A/N: I hate Christmas but I do like Frank Capra's IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE. ("Merry Christmas, movie house! Merry Chirstmas, Emporium!") I bet you can see where this is story is headed, right?. Come along, won't you?

He finds a bottle of Frangelico in the cupboard above the fridge. It's dusty. Mom probably forgot she bought it. He's not sure what Frangelico is exactly, but the bottle looks cool, and he needs a damn drink, so he opens that sucker up. Doesn't even bother with a glass.


It kinda tastes like heaven and those fancy Rocher chocolates in the gold wrappers.


Why did no one tell him this before this is the best thing EVER! "Merry Christmas to me," he says to the empty kitchen.

It's Christmas night and he's alone. No more Rachel. They were supposed to spend Christmas together, that was the plan. But then everything went to shit. It's over now, fucked, his heart ripped out and his arms empty. It burns his guts every time he thinks about her. He loves her so much even though he kind of hates her, too. He can't forgive her, and he can't let her voice and her lips pull him in again. No. Maybe he screwed things up too, but what she did... Ah, fuck, he is not going to cry again about this!

Father Frangelico, take me away.

He seems to have zero friends left, despite his belief that he's popular – no one's called him to hang out in weeks, not even Santana. Not that he wants to spend Christmas with Santana. She'd want to go to Burger King or something tacky like that. Gross.

All the presents are done. He didn't get anything he wanted. (Cuz what he really wants he can't have anymore.) Christmas dinner was nice and stuff, he just wasn't that hungry, which is a sign he's seriously fucked up, he knows. And now it's dark and quiet and Mom is at Burt and Kurt's, presumably to have sex with her new husband (vom). He refused to go over with her to sleep in the basement with Kurt. He'll move into the new house, when they find one, but for now he wants his cowboy wallpaper and his narrow bed and most of all he just wants to be alone. With his new best friend Father Frangelico.

Two hours later, most of Father Frangelico is gone and he's suddenly screaming at the staircase banister because the little wooden knobby thing came off in his hand AGAIN, for the five-thousandth time, and he can't understand why mom never just fixed it! "Why does nothing fucking work! I hate this place!" he screams at the knobby thing. It has no answers for him, however. He smashes the knobby thing back into place and suddenly he's grabbing his puffy vest and his keys and barging out the door into the freezing cold night, escaping the suffocating, tiny house.

"Dude, did you drive here?" Puck asks. "What the hell is wrong with you!"

He ignores the incredulous look on Puck's face, ignores the question, and shouts loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, "Why did you make out with her? Why did you have to make out with Rachel? She's mine! She was mine!" And suddenly his fist is barreling into Puck's face and maybe he didn't mean to do that, maybe he's not really mad at Puck for all this shit, but Father Frangelico is in control of his body right now and Father Frangelico is pissed, so it's not really his fault. No, certainly not.

Puck tries to push him away, push him off the porch, but Finn grabs hold of him and is about to fling this punk into the snowy bushes, but Puck gets a fist free and clocks him. Shit! It rattles his teeth and rattles his brain and sends him stumbling back. He lands on his ass in the snow, stunned. He touches his mouth – he's bleeding. Puck makes out with his girlfriend and now makes him bleed? Not fucking fair. Why does the universe hate him so much? He's going to kick Puck's ass now, but good. But before he can get up, Puck's mom is coming out to see what the fracas is. "Finn's drunk, mom," Puck explains.

"Well get him inside before he freezes and dies, Noah!" she orders shrilly. And Puck reaches down, arm stretched out. But he's not taking charity from this jerk, no way. He slaps Puck's hand away and stumbles to his feet, running for his car, running away from Puck's shouts to stop. He doesn't stop.

He doesn't stop until the tree stops him. Stops the car dead in its tracks, the front end crumpled in, the airbag exploding in his face, his knee jamming against the steering column. Shit. Shit! He just totaled the fucking car. Where the hell did that tree come from? His head feels like a busted brick wall now and he knows he's two seconds from barfing. He manages to throw himself out the door and onto the snow before all the Frangelico, half-digested mashed potatoes and ham, and some pumpkin pie come spewing out of his mouth, staining the snow brownish-yellow.

Ugh. Disgusting. He's disgusting.

He collapses on his back beside the mess and curses Father Frangelico. They're so not best friends anymore. And he doesn't want to eat those gold-wrapped chocolates ever again. He just wants to fucking die. His mom is going to kill him anyway. He's alone and he misses Rachel like the beach would miss the ocean. He's crying again, dammit. "I wish I'd never been born," he chokes out to the dark, cloudless sky above. He can see a lot of stars littering the view and slowly realizes he must be well out of town to see so very many. Where the hell is he? He'd raise his head to look, but... He's just so tired and sick now. He closes his eyes. He just needs to rest a moment. Then he'll figure out what to do about...everything. Yeah, just a little nap first...