakily breathe and attempt to mentally prepare for the ungodly amount of agony I'm about to endure.
"You can do this. You can do this," I whisper over and over.
"I know I can, but if you keep talking I'll lose my train of thought," Robby remarks annoyed.
"I'm talking to myself," I admit.
"Ok on the count of three," Robby remarks steadying the blade near my wounds.
"One," Robby follows up.
"Two," I say and bite down on the fabric of my hoodie as hard as I can and squeeze my eyes shut.
Three never comes as the next second, I feel something dig into my skin that feels as if someone is pressing a burning hot brand into my body. Despite clamping my teeth into my hoodie I let out an ear piercing scream.
I continue to scream at the top of my lungs and it drowns out any sound despite it being muffled. I can't even breathe as I feel the sharp metal digging around my infected skin. Before I realize it, tears roll down my face which is already drenched with sweat. It takes everything in my power not to thrash around and flinch at this pain, but I hold strong despite me hearing the hoodie beginning to rip and tear thanks to the intensity of my bite.
"GOT IT!" Robby exclaims.
I feel slight relief and better than I have in hours. I'm soaked from head to toe in my own sweat.
I turn to look at Robby who's scooting away from the small puddle of crimson and yellow gunk slowly staining the seat between us.
My vision blurs and I grow dizzy. I attempt to use my arm to catch myself, but everything goes dark soon after.
I wake up to a steady bumping sensation as. The first thing I notice is that my body is soaking wet, my skin feels warm to the touch, and it's daylight outside.
I'm in the trunk of the caravan while Robby sits in the drivers seat. I can't help but notice how cold it feels.
"R-Robby, turn on the heat," I rasp out and begin to shiver.
I didn't understand. My entire body felt hot to the touch, but I was having the cold sweat of my life. It felt like I was in a freezer. I hug myself and continue to shiver.
"Murphy, welcome back to the land of the living," Robby nonchalantly remarks and pulls over on the side of the road.
He gets out and opens the trunk to let me out. However, he freezes when he sees me.
"Jesus, you look awful," he remarks.
Before I can respond, his eyes go wide and he puts a hand on my sweaty forehead.
"Oh shit," he breathes out in panic.
"W-what?" I whisper pathetically and keep shivering.
"You're burning up bad. I'm no doctor, but you have a really bad fever. Probably from the infection," Robby tells me with dread.
My heart sinks, but the feeling of sickness for once distracts me from our situation. It was like being in hell to the point where I finally accept the nuclear option.
"Alright… take me to the hospital. Drop me off then you can drive away," I rasp put and walk hunched over and hugging myself into the passenger seat.
Robby stares at me for a few seconds before remarking in almost an empathetic tone.
"Ok,"
I had someone in mind who could fix this and who worked at the hospital. While I wasn't sure if I had any sort of bounty on my head, I'd let this individual turn me in regardless.
Third person pov
Detective McCarthy looks over documents at his desk. Two stacks of paper with photographs paper clipped to the top left corners of each. One of Murphy and one of Keene. As much as the man didn't care about Keene, he was curious about whether Murphy was even still alive.
He'd read the reports based on all the new evidence which showed not only was Murphy wounded but also diabetic so if infection didn't kill him first, insulin shock would.
He despised the boy with every fiber of his being, but he couldn't help but feel for Murphy's parents. They knew their son's condition so the thought of Blake never coming home would be in the forefront of their minds. As a man with kids of his own, he'd be beside himself if it were his son James, but Murphy deserved justice.
They were on a clock and it would be better to catch him alive soon rather then to have someone find his remains buried in some remote location a few years from now.
The detective had taken many steps in the previous few days. Not only were there wanted posters in every California newspaper of both boys, but he'd taken extra steps to increase initiative in the form of a $15,000 dollar bounty on each of their heads for any individual who managed to contact authorities to the whereabouts of either West Valley fugitive.
His next stop was one he knew he should've covered earlier. Not only would he finally have a chance to speak to Blake Murphy's karate teacher, but he'd be able to observe where Murphy had learned to commit violence in such a manner.
By the time he reached the Cobra Kai dojo in Reseda, the sun was beginning to set. As a responsible police detective, he had his search warrant in hand.
The man didn't bother asking for permission to enter as a shop bell rang above the door. The smell of sweat and synthetic leather instantly filled his nostrils but growing up with a sporty son had caused him to go rather nose-blind to the scent.
"Hello? Frank McCarthy, LAPD!" The detective calls out holding up his badge.
The man who walked out of the office was not who the detective inspected. He'd expected Johnny Lawrence who'd been reported as Blake Murphy's karate instructor, but the man in front of him was elderly and quite rough looking.
"We're closed for the day," the old man remarks with no pleasantry.
"I'm aware of your dojo's hours, sir. I'm not here for a lesson," the detective remarks matching the elderly individual's scowl.
"That's Sensei to you. Didn't expect any white collar feds on my doorstep. What do you want?" The elderly man nearly growls out in a tone of malice and bitterness.
"I'm looking for a man named Johnny Lawrence. I wish to speak to him about the whereabouts of Blake Murphy," the detective remarks.
This causes the elderly man to furrow a brow and a snake like smirk to stretch across his face.
"Johnny isn't here at the moment, but he'll be back," the man remarks with the smirk still present.
"I have a warrant to examine the property. Permission from Zarkarian the landlord. Before I begin, I'm going to need some information," the detective remarks.
"I'm army captain John Kreese. The true founder of Cobra Kai Karate. If you're curious about Blake Murphy, I'm sure there's some information I could provide. After all, he was one of the best students to walk in the doors," the man remarks with a hint of pride.
"Well Mr. Kreese, what was your relationship with Blake Murphy?" McCarthy asks scanning the main room with his eyes.
"If you must know, I've never seen a more determined student in my whole life. Excellent leadership skills, a respect for the sport like no other," Kreese whispers almost in a teasing tone.
Kreese had seen the news. He knew what this man was after. He'd promised Blake Murphy a few months back that he'd never turn his back on his student. He'd keep it by making sure this pig left his dojo empty handed. At least he could buy the boy some time.
However, McCarthy had been a detective for years now. Giving incentive to those who tried stalling was a specialty that got him his promotion after all.
"If you must know Mr. Kreese, attempting to hide information can have major consequences. You wouldn't want that would you? Especially after you took ownership of this rather successful small business," agent McCarthy remarks with a grin.
For the first time since the beginning of this case, agent McCarthy saw himself losing control of an interaction as the reaction Kreese gave was the last one he'd expected.
Where he assumed he'd see a hint of fear, he saw only a chilling grin. Where he expected a few stutters before hearing information, only a slight chuckle. Furthermore, he'd expected the senior citizen's eyes to immediately dart toward his bare feet, but instead they remained locked on McCarthy's blue eyes. This was a game to the old man.
"I'm very aware of the risk detective," Sensei Kreese remarked in almost a goading tone.
"Then you'll answer my questions in order to avoid that risk. Won't you," the detective remarks casually.
"You've yet to ask any?" Kreese rasps with the smirk still plastered on his face.
The two begin to walk toward the back room. Kreese looming slightly behind the detective who had an eye for examination. The equipment scattered about intrigued the agent.
"How would you describe Blake Murphy as a student? Any mental notes or red flags?" The deceive asks.
Kreese vaguely remembered the time he'd spoken to Blake about how the two both shared traits of PTSD, but that information was for the pig to figure out.
"Besides outstanding leadership qualities and discipline, not necessarily. Kid had a knack for hard work and pushed himself to improve. Until I met him, I'd assumed this generation of kids was a bunch of spineless snowflakes. The boy had strength I hadn't witnessed in decades. Not since Cobra Kai was in its prime back in the '80s. I'm sure you remember," Kreese answers.
"No actually, I didn't grow up here, but this manhunt has allowed me to get up to date on information. Who would you say Blake Murphy's friends were?" The fete I've remarks seeing through Kreese's desire to make small talk and eat up time.
"Mr. Murphy didn't play favorites. His teammates all mattered. A true soldier. They don't make them like him very often anymore," Kreese remarks.
The detective turns to face Kreese with a small bead of sweat running down his forehead. This man was impossible to deal with. It's also not like he could charge the man with aiding and abetting because he couldn't prove anything nor could he accuse the man of lying without risking a potential lawsuit that could hurt his credibility.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about?" The detective remarks lowering his voice into a malicious hushed tone.
"My apologies, detective," Kreese remarks folding his arms as a grin stretches onto his face for what seems like a broken record.
"If you're wondering who exactly his closest confidants were, you might wanna look closer to those files you've spent days examining. Diaz was one of our own. Mr. Murphy and Mr. Diaz were rather close. Loyal soldiers until the end. Unfortunate what occurred at the high school, but I assure you, I'm ensuring a better future here at this dojo so the next generation can learn strength and discipline," Kreese follows up in a serious tone.
OST: Special Agent Mahone (Prison Break)
/9V7lC9qjSkE?feature=shared
"Bullied day in and day out along with your friends. Loving parents, but plenty of dirty family laundry," the detective murmurs to himself in deep concentration as he glances at the wall.
The detective begins to look around the room. He runs his hand along the wall which reads in all capital letters.
COBRA KAI NEVER DIES
Agent McCarthy begins to think out loud in whispers. He'd read enough about Murphy and questioned his relatives many times. He knew about the bullying at West Valley High. About how many outcasts found sanctuary at this dojo.
"You had nobody in the world but your family and more importantly, your friends at this dojo. So, you trained, and you worked for months… never missing a beat until you get strong enough to fight back," the detective states in almost a whisper to himself as he paces to the other side of the wall.
He he turns to look at the equipment, he can almost script an entire workout. He sees Blake Murphy punching the bag, using the weights, and the pull up bar. He can see a determined but angry expression as various faces morph through his mind. Including his son's.
He'd heard James vent about his teammates but always ensuring to explain to his father that he stayed out of it. He knew he'd raised his son to be a respectful man so he believed every word. Murphy had attacked his son and nearly ruined his football future and agent McCarthy would ensure that justice was served.
However, if he couldn't get Kreese to give him what he wanted, he could use alternative means.
"I'd like a copy of the security footage of every practice Blake Murphy has participated in since the beginning of the summer. Along with a copy of your dojo's roster," the detective remarks.
Kreese folds his arms and his eyes narrow.
"I'm afraid that will take a while. You need a warrant for that don't you," Kreese remarks.
"Right here," McCarthy remarks jabbing his finger into the piece of paper with a hint of frustration.
"That's just a search warrant. If you want the rest, you'll have to come back at a later time. Apologies, but that's simply the law, detective," Kreese sneers our sounding amused, almost in a mocking tone.
Although the detective's attempt to pull a fast one didn't work, he'd get that warrant. He narrows his eyes, but nods.
"You're making a mistake," the detective remarks in a low tone.
Kreese smirks in his face and chuckles lightly.
"I'm simply following the law, like a proper American citizen," Kreese taunts.
With that, McCarthy makes his exit with Kreese smirking behind him.
Blake Murphy would find a way out of this. His family had money to burn after all. He'd be back one day. Karate is a way of life. You can leave it, but it can never really leave you.