IMPORTANT NOTICE! YOU MUST READ THIS FIRST IF, SO I DON'T GET ANY MAIL ABOUT THIS LITTLE CHANGE!!

For the sake of the story, I changed Ike's canon age, got it! I don't want anyone whining to me saying: "Nuh, uh! Ike's not really that old! You don't know shit." I changed it on purpose, okay? Just go with the flow, you probably won't even notice it.

This chapter is much longer than the other ones, but it also explains a lot too. And it's very emotional, at least I hope it is. Please read and review. Tell me if you cried or not, cause I like when I make people cry, haha.

Disclaimer: For Christmas I wrote a letter to Santa asking for the rights to South Park so I would be able to own it and not have to put disclaimers up anymore. Santa wrote a letter back saying I'd shoot my eye out. TwT ... I hate you Santa!

[Edit: Thank you everyone for putting up with my numerous spelling and grammar mistakes! However when I re-read this chapter, I was appauled at how many mistakes there were and just couldn't let them go (as I normally do when I find mistakes; I'm lazy, shut up). Hopefully it isn't as bad now. Thank you all for your patience and in the future, if there are anymore glaring blunders that absolutely detract from your reading experience because they're so distracting, please do not hestitate to inform me. Thank you!]

Enjoy!

2013

Chapter 6

Kyle was interrupted from his morning inspection duties by a guard rushing to his side. "There's someone else at our gates, sir," he panted, a twinge of fear coating his voice. "Do you think it's another rebel attack?"

"Is he inside the fortress?" Kyle asked, all business like. If he had any worries he did an impeccable job at hiding them.

"No, he's just standing in front of our doors in the snow, asking politely for entrance."

Kyle squinted his eyes and left his duties unfinished to go check on the new threat. Upon entering the gate post, he flipped on an intercom. "This is Kyle Broflovski," he informed, staring intently at the cloaked figure through a security camera. "Please state your name and business here or we will inquire a second time with less courteous methods."

The tall man leaned into the intercom and pressed the button there to talk. "I think my name may sound familiar?" he started. "Vincent? Vincent Cooper?"

Kyle's eyes grew wide as he held back the urge to gasp. His hand hovered over the intercom, unsure of what to do or what to say. Why was Chancellor Cooper here in South Park? Why now of all times? How the hell was he going to explain Garrison's death? These questions and many more flew through Kyle's head as he debated on what to do.

Finally he pressed down his button again and cleared his throat. "Indeed it is familiar," he acknowledged. "You may enter. Unfortunately until we can confirm your identity I will request you be accompanied by armed guards during your stay."

The man leaned in again. "That's perfectly understandable." Kyle could tell by the sound of his words that he was smiling.

Kyle raced down to the entrance, planning his next move like a chess game. A single wrong phrase could ruin everything, and a lie could prove to be even more devastating. As he reached the main entrance he winced at a stain of blood left on the floor from his fight the night before. If only he had known, he would have ordered it to be cleaned earlier.

The gates opened and three men walked inside: the stranger followed by two Arbiters, their guns aimed straight at his back. As soon as he drew closer Kyle's worst fears became reality. It was unmistakable. The thick brown hair, the glasses, the overpowering aura of authority. Who else could this be than the infamous Cooper?

Kyle quickly saluted, the soldiers around him following suit hesitantly. He motioned for the guards to lower their weapons and greeted the Chancellor with a face of stone. "Good morning, Cooper, sir. What brings you to our humble abode?"

"An impromptu check up," Cooper answered, his face in a perpetual smile. It was sickeningly cheerful, as if the man had no care in the world. Kyle stared intently trying to decipher the strangely genuine grin. Was it a fake, or could the Chancellor really be a light hearted gentleman; all evidence to the contrary?

"Where is Mr. Garrison?" Cooper asked, scanning the area with his calculating eyes. Kyle grimaced for but an instant. He was hoping that particular topic could be circumvented until he had come up with a better excuse for his leader's demise. But it looked as if Cooper was as observant as he was calm.

"I'm afraid the Overseer Garrison was not working in accordance with the Chancellor's wishes," Kyle began, his voice steady and even. "I have since relieved him of his station and taken command myself."

"Ah, so you've killed him," Cooper nodded without missing a beat. "An Arbiter base run single handedly by an 18 year old. Things sure do seem to be hopping around here."

Kyle swallowed, the only thing betraying his rigid stance was a single bead of sweat tracing down his forehead. A flame seemed to erupt within his eyes as he glared down the Chancellor. A combination of many ordeals swarmed Kyle's brain, and it took all of his will power to not draw his pistol and shoot the man right then and there….

"I would prefer to adjourn to more private locations before continuing our conversation, Mr. Broflovski." Cooper placed his hands behind his back and closed the distance between the two men. "Would you please direct me to your office, Overseer." Kyle saluted and dismissed his soldiers, leading the way down an empty hall.

The red head couldn't shake the feeling of some dark presence behind him, but every time he turned his back, all he was met with was a full hearted smile. The man just never seemed to let the grin go! Nobody was that cheerful. Nobody!

"I'm actually very impressed, Mr. Broflovski," Cooper complimented from behind his subordinate. "You took control with far more accuracy and precision than the others did. And much faster… with less repercussions to boot."

"Others, sir?" Kyle asked, stopping and turning to look at the cloud of evil that instantly transformed itself into another coy simper. Cooper continued on his way, only slowing to a stop when he was a good five meters away from his counter part.

Without looking back or even raising his voice, Cooper directed his attention toward Kyle. "You would like to kill me, wouldn't you?" Kyle resisted the urge to gasp yet again. The Chancellor had such insight! It was like he could see into your soul!

"I wouldn't blame you," he continued, his words floating through the air high and lofty, and yet still weighted down with some unseen arrogance. "I can appreciate the vanity of ambition, but I'm afraid it will be extremely difficult to find a knife for my back, Mr. Broflovski. You just need to be a little patience."

"Patience, sir?" Kyle inquired again.

"Who knows," Cooper chortled. "You may find yourself to be the next Chancellor without having to spill any blood at all." He pivoted gracefully to face the dumbfounded boy. "I'd have to say; out of the many soldiers I have lined up… you are definitely in my top five favorites."

"I'm flattered, sir," Kyle spoke shortly, unsure at how to take this new revelation. Kyle Broflovski… becoming Chancellor Broflovski?

Cooper placed his hand on his chin as he pondered aloud to himself. "A man willing to slay his own brother just for a scrap of food. Ah, yes, I can most definitely appreciate your type of ambition." Kyle remained motionless as he gritted his teeth. Cooper let out a contented sigh and shrugged. "Which way to your office again?"

XXXXX

Kyle doubled over in pain after a quick jab to his stomach with the butt of a Russian rifle.

"American scum," the officer spat, lifting his gun back up to his shoulder. "You are all alike. Starting wars you know you cannot finish. Well, we Russians will finish it. It's a shame you won't leave this camp alive to see the world reborn!"

"That's enough, Ivan," another interrupted, placing his hand on his comrade's shoulder. "How can you say such things? Can't you see? They're all still children, 16 or 17 at the least. They're people too, just like us. And they're fighting for their country, just like us. With the same reason we are. The only difference is the language we speak."

"Silence, Mikhail!" Ivan shouted, withdrawing himself from the man's grasp. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it!" He took his rifle and slammed it into Kyle's nose, causing it spout blood. The teenager fell over backwards by the force of it and coughed, every inch of him aching.

Ivan leaned over and took Kyle by his red hair, lifting him back up to his knees. "There's the red," he laughed, menacingly. "But where's the white and blue, American? Ha ha ha ha!"

The next thing Kyle knew he was being led, still bleeding, to a line of other United States soldiers. There they were told to strip down out of their uniforms, in spite of the blistering cold. "Whatever happened to fair treatment of Prisoners of War?" one soldier cried out, tears streaming down his face.

The Russians wasted no time, aiming their guns and firing. "There," one of them growled as the man fell lifeless into the snow. "Now you can be god's prisoner."

Kyle panted heavily out of panic, his breath fogging as he wrapped his arms around himself to try and keep warm. His gloomy eyes trailed down the line, hoping to see Stan, wishing with all his might that he was there, still alive. At last his eyes fell upon black hair, and his heart raced!

He leaned down a little bit to get a better look. As he stared, his hopeful grin melted away. It was replaced with a curled lip, terrified and agonized. "No," he whispered, barely able to hold back his tears. "No, it can't be…"

Kyle burst from the line, running past naked comrades and Russian soldiers alike as he made for what he hoped was just an illusion. He was captured before he could make it all the way down, his arms held behind him, but still he struggled to break free.

"Ike!" he shouted, frantically. "Ike, no! No, IKE!"

The black haired boy looked up, his eyes beet red with tears. When he saw his older brother, his gasped and broke from the line as well, and just as quickly was caught by another Russian.

"Shoot them!" Ivan shouted, obviously the commanding officer at this camp. "Shoot them both now!"

"Ivan, you mustn't!" Mikhail shouted, staying the investable reign of bullets. "Look at their tags! Kyle and Ike Broflovski! They're brother's, for heavens sake! Leave them be!"

"Brothers?" Ivan asked, his voice low and angry. "Brothers? Brothers! Did the Americans care when they shot my brother even as he waved a white flag? No! They took my brother from me in the worst way."

Ivan's eyes grew dark and malicious as his shouts died down. "No," he said calmly. "I will show you Mikhail. I will show you that 'brothers' is nothing but a label to these damned Americans. 'Brothers' means nothing to them, and I will prove it."

When Kyle awoke, he was still naked and cold. He looked around him and saw that he had been thrown into a hole dug deep into the Russian's dungeon fortress. It was dark, but he could still see that it was the size of a small room. And he could even see the pale, alabaster skin of another person down there with him.

On his hands and knees, Kyle crawled over and shook the tiny figure. When the boy looked up, it was indeed his brother, Ike. At first they stared at each other in disbelief, worried that their eyes betrayed them. But at last, as tears formed at the edges of their eyes, they embraced together in a hug, rocking back and forth as they sobbed.

They started out talking in whispers. But after the first five hours, they had run out of things to talk about. Ike had illegally joined the army in hopes of defending his country to the best of his ability, even though he was only 15. He didn't want Kyle to know, because he was sure that he would have tried to stop him. Kyle laughed, but it was an empty laugh; one ringing with sorrow and regret.

Two days later, there was a squeaking sound that awoke the two captives. They both looked up to see a tray of two sets of food and two pitchers of water being lowered down by a dumbwaiter contraption. The tray landed and was released, the rope quickly drawn back up to its origins.

"I guess this is our meal," Kyle murmured, listlessly. Ike merely nodded, taking up his pitcher and drinking what little water there was in it.

The days dragged on into weeks, and weeks into months. But neither brother was able to keep track of how long it had really been. They both spent their days in silence, not knowing what to say. Periodically they would wake up to find the other brother weeping uncontrollably, but the only solace they could offer was a hug.

After a while, the Russians stopped sending down a pair of meals every three days and instead only sent down one plate of food and one glass of water. "We'll share the water," Ike proposed. "And we'll alternate who gets the food every other time."

"Makes sense," Kyle agreed, ignoring the ache in his stomach and allowing his brother to eat first. The longer the days, the more they seemed to separate from each other. Soon the only thing connecting them together was the title of "brother."

"I should have listened to Bradley," Ike mumbled in a monotone, unable to cry; his tears had dried up long ago. "He told me not to go, but I just wouldn't listen. And now look…"

"Bradley?" Kyle inquired, sparking the first conversation between them in weeks. "Does that mean that…?"

Ike nodded. "I thought that if I didn't keep it a secret, people might think we… you know. It would be plausible for them to think that since… since I'm adopted. Even though you have Stan, people still might… well… since we're not really brothers… so…."

"Not really brothers…" Kyle echoed. And just like that, their final title was severed.

A few days later, the tray was lowered down and Ike reached over to take the food. "Hey," Kyle mumbled. "It's my turn this time."

"You had it last time," Ike grumbled. "It's my turn, I know it is!" Kyle lunged forward and grabbed Ike's wrist with one claw like hand.

"Stop!" Kyle shouted, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Let's be reasonable about this!"

"You be reasonable!" Ike yelled back, wrenching away. "I've been keeping track this entire time! I've always been smarter than you, and I can keep big numbers in my head! I know that this is supposed to be my meal, so back off!"

Ike shoved Kyle with all his might and the red head collided with the dirt wall. He grunted and shook his head to get rid of the stars and then walked toward the other boy. "Did you just push me?" Kyle shrieked. "I don't think so, bastard!" He threw his fist into Ike's face causing the frail boy to keel over.

With a feral cry, Ike pounced back on his brother, forcing him to the ground. He reached for Kyle's neck and wrapped his fingers around his throat, chocking him until Kyle wheezed.

In a sudden burst of strength, Kyle toppled his brother over, throwing him off his body. With scrambling hands, he groped the floor and took hold of a stray rock. Clenching his teeth, Kyle pushed Ike to the ground with one strong hand, his brother writhing and flailing beneath him. In one swoop, Kyle brought the rock down and smashed it into the side of Ike's head.

The struggling ceased immediately, Ike's arms falling to the ground as if he were a puppet who just had all his strings cut. The only sound left was Kyle's heaving pants as his heart raced in the heat of the moment. He dropped the bloodied stone to the ground with an echoing clatter before stumbling backwards off the black haired boy.

The next day, in the darkness, Kyle huddled into himself, his knees brought up to his chest like a frightened child. Ike had yet to stir and his flesh looked even paler than before. Kyle's breathing became sporadic as the realization dawned upon him.

After what he thought was the passing of another day, Kyle finally worked up the nerve to move closer to the body of his younger brother. With hesitant hands he took hold of Ike and gave him one last hug, feeling the boy's frozen skin burn against his own living flesh. Afterwards, he laid his brother down and positioned his limbs in reverence.

Just then, a squeaking was heard, louder than the dumbwaiter that brought the food. Kyle looked up dismally as a man and two soldiers were lowered down into the pit on an even larger platform. "Good morning," the one with brown hair greeted. Kyle looked them over, too emotionless to be surprised. All his feelings had long been drained away; but he could still see the red, white, and blue colors adorned on their uniforms.

"You're not Russians, are you?" Kyle asked, remembering how to speak.

"Russians, ha!" the man laughed, waving his hand in the air as if erasing all of Kyle's doubts. "We're Americans. The Russians were expelled from this region almost a month and a half ago."

Kyle's emerald eyes grew wide and straightened up in shock. "Then why haven't you been down here to rescue us earlier?!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"I just wanted to see who'd win," the stranger laughed. "You or your brother? Now I can see which one is worthier. From this point on, I think I'm going to keep a close eye on you, Mr. Broflovski." He leaned over and put out his hand to shake Kyle's, an icy grin dancing across his lips. "You may call me Cooper. Vincent Cooper."

XXXXX

Stan awoke suddenly to the sound of his bunker door being opened. He wiped the sleepiness from his eyes and looked toward the darkened doorway.

Kyle stood at the foot of his bed, a sheet draped loosely over his naked body, shivering so badly that he looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Stan had seen this side of Kyle before; he had had a nightmare.

"I'm… cold," Kyle whispered, simply.

Stan glanced deep into Kyle's tearful eyes and saw with wonder a glimmer of the old Kyle. The one he'd known before that damned war. The one he loved so undyingly. Wordless, Stan pulled the sheets to his bed and offered the warmth from beneath. With bare feet, Kyle padded across the floor to Stan's side, but hesitated. As if a cataclysmic war was going on within his own heart and he couldn't decided what to do.

Slowly, Stan reached out and took Kyle's hand, tugging gingerly. It was dying. The flame of the old Kyle was being consumed by the frozen and emotionless new one. Stan just wanted to pull him close and squeeze away all pain. All the hurt.

Kyle might have gotten into that bed. Stan might have been able to keep that flame alive. Kyle might have been able to change; just as he might not have killed his brother… if someone had not intervened.

"Mr. Broflovski and Mr. Marsh," called a voice from the hallway. The two of them looked up to see Cooper in the doorway, smiling cheerfully. "I would like you two to both get dressed. I'm expecting company." He pivoted on his heels and walked away down the hall.

Kyle pulled away and wrapped the sheets around him even tighter, closing Stan off, keeping him away. "You heard him," he mumbled, the glimmer in his eyes completely gone. "Let's go."

Kyle left the room, leaving Stan alone in his bed with an empty hand and a heavy heart.