South Park Oneshots

Light - Marsh siblings

They're siblings, so obviously NOT A SHIP
Tw: alcoholism, descriptive gore, mention of guns, murder, homicidal ideations, descriptive dying, suicidal ideation

Requested by meatlore

Stan moaned with pain. How did things end up like this? Why was it him, and not his drunken bastard of a father getting shot? It was Randy's fault that the enraged man's car was dented and scratched, not his! There was nothing he could do about it now, though. He had been shot, and now the disgustingly warm feeling of blood spilling from his side would be one of his last sensations to feel. Not the sun-baked sidewalk, not the sound of footsteps entering his ears, and not the burning, radiating pain. It would be the blood pooling beneath him and staining the cement red.

The sarcastic humor he found in his dire situation forced a laugh out of him. He was so much like his father, no matter how hard he tried to be different, that he was even paying for Randy's actions. I'll bet he comes up with some sorry excuse to get out of this shitshow too, huh?

"Stan, you little shit, where are you?" Stan tensed at the sound of his mean, always angry sister, Shelly. Not now, he begged in his subconscious. She can't see me like this, please.

His pleas were ignored. Shelly looked down the sidewalk, scanning for her brother. When she caught sight of his hat, she walked towards it and picked it up. She stood tall and opened her mouth to scream for him, but all she saw was her baby brother sprawled out, blood pouring out of him like a violent river, spilling into the street. Her voice came back to her in a cry of anguish as she sprinted to Stan's side. She fell to her knees, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Oh god, Stan, what the hell did you get into?" She looked into his blue eyes, the life in them slowly fading. She cupped his cheek, tears she promised she'd never let another soul see beginning to stream down her face.

"Don't… don't cry Shelly. I'm okay!" Stan tried to console her and did his best to sit up. He whimpered from the electrifying pain, but he forced himself to lean against a stop sign. He covered the wound with his already bloody hand and pressed down firmly, but it did almost nothing to slow the blood.

"Hold on, turd." Shelly wiped her tears away and scrambled for the phone in her pocket. She unlocked it and pressed the Phone app, then dialed 911.

"My brother was shot, I need help. He's bleeding out." She gave the man on the phone their address and put the call on speaker, setting it on the ground.

Stan smiled tiredly and placed a shaky hand on his sister's shoulder while the other, blood-drenched one found it harder and harder to keep pressing down on his wound. It was getting more challenging to keep his eyes open and even more difficult to breathe, and that was how he knew he was truly dying. He started to cry, but he kept grinning.

"I used to want to die all the time, you know." He flicked his gaze to the side before leaning his head back against the cold metal rod he was sitting against.

"What?" Shelly's blood ran cold with dread. Why would her baby brother ever want to die? Was she too cruel to him? She grabbed his hand with one of her own, gently squeezing it.

"I'm not coming home tonight, Shelly." He took in a quivering breath, his eyes beginning to close.

"I think I'll miss you the most. Even if you were mean… I know you're just angry and hurt, just like I was. It wasn't your fault… and this won't be either, it will be Randy's." He coughed weakly, grimacing at the coppery taste overwhelming his dulled senses.

"Shut up Stan, you're not allowed to die on me. Not yet." Shelly ordered, but she knew the truth. There was too much blood on the concrete and themselves and not enough in his body. Her baby brother was dying.

"I love you, Shelly… kick Randy's ass for me one good time, okay? Promise me you will." Shelly finally allowed the sobs bubbling inside her chest to escape her, her grip on Stan's hand deathly tight.

"I will, I promise. I love you Stan, please don't leave me. Just keep your eyes open, I'm begging you." She cried, pulling him into her lap so she could hold him one last time. She hid her face in his unwashed hair and placed one hand on the back of his head, the other wrapped snugly around his waist. She rocked back and forth in an attempt to comfort him in his dying moments.

This was her boy, she decided while Stan went limp in her arms. Randy and Sharon both could rot in hell, Stan was hers, and would be hers until she died herself. That was a point she'd fight to the very end for.

The sound of sirens flooded her ears, but she knew they weren't fast enough. Stan's breathing had continued to shallow, until she couldn't feel the rush of air on her cheek anymore. She pulled away enough to look at his soft face for the final time, and the sight of his lifeless eyes caused a stream of broken screams to rush out of her throat.

She wouldn't let the paramedics touch him once they finally arrived. They didn't deserve to make an effort after taking too long to save him; she made sure they knew it too. She was an inconsolable mess, and rightfully so. A piece of her died alongside her brother that day, and the hole it would leave would continue to rot and hollow her out for the rest of her life.

The funeral was exceptionally rough on her, especially with Sharon screaming hysterically and her father wanting to argue with her for ownership of Stan's ashes. She fulfilled her promise then, and put the narcissistic drunk in the hospital.

He should be the one in a ceramic jar, not my boy. She thought angrily while sitting at Randy's bedside. She so desperately wanted to suffocate him with a pillow while he was in a weak and defenseless state, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"I hate you, Randy. Stan would be disappointed in me, which is the only reason you're still breathing." She seethed, her hands in constricting fists.

"He's dead because of you. My boy is dead because you had to break a man's windows. You're a lousy, pathetic, withering waste of space. I hope I can be there when you die. I can't wait to sit and watch you take your last breath." Tears were cascading down her cheeks, but her eyes flickered like hellfire.

She would make him regret ever touching a drop of alcohol, she promised. She would bring down the wrath of a thousand fucked over and backstabbed souls until she could finally see him die. For Stan. Death isn't enough for you to pay the price. I will torment you until you're finally dead. Just like my boy.