Disclaimer: South Park, all South Park characters, settings, and events belong to the makers of South Park, Matt Stone and Trey Parker. Sometimes, I just like to play with the grown-up versions of their boys.

(A/N): So, this just fell into my lap after listening to Eminem's new album, Recovery. I think it was also partially inspired by another fanfic, but I can't remember the name or what it was about. The first part basically wrote itself, I didn't have many problems with it until the end. OMG THERE'S PLOT! Yes, there's an actual point to this story.

Need opinions: Should I put San Diego on Hiatus until I finish this and/or Hold Your Breath? If I get no response to this question, I will automatically put it on hold until I've finished at least one of the others, so if you are really that desperate for it to continue, please speak now or forever hold your peace.

Dedicated to Luckystar27 who was the first to review the last chapter - thank you for the kind words!

Enjoy.

The sound of glass shattering against the wall outside my bedroom has me jolting awake and I groggily raise my head from my pillow, eyeing my bedroom door suspiciously at the eerie silence that ensues. I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time, groaning when the numbers 5:38 shine back at me innocently. Whispers leak beneath my door and I wait anxiously for the yelling to begin, resigning to the fact that I won't fall back asleep for some time. My head snaps up when I hear my brother scream something unintelligible and I quickly roll of my bed the instant my ears pick up heavy footsteps approaching my room, catching my fall on the tips of my toes and the flat of my palms, sliding beneath the bed just as my bedroom door opens with a resounding crack. Fuck, I think to myself, face pressing harshly into the floorboards, the metal bed frame digging painfully into my back, I'm not as tiny as I used to be. Thick-soled boots thud closer and closer to my bed and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, catch my last breath of air, and wait for the explosion that's soon to come. I hear someone drop to their knees and I open one of my eyes cautiously, only to see the dirty and bruised face of my older brother. Sighing with relief at his sparkling smile, I crawl out from under my bed and brush the dust from my shorts.

I run my fingers through my tangled hair and mutter, "What the hell was that all about?"

"Dad drank too much, again. His hollerin' woke up Karen an' he tried to git her for bein' up so late," Kevin's redneck slur calms my frayed nerves.

"Is she okay? He didn't hit her did he? I swear to God, if he laid a finger on her…" I trail off.

Kevin smirks at my protective words and ruffles my already messy hair. "She's fine. Mom got her back t' her room an' I knocked dad out b'fore he could cause any more trouble. …Still hiding under yer bed from dad?"

I scoff at his mocking words and flick one of his bleeding wounds, "For your information, dad never even thinks of checking under the bed. He never did. I don't even think he knows that I can fit under my bed."

I pause as I examine his battered face and sigh exhaustedly, brain working furiously to come up with another plan to get both me and my baby sister out of this hell house.

"Let's clean your face up a bit, yeah?" I ask, the overwhelming feeling of helplessness forcing me to get up and do something.

I drag him to the only bathroom in the house and push him down to sit on top of the toilet, wetting a semi-clean dish rag to wipe the dirt, blood, and sweat from his face and neck. Soak, ring, wipe, repeat. The words circle in my head, running over one another again and again, twisting and curling to create a warped rhyme that I start to bob my head to and his eyes drop shut with the normality of our routine. Soon, the rag is dirtier than his face is and the words slow and change and the rhythm drops. Wipe, drop, sigh, end. My fingers automatically wrench one of the draws open to seek out the first-aid kit I hid a few weeks ago, eyes watching my brother tip his head back in fatigue. I smear ointment on the worst of his cuts, carefully sticking the bandages over the still bleeding wounds, fingers petting his dirty hair to signal when I'm finished. Brown eyes are suddenly staring straight at me and I'm taken aback at the intensity of his stare.

"Wh-"

"When the fuck did you get so affectionate?" he cuts my question off with a quiet voice, his mocking tone no longer apparent.

"…What do you mean?"

His hard brown eyes do a once over of me and I lean my hip against the chipped counter, "That was the gentlest you've ever been. S'not like you is all."

My eyes dart around the tiny room in search of a decent explanation, a good lie, a witty comeback, anything.

"Shit, what's her name?"

I wince and tug my bottom lip between my teeth. His tenor laugh echoes in the enclosed space of the bathroom and I unnaturally blush in embarrassment.

"Alright, what's his name, then?"

I groan, hiding my burning face in my hands, not able to believe that I'm having this conversation with my brother. "If dad ever finds out I'm screwing another boy, he's going to beat me so fucking hard I won't be able to walk for a week."

"Fuck what dad thinks, Ken. The kid is obviously doin' you good," his mocking tone is back as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

I laugh and point my thumb over my shoulder, "Go to fucking bed, Kevin."

As he passes me, he uncharacteristically cups my cheek and places a soft kiss on my forehead, disappearing down the hall so fast that I could have sworn I imagined the whole thing. Shaking my head, I turn around and walk back to my bedroom, flipping my phone open as I lay back against my tattered pillow. The kid who has apparently been turning me into a hug softy hasn't spoken to me in days. My outgoing calls read the same name over and over and over, Buttercup, Buttercup, Buttercup, and my finger punches the little green button once more, the automated voice instantly reaching my ears, telling me useless shit that makes me want to chuck my phone across the room.

It didn't even ring that time, I think to myself, worry sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach.

The morning after I spent the night at his house was the last time I had seen his smiling face and I didn't think anything of it when his dad ignored me during breakfast or even the nervous glances his mom kept shooting at me. Now, I see them as clear as day and I curse under my breath as I jump straight out of my bed and through my open window in horrified realization, running full pelt through the backyards of my neighbors as if the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels. Shirtless and shoeless, I don't stop running until I reach Butters' backyard, feet throbbing in pain and skin tightening at the cool morning air. I chuck a pebble at Butter's window and wait a few moments before I throw another, not stopping until I see one of his lamps flick on. His pajama-clad body appears as he parts the curtains and a look of pure happiness flashes across his face before it's distorted by fear and sadness. I'm immediately climbing up the conveniently placed tree beside his window and he yanks the window up so that I can pull myself through it. The second my feet touch carpet, I wrap my arms around his shaking body and tuck his head beneath my chin, sighing when I feel wetness against my skin.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I should have figured it out sooner, especially when you didn't answer any of my texts or calls," I whisper into his hair, tears forming in my eyes while listening to his heart-wrenching sobs.

My eyes rove over his room, spotting several suitcases and travel bags pushed up against his wall and I push him away with my hands gripping his upper arms.

"What's going on? Why are your bags packed? Are they sending you away? Butters?" my voice raises in pitch with each question, and all Butters gives me is more tears. It takes him a couple of tries before sound rips from his throat.

"M-my d-dad found o-out about us! He knows t-that I'm g-gay! He's sending me b-back!"

Butters stutters over his words through his sobbing and I press his tear-stained face to my chest, fingers running through bright blond hair to try and calm him. I rub his back soothingly, whisper lies about how everything is going to be okay, and wait until his sobbing settles to soft whimpering. I am so absorbed in comforting my little blonde that I fail to notice his bedroom door open until it is too late. His mother quietly shuts the door behind her and she stands in front of it, her face filled with conflicting emotions; fear, doubt, hope, resolution, determination. I hesitantly take a step backwards to the open window, ready to flee at any moment, but stop when she holds her hands up in desperation.

"Wait, don't go. I'm not the one who wants to send my little butterscotch back to that ridiculous camp," she speaks in a soft, but clear voice and walks further into the room.

She pulls a thick, white envelope from her dressing gown and shoves it in my hand, forcibly wrapping my fingers around it so that I have no choice but to take it. I cock my head to the side in question and she genuinely smiles at me.

"You've always treated Butters with the utmost respect and care. I couldn't think of anyone else who could take such good care of my little baby. I found an apartment for the two of you to stay at until his father stops acting like an idiot. Take the money, you'll need it; but don't blow it all on useless things."

Butters twists around in my arms to face his mother and when she speaks again, it's directed to her only son.

"There isn't anything wrong with whom you love, sweetheart. I always believed Kenneth was an excellent boy, and he never did you wrong. Go. Leave before your daddy wakes up. Take your bags, take the money, and run. I'll do my best to make sure he can't find you."

Butters leaps out of my arms and into his mother's, tears streaming down both of their faces with overwhelming emotions. Mrs. Stotch kisses her son on both of his cheeks, once on his forehead, and lastly on his lips before she drops car keys into Butters' hand and ushers us both out the window, tossing us his bags as soon as we reached the dew-covered grass.

Her dark blonde hair twirls in the light breeze as she leans out the open window. "I love you, butterscotch. Be careful, alright?"

She disappears from the window and I tear the envelope open to find a large sum of hundred dollar bills staring back at me, as well as a little folded piece of paper with a key taped to it. I take the paper and key out and shove the envelope into my back pocket, motioning for Butters to grab his bags. We sneak around the front of his house to his car and I silently place his suitcases into the backseat, take his keys from his trembling hand and open the passenger door for him, waiting until he buckles his seatbelt to quietly shut the car door.

Once in the driver's seat, I start his little black Honda, slowly roll it out of the driveway, and accelerate down the street, only turning the headlights on when I'm certain we're far enough away to not draw any attention. Without having any exact destination in mind, I drive around for a solid 30 minutes until I finally stop the car in front of my own house. I unfold the piece of paper sitting delicately in my lap and my eyes flicker over the elegant handwriting of Butters' mother.

Southside Apartment Complex
1707 Maple Street
Apt. # 137
South Park, CO

The apartment is fully furnished and
I filled your pantry with food and drinks.
Don't worry about paying the rent.

With Love,
Linda Stotch

"I fucking love your mom, dude. She seriously cares about you."

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I nearly curse in surprise, pulling it out to answer it. I don't even get a word out before my brother's voice cuts me off.

"What the hell are ya doin'? You disappeared for a good hour, came back in a car that definitely isn't yers and now yer idlin' in front of the house like a stalker. Who's that kid in the passenger seat?"

"Butters. My-never mind, I don't have time for this. I'm coming in to get some of my stuff; I'll explain it to you then."

I tell Butters to remain in the car before I jog to my front door, not surprised when it opens as soon as I reach it. Kevin's face stares back at me when he shuts the door quietly and I almost laugh at the out of place look of seriousness etched onto his features. Walking past him and into my bedroom, I throw a tattered bag onto my bed and begin shoving clothes into it, not even bothering to look at the shit I'm putting in it, just wanting to leave as quickly as possible.

"I'm leaving. I don't know when I'll be back, but I do know that I will be eventually, for Karen. Butters is in some deep shit with his dad and we need to disappear for a while. Tell mom and dad I died or I'm in jail - Something convincing. I'll call you with the details later, alright?"

"I'll trust ya know watcha doin' and leave ya to it. Just be safe baby bro, a'ight?"

I smirk over my shoulder and tug the stubbornly old zipper closed, running back out of the house to toss my long bag into the back seat of the rumbling Honda. Skidding off of the curb, I pull away from the house I so desperately wanted to run away from just an hour ago, but with one person short. I glance at the review mirror, trusting Kevin enough to take care of Karen until I come back for her and take her away from the shit hole that I grew up in. Butters curls closer to me and his arm loops through mine as I place my hand on his knee, rubbing soothing circles over the exposed skin. His tears have stopped for now, but the occasional sniffle reminds me of our situation as I speed away from the fucked up life behind us, eager to hide away my little buttercup, keep him safe, keep him alive, and keep him happy. Part of me wished it was as easy as it sounded. Part of me knew that this was just the beginning and the real hell has yet to rear its dangerous head.

(A/N): I LOVE that you guys are reading my stories and making them your favorite, sometimes alerting them as well. However, I can't help but be disappointed in the laughably small amount of reviews I've received. Do you guys hate my work that much? I would be absolutely ecstatic to hear exactly what you liked about whichever story, even if it's just a one-liner. I'm less motivated to update stories that are not being reviewed; even when I know hundreds of people are viewing them. That's not to say that I won't update unless I get a certain number of reviews, but it would certainly motivate me more if I were to open my mailbox and see "Review Alert" in lieu of "Fave Alert" or "Story Alert."

NOTICE: I am currently looking for Betas and Muses. I would gladly take any "applications" for either (or both) of these positions and only ask for your name, your past work, and your history with being a beta. I will also gladly reciprocate my business.