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Es un pequeño frijol dulce
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Published:
2022-05-14
Words:
2,540
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
26
Kudos:
391
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61
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4,285

i don't wanna talk

Summary:

“We can’t leave a drunk girl passed out at a party,” Tory says, clearly furious about it.

“I bet her parents will be pissed,” Robby offers.

(Or, how the plan to ruin Sam and Miguel's night works a little too well, and Robby and Tory somehow end up driving a drunk Sam LaRusso home after prom.)

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

By the time they get out of the pool, Robby’s sides hurt from laughing and Tory has given up on trying untangle her hair. He can’t remember the last time he felt this light. Robby would be happy to splash around with her until his fingers prune up, but the weird guy, “Stingray”, called out where towels could be found, and Tory wanted to jump on it while everyone else was still swimming and the supply hadn’t run out.

They find the towels without issue, haphazardly patting down clothes and drying off. Tory makes a whole new puddle squeezing out her hair. Robby feels a flutter in his chest, watching her, but he’s happy to let it hover just left of friendship for now, living in the moment.

Prom and its after party have been a rousing success, Robby doesn’t care about talking to anyone else here, and they have a whole night with a loaned Ferrari left. Tory cheerfully agrees to his suggestion of getting out of here, bumping affectionately into his shoulder as they drip back into the house. She always throws a little more force behind that than any girl who doesn’t do karate, but Robby can’t say he’s complaining.

“I’m gonna say bye to Piper,” she says, before disappearing into the crowd.

Robby leans against the living room wall to wait for her. For all the doubts he had about prom—never saw himself as the type to attend at all—he can’t deny the bubbling bliss. Maybe it is a magical night. Nothing can dim his mood right now.

Nothing except the drunk brunette laying sideways on the couch.

The smile slips off his face. No, that’s...definitely Sam, wet hair soaking through the cushion. The discarded cup on the floor near her hand says their sabotage plan might have worked a little too well. She’s conscious, but the last time he saw her this drunk...well. Yeah.

Tory takes a few minutes. Robby hopes in vain that Diaz will reappear, or some friend of Sam’s will swoop in to help. He’s never been that lucky. And no matter how much he looks around, there’s not a single person in sight he both could exchange civil words with and trusts with a hammered Sam. Indecisiveness roils in his gut. This was not the plan.

When he sees Tory winding her way back over, Robby catches one of the longer-tenured Cobra Kais by the arm. “Hey, you seen Diaz?”

“Think he left a while ago,” the guy says, before slipping away with a shrug.

Shit. Robby taps the wall.

“Hey.” Tory emerges before him, smile wide and hair slicked back. “You good?”

His hesitation gives him away. She follows his gaze to the couch.

“Seriously?” she says.

Robby shifts. “I don’t know. She just looks wasted.” And he’s got a pretty girl who’s also a good friend happy to spend the night with him, and a car he’d never be able to get for himself in a million years. Robby pulls a lopsided smile, reprioritizes. “You good?”

She is not. She’s sighing and rocking on her feet and glancing over her shoulder with an expression like she can’t even believe herself.

“We can’t leave a drunk girl passed out at a party,” she finally says, annoyed.

No, they really can’t.

“I bet her parents will be pissed,” Robby offers. Silver linings, and all that.

“Fine.” Tory smacks his chest as if he’s badgered her into it, and drags him by the hand towards the couch. “Go, get her up.”

So volunteered, Robby crouches down by the couch. “Hey.”

It’s instinct, the gentle voice, taking Sam’s shoulder, checking how hazy her eyes are. Pretty hazy. She’s cognizant, but she’s not getting anywhere on her own. It’s easy enough to get her to sit up. At least there’s not another drink to pull out her hand; Robby always hates that fight.

Sam squints at him. Robby waits until the twist of annoyance confirms he’s been recognized.

“Where’s Miguel?” Robby asks. If there’s still a chance of pawning her off on her boyfriend, who should be the one taking care of her...

“We had a fight,” Sam slurs. “Bet you’re happy.”

“Thrilled,” he says. “Do you have another ride? Friend or something?”

“I...told him I’d take ‘n Uber.”

“You’re not getting in an Uber with some rando,” Tory says behind him.

Sam peers up at her, expression turning mutinous.

“Hey,” Robby says softly again, pulling her attention back down. “Do you need a ride?”

Sam hesitates for a moment, and then her expression turns into one of abject misery, and she drops her head forward onto Robby’s shoulder. That would be a yes.

“Think we can fit her in the trunk?” Tory mutters.

 

 

They do not put her in the trunk. The convertible’s back seat isn’t exactly roomy, but the pair of them manage to drag Sam out of the party together and cram her in. Well, mostly Robby. Sam either glares or mutters barely intelligible insults whenever Tory gets too close.

When he’s content Sam is buckled in and not going to fall over, Robby hops into the driver’s seat beside Tory.

“If she pukes in the car, you’re taking the fall with Sensei Silver,” she tells him.

“If she pukes in the car, we’re lying to Sensei Silver,” Robby counters.

Tory doesn’t argue.

Even with Sam occasionally groaning over the wind from the back, driving the Ferrari is still damned fun. By the time they get up to speed on the road, Tory is laughing again, and Robby is grinning back, and only periodically glancing in the rear view mirror to check on his latest drunken dependent.

The mood dulls when they close in on Escalon Drive. Robby reluctantly rolls to a stop in the driveway, staring up at the familiar facade.

Tory doesn’t move.

“What?” she says when he looks over. He raises his eyebrows, and she balks. “I’m not going in! They’ll think I poisoned her or something. And it’s not like princess is gonna let me carry her anyway.”

“I can’t take her in!” says Robby. “I used to live here and it—that—”

“That makes you the perfect candidate,” says Tory. “As opposed to me, the bitch who broke in.”

Robby doesn’t exactly know how to explain that this brings up some very specific memories for him, and the last time he escorted a drunken Sam from a party, Mr. LaRusso turned on him and kicked him out for good. But even if he did, the horrific awkwardness of a potential rehash can’t stand up against Tory’s argument, so. Fuck.

“Fine,” he huffs, climbing out of the car with a lot less verve than he had getting in.

Sam’s still awake, largely silent, and almost dry when he leans into the backseat to get her. It’s just her hair left, staining dark rivulets down the back of her dress. Robby gets her arm over his shoulder without complaint, looks up at the house. He takes a deep breath.

He’s got nothing left to lose here, anyway. It’s not like Mr. LaRusso can say something worse than he already has.

So Robby drags Sam up to the front door and knocks without further second-guessing. Well, maybe a little second guessing over if he could just drape her against the wall and escape before having to talk to anyone, but she’s leaning on him a little too hard for that.

Mr. LaRusso opens the door.

“What the—?”

“I think this is yours,” says Robby. Sam gives a weak and mumbled greeting beside him.

He watches Mr. LaRusso take it in: his drunk daughter, barely standing upright; his former student, bringing her in; all the ill-fitting details like Sam’s dripping hair and their still-damp clothes. The confusion on his face swiftly makes room for rising anger.

“I didn’t do anything,” Robby snaps, before Mr. LaRusso can get there first.

The man closes his mouth, visibly pulls himself back. Robby’s more caught off guard that he doesn’t start yelling. “Okay. Okay, I’m—I never thought you did.”

“Fine.” Shuts the conversation down better than liar. He’s got a pretty solid idea of what Mr. LaRusso thinks of him, and it doesn’t seem to matter whether Robby’s trying to be good. He jostles Sam. “Come on, go in.”

She ignores the order, clinging on. Robby’s lips pinch.

“Do you...?” Mr. LaRusso pulls the door open a little wider as he speaks, so Robby blazes right past him, pushing inside. He still remembers the way to the nearest couch. Sam keeps hold around his shoulders as he sits her down.

“M’sorry,” she says. She’s aware enough, at least, to give her dad big puppy-dog eyes. “Dad, I’m sorry. Robby—”

Robby pulls out from her arm. She pouts.

“My stomach hurts,” says Sam.

“That’s what happens when you drink,” Robby says, none too friendly. “Just wait until the morning.”

He stands. Mr. LaRusso is right behind him, fretting equally over his daughter and the interloper. Robby can hear voices from two rooms away, more than just Mrs. LaRusso and Anthony, and his desire to get the hell out of here skyrockets. Hopefully Tory’s warming up the getaway car.

“How much did she have?” Mr. LaRusso asks.

“No idea,” says Robby. “Ask her boyfriend.”

“’S not Miguel’s fault...” Sam says, pleading expression in place. “I told him I was leaving and I w’s just having punch. I just...”

Is it him? Is there something about Robby that attracts alcoholics? Does he just give off an aura? This is ridiculous. It cannot be the case that every other person in the world gets stupid drunk whenever they’re upset.

Mr. LaRusso steps forward to pat Sam on the shoulder, sympathetic even as he’s clearly furious, which leaves room for Robby to slip away again. He makes it all the way to the front door, but Mr. LaRusso catches his shoulder before he can pull it open.

“Hey! Robby!”

There’s a tinkling of glasses from the sitting room, and warm lighting, and a million things he doesn’t want to get drawn in by again. Robby grits his teeth.

“Listen, are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Mr. LaRusso asks. If Robby’s didn’t know better, he’d call the voice anxious. “You know, you shouldn’t drive either if you’ve been doing any drinking.”

Robby shakes the hand off. “I don’t drink.”

“At—at all?”

It’s enough opportunity to push past and leaves his incredulous voice behind. Robby throws open the front door and lopes a few steps further—where he nearly runs into to Tory.

“Hey, you forgot—whoa,” she says.

They grab each other’s shoulder at the same moment to steady. A tiny, white purse that Robby recognizes as Sam’s dangles from her hand. He looks back. Mr. LaRusso has followed him into the doorway, looking at Robby with rueful doe eyes that immediately make it clear where Sam gets it from. Mrs. LaRusso comes up alongside him before either can speak.

“Honey, who is i—Oh.”

Her eyes land on Robby, surprised, slide over to Tory. Instead of the protective fury Robby expected from her—especially after Tory made it sound like just being seen at this house would get her sent straight to juvie—Mrs. LaRusso looks concerned.

“Is everything alright?” she asks, head tilting.

“Sam got drunk,” Mr. LaRusso explains. At his wife’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “I know. They were just...dropping her off, I guess.”

“Yeah,” says Tory, barely looking up. “Uh, here.” She tosses the bag to Mrs. LaRusso. Robby takes the chance to slide back another step.

“Thank you,” Mrs. LaRusso says sincerely. She looks at Tory like a movie heroine trying to rehabilitate a wild animal, instead of the extra being attacked by it. “We appreciate you bringing her home. Both of you.”

Robby half-heartedly returns the warm smile when it flashes to him.

“Right,” says Mr. LaRusso. “Thank you.”

Tory nods shortly. Robby’s never seen her look contrite before, but the second Mrs. LaRusso appeared it was like all her posturing vanished. “Good night, Mr. and Mrs. LaRusso.”

She grabs Robby’s arm, tugging him away.

“Hang on.” It’s Mr. LaRusso, sharp suddenly. When Robby turns, he’s staring at the Ferrari, eyes sliding down to the QUIKSLVR license plate. “Where’d you get that car?”

Robby’s jaw tightens. Like, yeah, he knows he stole a car from Mr. LaRusso before, but the idea that he’s about to get accused of stealing one again, when he’s done absolutely nothing wrong this time—

“Did Silver give you that car?”

Or not. Mr. LaRusso says the name Silver like it could cut, but Robby ignores that in a wave of relief.

“Have a good night, Mr. LaRusso,” he calls, rather than answer, and lets Tory drag him to the convertible before they split to hop in. Mr. LaRusso’s wan face shrinks in the rear view.

 

 

It’s not exactly a clean getaway, but in a pinch, any getaway will do.

Tory sags against the passenger seat. They’re both quiet for a few minutes, racking up distance from the house, letting the streets race past. It’s a new kind of silence for them.

Robby’s the one to break it.

“I didn’t know you knew Mrs. LaRusso,” he says. The Tory of last year certainly didn’t. The Tory of December broke into their house and didn’t give a damn about what destruction she’d wreak. It’s hard to imagine that girl becoming anything more than antagonistic with Mrs. LaRusso. Then again, that Tory wouldn’t have bothered to return Sam’s purse either.

“Yeah,” she says, rather than tell him to fuck off and mind his own business like he expects. She looks down, shrugging uncomfortably. “She, uh, helped me get back into school.”

“Oh.”

It makes sense, he supposes. The LaRussos have a friendly rapport with the administration; it’s how they got Robby enrolled. And he knew that Tory needed Sam’s approval to overturn her expulsion. He’s happy for her, he is, even if something about the revelation just—makes him want to swerve off the road.

“Guess they like their strays,” Robby mutters.

“They’re okay. The LaRussos,” says Tory. Robby looks at her in surprise. “I mean, Sam’s—” He’s certain the cut off curse is for his benefit. “—who she is. But her mom’s alright. I don’t know about her dad, I guess.”

“Yeah,” says Robby. He doesn’t want to think about it. It hurts.

This is absurd. It’s prom night. They killed it at the dance, they kicked ass at the after party, they successfully ruined Sam and Miguel’s night without starting a single altercation themselves, and Cobra Kai is still going to be in top form going into the tournament. They should be celebrating.

He leans back, hands on the wheel of a fucking Ferrari, wind whistling past them, drying clothes keeping him cool in the Los Angeles evening. It’s a good night.

“Where's that place you wanted to go?” he calls over the wind.

Tory watches him for a second, like she’s expecting one of them to break down. And then a smile touches her lips, and she perks up.

“It’s over that way. Come on, it’s a great view.”

Notes:

i am embracing writing little oneshot scenes as they come to me and not stressing too hard. Please do let me know if you enjoyed <3