CW // none ^_^
Set before Jack and Dee died (aka before Henry MIller fucked 'em up) (Dee would be 4-ish in this chapter)
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"Jack, come help me out here!" Peter called out in sing-song. He was practically teleporting around the kitchen as he tried to cook thanksgiving dinner. "Kinda busy here!" Jack sung back as he tried wrapping Dee's hair into a small ponytail. "Hur's." Dee mumbled, a scowl on her face as she reached up to lightly slap Jack's hand. "It's gonna hurt a little, Dee-Dee, your ponytail has to stay up though." Jack said softly. Dee scowls and pouts. Jack puts his hands on his knees and meets Dee's level. "Alright, go play. I'll be in the kitchen with Peter if you need anything, alright?" He says, leading Dee to the living room to play with her dolls and cars and whatever else her older brothers had bought her.
Jack rolls up the sleeves on his formal white shirt and prepared to try and help Peter cook. "So what do I have to do?" He asks. Peter stammers before pointing to the mashed potatoes in boiling water. He can't seem to get a word out, but Jack shrugs and works on the mashed potatoes.
It didn't really go well.
While looking for the potato masher, Jack accidentally bashed his arm against a broken drawer hard enough for it to crack more than it already had. "Ah, shit-" He muttered. He tried to fix it with super glue, but the super glue was in the drawer. He opened the drawer, and the entire thing fell. "Fuck-" He whispered. As he tried to fix it, the junk inside started to spill out. "Fuckin' hell-" He grumbled. "Jack!" Peter shrieks as he sees the mess. "This doesn't really seem like helping..." He adds in obvious distress. "Yeah, I know, I know, I just hit my arm against the drawer and-" Jack tries to explain, but gets cut off by Peter rapidly telling him to 'just cook'. Jack frowns.
Safe to say, everything that COULD go wrong for the Kennedys went wrong.
Peter, out of stress, was cutting the brussel sprouts way too small. Jack wasn't sure how to make collard greens and didn't want to ask Peter how, so he ended up 'winging it' and brutally massacred the collard greens. Dee climbed to the top of a shelf to reach a shiny car, but fell and screamed loud enough for Peter to rush over and catch her just in time. And lecture her. And yell at her. Dee got bored extremely quickly.
"OKAY, EVERYONE SIT DOWN AT THE TABLE. NOW." Peter shouted.
Jack shrugged and abandoned the food he was cooking. He walked over to the dinner table to see Dee squirming in her seat and Peter placing plates down. Jack finds his own seat next to Dee and ruffles her hair. She was hyperactive in her seat. "'M hungry!" She screeches. Jack recoils slightly. "Peter's getting the food, Dee, relax."Peter's expression was grim. "What's wrong?" Jack asked. Peter placed down a silver platter and lifted the cover.
The turkey looked very...burnt.
"Oh, sh-" Jack took notice of Dee. "Shoot. Um. So that's...not good." He finished. Dee nearly started to cry. Peter was silent. "Do we at least have sides? Cranberry sauce, fries, anything?" Jack asked, holding Dee's hand to try and calm her down. Peter shook his head."Oh. Well, uh...we can always just get pizza..?" Jack mumbled. Dee started to wail. Peter picked her up. "Okay, Dee-ster, you need a nap." He said softly. Dee screamed and complained about how hungry she was and how she really wanted to eat mashed potatoes. Peter simply shushed her. Jack sat at the empty table silently. He got up, opened the front door, and left.
After around 45 minutes, Jack returned. Peter was sitting on the couch and Dee was leaning onto Peter, sleeping. Jack held up a brown bag with a yellow 'M'. "Got food." He announced. Peter smiled tiredly and gently woke up Dee. "Jack got McDonald's." He whispered, and Dee shot up and ran to Jack. She snatched the bag and yanked a box of chicken nuggets out. Peter chuckled and went to eat too. "I thought you were getting pizza?" He asks. "No pizzarias were open. Thanksgiving. McDonalds workers are always slaving away, though!" Jack smiled.
And that's how the Kennedy's spent their Thanksgiving. Eating McDonalds. At 8 PM. Better than nothing..?
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hey dayshifters pspspsps
[hands you this instead of finishing requests]
hahah bye [skips away]
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word count: 744
