"Jimmy Jr, come on, hurry up! We gotta go!"

"Hold on, Dad! I'm almost done!"

The man rolled his eyes as he stood in the kitchen with his suitcase. He had everything he needed all packed up, he'd even managed to get his twins packed up. Unfortunately, his eldest hadn't even looked at his suitcase until the night prior, so obviously he wasn't ready and he was holding them up. Jimmy tapped his foot. He would not be late to this. He wouldn't allow it.

"Are you done, yet?"

"I can't find my good shoes!"

Jimmy huffed, "You don't need your good shoes, just bring your regular ones."

"But they're not good for dancing!"

"Dammit, Jimmy, the Belchers' don't want to see that. Just come on."

The man could hear his eldest grunt, throw his suitcase onto the floor, and slam his door. Here we go, he thought. The boy stomped out of the hallway, dragging his bag behind him. Jimmy could hear music blaring from his headphones, harsh, angry guitars and banging drums. He picked up his bags and headed towards the door. He already wasn't a fan of the teen years, and Jimmy Jr had just begun his. He tried not to imagine what life would be like once the twins entered their teens. The three kids followed their father downstairs, into their restaurant and out. The twins held onto to eachother, trying to not be the one to walk, and laughing hysterically. Jimmy Jr stuffed his one hand in his pocket, and dragged his suitcase, bopping his head to the music. They seemed like a tiny parade, a dysfunctional version of the famous photo of the Beatles. They stopped outside of the restaurant, Jimmy already regretting his decision. The twins threw open the door.

"Hi Louise, and Gene, and Tina's mom and dad!"

"Hi, Andy, hi, Ollie!" Linda called from behind the counter. She was preparing a cup of coffee, the warm smell filling the restaurant.

Jimmy wore a scowl as he walked to the counter, "So, where should we put our stuff? Hopefully you actually have beds for us, and not just the dumpster outside your dinky restaurant."

"Oh, my god, yeah, let me just turn the sign to 'closed'."

"Bob, that's hilarious, you won't need that. It's not like you'll be missing any business."

"Alright! Let's go!" Linda exclaimed, smiling.

"Kids, come help with the Pestos," Bob demanded, calling out.

"Jeez, okay Dad." Gene said, and the Belcher kids appeared from the back.

"Okay, Gene."

"Okay, Dad."

Linda lead the charge, taking the group outside of the restaurant and right to the front door of the Belcher house. The group walked up the stairs into the apartment, straight into the living room. Jimmy tossed his suitcase onto the couch, surveying the room. He nodded.

"It's a nice place, Linda," Bob glowered as he realized Jimmy spoke directly to Linda when he gave a compliment.

"Thank you, Jimmy!" Linda was all too pleased to receive the compliment, however, as she had spent so much time cleaning and rearranging furniture-two inches to the left. Each piece of furniture. Bob thought it was unnecessary, but didn't stop her when she and the kids moved the couch. He thought it was sort of funny. Tina sidled up to Jimmy Jr, who still wore his earphones moodily. She stood, silently, fiddling with her thumbs. She brushed back her hair, trying to get his attention. She mumbled a hello, and groaned as she got no reply, not realizing the lack of reply was due to his loud, apoplectic music.

"Come on, Andy, Ollie, you're sleeping in my room." Louise took their shared suitcase and fumbled to her room, the twins following cheerfully behind.

"Alright, Jimmy Jr, let's get you set up in Gene's room!" Linda said, tugging on the boy's arm, guiding him.

"Wait, wait, wait, my room?" Gene followed the pair, protesting.

Jimmy looked at Bob, rubbing the nape of his neck. His stomach growled, reminding him of the time. It was already dinner time back at the Pesto home; he wasn't sure when the Belchers' had dinner. He furrowed his eyebrows, turning to Bob, "So, Belcher, when are we getting some food around here?"

Bob rolled his eyes, groaning, "You'll get it when you get it."

"So, should I just put my suitcase out here?"

"Yeah, yeah, just put it beside the couch. Don't get it in the way."

"Bob, please," Jimmy laughed, "Your dumb face gets in the way enough." It felt strange to not have Trevor right there to validate his insults.

"Oh my god, whatever. I'm going to start dinner, just stay here."

Bob walked down the hall, leaving Jimmy to his own accord. He sat down on the couch, rubbing his hand over the material. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, uncomfortable with being alone in the house of restaurant rival. He stood up, walked to the window. Scowling, he looked down at his restaurant. It looked so bad, all covered up, being fumigated. He'd have to push this aside once the bugs were gone. Maybe he could make it into a joke? Could he get away with a bug pizza night? No, he thought, that would not go over well. Bugs and restaurants do not mix.

Groaning, he realized he had to use the washroom. Bob hadn't told him where anything in his damned house was, so Pesto sighed. He walked out of the living room, maybe it was down this hall. They still had their kids' baby pictures up, that was charming. Pesto had taken his photos of his kids down once the twins started kindergarten. He loved them, but he needed more space to put his special trophies. He kept a few in his bedroom, but otherwise, most of his photos went into scrapbooks and photo albums. He passed a door, saw his twins and the youngest Belcher, Louise, jumping on the bed. He chuckled, concerned at the size of the room. It looked tiny, almost like a closet. His stomach hurt, that was not enough space for his twins. Turning his head, he spotted what seemed to be the bathroom. He headed towards the door.

He stopped in his tracks. Something was starting to smell. He followed his nose, walking through a door and straight into the Belcher kitchen. Linda sat at a table in the middle of the room, reading something off of a laptop, while Bob hovered over a bowl, mumbling. Jimmy put his hands on his hips, grinning smugly. The Belchers looked absolutely clueless in the kitchen, it was a wonder their restaurant had lasted this long. Linda looked up, smiling, said hello.

"What are you guys making?" He walked over to Bob, who tried to turn away from.

"We're making lasagna!" Linda lowered the screen of her laptop a little, turning to Jimmy, "We know you guys have an Italian restaurant, and lasagna is pretty Italian! It's turning out great!"

"I wouldn't exactly say great, Lin," Bob said, eyebrows furrowed as he stared into the bowl. It seemed to be filled with some sort of red mush and shredded cheese. Pesto grimaced.

"Yeah, that's not even close to great. Italy would be offended."

"C'mon! We're trying for you, Jimmy." Linda's optimistic voice rang out above Jimmy's heckling.

"Ugh, you know what, just give that to me. I know how to do it," He pushed Bob away from the dish, grabbing the spoon from his hand, "And go take care of the pasta on the stove. You're going to burn it."