IF ESME WAS GOOD AT ONE THING, IT WAS REPELLING TECHNOLOGY.

This was Hayden's fifth time in the past three months fixing her car when it broke down on her in the middle of nowhere.

She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing a streak of grease over her temple. The fuel pump was shot, the alternator was fried, and the timing belt was on the verge of snapping.

And when she told Esme all this, all she got in response was: "Huh?"

Which is how she ended up here. Two hours in, sweat clung to her skin, oil was smeared on her white wife-beater and her arms and face, and her hair messily strewn together in a ponytail.

She leaned under the hood of the beat-up car, tightening a bolt. It was quiet outside except for the steady clinking of her tools. She liked it that way— quiet, focused, her mind clear.

The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel beneath them made her pause for a moment, slow and deliberate. Hayden didn't bother looking up. People rarely came to bother her, but something about this felt different. The steps weren't hesitant— they purposefully neared her.

"Hayden Sanders?" Kreese's voice broke the silence as he approached, his boots crunching softly against the asphalt.

She didn't answer immediately, just kept working on the car. After a beat, she tilted her head slightly, giving him a brief, unimpressed glance. "Who're you?"

His tone was smooth, measured, like he was trying to mask the snake underneath. "John Kreese. I've heard a lot about you."

She froze, because the name was immediately familiar to her. She didn't respond, didn't even look at him at first. Instead, she focused on tightening a bolt, as if he wasn't even worth acknowledging.

But Kreese wasn't one to back down easily. He smiled, stepping closer. "The fight with the LaRusso girl— impressive. You've got skill— raw, untapped potential. Most kids around here don't have that. But you? You fight like someone who's had to learn the hard way."

Hayden tried not to pay him any mind, because the red flags struck her in ways they never have before. She flicked her gaze to him momentarily.

He stepped a little closer, his tone turning more serious. "You don't just fight to win. You fight to survive." He tilted his head, studying her reaction—or lack thereof. "That kind of skill? That kind of instinct? That's rare. And it makes you exactly the kind of fighter Cobra Kai needs."

Hayden finally glanced up, her expression devoid of any real emotion, eyes cold and calculating. She didn't trust him. How could she when every bone in her body was screaming at her not to? "Not interested."

Kreese chuckled, as if he expected that answer. "You don't have to trust me." He said like he knew what she was thinking. "I get it— people like us don't trust easily. But I'm not here to offer empty promises, Hayden. I'm here because I see potential in you. You're not like those weak-willed kids LaRusso trains. You don't back down. You don't break."

She crossed her arms, her stance shifting slightly, but her face stayed impassive. "You don't even know me."

"I know more than you think," Kreese countered, his voice dropping lower, as if to strike a nerve. "I know you don't like being told what to do. I know you fight because you have to, not because someone told you it's the right thing. And I know that if you let me, I can make you the best fighter in the valley."

Hayden remained silent for a long moment, her gaze steady on him, unwavering. She didn't flinch under the weight of his words. She didn't need his flattery, didn't need anyone to tell her what she was capable of. She already knew.

Flashes of Miguel's persona change at the All Valley popped into her mind, her stomach turning uneasily at the sudden reminder.

"I've seen what Cobra Kai does to people," she said finally, her voice calm but firm. "It breaks them in a different way."

Kreese's smile didn't falter. "Cobra Kai doesn't break people. It shows them how not to be broken. And if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us." He took a step back, still watching her. "Think about it, Hayden. You're better than LaRusso's students, better than anyone out there. You don't need their rules holding you back."

Without waiting for a response, Kreese turned and walked away, his words lingering in the air. Hayden stayed where she was, her grip tightening on the wrench in her hand.

She didn't trust Kreese. She didn't trust anyone. Especially anyone who thought power was the only thing that mattered.

But part of her knew he wasn't entirely wrong. She was different. She was strong. And she didn't need anyone to make her that way— least of all him.

—

"Chicks are hotter on the page."

Hayden furrowed her brows, pausing mid-step on the staircase. She'd been halfway through putting in her other earbud when that sentence alone made her stop.

Against her better judgement, curiosity won, and she slowly descended the remaining steps, turning the corner to find Miguel in his wheelchair, reaching awkwardly toward something Johnny dangled from the second floor balcony—a magazine with a half-naked woman on the cover.

She stayed quiet, watching as Miguel made a second attempt, arms straining but coming up short. Johnny grinned, clearly enjoying the show.

"Weak!" Johnny hollered, shaking the magazine just out of reach. "That all you got, Diaz? I thought you were the All Valley champ!"

Miguel groaned, attempting again, only for Johnny to yank it back at the last second. Hayden leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. She could've intervened right then, but Johnny's next words stopped her.

"Do I need to get Hayden up here? Is that what it'll take to get you up and walking again? Motivate you, huh?"

Miguel turned bright red, stammering, "What—no, Sensei—I don't—"

Johnny cut him off with a mischievous grin. "You know what? I'll bet she's home right now. Should I go get her? Hey, Hay-eeeey, Hayden—" His voice trailed off, eyes widening in horror as he caught sight of her standing there, arms crossed, gaze locked on him like a predator sizing up its prey.

Miguel's head snapped around, and in a panic, he slapped the magazine off the fishing rod, sending it tumbling to the floor, landing upside down with a dull thud.

"What's going on here?" Hayden gave a chuckle, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Just sensei's version of rehab. I have a physical therapist, too." Miguel muttered out, feeling weirdly ashamed of his wheelchair. Or Hayden seeing him in his most vulnerable state. He couldn't decide which one was more humbling.

If Miguel was squirming under her gaze, which he was, Hayden hadn't noticed. "Oh, yeah?" She raised a brow, eyes flickering between the two. "Hows that working out?"

"He's a pansy ass bitch." Johnny answered without missing a beat.

Hayden didn't even blink, her lips twitching slightly. "Well, if it's coming from you, I'll have to take your word for it." She said it casually, but there was a subtle edge of sarcasm in her tone that made Miguel suppress a grin.

Johnny, for once, didn't have a snappy comeback. Instead, he cleared his throat, giving Miguel a pointed look. "See, Diaz? This is why you need to get off your ass. You want to impress Hayden or what?"

Miguel froze, face heating up instantly. "What? No—I'm not—"

Johnny had to resist the urge to facepalm at the boy's clear lack of confidence... and game.

Hayden tilted her head slightly, studying Miguel in that quiet, unreadable way she always did. She didn't say anything, but the amused glint in her eyes stayed, like she was silently enjoying his awkwardness. Miguel felt like he was shrinking under her gaze, but at the same time, he didn't want to look away.

After a moment, Hayden shrugged, turning her attention back to Johnny. "Maybe instead of dangling magazines like bait, you could try something a little less... dehumanizing."

Johnny smirked. "What? Please. This is classic old school rehab right here."

Hayden rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she glanced back at Miguel. "You good?"

Miguel nodded quickly. "Yeah. Totally."

"How's it feel to be out of the same four walls?"

Miguel took a breath, glancing down at his legs. "Good. Just... gotta get my legs up to speed." There was a hint of frustration in his voice, like he hated admitting it out loud.

Hayden didn't say anything right away, just gave a quiet nod and patted his back lightly. "You'll get there. It's not a sprint."

"It's not much of anything," he muttered, then after a pause, added, "What about you? Where you headed?"

Hayden's breath caught for a brief moment, but she quickly masked it, her gaze flicking elsewhere as she stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. "My sister's," she lied, voice steady but distant.

Hayden wouldn't admit it out loud. She couldn't even admit it to herself. But telling Miguel that she was going to go see Robby felt wrong.

Because whether she'd admit it or not—protecting Miguel's feelings mattered to her more than it should.

Miguel watched her closely, something about the way she said it tugging at him. He didn't push, though, just gave a slight smile. "Cool."

For a moment, there was nothing but quiet between them, the kind of silence that felt too loaded to be comfortable. Miguel hesitated, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair as if he wanted to say more but wasn't sure how.

"You should head over before it gets late," he said finally, though there was a part of him that didn't want her to leave just yet.

Hayden gave him a brief, almost imperceptible nod before turning away, earbuds back in place as she started walking off. "Yeah. See you around, Diaz. Bye, Mr. Lawrence!"

"Later, Sanders," Johnny called after her, grinning. "We really need to work on your game."

Miguel groaned under his breath, slumping back in his wheelchair. "I really hate you sometimes, Sensei."

Johnny chuckled. "Nah, you don't. You'll thank me when you're back on your feet. And who knows, maybe Hayden'll be impressed then, huh?"

Miguel didn't respond, but his mind was already spinning.

All he could think about was the way Hayden had looked at him— calm, unbothered, like she saw him struggling but didn't pity him.

There was no judgment in her eyes, just that same quiet strength she always carried, and somehow that made him want to try harder— not because of Johnny's taunts, but because of her.

—

"You're quiet today." Hayden tilted her head.

Robby, who was staring at a spot on the wall straight ahead, looked at Hayden momentarily.

How could he explain that every time he looked at her, his heart twisted in a way it never had before? That being stuck in juvie, seeing her for only a few fleeting minutes each day, felt like a punishment beyond anything they could dish out?

How could he tell her that the one thing keeping him sane—the small reminder of her he clung to—had been torn to pieces, and it had taken every ounce of willpower not to lose it completely when Shawn had done it?

Without that tiny fragment of her, he was unraveling in this sterile, fluorescent-lit cage, trying to sleep on a mattress that felt more like stone.

He missed her more than he thought he ever could, more than he believed anyone should be able to miss someone. And sitting across from her now, knowing he only had these few precious minutes before she had to leave again, felt like a cruel reminder of everything he didn't deserve.

And worst of all, it hurt because he knew it was his fault. He had no one else to blame. Just himself.

And worst of all, it hurt because he knew it was his fault. No one else to blame—just himself.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice came out quieter than he intended, raw with something he couldn't quite hide.

Hayden blinked, momentarily thrown by how unsure he sounded.

She wasn't used to being the one someone leaned on. Her whole life, she'd built herself up to be independent. Not because she wanted to but because she didn't have a choice but to learn how to get by on her own.

Having someone depend on her for a change was different, something she wasn't used to. Yet she still answered:

"Yeah," she said, her voice even but quieter than usual. "Go ahead."

Robby hesitated, fingers curling into fists on his lap. He wasn't sure how to say what he needed to without sounding desperate. But this was Robby—Hayden knew him. Knew the weight he carried, even when he tried to hide it.

"Can you... promise you won't leave? That you'll still be here when this is all over?" He forced the words out, afraid of how much he needed to hear her say it.

Hayden didn't answer right away. Not because she was unsure, but because she wasn't used to promises like this. She wasn't used to anyone wanting her to stay, to be their anchor. So much so that they'd bind her to a promise.

But the vulnerability strewn on Robby's features, the way his usually hardened eyes were softer as they bored into eyes.

Hayden's heart clenched. She hated how lost he sounded, hated that he even felt like he had to ask. She leaned in, trying to catch his eye, her voice soft but steady. "I'm here, Robby. Always. I'm not going anywhere."

For a moment, he didn't say anything, just stared at her like he was trying to figure out if he could believe her. And for once, she didn't feel the need to fill the silence or prove herself. She knew he saw it—the honesty, the sincerity in her words.

"Okay," he whispered finally, his voice rough with emotion. He didn't say anything else, but she could see the tension easing from his shoulders, like maybe, just maybe, he believed her.

And as the guard signaled that their time was up, Hayden stood, glancing back at him one last time. She wasn't used to this—being vulnerable, being needed. But for Robby? She could be that person. Even if it scared her, even if it was new.

Because somehow, despite everything, he'd managed to bring out a side of her she didn't know existed—a side that didn't just walk away. A side that stayed.

—

Hayden thought she was getting better. But tonight in particular proved her entirely wrong.

It started with the silence. It always does.

The darkness of her room felt suffocating. Hayden tossed and turned beneath the covers, her body aching due to the bruises that littered it, but no amount of physical exhaustion could bring sleep.

Her eyes remained wide open, staring at the ceiling, the quiet of the night making her thoughts louder, sharper.

She could still see Miguel falling, his body hitting the railing. She could still hear the sickening crack of it.

Each time she tried to close her eyes, the images hit her harder, more violently. She'd breathe in and out, trying to calm herself, but her chest felt tight, as if there was something pressing down on her. Her throat burned, the silence of the room amplifying every sound— the creak of the floorboards outside her door, the hum of the refrigerator downstairs.

A long, drawn-out sigh escaped her lips. She couldn't keep doing this.

Hayden sat up in bed, running a hand through her hair. She felt like she was suffocating. There was too much inside her head, too much guilt and anger, and she couldn't escape it.

The stillness of the night pressed down on her, making her feel smaller and smaller with each passing second.

Hours must've passed. She didn't know how many. It was past midnight when the panic attack hit.

She had managed to fall asleep, but it was restless and fragmented.

The dreams— nightmares— were too vivid, too real. She was back in the hallway again, watching Miguel fall, unable to reach him. Her breath came faster, her chest tightening with each sharp inhale.

She jerked awake, gasping for air, her heart hammering in her chest. Her body trembling as her mind tried to catch up, but it didn't matter. The panic was already too much.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, running her hands through her hair, trying to slow her racing thoughts. She focused on her breathing, deep in, deep out. She repeated it like a mantra, willing herself to calm down.

But it didn't work.

Every time her eyes closed, she saw it again. The fall. The sickening crack. And she couldn't breathe.

"Stop. Stop. Stop." She muttered under her breath, but the images wouldn't stop.

The walls felt too close. The air too thick. She pressed her palms against her eyes, her breathing shallow, as if she could suffocate the thoughts with the pressure.

But it didn't work.

The panic kept rising, higher and higher, until it consumed her entirely.

—

Three in the morning hit. And Hayden was slowly losing it.

She couldn't stop thinking about it.

The seconds after Miguel fell. How they were the loudest moments of Hayden's life.

The crash of his body against the railing echoed in her mind, reverberating over and over again until it drowned out everything else.

Her heartbeat had been loud enough to drown out her own voice when she screamed his name.

And then there was the stillness.

She could still see his face, the way he reached for her, as if he thought she could save him. She could still feel the desperation in his eyes, like he was waiting for her to do something— anything— to pull him out of that freefall.

But she hadn't moved. She couldn't. She hadn't been fast enough.

Hayden replayed it over and over, torturing herself with the thought that maybe... just maybe... if she had reached further, stretched her arms just a little bit more, she could've caught him. She could've saved him.

Her mind was her own personal prison. A hospital she couldn't leave. Replaying it against her will, and what made it worse?

She couldn't remember it correctly even if she really wanted to.

Her memory of that moment warped with each passing day. At night, it felt like the distance between her and Miguel when he fell was smaller than it really had been. She told herself that if she had just taken one more step, just stretched her fingers a little further, she could've grabbed him.

It made the guilt she felt intensify in a way unimaginable to anyone.

The distance. The seconds. The truth she couldn't avoid no matter how many times she twisted it in her mind.

She had failed him.

It was clear Hayden wasn't in control of her own body. Because she didn't exactly know how she ended up on the floor. Her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared blankly at the floor. Her fingers dug into her legs, nails biting into her skin as if the pain could ground her. But it didn't.

Her thoughts were a mess. Nothing felt right, especially when it came to the memory of that moment with Miguel.

She couldn't stop replaying it. Because she could've swore the distance was farther than she was remembering it. She would've bet money that she tried so hard to save him, catch him before that wretched crack echoed.

She didn't know what the truth was.

The distance between them felt shorter now. Her mind was tricking her into thinking she could've reached him. She could've stopped it.

She pictured it again. Herself running to the railing and stretching out her hand, her fingertips just grazing his before he hit the ground.

Did she really even touch him?

Her heart ached as she sat in that distorted moment. Her body felt cold, even though her room was warm.

"I was right there... it wasn't far," she whispered to herself, though she wasn't sure if she was convincing herself or lying.

Everything had become distorted, unclear. The memory was no longer a clear snapshot— it was fractured, messy, full of gaps.

It was like a fog had settled over her mind, blurring the edges of the events, making it all feel more like a bad dream.

Had she even tried? Was she too angry to truly save him? Was the gap really too far? Had she been too slow to act?

The truth felt like it was slipping further and further away, hidden behind a veil of confusion she couldn't break through. The louder her thoughts became, the less she trusted her own memory.

—

The hours blurred and time didn't make any sense anymore to Hayden.

Hayden's eyes felt like they were burning from the inside out. Her mind was foggy, a blur of fragments—thoughts that didn't quite form, feelings that didn't quite connect.

She didn't move from her spot on the floor, staring straight ahead. Sometimes she whispered to herself, still trying to make sense of it all.

She hadn't noticed when the clock had struck midnight, or when it had crept past one, or two. The hours bled together, just like the memories she couldn't escape.

The silence felt heavier the longer she stayed in it. Her thoughts had become a never-ending loop of the same images: Miguel falling. The sound of his body crashing. Her hands outstretched, too far, too late.

At some point, her eyes were stinging, but she didn't bother wiping the tears away.

Her head felt detached from her body, and her thoughts, the ones that managed to break through the fog, seemed far too distant to grab. Nothing felt real. Everything was muffled, even the air around her.

She hadn't even tried hard enough. She could've done more. She should've. She'd convinced herself that much, in time to blink and realize morning hit.

It was five AM now, and the sun was creeping out.

Her gaze lingered at the window for a moment at the orange glow of the horizon. But to her, it felt like nothing had changed.

She ran a hand through her hair, the motion slow, mechanical.

A quiet laugh bubbled up, bitter and cold.

She stood up, feeling disconnected from her own body. The numbness in her limbs made her movements sluggish, like she was moving underwater. She didn't know what she was doing, what she was trying to accomplish.

Her phone buzzed again, but she didn't reach for it. She didn't need to. She already knew there was nothing anyone could say that would fix this.

No one really understood. How could they? No one had seen what she saw. No one had lived through the same things. Even if she tried to explain, even if she tried to talk, it wouldn't change the fact that she was alone in this.

The room felt smaller now. Her bed seemed further away than it ever had before. And when she finally moved toward it, she collapsed into the sheets, the exhaustion hitting her like a wave.

She closed her eyes, but sleep didn't come. The space between her and the world outside was too vast, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to bridge the gap anymore.

Hayden thought she was getting better.

authors note.
Hii we finally got a look at Hayden's PTSD and how she kinda goes through it. I kinda used my own experience with it and based it a little off that and then tried rlly hard to accurately depict the rest but um yea! Poor girl, I won't let her be happy :( LMAO