A/N: Thank you for your patience with my slow writing LOL! And a giant thank you to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited! It means a lot :D Here is Chapter 3! You'll get a little more insight into the situation. Warning – it gets a little gory toward the end...Enjoy and please R&R :D

Chapter 3: Aftermath

The Marsh House

Sunday September 8

1:08 am

"Stan?" Ike whispered, "Stan!" His footsteps echoed against the tile. Pausing, he called out again, daring to raise his voice a little louder this time.

No one called back.

He started walking forward again, trying hard to keep his weapon steady in front of him. An aluminum baseball bat: it was the best weapon Cartman was willing to spare him.

"Here," Cartman barked, thrusting the aluminum bat into Ike's small hands.

"You're not sending us with just a bat, fatass!" yelled Kyle.

"It's either that or he goes empty handed Kyle! And I'm not sending you! I'm sending him! You are coming with me. And we are going to the school. We need everything else. You're lucky I'm wasting a good resource on such a stupid errand."

"It's not a stupid errand Cartman! We need to make sure Stan's ok! We all heard the gunshots!" screamed Kyle, "And I am going."

Cartman grabbed Kyle by the shoulders and pinned him up against the wall. He was now eye level with Eric and Kyle's feet hung above the ground, showing off their height difference. "You are going with me," Eric growled. His brown eyes flashed with intense rage. Never one to back down, Kyle's emerald eyes glittered back with defiance.

A shiver ran down Ike's spine. "It's ok Kyle. I'll go," piped Ike. Both boys turned to look at him – Cartman looked pleased and Kyle was frozen with shock. Nervously looking between both, he continued, "Eric has a good plan. Our only plan. And our only chance at surviving. But it's Eric. The most evil, dishonest asshole in the whole town. And if you're not there, making sure he's not fucking us over, then we're all dead."

In then end, Kyle begrudgingly followed Eric, leaving Ike with explicit instructions to get Stan and come straight to the school. Ike had rolled his eyes, earning a burst of laughter from Cartman.

But the light metal bat felt heavy and awkward to Ike now. His breath, short and ragged, shown silver in the night air. The cold pierced through his hoodie and he suddenly regretted not grabbing a coat.

He made his way into further into the kitchen. He had made sure to go through the back door. Going in through the backyard meant he hadn't needed to cross any of the other houses on the street.

Surveying the room, Ike spied the open windows above the sink. Wind, cold but soft, filled the room. Ike's fingers twitched, icy and aching with tension. Maybe he should have grabbed gloves too. Random drawers were open. Their contents ransacked. The fridge was open too. Spaghetti was smeared down the shelves, milk spilled out onto the floor, bits of other leftovers stained the kitchen – some mashed with footprints. That's when he saw it. A trail of blood, like a red river, stretched across the floor. Leading Ike into the next room.

He was shivered violently but not from cold this time. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't afraid. But this was Stan. And Stan needed him. His mind flashed back to his brother and Cartman and he wondered where they were now – if they were safe. Silently, he wished to himself that he could see them now beside him. He could really use Kyle by his side right now. Unlike Ike, his brother's bravery was fueled by his temper. The angrier Kyle became, the more fearless he became. And Ike sure could use that right about now.

Cautiously, he crept through the kitchen into the living room. The TV flickered – nothing but static. The room was in complete disarray. There had definitely been fight here. A broken family picture caught Ike's eye. He carefully picked it up. There they were, the entire Marsh family looking so happy together. All smiles. Well, all except Stan. He had been having some emotional problems for years. Ike knew him to be a very sensitive boy. Well, everyone did. It wasn't a secret. But, whatever it was that was deeply troubling him, he hadn't been able to express it to anyone ever. Not even to Kyle. Kyle was closer to Stan than anyone. Even his own little brother, Ike thought ruefully. So, Stan buried himself in sports. He was naturally athletic, practically born captain of the football team. Stan had gotten a full scholarship to a nearby college. A college he claimed to really want to get in to. Yet, nothing seemed to make him happy.

Suddenly, Ike heard a noise, nearly dropping the picture. He felt his heart shoot up into his throat. He listened, nerves on fire and heart pounding, but heard nothing else. Thoughtlessly, he folded the picture and tucked it into his back pocket. With a gulp, he gathered the courage he didn't have and headed up the stairs – the direction of the noise.

Barely breathing, he made his way up the stairs. The carpet was wet with blood in some areas. Ike prayed it wasn't Stan's.

He paused at the top of the stairs. There was only a long hallway in front of him. From memory he knew Stan's bedroom was the last door on the right. There would be three other rooms to clear first. And who knows what was waiting inside? Stan? Something else? Not that there was even a guarantee that Stan would be in his room! Ike pushed away those thoughts. He needed to focus. There was only one thing to do, only one way to go – and that was forward.

So, with a deep breath, he readied his bat and edged closer to the door of, if he remembered correctly, the bathroom.

Firmly prodding the slightly opened door with the tip of his bat, it swung open with an eerie creak, it swung open. Ike stumbled back at what he saw. The sight was like a punch to his gut. And the smell -

Shelly – what had been Shelly – was draped over the sink and floor. Her head rested on a hinge…spine protruding amongst jagged flesh as blood oozed down the counter. A leg shot out at an unnatural angle, torn and bleeding, and Ike could see through to her muscles. He clamped a hand tight over his mouth. Now was not the time to freak out. Now was not the time to vomit everywhere. He closed his eyes, resolving Stan couldn't be in the bathroom and moved on down the hall.

Part way through checking the next room, he heard another noise. Ike froze where he stood. His blood ran called as he listened. Again he heard it. His name – his name – being called from down the hall in Stan's voice. He was sure of it. And he was sure which room it was coming from.

Concern for his friend won out over fear and Ike moved as silently as possible toward Stan's bedroom. Prodding it with the bat, it was apparent that the door was stuck. Forcing it open with all the strength he gained from he years as a hockey player, Ike wearily entered the room. It was very dark, save for a small amount of moonlight leaking in past the window curtain. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and that's when he saw him, Stan Marsh, splayed on the floor. A bottle of whiskey curled tightly in his left hand. Rushing to his side, Ike propped up the injured boy against the wall. His right arm was wounded and bleeding badly. Ike quickly took off his shirt, tearing it into bandages to wrap Stan's wound. He was very pale and his eyes were unfocused. With a labored breath he called out again, "Ike."

"Stan, I'm here," Ike quipped, focusing on bandaging. But Stan's body shuddered violently, and Ike realized that Stan's gaze had become fixed on the ceiling and was muttering something under his breath. Panicking, Ike cried out, "Stan, stay with me. Stan!" He leaned closer to hear what Stan was muttering.

"I wish you were real" he mumbled over and over.

"I am real!" Ike stated, "Come on Stan! I'm real! I'm here with you! Stay with me!"

Oooo...I wonder what will happen next? ;P