Chapter Text
“Breaking news- It's been confirmed officially that Sheldon J. Plankton, former owner of the Chum Bucket, has been released on parole, much, much earlier than his expected twenty year sentence."
A black and white mugshot of the man described replaced the news anchor's face, the tiny criminal's body contorted and flattened by the imprints of heavy shoe steps. Despite this, Plankton was still able to maintain a bored expression as he held up his placard.
Perch continued. "Rumours about an early release had been circulating in the past six months, due to consistent reports of the criminal mastermind planning an appeal process."
"Long gone are the days of escape attempts and prison riot incitements, Your Honour." These were the confident words of a surly, smartly dressed shark stood rimrod straight in the presence of a courtroom judge. The clip played on. "My client has had much time to reflect on his choices in the last seven years. Cut off from the outside world, he's become a totally new man."
Said man could barely reach over the table he was housed at, even with a stack of phonebooks to prop him up. Almost as if to assist in the image of innocence, Plankton was peeking over the desk, his ruby iris watery under the scrutiny of the overhead lamp. To the untrained eye, he was the picture of innocence. How could something so precious, so tiny do harm to anyone?
"Mr. Plankton is infamous for the theft of King Neptune's crown, as well as his attempt to enslave Bikini Bottom, and the attempted murder of his former business rival, Eugene Krabs." Perch adjusted his tie, clearly disgruntled; he'd been the last to interview Plankton before the entire town of Bikini Bottom had fallen into chaos. Perch knew his true character. All of Bikini Bottom knew what he was and had been capable of, but the jury, the judge, and the wider world outside of the small ocean city clearly didn't. Couldn't. Plankton had always been a Grade A manipulator, after all. All it took was a seed of doubt, a population of tax payers that were less informed, and the chance to get up on a pedestal and speak his truth "... stay tuned with Bikini Bottom News for any updates as they come in."
SpongeBob stood in the middle of the Krusty Krab 2's breakroom, staring at the tv after the familiar mugshot flashed on screen. A face he hadn't seen in close to a decade. This development hit SpongeBob over the head with renewed exhaustion like a sack of bricks, as if he'd not had enough to worry about.
It was coming up to the anniversary of the Krusty Krab 2's opening again. This was sure to put a damper on things.
“... Plankton's on parole? Why are they releasing him early?” SpongeBob asked, snapping out of his daze and looking over at his co-worker with a furrowed brow. It was clear he'd not absorbed any of Perch's commentary, the sight of the tiny mastermind being so unexpected that it had thrown him into a state of shock.
“Good behaviour." Squidward retorted, his tentacles folding and unfolding in a variation of quotation marks to add a sarcastic tone to the statement. "And he tugged on the heart strings of that stupid judge". The cantankerous octopus was laying himself across the breakroom's sofa, having been perfectly relaxed until this news had ruined his fleetingly decent mood. “The legal system is a joke. I can’t believe the little jerk only got EIGHT years after what he did!”
"Hm... good behaviour, huh?" SpongeBob clicked his tongue, turning the thought over in his head. What Plankton had done, had tried to do, to him, to Patrick and Mr Krabs, was in many ways unforgivable.
Before he could dwell any longer, the doors to the Krusty Krab 2 flew open, and Eugene Krabs charged in, huffing and puffing with eyes wide and manic.
“THE NEWS.”
“We saw.” Squidward and SpongeBob replied in unison, watching as their breathless and sweaty boss bridged the gap, chest heaving, redder than usual from rage.
“I— I— Plankton!” Krabs could barely stutter his words out. “Getting out— early… after what he--?!"
SpongeBob rushed to his boss’ side and places his hands on the man’s shoulders. “Breathe, sir, breathe! It’s okay!”
“OKAY? OKAY?!” Brandishing his claws in the air, Mr Krabs’ voice echoed around the empty restaurant. “None of this is okay, boy! Plankton was meant to ROT in a cell fer the rest of his life, and now he’s released for GOOD BEHAVIOUR?!”
“Sir, sir! Mr Krabs, the doctor— remember what the doctor said about you getting worked up!” SpongeBob looked back at Squidward, the latter of whom looked worried at Mr Krabs’ very clearly building distress.
Eugene quaked, attempting to keep the rage that threatened to bubble to the surface contained. Their boss had always been the emotional sort, but Plankton had been the source of his stress for years. So he'd finally gotten a multi-decade sentence, it had seemed as if him, not to mention the rest of the town, would finally be free of his antics. Never having to live in fear again. Since then, Mr Krabs had never lived a life so consistently relaxed and stress free. His plan had been to eventually retire and live out the rest of his life in peace.
That reality had been shattered.
SpongeBob could see that old familiar fear in his eyes, the dread. Flashbacks of a time where he could never feel safe; not fully. Turmoil and trauma that had remained buried for years, for all of them would be dug up so brutally when Plankton finally showed his face again. Hopefully, he'd have the sense to not parade himself... but laying low and staying out of trouble had never been a facet of Plankton's personality in the short time SpongeBob had known him.
"Mr Krabs..." SpongeBob could feel his eyes begin to burn, throat tight. "I-it'll... it'll be alright. If Plankton gets up to his old tricks again, we'll be right here, won't we, Squidward?"
Squidward frowned at SpongeBob offering up emotional support on his behalf, but relented a little when he saw SpongeBob's pointed stare and the pathetic state of their boss. Despite years of discontent with the two men's antics, Squidward wasn't as heartless as he liked to come across. "... yeah. Don't worry about it, Eugene, SpongeBob's got it covered. Little guy proved that he's more than capable."
Mr Krabs rubbed at his long eyestalks with the back of his claw, leaning on the younger man for moral support and pulling him into a tight embrace. "Ye're right... You've always had me back, lad." There was a long pause as Eugene stared at the floor, mind buzzing. "I... I might take the rest of the day to recuperate."
"No, you'll take tomorrow off too, sir." SpongeBob insisted, placing a fingertip to Mr Krabs' mouth before he could continue. Even despite his own work load, SpongeBob had always and would go to the ends of the earth for his boss and his beloved restaurants. "You want me to call Pearl to come pick you up?"
"Nah, I can grab the boat. Once me heart rate goes down, that is." He gives a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood when he saw how genuinely concerned his employees looked at that statement. "Really. I'm fine now. Struck me like an dropped anchor, but... well."
Mr Krabs looked out the window to the abandoned, decrepit building that had once housed The Chum Bucket. It had been through a few changes initially, shop fronts trying and failing to set up where the original restaurant had once resided but... the associated history acting as a curse, of sorts. Plankton's presence still haunted this city like a miasma, and now that fettered stench would be released on its citizens once more.
"... I had just hoped this was over for good."
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
Plankton scoffed and put down the receiver, disgruntled but not surprised at this development. Dialing the number of The Chum Bucket had been a long shot, but he'd held hope that even if Karen hadn't made much effort to contact him that she'd still be in their old shared home and place of business. No dice, though. Tilting up to look at the guard that stood with arms folded, he gave a nervous grin. "Just a second."
Said guard gave a grunt. "You got five minutes."
Irritated, Plankton picked up the phone again, placing it on the stool that he was using to prop him up. What purpose was there having a phone this big in the Institution for the Criminally Tiny? Sure, he was a criminal but couldn't they at least make SOME accommodations outside of the tiny cells and padded rooms? ... Dwelling on that would serve no greater purpose, though. He was getting out. That was something to be thankful for.
But who could he call? His parents? Passing on that, he knew that his father had long disowned him after discovering the extent of his son's evil years ago. His grandma had passed away during his sentence, and left him a reasonable lump sum; not much, but enough to get him on his feet again.
"... Guess I'm booking a motel." Plankton murmured. "What's the number for the nearest place, officer?"
Exiting the institution had been the source of both excitement and dread for Plankton. He was free, but would be left to fend for himself, having burned every bridge in his last ditch effort to take over Bikini Bottom. His only successful plot, even if it was fleeting. Plan Z could, and did fail, and Plankton had suffered dearly for it.
If it wasn't for that damn sponge...
...well. At least he wasn't going to be locked up for the rest of his life like he'd initially conceived. If there was one thing Plankton was, it was stubborn, and he'd made it his mission to get out of here through any means necessary... it just so happened that going through the proper channels had been the easiest option. What a media circus it had been. Plankton had known there would have been backlash. Everyone in Bikini Bottom remembered. A generation of citizens who had been youngsters at the time were old enough to tell their kids about the horrific events of when King Neptune had had his crown snatched right from under his nose.
But something else had happened. Something he'd never expected in a million years. At first, it was murmurs amongst the guards, the odd talk show here and there, but then, it was letters. Letters of support. Numerous people who resided outside of Bikini Bottom had actually empathized with him. Spoke at length about how they had grown tired of King Neptune's tyranny, almost seeing the copepod as a freedom fighter, rather than a wannabe dictator that had relished in total enslavement of everyone he knew and associated with.
If it wasn't for them, he'd not have had so much public sway. But Plankton couldn't bring himself to be as thankful as they likely hoped he was. It was clear that they were so... easily led. Idiots... at least they were useful idiots, he supposed.
When he reached the heavy doors of the jail's main entrance, stepped out and squinted at the sunlight that he'd not seen in the last eight years, Plankton stepped forward with all the confidence of a regular showman. He could hear the buzz of a crowd on the other side of the gated fence. Detractors. Supporters. The media. and Plankton finally realized that day; you didn't need a crown to be a king, or bucket helmets to control the masses.