While mornings were unpleasant for Squidward in general, he was having a particularly horrible morning.

He had been abruptly woken up by the loud bellow of a horn from the pineapple next to his house, followed the chattering and chirping of clams outside that was abnormally louder and more frantic than usual. He grumbled something profane under his breath and tried to push himself into a sitting position with his two upper tentacles, but his body would not budge. Then suddenly a wave of searing pain rippled across his head and abdomen.

He must have blacked out, because in his next conscious moment he found himself half-sprawled on the floor of his bathroom, dry heaving as he clutched onto the sides of the toilet for dear life. Through a blurred vision of acidic tears, he glanced at the wristwatch hanging off his tentacle and realized he was going to be late for work. He held onto the edge of the sink and slowly lifted himself from the cold linoleum, wincing as another wave of discomfort hit his stomach. He had completely no idea as to what was wrong with his body. The seawater around him had an unusually metallic stench and was almost painful to breathe in.

Squidward had no idea how he managed to trudge his way to work. Just over half an hour later he was standing behind the cash register of the Krusty Krab, tentacles sliding back and forth to take bills and count change as he took orders in his usual grudging and bitter way of conduct. The line before him was almost out the door, meaning that Mr. Krabs was by no doubt going to be laughing and swimming in a bathtub of money very shortly. His head and stomach continued to throb. He fought the urge to double over and curl up on the ground into a ball, telling himself mentally again and again that he needed his minimum wage.

"Two orders of krabby patties and one order of kelp fries!" Squidward shouted behind him to the yellow sponge that was diligently flipping burgers. A wide-eyed and grinning Spongebob immediately bobbed his head and ran to the deep fryers. Squidward furrowed his brows in disgust; Spongebob's love and passion for his mediocre job always sickened him, especially on days in which he felt physically sick. In less than ten seconds Spongebob had gathered the customer's order and was handing it out the window on a red plastic tray. Squidward felt his insides sear up in agony as the scent of the fast food floated towards his face, and he immediately shoved the tray away from himself and into the customer's arms.

He had started to type out the order of the next costumer when he found a puffed-out red pufferfish having stormed in front of his face, holding a half-eaten krabby patty in one outstretched fin. Squidward wrinkled his forehead in annoyance as the angry pufferfish stared up at him. "This krabby patty tastes like plastic! I demand my money back!"

Squidward sighed. The loudness of the pufferfish made his brain ring. He was not in the best mood nor physical condition to argue as he might have otherwise, and he did not want the line to be held up – though he could not possibly care any less about Mr. Krab's business, taking care of the brunch hour line faster meant that he would get to sit down for a few minutes with his head between his knees and let his nausea ease up. He opened the register and took out the exact change plus food service tax of one krabby patty, and handed it to the angry pufferfish. "Here you go, sir - the most sincere of apologies for your dissatisfaction." He sarcastically muttered. "Now will you please stop holding up the line?"

The pufferfish was evidently not satisfied by his lack of sincerity. "That's not the end of this! Where is your manager? I demand to speak with him! I could have been poisoned by whatever was in that krabby patty!"

"Mr. Krabs is currently busy right now. May I offer you a replacement patty?" Squidward knew from experience that his miserly and cowardly boss had likely been eavesdropping on the argument and had triple-locked himself in his office, not wanting to deal with any conflict unless if it involved a substantial sum of money.

"I don't give a flying fish roe! Let me talk to your manager!" The red pufferfish had puffed up to vast proportions. Squidward sighed and made his way towards Mr. Krab's office, balling up one upper tentacle to futilely knock on the door while wrapping the other around his throbbing stomach. He could tell from knocking that the door was triple-locked from the inside, and had heard the faint clicks of the door locking earlier when the red pufferfish had first started yelling.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Krabs is currently unavailable." Squidward muttered, leaning against Mr. Krab's office door for physical support. His head felt like it was about to bust open and his insides like they were beaten with a hammer and then crudely shoved back into his body. The pufferfish's spikes were dangerously close to his face and tentacles, but it did not come close to startling him in his state of agony.

The pufferfish was shouting something that must have been loud, but the sounds were jumbled to him and barely audible. The sounds and images of his surroundings were blending among each other in a giant swirling kaleidoscope. He felt his body slide down Mr. Krab's office door and hit the ground, even though he felt nothing upon impact.

When he slowly opened his eyes again, he first perceived the color yellow. Spongebob was standing in front of him, smiling like an idiot as he was talking to the pufferfish – who had somehow miraculously de-puffed and did not appear to be screaming any longer. He could not quite make out what Spongebob was saying, but whatever it was – it had saved the day. Squidward felt a brief sense of assurance, and then a sharp pain hit his stomach again and his whole body twisted in distress. Then he realized that he had not been on the ground, but had instead magically floated – no, probably lifted by the claws of Mr. Krabs – and carried away from Spongebob and the pufferfish. Then his surroundings dissolved again.

And then he felt his body pressing against something flat and spongy. Squidward stirred, wincing as his perceptions snapped again back into function and pain ripped through his body yet again. But the warm, spongy surface against his warm was oddly soothing, like a hot water bag. He felt the flow of seawater on his face and the spongy surface that he was pressed against gently bob up and down, meaning that he was probably in the process of being moved. The water felt cold and antagonistic and unfriendly – meaning that it was probably late in the day – and the warmth of the sponge against his body was oddly soothing. He did not open his eyes, but he could tell that it was Spongebob struggling to carry him. The square sponge was neither tall nor strong enough to lift his whole body, and had draped Squidward across his square head with Squidward's tentacles dragging on the ground.

Still having not opened his eyes since regaining consciousness again, Squidward muttered the first thing which came to his mind.

"What in the name of Neptune are you doing, you idiot?"

"Ah, Squidward! I'm so happy that you're awake!" the sponge replied in his usual optimistic and high-pitched voice that made Squidward immediately visualize Spongebob's signature happy smile and simultaneously want to die in annoyance. "You seemed to have passed out while arguing with a customer-"

"I. Wasn't! I was trying to be as nice as humanely possible to that blasphemous red imbecile… and all that could have been so easily avoided had you, the fry cook, not produced a krabby patty infused with the essence of plastic flavoring! Did your brain slip out through the porous holes on your head this morning?"

"I am so sorry about that, Squidward!" as Spongebob apologized, Squidward could visual his genuinely apologetic expression and sighed in defeat. It was difficult to argue with someone who never argued back. "I tried the best of my ability to apologize to him! I kept on apologizing and then he de-puffed and told me that it was ok. But it was so not ok that I ruined his meal, and now due to this horrible experience he even thinks that it's ok for krabby patties to taste like plastic! So I kept on apologizing and apologizing and apologizing… Then he started to look really worried and got on his knees and begged me to stop apologizing! That's when I realized I must have truly ruined his whole day, since my apologies were reminding him of his horrible lunch experience that he wants to erase from memory, so I did the same and apologized more…"

Squidward wanted to smack himself in the face with a tentacle in frustration at the sponge, but his tentacles were wrapped around Spongebob's neck as he was being carried home.

"Wow… I can't believe I co-exist with such idiots."

"I know, Squidward! With all respect, that costumer was not being a smart citizen in keeping up with the news!"

Squidward sighed at the sponge's oblivion to being called an idiot, and then winced again at the dizzying pain which pulsated through his head and stomach. "What news?"

"There has been something called a toxic chemical hazard going on around Bikini Bottom, Squidward." Spongebob said as he attempted to shift the squid's body a bit higher in which to prevent his tentacles from dragging. "I don't know what it means! But Mr. Krabs said it might why the krabby patties were tasting like plastic and why you passed out. The guy in the TV recommends that we get water filters for our homes."

"Wow." Squidward muttered. "That's just great."

Spongebob stopped walking and fidgeted with something that sounded like keys. The door opened, and Squidward was carried in. Without having opened his eyes for the whole duration of his trip on Spongebob's back, he felt a sense of familiarity about him. He slowly opened his eyes and saw that he was in his own living room.

"Wait a minute Spongebob. How did you get my keys?"

"Ah, Mr. Krabs found them on you and told me to bring you home."

"Doesn't Eugene Krabs drive?"

"Ah, yes he does, but Mr. Krabs said he doesn't want to spend fuel money driving in the opposite direction from his own house–"

"Why, that miserly old…"

"–and Mr. Krabs told me that tell you that you get sick leave for today and the tomorrow, and can still get paid in full–"

"That's very generous." Squidward's eyes widened in surprise. He had never been treated this well by his employer before.

"–because he said that your attitude while sick is bad for his reputation and thus bad for his income, and that you absolutely must return to work on best behavior after tomorrow to work twice as hard!"

"…why, that miserly…"

Spongebob gently backed Squidward onto his bed, and then turned around and lifted the rest of the squid's tentacles into the sheets. Only then did the square sponge's legs buckle as he collapsed by Squidward's bed, clearly out of breath from having carried Squidward all the way from work. Squidward felt an unexpected twinge of guilt flow through him – something he was not quite used to feeling.

"I can't believe you carried me back all the way, Spongebob." Squidward muttered. "Don't you have anything else better to do?"

"I was going to go on a date with Sandy, but I had to cancel! Because," Spongebob gasped a few times for oxygen. "Taking care of my friend Squidward is more important!"

"Well, I'm fine now." Squidward rolled his eyes and turned to the other side, his tentacles wrapped around his stomach. "Thank you for all your unnecessary trouble. I can completely manage on my own now. Go on your little date with Sandy."

"Are you sure, Squidward?" the yellow sponge picked himself from off the ground next to Squidward's bed. "I already cancelled on Sandy. I can stay and cook and clean for you like a good friend…"

"No. Thanks!" Squidward muttered.

"Oh, ok Squidward." said Spongebob as he started to walk towards the staircase. "I hope you feel better soon! Let me or Patrick know if you need anything?"

Squidward grumbled and flipped onto his back, folding his lower tentacles in which to relieve tension in his distressed torso. He was back at point zero, in the too-cold covers of his own bed. The awful day should have ended before it even begun. Spongebob was finally leaving him alone and he would probably be on his bed for the next twenty hours, hopefully the majority of which he would be asleep or passed out – surrounded by dark oblivion, free from his toxin-induced physical torment.

He was still physically awake and his eyes were open, but it felt as if dark matter was creeping in a circle around his bed. For a second he thought that he may be about to lose consciousness again, then he realized that all the light and warmth of him room was draining down the stairs along with the presence of Spongebob's footsteps. As Spongebob reached the bottom of the stairs, Squidward's second-floor room had deteriorated into a dim and lifeless chamber. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread and physical chilliness. He buried his face in his pillow and wrapped his tentacles around himself under his covers, trying to contain his own shivering, but it would not stop.

He felt helpless without Spongebob. How did this came to happen?

"Spongebob…?" Squidward whispered as yet another jolt of pain stabbed through his insides and his whole body twisted as he clutched his stomach. His room and bed felt so foreign, and so penetratingly cold – so cold that his heart might stop. He was in so much physical distress that tears were gradually soaking into his pillowcase, and he suddenly missed the warm backside of the annoying sponge. His cynical and intelligent common sense had fallen unconscious before the rest of his senses. He needed the sponge to plug the drain of hope and warmth from his room before he drowns. His shaky whisper emerged almost in begging. "Spongebob… stay with me…"

Then, he woke up in the arms of the yellow sponge, who had crawled into his bed in attempt to keep him warm. Spongebob's stretchy arms were wrapped around Squidward's body, providing his abdominal pain with some relief through warmth and pressure. Squidward drew a breath. He could berate himself later for being awkwardly spooned by his annoying neighbor, but the presence of the yellow sponge next to him in his moment of fragility was like a protective shroud.

And when he woke up again, more than twelve hours later, Spongebob was gone – presumably having gone off to work. Squidward wondered where the warmth on his body was coming from, and then found a large water bag pressed against his stomach. He did not own any water bags, and it must have been left there by the sponge – judging from the words "To Squidward" that have been markered onto the hot water bag in the sponge's chunky handwriting.

He did not have to go to work, so he held the hot water bag close to his body and gradually folded his lips into a smile.