Author's Note: My friend and I were hanging out and reading fanfiction, when she gave me a challenge: write a fic based on my favorite candy, Snickers.

Also, I've been lurking around the Glee fandom for a bit and noticed the IMMENSE amount of Finn-slamming fics out there. I absolutely adore the insults you guys come up with, but it got me thinking: What would Finn Hudson think if he could read these? I've noticed that the show takes pleasure in insulting him, too. Personally, I'm with y'all on this one, I can't stand the guy, but I love analyzing people, and with all this slamming, I think he'd be fun to analyze. Plus this show (and the fandom by extension) needs more eating disorders. I mean, they set it up so perfectly for Sam to have one, but I guess they didn't want to. Whatevs.

Back to Finn. I'm writing this because I want to analyze him, because I did think he looked like the Pillsbury doughboy in RHGS, and because I need to prove that it is possible to write a fic based on Snickers. So here we have the thoughts of Finn Hudson, the most self-conscious to the point of being self-dangerous guy in the world. Enjoy or whatever.

Warnings: Anorexia, bulimia, BDD, bullying, suicidal thoughts and actions, depression, self harm, and other stuff that makes for a good story.

Disclaimer: Don't own Glee, don't own the characters, or any songs I might decide to throw in here. Don't own the Snickers brand. I have a whole bunch of Snickers bars in my desk drawer, though. Oh, and the ending SUCKS.

The cyclone of self-doubt begins to form when Dakota Stanley calls him "Frankenteen". He's always been taller than average, and clumsy and awkward because of it, but "Frankenteen" is a new one for him. And it really, really hurts when that midget choreographer says it like that.

Now, a year later, he's sitting in the same room watching Sam sing with Quinn and wondering what's wrong with him.

Oh, wait, he knows the answer to that question, because people have been telling him all his life. Too tall, too bulky, naïve, no fashion sense, stupid, sucks at football, slow, can't dance, chubby, moron, idiot, doughy, "special", can't sing, klutzy, loser, fat, ugly, pudgy, freak show, fag, Frankenstein, Man Boobs- he's heard 'em all, each one more painful than the last. At the risk of sounding like a wimp, sometimes they make him want to hide in his room and cry all day. He had always thought that popularity came with respect, and respect meant that he wouldn't get made fun of on a daily basis. He knows for a fact that no one makes fun of Puck or Sam or Mike like that. But that's because all three are attractive and have perfect abs, and no body fat to speak of. Sometimes, when he's with them, he feels like a big, fat, ugly blob, and it makes him want to throw himself in front of a bus.

He's in the weight room with Sam one afternoon, pumping iron, and Sam's not wearing a shirt and what Finn is seeing makes him want to throw up everything he's eaten over the last twenty-four hours.

So he does. He runs to the bathroom and shoves a finger down his throat and empties his stomach into the porcelain bowl. It doesn't make him feel any better, in fact, it makes him feel horribly dizzy and light headed, but he keeps trying until nothing more comes up. Afterwards he goes to the sinks and rinses that horrible taste out of his mouth and splashes a bunch of water on his face and stares at himself in the mirror, wondering why he's so screwed up (and why he can't be thin and pretty like Sam).

He goes back to the bench press and Sam notices immediately that something is wrong.

"What's up, man?" Sam asks, big lips pursing in concern. "You look like crap."

Another little knife makes its way into Finn's heart, and he winces. He's offended, just a bit, whether Sam knows it or not. The comment was supposed to be harmless, but of course, Sam has no idea what he's dealing with.

"I'm fine." he says a bit too forcefully, sliding under the bench press bar again. No, he's not fine, his head is spinning and his now-empty stomach is crying out to be filled and he's pale and sweating and he knows Sam can see it. He's never felt worse in his entire life.

The blond boy cocks his head in confusion, but says nothing, and Finn can't help but wonder if Sam has done the same thing at one time or another. They do their reps in relative silence, every lift sending a fresh wave of nausea through Finn's body. He feels sick, and he hates being sick. He's still pumping when he sees something move very close to his head.

He sets the bar down and sits up to find himself staring at Sam. There's an unopened Snickers bar on the headrest of the bench press.

"Snickers?" he asks.

Sam shrugs. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up. I gotta go. See you around." Finn waits for the other boy to leave before ripping into the candy bar and practically shoving it down his throat.

It takes a lot more effort to get it to come back up.

It only takes a week for him to faint.

He hasn't eaten at all since the Snickers, at least, he hasn't kept anything down since then, which feels great in his mind but makes his body feel like crap. He's dizzy, tired, and he feels sick all the time, and he's got this pounding headache that just won't go away. And football is just making him sore instead of happy. He can tell that Puck notices, and it surprises him that he doesn't say anything. But Puck's seen Finn have off days all the time, and this must just be a particularly long one. At least that's what he tells himself, and starts to believe.

It's better than the truth by a long shot: Puckerman, your best friend is killing himself, whether he knows it or not.

Finn is sitting in Glee practice and he can't keep his eyes open. He is so tired, and so hungry, and when Mr. Schue calls him up to do a duet with Rachel, he makes it through four horribly off-key notes before his legs give out and he collapses on his face on the tile floor.

When he comes to, everyone is crouched around him, and the nurse is coming running with a bottle of water and a cloth. "Oh, thank heavens." Rachel says when she sees his eyes open.

"Dude, what happened?" Puck says, as Finn sits up.

"I don't know. I guess I'm just really tired." It's not a lie. Not really.

"That was crazy. You just fell over. Your eyes just, like, rolled back in your head and you fell. We all thought you died." Sam adds, putting a hand on Finn's shoulder.

"I was so worried about you!" Rachel cries, which makes him feel horrible. She shouldn't have to be worried about him. He shouldn't be a burden to her. He's her boyfriend, for fuck's sake. He's the strong one, right?

Wrong. He can't even stand up by himself.

Puck drives him home, and Carole starts fussing over him when Puck assists (half carries, half drags) him inside. She force-feeds him a PB&J and sends him off to bed, where he falls asleep and stays that way for the next eighteen hours.

The next morning Mommy is waiting with an enormous breakfast of everything: pancakes, eggs, bacon, the works. Before Finn has a chance to stop himself he's cramming food down his throat like there's no tomorrow. Carole looks concerned. Kurt shrugs it off ("He's six and a half feet tall, Carole. Tall guys eat more."). No one bothers to point out that this is the first time in days that they've seen him eat. No one noticed.

When he gets to school he feels so much better, but fat as a house. When he gets to his locker, there's a Snickers bar taped to the door and a note, scribbled in Sam's slanted hand. You looked like you needed this. The candy reminds him of that fateful day in the weight room where this whole god-damn mess began, and the next thing he knows he's slumped over the toilet in the boys' bathroom with a finger shoved down his throat. Finn laughs a little to himself, before he hears the water turn on in the sink.

Fuck.

He flushes quickly and stands tall, trying not to look suspicious, lest anyone guess what's been going on. When he opens the door he sees it's Sam at the sink, and he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. It's good to see a friendly face, even if the blond boy's just going to tell him that he needs some serious help.

But instead Sam just says "Hey," and walks out, and it breaks Finn's heart. Please fix me! he feels like he's screaming it to the world, and no one hears.

At lunch that day Finn gets a hamburger and tater tots and eats at least half of everything. Eating feels good, and he's not as tired as before. Maybe he's able to soak up just a little more energy from the food before he forces it out of him. It's good. It's a start. He tells himself that he's healing. He doesn't need help. He can break this.

Something buried inside him knows he can't.

It's been weeks, and Finn's trained himself to sneak around meals, learned when the bathroom is the least busy, found out how to get extra hours in the weight room without Beiste noticing. He almost always sees Sam there, because, as the blond later confides in him, the motel room is cramped and depressing and the more time he can spend elsewhere, the better. The two boys bond over time, weeks spent spotting each other on the bench press and sharing Snickers in the locker room. Finn's starting to notice that Sam notices the way he's been working too long and hard, and eating too little. Yet he still hasn't said anything about it. Finn wonders why.

They're both in the locker bays after practice one day when the intervention Finn needs so desperately comes. He's just finished purging the pizza he ate for lunch when he hears a voice outside the stall. "You know, you can tell me if something's wrong, Finn."

Sam.

He can't tell the truth, even though he hates lying with his heart and soul he can't make the words leave his mouth, and his broken heart shatters as he tries to push it out. "Who says anything's wrong, Evans?"

"You tell me. This isn't the first time I've heard you throw up at school." Sam reaches behind him and turns the lock on the door. "No one's going to hear us, Finn. What's up?"

Finn knows he outweighs the blond by at least twenty pounds, but Sam doesn't look like he's afraid of him. "So I'm not feeling good. What's it to you?"

"Take your shirt off." Sam says, unfazed. Finn's surprise and panic are written clearly on his face, but he shakes his head. No. His heart is pounding like it's whole again, bringing tears to his eyes.

Sam reaches out with one hand and lifts up the hem of Finn's shirt, and Finn closes his eyes, waiting for Sam to react. He knows the muscle he's put on in the past few weeks has done little to hide the fact that his ribs and hip bones stick out way too much. He knows Sam has every reason to smack him, or chastise, but nothing comes. Slowly, Finn meets the other boy's eyes. He can read emotions there as clear as day.

Disappointment. For some reason, this hurts Finn even worse than anger or shock, and he loses control of the tears he's holding back. Sam pulls him into a hug, which feels good, but sort of uncomfortable. When they pull apart, Sam's holding a Snickers bar out to him. "Eat it. Now. Right here, in front of me."

Finn takes the candy with shaking hands and stuffs it into his mouth. It's awkward, with Sam watching him and all, but he manages to finish the thing. Sam ushers him outside, away from the temptation of throwing it up. They part ways, and Finn resists the urge to remove the calories from his system all night and to the next morning.

When he gets to school that day, there's a Snickers bar taped to his locker, and a note, written in familiar slanted handwriting.

Lunch?

Finn smiles, and shoves the note into his back pocket, the candy into his bag. He still feels fat, but maybe it's not so bad. At least Sam accepts him, and that's all he needs.

Rachel meets him outside the choir room and kisses him, like always, but it feels... different somehow. Stronger. "Sam told me." she says, and that's all she gets to say before the bell sounds. Rachel grabs his hand in a show of acceptance and they walk in together. Finn takes a seat in between his new best friend and his girlfriend, and is reminded of who he's here with. He can't believe he ever forgot.

His friends.

Somehow, being fat doesn't matter so much anymore.