2/9/20: I apologize in advance for the derogatory language used in this chapter. Some scenes in this chapter depict SpongeBob being ridiculed for his sexuality and just being bullied in general, so I felt as though strong language would help set the tone. Vomit and the act of throwing up is also frequently present in this chapter.

SpongeBob deals with feelings of betrayal and rejection.

SpongeBob was reclined back in a chair, basking in the sun, relaxing on his front lawn. He was thumbing through a book, his dictionary, to be exact, when he thought he could hear the faint puckering of tentacles. He knew that squashy sound anywhere. Lowering his spectacles, he peered down the right end of the street. Sure enough, it was Squidward in the distance. He was jogging, and he held a small object in his hand. His face was dotted with beads of sweat and he wore an out of character smile.

Heart fluttering in his chest, SpongeBob shakily raised his hand to wave to the octopus, knowing he wouldn't return the gesture. Squidward looked as though he was on a mission, his thin legs carrying him down the road at a steady pace. As he passed by, SpongeBob caught sight of what was in Squidward's hand. The tape.

Immediately, panic kicked in. He swung his feet over the edge of the chair and got up, hastily folding his reading glasses and setting them down on the empty chair along with his dictionary. He ran as quickly as his feet -which were fitted in a pair of black sandals- could carry him. "Squidward," he called, chasing after him. "Hold up, pal!"

Squidward screeched to a halt, a cloud of dust billowing from where he had planted his feet. He whipped his head around to look at SpongeBob, his neck cracking. "What do you want?"

SpongeBob gasped, nearly tripping backwards. A look of horror befell him, his mouth agape. Two cold, dark eyes were staring into his. They were opened unnaturally wide and looked him up and down, a certain unsettling excitement in them. There was something about the way Squidward was looking at him that made SpongeBob shutter. He didn't like this. "G-gee, Squidward, I uh… was just wondering wh-where you were h-headed?"

"To the Krusty Krab," Squidward replied, his smile still stretched across his face. Giving an emotionless laugh, he added, "Where you'll be working no longer."

"Holy f-cking fishpaste," SpongeBob squeaked, not a bit concerned with his profanity. "Neptune-damnit, no! Y-you listened to the… the tape?" He limply gestured toward the thin box wrapped in his tentacle.

Squidward's smile immediately left his face, a certain darkness coming about him. "Yes I did, you perverted little piece of shit! YOU ARE SO F-CKING REPULSIVE!" he screamed, his eyes turning a deep shade of red. "You sick faggot! After hearing that tape, my stomach churns just THINKING of you!" He began retching. Thick, bubbly vomit poured out of his mouth. It seeped through the corners of his eyes and spilled down his face like tears. It was tar black like ink, and it puddled around SpongeBob's feet, rendering the boy unable to move. As SpongeBob screamed and fought, Squidward continued to heave the acidic substance from within him. It spewed from his nose, it spewed from in between his legs. From every orifice in his body, it oozed.

SpongeBob tried to move his feet, but he was stuck in place, only inches apart from this devilish creature that was supposed to be Squidward: his neighbor, co-worker, and crush. He thought to pull his toes out from the straps of his sandals, but the vomit had risen to above his ankles, and was only rising higher. It should've been impossible: they weren't standing in an enclosed space. The vomit should have been pooling outwards, not rising upwards.

The sounds of Squidward's retching was reminiscent of metal being scraped, nails on a chalkboard, or screams from the depths of hell! It kept getting louder and louder, until the point where it was louder than SpongeBob's cries of pain and terror. "Please, Squidward!" he said when tentacles began to wrap tightly around his waist. "I'm so sorry! Please don't hurt me, please!"

"But I thought you wanted this," Squidward said hoarsely, coughing up the last of the gooey barf. He looked SpongeBob over, satisfied with his work. The sponge was up to his knees in the stuff, sniveling and begging for mercy, with his hands folded in a position of prayer. He took a tentacle and trailed it down the sponge's burning face, pinching his cheek like an old lady would. Approaching SpongeBob more closely, he cupped both sides of his square head in his tentacles, squeezing at the yellow flesh. He ran a suction cup across the ridges along the top of his head. He sniggered when he noticed SpongeBob biting his lip, perhaps in pain or perhaps in pleasure. "Open your eyes."

SpongeBob did as he was told, albeit reluctantly. He was met with Squidward's face disturbingly close to his own. Dark vomit dribbled down his chin, the smell pungent. It caused the sponge to want to expel his own, that's how awful it smelled. His hands instinctively flew to his nose.

"Remove your hands," Squidward hissed, jerking SpongeBob's face closer. The sponge lowered his hands back down to his sides, flinching when Squidward ran a suction cup across his lower lip. He pinched at the pink-tainted flesh, licking his lips at the sight of the boy's. "Isn't this what you wanted?" he said before slamming his face into the other's. He pressed in deeply, snaking his long tongue down his throat. The taste was awful in SpongeBob's mouth, but he didn't fight it. He couldn't, he was stuck, and it would be terribly unwise to fight with this… thing.

SpongeBob began coughing and sputtering. He grabbed at Squidward's face, squeezing at whatever he could to try and deter Squidward from advancing on him any further. The disgusting tongue was violently playing with his uvula, knocking it around in the back of his mouth like a punching bag, stimulating his gag reflex. A few tentacles tightened around his waist and were beginning to snake into his pants. SpongeBob screamed, muffled beneath the other's lips. Squidward took it for a moan.

Squidward loosened his grip and stepped back, smiling. "You like that, don't you?" he said, venom is his voice. "Was that your first kiss, Sponge?"

SpongeBob stood slumped over, his arms hanging weakly at his sides, and his mouth spotted with the ink-colored substance that had made its way down his throat during the kiss. He looked up, his face dark. "No, actually. My first kiss was with Sandy. And it was fully consented."

"Is that sass I hear?" he said, spitting at his face. "Who do you think you are?" He snatched SpongeBob up by the tie and yanked roughly, causing him to choke. SpongeBob gripped at his neck gasping for breath (water). "Squid—" he squeaked. His legs were being pulled forwards and his knees caved inwards in a terribly uncomfortable position. The vomit had hardened around his legs, rendering him completely immobile from the calves down. "H-holy shrimp, S-Squid. I" —he gagged— "I can't- It hurts! It hurts like hell. O-oh my g-gosh!"

Squidward continued to tug on the tie, staring blankly at SpongeBob's display of infirmity. He licked his black-stained lips at the sight. SpongeBob looked so weak with his cheeks turning red and his eyes bugging, tears shooting from them like a hose. His entire body was blotted with revolting chunks of inky color, his shirt was wrinkled and untucked, his legs were caked in puke, and his face was twisted in frustrated pain. Squidward noticed something about his body, getting closer to take a look. He fingered ( tentacled , if you prefer) one of the pores on the side of SpongeBob's face, squinting at it. It was expanding and contracting and producing some sort of sticky liquid. "What's this?" he asked, rolling the stuff between two suction cups. He let up on his grip, allowing SpongeBob some water.

SpongeBob cringed, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. Squidward could have his way with him, but he was not going to be made to talk and explain his goddamn biology . No, he had to save some of his dignity! He stayed silent, body spasming from Squidward's fondling touch.

Squidward's clement touch became violent blows when he did not get a response from SpongeBob. "Answer me!" he screamed, mouth open wide to reveal deathly sharp teeth.

"SPERM! It's f-cking sperm, are you f-cking happy?!" SpongeBob almost couldn't believe the words that were leaving his mouth, and was even more befuddled when the atmosphere around him grew dark. The light of the hot, mid-morning sun began to fade away until the only thing that was glowing was a spotlight shining down upon the two creatures.

The octopus got down on all sixes, crawling around on the ground like something out of a horror movie. He slithered his way behind the trembling body of his victim, smirking. He looked at the belt that held the square pants up and reached for it. "Shut up," he barked as he was slipping it through the loops in the pants. SpongeBob was begging again. At first it was arousing, but it was slowly becoming a nuisance. "Shut up, you worthless prick." He squeezed SpongeBob's hips, warning him to silence himself, but using just enough pressure to suggest something more tantalizing.

SpongeBob whined, feeling a tentacle slip into a pore on his lower back. He gritted his teeth, hissing when the intruder started pumping in and out slowly. The sound was awkward and wet. "Oh, oh b-barnacles." Another tentacle pressed into his left hip, rubbing the outside of one of his openings. A third tentacle was attending to his pants, slowly pulling them down. The garment could only go down but so far, as his paralized legs were hindering it from slipping off. Nevertheless, SpongeBob's underwear was still exposed to Squidward, and it caused his face to redden even deeper. "Squidward, p-please don't d-do what I think you're going to do!"

"I WILL DO AS I PLEASE!" The world turned even murkier, the dim light fizzling out into total darkness. An intense heat began to burn around them, the source completely invisible. The sponge was sweating bullets, the ink, sperm, and perspiration dripping down his body in a disgusting, salty mix. Squidward gripped the waistband of the sponge's briefs and, in one swift movement, pulled them down to set within the boxy pants around his knees. SpongeBob squeaked, feeling the cold water filter through now exposed pores. Squidward placed his head on SpongeBob's tiny shoulder and licked the side of his face. "You look delicious."

SpongeBob grunted, beyond embarrassed. "How can you see in here? I-It's pitch black. I… I can't see you at all!"

"You don't need to."

"AH!" A tentacle was squeezing at his backside, spreading his cheeks wide apart, so that Squidward could access his target. "HEY, STOP!" SpongeBob screamed, attempting to reach behind him and punch, but to no avail. He could feel a suction cup tracing his entrance, causing it to pucker. He began flailing wildly when he felt himself begin to open up. "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Squidward pressed his lips against his ear hole and whispered, "Don't give me orders, you derisory little scum ."

The honking of the foghorn alarm rang throughout the bedroom, blaring directly into SpongeBob's ear. He tumbled out of bed in a tussle, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Holy— Fr-freaking OH MY GOSH!" His heart was pounding in his chest and he could hear his pulse pounding in his head. He was hit with a splitting headache, and his veins were running cold, just like his sweat. Nausea came upon him, and his eyes went wide in panic. "G-Gary, move!" he choked, shooing his snail away. "Get the- get the trash bin." His stomach churned and vomit rose in his throat. Vomit. The dreams from last night began to flood vividly.

"Meow?" Gary came around the bedside with the can, setting it down in front of his owner, who was twisted up in his purple blanket. He watched with beady eyes as the sponge heaved into the trash. Gary didn't recall SpongeBob being sick. He was confused and concerned, whimpering. "M-meow meow?"

"I don't need ginger ale !" he said between teeth. "It's- it's nothing." The terrible sounds of his retching were almost louder than the alarm that still honked stupidly. He slammed his fist down upon the button that turned it off, coughing. Last night's dinner tasted disgusting coming back up. Who knew sea chicken noodle soup could taste so awful ?

It didn't help that Gary just sat there meowing, bothering him about soda and crackers. Could he get the barnacles out of here? SpongeBob thought. I don't wanna be mad at him, but he can NOT see me like this. "Gary, I need to be alone right now," he choked out, immediately throwing up. Some of the whitish-yellow liquid spilled onto the floor, missing the can. He couldn't control his body; it just wouldn't stop pumping his stomach contents up his throat and out his mouth. His sides began to hurt and tears were falling from his eyes.

"Meow."

"Gary, I said leave!"

"Meow me—"

"Gerald the sn-" —he coughed— "the snail, I said get the heck out!" SpongeBob shakily but hastily untangled himself from the blanket and climbed up onto his bed to look at the clock on his alarm. Holy hell!: he was late. It was Monday and he was LATE! He ran circles around his room in panic, pulling at the sides of his head as if he had hair. "Crud, I need to get a shower, Gary! I mean, look at me." He swiped the inside of a pore on his forehead, squishing the goo between his fingers. "I can't go like this. I'm leaking baby juice for Neptune's sake!"

Gary stuck out his tongue in disgust, looking flustered. He felt it was quite awkward to see his beloved owner is such an animalistic state, though he was used to it. He just hadn't seen SpongeBob look so disheveled in a long, long while. He usually had it all together. Now he was dripping sp-rm and puke and late to work. Who was this guy? Gary couldn't help but chuckle. "Meow meow."

"Okay, so 'baby juice' was a silly thing to call it, but still… I'm freaking late , Gary. I'll be right back, I'm gonna go wash up." He stumbled out of the room, wiping his mouth. Today was gonna be a long day. "Fishpaste, I'm gonna be late!"

Gary cocked his head. "...Meow?"

He showered quickly. The water was turned on, the soap was lathered, and his body was clean in less than five minutes. He stepped out of the shower, sniffling. He'd cried while he was in there. Last night's dream was wild, too wild. It was like no fantasy that had ever crossed his mind. It was brutal, it was intense. It was scary and it was unpleasant. SpongeBob didn't think he'd ever be able to masturbate again without those thoughts crossing his mind. (Such tragedy! xD Sorry, this shouldn't be funny.)

He scurried down the street, breathing heavily. He still felt awful and a little nauseous, but he could not afford to miss work, even if he was already late. This was the same sponge that came to work with the suds and performed his duties while his beloved pet was missing. A little nausea and a scarring night terror never hurt anyone, right? (Wrong!)

The Krusty Krab came into view and SpongeBob's breath caught in his throat. Barnacles. Squidward would be there. All the panic of getting ready had temporarily driven the thought from his mind. What if Plankton had given Squidward the tape over the weekend? What if MR. KRABS had heard it already? And then a certain thought dawned on him…

Oh my Neptune. What will Mr. Krabs think of me when he sees me after hearing that? he pondered as he continued to walk down the road. He's so much like a father to me, for him to hear that would be beyond humiliating. How am I gonna explain myself? He's gonna be so ashamed! I've failed him…

For a moment, SpongeBob stopped in his tracks and thought about going back, going home. He thought about how much easier things might turn out to be if he were to simply go back to his cozy pineapple and just take a sick day for once in his life. He used sick days so scarcely, he swore he had at least a month's worth of them he could be using. —And this was from a job which barely even yielded him the privilege of a lunch break .

SpongeBob shook his head. "No, no I have to go to work," he decided. He puffed up his chest and gripped his spatula tightly. He never left his spatula at work anymore. He took it with him wherever he went, as a source of comfort and protection. His fingers wrapped around the spatula, his yellow knuckles turning white. He could do this. He could do this. "I can do this!" He pumped a fist into the air courageously.

After a minute or so of sprinting, he found himself on the small path that led to the front door of the Krusty Krab. His whole body was trembling, and he let out a shaky sigh. This building in front of him was the restaurant that he had come to call his second home, but he felt something like a foreigner. He scanned the building, his eyes darting around the area. Was he really going to go in there after all the nonsense that had occured that weekend? Besides, he felt like he was going to throw up again. I should probably just go home. Reluctantly, he turned away from the large building, shielding his eyes from its old wooden frame. He loved the Krusty Krab and he wanted to go inside, but he couldn't bare the thought of feeling uncomfortable in there. It wouldn't feel right. But then again, if he were to go home, he'd feel even more awkward returning the next day. If Plankton hadn't handed over the tape yet, he would be a-okay, but should he choose to wait another day, that would only give Plankton more time to do something he may not have already done.

SpongeBob turned back around, growling and charging towards the front door, tears in his eyes. He was NOT going to go home! He was gonna go in there, march straight to the manager, look 'im straight in the eye, lay it on the line and… (I can't write this! Heh. Can I get a woot-woot for Season 1, Help Wanted, everybody?)

He pressed his face up against the glass and peered into the dimly lit restaurant. There was not a single creature inside, save for a pesky sea urchin that was searching the tables for crumbs. Where was everybody? SpongeBob wondered. Man, I really do keep this place running. I guess nowadays, if I don't show up on time, then this place falls apart. I am SO important. A smile touched his lips, but left immediately when his eye caught sight of a sign to his right. It was a slice of white, wooden board, with big bold letters that read: CLOSED.

SpongeBob stepped back, legs wobbly. How could he be so stupid?

Today was Sunday.

You freaking idiot! He stepped backwards further, tripping and landing on his butt when he noticed the sign beside it: "Help Wanted". The words hit him like a pound of bricks and he felt as though he had the wind knocked out of him. He shuttered, sitting up and staring at the letters. Magically, they came off the sign and swirled around his head, the big black font warping and growing in size. They stretched around his throat and began to squeeze him, rendering him unable to breathe. SpongeBob gagged, pulling at his neck. Help! Somebody help me! He was unable to scream.

Some time later, he awoke. He had passed out. The letters choking him to death was a mere hallucination, but boy, had it felt real. The sponge was covered in sand, his outfit dusty and dirty. "Aughhhhhh!" he inhaled, springing to life. He placed his hands on the ground and pushed himself up, onto his knees. He straightened his legs, attempting to stand himself up but instead falling back on his butt like he had done not long ago. He rubbed his eyes and his vision cleared. There was that sign. That cursed sign.

He gritted his teeth and slammed his fists into the ground and screamed, "Tartar sauce!" A flame ignited in his pupils and he leapt to his feet, eyes brimming with tears. "Fifteen years! Fifteen years of my life here and they're gonna fire me, just like that?! They didn't even do it PROFESSIONALLY! Oh- oh, my gosh." The nausea from earlier returned to him and he clutched his stomach, throwing up right then and there, off the side of the path. He looked at the beloved workplace, overcome with hatred. He couldn't believe this. Were all those employee of the month awards for naught? Had all his sleepless nights paid off? ...No. No, they hadn't. He worked the night shift for no extra pay. Maybe Krabs really was a cheap-ass bastard. Maybe SpongeBob wasn't the son he never had. Maybe that's because Krabs never had a son.

So I'm just an object, then? SpongeBob thought bitterly. I'm just something that can be used many times and then just, y'know, tossed out at will like some sort of garbage, even though that object PROBABLY STILL HAS SOME USE LEFT IN IT! It's kinda like that couch I used to own. It still functioned, it performed as good as any couch should perform, but I decided that, well, I wanted a new couch. I wanted a couch that I thought would be BETTER FOR THE DAMN JOB! That is this situation right now. I'm a couch, I'm a freaking couch. Everyone loves a comfortable couch, but nobody likes a couch that stands out and goes ABOVE AND BEYOND, AND BREAKS THEIR BACK DOING WORK THAT NO ONE TRULY APPRECIATES, OH MY "GOSH!" he ended up screaming the last word.

He felt so betrayed. Every morning during the work week he'd wake up and smile, his alarm rousing him from his slumber and sending a rush of adrenaline through his system. He was so excited to start each day at the Krusty Krab. The new job jitters never really went away. He still felt like that eighteen-year old, his best friend by his side, leaping into the air and shouting "I'm ready!" after a much-needed pep talk. He still was willing to "throw [himself] in the brig", and would without a doubt buy a hydrodynamic spatula (with port-and-starboard attachments and turbo drive) again if need be. SpongeBob had put his reputation in jeopardy, his life on the line, his time, talent, and treasure wholeheartedly into the Krusty Krab. How dare they take that away from him! How dare they treat him like a couch! I'm a Neptune-damn sofa.

He sunk back down onto the ground, on the dirty cement. (Or is it black sand?) He turned his head in both directions. No one was around. It was calm outside, very quiet, and he looked up to see that the flower clouds were growing in number. Perhaps it was going to storm. "Just great!" he cried up at the sky. "Perfect timing, Neptune! You're doing me a real goddamn favor up there. PUN INTENDED!"

*Boom!*

"Barnacles!" A bolt of lightning crackled in the distance, striking the ocean floor. SpongeBob could see a flash of brightness, and the sound rippled through the ocean, causing immense waves on the surface. SpongeBob squinted and could see the bubbles forming above, right near the spot that the bolt had come through. He shivered, rubbing at his arms. There was no way he was staying outside any longer. It wasn't safe. Note to self: Don't piss off the god of the sea.

He got up and brushed off his pants, looking down at his outfit with a frown. He'd just taken it to the drycleaners not long ago. Ugh . He took his fingers and flicked off the grains of sand that still clung to him. His hand brushed by a grease stain on his shirt, and he stared at it, eyes red and glossy. Krabby Patties… he mused.

As he shakily unlocked the door of the Krusty Krab, cursing and nearly dropping the key that was engraved with the letters "KK", it hit him even harder: If Mr. Krabs was seriously looking for a new employee, if SpongeBob really was being fired, then he would have to give up his right to enter the Krusty Krab at will. He wouldn't get to count the sesame seeds, or mop the ceiling, or rub the pickles together to make that tiny squeaky sound anymore. He wouldn't get to sit in that comfy office chair of his boss', or clean the grill, give the walls a fresh coat of paint, swab the poop deck, or carve ice sculptures of Squidward in the back of the freezer. It was like being evicted from a rental house! The Krusty Krab was his home away from home, his favorite place in the world, the place where he was his happiest and could perform his greatest. Here is where he found his purpose, here is where he experienced big events and changes in his life, here is where he always wanted to stay and never wanted to leave. It was SpongeBob's version of heaven.

Growing up, SpongeBob was always a hard worker. He aced his classes in school, and was always eager to advance in his studies; he was a bit of a nerd. He wanted a job that tested his limits, a job that pushed him to constantly do better. From a tender age, he had always been fascinated with culinary arts, and his bright spirit drove him to please people. He's a workaholic people-pleaser at heart.

"I've been training my whole life for the day I could join the Krusty crew!" were the proud words he boomed in that deep, manly voice of his all those years ago. SpongeBob had his sights set early. Instead of college, his parents got him interested in finding a career in fast food, at least temporarily. They weren't all that rich, so college was not the most favorable option. "If you find you like the job, Bobby, you can keep it," his parents told him. "We want what's best for you." And SpongeBob loved the idea! His parents used to eat at the Krusty Krab since before he was born. "Wouldn't it be the most amazing thing to see our son cooking at the restaurant we've loved for years?"

SpongeBob closed the doors of the Krusty Krab and leaned up against the glass. Groaning, he slid down and collapsed on the floor with his knees to chest. His spatula fell from his pocket and clattered beside him, and he swiped it away with his hand, watching it spin around noisily before hitting the cashier boat a few feet away. Tucking his head between his legs, he started to cry.

It was Sunday; nobody would come by. He was free to do as he pleased. He was free to cry, he was free to scream, he was free to reminisce in his thoughts, his memories. And so that's what he did:

Middle school, age 13

Pleasant scents billowed out from the bustling after-school cooking club, filling the hallway with smells of onions and spices. Joyful chatter was spilling out through the doorway, as well as bright light.

SpongeBob was the center of attention as he performed in the kitchen area. His arms flew around wildly in front of a large table, creating the illusion that he had multiple arms. They grasped pots and pans, cups and bowls, and mixed things together at a pace the club leaders had never seen from a kid before. Chopped carrots flew into a crockpot, as well as beans, oregano, and tomato juice. In no time, a delicious soup had been prepared. Now all it had to do was boil.

Applause erupted through the small room, with fellow classmates jumping up and down and teachers whistling.

"Amazing job, Robert!" said one of the adults, squealing. She walked over to the crockpot and lifted the lid, dipping a plastic spoon in to taste the contents. She slurped it up quickly and smacked her lips. "Oh, my. This is delectable."

Another adult took a taste and smiled. "You're going places in life, Rob," he declared, raising his spoon. "It's not quite fully cooked yet, but gather around students, you've got to get a taste of this. This is the work of a true chef."

SpongeBob beamed, blushing. He twiddled his thumbs, rocking back and forth bashfully. "Gee, you guys. You're way too kind to me." A sigh escaped him. He knew this is where he wanted to be. This is what he wanted to do in life.

Patrick got in line for the soup, bouncing back and forth eagerly. Why he was in the cooking club wasn't much of a mystery, actually. Sure, cooking was not his talent, nor one of his interests, but he was there to support his buddy. (Okay, so maybe he was more there for the free food and less for SpongeBob, but still…) He dipped his utensil into the soup, bringing a large spoonful of vegetables to his mouth. With his cheeks full, he said, "SpongeBob, this tastes great!" and he hesitated to ask for seconds.

A green fish, large for his age, came up to SpongeBob, his body jiggling with every step. He adjusted his glasses on his non-existent nose and looked down at the future chef with a sneer. "It tastes okay , I suppose, but I would've liked to have tasted some pickles."

SpongeBob rolled his eyes. Ugh. Bubble Bass. "Let's talk," he said, giving up his place behind the kitchen table and walking over to one of the tiny lunch tables. He crossed his arms, watching as his rival took a seat on the other side, facing him. "Look, Bubble Bass, what do you want from me?"

"I only want you to cook something decent for once," he snorted.

"I have, Bubble Bass. But what have you done? All I've seen you do is eat."

"What's wrong with that? Your pink boyfriend over there does the same thing," he said, pointing.

SpongeBob glowered, and his teeth dug into his lower lip. " Patrick is actually here to support me. As a friend . And not even that, but at least he actually tries to cook. What do you do Bubble Bass, huh?"

"I've cooked in here before. I'm not just straight up mooching off of the place. C'mon, cut me some slack."

"No, you need to cut me some slack. The most I've seen you make is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!"

"So? It's still cooking. Just because some people can't perform miracles like you can, doesn't mean they're not worthy of being here."

"Oh my gosh . What you do isn't cooking !" He threw up his hands, exasperated. "I'm not trying to be a jerk, dude, I'm just telling you the facts. You're not an aspiring cook. You're only here to feed your face."

"That's bullshrimp!" Bubble Bass abruptly stood up and slammed his fist on the table. "You're a freaking suck-up, Rob! Stop bragging about your accomplishments."

"Bragging?! Wh—"

"Mrs. Fishpole! Robert's over here being all rude and stuff about that soup he made. He's talking about other people, saying how bad their cooking is," he cried, making a scene.

SpongeBob gulped. All eyes were on him, and most looked very angry. His face turned a bright red and he wanted to protest, but he didn't. He couldn't find the words. The spotlight was on him for the second time that day, but this time had been nothing like the first.

Bubble Bass walked around the table to rejoin the group of students, who's eyes were like daggers as they glared at SpongeBob.

"Prick," he whispered, as he passed by the sponge.

High school, age 16

"So, where do you wanna go to college?" a snide voice said.

"Yeah, where you tryna go, Robert?" another sneered. This voice belonged to a relatively tall fish, with an average build. He had a grey complexion, tar black and very shaggy hair, and blue lips and fins. His eyes were a bit red, and under them, SpongeBob swore there was always a bit of dark eyeshadow. He wore a dark brown leather jacket, and beneath it were layers of differently-shaded white shirts. To complete his outfit, he sported a pair of tall black boots, presumably to make him look tougher.

SpongeBob frowned, adjusting a strap on his backpack and clutching his books to his chest. He was classically backed against a locker in the hallway, and the two fish were standing directly in front of him. Crowds of students passed them by, and SpongeBob struggled to speak over the noise. "I- I'm really not sure yet. I'm just more focused on what's in the now, y'know?"

"What are you, some sort of a hippie?" the other (who was dressed similarly to the grey fish) asked, brushing his blonde hair from his face and jabbing his bud in the arm, chuckling. "Am I right, Jake?"

SpongeBob observed the two guffaw hoarsely, shaking his head in disappointment. He noticed the gravel in their voice and assumed they'd been smoking. He didn't want to hang around kids like this, but they forced themselves into his life. "You're really not that funny, Chaz." He hugged his books tightly, flinching in fear that the two might lash out with cruel words.

"Yo, I think you need to stop," Jake hissed. "You don't tell my bro anything. All we asked was where the hell you were tryna go to college. It's coming soon, y'know. Just wanted to know where nerds like you go after high school, is all. Didn't need all your smart mouth." He crossed his arms, glancing over at Chaz who held the same stance.

"Sorry, I…" SpongeBob sighed. "Fellas, look, honestly I'm not really sure about college. My parents were telling me how great of a cook I am. I dunno, I thought maybe I'd just dabble in the fast food game for a bit and try to get my sea legs early on. I wanna get a taste of what it's like to cook for people, what it's like to receive a paycheck. Y'know?"

Chaz jabbed a pointed fin down his throat and pretended to wretch. "Poetic much?"

"Um, retarded much?" said Jake, looking into the sponge's glazed eyes. "Good luck with that, idiot. Who the f-ck actually willingly wants to work at a fast food restaurant? Idiot…"

SpongeBob chewed his lip, looking ancy. All he wanted was to get to class, but he could tell that Chaz and Jake weren't going to let him go just yet. "S-so, uh, you guys done, or—?"

"How's the girlfriend?"

His shoulders rose and he tensed up. "Huh? What girlfriend?"

"I heard you finally started dating," Jake explained. "So, how is she? What's she look like? Is she ugly? She's ugly, ain't she? Ha! It's that anglerfish chic, ain't it? She's nasty. Though, I gotta admit, I'm damn surprised that you scored a female at all."

SpongeBob's face was beginning to heat up. "I don't know where you heard this info, fellas, but I'm honestly not dating anyone right now. Just haven't found the right one."

"Probably never will," Chaz said, laughing. "You look like a neptunedamn freshmen, and on top of that, what girl would wanna get her p-ssy eat with those massive teeth of your's?"

Jake slapped his friend on the back, nodding his head. "Heh, yeah. And not even just that, but I think he's a faggot."

A light gasp escaped the sponge's lips and his expression was the definition of appalled . His mouth hung agape and he felt as though he couldn't speak. All of sudden, his books felt so much heavier, and his backpack felt as though it was pulling him down. "S-stop talking to me like I'm not st-standing right here!" His eyes welled up with tears. He'd never been called… that before in his entire life. (At least, not to his face.)

Jake smiled viciously and placed his arms on either side of the sponge, leaning in close enough so that his face was only inches from his. "Is this better, Robert?" His warm breath hit him in the face, and he chuckled when the sponge wrinkled his nose. "You like me all up close to you, dont'cha? You like all this masculine energy all close to your puny body. You wanna kiss me, huh? Do it! Do it, you p-ssy."

"Yo, Jake, you can't put your hands on 'im," Chaz warned. "Plus, now you sound kinda gay."

Jake looked offended, and a fire burned behind his eyes. He removed his arms immediately and glared at the blonde, his fins forming into angry fists. "Ey, Chaz, I get it." He shoved him, not too aggressively. "No need for the remarks. I'm not f-cking gay, man. You're nasty, man."

Chaz shrugged.

"Let's get out of here." The grey fish grabbed his friend's fin and pulled him through the hallway to class, leaving SpongeBob to cry by the lockers.

Harold and Margaret's home, age 18

"Happy birthday, Robert!"

"Happy birthday, son!"

It was SpongeBob's birthday, and his parents were celebrating his journey to and through adulthood. A small get together had been thrown, and his numerous cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents had been invited. And of course, it wouldn't have been a party without Patrick.

"Thank you, guys," SpongeBob said, seated at a table and looking down hungrily at the cake being set before him. It was a pretty blue and yellow cake, topped with rainbow sprinkles, and complete with a large candle in the shape of the number eighteen. "This cake is beautiful. Thanks, mom!"

She smiled. "You're welcome, honey."

"Hey, I helped, too!" his father joked, tipping his hat. He patted his son on the shoulder before flipping the light switch. The underwater flame from the candle lit the room in a gentle, orange glow. He looked around at the room full of family and friends. "It's time to sing to Robert! You all ready?"

"H-hold on, everybody," SpongeBob faltered, raising his hands. He looked at his father and mother, and they nodded. He had something to say, and they wanted the whole family to be on board. "I wanna thank you all so much for showing up for my eighteenth birthday. Can you believe I've hit this milestone already?" He chuckled at the yes's and no's he received. "I'm so happy to be here with you all, and I appreciate everything you've done for me. You mean a whole lot to me. But before all the beautiful singing, I'd like to tell you all that, well, I'm done with the name Robert."

"Woah, there, lil' Bobby!" said Uncle Cap'n Blue, coming around the table to approach him. He chuckled, in a way that sounded less amused and more concerned. Roughly patting SpongeBob on the back, he asked him, "You aren't tryna be some sort of a, y'know, one of them folks who changes their gender and stuff, I hope?"

"He does like to paint his nails!" Patrick laughed.

SpongeBob's face went red. "No, no, it's not like that! I'm just done with the name everybody knows me by; I'm done with Robert SquarePants. It feels more like a burden than a name. I want a fresh start to a fresh new stage of life." He breathed out, smiling as he looked around the room. Everyone was nodding and smiling with him. "Does anyone remember when Mom and Pop used to call me SpongeBob?"

Cousin Blackjack snorted. "Yeah, and it was dumb."

"Blackjack, no!" his mother scolded him, wagging a finger. "Sorry, hun. Go on, Rob— I mean… So you'd like us to call you SpongeBob then, is that it?"

"Yes, Auntie," SpongeBob replied. "For me, I feel like the name SpongeBob just reminds me of happier, less stressful times in life. It also makes me feel unique. No one else in the family has our species in their first name."

Stanley raised his hand to object. "Actually, Rob, I think one of our ancestors did have 'sponge' in their name. I think his name was SpongeBuck or something."

"You may be right," said Uncle Sherm, ruffling his son's hair, ignoring his protests against it.

SpongeBob shrugged. "Well, I may not be the most unique, but I'd still feel fresh and new, and honestly it just kinda feels… Barnacles, what's the word? Nostalgic? Sentimental? I dunno."

His mother and father walked around to both sides of him and held his hands tightly. "We called you 'SpongeBob' because you said you thought it sounded cool," his mother tenderly spoke. "It's a name you used to love when you were little. So did everyone else, they thought it sounded so neat. Eventually, when you started attending school, the school required you to use your given name, so SpongeBob just kinda died out."

"You got older and you thought it was childish," his father added. "You also hated having to write out such a long name on paper. You were a hoot! You walked through the door one day and said 'Poppa, I can't do this anymore! My hand's cramping!' Oh, it was priceless."

"So eventually we just started calling you Robert again," his mother continued. "I picked that name out before your birth, and your father took a strong liking towards it. It's the name on your birth certificate; it'll always be part of your identity. But honey, if you seriously are considering getting your name changed, we can go through some governmental processes and whatnot and get you all sorted out." She kissed him on the forehead. "Would you like for us to do that, SpongeBob?"

He smiled, tears in his eyes. "Yes, yes! Absolutely! Thank you Mom, thank you Pop." He hugged both of them tightly, and before he knew it, he was surrounded by the whole party. "I would love that so much. It's all I ask for my birthday. You don't even have to get me that weight kit I wanted, the one that comes with that neat-o 'I Heart Pain' banner."

"Too late!" Blackjack laughed. "We already bought it for ya!"

"Oh, way to spoil the surprise, BJ!" His mother slapped him in the back of the head, and he yelped.

"Hey, what'd you do that for, Ma?"

SpongeBob broke the hug and looked down, staring at the cake and wriggling his fingers in anticipation. His taste buds lusted over the beautiful dessert. "Welp, I'm starved! I'd be flattered if you guys wanna start singing now?" he suggested, blushing. He was not one for asking people to do things for him.

"Sure, we can sing!" Harold took a breath, and began. "Happy birthday to you…"

Everyone joined in and began to belt it out:

~Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday, dear SPONGEBOB! (Patrick screamed his name, not unexpectedly.)

Happy birthday to you~

SpongeBob inhaled deeply and blew out the candles with such force that the eighteen fell backwards onto the icing of the cake, leaving an imprint of the number. Looking up, he couldn't help the tears falling from his eyes and down his face. He was ready to start life as an adult. He was ready to prove the people wrong who thought he would never be anything more than a child. He was ready to prove Chaz and Jake wrong, he was ready to prove his own self-conscious thoughts wrong, he was ready to be who he wanted to be. And he wanted to be SpongeBob SquarePants.