A/N: Heeeey sooooo I felt like starting a new Fic. The boys are a little bit older in this (maybe 12 or so) but I'm not very good at working out dates and times and stuff so it may be a bit flaky.
Thanks for reading!

Crouching under his desk, Ike Broflovski pressed his hands against his ears as hard as he could, trying to block out as much of the noise possible. Tears streamed down his pale face in little rivets, and he shook with fear and tried to ignore the gnawing feeling of guilt building in his tummy.
Every crack, every cry, reminded him that it was all his fault. His big brother was being beaten because of him. Ky, the boy that had picked him up and dusted him off when Ike fell from his tricycle, who threatened to beat up a kid who was bullying him, who had shared his ice cream when he dropped his. Kyle was the best brother in the world, and Ike was the worst.
Balling his hands into fists, he silently vowed that this would be the last time Kyle took a fall for him. But deep down, he knew that this was one promise he would struggle to keep.

Fiery pain erupted down his back once more as he stoically tried to make his way up the stairs, his deep shuddery breaths, red eyes and flushed face giving away the fact that he had just been crying.
Despite the pain, Kyle didn't regret taking the fall for his little brother. Aged only five, Ike had never taken a proper beating before, and his brother wasn't sure of how well he could handle it- or how well he himself would handle it for that matter, knowing what he was going through.
The door to his brother's bedroom opened a crack, and a pair of eyes just red as his own peered out.

"Kyle?" The red-headed boy tried to put on his most convincing smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"Hey, Ike. You okay?" The younger of the two shook his head.

"I, I'm so sorry Kyle, I-" Ike found himself wrapped up in a tight embrace, but his hands hovered awkwardly in the air, not wanting to hurt Kyle's back any more than it already was.

"I'd do anything for you Ike. You know that. Anyway, I'm your big brother, it's my job!" Ike sniffed.

"No, your job is to tease me about girls in my class and mess around with me, not… Not this." He looked up at Kyle. "Do you think dad will ever get back to normal?"

They both stood in thought for a minute. It had been two years since Gerald Broflovski had been in the car crash that had left him with brain damage and changed their lives forever.
Since the accident, the boys' usually calm father could become angry and violent at the tiniest thing. This time, it was because Ike had accidentally left the milk out.
He shuddered as he recalled the familiar tone of anger and threat in Gerald's voice as he called for them both to come downstairs at once.
His older son had stepped forward at once, and ashamedly, Ike hadn't stopped him- not even when Kyle was told to fetch their dad's heaviest and scariest belt. Not even when he was ordered to remove his shirt and pants and stand with his hands against the wall.
Not even when the lashes began, slow at first but building up both in speed and intensity as Gerald punished his son despite the cries and the pleas to stop.

"I don't know, Ike." Kyle's reply brought Ike back to the present. "There's always hope I guess."

Both boys slept badly that night. Kyle got a look at the welts criss-crossing his back and thighs as he dressed for bed, shuddering slightly. The hardest part was always trying to hide the amount of pain he was in- the 'I must have pulled a muscle' excuse was getting a bit old now.
Just as he was slipping into his loosest t-shirt, Sheila tapped gently on the door, and just a glance at her told Kyle that she had been crying.
No one would expect this of the headstrong woman, so often seen as the most outspoken individual in South Park, but she was no longer the woman that organised rallies and protests. She was now the woman that tried to calm down her erratic husband, tried to stop him from beating her baby, tried, tried, tried.

"Kyle? Bubbala I saw the belt on the couch and I- oh, Kyle, I'm sorry. I should never have gone to work and left you alone with him."

"Ma, it's okay." He insisted, hugging his mother tight. "You have to go to work; it's not your fault." Sheila pulled her son onto her lap, holding him close the way she did when he was little.

"Oh bubba, you're such a brave boy. I wish he hit me instead. In fact I just wish we didn't have to stay here any longer." Kyle nodded. Although still young, he understood.
Even though his father had very little control over his anger when it came to disciplining his sons, he was still one of the best lawyers in South Park, and so leaving him was always going to be very difficult. Somehow, someway, Gerald would find a way to bring them back.
Sheila scooped up her boy, slight as he was, and helped him into bed, tucking the covers protectively around him and kissing him on the forehead.

"Night ma."

"Goodnight bubbala. I love you." And then Kyle was once again all alone in the dark, bruised and battered and a little bit daunted by the thought of school in the morning.

Kyle looked down at his feet, cheeks pink with embarrassment, as Mr Marlot folded his arms in front of him.

"Kyle this is the third time you've forgotten your gym bag this week. It's just not good enough."

"I'm sorry, everything's just a bit hectic right now." His teacher sighed.

"You know, using that excuse once or twice is just about acceptable, but I'm not having you sit out again. You can borrow a kit from lost property." Kyle gulped nervously. He was afraid to get changed in front of his friends as well as the pain that gym class would cause him.

"Yes, Mr Marlot." He said, not wanting to make things worse by his teacher sending a note home. He picked out the loosest t-shirt he could find and some pants and shoes to match, and made his way to the corner of the changing room next to Stan, who happened to be arguing with Cartman over who had the biggest muscles.

"Fat doesn't count you moron." He insisted. "Right Ky?" He turned towards his best friend, only to see the boy blinking back absent-mindedly.

"Huh?" Cartman rolled his eyes as he filed out with the rest of the class, leaving Stan and Kyle by themselves.

"What's wrong with you dude?" The darker haired boy asked. "You've been totally distant all week. Usually you'd be ripping out fatass' throat by now." Kyle shrugged.

"Nothing Stan, I guess I'm just tired. I'll meet you out there." Stan narrowed his eyes. They always waited for each other to get changed for gym. His eyes suddenly widened as the realisation dawned on him. "

It was your dad again wasnt it?"

'No, I-' he was cut off as his friend reached forward to push him around and lifted up his shirt. Stan let out a low whistle, and Kyle pulled away, face reddening again.

"Ky those look awful dude. You can't- I mean, how can you-"

"Stan please don't say anything. You promised, remember?"

A year or so beforehand, the boys had been wrestling when Stan had dropped Kyle, who let out a cry of pain. The darker haired boy had pinned his best friend to the ground in order to get a look at the dark rainbow of bruising decorating the boy's back. Kyle had made him promise not to tell anyone, terrified of what his father would do if he found out.

"I know Ky but-"

"And you're my super best friend so you can't break the promise, right?" Stan sighed.

"Right, I guess. But you're sleeping over mine tonight okay?" Kyle thought about it a minute, weighing up the pros and cons on his mind.

"Yeah, okay." Pulling on the borrowed shirt, he tried to smile back at his friend as the two of them made their way to the gym to join the others.

"Ice, Kyle?" Stan called out from the kitchen. Kyle hesitated for a moment before calling back.

"Yeah, thanks." The idea of Stan taking care of him seemed completely alien despite the fact that they'd been in this situation a few times before- usually Kyle was fairly self-sufficient. The dark haired boy appeared at the doorway, grasping an ice pack wrapped in a towel, and flopped down next to his friend.

"C'mere, Ky." He helped the redhead to lie on his side facing away from Stan, and lifted up his shirt at the back to place the ice against the worst of his marks. Kyle gasped, gripping a cushion in his tight fists, and a tear -hurriedly wiped away- slipped down his cheek. Stan rolled him over onto his stomach so he could adjust the ice pack, pulling the boy further onto his lap as he did so.

"S-Stan?"

"Relax, I won't hurt you." Kyle unclenched his muscles, sinking down into his friend's grasp and trying not to think about what other people would say if they saw the two of them like this. Stan ran a hand through Kyle's hair, and held him tight.

He couldn't stop his best friend being hurt without breaking a promise. But he could be there to pick up the pieces once it was over.

A/N: The words kinda flowed at first but I struggled towards the end D: If you've got this far, firstly thanks for sticking with me. But it'd mean an awful lot to me if you'd leave a review, because I'm not sure that I'm gonna continue this story if no one actually wants to read it- I'm quite busy!
Anyway, thanks again.