Chapter Text
"Dad, mom says you have to take me to the library!" Shelley's demanding voice pierced through the Saturday morning quiet on the farm.
Randy didn't look up from his phone, where he was googling 'how to make weed taste like pizza.' "Not until you finish your weed chores. You know the rules - Tegridy comes first."
He wasn't sure how much more clear he could be. Like hell was he going to drive all the way into town for some lame-ass library, especially when Shelley hadn't even done her weed chores yet. He'd been warned that teens her age could have weed problems, but had never guessed it would be this bad.
"These weed chores are fucking stupid! Mom already said-"
"Hey dad?" Stan trudged downstairs into the living room. "Mom says you have to take me to the board game store."
"Well, he's taking me to the library first!" Shelley said stubbornly.
"Nuh-uh, I have to be at the game store at 10:30! I'm meeting Clyde there."
"I don't give a fuck about your stupid nerd shit, turd! Why do you even need anything from there? You already have, like, a billion pieces."
"I need the new Monster Manual for our campaign, and Tolkien's family is on vacation! Besides, like you're one to talk about nerd shit. You want to go to the library."
Randy groaned as his children's argument pierced through his pleasant morning buzz. He vaguely remembered Sharon telling him the previous night that she had plans in Denver to meet some old college friends for lunch and that it was his turn to take the kids into town to drop them off for the day this weekend. To be fair, he didn't remember agreeing to doing so.
Stan and Shelley's volume reached an unbearable pitch. Randy's head swam as he tried to focus on his phone screen. "Jesus Christ, will you two shut up? Daddy's trying to revolutionize the marijuana industry here!"
"Oh my god, are you drunk?" Stan's eyes narrowed. "It's not even noon!"
"Hey, it's called product testing, Stan, and someone's gotta do it if we're getting into the liquor industry too. This is a business! When Colonel Sanders was creating KFC, you think he didn't eat chicken for breakfast?"
"That's... not even close to the same thing," Stan muttered, exchanging a knowing look with his sister.
Sharon's voice cut through the chaos as she appeared in the doorway. "Randy, have you been drinking? You were supposed to drive the kids into town today!"
"Ugh, leave me alone, Sharon! I don't need you to start having an alcohol problem. I barely had a little bit."
"You were going to drive them drunk AGAIN?"
Shelley stepped in between her parents, no stranger to these arguments and along with that, no fear of getting in the crossfire. She gave Stan a fierce glare, warning him not to speak.
Sharon turned to face her children, exhaustion evident in the shadows under her eyes. "Stan, you're just going to have to wait until tomorrow to go into town. Shelley, I know the library is closed tomorrow. We'll figure something out after school this week."
"But I have to go today!" Stan protested, ignoring Shelley's warning glance. "We have our campaign tonight and it was my turn to buy-"
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Stanley. Your father here can't take you."
"Why can't you?" Stan asked, immediately regretting it when he saw his mother's expression darken.
"Because I'm the one who always takes you! This is the one day I have plans just for myself, the one day where I don't have to do everything for everyone here! One day where I don't have to be the only functioning adult in this family!"
Randy scoffed, almost dropping his phone. "Hey, I function! I function great!"
"What, do you disagree?" Sharon snapped, turning her focus back onto Randy.
"It's just… you say you do everything for everyone, but I don't see you with me in the fields every day helping with-"
"Oh my GOD, Randy! Are you seriously-"
Shelley grabbed Stan's arm, yanking him away from the escalating argument. Stan yelped in protest as she dragged him up the stairs, but fell silent at the sound of something shattering downstairs - probably Randy stumbling into the china cabinet again.
"Nice going, dipshit," she hissed, but her anger faltered when she saw Stan flinch at another crash from below. The little turd was annoying, but the only acceptable reason he should ever look scared should be because she was the one causing it - not their parents.
"Just... go to your room," Shelley muttered, her voice lacking its usual venom. Stan stood frozen, staring down the stairs.
"They're not gonna..." Stan's voice trailed off, and Shelley felt that familiar protective anger rise in her chest. She hated when he got like this - all quiet and worried. It was easier when he was being an annoying little shit.
"They're gonna do whatever they're gonna do," she said, giving him another push into his room - gentler this time. "Just like always."
Only when Stan's door clicked shut did Shelley storm into her room, slamming the door with enough force to knock a few boy band posters loose. She slumped against the wall, trying to block out the shouting match downstairs. Her mom's voice cracked in that familiar way - the one that always came right before she pretended she wasn't crying.
Shelley reached under her mattress and pulled out her beat-up spellbook, running her fingers over the wonky pentagram she'd drawn on the cover with Sharpie. If those two idiots downstairs couldn't get their shit together, she'd have to do it herself.
"Screw this," she muttered, flipping to the page she'd bookmarked weeks ago: 'Divorce Ritual.'
Shelley pulled her cauldron out from under her bed, still sticky with residue from last Halloween's experiments. She'd been saving it for something important, and this definitely qualified. The sounds of her parents arguing continued to drift up through the floorboards as she flipped through her spellbook, past "How to Turn Your Brother into a Toad" (tempting, but not today) and "Straight Teeth Spell" (she was pretty sure that one had backfired based on her last visit to the orthodontist).
"Here it is," she muttered, finding the page she'd carefully crafted last week. 'Supreme Divorce Spell (Guaranteed to Work or Your Crystals Back).' She'd found the basic template on some witch blog, but had modified it extensively. The original version had way too many hearts and healing crystals for her taste.
From beneath her mattress, she retrieved her collection of ingredients: dried Tegridy leaves she'd stolen from her dad (served him right), a permission slip he'd forgotten to sign, and one of Stan's stupid dice that she'd confiscated last week when he wouldn't stop rolling them against the wall at 3 AM in some weird game he played when he couldn't sleep he called 'dice wall ball'.
"Stupid dad," she grumbled, tossing the Tegridy leaves into the pot. "Always with his stupid weed... 'Tegridy this' and 'Tegridy that.'" She put on a mocking version of Randy's voice. "'Hey Sharon, I turned our savings into Tegridy NFTs!' 'Hey kids, I threw out all your shirts for new Tegridy Farms one! You'll be free advertisements to the youth!'"
She added some water from her water bottle (the spell called for moon-blessed water, but whatever) and started stirring counter-clockwise. The liquid turned a gross shade of green.
Shelley's stirring turned more aggressive the more she thought about her dad and the stupid farm, some specks of green water splashing softly against the wall.
Her mom didn't deserve this shit. Back when they lived in town, Sharon used to host book clubs and volunteer at the hospital gift shop. Now she spent her free time covering for Randy's latest schemes or apologizing to the neighbors about the smell. But for reasons Shelley couldn't understand, she never followed through with boundaries. It was like watching someone repeatedly touch a hot stove, expecting it not to burn.
And Stan... God, he was an annoying little turd, but she thought about how he'd looked when she shoved him into his bedroom. That familiar resigned expression he got whenever their Dad went off on one of his schemes. She'd seen that same look when Randy converted Stan's college fund into cryptocurrency, when he'd turned the basement into a "weed meditation center," when he'd tried to marry their mom to Towelie during that weird polygamy phase...
Shelley added the crumpled permission slip to the mixture, watching it dissolve. "This better fucking work," she whispered, though she knew deep down it probably wouldn't. But at least she was doing something.
She pulled out the final ingredient - a family photo from before they'd moved to the farm. Before Tegridy. Before everything got so... stupid. She'd carefully cut Randy out of it (and then stabbed the Randy portion several times with her scissors for good measure).
"Whatever," she muttered, trying to ignore the lump in her throat as she dropped the modified photo into the mixture. She stirred the potion again while she recited the incantation from the blog.
The mixture made a gurgling sound and turned a radioactive shade of purple. Shelley stared at it expectantly, but nothing else happened. No magical puff of smoke, no mysterious wind, not even a minor explosion. Just the continued sound of her parents arguing downstairs.
"Whatever," she said again, kicking the cauldron back under her bed. "Stupid spell." But she left it there, just in case. Maybe it needed time to work. Magic was probably like, chemicals and shit. Had to react or something.
She spent the rest of the day locked in her bedroom, rereading the book of the Vampire Academy series that she was currently on in the series. She was really looking forward to going to the library to get the next one, but that obviously wouldn't be happening today. She put on her headphones to drown out Stan's shitty guitar playing, only leaving her room for a sandwich for dinner.
Later that night, Shelley was lying in bed, scrolling through the witch blogs for more divorce spells (just to be safe), when her door creaked open. She sat up, ready to throw her phone at the intruder.
"Shelley?" Stan's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. He was standing in her doorway in his stupid Terrance and Phillip pajamas, looking smaller than usual.
"What do you want, turd? It's like midnight." But she didn't immediately throw him out, which was practically a warm welcome by Shelley standards. Instead, she shifted slightly on her bed, making room - not that she'd admit to doing it on purpose.
Stan shuffled into her room, closing the door behind him. "I... I heard Mom talking on the phone with Aunt Heather."
"So?" Shelley tried to keep her voice neutral, but her hand instinctively drifted toward the spell book hidden under her pillow. Had it worked already?
"She said she wants a divorce. And Dad found her packing boxes in their room."
Shelley's heart leaped - holy shit, had her spell actually worked? - but then she noticed Stan was shaking slightly.
"Dad went crazy," Stan continued. "He started saying all this weird stuff about how 'nobody leaves Tegridy Farms' and how he'd rather burn everything down than let Mom take us away. Then he got that same look he had during the pandemic when he tried stealing the pangolin and..." Stan wrapped his arms around himself. "He went down to his 'special thinking shed' with a gas can."
"Is that what that smell is?" Shelley wrinkled her nose, catching a whiff of gasoline through the ever-present marijuana stench. Her spell wasn't supposed to make things worse. Was it? She hadn't exactly read the fine print on that witch blog.
"Mom locked herself in their room and called the police, but Dad just kept laughing and saying stuff about how 'Tegridy always wins' and... I don't know. I've seen Dad do a lot of stupid shit, but this was different. He wasn't even trying to make it into a musical number or anything."
Shelley tried to hide her growing excitement. This was exactly what she'd wanted. Her spell had worked perfectly! She was basically a witch prodigy or whatever.
But then she looked at Stan's face and felt a twinge of... something. Probably just indigestion from her earlier sandwich.
"Get over here, turd," she sighed, scooting over on her bed. "And if you tell anyone about this, I'll throw all your specialty dice in the wood chipper. Including that weird one with twenty sides that glows in the dark."
"It's called a d20, and you're the one who borrowed it for your weird witch stuff," Stan muttered, but climbed onto her bed anyway, sitting cross-legged at the far end. "So... you think this is it? For real this time?"
"If all goes according to the spell, yes," Shelley muttered, then caught herself at Stan's confused expression. "I mean... ugh, look. Mom's not stupid. She's probably sick of living on a weed farm and finally grew a spine. So, fingers crossed."
"Yeah..." Stan stared at his hands. "But what if-"
"What if nothing," Shelley cut him off, but softer than usual. "It'll be okay, turd."
"Yeah..." Stan looked up at her. "You don't think he'd really burn down the farm, right?"
"He better not," Shelley growled. Truth be told, she'd always thought it would be either her or Stan who would burn the farm down first before that happened. "All my stuff is here. Besides, Mom called the cops. They'll probably just throw him in the drunk tank again and he'll wake up thinking he dreamt the whole thing."
"I guess..." Stan didn't sound convinced.
"And maybe things would be better if we moved back to town. You could be closer to your stupid nerd store-"
"It's a specialty gaming shop-"
"Whatever. And I wouldn't have to smell like weed at school anymore. Do you know how hard it is to get a date when you permanently smell like weed?"
"Dude, trust me, that's so not why you're striking out," Stan snorted. Shelley whipped her pillow at his head, and Stan caught it, grinning. "You know, one of the guys in your grade is part of one of the D&D campaigns. He made all his characters based on people at school. Pretty sure he made you a level 20 Barbarian-"
"Shut up!" Shelley grabbed for the pillow, but Stan held it away. "And stop bringing your nerd shit into this!"
Stan rolled his eyes. "Says the girl who reads vampire books."
"It's literature."
"Sure, yeah. Super classy. Anyways, Kyle's mom would be so happy if I stopped smelling like weed," Stan said, finally tossing the pillow back. It caught the edge of Shelley's headgear. "She wouldn't let me come over for like three months when we first moved to the farm. She kept telling Kyle she 'wasn't raising her son around marijuana influences.'"
"Like that ever stopped you from going anyways, turd." Shelley was pretty sure there had been periods where Stan spent the night there more often than his own house. Usually when their parents were in the middle of upstaging each other and didn't notice, like their Only Fans or Ozempic weigh loss phases.
Stan smiled. "Yeah, pretty sure I went there even more after that. Kyle got super pissed at his mom - you know how he gets when he thinks someone's being a hypocrite. He made this whole presentation about how his mom drinks wine at book club and keeps Xanax in her purse."
"Did it work?"
"Nah, but then he started making me sneak in through his window just to prove some point about 'civil disobedience' or whatever. I think he just liked having an excuse to give his mom anxiety."
Through the window, they could hear their dad's voice floating up from the driveway, singing some poorly-written country song about weed and tegridy as Officer Barbrady guided him into the car. The familiar routine should have been comforting, but something felt different this time. Maybe it was the way their mom wasn't yelling after him like usual. Maybe it was the smell of gasoline still hanging in the air. Or maybe it was just that they were both getting too old to pretend this was normal anymore.
"It's gonna be okay, turd," Shelley finally said, punching his arm. "Mom knows what she's doing. Unlike some people in this family."
"Yeah..." Stan rubbed his arm. "Thanks, Shelley."
"Now get out of my room before I change my mind about being nice."
Stan scrambled off the bed, shutting the door lightly behind him. Shelley watched as the porch lights turned off. Her mom was probably hoping her and Stan were sleeping and would break the news tomorrow morning. She whipped her head down to look at the cauldron under her bed. Still no bubbles or glowing or cool witch brew shit - but so far, so good.
"You missed the ENTIRE campaign, Stan!" Cartman slammed his pudding cup on the table, splattering chocolate across his tray. "I slaved over those miniatures for hours. I even made Kenny a special poorhouse to live in!"
"Fuck you, fatass," Kenny's muffled voice came from behind his hood. "Your painting skills suck and Stan and I always end up fixing your shit anyway. And at least I don't waste money on stupid wizard robes."
"They're LIMITED EDITION Grand Wizard robes, Keeeny, and they're a collector's item!"
"For what? The virginity hall of fame?" Kyle snorted.
"That's hilarious coming from you, Kyle. At least my mom doesn't still check my books for 'inappropriate content' after getting caught with dragon porn like I'm eight."
Kenny's eyes lit up. "Whoa, Broflovski's into dragon smut? Kinky."
"It's not-" Kyle's face flushed. "She just found my Game of Thrones book and overreacted, okay?"
"Is that why she took my manga?" Butters piped up. "Aw hamburgers, I told her it was just about friendship, but she called my parents and now I'm grounded again."
"You're grounded, like, every day, Butters. Nobody gives a shit," Cartman said dismissively. Kenny shot Butters a sympathetic look.
"Guys, I'm sorry about the campaign, okay?" Stan said, pushing his food around his tray. "Something came up."
"'Something came up?'" Cartman mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "What could possibly be more important than our level 15 campaign? I had everything planned! The tavern owner was gonna be Morgan Freeman again!"
Kyle groaned. "Dude, no one wants to sit through your shitty Morgan Freeman impression."
"Yeah, well at least I can do impressions, Kahl! Your impressions always make Timmy sound articulate-"
"Hey assholes, shut up a second," Kenny cut in, nodding towards Stan. "Our boy here looks like he's one bad Wendy text away from going full goth."
"My parents are getting divorced," Stan said quietly, eyes still fixed on his tray.
The table fell silent. Even Cartman's mouth snapped shut mid-insult.
"Again?" Butters asked, breaking the silence. "Gee whiz, Stan, that's like... what, the third time?"
"Yeah, but..." Stan glanced around and lowered his voice. "This time's different. My dad like, completely lost it. The police had to come and everything."
"Holy shit, dude," Kyle said.
"What, like when Kenny's dad gets arrested for selling meth behind the 7-11?" Cartman asked. Kenny's sleeve connected with his face.
"No, he just..." Stan sighed. "He found my Mom packing boxes and went full psycho. Started ranting about burning down the farm and everything."
"Woah," Cartman's eyes widened. "Did he actually do it? Were there any explosions?"
"Jesus Christ, shut up," Kyle snapped. "Stan, are you okay?"
"I guess." Stan shrugged. "I mean, it's not like it's a surprise. Living at that stupid farm sucks anyway."
"Well, yeah," Cartman said. "Your dad literally makes you do slave labor in his weed fields. Pretty sure that's like, a human rights violation or whatever."
"…It's not slave labor, Cartman."
"Oh, I'm sorry, what do YOU call forced child labor on a drug farm?"
"Dude," Kyle warned.
"No, Kyle, I'm seriously! Remember when Stan couldn't come to my birthday party because he had to help harvest the '4th of July' strain? That's basically human trafficking! Like when Butters and I had to work at that stupid ice cream place!"
"That's not what trafficking is, dumbass."
"Oh, look who's suddenly an expert on human trafficking, Kahl! What, is this like a family business? Oh my god you guys, Kyle's running an international drug cartel with his sneaky Jew connections-"
"Shut up, Cartman!" Kyle and Stan said in unison.
"Fellas, fellas," Butters interjected, "maybe we should focus on helping Stan? Y'know, my parents almost got divorced once. But they worked it out after I came back from being missing! Maybe if have Stan's mom drive him into the river-"
"Butters," Kyle interrupted. "Not helping."
"Aw jeez, sorry Stan."
Kenny mumbled something through his parka that made Stan snort.
"Thanks man," Stan said. "But really, I'm fine. I just couldn't get to the store for the manual, and then everything went to shit, and-"
"Wait wait wait," Cartman held up his hands. "You're telling me you didn't even BUY the new Monster Manual? Stan, that's like... that's basically spitting in my face! I spent THREE HOURS making a custom character sheet for your ranger!"
"I told you not to make him a ranger," Kyle said. "Nobody plays rangers."
"Oh, I'm sorry Kyle, I didn't realize you were suddenly a D&D expert! Especially since you won't even play because you think it's 'too nerdy', even though you're the biggest nerd I know-"
"I never said that! I just said I'd rather watch. I don't care about it the way you guys do."
"Right, because watching Stan roll dice gets you all hot and bothered-"
"I will literally throw you out that window, Cartman!"
Stan and Kenny rolled their eyes at each other as Kyle and Cartman descended into a familiar argument.
"You know what this is?" Cartman's eyes lit up, apparently no longer in the mood to argue with Kyle. "This is a serious problem affecting our school community. Think about it - how many other kids have their D&D campaigns ruined by divorce?"
"Probably just Stan," Kyle said flatly.
"No no no, Kyle, this is bigger than Stan! This is an opportunity to help our fellow students while also making a totally reasonable profit-"
"Here we go," Stan muttered.
"I'm just saying," Cartman continued, "maybe what this school needs is some kind of... consulting service. For kids dealing with divorce or parent relationship issues. I've helped kids before in the past with their parent's issues, you know."
"The fuck do you know about parent relationship issues? You don't have a dad," Kyle snapped.
"EXACTLY, Kyle!" Cartman slammed his hand on the table, causing Butters to jump. "That's my unique qualification! I have an outside perspective. Plus, I've watched like, every episode of Dr. Phil."
"You just want to make money to get a Steam deck, huh?" Kenny asked.
"Kenny! I am shocked - SHOCKED - that you would accuse me of trying to profit from Stan's family trauma! This is about helping people!"
"Sure it is, fatass," Kyle said, but Stan noticed Kenny giving Cartman a subtle thumbs up under the table.
"Butters, you're good at that feelings shit-"
"Well gee Eric, I do know a lot about dealing with getting grounded-"
"Perfect! You can be our... what's that thing called when you listen to people cry?"
"A therapist?" Kyle offered sarcastically.
"No no, the other thing. The one at school who gives you pamphlets about not doing drugs even though everyone knows he hotboxes in his car at lunch."
"A counselor?"
"YES! Butters, you're our Chief Emotional Support Counselor. Kenny, you can be our... actually, no, you'll scare the clients with your poor person energy. But maybe we can use that! You can be the cautionary tale."
Kenny flipped him off while simultaneously stealing the rest of his pudding.
"And Kyle, you can be our..." Cartman squinted at him. "Actually, no, your negativity will hurt the brand. Plus you're basically just here because you're Stan's emotional support Jew-"
"I will end you, fatass."
"See? That's exactly the kind of hostile energy we don't need in a healing environment! This is about helping people, Kyle! And also making enough money to buy that limited edition Dungeon Master screen that comes with the sexy goblin miniatures-"
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. As they got up, Kyle hung back with Stan.
"Hey," Kyle said quietly. "If you need somewhere to crash tonight..."
"Thanks dude." Stan managed a real smile this time. "But I think it's okay for now."
"STAN!" Cartman's voice boomed from across the cafeteria. "Emergency D&D meeting after school tomorrow! And bring your allowance - I mean, uh, your emotional support needs!" He turned to Butters, muttering, "Butters, you know the drill. Get out the general ledgers."
"Okay!" Butters chirped, skipping out to his locker.
Stan and Kyle shared a look.
"He's totally going to try to monetize all this," Kyle said.
"Yeah," Stan sighed. "I know."
"Want me to steal his wizard robe?" Kenny offered.
Stan opened his mouth to decline Kenny's offer, but after Cartman shouted his name again, he said, "Actually, yeah. Do it.”
Kenny grinned, adding that to his growing to-do list. He gave them a mock salute and snuck out of the school building to get started on his upcoming plan for Cartman's business, humming the Mission Impossible theme under his breath. As he passed by PC Principal's office, he had to duck behind a trash can to avoid being spotted.
"The hell is he going?" Stan muttered, his eyes following the flash of orange disappearing around the corner.
"Who knows with Kenny?" Kyle shrugged. "You're not actually going to go to Cartman's after school, are you? Because I guarantee you'll end up paying him consulting fees or some shit."
"I dunno. I mean… there is that one time he had the 'Parent's Revenge Center'. I didn't take him seriously, but Butters did, and Butters was the one who got results."
"Isn't that the time Cartman hired people to smear shit on the wall?"
"… Yes."
Kyle gave Stan a pointed look, and Stan sighed. "He's not gonna leave me alone until I hear him out, so I might as well just get it over with."
"Fine. But you're not getting any more involved than that," Kyle huffed, glaring at the back of Cartman's head as they walked in the hallway.