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A/N: This is really full of CRACK and silliness. XP Please do not take this seriously.  This is more for entertainment than for serious purposes.

--

It was Thanksgiving Day, and Pietro had just come home with a turkey that he stole from the supermarket.  Fred would have stolen it, but the management was biased and kept on watching him closely, since he was a bit more portly than the average customer.  Pietro could get away with it because he was skinny.  And also he was fast.

The boys of the Brotherhood waited in annoyance in the kitchen for Pietro to get back so they could cook whatever he brought back from the store.  Because they were going to try and do something relatively normal for once and have some sort of dinner.  At least all in one room.  Maybe at the same time.

“Okay, guys, I’m back,” Pietro declared, holding up a plastic bag that had a lumpy looking thing in it.

“You were supposed to STEAL it Pietro!” Wanda said, in annoyance as he arrived.

“I DID, thank you very much!” Pietro rolled his eyes.  “I just stole a bag too!  I am not carrying a big old smelly turkey in my arms and getting turkey juice on me.  No thanks.”

“Stupid,” she said.

“Well, who’s going to cook it then?” Lance asked.  “Cuz I’m not about to do it.”

“I can do it,” Fred volunteered.  “I know how to cook.”

“Yeah, let Freddy,” Todd said.  “He makes a mean grilled cheese.”

“Yeah!” Fred nodded, pleased that people would vouch for him.  Also pleased that he had a talent that benefited other people somewhat.

“No way!” Pietro shook his head.  “I’m going to cook it!  I’m a master chef!”

“Master Chef?” Lance arched an eyebrow.  “Yeah right.  You cook everything raw.”

“It’s not MY fault if the stove doesn’t cook fast enough!” Pietro said defensively.  “Jeez! Everyone just get out so I can work my magic!”

“Pietro, you’ll poison us all,” Wanda pointed out.  “Just let Fred do it; he actually knows what he’s doing.”

“You’re getting us confused,” Pietro said, setting the turkey down with a squishy sound in the middle of the kitchen table, holding it by it’s two legs.  “YOU would poison everyone.”  Feeling the impending doom, he amended, “With love.”

“Pietro, I want to cook,” Fred insisted.

“Well, TOO BAD,” Pietro snapped, and pointed to the exit of the kitchen.  “Now everyone go.”

“Well, I HAVE enjoyed my life thus far,” Lance commented, as they all grumbled their way out of the kitchen.  Pietro stuck out his jaw indignantly and picked up the turkey like a football and carried it to the sink.  He only dropped it twice—but that wasn’t his fault! It was really slippery.

--

Fred was pouting in the living room and watching TV, while Lance strummed his guitar and Wanda sulked in a corner. Todd jumped here and there and said “snookums” and “yo” every now and again.   This tranquility only lasted for a few moments before Fred decided that Pietro needed some help, and please, if anyone knew how to cook things well, it was Fred Dukes.

He lumbered into the kitchen, and approached Pietro, who was dousing the poor turkey in salt.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, frowning at the salt.

“Well, we don’t have any real seasoning, and salt is just as good!” Pietro defended.  “What are you doing in here?  I can cook just fine by myself, thank you!”

“I know food,” Fred told him, not quite agitated.  Yet.  “I thought I could help.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Pietro retorted.  “Now get out of here.  You’re ruining the feng shui of this kitchen.”

Fred took one of the turkey’s legs attached to the thing’s body.  “Pietro, really.  I know food, trust me.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” Pietro said sarcastically, snatching the other leg.  “Look, I know food too.  I told you guys to wait in the living room.  Why can’t you listen?”

“You’re not the boss,” Fred told him, pulling at the leg of the turkey to try and tug it from Pietro.

“I am right now,” Pietro snapped, tugging the other leg.  “Now GET LOST.”

“No,” Fred pulled.

“Yes!” Pietro yanked.

“No!” Fred yelled, and there was a little suction noise as the leg of the turkey was plucked clean off, like the head of a Barbie doll from a murderous child.

“Oh, now look what you did!” Pietro rolled his eyes, reaching out and snatching the leg from Fred’s grip.  “You broke it; ugh, go make yourself useful and get some super glue or something!”

“But, Pietro—”

“Did I stutter?” Pietro glared.  “Super glue, NOW.”

Fred grumbled and searched through the kitchen drawers, looking for the super glue while Pietro huffed with impatience and tried to fit the leg together with the hole in the turkey’s body.

“Honestly, Blob,” Pietro commented.  “Why couldn’t you just wait in the living room like everyone else?  Just because you EAT food doesn’t mean you KNOW food.”  Fred glared at Pietro’s back, the super glue in his fist, listening to Pietro’s one-sided conversation.  “Have some sense! Or is that too much to ask?  You really should have just stayed out of here.  Have you found the super glue yet?”

“Yeah, I found it,” Fred said darkly.

“Well?” Pietro demanded, holding out his hand, not looking back.  “Jeez, took you long enough.”

Squinting his eyes, Fred squirted a glob of super glue onto Pietro’s open palm.

“Hey, what gives?” Pietro shouted, and Freddy grabbed onto Pietro’s wrist and stuck his hand to his face.  Because it really seemed like a funny thing to do right then.  It was even more funny when he pushed Pietro out of the kitchen and into the living room.  It wasn’t like he could cook with one hand anyway.

“I told you, you should have let Freddy cook a long time ago; he knows what he’s doing,” Lance said to Pietro as he stumbled out of the kitchen.

“Oh, shut up,” Pietro growled.  “I don’t want to talk to any of you right now.”

“Something the matter, yo?” Todd asked, eyeing Pietro suspiciously.

Pietro tried to tug his hand inconspicuously from his face, but it was no good; he was stuck.  “Nothing is the matter,” he said crossly, tugging again, trying to pass off his motion as an itch on his cheek.  “So just leave me alone.”

“Is something wrong with your face, Pietro?” Wanda asked, barely looking up from the Green Eggs and Ham book that she was reading.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pietro scowled, offended.  “My face is perfect.”

“No, I mean, is there a reason you’re holding onto it?”

Pietro just denied it though it was really obvious that his hand was stuck to his face.  “I’m not.”

“What, are you afraid it’s gonna fall off or something?” Lance taunted.

“Shut up.  You wish your face was this perfect.”

“Is your hand stuck?” Todd asked, arching an eyebrow and looking amused as hell.  “I can get it off.”  He jumped over to Pietro and grasped his forearm, yanking as hard as he could to get the hand off the face.  Pietro yelled and shrieked and shoved Todd away as fast as he possibly could.

“Get away from me!  Did I ask for your help?!”

“Want me to hex it off, Pietro?” Wanda asked, smirking.

“No,” Pietro sat down on the couch as Lance and Todd cackled at Pietro’s expense.  “I’ll just wait for it to wear off on its own.”

--

The table was silent as everyone took a first bite.  And then:

Lance instantly began a coughing fit.

“You okay there, man?” Toad asked, while Pietro just looked freaking pissed with his hand stuck to his face.

Lance shook his head, continuing to cough, and from beside him, Fred raised a hand and smacked him in the back to stop the choking.  Lance went face first into his plate, and food flew in every direction while the table cracked in two, an example of Freddy not knowing his own strength.

“Watch it!!” Wanda cried, as turkey bits and peas flew around and some got in her hair.  Like she cared that Lance had just narrowly escaped choking to death, or that now they needed to buy a new table.

“Yeah, Lance, you’re making a mess!” Pietro exclaimed, hating everyone pretty much.

“Ah!” Todd almost fell out of his chair at the radical movement of the table, screaming a girly scream.

“You alright?” Fred asked, peering at Lance carefully, caring enough to not worry about the broken table yet.

Lance gave a weak cough.

“Oh, he’s alright,” Pietro said darkly.  “Everybody just finish eating while we’re still alive.”

“Why Pietro, I think you have something stuck to your face,” Wanda said very seriously.

“Shut up!” Pietro exclaimed, while Freddy and Todd laughed and Lance remained dazed from his recent encounter with death.

“Should we wait for Lance?” Todd asked, looking at their temporarily fallen leader.

“He’ll be fine!” Pietro said irritably, waving with his useful hand.

“Okay, we’ll eat without him,” Fred said.

“Pietro, pass the salt,” Wanda commanded.  Because there was obviously not enough salt on the freaking food.

“You’re right next to it,” Pietro grumbled.

“So are you.”

“Well YOU get it!” he snapped.  He probably thought this was another crack at the fact that his hand was stuck to the side of his face.  He probably ALSO was having a memory lapse and forgetting that his sister was always full of mood swings and angst.

She lifted her hand and hexed Pietro out of his chair, almost as though it was second nature.  It kind of was.  Pietro groaned from the spot on the floor, and when Todd giggled, Wanda gave him a dangerous look.

“Pass the salt,” she instructed the toad, although she was WAY closer to it.

“Anything for you, my poopsie,” Todd said, reaching across Lance’s body and grasping the salt to pass to her.

Pietro, having recovered mostly from the hex, sat back in his chair, and deliberately knocked over his drink, because he was pissed off, about being hexed, kicked out of the kitchen, and having his hand glued to his own face.

“Pietro!” Wanda yelled, even though it spilled all over Lance and nowhere near her.

“Dammit!” Lance croaked, weakly sitting up.  He grabbed his portion of turkey and flung that junk right at Pietro’s face, since Pietro was the last one who had offended him.  Pietro moved right out of the way, and the piece of turkey hit Wanda instead.

“Bastard!” Wanda snapped, hexing Lance right down for the count again, and then throwing her plate at Pietro, since he seemed to think this was so freaking funny.  That asshole.

“I didn’t do anything to you!” Pietro exclaimed, affronted.  He picked up his own piece of really over salted turkey and flung it at Wanda, who stopped it in midair with a hex, causing it to bounce into Todd, who wasted no time it smothering Fred with food because he hadn’t been involved yet.  Lance groaned miserably from the floor as the food fight erupted above him, and decided that he would play this safe and just stay down here till it was over.

-End

Description
A/N: This is really full of CRACK and silliness. XP Please do not take this seriously.  This is more for entertainment than for serious purposes.

--

It was Thanksgiving Day, and Pietro had just come home with a turkey that he stole from the supermarket.  Fred would have stolen it, but the management was biased and kept on watching him closely, since he was a bit more portly than the average customer.  Pietro could get away with it because he was skinny.  And also he was fast.

The boys of the Brotherhood waited in annoyance in the kitchen for Pietro to get back so they could cook whatever he brought back from the store.  Because they were going to try and do something relatively normal for once and have some sort of dinner.  At least all in one room.  Maybe at the same time.

“Okay, guys, I’m back,” Pietro declared, holding up a plastic bag that had a lumpy looking thing in it.

“You were supposed to STEAL it Pietro!” Wanda said, in annoyance as he arrived.

“I DID, thank you very much!” Pietro rolled his eyes.  “I just stole a bag too!  I am not carrying a big old smelly turkey in my arms and getting turkey juice on me.  No thanks.”

“Stupid,” she said.

“Well, who’s going to cook it then?” Lance asked.  “Cuz I’m not about to do it.”

“I can do it,” Fred volunteered.  “I know how to cook.”

“Yeah, let Freddy,” Todd said.  “He makes a mean grilled cheese.”

“Yeah!” Fred nodded, pleased that people would vouch for him.  Also pleased that he had a talent that benefited other people somewhat.

“No way!” Pietro shook his head.  “I’m going to cook it!  I’m a master chef!”

“Master Chef?” Lance arched an eyebrow.  “Yeah right.  You cook everything raw.”

“It’s not MY fault if the stove doesn’t cook fast enough!” Pietro said defensively.  “Jeez! Everyone just get out so I can work my magic!”

“Pietro, you’ll poison us all,” Wanda pointed out.  “Just let Fred do it; he actually knows what he’s doing.”

“You’re getting us confused,” Pietro said, setting the turkey down with a squishy sound in the middle of the kitchen table, holding it by it’s two legs.  “YOU would poison everyone.”  Feeling the impending doom, he amended, “With love.”

“Pietro, I want to cook,” Fred insisted.

“Well, TOO BAD,” Pietro snapped, and pointed to the exit of the kitchen.  “Now everyone go.”

“Well, I HAVE enjoyed my life thus far,” Lance commented, as they all grumbled their way out of the kitchen.  Pietro stuck out his jaw indignantly and picked up the turkey like a football and carried it to the sink.  He only dropped it twice—but that wasn’t his fault! It was really slippery.

--

Fred was pouting in the living room and watching TV, while Lance strummed his guitar and Wanda sulked in a corner. Todd jumped here and there and said “snookums” and “yo” every now and again.   This tranquility only lasted for a few moments before Fred decided that Pietro needed some help, and please, if anyone knew how to cook things well, it was Fred Dukes.

He lumbered into the kitchen, and approached Pietro, who was dousing the poor turkey in salt.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, frowning at the salt.

“Well, we don’t have any real seasoning, and salt is just as good!” Pietro defended.  “What are you doing in here?  I can cook just fine by myself, thank you!”

“I know food,” Fred told him, not quite agitated.  Yet.  “I thought I could help.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Pietro retorted.  “Now get out of here.  You’re ruining the feng shui of this kitchen.”

Fred took one of the turkey’s legs attached to the thing’s body.  “Pietro, really.  I know food, trust me.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” Pietro said sarcastically, snatching the other leg.  “Look, I know food too.  I told you guys to wait in the living room.  Why can’t you listen?”

“You’re not the boss,” Fred told him, pulling at the leg of the turkey to try and tug it from Pietro.

“I am right now,” Pietro snapped, tugging the other leg.  “Now GET LOST.”

“No,” Fred pulled.

“Yes!” Pietro yanked.

“No!” Fred yelled, and there was a little suction noise as the leg of the turkey was plucked clean off, like the head of a Barbie doll from a murderous child.

“Oh, now look what you did!” Pietro rolled his eyes, reaching out and snatching the leg from Fred’s grip.  “You broke it; ugh, go make yourself useful and get some super glue or something!”

“But, Pietro—”

“Did I stutter?” Pietro glared.  “Super glue, NOW.”

Fred grumbled and searched through the kitchen drawers, looking for the super glue while Pietro huffed with impatience and tried to fit the leg together with the hole in the turkey’s body.

“Honestly, Blob,” Pietro commented.  “Why couldn’t you just wait in the living room like everyone else?  Just because you EAT food doesn’t mean you KNOW food.”  Fred glared at Pietro’s back, the super glue in his fist, listening to Pietro’s one-sided conversation.  “Have some sense! Or is that too much to ask?  You really should have just stayed out of here.  Have you found the super glue yet?”

“Yeah, I found it,” Fred said darkly.

“Well?” Pietro demanded, holding out his hand, not looking back.  “Jeez, took you long enough.”

Squinting his eyes, Fred squirted a glob of super glue onto Pietro’s open palm.

“Hey, what gives?” Pietro shouted, and Freddy grabbed onto Pietro’s wrist and stuck his hand to his face.  Because it really seemed like a funny thing to do right then.  It was even more funny when he pushed Pietro out of the kitchen and into the living room.  It wasn’t like he could cook with one hand anyway.

“I told you, you should have let Freddy cook a long time ago; he knows what he’s doing,” Lance said to Pietro as he stumbled out of the kitchen.

“Oh, shut up,” Pietro growled.  “I don’t want to talk to any of you right now.”

“Something the matter, yo?” Todd asked, eyeing Pietro suspiciously.

Pietro tried to tug his hand inconspicuously from his face, but it was no good; he was stuck.  “Nothing is the matter,” he said crossly, tugging again, trying to pass off his motion as an itch on his cheek.  “So just leave me alone.”

“Is something wrong with your face, Pietro?” Wanda asked, barely looking up from the Green Eggs and Ham book that she was reading.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pietro scowled, offended.  “My face is perfect.”

“No, I mean, is there a reason you’re holding onto it?”

Pietro just denied it though it was really obvious that his hand was stuck to his face.  “I’m not.”

“What, are you afraid it’s gonna fall off or something?” Lance taunted.

“Shut up.  You wish your face was this perfect.”

“Is your hand stuck?” Todd asked, arching an eyebrow and looking amused as hell.  “I can get it off.”  He jumped over to Pietro and grasped his forearm, yanking as hard as he could to get the hand off the face.  Pietro yelled and shrieked and shoved Todd away as fast as he possibly could.

“Get away from me!  Did I ask for your help?!”

“Want me to hex it off, Pietro?” Wanda asked, smirking.

“No,” Pietro sat down on the couch as Lance and Todd cackled at Pietro’s expense.  “I’ll just wait for it to wear off on its own.”

--

The table was silent as everyone took a first bite.  And then:

Lance instantly began a coughing fit.

“You okay there, man?” Toad asked, while Pietro just looked freaking pissed with his hand stuck to his face.

Lance shook his head, continuing to cough, and from beside him, Fred raised a hand and smacked him in the back to stop the choking.  Lance went face first into his plate, and food flew in every direction while the table cracked in two, an example of Freddy not knowing his own strength.

“Watch it!!” Wanda cried, as turkey bits and peas flew around and some got in her hair.  Like she cared that Lance had just narrowly escaped choking to death, or that now they needed to buy a new table.

“Yeah, Lance, you’re making a mess!” Pietro exclaimed, hating everyone pretty much.

“Ah!” Todd almost fell out of his chair at the radical movement of the table, screaming a girly scream.

“You alright?” Fred asked, peering at Lance carefully, caring enough to not worry about the broken table yet.

Lance gave a weak cough.

“Oh, he’s alright,” Pietro said darkly.  “Everybody just finish eating while we’re still alive.”

“Why Pietro, I think you have something stuck to your face,” Wanda said very seriously.

“Shut up!” Pietro exclaimed, while Freddy and Todd laughed and Lance remained dazed from his recent encounter with death.

“Should we wait for Lance?” Todd asked, looking at their temporarily fallen leader.

“He’ll be fine!” Pietro said irritably, waving with his useful hand.

“Okay, we’ll eat without him,” Fred said.

“Pietro, pass the salt,” Wanda commanded.  Because there was obviously not enough salt on the freaking food.

“You’re right next to it,” Pietro grumbled.

“So are you.”

“Well YOU get it!” he snapped.  He probably thought this was another crack at the fact that his hand was stuck to the side of his face.  He probably ALSO was having a memory lapse and forgetting that his sister was always full of mood swings and angst.

She lifted her hand and hexed Pietro out of his chair, almost as though it was second nature.  It kind of was.  Pietro groaned from the spot on the floor, and when Todd giggled, Wanda gave him a dangerous look.

“Pass the salt,” she instructed the toad, although she was WAY closer to it.

“Anything for you, my poopsie,” Todd said, reaching across Lance’s body and grasping the salt to pass to her.

Pietro, having recovered mostly from the hex, sat back in his chair, and deliberately knocked over his drink, because he was pissed off, about being hexed, kicked out of the kitchen, and having his hand glued to his own face.

“Pietro!” Wanda yelled, even though it spilled all over Lance and nowhere near her.

“Dammit!” Lance croaked, weakly sitting up.  He grabbed his portion of turkey and flung that junk right at Pietro’s face, since Pietro was the last one who had offended him.  Pietro moved right out of the way, and the piece of turkey hit Wanda instead.

“Bastard!” Wanda snapped, hexing Lance right down for the count again, and then throwing her plate at Pietro, since he seemed to think this was so freaking funny.  That asshole.

“I didn’t do anything to you!” Pietro exclaimed, affronted.  He picked up his own piece of really over salted turkey and flung it at Wanda, who stopped it in midair with a hex, causing it to bounce into Todd, who wasted no time it smothering Fred with food because he hadn’t been involved yet.  Lance groaned miserably from the floor as the food fight erupted above him, and decided that he would play this safe and just stay down here till it was over.

-End