Work Text:
Winners
After mom married Sid and got rich, Johnny became a kid who was a little bit of everything. Scientist, musician. Artist, scholar. (He got an A in spelling once; it gave him pipe-dreams of scholastic grandeur for a week.) Still—over the years, in exchange for becoming a man, he had to give those up. One by one. Maybe because he wasn't patient enough, smart enough.
(Good enough.)
Karate wasn't like that, though. It stayed with him, grew with him. Shifted and changed to accommodate his body. Karate made him feel big, important. Special.
Until the tournament.
(Until it didn't.)
And Losers
He'd say time's long gone for regret, wishful thinking—but what else has Johnny chomping pizza like a bum at the mini-mart?
That kinda unhappiness took thirty-years of brooding to master. While still remaining an entirely useless, resume unfriendly skill.
Shit.
Why couldn't misery stay away from him, like a kite in the air that couldn't be reached? (Or a trophy in a box that wouldn't be touched.)
But apparently he can't even sulk in peace. Not with some ugly punks picking on some dork nearby. (Like how life picks on Johnny.)
Misery's business—not his business.
(Until it is.)
And Whatever Is Left
Johnny's gotta kid who hates him, but a car that doesn't—and that's the top relationship focus right now. Easier too.
(Or so he thinks.)
All he's gotta do is move their bullying away from his ride. It'll be—
—Loser, the punk calls him.
Johnny pauses. The word reverberating like a bell from a parking-lot in 'eighty-five to the right here. Right now. The weight of thirty-five years and a day so shitty it should be recorded for the ages shoved aside for rage and poor decisions.
So he pivots.
Readies his leg.
(Kicks the little shit in his face.)
In-Between
And just like that, Johnny Lawrence is back on the mat. Where he belongs.
(Where he matters.)
Maybe not defending his All Valley title this time 'round, but he's protecting his car—and that dorky Mexican too—and that's not half bad, considering.
Johnny's out of work, out of temper—but he's not quite out of commission.
(Not yet.)
He lands the final blow on the punks just as the cops arrive and arrest him, pepper spray and all. There's gonna be hell to pay tomorrow, but whatever.
It's good to know he's still got karate.
(And karate's got him.)