Chapter Text
“Cut it out, Kyler.”
Robby stayed his hand over what little remained of the purple hair to glare down at his right-hand side. He and his teammate locked eyes, the brief threat of a power struggle exchanged in that look, like it was a matter of determining who had the control: the one holding the razor or the one holding the belt?
It wasn’t a question. Robby knew he had complete control here.
And after another two seconds, Kyler loosened his grip on the belt. “Heh, what’s the big deal?” he retorted. “I thought the whole point was to give Lip a good scare. You scared yet, Lip? Yeah, you thought you were tough shit when you gave Brucks that beatdown, but look at you now, bitch!”
On the tattoo parlor table, Hawk coughed. He started writhing again, trying to take deep breaths, but he seemed to have difficulty swallowing with the belt around his neck, and they came out like strangled sobs while the Cobras continued holding him down.
He wasn’t so tough without his mohawk.
It was amazing to Robby how fast Hawk’s threats had died as soon as he’d started shaving his head, how quickly his false bravado revealed itself to be nothing more than macho posturing. Robby had always suspected that, of course. Everything about Hawk had been obvious overcompensation.
And after the threats fell on deaf ears came the predictable innocent act. “Why are you doing this?” Like Hawk didn’t know. Well, Robby wouldn’t forget how Hawk had loomed over Kenny at the drive-in theater, that malicious smirk on his face, spilled popcorn and concessions strewn all over the ground. It didn’t take a genius to piece together what had probably happened.
His innocent act might’ve fooled others, but Robby wasn’t an idiot. He knew what sort of person Hawk was. Hawk was the asshole who cheap-shotted you when your back was turned. He was the douchebag who ganged up on you five-to-one. Well, now it was finally his turn to get a taste of his own medicine.
But then Hawk had broke down crying. That had caught Robby by surprise, and for a moment had him second-guessing whether or not to continue on with the cut. Until he remembered that all bullies were ultimately nothing more than cowards. That realization hardened Robby’s resolve and powered him the rest of the way. It only made sense that Hawk would break down into a blubbering mess when faced with an actual consequence.
Did he, of all people, actually expect mercy from Cobra Kai?
Robby scraped the straight razor down the back of Hawk’s head, shearing the end of the mohawk, sprinkling the floor with stiff strands of purple hair. All this crying over hair. Not to mention the senseless struggling, the way Hawk feebly kicked his legs back out again, the way his whole body went taut. Robby didn’t know why Hawk even bothered putting up a fight anymore. The job was almost complete.
Pausing for a moment, Robby glanced across the table at Tory, who just continued to watch, mesmerized, while the execution of revenge played out. And yet she still hadn’t participated herself. She’d been the one calling for payback for months, and Robby wondered whether it was finally giving her the satisfaction she’d craved to see her ex-teammate pay for betraying Cobra Kai.
He’d first mistaken her grudge for mere tribalism, something he had no interest in. But it ran deeper than that for Tory. It was the same sort of bitterness that led to her obsession with wanting to put Sam in her place. People who hurt her deserved to be hurt back, with interest.
Robby held out the razor. “You want to finish this?”
Tory blinked at him, surprised.
“Just a couple cuts left,” Robby added, gesturing with his free hand to the wispy tufts of purple hair remaining. Then he forced a small, hard curl around the corner of his mouth. “Or do you think we should leave them so Hawk can finish fixing his stupid haircut himself?”
Tory held his gaze for three long seconds before raising her hand. But just as it looked like she was about to reach out and accept the razor, her eyes dropped down to the table. Her hand dropped fast next, and her eyes widened. “Uh, his lips are turning blue….”
Furrowing his brows, Robby’s gaze followed Tory’s down to Hawk, and it was only at that moment that he realized the other boy had stopped squirming, and he reasoned why when he saw Kyler had tightened his hold on the belt again.
Robby’s heart leaped to his throat.
“Hey, I said knock it off!” he exclaimed, shoving Kyler’s shoulder.
“Geez, lighten up.” Kyler scoffed, rolling his eyes while he relaxed his grip.
Letting out an irate sigh, Robby turned his attention back to Hawk, expecting to hear him cough again. But he didn’t. Hawk wasn’t making any noise at all, anymore, lying there limp, like the fight was finally out of him. Or like deadweight.
Robby’s hand paused where he’d been prepared to make another cut, instead reaching down to give Hawk’s shoulder a shake. Hawk didn’t respond. His eyes were closed and the color on his lips wasn’t looking any better.
Goosebumps rose over Robby’s skin and he told Kyler, “Let him go.”
When Kyler hesitated, giving him a weird look, Robby dropped the razor, letting it fall to the floor as he reached down to wrench Kyler’s hands off the white gi belt. The Cobras holding Hawk’s arms down released him when Robby pulled the belt away. And when Hawk still didn’t move, a horrible quiet fell over the parlor. Although, that might’ve just been from the blood rushing to Robby’s ears.
Tory’s brows pinched together. Crossing her arms over her chest to mask her unease, she gave it away when she shifted the weight back and forth on her feet. “Think he’s faking?” she asked.
Catching the belt that Robby tossed back to him, Kyler let out a chuckle, but even that sounded on edge. “He’s pussy enough to try.”
Trying his best to ignore the red ring around Hawk’s neck, at what that implied, Robby shook his shoulder harder. “Hawk?” He shook again, then reached over and gave Hawk’s face a couple taps. “Hawk, wake up. Come on, man, we’re finished now, we’re gonna let you go, alright?”
No response.
Tory’s shoulders were rising and falling now, the color in her cheeks draining. “Is…Is he breathing?”
Robby hovered his hand over Hawk’s mouth and nose, expecting to feel heat over his clammy palm. And when he felt nothing, his stomach bottomed out. He blinked rapidly, still waiting for that feeling of breath that didn’t come, even as his mouth moved on its own to force out the word, “No….”
A sudden realization came over Kyler’s face. “Dude, if he dies, we could all go to jail.”
“No shit!” snapped Tory. “Why do you think Robby was telling you to stop strangling him, you idiot?!”
“Hey, I didn’t see you doing anything to stop this,” Kyler countered, taking a step towards Tory, squaring his shoulders back like a challenge. “And who was the one who kept talking about getting revenge on Lip? Huh? You’re the crazy bitch who started all this shit when you got into that catfight with Sam and got the whole school involved.”
Tempers were hot. Blame was already being flung in every direction. Everything was happening so fast, Robby felt like he was on a roller-coaster and about to throw up as it sunk in that he hadn’t ever considered the possibility of this happening. He’d had everything under control, and now….
They had to resuscitate Hawk.
“Help me pick him up,” said Robby, wrapping his arms around Hawk’s torso.
“Good idea,” said Kyler, shoving the white belt in his hoodie pocket before rolling up his sleeves. “Where can we hide the body?”
Robby’s mouth twisted in disgust, and his stomach lurched harder. “I mean help me get him on the floor!”
Shoving Kyler aside, Tory grabbed Hawk’s legs and assisted Robby in lying Hawk onto the ground, laying him flat on his back over the strewn purple hair. Robby’s mind raced a mile a minute, scrambling to remember a class he’d snuck into forever ago on a whim, on the off-chance he’d have to help his mother in the case of an overdose.
Placing his hands on Hawk’s chest, locking his elbows, he pressed down. He couldn’t remember, how many compressions was he supposed to do? Twenty? Thirty? Tilting Hawk’s head back, he pressed their mouths together and gave his rival one of his own deep breaths. After a second, he gave him another one.
Nothing.
Robby tried again, frantic now. Ten, twenty, thirty compressions. Two deep breaths. A quick prayer for this piece of shit to not die on him. And when he heard a hoarse cough this time, he thought he was going to faint from relief. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, watching the small rise and fall of Hawk’s chest.
But his relief vanished when Hawk’s cough subsided and his eyes remained closed. He might have been breathing now, but his breaths were shallow, and he still wasn’t stirring.
All the blood in Robby’s body chilled over. “He’s not waking up.…”
“Fuck this shit, man, I’m outta here!” Kyler declared, and without another word he bolted out of the tattoo parlor. The other two Cobras soon followed his example, rushing like their lives depended on it, leaving Robby and Tory behind.
Robby stood back up on his wobbly legs, staring down at Hawk. He didn’t think his gut could sink any lower. The room was spinning. He reached out his hand to steady himself against the nearby table so he didn’t fall over.
He flinched when Tory touched his arm. “Robby, we need to get out of here, too,” she pointed out, the previous spite having long since dissipated from her eyes; now there was unmistakable fear in them. “We did what we could, let’s just go before the owner of this place gets back.”
Robby turned his own eyes back to Hawk. Yeah. They should just leave. It was no different than the time he, Sam, and Demetri all left Hawk lying unconscious on the floor of the food court at the mall. Apart from a black eye, Hawk had been fine. In fact, the prick had been so fine that he’d gone and wrecked Miyagi-Do in retaliation.
Yeah. The situations were hardly any different.
Then why, Robby wondered when he stared down at Hawk right now, did he not see the image of his rival at the mall? Why did his mind conjure up the picture of Miguel lying unconscious on a flight of stairs?
Because this was so much more serious than the fight at the mall, a little voice in the back of his head was warning him. Hawk wasn’t knocked out cold from a kick to the head. He’d stopped breathing. How long had he stopped breathing? He could be brain dead. He could be in a….
Almost choking on his own breath, Robby’s hands started shaking on the table. Shit. Holy shit. He and Tory had broken probation. What if the owner of the tattoo parlor fingered them? God, he’d been the one to pay the guy off to disappear for a while, the owner knew his face, he could describe him to the police. But he took a bribe. Would he still rat them out if it meant admitting to that?
And what if Hawk woke up and pressed charges? God, he was going back to juvie, wasn’t he? Maybe it would be better if Hawk…?
The table scraped across the floor as Robby stumbled backward on his feet into it, shaking the dark idea out of his head. No. He wasn’t that sort of person. Was he? Oh God, fuck, what the hell was he even thinking? Jesus Christ, what was he supposed to do, though?
“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” he mumbled, following Tory outside before his desperate mind could conjure even worse thoughts. He didn’t know how his feet were managing to move. They must have had a brain of their own because the one in his head felt like it was caught in a dense fog.
He and Tory raced to the nearest bus stop since Kyler had taken off with their ride in his jeep, and Robby didn’t even remember how long it took for the thing to show up. Next thing he knew, he was sitting down at a window seat, staring outside at the blurry traffic.
It was no different than what had happened at the mall, he told himself over and over again. In fact, it was pretty much the exact same. Hawk was the initial aggressor. He just got what was coming to him. And he’d be back up and acting like a total asshole again in no time. Cobra Kai would probably be vandalized by the next morning.
Pressing the heels of his palms against his forehead, Robby tried catching his breath as two desperate truths shoved themselves to the forefront of his mind, the same ones that he’d felt when staring down at Miguel’s comatose figure on the school steps before he took off running: he wished his dad was here; he wished Mr. LaRusso was here, too.