You can run but you can't hide, when dreams and reality collide. One-shot. SB-x-Squid.
This was suppose to be an exclusive gift-fic for a DeviantArt user. But because it fits the occasion and I feel like a change, here it is on FFNet.
Rated T for drinking and lemon.
Disclaimer: Is SpongeBob mine or is he Steven Hillenburg's? A little from column A, a little from column B.
The worst part about it all was that Squidward was unable to scream.
And oh, how he wanted to. He'd had nightmares before now, each one of them scarier than another; but this one would stick out like a sore tentacle. Every second of it ran like a film at the back of his mind, a film from which he was unable to escape.
And it was surprisingly detailed. Usually dreams of any sort flit into the head and out again with no memory the next day, but it rang clear and strong at every second, ingraining itself into his already-contaminated brain circuit.
Believe me, he wanted to scream, so loud that it could somehow wake him up.
But as nightmares go, there was no such luck.
How had it begun again?
Well, the dream itself had started as a mundane day at work, each customer blurring into the next, but it was hard to tell where the pleasantness ended and the terror began.
Maybe it was the invitation to a house party at SpongeBob's place after work, the one in the purple envelope with gold trimmings. He should have felt a black hole in his gut from the moment he looked at it, though at that point he hadn't noticed anything strange about it.
Or maybe the nightmare had skipped to closing time at 6:02, when SpongeBrat confirmed that there would be alcohol. At least that should have seemed a bit out of place, even in a dream.
Or perhaps Mr Dream Man had spiked the punch, or infiltrated the DJ system. He could see himself up there, knocking back drink after drink after drink, each one containing a distinctive lemon flavor.
How ironic that he could remember envelope colors and drink flavorings, and yet be unable to place exactly when the dream descended into nightmare proportions.
Only one thing was for certain in his mind – it had definitely gotten a good strong grip for the latter part. Ugh – look at himself. He was stumbling around like a lunatic. And that moment when he removed his shirt and decided in his drunken state to go on a streaking session outside…
Dreams are supposed to have meanings, but who could find a reason and rhyme for imagining up this?!
Or for that moment when the terror took a 90-degree turn downward, as his drunken doppelganger grabbed SpongeBob close and kissed him? At that point, he thought he'd actually shuddered.
Admittedly he couldn't remember much of it after that, though he knew that it constituted of sex… just sex.
but as they say, it happens.
Yet, that was the only good moment about the whole thing – it didn't happen. As he'd constantly reminded himself throughout, it was only a nightmare. Just a bad dream. He'd wake up soon; he'd carry on with life as if he never dreamt it. Of course, he might not go on the same way, but at least he'd go on.
…
Right?
Slowly, he woke up.
And that was when the nightmare dropped a bombshell – it wasn't over yet.
For a start, this wasn't his bed – nay, not even his bedroom he was sleeping in right now.
This was not his precious Clari slowly waking up next to him.
And – oh please tell me that was not a hand on his ---
Oh.
SpongeBob yawned. "Good morning, Squidward."
…
…
…
Oh.
Shrimp.
"AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!"