~A/N~ Hoorah! My first Spongebob fanfic! History in the making! Rated for murderous violence.
P.S- This story is a follow-up to that one episode when Spongebob thinks Patrick stole Ol' Reliable, but really didn't. For the life of me, I can't remember what that damn episode is called!
Distrust
Once, when he was but three years old, his pet worm, Rex, died from food poisoning. Though he didn't really understand the concept of death just then, he still knew that Rex was never coming back. He could remember the pain he felt as he laid in bed, peering down at the empty spot his deceased pet used to slumber, crying the biggest tears he had ever shed.
The starfish never thought he would be as sad, and as angry, as he was at that moment. And there he was, wrong.
How could Spongebob say that about me? Just accuse me of being a thief? Patrick looked at his friend's house from his backyard, holding the actual Ol' Reliable he had received. Sure, the sponge had shown he was sorry for blaming him, giving him the net as an apology gift. But the accusation still stung him on the inside, knowing that someone he had been best friends since kindergarten, could automatically think he would take his most cherished possession. Just what kind of friend does he think I am, anyways?
It wasn't like Spongebob had ever tried to take from him, either. Patrick remembered his secret box, the one with the string attached to a secret compartment of the inside of the box, which revealed one embarrassing picture of the sponge at the Christmas Party. He actually did attempt to steal from me! And he had the gull to call me a thief! How dare he!
Patrick tightened his grip of the net, pulling his lips away from his teeth, emitting a loud snarl. The familiar honk of the foghorn alarm rang out from the open window, and he could see Spongebob stir out of bed, goofy half-asleep smile on his face as he shut the horn off.
The yellow guy got out of bed, stretching, bending his back ever so slightly to hear it crack with pain, then pleasure. He peered out his window, and upon seeing the chubby pink star, he waved happily. "Patrick!" He called. "How are you this fine morning?"
"Fine," he managed to spit out, eyes seemingly stuck in a hateful glare. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
"Hold on, I'll be right out!" Spongebob yelled, noticing how upset his friend looked. Almost murderous-but no. He would never-would he? The new net, hanging above his bed as a reminder to never jump to conclusions again, and to always put trust into the ones he holds dearly, seemed to be glaring a warning at him. He couldn't possibly still be dwelling on that-could he? No.
He pulled open his closet door, and looked at the numerous pairs of brown shorts and white shirts, black shoes all neatly put into two rows, and red ties hanging from hooks on the sides of the closet doors. He pulled on the usual, desirable outfit that he seemed to never tire of, and skipped merrily down the steps, though his mind still held a shadow of doubt in the very back of his mind.
Yellow hands on the metal wheel, he span open the metal door (if it were a wooden door, it would float to the surface of the ocean. Like, duh!), and stepped out into the day. The water was particularly warm that day, sky (er, ocean surface?) clear as crystal. Flowing from the tiki abode next door, was the sour notes of Squidward's clarinet. Spongebob smiled- If looks could kill, I'd be dead right now- at Patrick. "Hi, friend. What's on your mind?"
"Jellyfishing." It came out gruff and angry, the starfish slightly tapping his the metallic net against his fin.
"Oh! Want me to get my special net?" He winked at the word special, grinning. Inside, he was screaming. Threatening. That's how he looks. Threatening…but I can trust him! He's Patrick for crying out loud! He'd never hurt me! He still doubted it. He did punch him in the eye before because he had called him 'tubby'.
"No. I want you to stay still." And with that said, he swung the handle of the net against the sponge's head, knocking him to the ground. Using the end, he shoved into one of the blue eyes, which had widen in fear. There was a popping sound, as it exploded out of the socket. Blood poured out like a running faucet. The red liquid sprayed Patrick, drenching his face with it. He licked it off, grinning sadistically, before throwing down the net on the dying body. "What do you say now, Spongebob? Do you still love your precious net so much?"
The sponge attempted to talk, but only blood gurgled from his lips, before his large blue eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he breathed his last breath. Patrick walked to his large rock, not giving it a second though, nor a second glance.