This fic is dedicated to my brother and his righteous Jewish rage that inspired me to write this. L'chayim, you fucking animal.
"So." Michael set down the bags on the table, pushing his hair out of his face and looking to his little brother. "The store was out of sacramental wine, so I got vodka and The Prince of Egypt for Passover."
"Perfect." Gabriel grinned and closed his laptop. The essay could wait. "They didn't give you trouble for being only nineteen?"
"Are you kidding me?" He shucked off his leather jacket and hung it on the hook beside the apartment door before dropping into his chair. There was one for each of them, and a table between them, stacked high with books. "Sarah Goldman was there, she talked to Jacob, and before you could say Gut Yontiff, we made out like bandits." They both laughed. "How was school today?"
"My junior essay is killing me." Gabriel tossed his brother a thick, beaten book brimming with post-it notes and slips of paper. "We have to read, annotate, and analyse the morals in Paradise Lost, and we have to do it by Monday. I'm seriously considering committing ritualistic suicide over this."
Michael laughed and shook his head. "God, I hated this assignment. I think I still have my essay that I wrote for this-."
Gabriel gave a strangled scream, his eyes widening as he stumbled over himself to plead at his brother's feet. "Bro if you love me then you'll let me copy."
"It's because I love you that I'm going to let you suffer and do it all yourself." He winked and stood up, walking to the kitchen as the 17-year-old yelled curses at him. The brothers had lived together for years, and he wanted to see his little brother excel in everything that he failed in. He'd barely graduated from high school, but this kid was getting phone calls from Stanford and other colleges almost every day begging him to come to their school.
That didn't mean that they wouldn't break the law and get drunk together so often that their grandmother was probably spinning in her grave, but whatever.
"I'm making dinner." Michael announced, throwing open the fridge to examine what they had to eat. He could at least pretend to be a responsible brother and guardian. "What do you want? Pizza?"
"You know damn well you're getting drunk off your ass and eating all of the matzo again." Gabriel called from the living room, and Michael's head hung as he sighed.
The little bastard's right. He closed the fridge and grabbed two glasses and the bottle before heading back into the living room. "If you're reading Milton, God knows you're going to need this." He set the glasses down on the table between their chairs and opened the bottle, ignoring the urge to slap the smug smirk off of his brother's face.
"Lucifer was such a nice guy!" Gabriel's words were slurring as the brothers laughed together and the movie played in the background. "I mean, think about it, man! He just-."
"You're a terrible Jew." Michael giggled.
"No, you are!"
"At least I'm not a Satan apologist!"
"Mike, our Seder consists of matzo, wings, french fries, and vodka. You're going to Hell." They stared at each other, then burst into a fit of laughter. They hadn't had a proper Passover in a long, long time. At this point, what they were doing right then was more tradition than an actual Passover, God help them.
"We still have time." Michael tried to stand up, then flopped into his chair. He tried to remember what to do - God, how many years had it been since he'd done an actual Passover? Didn't they open the door for a prophet? Yeah, they did! He pointed in the general direction of the door. "Go open the door for Elijah."
"Why do I have to?" Gabriel whined.
"Because you're the youngest, and I said so." Michael nodded with finality, and Gabriel whined again before standing to go to the door, swaying on his feet.
"Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck." Gabriel grinned and cast his arms out to balance himself. "This is amazing. I'm ascending."
"Let the prophet in, you piece of shit."
"Fight me."
Gabriel stumbled towards the door, leaning against it heavily. He smelled open forest air, and he thought he could hear birds singing in the breeze... "I'm tripping balls." He muttered, scrabbling for the doorknob.
"Elijah isn't gonna wait all night, Gabriel!" Michael shouted.
"He's waited three thousand years, he can wait thirty seconds." Finally he grasped the doorknob and threw the door open. He was hit in the face by a rush of clean, crisp smelling air, and he blinked a few times as his vision swam. When it cleared, he stared blankly for a long moment, his mouth hanging open. "Mike..."
"What?" Michael had ended up with his legs hanging over the chair's arms, his head lolling to the side.
"I don't think this is Elijah."
"You're quite right, lad." The old man said bemusedly. "I am Gandalf the Grey. Would you care to tell us where we are?"
"I..." Gabriel blinked a few more times. "... I am way too sober for this."