Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows! They made me smile. :) Guest: You're correct, my brother and I are Jewish, though we're not very good at it.

I know I should be working on my other fic, but this is so much more fun, so have another chapter.

Dedicated to my brother, who can win a debate even when he's completely wasted and can barely stand on his feet. You are a force of nature.

Michael cracked open his eyes as the sunlight streamed through his window and hit his face. He winced, turning over and groaning into his pillow as his hangover hit him full-force. Another year, another night of completely demolishing their respect for tradition, another successful Seder executed by the Rosenthal brothers. What had even happened that night? He remembered drinking with Gabriel and watching The Prince of Egypt, then Gabriel got emotional over Lucifer, then...

Oh fuck.

He sat bolt upright in his bed and looked at the floor. Sure enough, three pallets were on the floor, obviously slept in, and there was a pile of weapons next to the door. He heard voices in the front room and smelled something cooking. "I cannot fucking believe this." He whispered, grabbing his hair and hyperventilating. There were characters from Lord of the fucking Rings in his apartment. This was crazy. Insane. Absolutely batshit. It was something out of the fanfictions that Rebecca used to write-

Don't think about Rebecca. He winced as painful memories came rushing over him. He sighed, shook his head and stood up, stuffing the memories back where they belonged. One day he'd deal with them like a healthy, rational adult, but that was not today. He was still in somewhat decent clothes - jeans and a band t-shirt. Though they smelled like something smoky and sweet...

The door opened just as Michael reached for the doorknob, and he came face-to-face with a man who could only be - "Aragorn." Michael blinked a few times. "Uh. Good morning."

"To you as well, Master Michael." The taller man bowed his head slightly. He towered over the 19-year-old, and even in his battered clothing, Michael could feel his noble standing. Yep, there was no mistaking him; the heir to Gondor was standing in front of him. That meant that they didn't just have some really convincing cosplayers - they had actual fictional characters. Fantastic. "Your brother requested that I bring you into the kitchen for breakfast."

"Oh. Okay." Michael blinked a few times, trying not to freak out because holy fuck, I'm talking to Aragorn. "Thank you. Uh. Sir."

"There is no need to call me 'sir' in your own home." Aragorn smiled and stepped aside for Michael to squeeze past. Michael thought he heard a chuckle when he'd slipped by and headed down the hallway. He saw that most of the Fellowship had convened around the kitchen. The Hobbits had pulled up the stools to the breakfast bar and were eagerly watching Gabriel try to make pancakes and bacon. A lithe blond man - Legolas, probably - was perched on the counter as he watched Gabriel with curiosity. Gandalf was sitting in Michael's chair as he tried to figure out a rubix cube, a man with red-brown hair (Boromir? Probably) was smoking from his pipe in Gabriel's chair, and Gimli had pulled up a dinner chair to the breakfast bar to wait.

"So what is this place again?" The dark-haired Hobbit asked.

"It's called Earth." He gingerly flipped one of the pancakes. "Our country is the United States of America, the state we're in is California, and we are in the shining city of Los Angeles. And no, it's not anything like where you come from. At least, it hasn't been for hundreds of years."

"What's it like?" Pippin asked.

"Well, you are just going to love indoor plumbing." Gabriel muttered, poking at the bacon.

"Are you quite sure you know what you're doing?" Legolas asked with a hint of amusement.

"Don't question me, I'm absolutely in control-" Gabriel gave a shrill shriek and jumped back as the oil popped.

"Let me do this, you beautiful disaster." Michael shouldered his way into the kitchen and took the spatula from Gabriel's hand, flipping the pancakes and checking the bacon and sausages. He felt comfortable taking command of the kitchen, and started firing orders. "Start shredding some potatoes for latkes. Start the dishwasher too, we're going to need plates. Do we have enough drinks for them?"

"Uh, Mike?" Gabriel said slowly.

"Unless it's about the food, stuff it." Michael flipped the bacon, shaking the pan to spread the grease around. "Those potatoes aren't going to shred themselves, Gabey Baby." Gabriel threw up his hands and muttered a curse before doing what he'd been told. "How did everyone sleep?"

"Well enough." Gandalf replied. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"No problem. It's my pleasure." Michael grabbed a plate and some paper towels and started putting the crisp bacon on the plate. "I mean, not everyone gets the chance to help their favorite characters, right?"

"About that." Aragorn leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, silently taking in the young man. "Is it true that our Fellowship is nothing but a story in this world?"

"Yep." Michael turned the sausages over, chewing his lip. "Your story was written by a man named J. R. R. Tolkien about sixty years or so ago, and it's become one of the most well known stories in the world."

"And you know the story well?"

Gabriel snorted. "He wouldn't shut up about it for years." He said as he peeled the potatoes. "He had, like, no friends."

"Neither did you." Michael muttered, a blush rising to his face. Aragorn smiled in amusement. "But he's right, I know the story better than I know most of my classes."

"So you know our quest and what becomes of us?" Legolas asked, peering curiously at the dark-haired mortal. He was young, but carried a heavy burden on his shoulders, the prince could see that much. And for all of his jesting, he was deeply, deeply worried.

Michael cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, uh..." He glanced over at Gabriel, who gave him a warning glance. "Yes and yes."

"So you can help us." Boromir spoke up hopefully. "Tell us of any hazards we may come across."

"Um." Michael laughed nervously. "I'm not sure that's a good idea." Probably because you end up being a pincushion for Uruk-hai.

"And why is that, lad?" Gimli said suspiciously. "Something you don't want to tell us?"

"Well, I'm not exactly experienced with interfering with fictional stories. I don't know if I'll mess up all of space and time by telling you what happens or not, and honestly, I don't want to take that chance." He hesitated. "Where exactly were you guys?"

The Fellowship all glanced to Gandalf, who had finished the rubix cube and was listening to the conversation. "We had just come down from Caradhras and were making our way to the mines of Moria." He said.

Michael shivered, and Gabriel sharply elbowed his side. "Uh. Okay, I know where that is." He took out the sausages and started taking the latke mix and frying them in the leftover grease, flipping the pancakes too.

"Yes." Legolas's voice was guarded, and Michael could feel eyes examining him, trying to pick him apart. He also felt Gabriel's side glances as they silently worked together. They could pretend all they wanted that everything was all right, but it wasn't. They both knew enough to know that a shitstorm was coming, and if they weren't careful, it would probably knock them off of their feet.

After another five minutes of cooking, Michael triumphantly presented the best breakfast he'd made in a long, long time. "There we go." He started serving the food, making sure to give generous portions to the Hobbits. "Pancakes with maple syrup and blueberries, latkes with applesauce, and bacon and sausages. Eat your heart out." The Fellowship thanked him heartily and dug into their food.

Pippin's eyes widened as he tried the latkes. "These are delicious!" He cried.

"They're traditional." Michael half-grinned. "Our Rabbi and his wife taught me how to make them."

"What's a Rabbi?" Merry asked through a mouthful of food.

"A holy man in our religion." Gabriel explained as he poured the grease out. "Our Rabbi, Rabbi Gofman, thinks the sun shines out of Mike's ass." He laughed at the confused expressions he received. "That means he thinks my good-for-nothing heathen brother is the greatest thing to ever exist."

"He does not!" Michael protested. "He just wants me to become a Rabbi too."

"If he knew half the shit you pull, he would have you exorcised." Gabriel grinned. The Fellowship all exchanged glances before they continued eating.

Michael sighed and threw down the towel he'd wiped his hands off with. "Now, what did you want, Gabe?"

Gabriel pointed his thumb at the clock. "You're an hour late for work." He laughed as his brother bolted down the hallway to his room, peeling off his shirt and cursing the entire way.

"Now, Master Gabriel, that was hardly kind of you." Gandalf smiled and raised his eyebrows.

"If you'd lived with Mike for seventeen years, you'd understand." Gabriel smiled cheekily and took a bite out of a latke. As Michael hopped through the living room with one leg in his pants and took a swat at the taller brother's head, Legolas decided that he had never seen a stranger pair of brothers, including the sons of Elrond.

Michael sprinted through the doors of the bistro at fifteen minutes past ten, a miracle since he'd made a normally fifteen minute walk in five minutes. "You're late." The girl behind the counter called, leaning forward on her elbows with an amused smile.

"You wouldn't believe the night I had, Lucy." He stopped to catch his breath, looking around. There were only a few people there, all absorbed in their phones or laptops. He sighed and tied his apron on, tying his jaw-length hair up as well.

"Knowing you two, I bet it had something to do with alcohol." Lucy sighed. Michael laughed as he went behind the counter, giving her a kiss on the forehead as he passed by her.

"Why, Lucy, I will have you know that my brother and I are underage, and consuming alcohol would be illegal!" He laughed again when she threw a towel at his face.

"You're full of shit, Rosenthal."

"You're lucky you're pretty, Kane."

Lucy rolled her eyes, but spared a smile for her friend. She'd worked with Michael for a long time, and for all he joked around, he was a hard worker and a loyal friend. "Your complements might work on all the other girls, but not me." She said as she continued to count out the money in the register.

"Aren't you going to ask me about my night?" He pouted dramatically.

"We have work to do." She nodded towards the flock of excited teenagers and their weary-looking parents coming their way. The friends were caught up in a flurry of work that didn't stop as group after group came into the bistro. Secretly, Michael was glad for the work, and the time to think. He needed to figure out a way to help the Fellowship while making sure he and his brother were protected. If the social worker walked in and saw nine strange men armed with swords and daggers in his apartment... well, he could say goodbye to custody.

He pulled on the cappuccino machine and chewed his lip nervously. He had no idea how they could have ended up in this world, in his apartment, no less. What was so special about him and Gabriel? They were a couple of kids with a bad past and emotional baggage to match. He shook his head and went out with the tray to the table, serving their orders with a smile. He had until midnight to think about it before he had to go home and see them again. He just hoped Gabriel wouldn't burn the place down while he was gone.

"What does your brother do for a living?" Boromir asked Gabriel as he washed the dishes, curious about the young brothers. He was suspicious of Michael and his reluctance to tell them their fates, but the younger and taller brother reminded him of Faramir at his best, before their father beat him down.

"He works at a restaurant during the day. And at night..." He cleared his throat to disguise his laughter. "He's a... uh... a singer."

"Oh." Pippin said. "Well, what's so bad about that?"

"You have no idea." Gabriel muttered. "So what do you guys want to do?"

"What is there to do?" Boromir stood and stretched. The apartment was small, and they all could barely fit inside. The view outside was just of another tall brick building, presumably with other apartments.

"I'm pretty sure Mike would flip out if I let you leave the apartment dressed like that." Gabriel rubbed his chin as he looked them all over. "People don't exactly dress like that here. They dress more like me." He spread his arms and let them look at his shirt and pants made from a strange, rough blue fabric. "Uh... we could play cards?" He smiled nervously. This is a lot harder than I thought it was gonna be.