Summary: Eugene learns where SpongeBob's love of cooking comes from.

Of Sponges and Men

"I am yours. No refunds." - Unknown

Eugene

I watch as SpongeBob slowly spins around, gazing at every corner of the Krusty Krab's dining room, a look of awe on his freckled face. His voice is so quiet that I can barely make out the words, "This is all mine."

Standing in the doorway of my office - his office now - I chuckle. "It sure is, lad."

Just moments ago, we had signed the forms that would transfer ownership of my restaurant, my pride and joy besides my daughter, to him, the little barnacle I love like a son. My heart swells as I recall the way he'd practically vibrated until closing, knowing that I'd finally obtained all the papers, just waiting for our signatures. Then, the way his demeanor changed as he'd signed his name for the last time, the realization setting in that the Krusty Krab was his now.

"The tables are mine," he continues, seemingly unaware that I'm standing two feet away from him. "The chairs are mine. The ceiling is mine." He flops down on the floorboards. "The floor is mine."

I swallow another laugh as I walk over and stare down at him. His manchild tendencies have really grown on me over the years. "All of it is yours, SpongeBob. Just don't forget about my ten percent cut of the profits." My lawyer wouldn't allow anything greater. I had a hell of a time negotiating for that much.

SpongeBob blinks out of his stupor and smiles up at me. "Don't worry, Mr. Krabs." He stands up and winks. "Maybe I'll even slip you a little extra from time to time."

I grin at the thought and wink back. "I won't tell if you won't." We laugh conspiratorially. "But, I'm not your boss anymore. Just call me Eugene."

He giggles. "I don't think I could do that, sir."

I shrug. "Well, either way. But, know this, me boy." I wrap my arm around him, speaking firmly. "The Krusty Krab isn't the only thing you're in charge of now. Your main priority is the Krabby Patty. Guard the formula with your life. It is Bikini Bottom's most valuable treasure. You and I both know what happens when the customers don't get their patties."

SpongeBob nods solemnly. Best case scenario: the customers storm out and don't spend their money on anything else we sell. Worst case: total apocalypse. I wish I was exaggerating.

"Promise me that you'll do whatever it takes to keep the Krusty Krab and, more importantly, the Krabby Patty Formula safe."

His skin feels clammy all of a sudden, but his brow is set in a determined line. "I'll make you proud, sir."

He already does, but I think he knows that. "That's me boy."

I release him and take another look around myself. Some people - cough Squidward cough - would call this place a dump, with its squeaky floorboards, streaked windows, perpetual smell of grease, not to mention the cheapest condiments, napkins, ex cetera that money can buy. I say it's homey, a place people can spend their money and relax.

But, mostly spend their money. I guess that's what I'll miss the most.

"This napkin is mine." SpongeBob's dazed state brings me back to reality as he now stands at the condiment section, taking napkin after napkin out of the dispenser and dropping each one on the floor. "And, this napkin is mine. And, this-"

"Alright, that's enough." I rush over, scoop up the napkins, and stuff them back in. Clearly, the boy needs a distraction. "I know! Why don't I fix you up a Krabby Patty for a change?"

SpongeBob grins. "Oh, I haven't had a Mr. Krabs Patty in forever!"

I lead SpongeBob into the kitchen, making a mental note to keep an eye on him in case he goes loopy on me again. Once we're in the kitchen, I turn on the grill and feel him go stiff beside me. I look down at him and see a glazed look in his normally bright blue eyes. This doesn't seem like the dreamy haze he was in mere moments ago. No, this is something I've never seen in SpongeBob before.

"I'd say, 'penny for your thoughts,'" I tell him, "but I ain't paying that."

He blinks, his expression unchanging. Curious, bordering on concerned, I watch as he breathes in deep then exhales. Even his voice sounds far away. "You know, I've been cooking since I could hold a spatula. Even before my mom let me help her in the kitchen, I would always watch her cook." He runs his hand over the knobs on the grill. "At first, it was just the anticipation. Mom always waited until Dad's shift was almost over, so he could come home to a hot meat. Her in the kitchen meant he would be home soon."

I nod, though he can't see it. I've never seen the lad...nostalgic before. It's a stark contrast from his usual carefree, goofball self.

"I'm not sure when, but it eventually turned into curiosity. One day, after she picked me up from kindergarten, I asked if I could help make dinner. We were supposed to have hamburgers that day. She showed me how to season the meat, shape the patties." He stares down at his hand, gripping something only he can see. "Then, as they were cooking, she put a spatula in my hand. She lifted me up, and I tried to flip one of the patties." A tiny smile graces his mouth. "It landed on the floor. I started crying, but Mom told me that even the greatest chefs in the ocean make mistakes. She let me flip the other ones." He giggles. "Those ones landed on the floor, too. I felt horrible, but Mom let me keep trying. We kept making new patties just so I could get one right." His giggles turn into outright laughter. "By the time Dad got home, we'd wasted all the meat and had to order pizza!"

I have to laugh with him at the image of a young SpongeBob and his mother surrounded by half-cooked meat. Reminds me of when my Pearl was a youngun, and she took all the frosting off her birthday cake and tried to re-frost it herself. She was only two, so one can imagine how that went.

Hard to believe she's married now.

SpongeBob sighs in contentment. "Every day after that Mom let me help her with dinner, and every day I found myself becoming more and more enthralled with the process." He smiles dreamily. "I'll never forget the day I flipped all the burgers all by myself, each one landing right where it should. I was so proud and so were my parents. They let me have extra dessert that night." Suddenly, he shakes his head, his yellow cheeks turning red, his smile turning sheepish. "I-I'm sorry. That all just kind of came out."

My heart warm as the grill, I pat his head. "No, no, lad. It was a very nice story. In fact, hearing how deeply your passion for food runs; why, I'm more convinced than ever that you're exactly the kind of man the Krusty Krab needs."

He finally meets my gaze. "What do you mean, sir?"

I swing my free claw through the air. "Take a look around. This is a family restaurant. A place that welcomes all and treats all as they would treat their own family. For the most part."

SpongeBob nods and swallows, shifting his feet. "I know." He looks down at his hands and wrings them together. "I-I'm really happy, don't get me wrong, but I'm also a little nervous. I have a lot to live up to, and I want to do a good job."

"You'll do fine, me boy," I assure him. "And, hey, it's not like I won't be around. Just let me know if you need any help, and I'll do what I can. For the right price," I add with a wink and a chuckle.

I can see the tension leave his body. "Thank you, sir."

"The Krusty Krab is all yours now, SpongeBob." I start toward the freezer, ready to start cooking up his last meal as just a manager. "I know you'll treat her well."

"All mine…" And, here he goes again. "The fryer is mine. The stain we can't get out of the wall is mine. The grill is still on! Ow! Oh! Ow!"

I grin and shake my head. No matter what happens, one thing is certain: with SpongeBob SquarePants in charge, the Krusty Krab is in for a wild ride.