DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 23
𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵.
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )
Plankton's legs feel like
jelly, his movements
exaggerated as he tries
to follow her lead. His
tongue is a clumsy thing
in his mouth, his teeth a
strange, unfamiliar
landscape. "C-Chip," he
stammers, his speech still
slurred.
Karen nods, her smile
warm and encouraging.
"Let's go," she says, her
arm around him. The
hallway is a blur of
colors and sounds. His antennae
twitch, trying to make
sense of the world around
him.
Chip is in the lobby,
his eyes wide with worry
as he sees them. He rushes
forward, his movements
cautious. "What happe—"
But Plankton is a
mess of gauze, his words
still lost as he interrupts
his son. "Hi-Hi-Hi-Hi—"
He stammers, his voice
a slurred mess.
Chip's eyes widen with
concern, taking in
his father's swollen face
and the crimson-soaked
pads in his mouth. He
swallows hard, his voice
trembling. "Dad?"
Karen steps in, her
voice firm but gentle. "He
just had his wisdom teeth
taken out," she explains. "His
mouth is still numb." Chip
nods, his eyes never leaving
Plankton's face.
Plankton tries to smile
around the gauze, his antennae
waving in an awkward
attempt at reassurance.
"T-thank you," he slurs, his
voice muffled by the pads.
Chip's eyes fill with tears
at the sight of his father,
his heart heavy with a mix
of pity and love.
They make their way
slowly to the car, Karen's
supportive arm around
Plankton's waist. His legs
feel like rubber, his body
still fighting the
lingering effects of the
anesthesia. "M-muh...m-m-mouth,"
he mumbles, his tongue a
sluggish beast in his mouth.
Karen laughs softly, her
hands guiding him gently. "You'll
be okay," she says, her voice
a warm embrace. "Let's get
you in the back with Chip." She
opens the door to the back.
Plankton slumps into
his seat, the numbness
in his mouth spreading to his
cheeks. His tongue is a thick,
unresponsive slab, refusing to
cooperate.
Karen buckles him in,
her eyes full of love and
concern. "Just relax, baby,"
she whispers. "We'll be home
soon." She starts the car,
the engine purring to life. Chip
sits by him in the seat.
The world outside the
window is a blur of colors,
each one more vivid than the
last. Plankton tries to keep
his eye open, his antennae
twitching with the effort.
But the weight of the
anesthesia is too much.
His eyelid droops, the
lid feeling like heavy
curtains that refuse to stay
up.
Karen's voice is gentle. "You okay,
sweetie?" she asks, glancing
in the rearview mirror.
But Plankton's eye is
closing, the weight of the
anesthesia too great to fight.
"J-just tiwed," he mumbles, his
speech still thick and
slurred. "S-sleep, must shay
awake?"
Karen's voice is a warm
whisper. "It's okay,"
she says. Plankton's
head lolls against the seat,
his antennae drooping. "Chip
and I are here. We'll watch
over yo-"
But her words are lost
as Plankton's eyelid gives
way to the seductive
pull of sleep. His breaths
deepen, his snores a gentle
accompaniment to the
hum of the engine.
Chip's gaze is filled with
concern, his hand tentative as
he touches his father's arm.
"Dad?" His voice is a soft
question, but Plankton doesn't
stir. The car sways gently
with the road's undulations,
a lullaby that Plankton's
exhausted body can't resist.
Karen's eyes flicker to
the mirror, a sigh escaping
her lips. She knows the
importance of rest for him
now, his system still reeling
from the surgery and the
overwhelming emotions of the
day. She keeps driving, her
hands steady on the wheel.
"It's okay, Chip," she says.
"Let him sleep."
Chip nods, his
expression a mix of relief
and worry. He watches
his father's chest rise and
fall, the steady rhythm
of his breathing a testament
to the peace he's found in
slumber. His hand remains
on Plankton's arm, a silent
pledge of support. Yet Plankton
sleeps on, oblivious to the
world outside.
The car ride home is
quiet, the only sounds the
hum of the engine and
Plankton's snores. Karen
drives with a gentle touch,
each bump in the road a
reminder of the fragile
recovery her husband is
experiencing. She glances in
the mirror every few minutes,
checking on him and Chip.
Chip sits next to his
father, his hand resting
lightly on Plankton's arm.
He's torn between watching
the scenery fly by and
keeping vigil over the
man he loves. His heart
thuds with every snore,
his mind racing with
worries and questions.
Is he okay? Why
can't he stay awake?
The car's air conditioning
blows gently on Plankton's face,
his antennae muscles twitching
against the coolness. His
eye opens briefly, his gaze
unfocused. "Ch-Chip?" His
voice is a faint rasp, the
remnants of sleep clinging
to his words. "I'm
right here, Dad," Chip says,
his voice filled with
concern.
Plankton's eyelid flickers,
battling the weight of
slumber. The world is a
swirl of colors and light,
his brain struggling to
make sense of it all. He tries
to sit up, his body stiff
from the lingering
anesthesia. "Home?" he mumbles.
Karen's eyes meet his
in the mirror, her smile
soft. "Almost, baby," she says,
her voice a gentle lull.
"Just a little bit longer."
Her eyes flick back to
the road, her grip on
the steering wheel steady.
Plankton's eyelid droops again,
his head rolling slightly
to the side. His antennae
twitch with the effort to
stay conscious, but the
pull of sleep is too much.
Chip's grip on his arm
tightens, his voice a soft
alarm. "Dad, stay with me."
Plankton's eye opens a crack,
his gaze unfocused. "M-m-m'kay,"
he mumbles, his speech still
slurred. But the fight is lost
almost immediately, his
eye closing once more.
The car sways with the
road, a gentle rocking
motion that seems to call
to him, urging him back
to sleep. Each snore is
deeper than the last, his
body succumbing to the
sleep. Karen's eyes
remain on the road, her
thoughts a silent vigil.
Chip's hand moves to
his father's shoulder,
his touch light but firm.
"Wake up, Dad," he whispers,
his voice a gentle prod.
But Plankton's body
resists, his head rolling
back into the comfort
of the seat. "Dad, wake up,"
Chip tries again, his tone
more insistent this time.
Plankton's eye opens a
slit, the world swimming
into focus briefly before
slipping away again. "Wh-whath?"
he murmurs, his voice a
slurred mess. "Almost home,"
Karen says, her voice
soothing. "Just stay
awake a little longer."
But the drugs are too
powerful, the sedative's
grip too tight. His eye
closes again, his head
falling back onto the
headrest with a soft
thunk. Chip watches, his
heart racing, his hand
still gripping his father's
shoulder. "Come on, Dad,"
he whispers, his voice
desperate. "Don't go to
sleep."
Karen's eyes meet
his in the mirror, a
look of understanding.
"It's okay, Chip," she says.
"Let him rest."
The car pulls into
the driveway, the
gravel crunching beneath
the tires. Plankton's eye
flutters open, his gaze
unfocused. "Home," he
mumbles, his voice barely
a whisper.
Karen's eyes are
filled with gentle
concern as she
turns off the engine.
"Let's get you inside,"
she says, her voice a
comforting balm. Chip's
hands are already moving,
helping his father unbuckle
his seatbelt.
Plankton's movements
are slow and clumsy, his
body still not fully his
own. His legs wobble
as he tries to stand, his
eye glazed with the
lingering effects of the
anesthesia. "Easy, Dad,"
Chip says, his voice
steady and firm.
Karen opens the
passenger side door, her
arms ready to catch him
if he falls. Plankton's sleeping
body sags into her embrace.
She helps him to
his feet, yet Plankton's
snores punctuate the air
like a soft metronome.
Chip rushes around
to the other side, his
arms slipping under his
father's shoulders. "I got
you," he says, his voice
shaking with the weight
of his words. Plankton's
body is a dead weight,
his snores deep and even.
Karen's eyes are filled
with a mix of pride and
concern as she watches her
son take charge. "Let's get
you to the couch," she says,
guiding them both. The house
is quiet, the only sounds
their footsteps and Plankton's
snores.
They manage to get him
to the couch, his body
slumping into the cushions.
Karen pulls the
gauze from his mouth, the
stains of blood and saliva
telling the tale of his
journey. His cheeks are
swollen and bruised, a
testament to the battle
his mouth just endured.
"Chip, grab some ice,"
she instructs, her voice
calm. "We'll need to keep
the swelling down." Chip nods,
his movements swift as he
disappears into the kitchen.
The sound of ice cubes clinking
against plastic is a sharp
contrast to the quiet
snores that fill the room.
"Wake up, sweetie," she says,
her voice a soft coax.
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye opening slowly.
He tries to focus, but the
world is a blur of colors
and shapes. Karen's face
swims into view, her smile
a beacon of comfort. "Ice,"
she says.
Chip appears, a bag of
crushed ice in his hand.
He gently presses it to
Plankton's cheek, the coldness
a stark contrast to the
warmth of his mother's touch.
"Tanks," Plankton whispers, his
speech still slurred. His hand
moves to the bag, his
fingers trembling. But this time
he doesn't tremble from being
overwhelmed—it's from the
relief of being home, of
being safe with his family.