Title: Prom Night at the Wells's
Author: Samus
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own nothing here. Not even the Hot Pockets.

**

All he wanted to do was watch Star Trek. He didn't care about his brother's stupid plot to ruin the prom. Okay, maybe 'ruin' wasn't the right word. Tucker was going to have practically the entire senior class slaughtered, after all. Maybe something like 'massacre' was more appropriate. Yes, that's it. Tucker was going to massacre the prom. But whatever. He still didn't care. It's not like he was going or anything. It's not like he even knew anyone in the senior class. Well, except for Jonathan. And what are the odds he could have gotten a date to the prom?

He was just settling into the sofa with a recently-microwaved mozzarella-and-meatball Hot Pocket and a cherry Capri Sun when he heard his lame brother's irritating voice calling to him.

"Andrew! Where are you? You're not leaving tonight, are you?"

Andrew frowned and turned around to look over the couch at Tucker as he came into the room. "Where would I go? Besides, DS9's about to start."

"Oh, right," Tucker said, "Look, I need you to do something for me."

Andrew huffed in protest. "Tucker!" he whined, "I thought we agreed that 8 p.m. on Fridays is me-time, okay? Mom said so."

"Well, Mom's not here," Tucker shot back, "So while she and Dad are on vacation, I'm in charge. Don't worry, it probably won't even disrupt your 'me-time'," he said the last word with a heavily mocking tone.

With another huff, Andrew turned back to the TV. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just watch the door," Tucker replied, "Make sure I'm not disturbed. If anyone tries to come in, stop them."

"If I do, will you let me play with the devil dogs?" Andrew asked, looking back at Tucker hopefully.

Tucker just sighed. "For the last time, they're not puppies. You can't 'play' with them." Andrew's eager smile fell. Tucker couldn't help but feel bad at the pouty look that came over his little brother. "Maybe after," he added, and Andrew smiled again.

Tucker returned the smile, but it grew mischievous and wicked at the thought of what he was about to do. He left to go to the basement and Andrew turned back to the TV just as the familiar sight of a space station filled the screen.

"Kira's so hot," he said to himself a few minutes later as it cut to a commercial, then he realized that his drink was empty. "Stupid Capri Sun," he muttered, "Never last long enough." He set the remainder of his Hot Pocket on the couch, careful to put a napkin under it lest it stain and his mother find out, and walked to the kitchen to get another drink.

It was his fifth attempt by the time he managed to puncture the little foil circle on the drink bag. "Stupid Capri Sun," he muttered again, "Why do they have to make them so hard to open? I'm not any good at stabbing." He was almost back to the living room when he got it and smiled victoriously. He was just lifting the straw to his lips, about to enjoy a cool, refreshing cherry-flavored beverage, when the door burst open.

His hand clenched in surprise, shooting the juice all over his face, which only caused him to squeeze harder from that surprise. When he recovered from the juice up his nose, he realized that a petite young woman with shiny hair had just broken down his door. He recognized her from school. Buffy, he thought. She'd run for Homecoming Queen this year.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

Andrew tossed the juice bag on the floor and tried to act casual, which was difficult with juice dripping down his face. "Who?" he fidgeted with his hand, first trying to lean against the wall with it, then running it awkwardly through his hair, "What d-do you mean?"

The blonde woman marched up to him and grabbed him by the collar. He squeaked. "Look," she said in that 'I mean business' tone that reminded him of the last time his mother found out he'd left a Hot Pocket on the sofa, "If you don't tell me where Tucker is right now, I am going to...well, I don't have time to think up a witty threat. Just tell me where he is!"

He was silent for a moment, so she slammed him against the wall and held him there. "He's in the basement!" Andrew yelped, and pointed the way. She released him and stormed off toward the stairs. "Pfft," he scoffed, smoothing the front of his shirt, "You're welcome." He watched warily a few seconds to make sure she wouldn't be coming right back. He felt bad for being such a bad watchman, but then he realized that if she killed Tucker, maybe he could finish his show in peace. Besides, he didn't care about Tucker's big plot, anyway, right?

He grabbed another juice and headed back to the living room. Just as the show came back on, he plopped into the couch...and felt something squish. He got up to find half of a flattened Hot Pocket sticking to his butt and sauce and cheese smashed into the sofa. And juice was still dripping off his face and hair onto the carpet.

"Aw, crap."