A/N: I own neither Glee nor its characters. The title of the story is taken from the song "Woodstock", by Joni Mitchell. Also, this story will unfold slowly. Reviews are welcome!

It wasn't the monsters under her bed this time, nor was it The Man in the Closet. No, this time it was a bad dream. There was a scary storm, and she was trying to run to her daddies across the street but she couldn't get to them. She kept shouting, but they couldn't hear her over the wind, and the water was rising. Why did she have these kinds of dreams all of the time? Upset and unable to sleep, she grabbed her glass of water and headed downstairs to the living room where her dads were talking and listening to music.

"Rachel?" Her Daddy saw her head peep around the corner. "Why aren't you in bed?"

She slurped some water and ran into the room, trembling. Then she set her her glass down and rocketed onto the couch, burying herself between her dads. Immediately, they pulled closer and hugged her tightly.

"Bad dream, honey?" Dad asked, kissing the top of her head. She nodded furiously, not speaking, and all three of them sat quietly together, until Rachel calmed down.

"That's Frank Sinatra" she said, when she felt safe again.

"Right! Very good!" Daddy said. "Are you okay now?" She nodded. "Do you want to tell us about the dream?"

"There was a scary storm, and I couldn't get to you."

Dad shook his head, and both dads pulled even closer.

"That is scary. But we're here together now, right? Safe as bugs in a rug."

She nodded again, cuddling close. They sat quietly some more.

"Are you ready to go back to sleep?"

"No!" she cried. "What if I have the dream again?"

Daddy thought for a moment, then said,

"Well, you could keep the bad dream away by having a good dream instead, right?"

She gave him as dubious a look as a five-year-old girl could.

"I guess… but how do I do that?"

Her Daddy smiled, looking very, very wise.

"What do you think would be a good dream? If you think about it hard enough before falling asleep, then maybe you'll have it."

Rachel mulled the idea over. She remembered watching "Funny Girl" the day before.

"I'll dream about being Fanny!" she announced. Her dads clapped.

XXXxxx

She stopped, as she did every now and then, in Times Square before going to rehearsals, to remind herself that being Fanny Brice was not a dream anymore, but, was, instead, a blissful reality. The huge image of her on the billboard, wearing the iconic leopard skin hat and coat, was reassuring. All that work and heartache had actually paid off.

She was glad, though, that her life had settled into a welcome routine, after all the craziness when her casting was announced. Santana and Kurt had jumped wildly about the apartment, planning party after party. Her Dad said Daddy almost fainted when she called them. And Principal Figgins considered naming a girl's bathroom after her when Mr Schue told him the news.

It was thrilling, but had yet to be made real to her. Up to now, the news was nothing more than an abstract, longed-for moment, a culmination, a bulwark against bad dreams. To be transformed into what it truly was, a living, breathing, embodiment of her purpose, she had to share it with the one person who understood what drove her, what gave her purpose form and substance. None of it could matter, or be real until she shared it with Finn.

Thank goodness the two of them had managed to reach a good place, she thought. No, they hadn't officially gotten back together, but at least the drama and the insecurities were finally over. Brody was gone. Finn was working on his degree. They still loved each other. And each felt free to tap into the bedrock friendship that had never wavered, even when their romance seemed doomed, the friendship that had swept away the "no-contact" rule like a flood obliterating an earthen dam. Rachel talked to Finn at least once a day now. Her favorite time was when she was tucked in bed, exhausted, his warm voice reassuring and wishing her a good night. And, most significantly, each would take turns singing the other to sleep. It felt good to have hope again, instead of heartbreak.

Rachel waited for a time in the afternoon when she was sure he would be out of class, and, sitting excitedly on her couch, entered his speed dial code. She imagined him seeing her ID come up on his phone, and gingerly picking it up, hoping for the best, but prepared to comfort her if it was the worst.

"Hi." He said it simply, carefully.

"Hi." Part of her was screaming to just tell him. But she had to say this first. "Finn…I heard from the producers, but I have to tell you something first, so please be patient."

"Um, okay".

She knew he was champing at the bit, but this couldn't wait. "Before I met you, the only people who believed in me were my dads. I never felt that any of my teachers or coaches understood what drove me—they only seemed to see the result of that drive—my voice. Do you know what I mean? "

"Yeah. I do."

Of course he did, she thought. That was the whole point.

"Even in Glee club," Rachel continued, "my friends came to recognize and acknowledge my talent, grudgingly in some cases, but they never understood where the drive behind it came from. I'm not even sure if my dads fully understand it, either. You are the only exception, my only exception." She could feel him smiling to himself on the other end. "Finn, you know where my passion comes from, you've known and touched its root, because it has the same root within you, and that's why you've always given me perfect advice. You are my moose..." It was hard to go on, from the lump in her throat. "That's why you and I have to be together. That's why we have to be each other's last love. Nobody but you could have pointed me towards finding that perfect song for my callback." A pause, for dramatic, Rachel Berry effect. "I only hope I can deserve your belief in me."

It was quiet on the line for a moment. Then:

"So I take it you're the next Fanny Brice?" Then they laughed, openly and easily again, and he told her he loved her and was so proud he could burst, and could she get him front row tickets, and she said she loved him, and that of course she could get him front row tickets and could they officially un-break up, now?

He flew out to New York with her dads, finishing and emailing a paper to one of his professors while on the plane. Apparently Carmen Tibideaux wanted to discuss Rachel's future at NYADA with her and her family. He stayed at the apartment, and he made love to her when he was there, easing the anxiety and reinforcing the knowledge that he was there for her, and always would be.

The situation with NYADA resolved itself unexpectedly.

"Most drama schools do not allow students to take full time acting positions," Carmen had said. "The student is required to withdraw from the program, but is given full credit for performance hours." She acknowledged Rachel's confusion, continuing," But we are different." She leaned against the edge of her desk, smiling. "Most times these kinds of roles are small, and are for productions that do not last very long, so our policy is to let the student get the experience in cooperation with her instructors." Rachel nodded now; that's what she had been led to expect. "However, Rachel's situation is very, very unusual. Not only has she, a freshman, garnered a lead role in a Broadway production, we here at NYADA are of the opinion, given the reputation of the producers, that the show has a very good chance of being a success. At the very least, we see it having a run of at least one year, possibly more." Rachel and her dads looked at one other in wonder. Carmen smiled, nodding. "So…we feel this situation calls for the invoking of what we call the Career Support Curriculum, something we have only had to invoke twice in our history, and which isn't advertised."

The Career Support Curriculum, or CSC, was put in place thirty years ago when Jack Gilliam, the three-time Tony winner, then a sophomore at NYADA, won the role of King Mongkut in a revival of The King and I, which ran for two years. The Dean of Students at the time felt that NYADA could make a positive contribution to a student actor's working career while he or she was engaged in long-term outside employment, and at the same time it could also move that student forward in the degree program as well. The CSC was designed to accommodate a typical working Broadway actor's day. The Dean, Jean Studer, knew most actors arose around 10 am, and that many would take a dance or acting class in the early afternoon, before showing up for work at seven in the evening for that night's performance. So she hired two highly-qualified adjunct instructors for Gilliam, to be available for individualized classes to fit his schedule: a dance instructor, and an acting and vocal coach. Gilliam was a strong actor and dancer, so he had two one-hour vocal lessons during the week, and one acting and dance class each, all in the early afternoon. He was charged 25% of the normal annual tuition while the show was in production. He also received the full ten upper-division credits for Performance, half-credit for the required sophomore-level dance, vocal and acting classes for the first year of the show, then full credit after the second year. He also received credit for the mandatory "Practicalities" class, which addressed the mundane challenges working actors face, such as handling money on an intermittent income, union memberships, and resume tips. All this made it easier for him to eventually finish his degree (which he did, despite also working for six months on another show when he was a senior), and he remained a vocal supporter of NYADA and a generous alumnus (which vindicated Dean Studer to the accountants, who initially objected to his steep tuition discount).

"We still think we can be relevant and helpful with regards to your career, Rachel," Carmen said, smiling.

They discussed it over dinner that night, Finn included. The producers had called and told Rachel they had purchased her membership in the Actors Equity union, because her part required union membership to ensure no labor problems. As a union member she was guaranteed a minimum of $1,605 a week, but the producers were offering her $5,000 a week to start, as the lead. She felt dazed, unsure what to do about NYADA. Did she really need this degree? Her dads scoffed.

"Rachel," Hiram said, "one of the things actors struggle with is money, and this role will bring you some serious money. Your dad and I think you should take up Carmen's offer to stay in NYADA. Your college fund will stretch much better at a 25% rate, and so we want to continue tuition and living expenses support, and you can bank the salary as a cushion for when you are on your own and between shows. NYADA is willing to accommodate you, and we are willing to keep you on the road to a degree. And you get to play Fanny Brice on Broadway! What do you say?"

Rachel looked at Finn.

"What do you think? "

He looked uncomfortable, not having expected being asked his opinion on this family matter. But she could see he deeply appreciated her trust in him.

"It sounds like a Win-Win-Win situation, Rach. You get Fanny Brice, NYADA gets to keep you, and-"He winked at her. "And your dads will be able to sleep at night knowing you're working on your degree and that you'll be in good financial shape when you are finally on your own."

The night before he left, they un-broke up. It didn't take much; for all intents and purposes they were back together. But it did need to be said out loud.

"I don't want to be broken up anymore," she whispered to him in bed. "I don't want there to be any ambiguity."

"So we don't get 'Sex in the City""? He joked gently.

"No…no…" she shook her head. "But I don't want to go back to being engaged, either."

"So you want to start over?" He didn't understand.

"We can't start over, baby," Rachel murmured, "Too much has happened, stuff that has changed us, but for the better, I think. And we have a lot of work to do. I mean, it makes sense that you stay in Lima, at least as long as you can get credit for working with New Directions." He nodded. "And I will be focusing on working here." He laughed as Rachel suddenly, adorably, squealed, "I'm Fanny Brice, oh my God!" Then she grew serious. "I want not to have to worry about us while we do this. I want us to be the one thing we can always rely on. Whether we are married or not."

She could feel him thinking in the dark, remembering the rush of emotion when he proposed to her, the joy when she accepted, and his sad certainty as he ran alongside the train. There was the crippling shame as he lay in the military hospital, the burning jealousy over Brody, and the shock when she ended it, leaving him standing, alone, in Jerusalem. It left a physical ache in her chest, knowing what he had suffered, and she grieved for both of them. They had wounded each other so, so, deeply, as only those who love each other so deeply can. But the power of that love made the healing both were undergoing possible, too. He was shedding his insecurities, like an old skin. She had left hers behind as well. The metamorphosis was almost complete; their wings were drying in the sun. Eventually they would be able to fly, back to one another.

"You can always rely on my love for you," he said.

"Then it's settled. I'm your Rachel, and you're my Finn. Perfect." She snuggled closer, stroking his face. "Can I tell you something ?"

"Anything."

"I still have the ring. And my dress."

She could feel tears on his cheeks, then. He had so wanted to marry her.

"You still want to marry me?"

"Isn't that what you meant by the two of us being 'endgame'?"

He nodded, rubbing her back.

"Don't you think we'll be able to afford something fancier, when we're ready? "

"I don't need anything fancier, "she said, and kissed him. "When we do get married, I won't feel any different about you than I did when I was seventeen. It's what I want the ring and the dress to symbolize."

That night she dreamed she was a bird, ready to take her first flight.

The Times Square crowd flowed around Rachel, nobody realizing she was the actress whose face was up there. It didn't bother her. There was time enough for that. For the time being, Rachel Berry was going to savor her peaceful anonymity, and call Finn to tell him that she thought her billboard image really needed more lights.