Chapter Text
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It was a long night and Squidward couldn't get any sleep, while what little he did catch left him nauseated and sobbing with dreams of his mother. He blinked away the tears when he woke up and flipped the pillow over, though he wouldn't find sleep again until night. Not with how SpongeBob-
BWOOOOOM!!
Squidward jumped out of bed and fell on the floor in a cocoon of his blanket. The very floor shook as the deafening wail shook the very sand of the street and vibrated his entire moai. Squidward lay there on the tiled floor of his bedroom, and after a few sniffs, swore he could smell the lavender-lilac perfume his mother used to wear before she got sick. Then it was gone, replaced by the musty smell of a bedroom turned into a crypt for the sick and depressed. Like his mother's hospital room. With more effort than what was reasonable, he got up and cracked his back with a yelp, but it helped.
The sun was bright. It made him feel sick as he stood at the window and stared out at the coral mountains in the distance; in its arrest grace, he felt very much like a phantom, a ghost of Squidward, the octopus who'd once lived in this moai he calls home. ‘Oh, to be so, so very far away from this place…’ he whispered, though only the echoes of his past heard it.
Breakfast was dull. Even the caramel coffee, which while delightful in scent and taste, left him no fuller than a mouthful of water. As he sipped at it and ate a casserole he'd made two nights before, he wondered what had happened. Why did he - no, not just he, but everything - feel so different since they came back from Crystal Gulch? Not just with SpongeBob, but life in general.
And why are you thinking about mother much? he questioned himself with only the vague image of her smile as an answer, followed by another: SpongeBob's smile…
Squidward shot up and his chair flew back, hitting the floor with a loud smack. He rubbed his head to soothe any migraines and inwardly cooed, you're just having a rough week, Squiddy. Things will be normal again. You're all right. You're okay. You're going to be-
BWOOOOOOOM!!!!
The maoi itself jumped, knocking Squidward over onto his bottom and the mug upon him. Thankfully it didn't scold him, as it was nearly empty, though it still burnt. Really, really bad. He leapt into the air, screeching, and ran to the tap to splash cool water over himself, giving him instant relief. He sighed, then muttered, ‘just what in Davey Jones’ Locker is that nincompoop doing to that alarm of his? It's driving the whole neighbourhood crazy. And by neighbourhood, I mean me!’
Next door, SpongeBob fiddled with his foghorn alarm with a screwdriver. He turned something and it threatened to explode, but only a whistle of steam came out. After standing up and dusting his hands, he sighed and said, ‘nothing harder than a hard morning of work!’
Gary watched from behind him. ‘Meow?’
SpongeBob turned around. ‘What's that, Gare-bear? You think I'm overworking myself and fixing things that aren't broken just to keep myself busy so I don’t have to think about what’s troubling me?’
Gary nodded his little eyes.
SpongeBob laughed off the assessment and walked to the other side of the room, where he began tightening the nails in the metal wall with a hammer. ‘Of course I'm not overworking myself, Gary. When have I ever been known to overwork myself?’ Then his fingers slipped and he dropped the hammer. The nail was tight as could be and to tighten it any more would be to threaten cracking the wall in half. So, he left it be. For now…
‘Speaking of work,’ SpongeBob mentioned, heading over to his closet of threads and slipping off his pyjamas and into his white underwear, white shirt, brown pants, blue-and-red striped white socks and black button shoes. ‘There I am,’ he said to his reflection, sticking his thumb in his mouth and sticking his brows with it. ‘Rather dashing indeed, SpongeBob SquarePants. You really are-’
‘Meow!’ Gary nudged his leg with eye. ‘Meow! Meowww!’
‘Gary, I'm busy! I-’
‘Meow!’
SpongeBob rolled his eyes but listened, however reluctant. ‘What do you mean “check in the mirror?” I'm pretty sure I - waho-hey! What the flippin’ Jim n’ Jack!?’ As Gary said, he was missing his red tie. Not only that, but he'd forgotten to put it on! ‘I… I just haven't put it on yet, Gare-bear. Obviously.’
Gary squinted at him and he stared at himself in the mirror. The silence that ensued stretched until SpongeBob realised he was going to be late to being early to work. In a mad dash, he brushed his teeth in the bathroom and choked down a bowl of kelp cereal in the kitchen and zoomed through the door, leaving it swinging shut in his wake. Gary followed him to the door with a red tie in his mouth and meowed as though to say “you forgot it again…”
Squidward arrived at the Krusty Krab two hours later. By then, SpongeBob had already prepared the kitchen, restroom and dining area for service. All grease was scrubbed away; gum was scraped from the underside of tables; the cash in the register was organised and counted; even Squidward's “special nap time” pillow was vacuumed and fluffed and returned to its squished compartment in the serving boat. Behind the register, Squidward put on his Krusty Krab hat and waited for Eugene to flip the closed sign to open and prayed that it would be before he had another awkward encounter with… him.
It was two days ago when it happened. It was a quiet hour after the lunch rush had concluded with a bang and the restaurant was empty. SpongeBob had finished washing a stack of plates while Squidward had collected all the scrap to recycle to petfood to sell to the local worm pound. Simultaneously, they had gone for the door connecting the kitchen and the dining area, and subsequently - and expectantly - bumped into each other. Plates and scraps went flying, meshing in the air like a sickly dance of the clean and the fetid, landing in a cacophony that summoned their boss.
When Eugene arrived at the scene of the crime, SpongeBob and Squidward were pulling apart, the blush on one's face as bright and hot as the other's. Standing amidst the mess and shards of plates, they looked like partners in crime - not very good criminals, but partners in it nonetheless. He shouted at them to clean up the mess and get back to work, but when they did that, they happened to reach for the same shards and the same scraps, stuttering when they apologised and stammering over each other when communicating. It was a mess. Eugene pulled up his pants and ordered SpongeBob to collect the plates, glue the broken ones together, and wash them all until they sparkled. Then he ordered Squidward to gather all the scraps and roll them into a ball and put it where it belongs: a little rubbish bin designated for petfood scraps
In the present, Squidward shuddered at the memory as a tingling sensation grew in his ribcage and took flight like a butterfly, flapping exultant wings that rattled the disappointment of a lifetime that'd grown around his ribs like vines and ice. He perked when the doorbell rang but it wasn't a customer, it was the new employee, Tina, who'd been interviewed yesterday. It appears Eugene was moving forward with her for a trial shift. ‘Good morning, Tina,’ he said when she approached him. ‘You're early, aren't you?’
‘I guess so.’ She stood as awkwardly as she spoke, which was very awkward. Her bulbous nose protruded between the thick black glasses that magnified her eyes. Her skin was an olive green, over which she wore an off-white shirt, no doubt just a dirty white shirt, and a loose pair of brown trousers, which looked like hand-me-downs from her uncle.
Just from looking, it was easy to gouge that she was shy and that she had no experience, which didn't make a very good duo. Yet, beyond that, it was easy to make out that she was also a hard worker and eager to learn. Excited, even, just as SpongeBob is. It also helped that her uncle, Tony, helped them stop the Merman, Squidward figured. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘why don't you go see SpongeBob in the back? He'll get you your uniform.’
The sea turtle nodded, then shuffled her way into the kitchen.
Squidward pulled up his art magazine of the month, flapped the specks of dust off of it, and sighed. ‘Kids today…’
SpongeBob hadn't met Tina yet, he had been too busy for the majority of the week doing anything and everything to keep his mind occupied and stimulated. He often found jobs where they weren't, often creating them just for something to do. He was doing one of these “nothing jobs” when Tina approached him. What was the job? Organising the patties in the freezer from smallest to largest, of course, as any sane sponge would do with his free time between serving customers.
‘Hi?’ Tina asked, unsure whether this was SpongeBob. He was a sponge and he was square, so it must be him. Right?
SpongeBob kept organising the patties, moving on to the next crate now. Like an insane fish, he muttered things to himself too quietly for Tina to her.
‘Um, hello?’ she asked, tapping him on the shoulder to catch his attention if her words could not. Upon touch, he leapt into the air like a startled sea snail and shrieked like one, too. When he landed, he chuckled and wiped the non-existent sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Phew, it's just you,’ he said, double-taking at the stranger in his freezer. ‘Wait, who are you? Squidward, there's a stranger in here! Squidwa-’
‘Actually, I'm here for my uniform.’
SpongeBob blinked long and hard at the sea turtle he'd never seen. ‘Really? You work here? But I've never seen you before. Or heard of you?’ Cogs turned in his head. ‘Oh, oh! Are you a ghost?’
‘A ghost?’ Tina shook her head, giggling. ‘No, I'm Tina!’
SpongeBob scratched his head, then struck it to knock some sense into it. Recognition lit up his face. ‘Oh, Tina the Sea Turtle! Like Tony!’
‘That's me, heh…’
SpongeBob guided her out of the freezer and to a little cupboard in the kitchen, which scraped open like a knife against steel. Tina asked him what was in there, as it was too dark inside to see, to which he chuckled and said, ‘your uniform, silly!’
But what SpongeBob pulled out was anything but a uniform. It was a soggy, chewed-up, mouldy hat, if a hat it still was. Tina gagged and shut her eyes, pleading him to throw it away. He did. What came out next was even worse, so, so much worse that I won't describe it. Disgusting hat after hat was pulled out until SpongeBob's fingers latched onto the right one and he gasped at the feel of it. ‘This is it!’ he yelled.
Tina braced herself for something wicked, something despicable, something…
‘Your uniform!’ SpongeBob announced, pulling out a fresh, clean, un-worn Krusty Krab employee hat, identical to the very one on his own head. The one in his hand seemed to shine, lights beaming from behind it, somehow calling her to take it… to wear it… to own it.
Like a magician, she snatched it from the poriferan's yellow hand in a blink and it was upon her head. It looked perfect, though there wasn't a mirror, so she had to find a grimy pot to see her reflection. ‘Thankd, SpongeBob!’ she chriped, locking her hands to her left and jumping up onto one foot.
But SpongeBob was already back to work flipping patties at the grill, as orders had come through while they'd been uniform hunting. When she asked him what to do, he told her to see Squidward for instructions. But, typically, when she returned to the serving boat, Squidward was busy, too, and told her to go see the manager for a job. Then Tina asked him why he is avoiding SpongeBob.
Squidward paused, tentacle suspended over the cash register button. ‘I'm not… “avoiding” him,’ he said before pushing the button and putting the current customer's cash inside. Sparing a moment before serving the next, he asked her why she's nosy, reminding her that she didn't even have a nose.
‘I do!’ she protested but nevertheless left him to walk to the boss’ office, feeling rather insecure about the bump she had for a nose. Through the door, she could hear Mr Krabs’ humming, which was often interrupted by grunting. Angry grunting. She paused outside the door and could hear him tearing paper up and swearing to himself. She spun on her heel, not quite so eager to disturb the disgruntled crab. That was when she saw her first job…
It was a customer, an olive-scaled fish with brown pants, who didn't have any napkins and was clearly bothered by having nothing to wipe their hands on. They slumped in their seat and gazed down at their trousers, sighing at the travesty to come. Like a kill trigger, she darted to the napkin dispenser by the abandoned drive-through window and back to the customer, presenting him with the napkins before his fins could reach his brown pants. ‘Would you like some napkins, sir?’ she asked, kneeling akin to a knight kneeling before his prince.
The customer's eyes lit up. ‘For… for me? But I haven't even broken my leg yet today!’
‘Anything for the customer!’ Tina reassured, happy to be of service. She stood when he grabbed a few and smiled when he wiped his fins on them. However, she froze when he leapt up onto the table, knocking his plate over and sending it spinning by the table edge; it fell with a clap and he began to sing, filling the Krusty Krab with his sonorous song.
‘Hey, look, Fred's about to sing!’ a female squid at another table announced.
Fred, the olive-scaled fish, began to sing on the table, then spin in circles until he was a blur like a ceiling fan. Tina stepped back, unsure what was happening and a little afraid he would spontaneously combust. Then he was still, and somehow wearing a top hat and tuxedo and holding a cane, which he leaned on to draw a deep breath, before leaning back and letting loose his full lungs in an operatic display of brilliance.
Hey, all you people!
Hey, hey all you people!
Why, why, why, why won't you listen to meeeeee?
Fred tapped his cane, creating a rhythm at which people began to nod their heads to and stamp their feet, shaking the very floor. For the first time today, SpongeBob peered through the serving window. Now Fred leapt down from the table and ran around the tables, practically sliding on the splintered wooden floorboards, and singing once again.
It's so, so great
Great to be me!
Hey, all you people, don't you ask why?
That's right, I see you nodding!
Well, won't you listen to meeeee?
He circled back to Tina and grabbed her hand, spinning her like a ballerina. Despite her red face and her utter embarrassment, stress, and shame, she played along with the singing fish.
It all began with this girl
This turtle, see, she ain't no ordinary turtle!
See, won't you listen to meee!
Why, I had no napkins
No, people, none at all!
Then she appeared, like an angel, an angel with napkins for wings!
Oh, don't you see
Won't you listen to meeeee?
Hey, hey you, turtle girl, what's your name!
‘T-Tina,’ she whispered. He leant closer, not having heard it. She repeated herself a little louder. He pretended not to her her again, so she screamed it. Fred spun away from her and slid on his knees to the centre of the dinery like a rockstar, and bellowed:
TIIIINAAAAAAAAA, LAAA, LA, LAAAAAAAA!!!
The Krusty Krab exploded with applause. Squidward stood breathless behind the cash register while SpongeBob peered over him, also breathless. Then the poriferan breathed and Squidward turned his head so fast his wiry neck nearly snapped in half. It was just a mere glance, a fraction of a second, before SpongeBob slipped out of the window and back into the depths of his kitchen, but it felt like an eternity; an endless dance between two tortured souls who only have themselves to blame.
Just like that, the customers returned to their business, chowing down krabby patties in peace, while Fred left the restaurant and went about his day. Tina was left on the dance floor of an empty club, her green face turned red from embarrassment. As though to save her from the aftermath of a song and dance, the door to the manager's door slammed open and out stuck his red head.
WHAM!!!
Tina turned to the blast, as did the customers and Squidward. SpongeBob, hiding in the kitchen, started and waited for more. There was always more in the Krusty Krab, and this time, it was the barking voice of Eugene Krabs that followed. In that order, he only shouted three words, “SpongeBob, Squidward, office!”.
Squidward stepped out of the serving boat and toward the manager's office. At that very moment, SpongeBob stepped out of the kitchen to do the same thing. Tina watched them and, as they passed her, asked the two, ‘What do I do, Mr SpongeBob and Mr Squidward?’
‘I don't care. Do whatever you want,’ the grouchy cashier muttered.
‘Do your best! And whatever you love!’ the fry cook chirped, winking.
Then her two coworkers disappeared into the manager's office leaving her to deal with a customer that just stumbled through the door. It was a he, and it was pink. Lardy also, as well as pink. And did I mention that he was pink? Like really, really pink?
‘You… you work here?’ the customer asked her, wiping drool from his mouth and sucking it off his hand like a popsicle.
Tina looked around. ‘A-Are you… talking to me?’ she stammered.
‘Mhmmm.’
‘O-Of course I work here! See, I have the hat to prove it.’
The customer squinted at the headwear, tapping the rolls of blubber he has for chins, and murmured, ‘Looks authentic. Hm. Looks like SpongeBob's alright!’
‘You know SpongeBob?’ Tina asked, happy to have something in common with this grotesque and absurd starfish of a man.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. ‘Of course I know SpongeBob, I'm his best friend! You know, Patrick!’ Tina shook her head. ‘I'm the guy on the computer, the guy… the guy… Whatever! I'm Patrick Star!’
Tina let out an “ohhhhh” as it clicked in her head. ‘You're the Patrick, aren't you? The one my uncle knows!’ The starfish hummed stupidly to convey his confusion, so Tina clarified. ‘My uncle, Tony. He told me you were roommates with him and that you guys worked together in Crystal Gulch. Some job in a mine or whatever.’
‘Who?’ Patrick asked, genuinely, sincerely confused. He scratched his head and groaned in thought, and that was when Tina knew he wasn't joking.
‘Tony the Turtle. The Sea Turtle,’ she attempted to remind him to no avail. She snapped her fingers and exclaimed, ‘he told me he beat you in a devilled egg-eating competition!’
The foundations of Patrick's face collapsed into a grimace. ‘He did not beat me,’ he whispered angrily through his teeth. Now Tina knew he remembered who her uncle was, and though the starfish was furious, she couldn't hold back a victorious smirk.
Meanwhile, inside the manager's office…
Squidward sat on the chair opposite Eugene while Squidward stood abreast bim. When they'd initially entered, they had gone for the same barrel-cushioned seat, bumping their behinds into each other. “S-sorry!” they'd both stuttered, blushing harder than the fire in the stove. Eugene cleared his throat, so SpongeBob insisted he sit on it, and while Squidward was reluctant to at first, he ultimately did upon noticing Eugene's glare. Now they were listening to their boss ramble about “net income” and “lost profit.” At some point he said “buried treasure” but it was so nonsensical that neither of them could decipher it.
‘Now hold on just a second,’ Squidward interrupted his boss. Eugene froze, eyes locked on his cashier, who continued. ‘What are you talking about? We can't understand a single thing you're saying.’
Eugene looked at SpongeBob.
The poriferan shrugged. ‘Squidward's right, Mr Krabs. What are you talking about?’
Eugene stood up. ‘I'm talkin’ about that no-good thief and fraud Howard Blandy!’ When his employees didn't nod, he explained in greater detail, walking to and fro across the room like a military instructor giving a speech to greenhorn cadets. ‘Howard Blandy, as whom you know, made a bet with me before I turned on the Sons a’ Neptune. And being the money makin' genius that I am, a'course I won.’
Squidward sighed and examined his tentacle, a habit he'd picked up from his ex-boyfriend, Squilliam. ‘Big deal. The chump owes you money, so what? It's not your problem.’
Eugene screeched to a halt, practically scorching stalk marks into the green floorboards. He shot daggers at Squidward. ‘Not my problem?’ he repeated in a low growl. ‘Not my… not my problem, heh? Squidward?’
Squidward was beginning to feel nervous. ‘Well, that's what I-’
Eugene slammed his claws on his chest-table and roared, ‘of course it's my problem, Mr Squidward!’
SpongeBob and Squidward exchanged a glance. Their boss was almost frothing at the mouth. Seething. Nothing was going to calm him down until he got the money he deserved.
‘Uh, excuse me, Mr Krabs,’ SpongeBob squeaked, holding up his index finger placatively so as not to incur his boss’ wrath. ‘How exactly is it your problem? And uh, sir, why are you telling us?’
‘Because I want that money,’ Eugene said as he slowly lowered his buttocks down on the cushioned seat. ‘Now, SpongeBob, why don't you-’
Knock, knock!
‘What is it?!’ Eugene barked.
The door to the dining area opened and Tina stuck her green head in. ‘Um, excuse me, Mr Boss, but… there's a problem.’
‘What problem?’
‘There's a line.’
‘And?’
Tina winced as though the next words burnt her tongue as they came out. ‘I don't know how to use the register or cook burgers… yet.’
SpongeBob made to sit up but froze when Eugene barked his name. ‘Yes, Mr Krabs?’ the poriferan asked.
‘Take the customer's orders, fry them up, and cook them. Show Tina how, too,’ the crab added, humming in thought between words. Then close the shop and do the deliveries. Oh, and take the turtle with ye. Understanderer?’
‘But we do deliveries at the end of the day, Mr Krabs,’ SpongeBob protested.
‘Just do ‘em, lad,’ Eugene sighed, shooeing him off with a flick of his claw. ‘Go, go, boy-o!’
SpongeBob glanced at Squidward, who shrugged at him, then hopped off of his seat and saluted at his boss. ‘Aye-aye, Captain Krabs!’ and marched toward the door, joining Tina outside and closing the door behind him.
‘What's this about, Eugene?’ Squidward questioned, turning back to his boss.
Eugene turned on the lamp and suddenly the room was darker, the lamp shining into Squidward's eyes, forcing him to squint and raise an arm. ‘I have a mission for ye and the boy...’ the crab said.
Outside, SpongeBob and Tina ran to the serving boat. Six customers, five fish and a dolphin, had formed a line at the register. SpongeBob and Tina were both able to fit in the boat so he got right to work showing her how to write down an order, stab it on the pin on the serving window sill, as well as open the register, count cash, add the cash, take out the change, and close the register. After the first customer, she was able to do it on her own. SpongeBob then dashed to the grill and fired up the first order: one krabby patty. Then Tina stabbed the next order onto the pin and he began firing it up: a krabby patty with fries. Then the next order was ready, and the next, and the next, until the line was gone and the customers were walking out of the Krusty Krab with their lunches in paper bags.
SpongeBob walked out of the kitchen and dusted his hands. ‘Now that that's done,’ he said, ‘let's start on the deliveries. Huh, Tina?’
‘Yes, sir!’ Tina saluted, happy to have finally begun her training. ‘What's the first thing we do?’
‘Follow me and you'll see. Trust me,’ the fry cook said with a cocky chuckle, ‘it's pretty sweeeet.’
Across the room…
‘Sweet?’ Tina asked in disbelief, very much like how Squidward would. Or Plankton. ‘How is that sweet? You just flipped the sign from “open” to “closed.”
‘Trust me, kid,’ SpongeBob chuckled, ‘you'll get it one day. The power to close a shop with the flip of a sign? Yeah, that's the good stuff.’
‘If you say so,’ she said. ‘So, Mr SpongeBob, where's your boat?’
‘Boat?’ SpongeBob asked, stunned. ‘What boat?’
‘Well, we're doing deliveries, aren't we? How else can you-’
SpongeBob laughed arrogantly, interrupting her. ‘Trust me, kid, it's much better than a - pffft - boat. Follow me and you'll see.’
After frying up the orders, SpongeBob led Tina to the back of the restaurant and out the back door to the dumpster, at which she swatted the stench away from her nostrils. ‘There's nothing here but a rubbish bin!’ she complained. ‘Where's the boat?’
SpongeBob laughed again, arrogantly again, and walked to the dumpster - no, behind it - and came out with a bicycle. Not just any bicycle, but a tandem bicycle. A bike with two seats! ‘Ta-da! It's the Krusty Krabcycle!’ SpongeBob cheered as though the rusty, falling-apart contraption was a glorious gift and not a hunk of junk. A mirror fell off the handle, the tape and glue holding it in place failing; it shattered on the floor but the poriferan didn't let that ruin the surprise.
‘Is this a joke?’ Tina asked, puzzled. ‘How are we supposed to make it around town on this thing before the food gets cold?’
SpongeBob put the giant bag of orders on the back and hopped on the front seat. After ringing the bell just once, he said, ‘that's the best part… you don't!’
What Tina didn't understand about SpongeBob, as she had only just met him, was that he was no stranger to the insane. The impossible. In fact, he often did the impossible. The unachievable. In actual fact, he was the insane, the impossible, but not because he was so extraordinary or talented, but because he never gave up. Ever. Especially when his friends or the Krusty Krab was at stake. If SpongeBob loved someone or something, he would never let them go without a fight. And a fight he gave riding through the streets of Bikini Bottom. Some were busy, some were quiet, and some were REALLY busy.
They weaved between schools of fish and threaded them, too. Sometimes they rode through the roads, threading the gap between cars with the precision of a needle. Clearly, SpongeBob had done this a lot. He was cool, calm and collected, a stark contrast to his new co-worker, who was screaming and shrieking like a banshee at every close call. Now, SpongeBob skid around a corner, the angle so slow they could kiss the floor. Tina gasped for water when they sprung back to an upright position. ‘Are you trying to get us killed?’ she yelled.
Then the bike stopped and she flew face-long into the poriferan's spongy back with a squeak and stuck to it like gum to the underside of a foot. ‘What's that?’ SpongeBob asked, turning around but not seeing anyone. ‘Tina, where'd you go?’
‘I'm…here…’
‘Oh!’ SpongeBob trilled before pulling her off his back and straightening her out on the pavement. ‘Come on, Tina, we don't have all say!’
‘Aye-aye, Mr Sponge,’ she groaned dizzily as she stumbled after him toward the customer's address, a regular Bikini Bottomite house.
SpongeBob knocked on the door and it immediately opened. ‘Hi, Skiers!’ he chirped, motioning for Tina to hand the customer the Krusty Krab delivery bag. She did. ‘Here you go, sir!’
A fish of Tina's own complexion, only ever slightly paler, stood in the doorway. So regular of a fish he was that if you saw him in the background you could only think of him as an incidental. For some reason, she aligned him with the number twenty-seven. He wore a lavender shirt and a pair of deep blue shorts, which helped him stand out against the greenish metal of the walls inside.
‘I hope it's to your liking!’ she handed him the bag.
‘Me too, or else why would I order from that grease-trap?’ Skiers quipped as he took it from her and held it against his chest with one fin while fishing for his wallet with the other. He found it and plucked out the cost; SpongeBob motioned for Tina to take the cash, which she did, and which she felt irresponsible and immature holding. Like she might drop it and it might blow away in the wind or wash away into a storm drain.
SpongeBob turned on his heel and marched back to the bike. Tina did the same. As they walked, she heard Skiers cry out, ‘hey, SpongeBob, I'll see you at the doors convention!’
As they got on the Krusty Krabcycle, Tina asked her superior, ‘Hey, Mr SpongeBob, can I… ask you something?’
‘Of course, Tina!’
‘Was that customer mean to us or am I just… sensitive?’
SpongeBob wanted to laugh but didn't. He twisted so that he could look back at her and said, ‘You know, I used to think the same thing!’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah! But Mr Krabs told me that when someone is mean to you, it just means that they appreciate you!’
‘Wooooww,’ Tina gasped. ‘Your boss sounds really wise!’ Then she hummed. ‘So Squidward must really appreciate you, then.’
The nasally voice in SpongeBob's head, which had declared itself as his neighbour and co-worker, Squidward, made itself apparent with a cackle. ‘W-why's that?’ he settled on asking, ignoring it.
‘Because he said a bunch of mean things about you before my interview.’ Tina began counting them on her fingers. ‘Like annoying, stupid, immature, childish, a, uh, a crybaby, and a wet dogfish.’
And he's right, the malevolent Squidward in SpongeBob's voice said. But Squidward wouldn't say that, not since they became friends…
‘You okay, Mr SpongeBob?’ Tina asked, as her noisy superior had grown awfully quiet.
‘I'm okay,’ SpongeBob assured, forcing a smile. ‘Where's the list again? We can't let the food go bad, right?’
‘Yes, sir!’ Tina shouted, taking the list from her trouser pocket and reading the next address aloud.
Meanwhile…
Why did you say all those mean things about SpongeBob? Squidward interrogated himself inwardly as he began scratching at itch on his nose. And dear Neptune, why is my nose so itchy? It's like I have acne all over again!
‘Ye listernering, Mr Squidward?’ Eugene barked, startling the cashier and rousing an insincere nod from him. ‘Well, anyway, as I was saying, I made a bet with Blandy and he flaked on me. Skipped town, that bilgewater rat! Now listen, Mr Squidward, according to my information he's hiding out in the casino district. And no, I can't let him get away without paying his due!’
‘H-How much is his due?’’ Squidward asked, hoping it was a small amount. Small enough for Eugene to let it go; Eugene, however, wouldn't let go of a single dime. Or sixty-two cents. No, this crab was so stubborn he would let the whole world burn and an Alaskan Bull Worm eat them all alive than give up a quarter.
Eugene looked around as though afraid someone might overhear him and whispered, ‘a hundred large.’
‘A hundred?’ Squidward gasped. ‘How did he agree to a hundred thousand dollar bet?’
Eugene blinked and scratched his head. ‘What's this about a hundred thousand now?’
‘A hundred large!’ the cashier cried out. ‘A hundred large means a hundred thousand dollars, Eugene!’ He groaned and sunk back into the barrel-seat. ‘You seriously expect me to go across the ocean to Jetsam City just to fetch you a hundred dollars? Really, Eugene?’
‘Yes.’
‘But-’
‘No butts, Mr Squidward!’ The crab crossed his arms and turned his nose away pompously. ‘Or else yer fired.’
I hate my life, Squidward thought but stood and said, ‘fine. But you're paying me for the time I'm gone. Deal?’ Eugene contemplated it, but he snarled, ‘it is a non-negotiable, Mr Krabs.’
‘Fine, fine!’ the old crab conceded, standing to shake his tentacle. ‘You know,’ he said as they shook hands for an unusually lengthy period, ‘from what I've heard, the city ain't so bad. It's got art, music and fish in swimsuits so tight you can see their-’
‘I get it!’ Squidward snapped. Heaving a sigh, he rubbed his head and said, ‘at least there'll be no SpongeBob…’
Then the handshake concluded and Squidward turned and began walking to the door. A trip across the ocean so soon after saving the world at Crystal Gulch? Well, he thought, at least you won't have to be with SpongeBob-
‘And you're takin’ SpongeBob with you.’
Oh, Barnacles! Squidward could feel an itch on his nose and hoped it wasn't his acne resurfacing. That was a whole ordeal when he was a teenager and he wasn't ready to deal with it all over again.
.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚.•⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚
Across town, SpongeBob and Tina were arriving at their last destination. It was a pirate boat in a tract of sand that'd been turned into a bar; shouts, yelling and brawling could be heard blasting from inside. Tina walked up to the structure and stared up at it. ‘What is this place?’ she asked.
SpongeBob sidled up beside her with a delivery bag bigger than his own face. ‘It's the Eyepatch ‘N Peg Leg,’ he said between grunts. ‘Hey, Tina, can you help me hold this?’
‘Sure!’ Tina chirped.
Just as her fingers reached for it, the entrance, a giant block of wood built into the hollowed hull, slid open and revealed the tall and broad figure of a pirate. A stinky breath rolled between sharp, frail teeth and growled, ‘and who be ye?’
‘T-T-Tina,’ the turtle stuttered. ‘W-We… have a…’
‘It's me,’ SpongeBob said, stuffing the bag into Tina's more than capable arms. ‘Porous Pete.’
The pirate in the entryway chuckled. ‘I can't believe it, it be Porous Pete! Hey, Burner Bernie, look, it's Porous Pete!’
A small pirate, barely taller than SpongeBob and Tina, stumbled up to entry from the murky room. ‘Well, I'll be a lyin’ parrot, Craig! Look, everyone, it be Porous Pete!’
Figures behind the two pirates raised their mugs and fists into the water and cheered, though most were laughing uncontrollably.
SpongeBob chuckled himself, though somewhat strained. ‘We're here to drop off a-’
‘Come!’ Craig urged. ‘Come see the barman, he'll get a kick out of this!’
‘Okay, but just for a second,’ SpongeBob agreed, growing nervous. ‘Tina, wait for me out here. I'll be right back!’
The door slid shut and the chorus of chaos and mutnity resumed. Through the wooden door, Tina could hear dancing (or was it fighting?) as well as feel the vibration of it. Behind her, the Krabcycle fell over onto the sand. With nothing else to do, she dropped the delivery bag and turned to lift it back up. Just as she kicked its stand out, there was a thunderclap from within the Eyepatch ‘N Peg Leg. She whirled on her heel at the sound of shouts and winced when the door slid open and SpongeBob dove out.
‘Where's the bag? Where's the bag!’ he cried, then got up upon seeing it, though as fast as his legs went round and round - becoming yellow boat wheels - he did not move. ‘Oh, barnacles!’ he swore as he realised he was held up in the water.
A pirate, bigger and broader than the one that'd greeted him in, held him above the sand. The pirate, for a pirate he certainly was, had crooked teeth and a broken nose. Definitely a pirate! Tina thought, not yet having the courage to move. ‘And where do you think you're goin’, Porous Pete?’ the pirate snarled in SpongeBob's ear. ‘Or should I say “SpongeBob?”’
‘Nowhere!’ the poriferan yelped. He wasn't held up by his shirt but rather his underwear.
‘What, no Captain Tough with you this time?’ the pirate teased, pouting in mockery. A whistle caught his attention, it was…
Tina hoisted the delivery bag onto her chest and yelled, ‘he's here for this!’ before running for momentum and pivoting in circles, skidding up sand as the bag became a whooshing blur.
The pirate who had SpongeBob in a wedgie looked at her and only had the time to gasp before it struck his face and sent him sliding back into the depths of the saloon. The bag's contents spilt, sliding further into the murky establishment and to the feet of the customers.
SpongeBob fell to his knees and then onto his flank, clutching at his sensitive spot. Tina helped him to his feet and back to the Krusty Krabcycle, where she assumed the front seat when they rode away. A pirate chased after them, the small one called Burner Bernie. He was yelling at them and waving something green in his hand, but he was too slow to get in hearing range. When they’d gone over the next hill, SpongeBob wheezed, ‘thank you… Tina,’ to which she responded with a grateful smile over her shoulder.
Back at the Krusty Krab, Squidward retreated to the restrooms and hid in a stall. As usual, it smelt bad, but he wasn't in the mood to care for smells; his brain was on plunged in oil and lit aflame. Why, oh why! he exclaimed inwardly. Why did you just have to think SpongeBob wouldn't be coming!
There was a sound in the stall next to him - a deep sort of groaning, sort of snoring sound - but he didn't pay any mind to it.
Of course he has to come! I mean, why not? For Neptune's sake, why do the gods punish me so? What did I ever do?
The wooden frame of the stalls rattled as another groan emitted from the stall beside his.
And what's that hideous sound again? If I have to-
Another groan, louder and deeper than the others.
That's it! Squidward declared inwardly, marching out of his stall and knocking on the one the sounds have been coming from. ‘Open up, whoever is in there! Don't you know the Krusty Krab is closed? I'm just trying to enjoy some peace and quiet-’
The door swung open when he knocked on it too hard, revealing Patrick sleeping on the potty. Just as the horrendous sight bleached his eyeballs, an equally putrid scent assaulted his nostrils and propelled him back against the wall.
‘What in the fish paste?!’ Squidward shrieked, clamping his nose tight and choking.
Patrick roused, blinking slowly at first then quickly until he remembered where he was. ‘Oh, I'm gonna be late for lunch!’ he cried, jumping off the toilet and running for the exit with toilet paper swirling from his foot like a ribbon dancer.
Squidward found Patrick leaning on the doors of the dining area with his pink head pressed into the cold glass. He muttered, his hot breath fogging the clear door. With a sigh, the octopus asked him, ‘what are you doing now, Patrick? First you assault me in the restroom and now you waste my afternoon. How can it get any worse?’
Then, through the window, he saw it come over the hill… the Krusty Krabcycle! Squidward knew at once what that meant. Dread struck him like a truck.
‘SpongeBob!’ Patrick cheered, while Squidward shuddered at the realisation. If having Patrick in the Krusty Krab wasn't bad enough, now there'd be two bumbling idiots and Squidward would take the blame!
Now, SpongeBob and his apprentice, Tina, were closer. Without even thinking, Squidward grabbed Patrick by his stubby hand and yanked him toward the kitchen; the starfish kicked and growled but the octopus prevailed, dragging him into the kitchen and throwing him out the back door into the dumpster like a full bag of rubbish. A bit harsh, he thought as he locked the back door, but he argued that Patrick practically lives in a dump and quite literally dumpster dives for a living.
‘Squidward! Mr Krabs!’ that annoying, delightful - I mean annoying - voice called out from the dining area.
Squidward thought of hiding in the freezer but fought against it, instead making himself apparent to the sponge and turtle. ‘Hi, Sponge…Bob!’ he chirped, acting overly kind after appearing from the kitchen.
‘Hi, Squidward!’ SpongeBob greeted in return. ‘We finished the deliveries. Where's Mr Krabs?.
Squidward drew a deep breath to stay calm and-
What's that? he asked himself inwardly. Are you… blushing, Squiddy?
‘No!’ he yelled at his own thoughts. Remembering he wasn't alone, and that Tina now cocked an eyebrow, he recorrected himself. ‘No, I mean. Mr Krabs is busy with something and has tasked me to tell you the… the news!’
‘Okay…’ The sponge gulped, ready for bad news. ‘What is it, Squidward?’
‘It's a special job, really,’ the cashier recontexualised. ‘It's an honour actually when you think about it. Like, like how Squilliam trusted us to save the world! Remember that? Its just like that, I guess… is what I'm trying to say. A-And, well, it's-’
‘Special?’ SpongeBob echoed, waiting patiently for more.
‘We're going to Jetsam City tomorrow morning!’ Squidward blurted, unsure how to phrase it. It was a heck of a sentence and there was no short way about it.
SpongeBob didn't cheer, though. It seemed to send him into a fit of shock, as he stood there slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Tina, though, seemed to have questions. She sidled up beside her superior and asked, ‘why are you going to Jetsam City, Mr Squidward?’
‘Because Mr Krabs said so.’ It seemed like both Tina and SpongeBob wanted to know the real reason why. ‘Because,’ he sighed, ‘he won a bet with Howard Blandy and the bugger fled town. He wants his money back, understand?’
‘How much money?’ Tina asked.
A sensible question, Squidward agreed, indulging it. ‘A hundred large.’
‘A hundred large!?’
‘I mean a hundred dollars!’ Squidward corrected, Eugene's own sense of financial-hyperbole having rubbed off on him. Before he could be asked why he'd said “a hundred large,” he added, ‘it's just what Mr Krabs said. Take it up with the big boss, not me.’
The whole while, SpongeBob had been silent. No, not silent, but non-verbal… Throughout the conversation between turtle and octopus, an unidentifiable energy had been growing within him into an unquantifiable amount - that energy being excitement and joy and wonder (and love), basically everything that made SpongeBob… well, SpongeBob.
‘You okay, Mr SpongeBob?’ Tina asked, looking to Squidward for help when she got no response.
The cashier groaned, though not one of impatience. He knelt before the sponge and told Tina, ‘it's a happy-attack. Or so he likes to call it.’
‘A happy attack?’ she repeated, curious as she was worried.
‘Something like that, anyway.’ Squidward put his arms on his co-worker's shoulders and-
SpongeBob slipped out of his grip and became a yellow blur launching upward. ‘YIPEEEEE!!!!’ he screamed with all the water in his lungs before he came back down in a fit of giggles.
Squidward was still recovering from the sudden burst of energy, having so little of it himself. ‘One day you'll scare me to death!’ he reprimanded the fry cook, though was somewhat relieved he was moving again. And happy, even if that was something alien to him.
Tina laughed with SpongeBob. She gasped when he grabbed her hand and ran sidelong in a circle, but resumed laughing when they fell into a circular rhythm. When they stopped, Squidward asked them what was so funny, to which Tina shrugged, heaving breaths in recovery, while SpongeBob simply said, ‘I'm ready!’
Squidward gulped, feeling that itch on his nose again. I'm not ready…