Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but the plot is my own.
A Very Wilkerson Christmas by LittleLeprechaunOfToasterWorld
"You boys better be ready in five minutes!" Lois bellowed down the hall before turning to speak to her husband. She was in her early forties with espresso-colored hair that never wanted to stay put. "Hal," she remarked irritatedly, "I can't believe you told your family we'd have Christmas dinner with them. Those people hate me!"
"Now, hon, it can't be as bad as all that," Hal replied soothingly as he adjusted his tie. "I promise we'll come straight home after dinner. And they don't hate you, it's just the disasters that seem to occur when we go to these get-togethers."
Lois shot Hal a scathing look from iced cappuccino eyes and then stuck her head back out of the bedroom door to shout, "Francis, get your brothers into the car and for god's sake, don't touch anything!"
"Alright, Mom. We're going," Francis answered in a tone of slight boredom. He lowered his voice to warn his brothers, "We have to be extra careful today. Mom's already in a bad mood and we don't need to make it worse."
His cobalt eyes scanned the faces of his younger brothers. Reese was 14 years old with spiky, dishwater-blond hair, and he just stared off into space and appeared to have missed every word Francis had spoken. Malcolm, now 11, knew the drill and had no interest in what had been said. Dewey, at 6, was the only one who seemed to have listened at all, and he nodded his flaxen head solemnly, his maple-sugar eyes as wide as saucers.
"I mean it you guys," Francis said sternly. "We'd better get in the van."
Only one incident broke the monotony of the two-hour trip to dinner. Reese had managed to be quiet for a full hour without fidgeting, quite a feat for a person with his miniscule attention span. He was the only occupant of the van's third row because his brothers had long since learned that it was dangerous to share a seat with him, even at the risk of being squished together. But as Reese grew more and more bored, chocolate-headed Malcolm was transformed into an appetizing piece of prey.
"Mom," Malcolm cried out suddenly, "Reese's poking me!"
Reese giggled.
"Reese, stop tormenting your brother!"
"Ow! Reese!"
"Don't make your father pull this car over!" Lois barked and turned around in her seat, eyes flashing.
Reese's giggles stopped abruptly and he cowered in his seat. Malcolm rubbed the sore spot on his upper arm, wincing slightly. Dewey began to hum an inane tune, the only sound besides the roar of the engine.
"Hal, great to see you again," a middle-aged woman greeted him at the door.
"Oh yeah, it's good to be back," Hal nodded his greying-brown head and remarked easily. "We really ought to get together more often. We'd better get inside, but I'll talk to you later." As soon as they had entered the palatial home and were out of earshot, Hal asked Lois, "Who was that?"
"Your sister-in-law," Lois replied, smirking a little. "We'd better go in and find where we're sitting."
As the Wilkersons entered the enormous dining room, Reese instantly spotted the little place cards arranged around the giant, elliptical oak table. He smiled mischievously as he thought of the mayhem that he could cause.
Lois leaned over to him and whispered, "Don't even think about it."
Meanwhile, Dewey was dragging Malcolm toward the kiddy table set in Santa themed dishes to greet all their young cousins.
"Look, Malcolm, you get to sit next to me!" Dewey exclaimed cheerfully, pointing at the bright green and crimson printed card.
"Oh man, I am not sitting with you guys at the kiddy table!" Malcolm snapped. "See, that's not even how I spell my name. This is some kind of mistake."
Malcolm shook off his little brother and went searching for his parents. He spotted Reese switching place cards in spite of their mother's warning. Although this type of event would usually excite him because he'd have his brother as a personal slave for a while, he didn't have time for it right now and passed by without a second thought. Then Malcolm finally spotted Lois' festively colored dress in a corner of the room. She appeared to be deep in conversation with some distant relative. Malcolm didn't care; he just wanted her to do something about the seating arrangement.
He strode across the room and whined, "Mom, I don't wanna sit at the kids' table. I'm eleven this year, I shouldn't have to sit with the babies anymore."
"I don't want to hear any of it, Malcolm," Lois responded crossly.
"But, Mom!" he pleaded, fixing her with one of his huge, azure, puppy- dog stares.
"Listen, kiddo, did it ever occur to you that I don't want to be here either? We have to be here because it makes these people happy, and they just happen to be our family, so stop complaining," she snapped and then heard the sound of a woman screaming.
Malcolm and his mother turned to see Reese standing next to the punch bowl. He was picking out the slices of citrus fruit, squeezing them, and then dropping them back in the punch. Evidently, one of the older aunts had spotted him as she had gone to refill her glass.
The aging aunt turned slowly to point at Lois with a gnarled, arthritic claw and proclaimed, "You crazy woman, these are your hooligans causing all the trouble! How in the world did our little Hal find such a detestable woman to marry? It's all your fault these boys turned into hoodlums. They are undisciplined and have no manners!"
Lois stood very still, her mouth opening and closing like a fish's as she tried to form words. She had never been so completely humiliated in her entire life. Fortunately, Hal came to her rescue before any more damage was caused.
"Malcolm, find your brothers and get to the van as quickly as possible," he whispered and gave his son a push towards Dewey. "I'm going to try to keep your mother from harming any of these people. We'll meet you at the car."
Malcolm nodded and rushed to gather his brothers. Within minutes, they were sprinting towards their navy blue van. Their parents followed soon after, Lois still looking shell-shocked. They piled into the car and Hal didn't even wait for the engine to warm up before pulling out.
"With any luck," Hal said, "your mother won't remember any of this tomorrow. Cross your fingers, boys."