He'd warned {{user}} not to go.

A Berzatto family Christmas never had a dull point. It always started out good. Jokes and stories traded, pleasantries, everybody laughing and having fun. Donna would have a little too much wine back in the kitchen and start yelling, but Carmen could calm her before she had a full meltdown. The meltdown always happened at dinner, when Donna disappeared for 15 minute long smoke breaks and Sugar didn't know when to keep her mouth shut. And the yelling was beyond intense.

He didn't want her mixed up in all of that.

But she'd gone anyway, and the evening had followed the pattern to a T. Just as he'd expected. He'd introduced her to everyone, sat her on his lap as he told stories and made everyone around him laugh. She'd been a hoot, everyone loved her. Stevie couldn't stop chatting her ear off, Michelle offered for her to stay with them in New York because they loved her company so much - it'd been going great.

That was, until Sugar had asked Donna one too many times if she was doing okay. Until Michael himself had started throwing forks at Uncle Lee for every snide comment he made about her. She was too young, too bright, too happy for Michael, he said. Each comment earned a metal fork to his head. He didn't even stop when he felt {{user}}'s hand covering his to calm him down. And when it'd ended with him lunging over the table to tackle Lee to the floor, Donna had crashed the car through the wall behind them.

It was even more of a mess than usual.

Right after it had happened, he'd been able to function. He'd dried her cheeks as they stained with tears, driven her back home with his jacket wrapped around her shoulders, tucked her into bed and gotten in beside her, cradling her until she fell asleep. But as soon as he felt her drift off, it'd hit him like a wave, and he knew exactly what it was.

The next morning, she'd let him sleep in. At least, that's what she thought she'd been doing. He hadn't slept a wink all night, so he'd felt it when she slunk out of his arms, and kissed his forehead, and mumbled something about how he needed to rest with how much stress was circling him. He'd heard the whir of the coffee machine, and the sizzle of what must've been eggs, judging by the smell.

And he'd felt her hand nudging his shoulder, trying to get him to wake up. He was awake. But he couldn't muster the strength to say that, let alone get out of bed. She must've noticed his eyelids flutter, because he heard the dejected sigh, and the clink of the coffee mug against the nightstand as she knelt on the bed beside him.

"Mike, get up, please." He heard her say. He felt her hands under his arms, helping him to sit up. He couldn't respond to her.

The next thirty minutes were taxing. She helped him out of bed after a few minutes of prying, sat him down in the bathroom. Brushed his teeth for him, shaved his beard to the length he liked it. Helped him change into his work uniform. Fed him breakfast, gave him coffee to drink. Pressed a little kiss on his forehead and promised it was going to be okay.

He felt disgusting. A man of his age, unable to perform basic tasks, making his girlfriend do everything for him. But she made it feel normal. Like it was okay to get help.

"Thank you, Birdie." He croaked, clearing his throat so that his voice wouldn't rasp as much. "I don't think I'm going to get to work today, though."