A/N: I'm working my way through the chapters already posted on LJ, so updates will be faster than usual for the next few chapters. Again, thank you in advance for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoy the story! Thanks are owed, as always, to madndizzee for being a wonderful beta.

2: Rachel Sets the Stage on Fire

The auditorium smelled like mothballs.

Rachel left the door open to keep from suffocating. (Let it not be said that Rachel Berry did not save herself from asphyxiation.) Light filtered in from the hallway; in the faint afternoon sun, she could see the cobwebs that stuck to her bag as she set it down on a seat. Between a lamentable glee club and the principal moving assemblies to the gym to "cut costs," the auditorium was pretty much abandoned.

She ran her fingers over dusty armrests as she made her way to the stage. It felt like walking through a ghost town.

Mr. Schuester's reproachful words still found her there, of course. Rachel tried to shake them out of her head. It wasn't like she was going to get a Tony for sneaking into the auditorium. A suspension, maybe, but not a Tony - so Mr. Schue's voice had no business barging into her head and telling her not to "try too early." Alright, he wanted her to wait a few years before marching triumphant into Broadway. That didn't mean she had to stop singing altogether.

She clicked through her iPod, thumbing through songs as she flicked through the light switches. Blazing spotlights lit a wide circle right at center stage, and she stepped cautiously into it. No matter how much she insisted on being their focus, spotlights always made her uneasy. Even then, without a single person to jeer at her from the dim-lit rows, it still felt undeserved.

The opening strains of a song broke into her thoughts. Rachel smiled into the glare of the light - inanimate object that it was, her iPod knew her so well. She turned to face her imaginary audience, breathing deep.

There is a castle on a cloud. She jumped into the song with perfect timing. Of course she did; she'd sung it a thousand times. Eyes fluttered shut as she reveled in the familiar roll of the lyrics on her tongue. I like to go there in my sleep -

BAM.

The auditorium door crashed shut. Her iPod clattered to the floor. The empty seats plunged into darkness.

Rachel craned her neck, trying to see into the shadows. Whoever had closed the door was probably still in there...somewhere. She felt her pocket for her rape whistle.

"Hello?" she called, her voice shaky in the still air. "Is anybody there?"

Nothing. Just Les Misérables blaring, tinny, from the earbuds spread discarded on the floor. Cosette's thin voice crept eerily through the quiet. Rachel moved to turn her iPod off.

Thud. She jumped, wild eyes searching through the darkness. The sound had come from the back. It might have even been her bag falling. Never mind that she'd tucked it snugly into the corner of the seat.

Maybe it was the wind. Rachel tried not to think about the impossibility of wind in a closed auditorium. Were the walls really that close? Even the shadows seemed to be pressing in. The whistle felt cold in her clutching fingers.

"W-Whoever you are, I'll have you know this is pointless!" She stepped forward, to the edge of the stage, trying to squint through the glare of the spotlight. "I'm well prepared to handle paparazzi, you know!"

Thump. Thump. Closer, this time - just halfway across the room. Loud, heavy footsteps, trudging down either aisle. Two. There were two. Her mind ran through frantic questions. Who were they? What did they want? Could they kill her? Rachel clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp.

Through trembling fingers, she whispered faintly, "You - you can start taking pictures now."

"Oh, we're not here to take your picture."

Rachel whirled around, lifting her whistle to her lips. A figure stepped into the light, a huge boy in a familiar red-and-white letterman jacket. He grinned down at her. Rachel knew that wicked glint in his eye too.

"Karofsky." Behind her, someone leapt onto the stage. The floor shook as whoever it was crashed onto it, and she heard the steady beat of footsteps as they approached.

"Azimio," she guessed. Who else could it be? Azimio's large hands closed on her wrists, and Karofsky stepped forward to pry the whistle from her fingers.

Rachel kicked viciously at his shins. He shrugged off the blows with a growl. "You're lucky she needs you alive," Karofsky muttered angrily as he advanced. "But not lucky enough for her to need your limbs." He winked at Azimio. "What d'you say, dude, up for some twig-snapping?"

Alarms exploded in Rachel's head. She fought to free her wrists, twisting her arms, stamping her foot down on Azimio's sneakers. Her captors were unfazed. What did her daddies tell her about situations like this? Here's what you do when there's no one to help you, Bubbala, they'd said, sitting her down on the couch and starting up the laptop for their slideshow. Rachel struggled to remember all the helpful diagrams. Come on. You studied this. Come on. It was no use. The panic chased all the material out of her head.

"You need to rethink this decision," Rachel finally blurted out, squirming in protest as Azimio wrenched her arms behind her back. "I-it's very unwise to forego your extracurriculars merely to torment me. Besides, violence against women and children is a terrible crime, and whoever this 'she' you mentioned is, I'm sure she wouldn't - "

"Shut your mouth, hobbit." Azimio shoved her head forward. Rachel stumbled straight into Karofsky's jacket, earning herself a mouthful of letterman. Her arms stretched out behind her, wrists locked in the football player's hold. Her shoulders screamed at the strain. "Hell, if they didn't need that damned face gash of yours, I'd break it too."

"Can it," Karofsky ordered, punching his buddy on the shoulder. He grabbed hold of Rachel's hair and pulled her head up, and her vision jerked from jacket stitchings to his leering face. She blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears back. Her scalp burned.

"Why are you doing this?" The question slipped in a pained whisper out her lips, and Karofsky grinned. He gave a nod, and Azimio's free hand clamped down over her mouth. Rachel felt Karofsky's meaty hand wrap around her elbow. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable crack.

"Heard you and Schuester yelling 'bout a set list in the choir room the other day." His breath flew hot into Rachel's face. She grimaced; it smelled like rotting meat. More tears pricked at her eyes, threatening to come cascading down her cheeks. She tried to think of her daddies, that one time they danced around in their living room. Mr. Schuester, sitting oblivious in Coach Sylvester's office. Even Quinn, probably staring down at her minions from the top of a human pyramid right then. Slushies, glee club, solos - anything to distract her from the sudden undeniable urge to cry. She knew she'd lost, completely helpless and utterly alone, but she wasn't about to let it show.

"Seems to me your fruit of an adviser thinks you ought to be a bit more...flexible." She could almost hear the sneer in his voice. His hold tightened around her elbow, pressing down harder. Rachel's eyes shot open as fire tore through her arm. "I think I can help you with that."

Karofsky laughed as he pushed her elbow further, laughed as Rachel lurched forward, her scream dying behind Azimio's hand. Whatever images she'd conjured up flew out the window. There was only agony, ripping in spasms from the joint, rattling her choked tears free. And then - just like that - it was gone.

Karofsky had let go. She looked around with wild eyes, relieved-and confused. The hockey player stood still, looking warily at the auditorium door. Through the darkness, she heard why: Someone was pounding on it.

"Go," Karofsky muttered. The vise around Rachel's wrists vanished. A moment later, she heard Azimio's footsteps trudging up the aisles. Karofsky looked down at her, contemptuous. "Guess you're luckier than I thought."

"Rachel!" A muffled voice called through the door. "Rachel, are you there?"

Before she could even think about the giant jock growling beside her, Rachel scampered to the edge of the stage. "In here! I'm in here!"

Karofsky grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her back, away from the door. Rachel slammed into the wall, the impact sending her arm screaming. She clutched at her elbow and watched, horrified, as the hockey player turned to look at her, inhuman snarls rising from his throat.

He was growing, his head rising further above her than it had already been, his arching back and spreading shoulders ripping his jacket in half, easy. His hands were trembling, and then there was fur sprouting all over them, claws breaking through the skin. The worst change was his face. His face was blurring, almost as if it were melting clean off his skull. His nose started lengthening, fur erupting all over his cheeks, and then suddenly he wasn't Karofsky anymore. He was a gnarling, howling bear.

Rachel drew back, screaming. The pounding grew louder. She watched, terrified, as Karofsky leapt on human legs down into the rows, howling. A similar cry answered back from right beside the auditorium entrance, and she knew a half-bear Azimio was crouching there in ambush. Whoever her would-be savior was, their hammering booming even louder, she silently apologized for leading them to their death.

And then the doors exploded.

A mighty wave of sound swept through the hall, slamming Rachel back against the wall. Azimio went crashing into the seats, and Rachel threw her good arm over her head as a rain of splinters cut through the air. The doorway was engulfed in a massive, roaring fireball, flames licking up the posts hungrily. The smell of ozone crept in from the corridor, and through the blazing arch strode a single haughty figure.

"Get your hands off Manhands."

Rachel could recognize that voice anywhere. "Quinn!"

"No, moron, it's Barbra Streisand." Even across the length of the auditorium Rachel could see her eyeroll. The cheerleader looked up at the stage, her ponytail bobbing, and motioned for Rachel to stay where she was. Rachel watched her stalk down the aisle, heading for the seemingly-unconscious Azimio. In her hands, glinting in the light of the spreading fire, was what looked like a small, silver flashlight.

Rachel could only gape in disbelief. Quinn Fabray - cheerleader Quinn Fabray - hoped to save her with a standard-issue flashlight. It was about as unbelievable as the idea of a cheerleader blowing up a door. Then again, Rachel thought as she tottered to her feet, look what happened there.

"Gods, Berry," Quinn called, spotting Rachel stepping carefully off the stage. "I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut?"

"Well, you told me to stay there, too," Rachel answered, stopping beside the cheerleader and gesturing with her damaged arm at the stage. She winced as a jolt of pain cut through her elbow. "And as I recall, you've told me countless times to get myself sterilized. As you can see I haven't been inclined to do either."

"Thank you for that inane and thoroughly unnecessary answer," Quinn shot back. She bent down to examine Azimio. The jock was crumpled in a heap on the floor. The black fur on his arms were singed; the burned tip of his snout was still smoking. "Still alive," Rachel heard Quinn mutter, poking the unconscious bear-boy with her flashlight. She sounded so calm it was unnerving.

Rachel slumped into the nearest chair, closing her eyes as questions whirled inside her head and a dull throbbing started up in the back of her skull. She pressed a hand to it and breathed in slowly, trying to slow her thoughts. She heard Quinn gag-she was probably searching Azimio's person still. Rachel could almost see her expertly patting down the jock, rifling through pockets for weapons.

"You seem to have prior experience knocking out bear hybrids," Rachel began, her voice even. She paused, listening for a reaction, but Quinn was silent. "More importantly, it seems to me you had prior knowledge of this attack. You saved me, Quinn, and I thank you, but - "

"Di immortales!"

Her eyes snapped open. A blur of red, white and black flew pass her, crashing into the seats to her left. Rachel leapt to her feet, her hands flying to her neck as someone grabbed her by the collar.

"Didn't think I was that easy, did you?" Karofsky dragged her out into the aisle, his claws digging into her back. He laughed as she struggled in his hold. "You should stop fighting now, Berry, before someone else dies for you."

Dread shot through Rachel like a knife. She spun around, clawing viciously at the surprised Karofsky's face and wrenching herself free of his grip. Stumbling back to her seat, batting away Karofsky's hands, she scoured the row frantically for Quinn. She found her half-draped over an armrest, unconscious; blood trickled from a cut on her cheek. What little fight was left in Rachel died at the sight. Quinn wasn't moving.

"Gods damn you, midget," Karofsky growled, grabbing hold of her arm and jerking her back. "When people tell you someone's dead you're supposed to give up, not turn into a fucking hellhound." He tried to pull her back out onto the aisle but Rachel stood rooted to the spot, her gaze fixed firmly on Quinn.

Blue sparks were dancing all over her cheerleading uniform, and the air around her crackled with electricity. Karofsky narrowed his eyes, letting go of Rachel and backing away. He didn't get far enough to avoid the lightning.

It pounded into him like an artillery shell, arching up from Quinn's unmoving form and blasting him straight into the nearest wall. He staggered to his feet only to be thrown back by bolt after bolt, the whole auditorium shaking with the force of each blow. Arcs of energy flew out in all directions, setting fire to the curtains, the seats, the stage.

Rachel watched in horror as flames ate their way through the hall, the spotlights shattering from the rising heat. Glass rained down from the rafters. Smoke flooded her lungs; hell pressed in from all sides. She threw her arms over her head and stumbled back from the spreading fire. She found herself pressed up against the wall, right next to Karofsky. He was burnt black and unrecognizable; she clapped her hand to her mouth and turned away, retching.

Then she heard it-a groan. Rachel looked up, squinting through the flames. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a streak of red: Quinn had pushed herself to her feet. She looked deathly pale in the middle of the conflagration, and grew even paler when she spotted Rachel. She crouched low and scurried over, her ponytail bobbing through the growing clouds of smoke.

"Let me guess," she said, grabbing Rachel by the wrist and tugging her towards the exit, "standing around like that - you were inclined to follow my suggestion to go to hell?"

Rachel winced, following Quinn's lead and sprinting straight through fire as they made for the doors. Wisps of flame caught onto the sleeves of her sweater, licked up along her socks. "If that's true, you're certainly going with me."

Quinn looked back at her, eyebrow raised like they were having some ordinary throwdown in the hallways. "I don't need to go anywhere for eternal torture, Manhands. I've already got you."