disclaimer 1 ; I obviously don't own South Park.

disclaimer 2 ;I do own what is written here, so please don't steal it.

author's note ; This was something I thought about at work. Simple and short. Lots of brotherly love / hate going on here. No incest, just brother fluff. Sorry if it's a dark topic, but it is unfortunately one that is, and always has been, really close to 'home' with me. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. If there are absolutely no reviews, I'll assume people dislike it and I'll delete it.

Click...

Closing behind him, the door shattered the silence of the Broflovski house. Cringing, he held his breath, staying in place as he strained his ears for any sign of life. After a long pause, and several hoots of an owl outside the window, he set his feet into the house, slipping out of his shoes and setting them silently against the wall. Barefoot, he padded into the kitchen, cracking open the fridge and peering in at that night's leftovers. Hamburger patties sat on a plain white plate, wrapped tightly in cellophane. He pulled the plate from the fridge, setting it on the counter. Carefully unwrapping the smaller burger, he bit into it with a ravenous hunger, like he hadn't eaten the whole day.

He had no idea I was watching.

Standing in the shadows of the entryway, I had been waiting for his return since ten, when our parents fell asleep. Minutes turned into hours as I sat on the shoe bench, waiting for his return. When I heard the tell-tale click of the key sliding into the lock, I moved closer to the shadows. I needed to know where he went, not freak him out that I was waiting for him each and every night that he returned from his ventures.

Tonight was different.

"Ike," I said, stepping into the dark kitchen.

Startled, the black haired string-bean of a Canadian jumped, dropping the burger and letting out a yelp. Whipping around, he pressed himself back against the counter, chest heaving. "Kyle! Jesus Christ, what the hell?" he demanded.

Seeing him so frightened sent a pang of regret through my body, but I couldn't break my resolve. Stepping forward carefully, I shot a glance at the kitchen clock. Two in the morning. How that time had passed without me falling asleep, I didn't know. "We need to talk," I said quietly.

"Yeah, I took your hair brush," Ike said quickly, his eyes darting side to side. "I'm eating the burger and I took the last sip of your soda. Are we done?"

I frowned. It hadn't been the conversation I had in mind, but I had been looking for my hair brush and I was upset that someone had finished the soda under my bed. I knew my parents were out of the question, but Cartman had been coming over more and more - it could have been his fault. In answer to Ike, I moved to block his exit, however carefully and slowly it happened. This talk would not end the way all the others had. "Ike, where are you going every night?" I asked. "I thought you were just at Tweek's house, or you were hanging out with that weird girlfriend of yours, and that would be fine, but I called Tweek last week and he said you haven't talked to him in months." I struggled to find my next words, but they fell on a mute tongue. Standing there, frustrated, I stared into Ike's deep chocolate eyes. "Talk to me," I begged.

Ike brushed me off, as usual. He shrugged, turning back to his burger. "It's none of your business," he answered stiffly.

"I'm trying to understand," I said softly. "You're changing so much, Ike."

His shoulders heaved, and he seemed to deflate. I didn't know what to take this as a sign of - two years ago, it would have meant he was about to spill his guts to me about who beat him up on the playground. The last few months, it had started to mean he was going to shut down, go to his room, lock the door and blast BotDF over his headphones.

"I just want to help."

Ike wrapped the half-eaten burger, putting it back in the fridge as he shook his head. "Its not you," he said, closing the fridge harder than he meant to. A magnet fell off, and the photo of the brothers in Jew Scouts drifted to the floor, slipping under the fridge. For a moment, it seemed Ike would dive to the ground to retrieve it, but he caught himself with a resigned sigh, walking towards my spot in the doorway. Staring at me, he frowned. "Move," he said.

Realizing the position of power I held, I squared myself in the doorway. "No," I responded. "Talk to me. I want to help, Ike, but I have to know what's wrong."

A scowl crossing his dark, handsome face, he tried to push past me. When he realized I wasn't budging, despite being smaller than him, he shoved his hands against my shoulder. "What the hell is wrong with you, Kyle? Why cant you just leave me alone? You're always in my business. You're not my dad!" he snapped angrily. "You think you're helping but you're just making this harder on everyone. Even mom and dad are having problems, and you're not doing anything about it! You're just working on school and playing with your stupid friends." Anger poured from his voice, making me falter in my resolve, setting me back a step.

"Ike, I don't know what you want me to do," I said, desperately looking for a way through his defenses. "I cant talk them out of this, its something they have to decide. We cant keep them unhappy like this!"

"Then maybe you should just go away!" Ike shouted.

Everything fell. My guard, my confidence, my resolve, my very being. Ike shoved past me, and I fell against the wall, hitting my shoulder against the doorframe. The pain shot thought my arm, but I didn't care. Ike's words hit deep, perhaps even deeper than he had imagined. People said mean things when they were upset, and Ike was no exception, though the anger behind his words broke the skin and hit an artery. If I didn't act quickly, I would die of blood loss.

Numbly following him up the stairs, I stumbled to the top of the stairs as he turned in his doorway to face me. "Stop making this so hard on me!" he demanded, slamming the door angrily.

I heard a grunt from my parent's room, and I hurried into my own room, closing the door just as my dad opened his. After a moment, he went back inside, and I cracked my window open. Crawling onto the small eve, cold air brushing against my cheek, I shivered. As I pressed myself against the wall and shimmed closer to Ike's window, I felt the nagging suspicion that this was a bad idea. Something about being a story above the ground, on a cold winter night, outside where no one would see me until morning if I fell.

Those thoughts raced out of my head as the window to my right cracked open and Ike popped his head out. We stared at each other for a moment, equally startled that we had met this way. Then, scoffing, Ike pushed his window open the rest of the way, disappearing in a flurry back inside.

"Get in here, asshole," he snapped.

Crawling in through the window, I looked at his room. It had changed since the last time I had been inside. Very little remained of the decorations we had set up when he was a kid. Posters of BotDF and The Rolling Stones plastered the walls, mingling with memorabilia from other bands such as Metallica and Aerosmith. Ike had changed and I couldn't remember when it even happened. Was I a bad brother, or a bad friend? No matter, because I was there now, and I was going to get back into Ike's life no matter the cost. Standing near the window, I cleared my throat. "Where were you going?" I asked, noting the small bag packed on the bed.

"Away."

"Where."

"Denver."

I stared in what amounted to dull shock. "What?" I asked, voice pitched three octaves too high. "What the hell is in Denver?"

He stared at me sadly, shaking his head. "You wont understand," he answered, grabbing his bag from the bed. "I need to go. You're just making this harder on everyone."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open like a gay fish. "You cant leave," I growled, putting my foot down. "I don't know why you wont talk to me!" Before I knew it, my hands were on his shoulder, squeezing and shaking him in the same useless, futile movement.

He yelped, shrinking back from me. My hands flew off his shoulders, I backed against the wall and stared at him, eyes wide.

"Ike... I... I'm sorry... did I... I didn't mean to hurt you..." I stutter, stumble, trip over my words until I've talked myself into a tied tongue, staring at the black-haired boy shaking before me. Moving forward, I put my arms around him gingerly, pulling him into a hug that he didn't pull away from. A hug he leaned in to, shuddering against me as fat, wet tears dropped down against my night shirt. I patted his back, hushing him the way our mother always did when we were little and we scraped a knee or fell down the stairs.

"K-kyle, I d-don't know what t-to do," he said between whimpers.

Leading him to the bed, I sat him down, kneeling in front of him. Taking his hands in mine, I sighed. "Just talk to me," I said. "I'm your big brother. I love you, remember?"

"I d-did something b-bad."

Those words struck me as odd. Ike didn't do bad things, he wasn't a bad kid. I had to double take, look at him closer. All our lives, he had been a good kid, doing good things, being mommy's little darling. Slowly, I asked, "What did you do, Ike?"

Getting his sniffles under control, he took a deep breath. "I don't have a job," he said.

"Then how do you get all your money?" I asked, rolling my eyes and smiling, trying to joke with him. Ike was full of money. He always was. If he had been fired, we would have known about it because he would have stopped buying the things he did. Our mother flipped out when he bought the X-Box and the game Assassin's Creed. She would have flipped even more if she knew how much it cost.

Ike gulped, visibly distressed. Clenching his hands under mine, he bit his lip. "I... Kyle, its too hard, okay? Just let me go to Denver, so mom wont be upset and they wont get a divorce."

I flinched. The word divorce was as much a taboo as speaking about Hitler in our house. "They're not going to get a... you know what... if you stay here. They're going to, if you leave. They'll be worried sick and they'll fight all the time. Come on, now, what's been bothering you?"

Looking away, taking his hand and pulling at the comforter, he sniffled, taking the deepest breath I had ever heard. "I... I get paid to...."

He flinched as I touched his arm. My eyes searched his face, and I clenched my teeth.

"I get paid for... sex."

I punched him, square in the jaw.

He jerked back, then stayed still. Apparently, he felt that he had deserved it, and he certainly had. My anger rose to the surface, bubbling under the lid. It would be better directed at the people who used my little brother, but the only living being in the room with me was Ike, and I couldn't keep it in. I got to my feet and pointed at him. "What the fuck were you thinking?" I hissed through clenched teeth. "Why didn't you fucking talk to me? If money was so damn important to you, I would have given it to you!"

Ike's eyes watered, the tears spilled down his face. "I couldn't! I owed someone a lot of money! I had no choice!"

"You always have a choice," I snap angrily. "You just choose the wrong thing."

His eyes were so hurt, so depressed, that my anger melted slightly, and I felt the need to comfort him once more. I wouldn't give in to my wants, so I sat on the bed instead, flinching as he shied away from me. I felt that I had just ruined our relationship, then remembered there was very little left after the last few months. I knew he smoked marajuana - who didn't in this messed up town? - but I hadn't known anything else. I thought he was getting carried away with Craig, or maybe he was hanging out with the Goths again. Either could have attributed for his sudden change in attitude. I had never, in my life, thought of this dire scenario. It made me sick, like I should have been there. I should have stopped that. I should have protected my baby brother.

"I'm sorry," I grumbled.

Ike didn't respond.

"I should have said something sooner. I should have talked to you. I could have done something to help." My voice filled with regret and I had to stop talking. I could go on about could have, should have, would have, but the simple truth of the matter was that no one cared. Nothing could be done, and thinking about it would simply drive me mad.

Ike sighed. "Thank you," he said quietly.

I laid down across his bed, staring at the ceiling, my feet hanging off the end. After a few moments, Ike laid down too, curling up to me, his head on my shoulder. Years ago, when he had nightmares, he had come into my room, curling up with me until morning. It had stopped sometime after he got into fifth grade, but I had to admit, I missed it. I missed feeling useful. I missed being close to my little brother.

"You're my little brother, Ike," I said, hugging him with one arm. "I'm going to keep you safe now, okay?" He hesitated, as if thinking, and I pinched his shoulder lightly. "If you need money, I'll give it to you. Tomorrow, we're going to find you a real job."

Ike smiled into my shoulder. "I wouldn't want any other brother," he said.

"Yeah, well, if you ever step foot in Denver again, I'm going to shoot you."

Ike yawned, stretching his feet out. "Sure thing, Kyle."