Disclaimer: Glee and Little Shop of Horrors are both not mine.
Warning: Short Chapters.
Heavy Drugs And Group Hugs
i. Do You Know The Way To Santa Fe?
The whole bus shook with boisterous laughter and shone with a golden aura filled with such bliss and happiness. New Directions was off to visit Vocal Adrenaline for a pre-Regionals 'friendly competition.' The Cheerios at the back brought their pompoms and were throwing them in the air. Puck and Finn were laughing their big heads off at Kurt's poor excuses for jokes. Mercedes and Rachel were singing songs from Dreamgirls with Mr. Schuester on the portable Karaoke machine. Artie was playing his guitar and chatting joyously with Tina.
And behind all the euphoria sat Sue Sylvester, with her permanent smirk and her bright red tracksuit.
…What was she doing in such a musical and animated place?
"Someone has to monitor your moronic insanity, Schuester." She had told him before his students had boarded the bus. Will protested her involvement, but after Sue had shown him a waiver from the school, he visibly deflated and let her in the coaster.
"We are your Dreamgirls~" Mercedes and Rachel belted out, breaking the peaceful silence in Sue's mind. She groaned, resting her head on the back of the seat of the person in front of her. She knew that these teenagers weren't quite…normal, but she didn't expect all this noise.
Sue Sylvester then sighed before closing her eyes and eagerly waiting for sleep to consume her.
"H-Hey, M-Mr. Schu, where are we?" Tina asked; her voice barely louder than a whisper. Sue's eyes opened as she glanced out the window. Where were they? The sky was already fading to black; darkness swallowing the glassy heavens. The streets they were in were full of bums and hobos and other people carrying bags of…stuff.
"Oh, Tina, we're—" Will stopped midsentence as he saw his surroundings, "Mr. Peterson" – he faced the driver – "Where are we?"
The bus halted very suddenly as Mr. Peterson looked at the students – and the barely-awake Sue. "Mr. Schu…I don't know."
"We probably took a wrong turn somewhere," Rachel said, trying her best not to panic. Her fathers did not raise her to be a worrywart.
"Y-Yeah," Finn agreed, "We should probably ask for directions."
Will nodded quickly, rolling down a window to ask directions from a blonde-haired, stick-thin lady walking down the road.
"Excuse me, ma'am," He asked as the woman looked up at him with vulnerable, weak eyes, "Where are we?"
The bus pulled over at a small flower shop (the sign read Mr. Mushnik's) as the lady squeaked, her voice softer than any mouse's, "You're in Skid Row."