Chapter Text
A/N: Picks up when Robby brings Sam back to Johnny’s place drunk. The end of season 2 was too much of a downer for me.
And, I think taking care of drunk people is frequently hilarious.
He opens the door and it’s not Carmen. It’s his son. With Daniel LaRusso’s daughter. And Robby is holding her up, while she sways glassy-eyed and doesn’t even think to say hello.
“Hi, Dad,” Robby says, sort of hopefully.
“Shit,” he sighs. He doesn’t have to ask any questions. “Come on in.”
He watches Robby lead the girl inside and half-carry her to the couch, and settle her down.
“Robby,” she slurs. Pawing for his wrist. “Where are we?”
“It’s okay,” Robby says, smooth and reassuring and coherent. “We’re at my dad’s. We can crash here, it’s okay. Everything’s fine. I have a room here.” He looks up. “Right?”
“Yeah. Down the hall.” He takes a deep breath and does his best Responsible Adult. “You sleep there – by yourself. She takes my room. I’ll take the couch.”
Robby cocks his head.
Playing dumb? Then he will elaborate. “Nothing happens with a girl that trashed under my roof, do you understand me?” It pisses him off that he should have to explain this. “I don’t roll that way. Neither should you. Not even to LaRusso’s brat.”
The sound of her name makes her turn her drunk head. “What?”
“Nothing, kid,” he says without looking at her, “You just take it easy, you’re good here.” His attention is still on Robby. Who is definitely sober.
There are only two guys who leave a party cold sober to take a wasted girl home: a torch-carrying loser, or something much worse. And he knows Robby’s not a loser. “What are you carrying a drunk girl to your room for?”
Robby’s eyes go wide. “Dad, it’s not like that.”
Please. That innocent, imploring look can disarm every adult in the universe except Johnny. He used to use that look himself.
He waits.
Finally Robby starts talking. “I swear I’m not going to touch her,” he insists. “She’s a nice girl and I wouldn’t do that to her. Or Mr. LaRusso. I promise.” He’s firm.
Johnny frowns – it sounds pretty believable, but he knows what he knows. “Then what the hell are you doing leaving a party sober?”
Robby looks away. Hisses out a breath that sounds resentful. “When I start drinking sometimes I don’t stop,” he mutters at last. “So today I just didn’t start. That’s the truth.”
It’s a relief to hear that his son isn’t a creep. (And is a more responsible drunk than he is!). But it still doesn’t explain the whole whole story. “If you’re just looking for a place to crash and not somewhere to get laid, then why not your mom’s?” Robby doesn’t even keep clothes here.
“Because Mom’s in rehab!” Robby bursts out. “Okay?”
Ah.
“Okay,” Johnny says at last. He knows there should be more. What would a good father say? I’m sorry your mom is in rehab - is that a thing? “Uh… I’m glad you came to my place.”
Robby huffs like he doesn’t believe it.
“I am!”
“Right.” Robby smiles. “Well I knew you’d be cooler about it than Mr. LaRusso, anyway.” The smile disappears. “I could never take Sam to his house looking like that. As it is he’s going to kill us for staying out all night.”
LaRusso. Right. LaRusso will flip. He glances at the girl. “Yeah. We’ll get her squared away. Return her in the morning, in one piece. That has to count for something, right?”
“I hope so. I’ll tell him it was me drunk and not her, and I asked her to bring me here. I hope he doesn’t think… what you thought.”
He winces. It’s the obvious thing to think. “Well now I think everything’s okay,” he says. “And I’m putting you in separate rooms, and that should be good enough even for Douchebag Daniel LaRusso. Okay?”
Robby nods. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Sure.” He hesitates. Then: fuck it. He gathers the kid in for a big hug, which seems to surprise him, but he doesn’t fight it. Awesome.
An hour later he’s rethinking his assessment. He’s had plenty of time to sober up by now; the restaurant feels like a decade ago as he sits here holding Samantha LaRusso’s hair out of the puke-filled toilet while she heaves. Robby’s peacefully asleep, and he’s here. None of this is awesome at all.
“That’s right, let it out,” he says, for the thousandth time, coddling as nicely as he can, for Robby’s sake. “You’re okay.”
“Don’t tell my dad,” she begs, also for the thousandth time.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He flushes for her. He swigs water – they’ve long since run out of juice and milk and everything else in his fridge (except beer, which will only set her off again), then reaches over with his free hand to refill the cup at the sink. “Here – drink.”
She groans. “Again? Do I have to?” Her head lolls forward until he’s almost holding her up by the hair. He gives it a tug to make sure she’s still awake, and she hardly seems to notice.
“Yeah – you have to.”
“I can’t.”
He’s getting sick of this. He was nowhere near this pathetic at her age – and none of his Cobras would be this pathetic either. Even the girls.
That thought – he’s sure about it – makes him change tactics. “What kind of loser can’t drink water?” he snaps suddenly.
She jumps. Straightens up enough that he can let go of her without fearing she’ll fall in. He opens the under-sink cabinet and fishes out his lost & found – it’s got some panties, assorted makeup, a keyring he’s still mystified how the chick is living without… and a couple of hair ties. He picks blonde curls off one til it’s relatively clean, and gives her a ponytail.
“Hey.” He slaps the toilet tank to get her attention, and she jumps again. He raises his voice so she won’t go back to sleep. “Are you a loser, Miss LaRusso?”
“Huh? No.” She sounds properly offended.
“Good. Then drink this fucking water like I told you to. Here.” He shoves it into her hand.
It works better than coddling – she glares at him, tilts her head back and starts to chug. Excellent.
He doesn’t realize he’s chanting under his breath until she lowers the cup and gives him a look of drunken contempt. “We don’t say chug,” she says. “That’s so, like, not. We just say drink.”
He can live with that. “Okay, fine, whatever. Drink. Drink. Drink.” Until she finishes the cup.
She gasps for breath and wipes her mouth. “Okay?” she demands, both hands braced on the toilet bowl. (Thank God he cleaned it before his date, just in case. Twenty-four hours ago it had been too filthy to even puke in.).
“Okay. Keep it down for five minutes and then you can go to bed.” Nothing’s stayed down yet, but he thinks they’re getting closer.
But then he sees her body jerking; she’s about to heave again. “No,” he barks.
She covers her mouth with her hand. “I know, I know,” she says through her fingers.
“Water is good for you.”
“I know.”
“It’s stupid to puke up water!”
“I know!”
“Are you going to let your body be stupid?”
“Oh my god, shut up!” She sounds like every bratty teenage girl who has ever come to his classes.
And he bulls over her like he bulls over the rest of them. “Miss LaRusso!” It’s deafeningly loud in the tiny bathroom. “I said: Are you going to let your body be stupid?”
She wails in frustration and anger. Finally cooperates – but shouting, even louder than he was. “No! Okay?”
“Good! Are you going to puke up that water?”
“No!”
“Good!” But he can see her shoulders shaking as her body prepares to retch. “Swallow. Don’t you dare. Swallow now!”
She gulps on nothing.
“Again! Keep swallowing.”
She obeys. After a while, she goes still. He watches like a hawk, but her stupid stomach seems to have stopped convulsing. “Good,” he says, when he’s sure. “I think you’re actually keeping it down this time. Nice.” He stands up. (And gasps. It hurts. He is much too old to be kneeling on tile floors all night.). “I’m going to get you something to wear,” he says. “Stay here. Do not puke any more, you hear me?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles. “I hear you.”
He stands in his room and considers. Dressing her in the shirt he’s got on – the one LaRusso saw him wearing tonight – would be the ultimate power move, except it’s a button-down and clearly not for sleeping. It’ll be obvious that he’s provoking on purpose, which makes it less cool. Same goes for all the kid-sized Cobra Kai gear he’s got lying around. He opens his own t-shirt drawer instead, and pulls out one of his reds, something recognizably his to make sure that LaRusso hits the ceiling.
He hopes the wife washes and folds it for him afterwards. Maybe he’ll stop by the house and collect it in person. After tonight he is definitely entitled.
TBC.
One more part to this, where Samantha returns the favor. It's all written and will probably be up tomorrow. Let me know what you think! And, if you know of any other fics about Johnny and drunk!Samantha, let me know. I think that's a set of characters with great potential!
(This is why my Johnny/Daniel fic has been on hold a couple of days; I've been busy with this. Planning to be back to regularly scheduled programming on that one soon.)