Squidward no Death Note (SpongeBob X Death Note)

The next morning, Squidward stood at his door with his Krusty Krab hat snug on his dome, clutching his timecard with all the passion of a man heading into a slow, public execution.

The break had been short-lived. Two days of quiet, self-indulgent bliss—over. The Krusty Krab was reopening.

What wasn't reopening, however, was SpongeBob SquarePants.

Normally by this time, SpongeBob would be bouncing in front of his pineapple, screaming "I'm ready! I'm ready!" like a cracked-out motivational speaker. But now? Nothing. Just silence.

Squidward blinked toward the pineapple-shaped house.

"…Weird."

Curiosity, or maybe actual concern, got the better of him. He shuffled across the sand and banged on the door with a tentacle.

"SpongeBob? You alive in there?"

No answer.

Frowning, he tried the handle. Unlocked.

He pushed the door open and immediately recoiled. The smell hit him like a chum-gas explosion.

Inside was a mess. No—worse than a mess. It was Armageddon.

All the lights were off. Dirty dishes piled high in the sink, green crust oozing off some of them. Sea urchins scurried across the floor, gnawing on old Krabby Patty wrappers. The living room looked like a frat house that had been swallowed and regurgitated by a sea monster.

"Holy Neptune…" Squidward muttered.

Gary sat in the corner, half-submerged in his own waste, bloated like a parade float from the mountain of food SpongeBob had dumped in his bowl. He stared up at Squidward with bloodshot snail-eyes and growled low.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Squidward said, inching forward. He extended a cautious tentacle and gently patted Gary on the shell.

The snail purred.

Then hissed violently at Lurala, who had floated in behind them.

She smiled dreamily. "He sees me. What an adorable little monster."

Squidward grimaced. "That's not comforting."

He climbed the staircase, calling out, "SpongeBob? Buddy?"

As soon as he reached the top, he was blasted back by an ungodly stench—a mix of hot gym socks, dead jellyfish, and… reefer.

He gagged. "Oh what the—"

The bedroom was dark, lit only by the static glow of a paused Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy episode. SpongeBob lay on his unmade bed in nothing but his tighty-whities, unshaven and glassy-eyed, a fat, soggy seaweed joint hanging from his mouth.

"Hey, Squid…" SpongeBob croaked, taking a puff and exhaling a swirling cloud of smoke. "You want some of this sea lettuce?"

Squidward's eye twitched. "What in Neptune's name are you doing?!"

"Chillin'," Sponge said, smoke curling out of his nose. "It's for my anxiety. Want a hit?"

"You have work," Squidward snapped, yanking the covers off the bed. "Mr. Krabs will gut us alive if we're late!"

"Krabs can eat a coral reef," SpongeBob muttered. "I'm not going in. I'm staying right here. Smoking seaweed. Watching reruns. Maybe gooning later."

"Gooning?" Squidward asked.

Lurala floated up beside him, eyes wide. "Don't ask. Don't ever ask."

SpongeBob rolled over and let out a low, greasy burp. "You're kind of chill right now, Squid. Wanna be my gooner buddy?"

"Absolutely not!" Squidward shouted, grabbing the sponge by the wrist. "You're getting up. You're taking a shower. You're going to work. You're not gonna rot in here like some cheese left in the sun!"

SpongeBob whimpered like a kicked clam, but eventually complied. After a hot shower, a toothbrush scraping, and a half-hearted slap to the face, he looked almost alive again. Squidward shoved a Krusty Krab uniform onto him and practically dragged him out the door.

By the time they reached the restaurant, a line had formed that spilled into the ocean. Customers chanted "KRA-BBY! KRA-BBY!" like it was a sporting event.

Mr. Krabs stood out front, veins popping from his forehead. "Where've ye been?! Get inside! Customers are foamin' at the mouth!"

As soon as he turned his back, SpongeBob flipped him off.

Squidward shoved him inside before Krabs could catch it. "Into the kitchen. Now."

SpongeBob grunted and shuffled to the grill, muttering something about "heatwaves and minimum wage."

Squidward took his post at the register, fake-smiling like his life depended on it.

The first tray of patties came out crooked, slightly burnt, and soggy with too much kelp sauce. They looked like rejects from a middle school science fair.

"Order up," Sponge grumbled, still puffing the joint as he flipped more.

Squidward sighed, handed the tray to the first customer—and waited.

The customer took a bite. Their eyes widened. They moaned.

"Ohhh Neptune… it's… amazing."

Squidward blinked. "Really?"

Others echoed the sentiment. "So smoky!" "Such bold flavor!" "This patty speaks to my soul!"

Squidward turned to look at SpongeBob. He was standing in a cloud of smoke, eyes half-lidded, flipping patties with one hand, hitting his joint with the other like a moody jazz musician.

"Is this… normal?" Squidward asked aloud.

Lurala hovered next to him, arms crossed. "Define normal."

Customers raved. Orders kept coming. Mr. Krabs wept with joy. SpongeBob didn't care.

And Squidward? He just stood there, dead-eyed behind the register, his forced smile trembling at the edges.

"Back to normal," he whispered.

Then he glanced at SpongeBob's empty stare.

"…Not by a long shot."