He didn't remember screaming and punching at the walls and wishing for his mommy to just take him home. He didn't remember the shots of tranquilizers. He didn't remember the meds forcefed to him. And as far as he was concerned, the scars he had on his arms were from some mild childhood accident, not from restraints to keep him fromâEU¦no, not hurting the nurses, but hurting himself. Self-harm. He, Squilliam Fancyson, the ultimate narcissist (or so he could play, well enough to fool even himself), was a risk to himself. To himself. Not to others. No, he wouldn't-couldn't hurt anyone else. Not physically. Hell, barely emotionally. Superficial insults, yes. Actual ruination of one's life? No. But SquidwardâEU¦ Squilliam squirmed in the backseat of his limo, eyes clouded over as vague memories danced in his mind. Memories he couldn't grasp and, even upon grasping, couldn't believe or truly understand. Bic lighters and pranks which went beyond normal levels of childhood. Screams and begs for the nurses to switch roommates, to exchange the scene, the situation. Burns in spots no one would check, scratches which could be played off as yet another suicide attempt, another thing Squilliam did wrong. Blame the victim, keep him around longer. Long enough to know better than to remember any of it. And so he didn't. Squilliam just didn't. Willful disassociation with his childhood trauma. Which explained why he was going over to Squidward's house right now. Not armed with premonition or a necessity to do good. Not as a savior to a victim he had yet to meet. No. He was going to Squidward's for one reason and one reason only. It was Tuesday.

It was Tuesday. The thought entered his head seconds before Squilliam actually arrived. "You killed him! Oh god, oh god, SquidwardâEU¦Squidward, how could youâEU¦you killedâEU¦? Oh god, Patrick! PATRICK!" SpongeBob couldn't gain control of himself, flailing on the melted pieces of his broken heart. Tuesday. The day of the week. Concentrating and slowing time as he fixated. Tuesday. Who came over every Tuesday? The doorbell rings and memory was jogged. Squilliam. Of course. Squilliam fucking Fancyson. Squidward's lips twitched in delight. This was one visitor Squidward had counted on, even if he'd put the idea on the back burner, just in case. Unlike Patrick, this was completely planned. Completely counted on. Expected. "I hate you!" SpongeBob screamed. "I HATE YOU!" "Shut the fuck up, SpongeBob," Squidward spoke wearily, despite the newfound pep in his step. "J-Just kill me already. Please!" "You stay quiet," Squidward muttered as the doorbell rang once again. "Don't tell me what to do!" Amazing the sudden ruthlessness SpongeBob tried to convey, now that something he'd truly loved had been taken from him. No, two somethings. Patrick and Squidward, in a sense. SpongeBob had lost the illusion of who Squidward Tentacles was. Lost the beauty of the façade, replaced with cold cunning and brutal indifference. Impressive as SpongeBob's emotions were, however, he needed him to shut up. At least for the moment. Right now, Squidward had a guest to entertain. "You shut the fuck up," Squidward stroked the sponge's crying face, before cooing softly, "Or I'll kill whoever's outside." That certainly silenced the kindhearted boy. Yellow flesh paled, lower lip trembling. "Like you killed Patrick?" "Mhm! So just stay quiet, deary. This won't take long." He walked out of the room, still blood soaked, but facially sound.

Calm, vaguely annoyed expression as he finally got to the front door. Squilliam was predictable as always, barely waiting for the door to open before pouncing onto Squidward. Pouncing before grimacing in distaste, pulling away. "Ew, Squiddy, what did you do to yourself?" "Why are you here?" Squilliam blinked, forgetting to appear disgusted by Squidward's appearance, momentarily appearing hurt before grinning, careful confidence resumed. "I needed a release. And who better than to help me out than the boy that was voted most likely toâEU"" "Suck eggs in high school, yeah, I get it." Leave it to Squilliam to fixate on high school, the one time Squidward had allowed him freedom, allowed his ego to flourish and develop and placate. High school. The meeting place as they both insisted to anyone who cared to listen. Squilliam insisting as, well, probably as a coping mechanism. And Squidward? Because it was fun to fuck with expectations. Fun to fuck with society as a whole. Fun to fuck with Squilliam especially. Ex-suicidal octopus's fragile psyche little more than a chew toy for Squidward's incisors to mash and chew and tease. "Jeez, no reason to bite my head off." Fitting for the chew toy to talk about biting. Yes, Squilliam was definitely Squidward's. His first true possession, honestly. Broken and trained, clear in his cracking confidence. Which was why Squidward honestly didn't plan on killing him. At least not thus far in his plan. Though things did pop up unexpectedly (things which Squidward, of course, had long thought out, all possibilities clearly planned and marked). But really, what use was breaking someone who was already broken? Yes, Squilliam was good for the occasional quick Tuesday bang.

And he'd certainly been fun to toy with back in their institutional days. Toy with and ultimately shatter. But now, pieces glued precariously and memories locked away, Squilliam was teetering on nervous breakdown status on a constant basis. He was damaged goods. No reason to even throw him away. That would be too merciful. Funner still to keep him alive, keep him dancing and thriving when he'd much rather shrivel and sleep.

It was amusing how easily people bought into the theory that Squilliam was selfish, self-absorbed, egotistical and independent, while Squidward was all depression and angst, victimized by a society who couldn't understand someone of such artistic values. Artistic values! Shit! The paintings!

"Why are all your paintings knocked down?" Squilliam roamed the small living space slowly, taking in the blankness of walls. "It's¦" Squilliam didn't honestly care, swirling around and kissing Squidward once, then a second time, lingering then. "Really, Squiddy, what's on you?" There it was. That needy voice. That was what Squidward wanted. "Blood." A flash of fear before that unibrow wiggled in delight. "I didn't realize you were such a sexual deviant." Faking as though he didn't believe, as though he didn't find Squidward capable of such behavior. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Squilliam." "Such as?" "I just killed a guy." That devastated expression lingered longer this time, features softened with the reality of his nature shining through, the beautiful realism of his true self outweighing the luster of deception before self control was maintained, homeostasis once more reinstated. Squilliam laughed, nuzzling against Squidward's neck. "Good one, Squiddy. Now let's get you out of these clothes and into your bed, shall we?" "Actually, I think we should check out a different room." Squidward grabbed his rival's-his property's-hand and coaxed him to the stairs, pulling him up and avoiding puddles of blood. "I wanna show you the body."

"Squidward..." He sighed, not sure what else to say after seeing the now dead Patrick and the brutally butchered and horrified Spongebob. Squilliam's reaction had changed a lot in those few minutes. From ignorant, to horrified, to disgusted and now to a rather calm emotion. "I was hoping you'd show up here today." Squidward crossed his arms. "If you didn't this would have been more troublesome then I would have liked." He finished. The other squid sighed lightly, it was nothing new to him. He always would cover up his rivals mess. It was no longer even a burden. He was rich, obviously, so with just the right amount of money he could make the dead boy vanish. Make it private instead of public. And Squidward, as always, would end up unscathed. Only a few times had he failed money wise, depending on who the other had killed or harmed. But in those cases Squidward would only end up in the mental ward for a bit, until the money would save his ass. Just like it always did. It made Squilliam rather sick of life, sick of how fish were, easily silenced by just a bit of money. It was disgusting to him. "What do you need me to do, exactly?" Squillam asked, cocky voice turning into a more irritated one. It wasn't actual irritation, Squidward noted. "Just like always, help me get rid of the evidence and pay the police off." He spoke in a matter-o-fact tone. Showing this conversation was nothing new. The other squid raised his uni brow slightly. He never realized how 'normal' this conversation was to them. It was like how people talk about the weather. He almost found that hilarious. "One second." He replied, walking coolly to the front door, softly he walked toward his limo, which was still waiting for him.

"Just grabbing my suitcase." He muttered, he had planned on going on a trip that evening. Meet a lover or two. He hadn't quite planned for this. "Yes sir." The driver replied. He quickly grabbed the case and walked calmly back in the house, shutting and locking the door and going back in the other room. "Please kill me!" Spongebob begged, voice sounding more and more desperate. His blue eyes grew dim as they glazed over with tears. "Please..." He whispered. "I have no intentions on killing you." Squidward replied, voice soft and stoic. "Here." Squilliam entered the room again with his suit case. "I have sanitizer, wipes and Thermite.' He added. Again, this was the typical way they would clear the evidence. "It would be best if we got rid of the body first." He continued. "That would make cleaning easier." The other squid sighed in frustration. "I can't go, I have to take care of him." He pointed in the direction of Spongebob. "Fine, I'll go take care of this," He paused to nudge the starfishes head with his tentacle. "and then I'll return, it'll only take a couple hours." He finished. They both knew Squilliam was trust worthy. After all the things they have been through, he was by far trust worthy. He wouldn't betray Squidward. He couldn't. The facade of them being rivals always dissolved whenever they were alone together. Whenever Squidward was in this persona. It use to scare Squilliam. But now it didn't, whenever the other squid was harming someone, he would hardly ever hurt the uni-browed one. So in a sick way Squilliam had rather seen someone else perish then he feel the scorch of Squidward. He smirked lightly, Squidward always called him his rival, and to the naked eye it was just one sided. But they were in every sense of the word, rivals. Both trying to be better then the other. Both so desperately wanting that with everything in them. They were eternal rivals.

"Right here." Squilliam yelled over the loud winds to the one flying the helicopter. Once they finally got enough distance where Squilliam could climb down, he grabbed the rather huge bag and pushed it to the helicopter door, quickly pushing it out. Finally he grabbed the ladder and carefully climbed down the helicopter safely to the ground. He had told the driver earlier to be back in about an hour, if not he would make sure he never could get a job again. So he knew the threat would work. After he left Squilliam finally got to work, he quickly grabbed the bag of Thermite and the corpse of Patrick, he put the Thermite all over the body. After about twenty minutes with that and Magnesium he was able to start the fire. Running quickly away from it he watched from a distance as it literally burnt the body away. He sighed as he plopped down on the ground. Putting his face in his hands and sighing. This shouldn't be normal. They shouldn't be doing this. But it was to them, and they were. And apparently, that was that.

"It's done." It was unnecessary for Squilliam to speak the sentence, to address the trustworthiness of his nature that both were fully aware of. But he had to say something. Had to announce himself. Better that than to surprise his apparent rival. Surprising Squidward while he was like this was never a good idea, bringing out knee-jerk reactions Squilliam didn't care to witness. "Good." "âEU¦S-SquiddyâEU¦?" Shit. He winced, swallowing at the lump forming in his throat as the crazed cephalopod turned around, away from the crying sponge. "You're stuttering again. Isn't that cute?" "IâEU"" "Didn't you pay speech therapists to get rid of that pesky little habit of yours?" Squidward bridged the gap between them, blood on his hands seeping into the soft robe, pulling him close with a chuckle. "Are you so excited to see me that you can't even speak properly?" Squilliam forced himself to hold still as Squidward's tongue snaked down the side of his face, sucking at his neck, before biting, grinding into collar bone. It took everything in him to keep from screaming. Everything wasn't enough, face turning away with a whimper. It didn't matter how often this happened, didn't matter how much he deluded himself to believe this to be normal, to all be part of the master plan of survival whenever he was around Squidward. Cracks holding back his memories stretched further, allowing more to leak forth. Screaming for mercy while Squidward held him down, restraining him by the wrists before biting his chest. Not nibbling, not sexual foreplay, but biting, scarring Squilliam's once perfect flesh.

Squilliam pulled himself away from that, keeping away any thoughts about childhoods, about his actual relationship with Squidward, trying so hard to keep the stutter away. Subject change. Small words, easy and slow. He could do this. "WhoâEU¦who is he?" "The one you burned away?" Another flicker of pain, singular despaired sob drawing a laugh from Squidward. His true laugh, not the snide snicker of a cashier and artist, but the booming echo of a desecrator of lives, the chortle of a psychopath with a penchant for distorting the definition of reality. "No," Squilliam refused to think of the bodies as living entities, refused to give them any sort of life. If he did that, then he'dâEU¦he'dâEU¦ "H-him." Shit, his stutter really was back. Only Squidward could have such an effect on him. No, not Squidward, at least not in the general sense. Not the public façade Squilliam openly ridiculed, because 98% of the time, Squidward Tentacles was little more than someone to verbally joust with, to compare life points with. That same percentage accounted for Squilliam's somewhat demented love for Squidward. Affection leading to these Tuesday meetings, Tuesday fuck and run, wishing for a cuddle. Then Tuesdays like this came around and fucked everything up. Real Squidward showed up, his true form, the looming shadow which still haunted Squilliam's childhood, as loath he was to admit it. Insanity (or reality, if Squilliam fully digested Squidward's doctrine) grinding out any form of social normality. Squidward was the success, and Squilliam was the fumbling failure, the kicked worm with the wide eyes just looking for some form of release.

Squilliam couldn't look at the sponge, not fully, squeezing eyes shut and still seeing red. He wasn't aware his legs had given out until Squidward grabbed onto him, wrapped arms around his torso and eased him into a more comfortable sitting position. Almost loving, almost caring, except Squilliam wouldn't allow himself to be so delusional.

"He's no one," Squidward finally answered, stroking the top of his rival's head. "I'm going to make him into somebody, though." Squilliam opened his eyes, letting his gaze rise to meet Squidward's. "Just like I did for you, Squilliam." Squidward wasn't here any longer. Physically as well as mentally, no longer in the same room, abandoning both puppets in favor of other surroundings, for reasons none but the departed knew. How SpongeBob was aware of this fact, he wasn't entirely sure. In and out of consciousness, peace before throbbing and pain, the glimmers of reality staining his earlier picture of the world. Baby blue eyes had never seemed as bright as now against the pale yellow of his face. Yellow and red and blue, all he consisted of now. Nothing but three colors. His vision cleared after brief tunneling, landing on the crying heap lying in a corner. Weeping. "SâEU¦Squidward?" He almost didn't recognize his own voice, coughing after a moment, parched and empty. The head raised, eyes large, hollow, framed by his unibrow. Not Squidward. SpongeBob let out a shaky breath, unaware he'd been holding it in. "You're n-not Squidward." "No," The man dried his eyes on the back of his sleeve, red sleeve of a fine fabric robe. SpongeBob knew him. Knew of him, anyway. But he couldn't place the exact identity. WhoâEU¦? "Look, sponge, I'm not sure who you are or what you did to upset Squiddy, butâEU¦b-butâEU¦" Whoever it was looked away, choking back gags. Now he was the one coughing. "Are you okay?" SpongeBob shook at his bonds, trying to pull away to comfort the being, whoever he may be. As similar as he looked to Squidward, he definitely wasn't. And from the looks of things, he was just as much a victim as SpongeBob.

"My name's SpongeBob." "I don't want to know your name," He was shaking, desperate, turning away. "I don't want to know you. I don't want to know. You can't make me know." "Are you okay?" "No!" The man jumped to his feet, eyes looking everywhere but SpongeBob. "No, I can't be here! I justâEU¦I didn't sign up forâEU¦I'm leaving!" "Squilliam, sit back down," Squidward stepped back into the room, latching the door behind him as he placed a hand on the unibrowed octopus's shoulder. Simple pressure enough to get him to sit on the ground. "SpongeBob, have you met Squilliam Fancyson?" "N-no," Then, eyes wide, "Yes, I have." THAT Squilliam Fancyson? But he looked so frail. He couldn't possibly be the same mega billionaire who Squidward had often grumbled about. How could someone so broken possibly make anyone's high school life miserable? What was true about anything? There were very few things SpongeBob could fully process at the moment. His mind faltered, landing on the image of his fallen best friend for a nanosecond, breaking him all over again before he pushed it away, tried to stay in the now. He wouldn't think about it. He didn't have to. "Squilliam, this is SpongeBob," Squilliam didn't shout this time, sniffling instead and holding still as Squidward grabbed his chin, pulling his face up, forcing him to look. "I cut his dick off," Squidward laughed. Squilliam flinched, trying to pull away, only forcing Squidward to tighten his grip, tentacles white against his skin, hiss of pain slipping past Squilliam's lips. "I could cut yours off, too, you know."

"Squiddy, what are you trying to do here?" Squilliam's voice was oddly rational, not empty of emotion but sorting them, placing them to the side for now, refusing to address the fact that Squidward was threatening to mutilate his genitalia. "Trying to do?" Squidward mulled it over, stroking a hand over Squilliam's neck. "Why do I still allow you to call me Squiddy?" "I d-don't¦" Squidward didn't cut him off, dropping his hand, letting Squilliam fall. "In fact, why do I still allow you to speak at all?" Squilliam glanced up, face twitching, clearly reading into Squidward's thought patterns before SpongeBob. "Squiddy, that's n-not necessary," His voice was achingly soft, SpongeBob nearly straining to hear him. "You don't get to decide what's necessary, Squilliam." "I-if youâEU¦if I can't talk, IâEU"" "What do you think I'm planning?" "I know exactly what you're¦" Squilliam couldn't finish, catching his breath, hands clasped almost in prayer position. "Please, Squiddy, you don't have to¦" SpongeBob was almost glad for this, in the tiniest part of his mind. Glad to be distracted by this display instead of forced to dwell on his own fate. Glad until he saw Squidward grab the knife once again. "S-Squiddy, please! I'm sorry! Please, Squiddy, please don't!"

How did Squilliam know what Squidward was planning? Judging from his lack of movement, he was already submitted to his fate, sobbing as Squidward tilted his face back, forced his lips apart and grabbed his tongue. No more arguments or apologies, unable with his mouth pried open, tongue held tight in tentacle. "I'm not going to kill you, but there's no need for me to hear your idiotic whining any longer," Squidward smiled, sliding the blade of his knife across the top of the pink surface, prickling taste buds to bleed. Squilliam didn't jerk away, though his body did twitch. "It'll be a shame, in a way. You were always marvelous with your tongue." He cut into his skin, the motion smooth by SpongeBob's vision, though judging from Squilliam's warbled cry, voice jumbled with his mouth's position, nothing was smooth about it. "Maybe one more kiss, for old time's sake." Squilliam's tongue seemed to hang on little more than a sinew of flesh as Squidward leaned forward, pressing their lips together. An awkward shuffle, popping of jaw, more piteous wails, Squidward's jaw muscles tensing for an instant. The veins on his forehead bulged for just a moment before Squidward pulled back, Squilliam's tongue completely disengaged, dangling between Squidward's lips.

Now widened blue eyes stared at the two squids. One now without a tongue. And the other with one that wasn't his. It was as if the yellow sponge couldn't quite comprehend what just happened. It didn't feel...Real to him. He gave a noticeable cringe when Squidward turned his head back to him, spitting out the now floppy tongue from his lips. "Whats a matter, Sponge?" He spoke in a mock concerned voice. Red eyes glazed over while eyebrows narrowed just the slightest. Showing loud and clear that he could fake an emotion almost flawlessly. Clearly, Spongebob refused to answer, not quite knowing how to. He bit his tongue slightly just to make sure it was still there. Squidward chuckled as if he knew what Spongebob just did. "Why so silent? You're not the one who just had his tongue cut off." He paused before he walked toward the sponge with the knife in hand. "Now tell me, whats the matter?" He added with a smirk. "T-This just f-feels fake." Spongebob finally was able to spit out a sentence, a badly spoken one, but one none the less. It seemed to have amused Squidward slightly as he leaned down to get to the sponge's level. "On the contrary, Spongebob...What you were living before was fake. I'm simply showing you reality." He spoke softly, almost gently. A contrast to the sharp knife he was holding, the sharp knife that just got thrust into the young sponge's gut. Avoiding any organs needed, but obviously causing a lot of pain to the boy. Blue eyes closed as the boy screamed out, pain overwhelming him, the once numb pains from his previous wounds came alive, he doubled over in pain as much as he could tied up. It would seem like the pain was too much as he heaved and what he had eaten before he came over fell from his mouth. After he vomited he finally was able to begin sobbing. Shaking violently as well.

"Calm down, Sponge. Out of all your wounds so far that should have been the least painful." Squidward chuckled as he finally very slowly pulled the knife from its wound. Squilliam silently cried, making sure his sobs couldn't be heard, not wanting anymore violence to happen to him yet. This was the worst thing Squidward had ever done to him. Sure, he had stabbed him plenty, even shot him once. But he never took any parts off the squid, and certainly not one quite as valuable as his tongue. He could feel his career slipping from his fingers. For everything he did just about involved speaking, or his tongue, in some kind of way. He shook his head lightly, that was the least of his concerns right now, or should have been. Right now he had to worry about rather he'd make it out of this alive or not. The chances already seemed slim. He spat out blood from his open wound. It wasn't the first time he did that since he lost his tongue. He couldn't swallow the blood as he found the test disgusting. His eyes overflowed with tears as he closed them and looked down. "Lets see..." Squidward muttered. "We killed your best friend...That was fun..." He paused. "Who else is close to you that we could dispose of." He pondered that thought. "Squidward, please, don't hurt nobody else!" Spongebob cried out, which caused the squid to roll his eyes as he put the knife to the sponges cheek. "I don't think you're in the position to tell me what to do." Squidward muttered, irritation seemed to be written on his face. "Anyway..." His face lit up as if the best idea ran through his mind. "Mr. Krabs, that's who I should kill." He grinned. "That would mean your career would be over, right?" He laughed. "If you make it out of this at all." He finished as he walked slowly toward the phone.

"Oh please Squidward, please, don't hurt him! Nobody else please!" Spongebob begged, voice clear for once. His agony evident as he cared more for his friends then himself. Squidward sighed before he walked back over and grabbed a cloth that was on the ground, in just afew swift movements he made it into a gag. "Be quiet, please." The squid chuckled as he walked back to the phone. Spongebob tried to scream but it only caused him to gag, not enough to throw up again, however. The older squid held back a grin as he grabbed the phone and began dialing.

The old red crap sighed heavily as he ate his dinner in solitude. His daughter pearl was out at some kind of conference, or whatever, he never asked many questions when it came to boring stuff like that. So now he was at the house alone. He huffed as he shoved down more food. The ring of his phone, coming out of the pure silence caused the crab to jump. He grumbled a few sailor words before finally walking toward it. "Aye, hello?" He asked, not use to getting many calls besides ones for Pearl. "Mr. Krabs! S-Spongebob, he...He's not breathing!" The nasally voice yelled in a panic on the other line. "Oh god oh god! Please come help!" Squidward screamed. "Aye aye me boy, I'll be down there in a bit! Want me to call the hospital?" He asked. "Uh, no, that's fine. I am going to call them once we get off, just please get here!" Squidward gave a final gasp before hanging up. The crab would have probably been suspicious had it been anyone else. But he trusted Squidward. No matter what. "And done." Squidward said calmly as he made sure the phone had hung up. "Should be even more interesting once he gets in." He added with a chuckle.

He looked over at the sponge. "What, you should be happy its not you." After that was said he knew what Spongebob was thinking, how the boy would prefer that it was him rather then the friends. He couldn't understand that what the squid was doing was out of love. He was doing this for his best interest. And Spongebob would thank him for this later. That much he was certain of. After all, not many of the fish here had that chance, none, really. They all decided to live in their ignorance. Believing that they were real, when they clearly weren't. It made Squidward sick. Because you have to admit it to yourself before you can change it. That's how it always goes, right? Of course, it isn't an easy battle to become real. You have to go through hell and back. Your personality has to change dramatically...You have to change dramatically. And well, if you can survive that, you can become real.

Traffic was never this heavy this time of night. Eugene's teeth ground together in annoyance and anxiety as his boat weaved in and out of the eternal line of vehicles. Of course, the one time he willingly used fuel to drive across town, the single occasion he actually needed to get somewhere, everyone was out. The turn signal screamed at him to speed up, boat tilting precariously as he turned onto Conch Street, pulling up to the Easter Island head his cashier called home. Glancing at the building, Mr. Krabs couldn't help picturing days of youth"not his youth, but Squidward's, before he'd gone bald, before he'd gotten so cynical" Before Krabs hadâEU" But the older man didn't think about that any longer, the guilt clawing at his throat in an attempt to escape, a sense of persecution within him, as he shut off the engine, walking up to the door. His knocking didn't resonate, the door just swinging open with a screeched sigh. "Mr. Squidward?" He glanced inside, nub-like feet echoing on the cold floor. He'd been in this home before, this shrine of narcissistic delight, and he expected to see the self portraits fixed onto the wall. He didn't see any self portraits. Just tacks where they'd once hung, faded rectangles in the paint. And a scantily dressed cephalopod, bound, legs spread, watching him wide-eyed from the couch. Krabs' breath caught in the back of his throat, face flushing, though with the red of his face this wasn't seen. He stepped closer, claw extended despite himself before he drew back, visually taking in the squirming form before him. He'd mistaken him for Squidward at first, a younger Squidward, really. The blond wig had thrown him off, not the silky attire. But it obviously wasn't him, upon closer inspection. His lips were a garish, dolled on redâEU"Krabs almost mistook it for blood, though he logically deduced it to be lipstick instead. And he had a unibrow. Huh. Who else had as It didn't matter.

His eyes fell to the boy's"man's? It was hard to tell chest, falling to the piece of paper taped to his exposed midriff. Quickly, he pulled it off, the octopus tensing as the tape tore at his skin, but otherwise not making a single sound. It wasn't as though Squilliam could make a sound, though, not really. True, he could whimper. He could moan or sob or groan. But he couldn't exactly speak, couldn't protest in any way. He couldn't warn this man, either.

Not that he would have, really. Squilliam had read enough in Squidward's voice as he'd applied these cosmetic touches to him that he knew what this crab was capable of, what he had done. In a way, maybe all of this would have been avoided, this entire nightmare would have been nonexistent if Krabs had neverâEU" But that didn't really make any sense. After all, SquiddyâEU"Squidward, not Squiddy (Squilliam winced at how ingrained that nickname remained), had been clinically insane back in their childhood. He couldn't hide from his memories any longer, crashing over him with no escape route, not way to tell anyone. Everything would forever remain locked inside him now.Still, even if Krabs wasn't the primary cause of Squidward's insanityâEU"though the smallest part of Squilliam didn't quite see any of this as fully crazy, as pathetic as he felt for admitting thatâEU"he'd definitely contributed. And for that, Squilliam almost thought he deserved his fate. "Let's see," Squidward smirked, eyes flitting back over to Squilliam, stepping over the pool of blood in front of him, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him up. "What's wrong? Snail got your tongue?" He laughed, petting the tip of his tentacle along Squilliam's unibrow. Squilliam opened his mouth in rebuttal, but all that came out was more blood, less now, but the texture still coated his mouth. "You look like a whore, you know, with your lips so red." The room was silent, Squidward running this new development through his head. Squilliam could mentally form the words along with Krabs as he read the note aloud.

>>>>>/CONTINUED/>>>>>