Three weeks.
For three whole weeks, he thought everyone in town had disappeared, been abducted, any number of ideas that popped up in his overactive imagination, each more wild than the last.
And they were all just. . . away at some party to get away from him. . ?
"Well," he cleared his throat to calm his nerves. He was a shaky breath away from breaking out in tears. "I'm glad you all had fun."
"Don't be like that, lad. This about it like this, it's a party about celebrating you," Mr. Krabs said as he placed a claw on his shoulder.
'Is that supposed to make me feel better?' Sure, he was naïve at times, to a fault, but they can't actually think that they can spin this into something he's supposed to feel positive about? Did they think he was an idiot?
"Spongebob?"
"I'm fine," he said. He shrugged the claw off his shoulder and pulled the axe from the front of the bus. "Welcome back, everyone. Sorry about the bus."
Less than five minutes ago, Spongebob would have done anything to get everyone back. But right now, going home and getting away from them was very inviting. He couldn't be around them right now. Not when he was barely holding back tears.
Didn't want to give them a reason to get back on that bus and leave again.
Spongebob dropped the axe in some trashcan on the way home. The thing came out of some emergency box, so no one in particular will miss it.
Reaching home, he was greeted with the mess of video tapes, books, and board games scattered around his living from in his attempt to keep the boredom away. Normally a neat freak, Spongebob walked past the mess he made of his house and went straight to his bedroom. Running around town in a frenzy was a sure way to exhaust yourself.
The mess can wait until tomorrow.
Spongebob kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers.
National No Spongebob Day. Which really wasn't a day, but a few weeks.
"Three weeks, two days, thirteen hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-five seconds. But who's counting." He let out a strained chuckle.
With the wild ideas he had about what happened to everyone, he was thankful that none of them were true and they were okay. But finding out they were getting away from him didn't leave him feeling particularly happy.
"Am I really that annoying?" He mumbled.
He never meant to annoy everyone.
He never meant to be so unbearable to be around that everyone needed a holiday away.
All he ever wanted was to make everyone happy. I serve up smiles and to make their day just a little bit better and brighter. But it was all a waste of time. He was only a nuisance, a thorn in their side, filling a meter of how much of they could tolerate before they've had enough and it was time to disappear and bun and effigy of him and dance in the ashes.
Everyone. Even his friends. Even his best friend.
Even his pet.
'You're so irritating even your pet wants to get away from you.'
Spongebob curled up tighter under the covers, hiding away. At least like this he was saved the embarrassment of being seen crying in public. The sun was still up, but he called it an early night. For now, he didn't want to leave his bed for anything.
Instead of his foghorn alarm clock, Spongebob was woken up in the middle of the night by a violent cough practically erupting from his chest. He had to time to rub the sleep from his eyes before he was doubled over, wheezing and struggling to catch his breath in between the coughs.
In a brief moment of relief, he felt something rise from his throat and drop into his hands.
". . . a flower. . .?" He wheezed. It's petals were sprinkled with his own blood. But he didn't have time to think about that before he started coughing again.
Deep coughs, hacks, and strained wheezing not only made breathing an agonizing struggle, but also worked to bring more flowers up and out his mouth, and onto the floor. Like a rapid waterfall, they flew out of his mouth with every cough. Even through his pores during his attempts to take in a breath. One way or another, these flowers were finding a way out of him, scratching his insides on the way.
At some point, through the sound of his own hacking, he heard Squidward shouting at him from his own bedroom to be quiet. He waded through piles of flowers to close his window.
It felt like forever until the last and largest flower finally came up and he spat it out. His bedroom floor was completely covered in flowers, of all difference kinds, colors, and sizes, all splattered with his blood. But at least he could breathe again.
"What in the ocean?" He whispered as he picked one up. One lower was weird enough, but how could all of these come out of him? His throat ached and stung even from his whispering.
Out of all the times he's done the last few weeks, falling in a flower patch or garden wasn't one them, so he had no idea where they came from or how they could've gotten inside of him. But at least they were out now. He'll clean up the flowers in the morning before work.
Work wasn't going to happen.
As much as Spongebob hated not going into work on a day that wasn't his time off, there was no way he was leaving the house.
One hour of sleep and he was up again, coughing, bringing up more flowers to fill his room, bathroom, and considerable portion of the hallways, stairs, and library.
Rinse and repeated until the sun came up and his alarm went off.
'Why would they want me to cook them food if I'm so annoying, anyways?'
Spongebob dragged himself to the bathroom and through the flower covered floor until he reached the sink and mirror. The baggy eyes and slightly faded yellow of his skin were bad enough and normal for whenever he was sick. But it was the small, but very noticeable stems that were beginning to grow out of a few of his pores.
Snipping them off only worked for a few seconds before more grew to replace them.
"I need to go to a doctor," he mumbled. "Or a botanist? A gardner? No, a doctor."
He'd ask one of his friends to come with but he really, really, didn't feel like seeing them right now.
He dialed for his parents, bracing for the 20 questions that came with his mothers concern.
All things considered, Spongebob didn't expect the best news, what with being sick and everything. From a simple exam to being rushed to get x-rays of his lungs, the idea of good news was getting harder to hold on to.
When the doctor returned, the look on his wiped away any idea of good news to be had.
Hacky-hacky, no Hanahaki Disease. A disease that makes you lungs grow flowers, who ever heard of such a thing? Sounded made up, but the hours he spent coughing up flowers that now carpeted practically all the floor space in his pineapple said otherwise.
It wasn't caused by a bug, a virus, or even inhaling a bunch of flower seeds, no. What caused happy-hanny Hanahaki Disease was love. Or the believed lack of it. Believing,, truly, believing with all your heart and soul that someone, a very special someone, didn't feel the same way, made flowers grow in your lungs.
Romantic, platonic, familial, it didn't matter which. Love is love and love is all it took.
Unrequited, of course.
But unrequited love didn't have to stay that way, which was option one. Like in movies and books, you confess, and hopefully, fingers crossed, that it wasn't actually unrequited, and this whole thing can be wrapped up in a nice bow and they cane live happily ever after.
But that takes time.
Time he might not have.
"Your case is extremely advanced. Typically it starts with petals, and fully blossomed flowers only appear towards the later stages," the doctor said. "The depth of which this unrequited love has to be felt and believed, to break through it takes weeks, months even. You'll have better luck if it's romantic, but unrequited platonic and familial love takes longer to resolve."
After another fit that thankfully lasted a few minutes and only made enough flowers for a decently sized bouquet, he was able to speak.
"Can't you just take them out?" Spongebob asked. "A surgery or something?"
The doctor paused before answering. "We can. That's also an option. It'll be a long surgery, lasting several hours, but it can be done. But I have to warn you of the side effect of this choice, Mr. Squarepants," the doctor said. "Once the flowers are removed, so will your ability to love the person or persons you have unrequited feelings towards. And it's permanent."
Ever the lover of love, that was one of the worst things Spongebob has ever heard. Love was the greatest thing in the world. Love is what made the world go round! And now he might have to give that up?
"I won't be able to love anymore?"
"Only towards the ones you have unrequited feelings for. You'll still be able to love others," said the doctor.
"And what if I don't?"
"If you can't resolve these unrequited feelings, and you refuse the surgery, then you'll, unfortunately, suffocate," the doctor said. "I know this is a lot to think about, Mr. Squarepants. What I'm going to give you is a medicine that'll temporarily stop the flowers from growing. But it IS temporary. Because your case is progressing so rapidly, this medicine won't work for longer than 72 hours. You have to make your decision within that time."
. . .
It was his friends.
It didn't take much thinking to figure it out. The hurt and pain after finding out everyone left to get away from him, and then getting a super rare disease all about feeling, or not feeling loved? It was pretty heartbreaking, and he wasn't entirely sure that his heart didn't break into two literal pieces when he learned that.
It didn't take much to put two and two together.
Spongebob sat on his couch. Someone had called him and there were messages on his answering machine. That was going to have to wait, he had so much to think about.
Too much.
The last few weeks have certainly been roller-coaster. Twenty-four hours he thought that everyone he knew had possibly died, and now it's him who might die, funny how that happens.
Not 'haha' funny, more like 'I have to laugh to keep from crying' funny.
A knock at the door brought Spongebob out of his thoughts.
It was Patrick, shouting and asking if he was there. He rolled his eyes and thought about not answering. Mr. 'everyone needs one day which really wasn't one day but three weeks two days, thirteen hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-five seconds without aahahahahaa', now he wants to come over.
Of course he would. Patrick was a good friend but he can be so oblivious sometimes.
He thought about waiting for him to give up and go home, but Patrick was stubborn. He'll keep knocking for hours before that happened.
Spongebob only opened the door a crack, just enough to peak through and see his friend, and to keep him from seeing the mess that was his house.
"Spongebob! You wanna go jellyfishing?" Asked Patrick.
"Maybe some other day, Patrick," said Spongebob. "I don't feel very good."
"You got the suds again?"
"No, it's something different." He paused to let out a few deep coughs. "I'll see you when I get better, okay?"
He didn't wait for Patrick to say anything else before shutting the door.
The doctor said he shouldn't do anything that'll make him lose his breath in the slightest. Cleaning was still off the table, but he can at least nudge the flowers into a pile with his feet.
. . .
Of course he wanted to live.
There were more jellyfish to catch, more perfect krabby patties to make, more fun days ahead of him, even if he felt really crummy about what happened.
But living meant one of two options.
Spongebob knew he was always quick to forgive and forget when others did him wrong. Was it a flaw? Maybe, sure. Others thought so and often too advantage of that, but sponges live a long, long time, and holding onto grudges wasn't worth it in his opinion.
He wanted to forgive everyone, he really, really did. He's forgiven his friends and the citizens of Bikini Bottom for plenty of things in the past without a second thought.
But this was different. This time it hurt so much more than the other times. This time just thinking about it made his chest hurt. This time he felt insulted by the way they tried to spin this into something positive and expected him to go with it.
Besides, even if they said they were sorry, would that even be enough?
The doctor said that Hanahaki Disease was caused by the feeling of unrequited love that was deep, that was felt whole-heartedly and intensely. Spongebob was hopeful about a lot of things, but even he wasn't sure a simple apology would fix it.
At least not right away.
Right now, every time Spongebob thought about it, it only made him upset. Sad that they needed to get away from him. Sad that it was everyone, minus his family, who left. Angry that they wanted him to feel happy about it.
Angry that they didn't even know how much he did to NOT annoy and irritate them.
Angry that it wasn't enough.
Maybe, perhaps, with time and understanding, after this initial heartbreak passed, he'd believe their apologies. If they apologized at all. But he didn't have the weeks or months to give for the work it would take, he had 72 hours and counting.
And part of him didn't feel like talking to them right now, anyways.
So if he didn't want to die, and talking things out would take too long, then that left removing the flowers.
It seemed so obvious. Flowers coming out of your lungs? Get them removed. What was so complicated about that?
The fact that he would lose all love for his friends.
The fact that it's permanent.
As upset as he was at his friends, and all of Bikini Bottom for that matter, Spongebob still loved them. He couldn't imagine not loving them. They hurt him very much, but it took a whole lot for him to not love someone anymore. So much that even he didn't know how much it would take.
But now he was staring that possibility in the face. Could he do it? What would it feel like? Would he forget his friends completely? Or would he just not care about them anymore? Would they notice?
If When they notice, and if when they cried, would he care that they cared?
Does all this worrying matter at all?
There were just too many questions.
Too many questions whose possible answers scared him.
Spongebob reached into his pocket for the inhaler prescribed to him.
"Meow-meow?" He looked down and found Gary next to him as he finished making another small pile of flowers with his feet.
"I'm fine, Gary. I'm just a little sick," Spongebob said, petting his shell. "I'll be better soon."
The idea of not loving his friends anymore was enough to consider, even for a brief moment, the third option. He didn't want to die, of course not, but. . .the idea of not loving his friends anymore certainly felt like dying, in a way. The most important people in his life, who he had so many memories with that it was hard to find one without one of them in it, were going to mean nothing to him if he got the flowers removed.
It really wasn't an 'if' anymore. One way or another they were getting removed. Either he calls the doctor himself, or he passes out as he chokes on them, someone calls 9-1-1, and his parents gave the okay for the surgery on his behalf instead. They made it very clear in the car ride home they were not going to let him die for his friends.
So.
That was it then.
He was getting the flowers removed, along with everything that came out with it.
"All this thinking is giving me a headache," Spongebob groaned. He coughed, this time, only a few petals. "Maybe I should call it a night."
Despite his lungs feeling heavy, he wasn't coughing up those flowers for the time being, and Spongebob decided that was good enough for him to go back to work. It was a Wednesday anyways and they weren't that busy on Wednesday, usually.
He needed the routine to help him think through all this.
Spongebob went directly into the kitchen and started prep work.
The decision was made. First thing tomorrow morning, he was getting the flowers removed.
Should he tell his friends?
No. He still didn't feel like talking to them. And they'd try to convince him not to go through with it, spend hours telling him how much they loved him, wasting time only for him to end up getting them removed anyways.
Besides, why should he tell them? They didn't tell him that they were leaving before doing it. It would only add to his grief.
As he pulled the first order slip from the window, he peaked out of the kitchen window to see a growing line of customers Wednesday was normally not that busy, but it's been weeks since these people had a krabby patty made by him, of course it would be busier than usual.
Funny how they had a vacation "all about him" but wanted the food he cooked.
'There's that laugh to keep from crying humor again,' Spongebob thought.
He only wanted to make them happy. He only wanted to make them happy because he loved them. And he gave love freely, like all sponges do; he didn't know any other way of living. But apparently it only repelled people.
Wait.
Hold on, hold the phone.
If loving them made him annoy and bother them to the point where they had to escape, then not loving or caring about them would make him not be a pest to them anymore, right?
And that would make them happy, like he always wanted to do!
It made perfect sense!
He spent a day and a half worrying about this when there was nothing to worry about at all. His friends might be sad at first, but after they get what they've apparently always wanted, they'll be happy. Everyone will be happy, like he always tried to make them.
Only this time, it'll work.
Spongebob went through the rest of the lunch rush with a smile on his face. He'd dance if it wasn't advised against by his doctor.
. . .
He never meant to annoy anyone, but this'll make up for it. And since it's permanent, theres no chance that he'll go back to his weird normal that everyone couldn't stand deep down.
And it won't be great that he can't love his friends afterwards, but that didn't mean he couldn't like them. Liking someone was still perfectly good. He really can't say until after it happened, but he was hopeful it'll be like that. They'll make up after the whole National No Spongebob Day thing, and things will go back to normal.
A different normal.
They might not even notice at all.
If he was going to give 'final words', then he should probably start with Squidward. He's right here, and Squidward liked his alone time after work. He wanted to minimize how much he got on his neighbors nerves before things changed.
"Hey, Squidward?"
"What is it, Spongebob?" He ignored Squidwards bored apathy as he fussed with his tie.
"I'm sorry."
"You're . . .sorry. . .?"
"For breaking into your house, and taking your stuff, and trying to get you to do stuff with me and Patrick, and not leaving when you wanted to be alone." Spongebob practically felt his neighbors eyes trying to read him, so he kept avoiding eye contact. Squidward was definitely going to be the happiest. He'll finally get that peace and quiet he always wanted. It was nice run trying to cheer him up, but if it didn't work, it just didn't work and was finally time to call it quits. "I didn't mean to get on your nerves. I just wanted to cheer you up because you looked lonely. I'm sorry."
"An apology doesn't count if you don't change afterwards, you know."
"I know! I know, and I will." He finally looked up and gave Squidward his typical smile. "I promise!"
"Yeah, well, we'll see."
"Is Mr. Krabs in his office? I have to talk to him about something."
Squidward nodded, and went right to Mr. Krabs office.
Not only was this surgery going to last hours, but he needed a few days to a week to recover. Bed rest and taking it easy while his lungs healed up, so no working, no smoke or steam or anything that can possibility irritate or cause him to cough. He normally hated taking time off, and that worked well with Mr. Krabs iron hold on not giving out any days off.
Asking for a week off after and impromptu sick day was a big ask, but it wasn't so much an ask as it was warning. Deny it or not, he wasn't going to be here either way.
Spongebob didn't give more reason than it was important. And maybe it was because he felt bad about the whole No Spongebob Day thing, but it felt like Mr. Krabs put up less of a fight than Spongebob thought he would about it.
Probably shouldn't overthink it. He's got two more friends to get to.
All the messages on his answering machine was from Sandy. He didn't actually listen to them, and they'll probably be deleted once this whole thing was over. He had to be careful around her, though. Sandy's smart. Super smart. The smartest person in the whole ocean, probably.
He can't let her figure out that he was sick and what exactly he was sick with. So he opted to stay quiet for most of his visit, handing her whatever needed as she worked on her latest experiment. At least this way he wasn't making a mess.
One last round of karate sound nice, but the growing weight in his lungs wouldn't let him do as much as put on the gear, so he asked to lay in the grass instead. That was just as nice.
But even being quiet and enjoying a friends company wasn't enough. He wasn't a quiet person, and while he knew Squidward wouldn't try and ruin the peace and quiet, him being quiet was enough for Sandy to know something was wrong.
But she didn't press, and he was thankful for that.
. . .
He'll still like his hobbies, right?
The doctor said this whole hacky-hacky Hanahaki thing was about love for others, not hobbies or passions. He'll still love jellyfishing, working at the Krusty Krab, and he'll still love karate.
Maybe once this is over and the flowers are out of his lungs, he'll come back over and take up her offer for a sparring match.
"I'm glad you decided to come down and live in Bikini Bottom," He said. Again, he managed to actually look at her, this time, keeping eye contact, even though it looked like it straining him to do so. "You're a great friend, and the smartest person I know, and I'm happy I got to meet you."
"You're a great friend, too, Spongebob. What brings this up?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to say it."
He wrapped her in a hug and she did the same. This might be the last time he'll want to hug any of his friends, and he wanted to enjoy it.
How was he supposed to do this?
Spongebob sat with Patrick under his rock, watching a mini marathon of Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy episodes on his TV. Well, Patrick was watching, Spongebob found the sand floor particularly interesting as he sorted through his thoughts one more time. It wasn't jellyfishing like he promised, but Patrick didn't seem to care. Or remember.
Should he say anything at all? Patrick didn't have the best memory, he might not remember that he said anything.
No. That wouldn't be right.
Patrick is his best friend. He can be clueless at time, but Spongebob knew he was going to be the first one to notice that something was wrong with him after the flowers was removed. He can't tell Patrick the specifics, it'll take too long, and it was hard enough to wrap hi sown head around it, he'll be up all night trying to explain it to him.
What can he say instead?
"Hey Patrick? You know we're best friends forever, right? No matter what happens, you and me will always be best friends," Spongebob said.
"Of course we are, buddy!"
"No, really, Patrick. I need you to know and understand that no matter what happens, were best friends to the end. Okay? You're my best friend, and I'm your best friend, and nothing will ever change that. No matter what. No. Matter what," he insisted. He had to make sure Patrick understood this. He had to know that after he won't be able to love him and their friends, that they were still best friends.
"No matter what," Patrick repeated. "You're starting to scare me. . ."
Spongebob only shifted until he was leaning against him.
"Just wanted to make sure we both knew that," he said. "Sorry, Pat. I didn't mean to scare you."
He felt Patrick wrap and arm around him and he curled against him. As much as Patrick wanted this marathon to last all night, he needed to get plenty of sleep before the morning, doctors orders.
"It's getting late. I should go home."
". . .you promise you'd tell me if something was wrong? That's what best friends do."
. . .
He almost cracked. He can feel his eyes begin to sting as tears started to well up. He hated lying but he especially hated lying to his best friend. If he told ANYONE, it only felt right to Spongebob that he told his most bestest friend. But he couldn't. It'll only make things worse.
Besides, what was there to cry about? Once it's all done, everyone will be happy.
He wiped his tears before they fell.
"I know, and I promise. Nothing's wrong." He gave one of his signature toothy grins. "I gotta go, Pat. I really need to get some sleep. See you later?" Patrick nodded, and Spongebob gently pulled his hand out of his friends before leaving.
There wasn't anything to cry about.
Early in the morning, before the sun was up, his parents came to bring him to the hospital. After the surgery, they come back to get Gary and bring him to their house. They wanted to be the ones to watch him while he recovered, and Spongebob wasn't going to argue. He was too tired to argue.
His lungs felt full, and he was ready to breath easy again.
"Alright now, Mr. Squarepants. All you have to do now is count backwards from 10," the nurse said. "Okay?"
He nodded, and the mask was placed over his mouth.
10
He didn't mean to annoy everyone.
9
He really didn't.
8
That's just how sponges are.
7
But it'll be okay.
6
After this
5
. . they'll all. . .
4
. . .be. . .
3
. . .hap. . .py. . .
2
. . .
1