Squidward no Death Note (SpongeBob X Death Note)

The Krusty Krab was closed. For two whole days.

Officially, it was due to "incident cleanup" following the catastrophic explosion at the Chum Bucket — an event Bikini Bottom's news outlets had dubbed The Plankton Purge. Unofficially, it was from Mr. Krabs entering a depression after his rival's death. He felt better after receiving the money from the Plankton estate, however, and vowed to open after the two days.

Squidward was unbothered. He spent the unexpected weekend doing exactly what he always dreamed of: being left alone. With no SpongeBob. No screaming customers. No clarinet-shaming.

Just the gentle, airy scrape of his paintbrush on canvas, and the nasal, off-tune wail of his clarinet echoing through the stone walls of his Easter Island head.

It should've been perfect.

But it wasn't.

Across the way, Patrick's rock had been lifted clean off its foundation, and in its place sat a little white sign staked into the sand:

"For Sale: Cozy Dome that is perfect for stargazing. One prior resident. Spacious Basement.

Squidward stared at it longer than he cared to admit. Bikini Bottom was quieter without Patrick's screaming laughter and idiotic furniture. Too quiet. He hadn't even seen SpongeBob all day.

Normally, this would be cause for celebration. But…

He sighed, setting his clarinet down.

"I hate to say it," he muttered aloud, "but I'm really starting to worry about the little square freak."

From the shadows of his living room bookshelf, Lurala slithered out — her sickly green glow pulsing like a heartbeat across her undead mermaid body. "Aww, is someone growing a conscience?" she cooed, her voice syrupy and venomous all at once.

"I'm not growing anything," Squidward snapped, though the guilt in his tone betrayed him. "It's just—SpongeBob isn't right. He's... quiet."

"He lost his best friend," Lurala said, circling him. "The one creature who could tolerate his stupidity. It's only natural he'd grieve. You could... help him, you know."

Squidward narrowed his eyes. "How?"

"Kill him," she offered sweetly. "Put him out of his misery. Let him join his friend in the afterlife."

Squidward blinked. "Did Patrick even go to heaven?"

Lurala giggled. "Sort of. He's in a dimension where he stares at a jar of mayonnaise in a featureless white room. Forever."

Squidward paused. "...And he's fine with that?"

"Oh, completely," Lurala replied, smiling with teeth that didn't quite belong in a normal mouth. "He hasn't blinked in days. Total peace."

Squidward ran a tentacle down his face. "God…"

"No, no. Mayonnaise. Totally different entity."

He groaned, but before he could retort, there was a knock at his door.

Squidward frowned and slithered to the door, opening it just a crack. There stood Sandy Cheeks, still in her dome helmet, her tail swishing somberly.

"Howdy, Squidward," she said softly. "Sorry to drop in unexpected."

"What do you want?" Squidward asked, more tired than annoyed.

"I just wanted to check on SpongeBob," she said, glancing past him. "He hasn't been answering my calls. I know y'all live close. Thought maybe you'd seen him."

Squidward exhaled through his nose. "I have. He's... not okay. Quiet. Listless. Probably staring at empty jellyfishing nets."

Sandy nodded, the worry lines on her helmeted brow deepening. "I figured as much. It's just... Patrick's been mangled more times than a crab at a clam bake. He's survived explosions, bear attacks, being torn in half... but this time? He's really gone."

Squidward's throat tightened. "Yeah."

Sandy stepped closer. "I think something unnatural is going on, Squidward. Something's messing with the laws of Bikini Bottom. This isn't just a tragedy—it's tampering."

Lurala emerged in Squidward's periphery, grinning like a demon in an old Renaissance painting. "She knows," she hissed. "Kill her."

Squidward stiffened.

Sandy tilted her head. "You okay, partner?"

"I…" He clenched his fists. "I agree with you."

Sandy blinked. "You do?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "Something is wrong. I've felt it. The air's different. People are acting strange. There's a… darkness. And I—I want to help."

Lurala snarled in the back of his mind, her fury curling like smoke. "You're going soft, Squiddy. Disappointing."

Sandy placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad to hear that. I think... we might need each other, Squidward. If things keep spiraling, I don't think we can trust anyone else."

He nodded slowly, feeling the Death Note in his dresser drawer like a weight pulling on his soul.

"Yeah," he said. "Me neither."