Chapter One:
Present Day
Early mornings were never rough when there was work to go to—in fact, they were positively easy. Before the Sun had barely begun to make its appearance in the eastern sea, SpongeBob was already far down the road and on his way to one of his favourite places in all of Bikini Bottom: the Krusty Krab. Though he'd only been working there a couple of years, SpongeBob could not imagine his life without the dingy restaurant and its two other employees.
Picking up his pace, SpongeBob turned the corner to see her in full glory, the new Sun bathing the worn siding of the building in pale yellow light. He had always admired the design of the Krusty Krab. It managed to be at once both rustic and modern, unique and conservative—welcoming folks of all sort to have a taste of the renowned Krabby Patty.
Unlocking the frigid doors, he entered the space before him and let out a sigh of relief. After a long weekend, the restaurant, now dark and cold, still welcomed SpongeBob like an old friend. Throwing his scarf and hat in the corner of the front desk, he put on the sole article of his uniform, his Krusty Krab employee's cap. And then he set to work.
First, he had to mop the floors, wipe down the tables, and dust off the front desk; he then moved into the kitchen, where he poured fresh kelp oil into the fryers and cut fresh tomatoes, lettuce, and cheese. His last job of the morning, before he manned the grill, was to fill the meat grinder.
The meat grinder was a large machine in the back room of the Krusty Krab in which only the finest cuts of sea beef would enter. From the back room, SpongeBob poured in a day's worth of meat, stored in the freezer and left to thaw overnight. Into the machine he added spices and, of course, the secret formula—creating patties en masse ensued that Mr. Plankton would have less of a chance of discovering the contents of said formula. This system was implemented years ago, before SpongeBob had even begun to work at the restaurant. Although he'd never questioned it (as Mr. Krabs knew best, obviously) he had sometimes wondered if the method affected the quality of the patties produced.
As SpongeBob added the last pinch of salt, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, and heard Mr. Krabs chuckle. "Scared ya, didn't I, me boy?" the veteran chortled in his scratchy voice. SpongeBob laughed in spite of himself.
"Good morning, Mr. Krabs."
"Ahoy me boy! Another day another dollar, eh?" He slapped SpongeBob on the back. "Better start on the grill, there, no? We'll be open in ten."
"Right on it!" SpongeBob said happily.
"Good." And with that, his boss scuttled off, whistling an old sailor's tune. SpongeBob smiled. While he liked having the restaurant to himself, he always felt the best when there was someone around to tell him what to do. He made his way to the kitchen, trusty spatula in hand.
The grill was a comfort. As the weather became cooler, SpongeBob could always rely on the warmth of the stove to heat his stiff hands and uncomfortable clothes. He edged closer to it, taking in the familiar smell of old grease and charred patties. Not yet a single customer, and the kitchen of the Krusty Krab already felt like home. It was good to be back.
He heard the front doors open and close. SpongeBob peeked over the order window to see a familiar blue-green figure saunter in, shivering from the cold. He grinned.
"Hey, Squidward!"
"Hello, SpongeBob," said Squidward drily. His bottom tentacles made faint squelching noises as he walked across the old floorboards to the ordering boat. He heard him sigh. "Would you quit leaving your stuff in here?" SpongeBob blushed as his scarf and hat were thrown through the window and onto the kitchen floor.
"Eh, sorry, pal. Won't happen again! I promise."
Squidward's blue face appeared in the small gap. "Sure," he said, rolling his eyes and putting on his Krusty Krab hat. As he did so, SpongeBob could not help to stare at Squidward's worn face. Today he seemed more…tired than usual. Dark, heavy bags defined his bloodshot eyes, and the characteristic frown on his wide mouth was even more pronounced than usual. SpongeBob had had a feeling that his friend was going through a rough period lately—from the low, unmotivated slouch in his slow walk to the lack of terrible clarinet playing he had so often used to hear weekday evenings. SpongeBob stared at the floor awkwardly.
"So, Squid. You look, uh, pretty tired. Everything all right?" he asked, trying to keep a casual tone. He didn't want Squidward to think he was being nosy, or feel uncomfortable in his presence. After all, Squidward often thought of him as only a nuisance; SpongeBob knew he would feel awkward if he understood the level of empathy he felt for his friend.
For a moment Squidward faltered; his mouth opened slightly, his eyes squinted a little…and then the moment was gone. The squid's eyes hardened. "I'm perfectly fine, SpongeBob. The only thing I'm tired of is wasting my life in this minimum wage hellhole." And with that, he turned to face the restaurant.
For a moment, SpongeBob was taken aback. That was most certainly not the case. But he wouldn't pressure him; if Squidward needed help, he'd come to him in time, he thought. Not only did he pity Squidward—for his lost aspirations, for his lack of confidence, for his complete and utter melancholy—but he worried about him, too. All the time.
Squidward was one of his dearest friends. And by golly would he not sit back and do nothing when a person he loved was suffering.