The showers weren't very impressive. Stan arched his brows doubtfully as Butters showed him the couple of big, metal tubs surrounded by buckets. The floor was tiles and the room was small, leading Stan to believe that this had once been an actual washroom. There was a crooked sink still fixated to the powder white walls, hanging precariously. Mildew grew on the floor and seeped down the walls, mossy green sheening over dulled ceramic. Stan was pleased to discover a surprising lack of odour. Instead there was a sweet freshness to the air, which he immediately pinpointed to the dainty, purple lilac flowers that sprouted through the open cracks in the fall. They were quite beautiful, splaying over the broken white wall like delicate, curling grape vines.

"This is small."

"Yeah," conceded Butters, "But it keeps us sanitary. It was Ike's idea to rub flower pollen in the cracks on the wall, so it's a heck of a lot more pleasant in here." He picked up a wooden bucket, and stepped into the nearest metal tub. "These used to be feeding troughs from the farm nearby, but Kyle salvaged them. We get in, and take a bucket full of water, and" he mimed dumping the bucket over his head. "That's all there is to it. We wash the tubs every three days."

The latrines were outside. Stan was confused when Butters gestured to a seemingly empty field until he was handed a shovel. "Pick a spot, any spot." Stan politely refused, deciding that he would keep to his privacies as long as he could.

When they ventured full circle back to the front of the convenience store, Butters cautiously pressed an ear to the door and motioned for Stan to hush. Listening carefully, Stan couldn't hear any speaking from inside. Apparently Butters thought the same, he straightened up and breathed in relief. Stan relaxed. He wasn't keen on interrupted a heated argument, especially not between the two brothers.

Ike was curled up quietly on a wrecked leather couch, absorbed in a heavy book that was comically massive in his thin hands. When he heard footsteps he looked up and burst into a relieved smile.

"Stan! How'd you like the rest of the place?"

"It was…nice," said Stan carefully. "Very nice. The flowers in the, uh, shower area…that was a nice touch."

Ike flushed with pride. "Thanks. I read about wild flowers in a book from the old library, and cross-pollinated this real sweet-smelling breed with a super versatile breed, so it would survive and be able to grow off the nutrients from the soil in the walls. I figured that it'd be better than smelling, y'know..."

"It is," agreed Stan, incredibly impressed with the boy's intellect. Ike was spewing words he couldn't place the meaning of if he tried, but there was a flimsy falsehood to their fervour. He studied the boy carefully. Though he appeared enthusiastic, there was a sense of dejection hidden behind Ike's eyes. His words were too bright, his smile too stretched.

"So, uh…how hard did he go on you?"

Ike shrugged in a show of nonchalant. "Shouted a bit... said he'd lock me in the bomb shelter if I kept sneaking out…"

Stan was shocked. "Lock you up?" he asked, flabbergasted.

Ike nodded angrily. "Yeah. He thinks I'm still a kid."

He looked so cross it made Stan want to giggle. So pale and small was he, such a kitten of a person that it was hard not to sympathize at least a little bit with Kyle.

But locking him up? That was far too extreme for Stan to condone.

"Ike, that's fucked up! No one says anything?!" he demanded, upset.

"Kyle, uh, says it's none of our business," interjected Butters meekly.

"That's fucking abuse, man," said Stan, glaring at Butters. He shook his head in disgust. "But hey, I guess if you're fine with a twelve year old kid getting locked up that's your business."

"No!" objected Butters, hurt, "No, it's just…"

"It's hard to stand up to him," finished Ike. "He's been such a genius at surviving that it's scary, questioning him. You never know if it'll cost you your life… But in this case, he's wrong," Ike's tone changed, growing peeved, "I can handle myself better than Cartman and he gets to scout. Maybe, if I could actually get some experience, I'd be as good as Red."

Stan thought for a moment. "The red-head?"

"Yeah."

Butters interposed, "You know he does it because he cares for you. He's just worried. You guys are family, real family…and that's something not a lot of us have."

Ike was exasperated. "But I was adopted!"

Butter's head snapped up. "That don't mean nothing and you know it! You're his little brother, and he'd be damned if he didn't do his darndest to keep you safe!"

"Dude, either swear or don't."

"That's not the point Ike!"

It would do best to tread lightly around such a situation, Stan knew. But the absolutely gross mistreatment of a problem that was only the result of Kyle's fierce love for his brother set Stan's head afire. It made him think of Shelley, and all the awful things siblings do to each other. He was happy at least that to have left her on good terms. Seconds before the car engine had putted out she was teaching Stan to fart with his armpit, annoying their parents to all hell. It was one of the few thoughts that didn't pang him.

He raised his voice. "Butters, the kid is being locked up. That doesn't set off any warning signals to you?

"I'm not a kid!"

Butters answered as though he didn't hear Ike's protest. "Kyle does what he think is best, and if you have a problem with that, then, well..." he trailed off, wordless in emotion.

"Then what? I can leave?" It was like a bullet shot right through Stan.

Butters' eyes widened. "No! No, please, I don't want to fight with you," he said softly, taking a deep breath as though he was on the verge of tears again.

Stan felt a sickly pricking in his throat. "I don't want to fight either."

"Good," said Ike, "then don't. "

"But you, you're just fine with getting caged?"

Ike shifted uncomfortably. "No…but it's not like there's anything I can do about it, eh? 'Sides complaining. He lets me have books, and I've got a bell to ring in case there's danger or I have to take a piss-"

"Like a dog?"

"No! Jesus!" Ike shook his head pleadingly. "It sounds bad, I know. But it really isn't, not at the end of things."

Stan frowned. "I'm gonna talk to him."

Immediately Butters gawked at him. "I don't wanna sound mean, but that's an awful idea, Stan."

"We were best friends. He'll at least listen to what I have to say. It's not like he'd kick me out of the group," said Stan confidently. "At least not without another vote, right?"

Ike nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Yeah…that might work…" he said thoughtfully.

Butters was stammering, almost panicky. "Okay, well, that's good then, that you're willing to do that, Stan. B-but please, don't put me in the middle of this. I-I'm sorry, Ike, it's just…" he sighed, dejected. "I can't handle the conflict, I really can't."

Stan was gripped with the desire to seize Butters and shake him. Instead, he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as though it would alleviate the headache brought on by the whole situation.

"Fine, Butters. Just, just fine."

Butters looked pained, but Stan ignored him. "Where is he, Ike?"

"Uh…I think he's checking in on the scavenging."

"Where?"

Ike paled. "Maybe give him a minute. He doesn't like to be interrupted."

Stan threw his hands out in frustration, "Then what do you want me to do?!"

"Just wait a little bit, it's okay," wheedled Ike. "He's more likely to listen to you if he's not busy."

"Alright, fine. Tonight."

Yes, a bit short. But hey, sometimes the characters just have to get things hashed out.

I swear, half the reviews I receive are more eloquently written than the story! As always, thank you so much for reading, I truely appreciate it. Until next time~