Do You Trust Me Emojis & Text

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 12 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 ) Karen heads to Chip's room, her mind racing with a mix of anger and concern. She opens the door, her eyes scanning the darkness until she finds him. "Chip," she says firmly, her voice a mix of disappointment and determination. "We need to talk." Her son looks up from his pillow, his eyes red and swollen. "What is it, Mom?" "What happened with your dad?" Karen asks, her voice calm but firm. Chip looks up at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We talked," he says, his voice small. "But it didn't really go we–" "I know," Karen says, cutting him off. "But what did you say to him, Chip?" Her tone is firm, but her eyes are filled with concern. Chip swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I just told him that I wanted to help," he says, his voice small. "And that I didn't want you to get hurt..." Karen's eyes narrow, her disappointment clear. "What exactly did you say Chip?" He sniffles, his screen meeting hers. "I said that you seem tired of his seizures, and that he's not being fair to you," Chip admits, his voice thick with regret. Karen's face tightens, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and sadness. "You have no right to speak for me, Chip," she says, her voice firm but not unkind. "I love your dad, and we deal with this together." She takes a deep breath, her hand on his shoulder, her screen searching his. "What else did you say?" Chip's shoulders slump, his eyes brimming with tears. "I said you're his punching bag, Mom," he whispers, his voice breaking. "That you're always so patient and that it's not fair t---" Karen's hand tightens on his shoulder, her disappointment etched in the lines of her screen. "Chip," she says, her tone sharp. "You don't get to tell me how to feel, or what I think about your dad." Her words cut through his regret like a knife, his eyes widening. "But I just wanted to—" "Chip," Karen says, cutting his protest short. "You don't know what it's like, what we go through every day." Her voice shakes with the weight of emotions held in check. "You're not helping by making assumptions." Chip's eyes well up with tears, his lower lip trembling. "But Mom," he stammers, "I just don't want you to get hurt." Karen's face softens, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice filled with understanding. "But your dad and I are a team. What we have is complicated, but it's ours. And when you say things like that, it's like you're choosing sides. It is hard to see the one you love struggle, but right now you're the one who's causing me, and us, to hurt." Chip's eyes fill with tears, his chest tight with guilt. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make it worse." Karen sighs, her anger softening into sadness. "You didn't understand," she says gently. "But now you do." She sits beside him, her hand on his back. "What you said about your dad, it's not fair to him or to us." Chip's shoulders shake with sobs, his heart heavy. "I'm sorry," he manages to get out. "I just—" Karen's hand on his shoulder is warm, her voice steady. "Chip," she says, cutting his words off with a gentle firmness. "What you said to your dad, it wasn't right." Her eyes hold his, filled with a mixture of pain and love. Chip's gaze drops to the floor, his cheeks burning with regret. "I know," he mumbles, his voice small. "But I just wanted to tell him that—" "No, Chip," Karen says, cutting him off gently. "What you did was hurt him, and that's not what we do in this family." Her voice is firm, but her eyes are filled with concern. "We support each other, not push buttons we don't understand. Dad's not hurting me, but now I'm hurt by what you said." Chip nods, his eyes glued to the floor. "I know, Mom," he whispers. "I didn't think about how it would sound." Karen takes a deep breath, her hand moving to his cheek. "Look at me," she says, her voice gentle. "You can't fix this by pushing us apart." Her thumb wipes a tear from his cheek. "You have to talk to him, tell him you didn't mean it that way. Let's go find him." They leave Chip's room together, their steps heavy with the weight of unspoken words and regret.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 13 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 ) The living room is dimly lit. But in the center, a disturbing sight awaits: Plankton's convulsions, his tiny body writhing on the floor. His antennae twitch erratically, his eye squeezed shut. "Plankton!" she cries out, rushing to his side. His seizure is intense, his limbs flailing uncontrollably. The room seems to pulse with his distress, a silent scream of neurological turmoil. Chip stands in the doorway, frozen in shock. He's never seen his dad like this, so vulnerable and helpless. The sight of Plankton's tiny form convulsing on the floor fills him with a fear like none other. Karen is already beside Plankton, her hands hovering, knowing better than to restrict his thrashing body. "Mom," Chip says, his voice trembling. "What do we do?" Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's contorted form, her face a mask of calm determination. "We stay here," she says, her voice steady. "We keep talking to him, let him know we care." Chip nods, his own eyes filled with fear. He takes a tentative step forward, his voice shaking. "Dad," he says softly, "it's me, Chip." His words are met with only the sound of Plankton's labored breathing and the muffled thuds of his convulsions. Karen's gaze flicks to Chip, her expression a mix of pride and anxiety. "Good boy," she whispers, before turning back to Plankton. "Shh, baby," she says, her voice soothing, like a lullaby in the chaos. "We're right here." Chip watches his mom, her hands a gentle presence near his dad's body, her voice a lifeline in the storm of his seizure. He wants to help, to do something, anything, but he's paralyzed by fear. Karen's eyes flicker to her son, her expression a silent plea for him to stay calm. She knows Plankton's sensitivity to stimuli, the way his condition can spiral if overwhelmed. "Talk to him," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sounds of his distress. "Tell him you love him." Chip nods, his voice shaking. "Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "I love you." His words hang in the air, a soft contrast to the harsh sounds of Plankton's seizure. Plankton's body continues to convulse, but Karen notices his antennae twitch slightly, his eye fluttering open for a moment before it squeezes shut again. She sighs with relief, knowing he can hear them. "Keep talking," she whispers to Chip, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Tell him you're here for him, that you're sorry." Chip swallows hard, his throat tight with fear. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make things worse." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his seizure lessening but not abating. Karen's eyes are filled with desperation as she whispers, "Keep talking, Chip. He needs to hear it." Chip's voice is shaky, his eyes never leaving his father's trembling form. "I'm sorry for what I said," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to hurt you." His words are a gentle coax, trying to guide Plankton back from the edge of his breakdown. Karen's eyes are glued to Plankton's seizing body, "It's okay, baby," she says, her tone a soothing melody. "You're not alone." Chip watches his mom's steady hands hover over his dad's shaking form. He takes a deep breath, his voice a shaky thread. "I'm sorry," he repeats, his words a quiet promise. Karen's eyes flick to him, a silent thank you. The room seems to hold its breath, the air charged with hope and dread. Plankton's convulsions start to ease, his breaths coming in shallower gasps. Karen's hand reaches out, brushing his twitching antennae with a gentle touch, a silent reassurance. Chip's voice is a soft whisper, a beacon in the storm of his father's distress. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his eyes brimming with tears. "I don't want to fight." Karen's hand rests gently on Plankton's back, her touch as light as a feather. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her voice a soothing lullaby. "We're here for you." Plankton's seizure starts to subside, his body gradually stilling. His antennae drop, his breaths slowing. The tension in the room eases like the retreating waves of a storm. Karen's hand remains on his back, her eyes filled with a love that's fierce and tender. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soft caress. "You're safe now." Her words are a gentle reminder that their love is his anchor. Plankton's body relaxes gradually, his antennae stilling. His eye opens, slowly focusing on Karen's face. His voice is weak, his words a soft rasp. "K-Karen?" "I'm here," she says, her voice calm, her hand still on his back. "You're okay." Her eyes are filled with a love that's stronger than steel, her presence a comforting weight. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking rapidly as the world swims back into focus. He looks up at her, his gaze uncertain. "I... I-I'm s-sorry," he whispers, his voice a reed in the wind. Karen's eyes are filled with pain and love. She gently guides him to sit up, her arms supporting him. "Don't be sorry," she says, her voice a balm. "We just need to talk." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye searching hers. "Talk?" he repeats, his voice weak. "Yes," Karen says firmly, her arms around him. "We need to communicate better, all of us." Her gaze includes Chip, who's still standing awkwardly in the doorway, his eyes fixed on his father. Chip's heart pounds in his chest, his fear giving way to determination. He moves to his mother's side, his hand tentatively reaching out to his father's arm. "Dad," he says, his voice a gentle touch. Plankton's body jerks at his son's touch, but Karen's calming presence helps him steady. His antennae quiver, his eye flickering between his wife and son, the confusion giving way to a hint of understanding. "Chip?" he asks, his voice a whisper. Chip nods, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "Yeah, Dad," he says, his voice cracking. "It's me." He takes a deep breath, his hand shaking slightly as it rests on Plankton's arm. "I didn't mean what I said." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking rapidly as he tries to process the situation. "You... you didn't?" he stammers, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Chip didn't mean it, Plankton," she says soothingly. "He's just scared, and he loves you." Plankton's antennae droop, his eye misting with tears. "But I scared him," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "And you." Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she shakes her head. "It's not your fault, baby," she says gently. "Your autism doesn't make you a monster." Chip nods, his hand still on his father's arm, his voice steady. "Dad, I know it's not your fault," he says, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I'm sorry for not understanding." Plankton's antennae lift slightly, his eye focusing on Chip's face. "You do?" he whispers, hope flickering in his gaze. Chip nods, his own eyes brimming with tears. "I do," he affirms, his voice stronger. "I'm here for you, Dad." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye searching Chip's face for signs of sincerity. The silence in the room is heavy, a tangible entity filled with unspoken words and apologies. Then, ever so slightly, Plankton's antennae bob, a sign of his acceptance. "Okay," he says, his voice still shaky. "We'll talk." Karen's eyes fill with relief, a soft smile playing on her lips. She squeezes his arm gently. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice filled with gratitude. "We're in this together."

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 14 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 ) The three of them sit in silence for a moment, the only sound the echoes of Plankton's ragged breathing. Then, Karen clears her throat, her voice calm but firm. "Chip, can you help me get your dad to his bed?" Chip nods. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice still shaky, as Plankton's still on his side. He moves closer, his hand hovering over his dad's shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tense. How does he touch his dad without causing more pain? Karen notices his uncertainty and nods reassuringly. "Just be gentle," she says, her voice a whisper. "And watch his cues." Chip's hand descends slowly... As his fingertips graze Plankton's skin, he flinches, his eye darting around the room. "Easy, Dad," Chip says, his voice gentle. His hand lingers, seeking the right balance between support and respect. Plankton's body tenses, despite realizing Chip's intent. Karen watches. She knows the fear behind Plankton's flinch, the years of pain and misunderstanding that have shaped their dance of affection. She offers a nod, silently encouraging Chip to persist. With trembling hands, Chip slides his arm under Plankton's. Karen's own arms wrap around Plankton's shoulders, completing the circle of support. Plankton's eye meets Karen's, his fear a stark reminder of the invisible walls his autism has built. But in her gaze, he sees love, not just pity— understanding, not judgment. With a deep breath, he allows them to help him to his feet, his legs wobbly with the aftermath of his seizure. Karen's grip is firm but gentle, her eyes speaking volumes without a word. Chip's hand is a tentative question mark, hovering near Plankton's shoulder, seeking permission to touch. Plankton's antennae quiver, his body tightening. He's overwhelmed, his skin a minefield of sensory input. The slightest touch feels like a storm raging in his head. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a balm. "We're just going to help yo--" But Plankton's body jerks, his antennae flailing as if trying to ward off an invisible assailant. "No more!" he cries, his voice a shattered glass. "I can't!" Karen's heart clenches, her grip loosening as she pulls back. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "We'll get you to bed, that's al-" But Plankton's distress escalates, his antennae thrashing wildly. "NO!" he shrieks, his body rigid. "NO MORE!" Karen's heart squeezes, her grip on him loosening as she takes a step back, her eyes filled with pained empathy. "Shh, baby," she whispers, her voice a gentle caress. "We're not going to force you." Chip's eyes widen in fear, his hand retreating. "Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "It's okay, we're here to he-" But Plankton's panic is a wildfire, his movements erratic and unpredictable. Karen's eyes fill with concern, her voice calm. "Chip, let's just get him to the couch." They move as one, guiding Plankton's stumbling figure towards the sofa, their movements a delicate ballet of care and precision. The couch is a mere few feet away, a sanctuary of familiar fabric and scent. But to Plankton, it seems a mountain to climb, each step a battle against his own body. His antennae thrash wildly, his eye darting around the room as if seeking an escape. Karen and Chip move closer, their presence a comforting warmth. Their touch is gentle, a soft whisper of reassurance amidst his chaos. Yet, each step towards the couch feels like wading through thick, clinging mud. His legs wobble, his breaths coming in sharp gasps. Karen's grip is steady, her eyes never leaving his, a silent promise that they'll get through this. Chip's hand hovers, unsure, his heart racing with fear. He wants to help, but Plankton's flinch is a stark reminder of his own limitations. Karen's nod gives him the courage to reach out again, his touch a soft question. Plankton's body jerks. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his voice thick with regret. He's trying so hard to bridge the gap, to understand, but his efforts seem only to push his father further away. Karen's face is a mask of calm, but Chip can see the worry in the tight lines around her eyes. "Ca--" But the word dies in his throat as Plankton's body goes rigid, his eye rolling back, antennae freezing mid-thrash. His legs buckle, and he crumples onto the couch. Karen's eyes widen with fear, but her movements are swift and sure. She's seen this before, the aftermath of a seizure taking its toll. Chip's eyes are wide with shock, his hand still outstretched, trembling. "Dad," he whispers, his voice a prayer. "Are you okay?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering open, a silent plea for understanding. The seizure's aftermath clings to his body like a damp fog, his limbs heavy with fatigue. Karen's hands are gentle on him, her movements measured. She knows his pain, his fear, and the thin line between love and overwhelm. "Chip," she says softly, turning to her son, "this is part of your dad's world. He needs his space, and we need to respect that." She sits beside Plankton, her hand on his back, feeling his erratic breaths. Plankton's antennae droop, his body a ragdoll's. "I'm s-sorry," he stammers, his voice weak. "I didn't mean to..." Chip's heart aches, his hand still hovering, trembling. "It's not your fault, Dad," he says, his voice tight with emotion. "It's just... hard to see you like this." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on his son's face. "I know," he whispers, his voice a confession of his own fears. "It's hard for me, too." His admission is a rare moment of vulnerability, a crack in the armor of his usual bravado. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I want to help," he says, his voice desperate. "But I don't know how." Plankton's antennae droop, his eye closing in exhaustion. "We'll learn together," Karen says, her voice a gentle guideline. "You don't have to have all the answers, Chip. Just be patient, and listen." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton's exhausted form. "I'll try," he murmurs, his voice filled with hope and uncertainty. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye fluttering open. "I know," he says, his voice a weary whisper. "It's... it's not easy." Karen's hand smooths over his back, her touch a gentle reminder of her presence. "We're here, Plankton," she says, her voice a soft promise. "We'll get through this together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye still closed. "I know," he murmurs, his voice barely a breath. "I just... I can't bear the thought of being a burden." The words hang in the air, thick with his fear and doubt. Karen's hand pauses on his back, her eyes filling with sorrow. "You're not," she says, her voice firm. "You're my partner, my love." She takes his hand in hers, her thumb stroking his palm gently. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye fluttering open to meet hers. "But what if... what if I hurt you?" he asks, his voice a whisper of doubt. Karen's grip tightens, her eyes filled with determination. "You won't," she says, her voice a promise. "We're a team, Plankton. You're not alone in this." Her words are a gentle rebuke to his fears. "I'll find you a pillow and blanket for out here." As Karen goes back upstairs Chip inches to the couch. "Dad can I sit?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still closed. "Yeah," he whispers, his voice a wisp of sound.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 16 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 ) Chip pulls a bench stool up by the couch. "Dad," he says, his voice a whisper in the quiet room. "Can I... I ask you a question?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye half-open. "Sure, what is it?" Chip's voice is a soft whisper in the darkened living room. "What's it like?" he asks, his curiosity tangled with fear. "To be... you know, autistic?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking slowly. "It's... it's like living in a world that's too loud," he murmurs. "And too bright. And sometimes, things don't make sense. But... it's also beautiful. Like a puzzle that only I can solve." Chip leans in, his curiosity piqued. "How do you mean?" he asks, his voice a gentle prodding. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye closing briefly. "Imagine a symphony playing," he whispers, his voice a soft melody. "But instead of music, it's sounds. Voices, lights, textures... all playing at once. It's... overwhelming." He pauses, his antennae twitching with the effort to explain. "But sometimes, when everything is still... I see patterns. It's like... like the universe is whispering secrets only I can discern." Chip nods, his eyes on the twitching antennae. "And the absence seizures?" Plankton's eye opens wider, his voice a soft sigh. "It's like being in a bubble," he says, his antennae stilling. "A moment out of time, but... it's not real. I'm not really here." Chip's gaze is intense, his mind racing to understand. "But what do you see?" he asks, his voice eager. "When you're in that bubble?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye searching Chip's face. "It's... difficult to explain," he says, his voice a soft rumble. "It's like... I'm distant." His antennae bob slightly, his eye fluttering. "But sometimes, it's just... like a blender. And I'm alone." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'll try to imagine," he whispers. "But I want you to know, Dad, I'm here for you." His hand reaches out to touch Plankton. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tensing slightly. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice a quiet acceptance. "It's not your fault." Chip's hand hovers, unsure. "But I wish I could help more," he says, his voice filled with a longing to ease his father's pain. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking open. "You do help," he whispers, his voice a reassurance. "Just by being here. Yet you can't fix me, Chip." Chip's hand retreats, his heart heavy with understanding. "I know," he says, his voice filled with sadness. "But I want to make sure you're okay." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on Chip's earnest face. "I know," he whispers. "But you can't always save me. And right now I'm just feeling tired.." Chip nods, his hand slowly withdrawing. "Okay, Dad," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll rest now. We'll talk more tomorrow." Plankton's eye closes, his antennae stilling. His breaths even out, his body relaxing into sleep's gentle embrace. The room falls silent, the only sound Plankton's soft snores. Chip watches his dad, who's asleep now. His mind is racing with thoughts, but his body is still, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace. His eyes trail over Plankton's form, noticing the way his antennae twitch slightly in his sleep. It's like he's dreaming of faraway places, or perhaps solving a complex puzzle only he can see. Chip's hand hovers over his dad's, fighting the urge to hold it. He's seen the way Plankton flinches at the slightest touch, the way his body shies away from contact. But his heart aches to offer comfort, to let him know he's not alone. With a deep breath, he decides to be brave. His fingertips lightly graze Plankton's hand, the barest of touches. Plankton's antennae twitch, his breath catching, but he doesn't pull away. Encouraged, Chip wraps his hand around his dad's, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of his palm. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his snores deepening. Chip's heart swells with relief. Maybe this is okay.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 19 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 body continues to shake, his breaths quick and shallow. Karen takes over, her hands gentle as she guides him out of the chair, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "I'm sorry, ho-" But Plankton also fears Karen now because of her restraining him. He jolts at her approach. "Plank..." Karen's voice trails off, her expression one of pained realization. "I'm sor-" But Plankton's fear of Karen has grown. She's the one who held him down too, who forced him to endure the unbearable. His antennae flatten against his head, his body shaking as he tries to move away from her. "Don't," he whispers, his voice a rasp of fear. "Don't touch me." Karen's eyes fill with sorrow, her hand hovering uncertainly in the space between them. "Plankton, sweetie, it's okay," she says, her voice trembling. "It's just a misunderstanding." But Plankton's terror is too strong, his memories too fresh. He flinches at the sound of her voice, his antennae quivering. "Karen," he whispers, his voice a shaky plea. "Please... don't." His eye is wide with fear, his body stiff with tension. Karen's heart breaks, the pain in his gaze a stark contrast to the warmth she'd felt in his smile just hours before. "It's me," she says, her voice thick with regret. "It's Karen." Yet Plankton's body jerks away from her as if she's a danger to him, his antennae flattened in a protective stance. Karen's eyes fill with sorrow as she takes a step back, her hand dropping to her side. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I di-" But Plankton's fear is a living entity now, a creature that has latched onto him and won't let go. He stumbles backward, his legs shaking as he tries to put distance between them. "No," he whispers, his voice trembling. "You're not my Karen. You're... you're not safe!" Karen's eyes fill with sorrow, her heart aching. She'd never wanted to be a source of fear for Plankton. "Sweetie, I'm right here," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "I'm not going to hurt you." But her words bounce off the invisible barrier his fear has built. Chip watches from the doorway, his own fear mirroring his dad's. He wants to rush in, to make everything right, but he knows that would only make it worse. So he stands, frozen, his fists clenched at his side. The room is a tableau of despair, Plankton's sobs echoing off the cold, sterile walls. Karen's eyes are wet with unshed tears, her hand still reaching out, even though Plankton's retreating from it. "Do yo--" Her voice catches as she sees his fear, a raw emotion that she's never seen directed at her before. "Plankton, baby," she whispers, "it's me. I'm never going to hurt you." But Plankton's eye is wild, his antennae a frantic blur. He stumbles backward, his body colliding with the wall behind him. "No," he cries out, his voice raw with panic. "You're not! You just... You just hurt me!" Karen's hand falls to her side, defeated. The reality of the situation crashes down on her, a cold, hard weight. She's hurt the one person she'd sworn to protect, the one who needs her understanding the most. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's fear has consumed him, turning him into a creature of pure instinct. He presses his back against the wall, his antennae flat against his head, his body shaking with sobs. "Don't," he whispers, his voice a desperate plea. "Please don't ever do that again." Karen's heart breaks into a thousand pieces, each one sharp and jagged. She can't bear the thought that she's the reason for his fear. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she says, her voice trembling. "I didn't understand. I'll never do anything to scare yo-" But Plankton's sobs only grow louder, his antennae trembling with every intake of breath. "You said it would be okay, even when it wasn't," he whispers, his voice a broken whisper. Karen's eyes fill with regret, her heart heavy with the weight of his pain. "Sorry," she says, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I-I-I-I…" The room feels like it's shrinking, the air thick with the scent of fear and antiseptic. Karen tries to find the right words, anything to break through the panic that has swallowed her husband. "I didn't know," she whispers, her eyes searching his for understanding. "But now I do, and I'll never let anyone do that to you again." Jill clears her throat. "I'll go get the main dentist." She walks out of the room. The silence is deafening, the echo of Plankton's sobs the only sound. Karen moves slowly toward him, her steps soft and deliberate. "Shh, it's okay," she whispers, her hand outstretched. "I'm here." Plankton's antennae twitch, but he doesn't push her away. Instead, he leans into her, his body seeking the comfort of her touch.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 21 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 watches as the doctor holds the film up to the light, his eyes scanning the white and grey image. Plankton's eye follows, trying to make sense of the shapes and shadows that are his teeth. He's seen these before, the ghosts of his mouth laid bare for inspection. But there's something new. The doctor's expression is serious, his voice careful. "Looks like you've got some wisdom teeth who are thinking about moving in!" Plankton's antennae spike with anxiety. "W-what does that mean?" he asks, his voice shaking. Dr. Musselman's expression is reassuring. "It means we need to take them out before they cause any trouble. It's a procedure that can be a bit scary, but we'll make sure you're as comfortable as possib--" But Plankton's fear spirals out of control. "No," he whispers, his antennae drooping. "No more pain." Karen's heart clenches. "They can cause a lot of pain if we don't, sweetie," she says, her voice soothing. "But we'll make sure it's as gentle as possible. Can we just do it today? He hasn't eaten since yesterday, so..." Dr. Musselman nods. "We can schedule it for today," he says, his voice calm. "But let's make sure you're as comfortable as we can first." He gestures to the chair. "Would you like to sit down, Plankton?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his body stiff with fear. But he nods, his movements slow and deliberate as he slides back into the chair. Karen's hand squeezes his, a silent promise of support. "I'll stay with you," she says, her voice a warm whisper. Dr. Musselman nods. "We'll start with a local anesthetic," he says, his tone soothing. "It'll numb the area so you won't feel anything." He says as he grabs a syringe filled with a clear liquid. Plankton's eye widens, his antennae stilling in fear. "Could we try sedation, or?" Dr. Musselman nods, his expression sympathetic. "We can do that," he says. "It'll make the whole process easier." The doctor explains the process, his words measured and calm. Plankton's eye widens at the mention of sleeping through the procedure, his body relaxing slightly. "We'll do both cleaning and extraction all while he's under anesthesia." An anesthesiologist enters, his movements calm and precise. Plankton watches him with a mix of fear and curiosity, his antennae twitching. The smell of the gas fills the air, and Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "It'll just make you sleep," she whispers, trying to soothe his nerves. The mask is cold against his face, the scent of the gas strange. "Breathe," he says. "In and out." Plankton does as he's told, his eye squeezed shut. The world around him starts to fade, the sounds of the dental office growing distant. His chest feels heavy, his breaths slow and deep. "You're doing so well," Karen murmurs, her voice a constant in the swirl of his thoughts. "I'm so proud of you." The anesthesiologist's gloved hand is gentle, his voice soft. "Just a few more breaths," he says. Plankton's body relaxes into the chair, his antennae drooping. The gas fills his lungs, and the world goes hazy around the edges. The coldness of the mask is the last sensation he registers before the darkness claims him. Meanwhile, Karen watches as the anesthetic takes hold. Plankton's hand relaxes in hers, his breaths evening out. She feels the weight of his fear lifting, his body growing slack. She kisses his forehead, whispering words of love and reassurance as the world slips away from him. Finally, he falls asleep, his antennae still as he starts to snore lightly. They clean his teeth before extracting the wisdom teeth, all while Plankton's body lies limp in the chair feeling nothing. Karen holds his hand as they put the last of the dissolving stitches in. The procedure is done, and Plankton is still asleep. Karen's eyes are full of relief and love as she smiles down at him. "It's all over," she whispers. "You did so well, baby." She knows he probably can't hear her yet, though. The doctor nods. "Everything went smoothly," he says, his voice low. "The extractions went well, and he should wake up in a few minutes." Karen's heart skips a beat, her hand tightening around Plankton's. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for understanding." Dr. Musselman nods, his eyes kind. "We're here to help," he says. "Now let's get him comfortable before he wakes up." The chair is reclined, his mouth clean and his teeth bare of the troublesome wisdom teeth. Drool pools at the corners of his mouth, a testament to his deep slumber and numbness. Karen's mind races with thoughts as they wait for Plankton to come to. She thinks about the seizure and the fear in his eye. It was a stark reminder of his vulnerability, despite his bravado. She makes a mental note to be more understanding, more supportive. The doctor and his assistant carefully insert the gauze pads with tender precision, their movements silent and respectful of his sleep. Plankton's body remains still, his snores unchanged by the intrusion. Karen watches with a mixture of love and anxiety. Her hand is a constant comfort on his, her thumb gently stroking the back of his palm. She's thankful for Dr. Musselman's understanding, his gentle touch. The doctor nods. "He'll wake up in his own time," he says, his eyes on the monitors that track Plankton's vitals. "It's normal for autistic patients to need some extra time to come out of anesthesia." His words hang in the air, a reminder of the unique challenges they face. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. The gauze in his mouth is already stained with a faint pink, the blood from his extractions. She reaches for a tissue, gently wiping away the drool that has started to form around his mouth. Her heart clenches as she sees the peaceful expression on his face, free from the fear that had gripped him earlier. The doctor checks the monitors, his gaze flicking between the numbers and Plankton's sleeping form. "He's doing well," he murmurs.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 22 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 mouth moves with his snores, the gauze pads in his mouth muffling the sound, the crimson tinge to the white fabric. His drool pools and runs down the side of his face. Karen watches, her thoughts a tumult of emotion. She's relieved that the procedure went well but torn apart by the knowledge that Plankton's fear was so intense. Her hand remains steadfast on his, her thumb brushing over his skin in gentle circles. The doctor checks his watch, his eyes on Plankton's slack form. "Almost time for him to wake up," he says softly. Karen nods, her heart racing as she braces herself for his reaction. Karen can't help but think about how much he's been through today, and she wonders if he'll ever trust her the same way again. The minutes tick by, each one feeling like an eternity. The only sounds in the room are the steady beeps of the monitors and the soft snores of Plankton's slumber. Karen's hand doesn't stop moving, her thumb tracing comforting patterns on his palm. When Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching slightly, Karen's eyes fill with relief. "Hey, baby," she whispers, her voice a caress. "You're okay." His eye opens slowly, blinking against the light. He looks around, his gaze finally settling on Karen. For a moment, his expression is lost, a swirl of confusion and fear. Then he sees her smile, and the world falls into place. "Huh," he whispers, his voice slurred from the anesthesia. Karen's smile widens. The numbness in his mouth is a strange, disconnected sensation, like his teeth are floating in a sea of cotton. Plankton tries to sit up, his movements clumsy and slow. Karen's hand on his shoulder is firm but gentle, guiding him back down. "Easy, sweetie," she says. The doctor nods, his expression a blend of concern and reassurance. "Just give it a few more minutes," he says. "Let the anesthesia wear off a bit more." Plankton's eye focuses on her, his mind fuzzy. The gauze in his mouth feels like a soggy sponge, absorbing the blood from his teeth. He tries to talk, but his words are muted and garbled. "Ma-" Karen nods, her smile understanding. "I know, baby. It'll be okay." The doctor checks the monitors, his expression calm. "Looks like you're coming out of it," he says. "Just a few more minutes." Karen nods, her hand still on Plankton's. Plankton's body feels strange, his movements sluggish. The numbness of his mouth spreads to his cheeks, his face feeling swollen and alien. He tries to talk. "Ma-Ma-Ma-Ma-" Karen understands his attempt at words. She leans closer, smiling gently. "It's okay, sweetie. You're okay." Her voice is a soothing song, a balm to his fearful soul. His tongue feels like a thick slab of meat, unresponsive and foreign. The drool continues to flow. Plankton's gaze moves from Karen to the doctor, his eye wide and searching. "Wheh...what...whath happen'd?" he mumbles around the gauze, his mouth feeling like it's filled with cotton. His tongue is a dead weight, refusing to form words. Karen's smile is a lifeline in the fog of his confusion. "You had a little procedure," she says, her voice gentle. "The wisdom teeth are out." Plankton's antennae twitch, trying to remember the conversation that had led to this. The fear is a distant memory now, dulled by the anesthesia. His mouth feels strange, unfamiliar. He reaches up to touch his swollen cheek, his hand shaky and clumsy. "Ma-Ma-Ma-Ma--" He tries to form words, his mind still sluggish. Karen's eyes are full of love and concern as she gently takes his hand. "It's okay," she says. "The numbness will go away soon." Plankton nods, his head lolling slightly as his body adjusts to the lack of sensation. His drool pools on the gauze pads, the saliva spilling over onto his chin. He's vaguely aware of the mess he's making, but the fear has been replaced by a dull, heavy weight. The doctor's voice is a comforting murmur in the background, talking to Karen about aftercare and pain management. Karen's hand is still in his, her fingers tight around his own. He tries to squeeze back, but his hand feels floppy and unresponsive. "K-Karen wiww I...?" he slurs, his thoughts still tangled. Her eyes are warm with comfort. "You're going to be fine," she assures him, wiping away a stray drop from the corner of his mouth. "We'll go home soon." He perks up. "Thoon?" The doctor nods. "We'll keep an eye on him for a bit longer," he says. "But you can take him home once he's more awake." Karen nods, her thumb continuing to trace gentle circles on his palm. Plankton's eye is glazed with the remnants of anesthesia, but his antennae twitch with excitement. The room spins around Plankton, the walls a blur. He tries to sit up again, his body fighting against the lingering effects of the drugs. Karen's grip is firm but loving, keeping him anchored to the chair. "Just a bit longer," she soothes. His mouth feels like a cavern, the gauze thick and unyielding. He tries to speak, his tongue a traitor against his will. "Doeth...doeth it huth?" The words come out garbled, a nonsensical string of syllables. Karen nods, her smile understanding. "Your mouth will feel funny for a bit," she explains, her voice a soothing hum. "It's normal, just give it some time." Her thumb keeps moving, a small, reassuring gesture. The doctor's words drift in and out of Plankton's awareness. "You'll have to take it easy for a few days," he's saying. "No crunchy foods, lots of ice for the swelling." Karen nods, her eyes on Plankton's face as she listens. Plankton's tongue is a sluggish weight in his mouth, his teeth a distant memory beneath the cottony numbness. He tries to form a full sentence. "Muh...muh...muh... Yith?" Plankton's voice is a garbled mess, the words sticking to his numb tongue like glue. Karen's heart squeezes in her chest as she tries not to laugh. "What did you say, sweetie?" He sighs, frustrated, his antennae drooping. "I thaid, doth Chip know?" His speech is still slurred, the words coming out like a drunken mumble. Karen nods. "He's waiting outside," she says. "He's been worried about you." The mention of Chip seems to anchor him. His eye brightens, the confusion in it clearing slightly. "Chip," he murmurs. Karen smiles. "Yes, Chip," she repeats, her voice a soft echo. "You remember now?" Plankton's antennae twitch in affirmation. "Muh...mouth." Karen nods, her expression full of understanding. "It's okay," she says. "Your mouth will feel normal again soon." The doctor's voice is a steady stream of instructions, his words a lifeline in Plankton's foggy reality. "Keep the gauze in for an hour, chew gently to keep the blood flowing," he says, his tone calm and soothing. Plankton nods, his eye unfocused. Karen's hand is a comforting weight on his shoulder, her voice a lullaby as she repeats the instructions back to him. "We'll go get some ice cream," she says, her tone hopeful. "Something soft and sweet to help your mouth feel better. Ready to meet Chip out in the lobby?" Plankton nods, his movements jerky and awkward. The numbness in his mouth still lingers, his tongue a dead weight as he tries to speak. "I-I...finks...sho." His voice is a slurred mess, but the meaning is clear. Karen laughs gently, her hands moving to help him sit up. "Let's go, then," she says, her voice filled with relief and love. Plankton's eye widens slightly as he takes in his surroundings, his movements still slow and sluggish. The doctor nods, his expression a mix of pride and sympathy. Her arm is around him, supporting his weight as she helps him stand up.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 3 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 ) Karen sees the pain in Chip's eyes. She knows they have to explain sooner rather than later. Plankton's condition is a part of their lives, and Chip deserves to know. Yet she also understands her husband's need for privacy. "Plankton," she says calmly, placing a hand on his back. "Chip just wants to help." Plankton's face contorts in frustration, his antennae twitching uncontrollably. Chip, feeling more lost than ever, steps back further. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmurs, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I didn't mean to-" "Chip, it's okay," Karen says, cutting in before Plankton can reply. She gives her husband a knowing look, her screen filled with concern. Oblivious to his dad's autistic spectrum disorder and its effects on his sensory processing, Chip continues to hover anxiously. "But Mom, why won't Dad tell me?" He sniffles, wiping his screen with the back of his hand. Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Chip, your dad's brain works a little differently than most. Sometimes, things can be too much for him, and his body needs a break. That's all it was." Chip's eyes are wide, but fear still lingers. "But why couldn't he-" "It's okay, Chip," she interjects, placing a comforting arm around his shoulder. "Daddy's just tired. Why don't you go wash up, and I'll talk to him, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes still fixed on Plankton, who now avoids his gaze. As he walks to the bathroom, his mind whirls with questions and fear. Why won't his dad tell him what's going on? What's so scary about his brain needing a break? While Chip is washing his screen, Plankton turns to Karen, his voice low and shaking. "How could I have let this happen?" he whispers. Karen wraps her arms around his trembling frame. "You couldn't have known, Plankton. It's not your fault. But we do need to talk to him. He's seen it now, and he's scared." Plankton nods, his eye dull with fear. "I know," he whispers. He's never wanted Chip to know about his condition, but now it seems like there's no choice. He's always been so sensitive especially when his brain's in overload. Karen gives him a comforting squeeze. "We'll tell him together," she says, her voice steady. "We'll explain it in a way he can understand." Chip finishes washing his screen and returns to the bedroom, his eyes red and puffy. He sees his mom hugging his dad, and the sight brings a tiny bit of comfort. But he still feels like there's something he's missing, something important. But seeing the hug, Chip goes to do the same... But Plankton flinches at his touch, his antennae quivering with overstimulation. Chip pulls away, his eyes wide with confusion and hurt. "What's wrong, Dad?" he asks, not understanding his dad's reaction. "Don't touch me," Plankton says, his voice cold. Chip's eyes well up with tears again. "But I'm just trying to hug you," he whimpers, feeling lost and alone. Karen intervenes, her voice soft. "Plankton, sweetie, Chip doesn't know. He's just a kid, trying to understand." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. He knows she's right. "Chip," Karen begins, her tone gentle. "You know how sometimes you get overwhelmed, and you just need a hug?" Chip nods. "Well, Daddy gets overwhelmed too, but sometimes, hugs aren't what he needs. Sometimes, his brain needs a different kind of comfort." Chip looks up at her, his screen still wet with tears. "But why can't I hug him?" he asks, his voice small. "You're hugging..." "Chip," Karen says, taking his hand. "Your dad's brain is special. Sometimes, when it gets too much input, he needs some space. He can't help it; it's just ho-" "But why can't I just hug him?" Chip interrupts, his voice desperate. Plankton looks away, his face contorting with the effort to hold back his own tears. "It's not that simple, Chip," he says, his voice cracking. Chip's confusion grows. He can't understand why a simple hug is causing so much pain. "But why?" he asks, his voice trembling. "You always hug Mom.." Plankton sighs, feeling the weight of his secret pressing down on him. "It's not the same," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mom knows how to... to handle it." Chip's eyes fill with tears again. "But why not me?" he asks. "I just wa-" Plankton's voice is harsher than he intends. "Because you don't know how!" he snaps. Chip's face falls, the rejection hitting him like a slap. Karen's eyes dart between them. She understands Plankton's struggle with his sensory issues, but this isn't the time for anger. "Plankton," she says firmly, "Chip just wants to help. He doesn't understand, and we can't blame him for that." She looks at Chip, his screen full of hurt and confusion. "Let's just tell him, okay? Try again Plankton.." Plankton nods reluctantly, his antennae still twitching. "Chip," he starts, his voice softer now. "When I was being born, my brain didn't fully develop the way it should've. So, I'm different, and I don't need you to 'fix' me. HAPPY?" Chip stares at his dad, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. He doesn't understand. "Different, how?" he asks, his voice small. Karen takes over. "Your father has a condition called autism, Chip. It means his brain interprets things differently, especially when it comes to touch." Chip pulls away, his face scrunching up. "But that means you're broken!" he cries out, his voice filled with horror. "You're a monster! An autistic freak!" The words slip out before he can stop them, echoing the taunts of his schoolmates. "It makes you nothing but an embarrassment!" The room goes still, the atmosphere thick with pain. Karen's eyes widen in shock as Plankton's body tenses. "Chip, no!" she gasps, but it's too late. Plankton's face crumples. The words had cut deeper than Chip could've ever imagined. "Get out," Plankton murmurs, his voice barely audible. "I don't want you here." Chip's eyes widen, his screen flushing with guilt. He didn't mean it; he was just repeating what he's heard. "But, Dad," he whimpers, reaching out. But Plankton flinches away, his antennae drooping. "Get out," he repeats, his voice defeated. "I don't need you right now." Chip's eyes fill with hurt as he takes a step back. "But Dad..." he whispers, his hand reaching out instinctively. Plankton doesn't take it. "I said leave," he murmurs, his voice filled with pain. "You get out, Chip. Just go." The finality in his tone sends a shiver down Karen's spine. Chip's hand falls to his side, his eyes brimming with tears. Karen's eyes are glossed with unshed tears as she watches Chip back away, the hurt in his voice etching a painful silence into the room. "Dad, I-" But Plankton cuts him off, his antennae quivering with emotion. "I don't want to see you right now, Chip," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just go." The rejection hits Chip like a wave, and he nods, his lip trembling. He turns and runs from the room, his sobs echoing down the hallway. Karen turns to Plankton, her screen filled with sorrow and understanding. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice cracking. "He didn't realize what he said. He doesn't know how such words can hurt you." Plankton turns to her, his eye filled with a sadness so deep it's almost tangible. "But he said it," he murmurs. "He basically called me a freak." Karen's heart breaks at his pain, and she sighs heavily. "He's just a child, Plankton," she says softly. "He doesn't underst--" "I don't care," Plankton interrupts, his voice brittle. "I can't handle it right now." He turns away. Karen nods, giving him the space he needs. She understands the depth of his pain and the struggle his condition brings him.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 18 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 ) Jill, the new hygienist, is a whirlwind of activity, her movements swift and efficient. But she's not the same. The comfort of familiarity is replaced with the cold embrace of the unknown. Chip watches, his heart racing with his father's. Jill doesn't notice Plankton's growing distress. She's too busy preparing the chair, her eyes flicking over the chart. "Open wide," she says, her voice a sharp command. Plankton's eye flutters, his antennae drooping as she holds up a periodontal probe explorer. Plankton shakes his head. "Ms. Jill, I ha-" But she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "We're all set. No need to be nervous." Her tone is brisk, dismissive of his fear as she leans in with the sharp probe. But it's not okay. It's not okay at all. Plankton's antennae thrash wildly, his eye wide with panic. "No," he whispers, his voice lost in the buzz of the room. "No, I need... I ca--" Jill's eyes narrow, her hand poised with the probe. "Mr. Plankton, you need to relax," she says, her voice a stern command. Karen steps forward, her voice calm but firm. "Jill, my husband is autistic. He has specific needs during these types of appointments." But Jill, focused on her work, doesn't look up. "We don't have all day," she says, her tone implicitly dismissing Karen's concerns. Yet the sharpness of the probe is painfully unbearable the second it touches Plankton.. Plankton's body jerks back, his voice rising in panic. "No, no, please!" he cries, his antennae thrashing. Karen's eyes narrow, her patience wearing thin. "Jill," she repeats, "my husband has an autistic condition." The words hang in the air, a plea for understanding. Jill's eyes snap up, her hand still gripping the probe. "Autistic?" she scoffs. "You're just trying to get out of the cleaning." Her dismissal is a slap in the face, her ignorance a barrier to the care Plankton desperately needs. "Relax or we'll have to hold you down." Plankton's antennae flatten, his body shaking with fear. "Karen," he whispers, his voice a thread of desperation. "Make i---" But Jill already has the probe in her hand, moving towards his mouth. Plankton's panic spikes, his antennae flailing. "Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I can't handle it." Yet Jill doesn't heed his needs. Her grip is firm as she pries open Plankton's mouth, his eye watering. Chip's fists clench, his heart hammering. He wants to shout, to make her stop, but his throat is tight with his own fear of causing a scene. "Jill, wait," Karen says, her voice firm but calm. "You need to understand, Plankton's autism means he's sensitive to changes in routine and can't handle certain sensory inputs." But Jill's expression is unyielding, her eyes cold. "I don't care about your excuses," she says, her voice sharp. "You're here for a cleaning, and that's what you're getting. If you can't hold still, then we'll need to have your family hold you down or kick them out." Plankton's antennae drop limply, his body trembling. Karen's eyes flash with anger, but she remains composed. "Jill, you're not listening," she says, her voice a tightrope of control. "This isn't about avoiding a cleaning. It's abou–" But Plankton's distress reaches a breaking point. His antennae whip around, slapping against the chair in a frantic effort to escape the probe. "No," he whispers, his voice a plea. "I can't..." Karen steps in, her voice firm. "Jill, please," she says, her hand on Plankton's arm. "We need to adjust th-" But Jill's had enough. "If you can't keep still," she snaps, her hand tightening on the probe, "Then I'll do it myself." Plankton's eye widens in terror as she holds his mouth open, the probe poking him too hard. Chip can't stand it anymore. He steps forward, his voice steady despite his fear. "No," he says. But Jill pulls away, her eyes flashing. "This is none of your concern, kid," she sneers. "Now move." So Chip sits back down as Jill prods Plankton's mouth once more. But Plankton's distress only grows. His antennae twitching, his body shaking uncontrollably. "Stop," he whispers, his voice desperate. "Please." Jill's eyes narrow, her grip tightening. "You need to sit still," she says, her voice a harsh reproof. "This won't hurt if you just cooperate." But Plankton can't cooperate. He's lost in a world of sensory overload, the probe in his mouth a burning tormentor he can't escape. Karen's voice is calm but insistent. "Jill, please. We can reschedule with someone more understanding." But Jill waves her off, her eyes never leaving Plankton's terrified gaze. "Interrupt me again and I'll make you sit in the waiting room area." Chip's heart races as he watches his dad's distress. He's torn between protecting him and avoiding confrontation. The probe's cold touch is a violation, a symbol of the world's harshness invading their safe space. Plankton's whimpers turn to sobs, his body rigid with fear as she starts again with the probe, her movements becoming more aggressive. Plankton's antennae are a blur, his voice a garbled mess of pleas and pain. Karen doesn't want to have him unnecessarily suffer, yet she also doesn't want to be sent out. The room seems to close in, the lights too bright, the sounds too loud. Chip feels a knot in his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He looks to his mom, her face a mask of calm, but he can see the tension in her eyes, the tightness. Plankton's sobs grow louder, his body jerking as Jill continues to ignore his pleas. She only holds on tighter. Her movements become more aggressive, her eyes narrowed with determination. Karen's patience snaps like a taut rubber band. "That's enough," she says, her voice sharp. She moves to stand between Jill and Plankton, blocking the probe. "You're causing him unnecessary pain." Jill's eyes widen, but she doesn't relent. "Ma'am, I'm just trying to do my job. Now let me work. If you stay in here, then hold him down. We're not finished until we get this done." Karen's face is a picture of frustration and concern. "This isn't right," she says, her voice steady. But with a sigh of defeat, Karen sends Chip out into the waiting room as she holds her crying husband down. "I'm sorry, love, we have to get through th-" But Plankton's cries only intensify. The room feels like it's closing in on him, the lights piercing his eye, the smells overwhelming him. He wants to escape, to retreat into a bubble where everything is safe. But the probe is in his mouth, the chair is too cold, and Jill's touch is too rough. Yet Karen holds his limbs tightly. "Open wider," Jill commands, ignoring the tears streaming down Plankton's cheeks. The probe scrapes against his teeth, a grating sound that makes his skin crawl. His antennae are a blur of motion, a silent scream of distress. Karen's voice is firm. "Jill, this isn't working," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "We need to find another way." But Jill is unmoved. "I've got a schedule to keep," she snaps, her movements growing more forceful. "You're not special." The words hit Plankton like a wave, his heart racing. He tries to speak, to explain, but the probe is in his mouth, silencing his voice. He feels the beginnings of a seizure, the edges of his vision blurring. Jill's eyes flicker with impatience, her movements quickening. Karen's grip on Plankton's arm tightens, her voice a firm plea. "Jill, please, stop. He can't take it." But Jill's voice is cold. "This is standard procedure. I don't have tim-" But Plankton's body seizes, his limbs thrashing wildly. The probe clatters to the floor, Jill's eyes widening with shock. "He's having convulsions," Karen says quickly, her voice sharp. Jill's eyes dart to Karen, then back to Plankton, his body convulsing slightly in the chair. "What?" she asks, confusion marring her features. "He's having an autistic shutdown," Karen explains, her voice calm but urgent. "This happens when he's overwhelmed. Let. Go." Jill's grip finally loosens, her eyes wide with fear.

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.