Squidward no Death Note (SpongeBob X Death Note)

"I'm a murderer," Squidward stammered, clutching his head in his suction-cup hands.

Lurala floated closer, perching on the bathroom counter as if she weighed nothing. "Breathe, Squiddy. It's not like you pushed him down a flight of stairs. You wrote a name. The Note did the rest."

He wiped his face with a towel and tried to stand straight. "He was annoying, yes, but—I didn't hate him. Not really."

Lurala tilted her head. "Then why'd you write his name?"

Squidward looked down at his trembling hands, shame creeping up his spine. "Because… because he wouldn't shut up. Because they never shut up. Do you have any idea what it's like living between those two?"

Lurala blinked.

He went on, the words tumbling out, thick with guilt and years of pent-up resentment. "Once, Patrick figured out that my ink made for some delicious lemonade. Not just any lemonade. He said it was 'like sweet summer lightning with a kiss of tart,' whatever that means. So he started scaring me. Chasing me. Trying to make me squirt. I couldn't even sleep without fearing some dumb prank that would have him squeezing me like a bottle of ketchup."

Lurala let out a rasping, guttural laugh. "Now that's messed up. I like it."

Squidward glared. "It wasn't funny."

"Maybe not then," she said, shrugging with a bat-winged flap. "But maybe now, without him around, you'll get some peace."

"I don't know what to do," Squidward muttered, voice cracking.

Lurala stood and floated just above the tile. "I'm just the dealer, darling. Not your conscience. Consider me a neutral third party. I can tell you how the notebook works, but not what to do with it. Maybe make a helpful suggestion, here and there. I don't care if you're the biggest saint or the biggest dirtbag in the world."

Squidward glanced at the Death Note from the bathroom, lying dark and silent on his nightstand. He swallowed hard, walked over, picked it up, and slipped it into the drawer beside his bed.

"I'm going to check on SpongeBob. You—stay here."

Lurala didn't respond.

When Squidward opened his front door, the night air was filled with tension. Blue, white, and red emergency lights flashed down the street. And there, in SpongeBob's backyard, was a white body bag being gently zipped up and wheeled toward the waiting ambulance.

SpongeBob was on his knees, bawling, his nose running into the grass. Two other paramedic fish stood awkwardly nearby.

Squidward stepped outside. "Hey… SpongeBob."

SpongeBob looked up, his big blue eyes red and puffy. "How did this happen, Squidward? P-Patrick… he just—he stopped breathing, Squidward. H-he grabbed his chest and—and fell and—"

"I know," Squidward said softly. "It's okay. You're not alone."

Lurala drifted behind him like a shadow, unseen by the rest. She whistled low as she passed the paramedics. "Nice clean work," she muttered.

Squidward gritted his teeth and ignored her, not caring about how nobody else was acknowledging her presence. He gently guided SpongeBob away from the scene. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

He helped him into the pineapple house, cleaned up the half-assembled tent, doused the fire pit with a bucket of sand, and brought Gary over to sit in SpongeBob's lap.

"You've been really kind tonight," SpongeBob said through a snuffle, wrapping himself in a fuzzy jellyfish-print blanket. "You're a good friend, Squidward."

The words cut deeper than any insult ever had.

"Just get some sleep," Squidward said softly, tucking the blanket tighter around him.

He turned off the light and stepped outside, heart pounding.

Back in his own house, he slammed the door shut, wheeled on Lurala, and shoved the Death Note into her chest. "Take it. Just take it and go. I don't want this."

Lurala raised a brow. "You sure? I mean… one name, and your life already got quieter."

Squidward glared. "I feel like garbage."

"And yet," she said smoothly, "you're already thinking about how to use it next."

"I am not!"

Lurala smirked. "A certain crab come to mind?"

Squidward's expression faltered.

She leaned in close, breath like sea rot. "Just sleep on it, Squidward. The Krusty Krab isn't going to run itself."

And with that, she vanished into the shadows.

Squidward looked down at the drawer where the Death Note waited.

He didn't close it.