"Easy there, lad," Mr. Krabs said, helping SpongeBob out of his boatmobile. "No reason to hurry."
SpongeBob smiled at his boss, accepting his claw as he stepped down. He looked at his home fondly, happy to be out of the hospital. With Mr. Krabs watching him carefully, he limped to his doorway then paused. "Squidward has my key."
Mr. Krabs looked thoughtful. "Really? Well, we'd better ask him for it."
The old crab reached over and tugged open the door. "Mr. Squidward, you have his key?"
SpongeBob stepped inside, and his eyes went wide. "Wow! It's all clean!" Then he saw a small table set up and piled with food. Patrick stood beside a few boxes of pizza, and there were other treats like Kelpy Kremes and barnacle chips. Sandy came out of the kitchen with a pitcher of kelpade, and Squidward reclined on the couch.
"Key's in the bowl," Squidward said, not moving.
"What's all this?" SpongeBob asked.
"Welcome home, buddy!" Patrick exclaimed.
"This is for me?" SpongeBob asked, a grin spreading over his face. "Neat-o!"
Mr. Krabs helped him into his chair, and he relaxed as Patrick brought him a plate of food. "Want vinegar?" he asked.
"On pizza?!" Squidward looked disgusted.
"Vinegar makes almost everything better," SpongeBob said.
"Almost?" Sandy asked.
"Yeah, it's good with savory stuff, but don't put it on sweets." SpongeBob made a face and shivered. "Never again."
There was a burst of laughter from everybody. SpongeBob smiled and accepted the vinegar, popping the top and carefully sprinkling his slices. Squidward watched him. "Doesn't it bother you?"
"What?" SpongeBob asked, capping the bottle and picking up a slice of pizza.
"Vinegar. After what happened to Wily…"
Sandy straightened, concern crossing her face. "Maybe you shouldn't eat that."
SpongeBob hesitated then took a bite. "It doesn't really bother me now," he said. "It used to burn pretty bad when it got on my flesh, but it doesn't anymore unless I don't squeeze it out."
"Can you?" Sandy asked. "I read that sponges can't squeeze out vinegar. It dries them out."
SpongeBob looked away and swallowed. "For natural sponges, that's true. But I'm not the only artificial that can do that sort of weird stuff."
"So you knew Wily wouldn't be able to squeeze it out?"
SpongeBob nodded. "Yeah." He wilted. "Guess that makes me bad, huh?"
"Bad?" Patrick asked, his brow furrowing. "Why does that make you bad?"
"I attacked him."
"He attacked you first," Mr. Krabs said. "It was fair as far as I'm concerned, me boy."
SpongeBob looked into his lap, his expression tightening. "That didn't matter last time," he said softly.
Silence. Squidward frowned and stood up. He poured his neighbor a cup of kelpade and walked over to hand it to him.
"SpongeBob?"
"Yeah?"
"Just because they didn't believe you, that doesn't mean we don't."
SpongeBob jerked his head up and met Squidward's eyes. He knew. Squidward knew about what had happened. His eyes swept across the room, and he realized just who had cleaned his house. He must have cleaned everything, and SpongeBob knew that included his bedroom. Squidward had seen his secret scrapbook. His cheeks flushed and he glanced away, squirming. He finally took the kelpade and shrugged.
"You should've told us, SpongeBob," Sandy said, leaning on the back of his chair.
"Why take the chance?" SpongeBob asked. "Last time it ended so badly. If it wasn't for Grandma, I might be locked up somewhere."
"Locked up?" Patrick asked. "Like jail?"
"That was one option," SpongeBob said. "But they really wanted to send me to a mental institution. I was crazy, after all."
Silence followed those words. SpongeBob ate his pizza while the rest of them got their food and thought about what their friend had just admitted. They all knew SpongeBob was odd, but he wasn't crazy by any stretch of the imagination.
After they ate, they hung around and played some games, which cheered Spongebob up quite a bit. He began showing signs of his old energy and personality. It was a relief for all of them to see his bright smile, his real smile. As evening drew closer, they each wished him a good night's sleep and headed out. Mr. Krabs left first, then Sandy, and finally Squidward. Then it was just SpongeBob and Patrick, and the two friends could still sense their last fight lingering between them.
Patrick began cleaning up, not looking at SpongeBob. SpongeBob squirmed as the silence grew longer and more awkward. Finally, he spoke.
"I'm sorry, Patrick."
Patrick put away the table then walked over to flop on the sofa. He didn't reply for awhile.
"Tell me why."
SpongeBob looked away. "Why what?"
"All of it."
"Okay." SpongeBob thought about it for a moment. "Well, me and Wily were friends for a few years. He'd never had a friend before. We were friends, real friends, I think. At least at first. Then there was all this pressure from his family and the kids at school never liked him because he's a Negombata Magnífica, and they're not exactly known for being good. They kept expecting him to be bad. He wasn't. Not for awhile. Then he changed one day and actually became mean and bad."
"And started hurting you?"
"On purpose," SpongeBob corrected. "Lots of people don't believe his kind of sponge can touch people, especially other sponges, unless they're the same species. They don't usually. I was helping him learn how not to burn people when he touched me. I was used to his touches. It didn't affect me like natural sponges. Nobody believed me when I said he changed. I guess they were so used to me being poisoned because I was helping that they saw no difference when he started doing it on purpose."
"But there was a difference," Patrick said, a hint of anger in his voice.
"Yeah. Nobody believed me, not even Mom and Dad. Wily was still so charming and funny for them. But he made me miserable for years. I knew he didn't want to, but he did anyways. It got to the point that I couldn't take it anymore. So one day he grabbed me and it hurt, so I turned around and ripped off a piece of him. That startled him, I think, though it wasn't painful in the same way it would be for you to lose a limb. But it kicked off his defense and he poisoned the whole park. Lots of emergency room visits. And everybody blamed me instead of Wily because I had hurt him and made him have to defend himself."
SpongeBob shifted and looked out a window. "Wily's dad was so mad at me, and he threatened a lawsuit against my parents since I was still underage. He never did like Wily to hang out with me. Mom and Dad finally realized that something was wrong, but I didn't talk to them. I had to get purged again, and that's when Grandma came over. I told her everything because she had always listened, and boy did she get mad. She practically wrung out Mom and Dad for not listening to me then Wily's dad came in, and she walked right up to him and said something, poking his chest. I don't know what it was, but I've never seen anybody as scared as Wily's dad was after she spoke. And you just don't go up and poke one of their kind. He muttered that a lawsuit wasn't worth it and left. He didn't bother us again."
"What happened then?" Patrick asked.
"Oh, Grandma offered for me to move in with her and that she'd sign the papers for me to get my own house even though I was seventeen. I moved out of my parents' house and in with Grandma. I stayed with her for a couple months then found my house. She helped me get it, I moved in, then I got Gary when I decided I didn't like living alone. A couple weeks later, I met you."
Patrick smiled faintly at the memory. "I'm real glad you're my neighbor, SpongeBob. I'm just sad you had to go through all that to get here."
"Yeah. Me, too." SpongeBob glanced over. "That's why I didn't tell you. I was afraid nobody would believe me. They didn't the first time around. And since I knew how badly Wily can hurt people, I didn't want you near him. So I called you dumb and made fun of you so you wouldn't. But I don't actually think that stuff. You're my best friend, Pat. And I'm so sorry for saying what I did."
Patrick was quiet for a few minutes, his brow furrowed in thought. SpongeBob let him think, his own mind going through painful questions about Wily and his parents and friends. Then Patrick spoke.
"I know I'm dumb sometimes. It's because I'm a starfish. We're simple, that's what Mom said. But it makes it hard." He turned to look earnestly at SpongeBob. "I like that you're a square, you know. And so yellow. It makes it easy to remember you. I have trouble with faces and names and they get all mixed up sometimes. But you? I always know you. You're never not SpongeBob. It's so nice to know somebody that I always remember."
A burst of pleasure filled SpongeBob at the strange compliment. "Aw, thanks. I can't help it, though. I was born this way."
"Me, too," Patrick said. Then he paused. "Well, not exactly since I'm a starfish not a sponge."
SpongeBob grinned. "You were born a starfish," he agreed.
Patrick flashed him a smile before he grew serious. "Next time something like this happens, could you tell me, SpongeBob? I just want to help."
"I know, Pat," SpongeBob said. He glanced around his house. "Some of the things are in the wrong place," he muttered.
The starfish grunted and stood up. "Squidward cleaned it, not me."
"I figured. Could you rearrange things for me?"
Patrick did so as SpongeBob told him what was off about the room. When it was clean, Patrick slouched toward the couch again.
"Wait," SpongeBob said. He hesitated, unsure of whether or not he was ready. Then he braced himself. "There's one more thing I'm pretty sure is out of place."
"What?" Patrick asked.
"It's in my room."
"You haven't been in there to see though," Patrick argued.
"It's a scrapbook."
Patrick turned to scan the shelf. "No, all of them are here."
"It's one I haven't ever shown anybody," SpongeBob said. "I'm pretty sure Squid found it and read it. And now I want you to. I think it'll help you understand better."
Patrick shrugged. "Okay. What color is it?"
"Yellow. It's supposed to be on the bottom shelf in my bedroom. Please bring it here."
Patrick was gone for several minutes then came back. "It wasn't in the right place," Patrick said, looking a bit embarrassed. "Took me a bit to remember that."
SpongeBob nodded, but when his friend offered him the book, he didn't take it. "I don't want to see it. I want you to read it. Take all the time you need, and I'll answer any questions."
SpongeBob settled back in his chair and rested his eyes as Patrick plopped down on the floor, lying on his belly as he opened the book. Then there was quiet. Every so often, there was the slow sound of a page being turned, but SpongeBob didn't look. He didn't want to remember that time in his life. He'd been struggling with his memories all week at the hospital, and he was tired of it all. But he wanted Patrick to know. He had every right to after what they'd been through.
SpongeBob must have fallen asleep, because suddenly he was awoken by the tightest hug he'd ever had. He gasped then turned and hugged Patrick back. Patrick continued to squeeze him, and SpongeBob became aware of hot tears soaking into his flesh. They didn't move for a minute or two then Patrick pulled back.
"I didn't know, buddy."
"I didn't want you to," SpongeBob admitted. He stifled a yawn. "I want to sleep. Do you think you can help me up to bed?"
"Sure thing."
Patrick went over and picked up the scrapbook then handed it to SpongeBob before lifting him up effortlessly. SpongeBob giggled as he was carried upstairs. Patrick made sure he was comfortable then took the scrapbook and walked over to the shelf.
"Where?"
"Over. One more. There."
Patrick put it back then stood up. "I'll swing by in the morning to help you out."
"Okay. Thanks, Pat. See you then."
"Night."
Patrick turned and went down the stairs, flipping off lights as he went. When he got downstairs, he looked around and saw Gary sleeping in his snail bed. Once he was sure everything was in order, he turned off the rest of the lights and walked out the door. He hesitated then turned and locked it, just in case SpongeBob still felt scared. He pocketed his copy of SpongeBob's house key then headed back home. His thoughts were swirling around what he'd just learned about his friend. He'd never thought they'd talk about it, and now that they had, he knew it really was as bad as he'd feared, just in a way he hadn't expected. Now that he knew, he understood things so much better.
As he got ready for bed and settled in his chair, he was glad that they weren't fighting anymore. Life just wasn't the same without his best friend.
