Squidward's eye twitched in irritation.
The loud, unending stream of pure unfiltered noise from the outside was bad enough without ruining his day. He glared at the floor, already perfected the path of confrontation to the lucky neighbor who had done nothing but make his life his personal hell. His lowered tentacles shook as he felt a migraine on its way. The grip to his Clarinet grew tighter by the second, conveniently quelling his desire to throw something in his frustration.
Leave it to his neighbor to make death seem more appealing than the sweet embrace of life. Sure, the kid can be quite useful at times, but he was still Spongebob: Excessive chatter, goofy dumb face, and enough naiveté to be at the age of a literal child. (How old is that little twerp, anyway?)
Another round of crying sent his tentacles an urgency to block off the noise, but to no avail.
"I'll give that little idiot a piece of my mind," he grumbled to himself with an unconsciously formed glare. With gritted teeth, he carefully stashed his beloved clarinet inside its custom-made holder before he stomped off to get his neighbor to stop the wails.
It was Sunday. Conclusion: It was Squidward's day off and time for relaxation. Or at least, it was supposed to be. That stupid Sponge just can't keep his stupid mouth shut, can he? And it wasn't even the happy squeal of excitement. Oh no. Even in his blubbering and crying, his neighbor didn't even have the decency to try and keep his whines to himself. How utterly inconsiderate! How was Squidward supposed to practice with all this incessant yapping!?
"For crying out loud," he muttered to himself, no pun intended, "Spongebob! Would you stop making a ruckus and be quiet for once!? I'm trying to play my clarinet, emphasis on trying." his voice dripped with his usual venom. His front door gave way easily, and Squidward slammed it forcefully for dramatic effect. Yes, he was angry, he was annoyed, but that's no excuse to not do an outrage in style. Ah yes. The curses of being a drama queen artist.
He shivered; the piercing cold from the outside water almost made him turn back. Either someone forgot to close the Krusty Krab freezer again or the winter season was picking up. As he recalled back the time where he stayed on a snow fort for hours, the safe guess would be that another iceberg was nearing town.
He glanced around quickly and saw nothing out of the ordinary, so Squidward went on to assume that he had done his job. The yellow nuisance must've gone inside his house, he mused. There's no point getting upset if nobody loses, he then assured himself, so in his indignation he decided to take matters into his own hands and to bring his self-justified fight to his co-worker.
With rolled eyes for good measure, he continued grumbling to himself about his idiotic acquaintance. He shut his door with a satisfying smack!, only for a lone piece of paper to fall off due to the intensity.
Who would pin such a stupid thing- Who was he kidding? Squidward's eyes once again twitched in irritation. He picked the paper to where it fell with an exaggerated groan. Sponge. Bob.
Honestly. If his driving teacher didn't kill that yellow nuisance first, Squidward would have to do that himself. Preferably soon.
The messy handwriting was familiar, given from all the idiotic messages he sometimes sent Squidward after receiving a customer's order. Or the rare times where the Sponge didn't think it was necessary to break into his house that day, and just leaves a letter. Or whenever he couldn't reach the Cephalopod's phone…
"Oh joy. I wonder what this could be." He said in a complete monotone. A sigh left him lost in a sea of hopelessness, suffocating him faster than he would've thought. Was there really no escape from his obnoxious and loud neighbor for the rest of his natural life? Heck, he wasn't even sure if he could escape the sponge in death.
'Couldn't find you and I think your phone is broken again so I just want to tell you: me and Patrick and Gary are visiting my parents! I'll see you back on work after the weekend, so you don't have to miss me. Love, Spongebob 3'
He stifled another protest that wouldn't be heard either way. Of course his phone wasn't broken, he thought to himself with an almost comical look of disbelief. Of course he'd lied to get Spongebob get off his back, and that he'd already blocked his neighbor's number in every type of communication device he has…
But if both of his neighbors were not present…
A sudden rustling jolted him from his thoughts. "Wh-Who's there?!" He all but shouted, the panic making him wary. He raised his tentacles in defense.
A quick look around confirmed that he was, indeed, alone. "Paranoid." He muttered to himself, the underwhelming turn of events making him feel… idiotic? Stupid was still a strong word, after all. He spared a quick glance at the window above him, his clarinet only a short walk inside. Maybe he just needs his music.
Music… was loud. The wailing he'd heard was loud. But eerily…
He shivered, but he wasn't quite sure if it had been because of the weather this time. There was an unnatural silence making the atmosphere go heavy. He trailed his eyes towards the sky, only noticing now how the sky grew darker even though it was only in the afternoon. Even the atmosphere feels gloomy, although that might be just the cold season picking up.
He gave a small shiver, storing the strange noise in the back of his mind-
A box.
A lone box was placed in front of his neighbor's house.
An innocently looking box used in everyday shipping, packaging or delivering. It was perfectly normal that Spongebob might have one in front of his door, especially if he is gone for the moment. But it felt off. Not that he'd memorized it or anything, but Squidward found it unsettling that the package didn't come with the usual colorful comics Spongebob usually subscribed to. The one about Fish Man and Baloney Boy? Well, whatever that was, why aren't those with this package here?
A familiar but unnamed emotion struck deep. Pain? No, he was well aware of that. Guilt? No, still not right.
It was the feeling that made his heart race, an overwhelming need to move. But do what? Why move?
He needs to-
He needs to….
Oh dear Neptune.
No.
No, no no no-
With shaking legs, he rushed towards the abandoned box, already fearing the worst.
So many times he'd seen this on the news. "Abandoned Snail freezes to Death", "Newborn Worms left to starve." He remembered the disgust, the physical restraint he needed to avoid smashing his Television, the hatred he has for fishkind, how everyone is cruel and apathetic to let helpless animals to die. Jellyfish can survive in the wild, also Scallops or Clams, but Snails? Amoeba Puppies? Worms? These are not just wild animals! They were meant to be domesticated. They were pets. And somehow… people only notice when it's too late.
Late or not, Squidward wasn't gonna be one of the people who never did anything. Perhaps he sympathized with the creature left to his own devices. Perhaps being treated like a bad person all the time was getting way too much. Maybe it was a way of tricking himself that he was better than everyone else. So what?!
Despite his thoughts which all flew through a million directions a minute; coupled by the nervousness that smacked him hard, he still ran.
His chest burned in response to the sudden movement- it had already been so long since he had to do any sort of rigorous exercise. He was painfully aware to the frantic thud-thud-thud of his heart, as well as the sweat drops forming on his forehead.
He still wasn't sure why he would attempt to save something- a meager animal that had no place in his life... Or maybe that was his fears talking. Maybe he was scared that he'd already failed? He doesn't know! Not entirely comforting, yet it was the truth. It's not like he just knew this day would come, with a simple thought like 'I may be a horrible person but I might save a dying animal one day so that still makes me good enough.' That does not happen in real life.
Or was it the nagging voice that suspiciously sounds like a certain person he knows? Perhaps the mental image of his coworker slumped in depression due to not being there to save something, an animale that he doesn't need to feel responsible about, was something Squidward didn't need or want to see.
The question why he would even think that, or do anything for SpongeBob's sake, was thrown to the wind as he ran faster than if he would've to save his clarinet (if his house was on fire), before he finally slumped over near the box.
His tentacle wasn't stable yet he reached inside and began to feel, then paused as he encountered a soft surface. The water around his tentacle was being pulled and pushed in a slow but rhythmic moment. Filtering water. Whatever it is, it was breathing.
It's alive.
"Gaah!" Squidward gasped and wheezed; he wasn't even aware that he was holding his breath. And followed by a sprint worthy of a marathon? Yup, his lungs was really enjoying this.
"Hold on," He muttered, the performance made his body want to fall over and just suffer the aftertaste. But he couldn't do that now. He did make a commitment to save this thing, no matter what it is.
He did allow himself to catch his breath for a while, and then fixed his position. He briefly wondered if had enough time to make up a sob story to make his neighbor adopt this thing, after all, he's still not and never will be a saint. He just transferred from not having a soul to a morally decent being, and in his book, that's already more than enough.
He shifted his tentacles so that he was fully facing the box. The tragic backstory of abandonment and the freezing or starving to death should do the trick, and he'll just have to keep this thing for a day or two until the Sponge arrives.
"And then I'll be home free practicing!" He mused aloud, mind alight of all the glorious possibilities. "Spongebob would have his hands full with this, he'll leave me alone for hours! Better yet, days!"
He pulled back the box flap.
The silence that followed after spoke louder than words.
It was not a Snail.
And he had no idea how to deal with this.