A/N: I'm honestly disturbed by my own mind right now. Please don't yell at me.
Tina had been catching a ride to school with Artie and his dad for nearly the entire year, since her parents were hardly ever home to drive her and she'd gotten tired of walking almost two miles five days a week. When they got to school that morning, the parking lot was only somewhat full, mostly staff members' cars, and the few students that had arrived early were milling about outside, enjoying the spring air. While Artie had informed his father when he and Tina had started carpooling that they liked to get there early so that they could rehearse their numbers for Glee before the day really began, it was the tiniest bit of a lie. Their sessions always started as short rehearsals, but usually they ended up as opportunities to make out away from the public eye and away from Mercedes and Kurt's daily lunch commentary that they were about to throw up because the Wheeled-Gothika relationship was too fucking adorable to eat around.
"I have to say," Tina mused aloud as she pushed Artie into the school and headed for the choir room. "I'm kinda missing the champagne-bubble dress."
Artie snorted. "Tee, you may look drop-dead sexy in champagne bubbles, but they make way too much noise when you walk. I keep thinking I'm rolling on gravel."
"Oh, well, I'm sorry to inconvenience you," she retorted with a grin.
"Damn straight. Bow down to the Cripple."
And even though his tone had been one hundred percent joking, with no sign of bitterness whatsoever, Tina smacked him lightly upside the head.
"Ow!" he dramatized. "What was that for?"
"I don't like it when you talk like that about yourself, and you know it."
He rolled his eyes. "Pssh. It was just a joke, Tee."
Tina let go of his chair handles for a moment to open the choir room door. "Yeah, well, jokes can be t—AH!" She yelped suddenly and stumbled backwards, tripping over her combat boots and landing on her rump.
Artie broke into a light fit of laughter at her comical fall. "I told you those shoes are dangerous, and not just to other people." His laughter faded, however, when he realized that the trip hadn't caused her to fall. Her eyes were wide and staring in through the open door, her hands clamped tightly over her mouth as if she were trying to stop herself from both vomiting and screaming. The humorous atmosphere they'd maintained so far that morning was gone without a trace. "Tee? What's wrong?"
She let out a long breath through her nose, and it seemed like a difficult task to pull air back into her lungs. "I…what…what the fuck…" she whispered.
Frowning, Artie grabbed his push rims and wheeled himself forward a couple steps, craning his neck to peer inside the choir room. And when he did, he very nearly jumped out of his chair, which takes a considerable amount of adrenaline when one does not have the use of legs. "Holy shit," he breathed, not aware that he was speaking.
In the center of the ceiling was a hook not unlike the kind used to hang up a bike in a garage, and hanging upside down from that hook by a bungee cord round his ankles was none other than a shirtless Noah Puckerman. Something sparkled against his jeans, and Artie realized with a heave of his stomach that tacked into his knees and stretching down to his forehead was a series of six guitar strings. His eyes were dull and half-closed beneath the strings, and the tiny trickles of blood that had welled up beneath the nails went unnoticed as the sheer amount of bodily fluids from his torso drew the attention.
He'd been gutted.
Like a fish.
Like a fucking pig.
Artie recognized some of the organs lying on the floor below Puck's dangling arms – a heart, a lung, a liver… – but it was mostly just a bloody, reeking mound of entrails not unlike something from a zombie movie. And Puck's chest and abdomen wasn't just cut open – it was missing. His ribs had been opened further than was natural, and a thin slat of wood was wedged between them, keeping them spread like the belly of a guitar.
But worst of all, perhaps, was the trail of dried blood smeared across the floor to form loopy, cheery penmanship.
Sweet Caroline!
Hah, hah, hah!
Artie had no idea of how long they sat there, just staring – because what else was there to do? – before the speakers beeped and Figgins' voice boomed throughout the school.
"All students, please calmly exit the school premises. This is not a drill – I repeat, this is not a drill. All staff members, proceed to gather in the parking lot. This is not a drill."
Artie and Tina looked confused on top of terrified. They'd never done a drill that entailed leaving the school premises entirely – just fire and lockdown drills. This was something none of them had rehearsed for, and it scared the living hell out of both of them. "Tee?" Artie managed to tear his gaze away from the gruesome show inside the choir room. "I…I think we should go." His voice trembled violently, but it was enough to pull Tina out of her shock and together they shakily made their way outside.
The teachers were accumulating on the far side of the lot, in the direction they'd have to walk in to go to Tina's house, so they passed by Mr. Schue in their haste to get away from what could turn into something far uglier than what had happened to Puck.
"Artie! Tina!" Mr. Schue called, separating from the growing group and running toward them. "You guys got here early?" he asked breathlessly, stepping in front of Artie's chair. He looked scared shitless, which was not a comforting observation.
They nodded, not quite able to talk for fear of vomiting as the mental picture of Puck's desecrated corpse still loomed large in their minds.
Mr. Schue swallowed. "You…you didn't go to the auditorium, did you?"
Even through the dizzying haze of shock that Artie and Tina were still under, they frowned, surprised. "Wh-why the auditorium?" Tina asked, her old stutter reappearing briefly.
Mr. Schue let out a burst of breath in relief. "Oh, thank God," he said.
"You mean the choir room?" Artie said, still confused.
Schue froze, staring at Artie like he was trying to figure out if the kid was joking or not (because it would be totally natural for Artie to joke about something like this). "What does the choir room have to do with anything?"
A split second after Mr. Schue's question hit Tina's ears, she realized that the inquiry also meant that there was something else besides what had happened to Puck, and she promptly vomited onto the flowerbed by the sidewalk.
Mr. Schue seemed to get this at the same time she did, but his stomach was either stronger or he'd already emptied it. "Oh, God. Is there someone in the choir room?"
Artie nodded, also looking like he was about to throw up. "It's Puck," he choked out.
"Oh, God," Mr. Schue repeated, running his hands through his hair. "Oh, God."
"M-Mr. Schue?" Artie stammered, his voice small. "Why did you ask us about the auditorium?"
Schue froze again (honestly, the man was almost like a squirrel – freezing at any sign of danger), and then looked down, wringing his hands. "Finn."
Artie and Tina said nothing, just stood (or sat, in Artie's case) rooted to the spot, unable to do anything to tame their brains enough to cease imagining Finn as a human guitar.
A/N: No, I have never seen Dexter.