SpongeBob cried over a lot of things, often, and for far too long. He knew it, but he couldn't help it. He had never quite mastered the art of filtering his emotions, or working out which ones should be expressed and which ones were supposed to quelled and stored up inside until a more appropriate time. Like a visit to the shrink or a dyspeptic family reunion.
It wasn't just tears that came so easily; joy, too, was impossible for him to contain. Much to the annoyance of the general populous of Bikini Bottom, laughter bubbled easily from his lips, shaking his entire body until he could barely stand and was reduced to flopping around on the floor in a lengthy fit of giggles.
What he wouldn't give for a lengthy fit of giggles right now.
He had finally cried himself out; he didn't know how long it had been, but the underwater sun was almost set, casting long, rippling shadows over the living room floor where he lay on his back, exhausted and hiccuping slightly, face still wet with tears. They had pooled uncomfortably in his pores; he pushed himself into a sitting position, shaking his head like a wet worm and consequently showering everything within a 7 foot radius with salty droplets.
Usually he would feel better by now, either because enough time had passed that whatever situation that had upset him in the first place had righted itself, or because it didn't seem so important any more, or because somebody had said something to make him feel better. But none of those things applied today. His hero was still dead and still very important, and it still hurt to think about. It was a different kind of hurt, too. Rather than the quick bursts of roll-around-on-the-floor-sobbing-for-a-while-but-better-pretty-soon kind of sadness that he frequently dealt with, this sadness still lingered, a persistent dull ache in his chest. His breath was still ragged; he closed his eyes and pressed them into the palms of his hands, taking a large gulp of water and holding it in an attempt to steady himself.
"Meow?" Gary, SpongeBob's pet sea snail, was watching his master warily from the kitchen. He was so used to SpongeBob's episodes by now that he knew to stay well away until the worst was over lest he be doused in a river of tears or suffer permanent ear trauma. Not that snails had ears. But that was beside the point.
"Oh," SpongeBob clambered to his feet, glancing guiltily at the clock, which chimed 9pm. "I still haven't fed you, huh?"
A little unsteady and disoriented, he staggered into the kitchen, groping at the wall for the light switch, and flicked it on, wincing slightly at the sudden brightness. He reached down to pet Gary, who purred affectionately.
"Sorry, Gare-bear."
"Meow?"
SpongeBob mulled the question as he poured a generous helping of kibble into Gary's food bowl. He couldn't bring himself to say "It's nothing", because it wasn't nothing. But for once he didn't feel like discussing what troubled him, so left the question hanging and instead just sank to the kitchen floor to watch Gary eat, knees pulled up to his chest. He wasn't hungry himself. The thought of food made him feel queasy.
By the time Gary took his last bite of kibble it was approaching 9:30pm and SpongeBob was so exhausted that he briefly entertained the possibility of simply crawling into bed and hoping that sleep would overcome him, but the more realistic prospect of lying awake for hours ruminating over the day's events did not appeal to him. Maybe he could watch television to distract himself? Read a book? Then he realized with a pang that in his haste to leave the rest home he had forgotten his prized collection of signed Mermaid Man comic books.
Gary, who would normally have curled up and gone to sleep himself by now, seemed to sense that his owner needed company and for that SpongeBob was extremely grateful. He was less grateful when Gary slithered behind him, grabbed a mouthful of his shirt and began to pull. At first SpongeBob struggled but then decided it wasn't worth using what little energy he had left and allowed himself to be dragged backwards into the living room.
When they reached the sofa, Gary let go and stared intently, almost sternly, at SpongeBob, who took the hint and rolled the last few inches onto the sofa, sighing with relief as he sank face-first into the soft material. It was certainly more comfortable than the kitchen floor.