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👉 cuộc sống này mẹ chỉ cần👇 👉một mình con là đủ 👈 ꧁Đức-Huy ❤30.01.2021❤꧂
Zero Smod 002
Cu m2
Minh Đức2k8
nợ em 2k
Brittanie Nichole Cecil (March 20, 1988 – March 18, 2002)
QuangMinh8274
jóvenes embarazadas de menos de 20 años
Hoặc chỉ cần tạo ngẫu nhiên tên và kí tự
nirvāṇa
N⃗I⃗R⃗V⃗āṇA⃗
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Plankton and Karen leave Hanna's but back at their own home, Karen's friend Sandy was waiting there to as a surprise visit. So when they went in, Sandy's excitement startled the both of them. "Surprise!" Sandy yells, jumping up to greet them. Plankton's antennae shoot up like a startled octopus, the sudden noise a storm in his quiet world. His body tenses, his eye darts around the room like a fish caught in a net. Sandy doesn't notice his distress, her bubbly enthusiasm a tsunami in their peaceful harbor. "Surprise!" she shouts again, her hands waving like seaweed in the current of her excitement. Plankton flinches with overstimulation. The room is a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and smells, each one a needle in the storm of his sensory overload. Sandy's voice is a dolphin's cheer, a piercing sonar that slices through his quiet world. He tries to retreat. "Sandy, ease up a bit," Karen says, her voice a gentle wave. But Sandy, lost in the riptide of her own enthusiasm, doesn't hear the warning. Her eyes are a sea of joy, unaware of the tempest she's stirring. "It's so good to see you, Plankton!" she exclaims, her voice a foghorn in his delicate world. He flinches again. Sandy rushes over, her eyes a bright coral reef of excitement. She throws her arms around him, her laughter a storm of bubbles. Plankton's body tenses desperately seeking escape. Her touch is a riptide, her voice a cacophony of dolphin calls. He tries to pull away. Sandy's thinking he's just shy so she tries harder, excitedly nudging him. "C'mon, Plankton," she says, her voice a playful splash against the rocky shore of his discomfort. She doesn't see the desperation.. Her laughter is a school of fish, bright and oblivious, as she grabs his hands. Sandy's touch is a sea urchin's kisses, prickly and unyielding. She doesn't realize his distress, her touch a storm of unwelcome affection. Each laugh is a wave that crashes against his fragile shore. But Sandy's enthusiasm is a relentless tide, her eyes a sea of misunderstanding. Her grip tightens, her voice a crescendo of joy that pierces his delicate world. "So Plankton, wh..." Sandy starts when Plankton seizes. His body jolts like a lightning strike in the sea, thrashing wildly. The room is a sudden maelstrom, their peaceful sanctuary invaded by the chaos of a seizure. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, quickly turning into the storm of action. She moves swiftly, her arms a sheltering coral reef, guiding him to the floor. Sandy's grip is torn away like a kelp ripped from its hold. Her eyes widen, a sea of shock. "What's happening?" she gasps, her voice a bubble of panic. Karen's hands a gentle surf guiding Plankton to the floor. Sandy's eyes are saucers of disbelief, her voice a panicked wave. "What's wrong with him?" Her words crash into the room, a sudden squall in their calm. Karen's screen is a mask of determined calm, her voice a steady current. "It's ok, Sandy," she murmurs. "Let's get him to the floor." Together, they lower Plankton's convulsing body to the ground, his limbs jerking like sea life caught in a tempest. "Karen, what do we do?" Her voice is a soft wave, carrying urgency. "Just stay calm," Karen instructs, her screen a steady sea. "Make sure he doesn't hurt himself." Sandy nods, her eyes a swirling eddy of fear. Plankton's body is a tempest, his limbs thrashing like seaweed in the current. Karen's hands are a gentle net, guiding him to safety. "How?" Sandy whispers, her voice a trembling wave. Karen's eyes are a calm sea, her voice a soft lullaby in the storm. "Just keep talking to him," she says, her hands a gentle current, guiding Plankton's limbs. Sandy's voice quivers with fear, but she tries to comply, her words a soft ripple in the room's chaos. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, each syllable a lifeline thrown into his tumultuous world. Plankton's body is a wild sea, his eye rolled back, his antennae thrashing like tentacles in a storm. Karen's touch is a calming wave, her whispers a lullaby amidst the tempest. She looks at Sandy, her gaze a quiet harbor. "Just keep talking to him," Karen instructs, her voice a soft surf in the chaos. "It's okay, Plankton," Sandy murmurs, her words a gentle stroking of the waves. The seizure rages on, his body a wild sea creature caught in a tempest. Sandy's voice is a soft glow, a beacon through the fog. Karen's eyes are a quiet moon, guiding them both through the storm. "It's okay, Plankton," Sandy whispers, her words a gentle lullaby. Her touch is a tentative wave, trying to soothe the raging ocean of his distress. But she's flailing in the deep, her understanding just a pebble in the vast sea of his experience. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, guiding them through the storm. Her voice is a steady surf, instructing Sandy on how to navigate the tumultuous waters. "Keep talking to him," she says, her screen a beacon. "Your voice is his anchor." Sandy nods, her words a shaky ripple. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle current. Plankton's body is a wild sea, his antennae flailing like tentacles in a hurricane. She looks to Karen, her eyes a sea of uncertainty. Karen's voice is a lighthouse beam, steady and strong. "Keep talking," she instructs. "It helps him come back." Sandy nods, her voice a gentle wave. "It's okay, Plankton," she murmurs, each syllable a lifeline thrown into his tumultuous sea. The room is a storm of confusion, her eyes a sea of uncertainty. Plankton's body continues to convulse, his antennae waving wildly like sea oats in a hurricane. Sandy's voice is a soft ripple, trying to soothe the tempest. Her hand reaches out, a tentative wave, to touch his trembling arm. But Plankton's skin is a barnacle-covered rock, his muscles tight and unyielding. Her eyes are pools of fear, her voice a gentle splash in the storm. "Karen, what do we do?" she asks, her understanding a tiny boat adrift. Karen's voice is a soft tide, guiding them through the chaos. "Just keep talking to him, Sandy," she whispers, her screen a calm in the raging sea. "It helps him find his way back to us. But try not to touch him." Sandy nods, her eyes a sea of concern. "Okay," she says, her voice a shaky wave. She watches Plankton's body convulse, her heart a caged fish in the storm of his distress. Her words are a gentle current, a lifeline thrown into the turmoil. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, each syllable a soft splash in the chaos. Her hand hovers, a wave of hesitation before it retreats, respecting Karen's guidance. The room is a tempest, their peaceful sanctuary lost to the storm of Plankton's overwhelmed senses. Sandy's eyes are a sea of compassion, her voice a gentle breeze trying to calm the winds. "It's okay," she whispers, her words a soft ripple in the chaos. Her hand reaches out again, a wave of concern, but Karen stops her with a firm look. "Let him come back on his own," she says, her screen a calm sea. Sandy nods, her eyes a storm of empathy. "I didn't know," she says, her voice a gentle splash. Plankton's convulsions start to soften, his body a sea creature slowly coming to rest. Sandy's eyes are a stormy sea, her voice a gentle wave. "What do we do now?" she whispers, her voice a soft ripple of fear. Karen nods, her gaze a quiet moon. "Just keep watching," she says, her voice a steady surf. "His body will tell us when it's over." Sandy's eyes are a storm of worry, but she trusts Karen's experience. She watches as Plankton's body slowly calms, the wild sea within him subsiding like the tide. Her voice is a gentle whisper, each word a soft ripple in the calming waters. "It's okay, Plankton," she repeats, her eyes a sea of compassion. Plankton's body gradually stills, the tempest of his seizure subsiding, his eye blinking back to consciousness. Sandy's voice is a gentle wave, lapping against the shore of his awareness. "You okay?" she asks, her eyes a stormy sea of concern. Plankton looks at them, his single eye a pool of confusion. "Whaa- happen'd?" he whispers, his voice a soft lapping wave. Sandy's eyes are a sea of shock, her voice a trembling ripple. "You had a...an overwhelming moment," Karen says, her voice a gentle surf. Plankton's antennae droop, a flag of exhaustion. "A what?" Sandy asks, her voice a curious wave. Karen's eyes are a calm sea, explaining. "An overwhelming moment," she says gently. "It's like his brain had a...storm." Sandy's face is a puzzle, her understanding a tide coming in. "But he's okay now?" she asks, her voice a soft splash. Karen nods, her screen a gentle moon in the room's soft light. "Yes," she murmurs, her voice a calming surf. "But he's going to be tired, and might still spasm a little bit with the aftermath." Sandy's eyes are a sea of shock, her voice a trembling ripple. "What do we do?" she asks, her fear a sudden squall. Karen's guiding Sandy's panic. "Give him space," she whispers, her voice a soft surf. "Let him come back to us." Sandy nods, her eyes a stormy sea, her voice a tentative ripple. Plankton slowly unfurls his body from the floor. His movements are a delicate ballet, a sea anemone regaining its form after a wave's assault. Sandy's face is a map of confusion, her smile a forced sunrise. "I didn't know," Sandy whispers, her voice a shy wave retreating from the shore. "I didn't know about the tremors, or whatever it's called; or seizures..." "He doesn't like that word," Karen tells. "Whenever he shakes or freezes, refer to it as his 'moments'." Her voice is a gentle reminder, a soft wave lapping at the shore of Sandy's understanding. Plankton stands up, his legs wobbly like seaweed after a storm, and Sandy's face is a mask of shock, her eyes a sea of regret. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a soft ripple of apology. He looks at her, his antennae drooping like tired kelp. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle tide washing over his fear. "You didn't know." Sandy nods. Plankton's gaze a sea of confusion. He's trying to piece together the shattered coral of his world. "Let's sit down," Karen suggests, her voice a soft lullaby guiding them to the couch. Plankton nods. Sandy's eyes are a sea of curiosity, her voice a gentle wave. "Is he okay?" she asks, her concern a soft ripple. Karen nods, her eyes a calm moon. "He's just had an overwhelming moment," she says, her voice a soothing surf. "It's like his brain was hit by a rogue wave." Sandy's face is a storm of realization, her understanding a rocky coastline reshaped by the revelation. "What does that mean?" she asks, her voice a tentative ripple. Karen's eyes are a serene sea, explaining. "It means his brain works differently," she says, her voice a soft surf. "He can get overwhelmed by things we might find simple." Sandy's eyes widen, a sea of comprehension filling the room. "But he's okay now?" she asks, her voice a gentle ripple of hope. Karen nods, her voice a soft surf. "He'll need some time," she whispers, her screen a calm moon in the room's soft light. "But he's okay." Sandy's eyes are a stormy sea, her mind racing with unanswered questions. Plankton starts to tic, his head moving up and down twice. She doesn't know what to make of it, her eyes a sea of confusion. "It's okay," Karen murmurs, her voice a gentle surf. "It's just his body's way of...adjusting, after that." She doesn't want to say 'seizure' again, not wanting to trigger another storm. Sandy's eyes are a sea of curiosity, watching Plankton's head tilt to the side a little. "Is that...normal for him?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple of concern. Karen nods, her screen a gentle moon. "It's part of it," she says, her voice a steady surf. "It's sudden jerks like involuntary tremors with the aftermath. He might reflexively continue to do that every now and then for a while today." Sandy's eyes are a sea of empathy, her voice a soft ripple. "I had no idea," she murmurs. Her words are a gentle wave washing over the shoreline of their shared confusion. Sandy's eyes are a stormy sea as she looks at Plankton, trying to read his silent world. Her words are a gentle ripple, each question a soft wave. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she asks, her voice a tender whisper. He nods, his antennae a sad seaweed dance. "I'm here," he says, his voice a quiet lapping tide. Sandy's eyes are a storm of realization, her voice a gentle wave. "I didn't know," she whispers, each syllable a soft splash in the sea of their new understanding. Plankton looks at her, his eye a quiet pool. "Didn't know," he murmurs. Sandy's voice is a soft splash. "What's it like?" she asks, her eyes a sea of curiosity. "The moments?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye a quiet pool. "What's it like...the moments." He parrots. Karen nods, her voice a gentle tide. "It's like...imagine you're in a room, everything's fine, and then suddenly, a thousand jellyfish sting you at once." Sandy's eyes are a sea of empathy, trying to fathom the depth of his pain. "It's like that?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple of concern. Karen nods, her screen a gentle moon. "Sensory overload," she whispers, each syllable a lifeline thrown into the storm of their understanding. "It's like his world gets too loud, too bright, too...much." Sandy's gaze is a tempest of realization, her voice a trembling wave. "But I didn't know," she says, each word a soft splash in the sea of her regret. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye a lonely moon in the room's gentle light. He tries to speak, his voice a soft lapping tide. "Didn't know," he whispers. Sandy's eyes are a stormy sea, her heart a cove of regret. She moves closer, her voice a soft ripple. "What didn't you know?" she asks, her curiosity a gentle wave reaching out to him. Plankton's antennae twitch, a silent conversation with the room. "Didn't...know," he copies. Sandy's eyes are a stormy sea, her voice a tentative wave. "I didn't know you had moments like this," she whispers, each word a soft ripple of regret. Plankton nods, his antennae a quiet dance of fatigue. "Didn't know," he murmurs, his voice a gentle surf. "Didn't know, Sandy saying didn't know." Sandy's eyes are a sea of apology, her voice a soft ripple of regret. "I'm sorry," she whispers, each syllable a tender wave. "I didn't know. I just..." Her words are a tide that retreats, leaving only silence in its wake. Plankton looks at her, his antennae a sad dance of exhaustion. "Sandy didn't know." Karen notices Plankton's repetition, and Sandy's confusion. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle surf. "He's just processing." Sandy's eyes are a sea of unanswered questions, her voice a tentative ripple. "What do we do?" Karen's gaze is a moon, guiding them through the fog. "Let him talk in his own way," she says, her voice a soft wave. Sandy nods, her eyes a storm of concern. "Okay," she says, her voice a shy wave. "So Plankton, what do you wanna do now? We can read, play a game, watch..." "Slow down," says Karen, her voice a gentle reminder. "Plankton, what would you like to do with Sandy; what sounds fun?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his voice a tide retreating from a beach. "Game," he murmurs. Sandy's eyes light up, a sea of excitement. "A game?" she asks, her voice a hopeful wave. "Which one?" Plankton's antennae perk up, a signal of interest. "Movie," he says, his voice a soft ripple. Sandy's eyes are a sea of surprise, her voice a gentle splash. "A movie?" she repeats, her enthusiasm a wave of excitement. Plankton nods, his antennae a quiet agreement. "Movie," he whispers, his voice a gentle surf. Sandy's eyes are a sea of joy, her voice a crashing wave. "Which one?" she asks, eager to please. Karen looks to Plankton, her screen a gentle moon guiding his choice. "How about something without flashing lights or loud sounds?" she suggests, her voice a soft surf. Sandy nods, her understanding a new tide in their friendship. "Sure," she says, her voice a ripple of agreement. "What's your favorite movie?" she asks Plankton, her voice a gentle wave. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye a thoughtful moon. "The Dirty Bubble," he murmurs, his voice a soft surf. Sandy's eyes are a sea of surprise, her voice a splash of excitement. "Really?" she asks, her tone a wave of disbelief. "That's your favorite?" Plankton nods, his antennae a soft bob in the sea of their conversation. "The Dirty Bubble," he whispers, his voice a gentle reminder of his preference. "Okay," Sandy says. Her voice is a wave of determination, ready to navigate the uncharted waters of Plankton's world. She grabs the remote, her eyes a stormy sea of concentration as she finds the right settings for him. The TV's light dims, the sound a gentle rush of waves. The movie starts, a silent ballet of underwater adventure, and Plankton's body relaxes. His antennae, once a wild dance of overstimulation, become a gentle sway with the rhythm of the film's score. As the movie's plot unfolds, Plankton's breathing deepens, his eye a calm sea of restfulness. The room's quiet is a gentle surf, each wave of dialogue and sound a soft lullaby to his weary soul. Sandy and Karen watch him, their eyes a sea of concern and care. They share a knowing glance, a silent wave of understanding passing between them. The movie's gentle rhythm is a soothing lullaby, lulling Plankton's sensory storm into a gentle calm. His breathing syncs with the film's score, each note a soft wave lapping at the shore of his anxiety. As the credits roll, Plankton's antennae cease their sway, his body a tranquil sea. His eye, once a moon in the tempest, now shut. The movie's gentle surf has lulled him to sleep, his breathing a soft rhythm of the ocean's embrace. His little body, a driftwood adrift in the couch cushions, finds a restful harbor. Sandy's eyes are a sea of amazement, watching Plankton's peaceful slumber. Her voice is a whispered wave. "Is he okay?" Karen nods, her eyes a gentle moon. "He's just tired," she whispers, her voice a soft surf. "Those moments take a lot out of him." Sandy's eyes are a storm of concern, watching Plankton's peaceful slumber. "What can we do?" she asks, her voice a tentative ripple. Karen's gaze is a serene sea, her voice a soft whisper. "Give him space," she says, each word a gentle surf. "And keep the room quiet. He'll wake when he's ready." Sandy nods, her eyes a storm of compassion. She watches Plankton's chest rise and fall with the rhythm of his restful sleep, his antennae still as sea oats in the moonlight. Her heart is a cove of newfound understanding, her voice a soft ripple. "I had no idea," she murmurs. Karen's eyes are a gentle moon, her smile a warm current. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a comforting surf. "You're learning." Sandy nods, her eyes a stormy sea of realization. "I want to help," she says, her voice a soft ripple of determination. "What can I do?" Karen's eyes are a gentle moon, guiding Sandy's intentions. "Just be there for him," she whispers, her voice a soft surf. "And learn." Sandy nods, her eyes a stormy sea of resolve. She looks at Plankton, his body still as a moonlit ocean, his antennae laid to rest. His breath is a quiet tide, his snores a gentle symphony of sleep as Sandy leaves. Karen knows tomorrow's dental appointment will be a challenge, so she decides to call ahead to the dentist. She wants to ensure his visit is as smooth as sea glass, not the shattered chaos of his last "moment." Her voice is a soft wave of preparation, explaining Plankton's condition over the phone, her words a gentle tide washing over the receptionist's queries. The next day, the sun is a warm embrace on their faces as they walk into the office. Karen's eyes are a serene sea, her voice a calming surf as she explains to Plankton what will happen. "It's like a photo for your teeth," she says, her words a gentle ripple. Plankton's antennae quiver with curiosity, his eye a pool of uncertainty. "They won't hurt you," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing surf. "They just want to make sure everything's okay in your mouth." Plankton's antennae twitch, a nervous dance in the sea of the waiting room. The smell of mint and antiseptic fills the air, a tide of anxiety rising in him. Karen's eyes are a gentle moon, her voice a steady surf. "Remember, Plankton," she whispers, each syllable a lifeline. "It'll be quick. Just like a photo for your teeth." The room is a sea of white, the equipment a coral reef of unfamiliar shapes. The chair is a creature of the deep, its mouth open wide, waiting to swallow him whole. Plankton's antennae are a frantic dance of nerves. The dentist, a friendly dolphin in blue, greets them with a smile, her voice a gentle wave. "Hello, Plankton," she says, her eyes a sea of kindness. "Ready for your dental x-ray?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye a storm of doubt. Karen's voice is a soft surf, reassuring him. "It's okay," she whispers, each syllable a lifeline in the sea of his anxiety. "It's just a quick photo." The dentist, her smile a gentle wave, explains each step, her words a soothing lullaby for Plankton's fearful mind. Karen's presence, a moon in the room's sterile whiteness, grounds him. He nods, his antennae a cautious seaweed sway. He's unsure, but Karen's calm is a lighthouse in his storm. The dentist, her eyes a gentle sea, guides him to the chair, her voice a soothing surf. "It's okay," she says, each word a soft ripple. Plankton's antennae are a stormy sea, his body a tense reef in the chair. The x-ray machine, a robotic kraken, looms over him, casting cold shadows. Karen's eyes are a gentle moon, her voice a soft surf to ease his fear. "It's okay," she whispers, each word a warm ripple. "Just stay still for a second." The room holds its breath, a sea of anticipation. The machine whirs, a shy wave in the silence, and a flash of light pierces the room. Plankton's body flinches, a startled sea creature. Karen's hand is a gentle current, steadying him. "It's just a photo," she murmurs, her voice a calming surf. Her eyes, a serene moon, cast a soft glow of reassurance. The x-ray machine beeps, a robotic kraken retreating. The room exhales, a sigh of relief. The picture taken, the dentist shows them the image, a seabed of teeth and bones. Plankton's eye is a pool of wonder, his antennae still. "Looks like we've got some extra guests," she says, her voice a soft wave pointing to the screen. "Your wisdom teeth will come in, Plankton. They can cause problems if they don't have enough space. We can surgically remove them tomorrow morning. The extraction will entail pulling the four wisdom teeth.." Her words crash into Plankton like a tidal wave, freezing him in place. His antennae stiffen, his eye a glassy sea. He doesn't move, doesn't blink. The dentist notices his reaction. Her voice is a gentle ripple. "Plankton?" she asks, her eyes a sea of concern. Karen knew he's overwhelmed with the potential fear. "He's processing." The dentist nods, her eyes a gentle wave of understanding. "He'll be asleep for the entire procedure, ok? Just arrive early tomorrow morning." Karen's voice is a gentle surf, trying to calm his fears. "It's like a nap, Plankton," she whispers, her eyes a calm moon. "They'll take care of you. I'll be with you and make sure." Plankton quivers, his eye a storm of doubt. "Nap?" he whispers, his voice a tentative wave. The dentist nods, her smile a gentle surf. "Yes," she says. "A nap that will help keep your teeth happy and healthy." The night before, Karen packs a blanket for the car, her mind a stormy sea of preparation. She knows the sensory assault of the dentist's office can be to much for Plankton. She wants to bring a piece of his calm, controlled environment with them, a life preserver in the ocean of strange sounds and smells. In the morning, Karen starts the car. Plankton doesn't even stim, overwhelmed by anxiety. Karen reaches for his hand, and he takes it for only a moment before retreating. "Don't you wanna talk, or?" she asks, her voice a gentle wave of understanding. She didn't know Plankton can't take touch right now. He shakes his head, his antennae a quiet sea of nerves. "Space," he murmurs, his voice a soft retreating tide. Karen nods, her screen a calm moon. She respects his need for solitude, his personal space a sanctuary in the storm of his anxiety. The car's engine is a distant hum, a gentle surf in the quiet of the morning. The road unfolds before them, a serene ribbon of black. Karen drives, her gaze a gentle moon on the horizon, her hands steady on the wheel. She knows he's bracing himself for the ordeal ahead, the sensory overload of the dentist's office. They arrive, the clinic's lights a stark contrast to the calm of the car. The door chime is a sharp wave, jolting Plankton. Inside, the smells of antiseptic and mint crash into him like a storm, his antennae a nervous dance in the tempest. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her voice a gentle surf. "It's okay," she whispers, her words a lullaby in the sea of strange sounds. The receptionist, a starfish behind a desk, takes his information with a smile, her voice a welcoming wave. Plankton's antennae twitch, a silent signal of his unease. Karen's hand is a warm current, steadying him as they wait, her voice a comforting surf. The room is a kaleidoscope of colors, a reef of sounds and smells. Fish of all sizes and shapes swim in the waiting room, their voices a symphony of confusion. Plankton's eye a moon in the stormy sea of his anxiety. The nurse, the same dolphin, leads them to the surgery room. Plankton's antennae quiver like sea grass in a current, his eye a pool of fear. Karen's eyes are a comforting moon, her voice a gentle wave. "Remember," she whispers, her words a lifeline in the tempest of his fear. "It's like a nap." The room is a sea of unfamiliarity, the equipment a coral reef of cold, gleaming steel. The chair is a creature from the deep, its mouth open to receive him. Karen's hand is a soft surf, guiding him into the chair's embrace. The nurse, a gentle dolphin in blue, attaches monitors to his body, their beeps and lights a cacophony in the sea of his sensory overload. Plankton's antennae are a frenzied dance, his eye a stormy sea of fear. Karen's voice is a soft moon, her words a comforting lullaby. "It's okay," she whispers. "Just a nap, Plankton." The anesthesiologist, a wise octopus, approaches with a warm blanket just for Plankton. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a soft surf. "It's to keep you cozy." Plankton nods, his antennae a shy wave of acceptance. The blanket's warmth is a gentle embrace, a familiar tide in a sea of cold, unyielding metal. The octopus's tentacles are a ballet of precision, administering anesthesia. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye a moon in the sea of confusion. The room spins, a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and smells. The gentle ripple of Karen's voice is a lullaby, a soft surf carrying him towards the shore of unconsciousness. The anesthetic is a gentle wave, washing over him, his senses a storm slowly calming into a quiet sea. His antennae still, his eye closing, he surrenders to the tide, letting it pull him under. His breathing, a steady rhythm of the ocean's heartbeat, carries him away from the tempest of his fear. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her voice a calming surf as she holds his hand, her gentle presence an anchor in the storm of his anxiety. The nurse nods, a silent affirmation that he's asleep. The dentist, a sea turtle with gentle hands, begins to numb his gums, a silent diver in his mouth's briny depths. The extraction completes. Plankton's antennae are a still sea, his eye a closed moon. The room is a serene tide, the only sounds the steady beeps of machines, the rhythmic wave of his breath. Karen's eyes are a gentle moon watching over him, her heart a quiet cove of relief. The nurse, a dolphin with a smile, checks the monitors. "All done," she says, her voice a soft surf. "You can sit with him as he wakes up." Karen's eyes are a gentle moon, her voice a soothing wave. "Thank you," she whispers. The room is a quiet cove, the only sound the steady pulse of the heart monitor, a lighthouse in the storm of his recovery. She sits by Plankton's side. As he stirs, his antennae a gentle sway in the sea of consciousness, Karen's eyes are a soft moon, watching his peaceful face. She whispers his name, a tender wave lapping at the shore of his mind. Plankton's eye opens, a moon emerging from an eclipse. He blinks, his pupil a confused sea. "K-Karen?" he whispers, his voice a shaky surf. Karen smiles, her voice a gentle surf. "Hi, Plankton. You're alright." His antennae quiver, a sea of confusion. He looks around, his eye a storm trying to make sense of the surroundings. The nurse, a dolphin with a smile, checks his vitals, her voice a comforting wave. "You had a little nap, and now your teeth are all better," she says, her words a soothing lullaby in the sea of his confusion. Plankton nods slowly, his antennae a tired dance of understanding. The room's light is a soft glow, the machines a gentle hum. His mouth feels like it's been visited by a pod of whales, but the pain is a distant throb, muffled by the fog of anesthesia. Karen's hand, a warm current, squeezes his tentatively. "How do you feel?" she asks, her voice a calm moon in the room's quiet. His eye is a storm trying to find land, his voice a sluggish surf. "Tiwed," he murmurs. "And...my mouf so...big." Karen laughs, her screen a sea of amusement. "It'll go away soon." "You're ready to go home!" The nurse, the dolphin, says. Plankton nods, his antennae a slow dance of exhaustion. The world is a blurry sea, his thoughts a distant shore he's struggling to reach. Karen helps him up, her arms a gentle wave, cradling his weight as they navigate the clinic's coral maze. The car's interior is a sanctuary, a womb of familiarity in the storm of his sensory overload. Karen's voice is a soft surf, guiding him through the fog of anesthesia. "You did so well," she whispers, her words a comforting lullaby. Plankton's antennae stir, a sea anemone in the gentle tide of her words. His eye opens, a moon in a cloudy sky, and he looks around, the world a blurry painting. The car's movement is a lullaby, rocking his body like a cradle in the sea. He swallows, his mouth a cavern filled with cotton, and winces at the dull throb of his gums. Karen's eyes are a gentle moon, her voice a soft surf. "The surgery went well," she whispers. "Your wisdom teeth are gone." His antennae twitch, a storm of confusion. "W-wisdom teesh?" His voice is a tentative wave, unsure of its place in the sea of his thoughts. Karen nods, her smile a soft moon. "Yes, Plankton. They had to take them out." His antennae sway, a confused sea of thoughts. "Buth...why?" he whispers, his voice a lost wave. "They were making room," she explains, her tone a gentle surf. "For your teeth to be happy." Plankton's eye is a clouded moon, trying to make sense of her words. "Happe— teesh," he repeats, his voice a sleepy echo. Karen nods, her smile a warm current. "Yes, happy teeth." His antennae dance, a confused sea of thought. "Teesh... happy?" he murmurs, his speech slurred by the lingering tide of numbness. Karen laughs softly, her voice a comforting surf to her husband. "Exactly," she says. The car's gentle sway is a lullaby, and Plankton's eye drift closed, his mind adrift in the sea of his newfound comfort. His antennae twitch erratically, a storm of sensory input trying to find its calm. "M-muffins," he slurs, the word a clumsy fish in the net of his mouth. Karen's smile is a gentle moon, her voice a soft surf. "Muffins?" she asks, unsure. Plankton nods, his antennae a sea of determination. "Wan' muffin," he whispers, his voice a slurred wave. Karen's smile is a soft moon, her screen a gentle sea. "After we get home and you've had some rest," she says, her voice a soothing surf. "We need to take care of your mouth." Plankton nods, his antennae a sleepy wave. "M-muffin," he mumbles again, his mind still adrift in the fog of his recent ordeal. "Wiww be okay?" His voice is a sluggish surf, unsure of the shore it's reaching for. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her voice a gentle surf. "Yes, Plankton," she reassures him. "You can have a muffin once we're home and you've had some rest." He nods, his antennae a tired wave. His words are a storm trying to find the shore of coherence. "M-muffin," he mumbles, his mind still adrift in the sea of anesthesia. The world outside the car windows is a blur, the sounds of the engine a distant lullaby. "Wan' muffin," Plankton whispers again, his voice a lost wave. Karen's eyes are a gentle moon, her smile a warm current of reassurance. "You can have a muffin when we get home," she repeats, her voice a soothing surf in the storm of his sluggish thoughts. The car's movement is a lullaby, the engine's purr a comforting surf. Plankton's antennae stir, trying to capture the words, his mind a sea of confusion. "Hone?" he asks, his voice a tentative wave. Karen nods, her screen a serene sea. "Almost there," she whispers. As they pull into the driveway, Plankton's antennae perk up, a sea anemone reaching for home. His eye, a stormy sea, squint against the harsh sunlight, his body a stiff reef in the chair. Karen helps him out of the car, her movements a gentle tide, and supports him into the house, their sanctuary from the sensory storm outside. Once inside, Plankton stumbles to the couch, his body a driftwood floating in the sea of anesthesia. His antennae are a sluggish dance of confusion, trying to make sense of the world around him. Karen guides him, her voice a soft moon, her touch a warm current in the sea of his disorientation. "Muffin?" he mumbles again, his voice a lost wave in the fog of his mind. Karen's eyes are a gentle sea of patience, her smile a warm shore. "After you rest," she promises, her voice a comforting surf. On the couch, his body a driftwood in the sea of pillows, Plankton's antennae flutter, trying to anchor him to reality. Karen helps him lie down, the couch a welcoming embrace, his body a ragdoll in the sea of his exhaustion. "Rest now," she whispers, her screen a soft moon guiding him to slumber. But his mind, a stormy sea, won't let him be. "Muffin?" he slurs again, his voice a lost surf in the fog of confusion. Karen laughs gently, her voice a soothing wave. "After you wake up, Plankton," she says, her smile a warm lighthouse in the distance of his pain. "Let's get you comfortable first." He nods and allows her to position his head just right. She grabs a pillow, her movements a gentle tide, and supports his neck, her touch soft against his skin. Plankton's antennae sway, a quiet sea of confusion. "Wiww youw get me muffin?" his voice a sluggish wave. Karen's smile is a soft moon, her voice a gentle surf. "After you wake up," she repeats, her tone a lullaby. "Let's get some rest first." He nods, his antennae a reluctant wave of understanding. His body, a tired reef, surrenders to the pillows, his eye a moon slowly sinking into the sea of sleep. Karen tucks the blanket around him, her movements a tender dance of care. She watches his chest rise and fall, the rhythm a comforting tide. But Plankton's mind, a stormy sea, won't let the shore of sleep embrace him fully. His eye opens, a moon peeking through the clouds of anesthesia. "Karen?" he whispers, his voice a lost surf in the vast ocean of his confusion. "Yes, Plankton?" Karen's voice is a soft moon, her presence a lighthouse in the fog of his thoughts. "What is it?" His antennae twitch, a sea of questions. "Di-did it w-work?" His speech is choppy, struggling against the tide of anesthesia. "The candy?" he adds, his voice a foggy surf. Karen nods, her eyes a gentle moon. "The... surgery," she corrects, her voice a soft wave. "Your wisdom teeth are gone." The words wash over him, a tide of relief. He tries to nod, his neck a sluggish sea creature. "Muffin?" he mumbles, his mind a distant lagoon. Karen chuckles, her voice a comforting surf. "After you wake up fully, we'll get you a muffin." Her words are a promise, a lighthouse in his fog. His antennae stir, a sea anemone in the tide of his confusion. "Muffin," he whispers, his voice a tentative wave. Karen nods, her smile a soft moon. "I'll be right here when you wake up," she says, her voice a gentle surf to ease his fears. The room is a kaleidoscope of colors, the light filtering through the curtains a shimmering reef. Plankton's eye a storm trying to find land, his mind adrift in the anesthesia's sea. The couch is a buoy, keeping him afloat in the storm of his thoughts. Karen's hand is a warm current, a reminder of his anchor to the world above the waves. "Karen?" His voice is a soft wave breaking against the shore of her attention. "W-what happen'd wheh I wath a-away?" Plankton's antennae quiver, a stormy sea of questions. Karen's eyes are a calm sea, her voice a gentle moon. "You had a nap," she explains, keeping her words simple. "The dentist took out your big teeth." Plankton's antennae wave, a confused sea of thought. "B-big teesh?" he slurs, his mind still foggy with the remnants of the anesthesia. "Why?" he asks, his voice a lost surf. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her smile a gentle wave of reassurance. "They had to go so your mouth can be happy and healthy." Plankton's antennae are a puzzled dance, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. "Hap-pee...moufs?" His voice is a sluggish surf, searching for the shore of understanding. Karen nods, her smile a beacon in the fog of his confusion. "Yes, happy mouth," she confirms, her voice a comforting lullaby. "Now rest, Plankton." But his antennae, a storm of curiosity, refuse to be stilled. "How?" he mumbles, his speech a sea of slurred words. "How maketh muff?" Karen's smile is a moonlit sea, her patience a gentle tide. "The dentist did it, Plankton," she explains, her voice a soft surf. "They took your wisdom teeth out so you can eat all the muffins you want." The words swirl in the ocean of his mind, a confusing eddy of concepts. "Teef?" he whispers, his antennae a sea of doubt. Karen nods, her eyes a serene horizon. "Yes, your teeth. They're all better now." Plankton's antennae twitch, a storm of confusion. "B-but...I don’ understandeth..." Karen's voice is a gentle surf, lapping at the shore of his foggy thoughts. "You don't have to, Plankton. Just rest." Her eyes are a soft moon, a beacon in the sea of his bewilderment. Plankton's antennae quiver, a storm of uncertainty. "Muffin?" he murmurs, his voice a lost wave. Karen laughs, her screen a sea of warmth. "After you've slept," she promises, her words a lullaby to his stormy mind. He nods, his antennae a tired sea anemone, and closes his eye, letting the tide of sleep wash over him. His mouth relaxes, a moon in the sea of pillows, and his breathing becomes a steady rhythm, a gentle surf. A droplet of saliva forms at the corner of his mouth, a tiny pearl in the vast ocean of his slumber. It clings for a moment, a reluctant wave, before breaking free and trickling down his face. Karen watches him sleep, her eyes a soft moon, her heart a warm current of love. She reaches over, her hand a gentle wave, and dabs the drool away with a tissue. The act is a silent pact, a promise to protect and care for him in his moments of vulnerability. The room is a serene sea, the only sounds the steady rhythm of his breath and the distant hum of the fridge. His antennae, a quiet dance, a sea anemone in the calm waters of his slumber. The sun's rays, a golden coral reef, cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the peace that eludes him so often in the chaos of wakefulness. Karen watches him, her eyes a gentle moon, her heart a soft surf breaking against the shore of love. His snores, a comforting symphony, echo in the quiet chamber of the living room. Her gaze lingers on his mouth, the site of today's storm, now a peaceful cove. The drool forms again, a pearl on the edge of his mouth, a testament to his deep rest. She smiles, her hand a tender wave, reaching to wipe it away. But she pauses, a moment's indecision in the sea of her care. She doesn't want to disturb his tranquil slumber. The droplet clings, a reluctant wave, and then, with a quiet plop, it joins the other on the pillow. Her mind drifts, a moon in the vast sea of her thoughts. Plankton's autism is a current in their lives, guiding them to new shores of understanding. She's learned to navigate his storms of sensory overload, his quiet reefs of solitude. And in doing so, she's discovered the beauty in his unique way of seeing the world. The house, a ship in the storm of their lives, creaks gently in the quiet. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, watching over Plankton as he sleeps. The TV, a distant lighthouse, casts a flickering glow across the room, its sounds a gentle surf to their ears. She's learned to appreciate his quirks, the way his antennae flutter when he's content, his love for routine, a beacon in the vast ocean of unpredictability. As Plankton's snores become a soothing melody, Karen's mind drifts to the muffins. A smile, a gentle wave, breaks across her face. It's a simple promise, but in their world of sensory tides and uncharted emotions, it's a treasure chest of happiness. The kitchen is an underwater garden, the colors and shapes of the coral walls familiar and comforting. She moves with purpose, her eyes a focused moon, her hands a graceful octopus's dance. Flour, sugar, and blueberries mingle in a bowl, a symphony of textures and scents. The oven is a warm embrace, the perfect retreat for the dough to rise and transform into the golden muffins he craves. Karen's heart is a calm sea, her movements a gentle surf as she prepares the sweet treats. She thinks of his smile, a rare treasure in the deep ocean of his anxieties, and the joy that a simple muffin can bring. The aroma, a soft wave, fills the room, carrying the promise of comfort to the sleeping Plankton. Karen opens the oven door, revealing the golden muffins. They rise like sunken treasure from the sea of heat, their tops a coral reef of sugar. She carefully removes them, their warmth a comforting current against her palms. The tray cools, the muffins a glowing beacon in the underwater kitchen. In the living room, Plankton stirs, his antennae a sluggish dance in the sea of sleep. The scent of baking, a siren's call, pulls him to the surface. His eye opens, a moon in the dim light. "Karen?" he whispers, his voice a tentative wave. Her eyes are a gentle moon, her smile a warm shore. "You're okay," she reassures him. "I made muffins." The words are a gentle surf, lapping at the edges of his consciousness. Plankton's antennae twitch, a sea of curiosity. He tries to sit up. Karen's hands help lift him upright. The room spins, a whirlpool of colors. "Wa-muffins?" he asks, his voice a sluggish wave. Karen sets the plate on the coffee table when suddenly Hanna comes in, not knowing about Plankton's surgery. "What's going on?" Hanna asks, her voice a confused surf in the quiet. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her smile a gentle wave of reassurance. "Plankton just had his wisdom teeth out," she explains, keeping her words a calm sea. "He's a bit out of it, but he's okay." Hanna's eyes are a surprised splash of ocean. "Oh!" she says, her voice a concerned ripple. "He'th okay," Plankton repeats. Hanna's gaze flits to the plate of muffins, a puzzled current in her eyes. "What's with the muffins?" she asks, her voice a curious ripple. Karen chuckles, her voice a comforting surf. "After the surgery, he was asking for one, but I wanted him to rest first." She offers a muffin to Plankton. "Let's take the gauze out first." Karen carefully removes the gauze, her fingers a soft current in his still numb mouth. Plankton winces. "It's okay," Karen's voice is a comforting surf, soothing his storm of pain. "Here's your muffin." Plankton's antennae sway with excitement, a sea anemone in the current of anticipation. He takes the warm muffin, his eye a moonlit lagoon. His tentative nibble is a shy wave meeting the shore of the treat. The sweetness, a surprise in the sea of his discomfort, brings a smile, a rare sunrise in the storm of his day. "Mm...muffin," he murmurs, his voice a happy surf. Hanna watches, her expression a puzzled reef. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple. Karen nods, her smile a gentle moon. "The surgery went well," she says, her voice a comforting wave. "He's just a bit loopy from the anesthesia." Plankton's eye are a storm of pleasure as he devours the muffin, each bite a dance of delight. "Mmhmm," Hanna murmurs, watching him with a mix of concern and fascination. Plankton's speech is a sluggish surf, his words a bit garbled as he munches. "Deh awe the besht muffins I've ever hath," he says, his face a canvas of pure bliss. The room's silence is a serene sea, broken only by the crunch of his teeth and the occasional slurp as he sips water, his mouth a cavern echoing with each swallow. Karen's eyes, a soft moon, watch him with pride and love, her heart a gentle surf of happiness. Plankton's antennae twitch, a sea of excitement as he speaks, his words a storm of thoughts crashing against the shore of coherence. "Karen, Karen!" he exclaims, his voice a giddy wave. "Dey wook my teef?" Karen's smile is a soft moon, her eyes a gentle sea of patience. "They did, Plankton," she confirms, her voice a soothing surf. "They took out the ones that were causing you trouble." Plankton's antennae, a storm of excitement, wave wildly. "Teef!" he exclaims, his speech a jumble of joy. "Dey gothem?" His voice is a confused wave in the vast sea of his thoughts. Karen nods, her eyes a serene horizon. "They did," she says, her voice a comforting lullaby. "And now your mouth can heal." The muffin, a warm embrace, crumbles in his mouth, each bite a symphony of flavor. His chewing is a slow, deliberate dance, savoring each morsel. Karen watches, her smile a soft moon in the sea of his recovery. "Mm, muffin," he mumbles, his words a slurred wave of delight. Hanna's eyes are a sea of curiosity, her voice cautious. "Karen," she says, her tone a tentative wave, "Is he okay?" Karen nods. "He's just happy," she explains, her voice calm. "The anesthesia can make him more...chatty than usual." Plankton's antennae sway, a sea of excitement. "Hap-pee," he murmurs, his voice a sleepy surf. "Muffin?" Karen laughs, her voice a gentle wave. "You can have another one," she says, her smile a warm moon. "But let's wait a little." "Pwomises?" he asks, his voice a hopeful surf. Karen's smile is a gentle moon. "I promise," she says, her voice a soothing tide. "Once you're feeling better." Plankton's antennae, a quiet storm, nod in understanding. His chewing slows to a lazy dance, his mouth a lagoon of blueberry muffin. "Muffin?" he asks again, his voice a hopeful wave. Karen smiles, her eyes a gentle moon. "In a bit," she says, her voice a soft surf. "Let's visit with Hanna first." Plankton nods sleepily looking at Hanna. "Hanna," he says, his voice a slurred wave of happiness. "Wook, no more big teef!" Hanna laughs, her eyes a sea of delight. "Yes, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle surf. "Your mouth is all fixed." Plankton's antennae flutter, a sea of childlike excitement. "Muffin?" he asks, his voice a hopeful surge. Karen nods, her smile a warm moon. "In a bit," she promises, her voice a comforting tide. "Let's talk to Hanna." Hanna's eyes are a sea of wonder, watching Plankton's reaction to the muffin. "They're your favorite, aren't they?" she asks, her voice a gentle ripple. Plankton nods, his antennae a storm of excitement. "Muffins," he murmurs, his speech a sluggish surf. "Besht in the shea." Karen's smile is a soft moon, her heart a warm sea of contentment. "Remember, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle surf. "Let's not overdo it." Plankton nods, his antennae a quiet dance of understanding. He takes another bite, his mouth a cavern echoing with joy. The crumbs are a shimmering school of fish in the sea of his happiness. "Wha-what happen'd to my teethies?" he slurs, his voice a confused wave. Karen's eyes are a gentle moon, her voice a comforting surf. "The dentist took them out," she explains, keeping her words simple. "So you don't feel any more ouchies." Plankton's antennae, a storm of bewilderment, quiver with the effort of understanding. "Ouchies?" he repeats, his voice a lost surf. Karen nods, her smile a gentle moon. "They took your wisdom teeth out," she says, her voice a soft wave. "So now your mouth is all better." Plankton's antennae sway, a storm of confusion. "Buh...why?" he mumbles, his voice a lost wave. "They were too big," Karen explains, her words a simple tide to guide his understanding. "They had to make room for your mouth to be happy." Plankton's antennae still, a sea of contemplation. "Happn’ mouf?" he murmurs, his voice a tentative surf. Karen nods, her smile a soft moon. "Yes," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "So you can eat all the things you love." "Teef?" he asks, his voice a confused wave. "Bu’ muffins..." Karen laughs, her voice a gentle surf. "Let's talk about muffins later," she says, her smile a warm moon. "You need to rest now." Plankton nods, his antennae a lazy sea anemone. "Okay," he whispers, his voice a sleepy wave. "Muffin?" Karen's smile is a gentle moon, her eyes a sea of warmth. "After you rest," she promises, her voice a soft surf. "We'll have more muffins." Plankton's antennae quiver, a storm of excitement. "Muffin?" he asks, his speech a sluggish surf. Karen laughs, her voice a comforting wave. "Not yet," she says, her smile a gentle moon. "You need to rest first, remember?" Plankton's antennae sway in understanding, a quiet sea anemone in the ocean of his sleepiness. He nods, his speech a sluggish surf. "Ressht." His body, a tired reef, relaxes back into the couch, the pillow a soft lagoon cradling his head. Karen tucks the blanket around him, her movements a gentle dance of care. The muffin, a treasure in the sea of his comfort, is placed on the coffee table within reach, a beacon of promised delight. "Rest now," she says, her voice a lulling tide. "I'll be right here." Her words are a gentle surf, washing over him as he sinks into the depths of his slumber. His antennae twitch, a final dance of agreement before stilling in the calm of sleep. The room, a vast ocean, holds its breath, the only sounds the distant hum of the fridge and the occasional snore from Plankton's open mouth. The TV, a lighthouse in the distance, flickers with silent images, casting a soft glow on the sleeping Plankton. Karen sits beside him, her eyes a soft moon watching over him. Her thoughts are a quiet sea, reflecting on the day's events. The surgery, a storm they've weathered together, has left him vulnerable, but she's the calm harbor he needs. The promise of muffins, a simple joy, is a treasure in the vast sea of his pain. She'll be his anchor, a steady surf guiding him through the fog of recovery. Hanna approaches cautiously, her eyes a sea of questions. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice a tentative wave. Karen nods, her smile a gentle moon. "Just tired," she says, her voice a comforting surf. "The anesthesia is wearing off." "Well, I best be going." Hanna leaves. Plankton next wakes up in the morning the next day with no remnants of anesthesia. The sun, a new moon rising, peeks through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Plankton's antennae stir, a gentle wave in the sea of his waking. Karen, of course, is by his side. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his voice a foggy surf. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her smile a gentle wave. "Good morning," she says, her voice a warm surf to greet the dawn of his recovery. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae flutter, a sea of confusion. "Teef?" he asks, his voice a sluggish wave. Karen nods, her smile a comforting tide. "The dentist fixed them," she explains, her words a simple current to navigate his foggy thoughts. "You had your wisdom teeth taken out." Plankton tries to sit up on the couch when the pain hits, a tidal wave of discomfort crashing against the shore of his mouth. His antennae, a storm of agony, quiver with the effort. "Karen!" he cries, his voice a desperate wave. "Mouf..." Her eyes are a soft moon, her touch a gentle sea. "It's okay," she soothes, her voice a calming surf. She holds a cool cloth to his cheek. Plankton's antennae, a storm of discomfort, twitch in response to the soothing pressure. The pain is a reef in his mouth, each movement a crash of waves against it. "Mouf," he murmurs, his voice a wave of distress with his autistic heightened sensory sensitivities. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her hands a gentle surf, applying the cool comfort to his swollen cheek. "The pain will lessen," she assures him, her voice a steady tide. "It's part of the healing process." The room is a serene sea, the morning light a soft coral reef. Plankton's moan is a solitary wave, a plea for relief. He closes his eye, his antennae a storm of discomfort, his mouth echoing with pain. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a comforting surf. "It's just the pain from the surgery." Plankton's antennae, a storm of discomfort, quiver in response to her soothing words. The world is an underwater cave, each sound a distant echo, each sensation a jagged rock. He swallows, his mouth a sea of pain, each movement a wave against the shore of his swollen jaw. Karen, a beacon in the deep, watches him with a moon's soft gaze. Her hands, a gentle surf, bring him water, a lifeline in his pain. He sips slowly, the coolness a brief respite from the storm. She then brings him his favorite blanket, wrapping him in a warm embrace. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, quiet in the face of pain. Karen's voice, a calm surf, soothes him, "I've got you." Her words are a lullaby, guiding his stormy mind to a place of peace. He nods, his antennae a quiet sea. The pain, a relentless current, washes over him, a high tide of discomfort. Karen, a soft moon, holds his hand, her touch a gentle wave, offering a lifeline in the storm. The room, a quiet sea, is a sanctuary, their world reduced to this one space. Plankton's mouth is a cavern of agony, each breath a storm against the jagged cliffs of his teeth. Karen's voice, a steady surf, reassures him, "You're okay, just breathe." Her words are a lullaby, helping to calm the tempest in his mouth. The pain is a school of electric eels, nibbling at the raw edges of his senses. He's overloaded, feeling an 'overwhelming moment' coming on. "Karen!" he calls, his voice a frantic wave. Her eyes are a calm horizon, her touch a soothing sea. "Breathe, Plankton," she instructs, her voice a gentle surf. "Just breathe." He tries to focus on the rhythm of his breaths, the air a lifebuoy in the storm of pain. His antennae, a stormy sea, pulse with each inhale and exhale. The pain is a shark, circling, ready to strike. Karen's voice, a lulling surf, whispers instructions. "Deep breaths," she says, her words a gentle current. "In... and out... in... and out." Her hand, a comforting wave, rests on his back, guiding him through the tempest. But this time, even Karen's usual comforting touch instantly proves to be too much for Plankton right now. He jerks away. "No!" he cries, his voice desperate. Karen's never had him do that to her before. He's clearly in distress. The pain from his mouth has triggered his autistic sensory overload, unable to find calm. Karen's eyes, a gentle sea, are filled with concern. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soothing wave. "Let me help." Her gentle touch is met with a flinch, his antennae a storm of overstimulation. Karen's heart is a soft moon, her eyes a sea of worry. Plankton's pain, a tempest in his mind, overwhelms his usual tolerance. "Plankton, let me help," she pleads. He flinches again, his antennae a frenzied dance of discomfort. Karen's presence, a comforting tide, does little to calm the tempest within him. His autism, a deep-sea current, intensifies his pain, making even the slightest touch feel like a storm. Her voice is soft, her touch a gentle surf. But he's lost in the sea of his sensory overload, uncontrollably frustrated/angry now and can't hold back his furious rage. The pain is a typhoon, swirling through his mind, leaving chaos in its wake. He's not himself, his autism amplifying his agony. Karen, his moon, tries to soothe him, but her touch is now a tempest. Plankton's voice, a roaring wave, fills the space. "I SAID NO!" Plankton's voice crashes like a storm, his antennae a maelstrom of pain and frustration. Karen's heart, a moon in a tempest, aches for him, her eyes a sea of concern. Karen's eyes are a sea of sadness, her smile a waning moon. She backs away, her movements a retreating tide. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a sad surf. Her eyes, a gentle moon, are filled with understanding. She knows this isn't his usual self. Plankton's antennae droop, a sea of regret. He didn't mean to push her away, his words a storm he wishes to reel back in. The room, a vast sea, echoes with his outburst. He feels guilty for his reaction, his antennae a storm of regret. Karen, the moon in his storm, doesn't leave. She sits a safe distance away, her eyes a gentle surf of support. The pain, a relentless shark, continues to circle him. Plankton's body, a reef, is rigid with tension. He can't find the calm in the tempest. "I..." Karen nods, her smile a moon's soft glow. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a calming surf. "We'll get through this." Her words, a gentle wave, don't reach the depths of his distress. The pain is a kelp forest, entangling him, each movement a battle against the current. He's not the same, his autistic traits amplified by pain and confusion. Karen's voice is now a threatening wave. Plankton's antennae twitch, a storm of irritation. He wants quiet. Needs it. Karen tries to stroke his antennae, but even that becomes too much. Plankton's eye is a stormy sea, his voice a thunderous wave. "I SAID JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Plankton's voice booms. "P-Plankton," Karen's voice is trembling. "I'm only trying to help." But her words are drowned by his outrage, a hurricane of emotions crashing against her shores of patience. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, wave wildly as he shouts, "I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP!" His voice, a tidal wave, fills the room with his desperation. Each word is a crashing surf against her gentle moon. Karen, a steadfast lighthouse in the storm, tries to stand firm, her eyes a sea of sadness. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft surf. "You're not alone." But Plankton's antennae, a sea of anger, lash out in protest. "GO AWAY!" he shouts, his voice a raging sea. His autism, a deep-sea creature in a storm, is driving his response. The room, a vast ocean, echoes with his pain. Karen's heart, a moon in the tempest, breaks for him. She's seen his storms before, his autistic outbursts, but never like this. Her voice, a gentle surf, tries to calm his rage, but it's like whispering to a hurricane. Plankton's antennae, a frenzied sea, thrash about. His mouth, a cavern of agony, is the epicenter of his turmoil. He can't find the words, his voice a tortured wave, to express his need for solitude, for the tempest to pass. Karen's eyes, a soft moon in the storm, fill with tears, her voice a sad surf retreating from his anger. "I'm sorry," she says, her words a quiet tide. "I'll leave you be." Her movements, a gentle surf pulling back from the shore, are filled with the ache of rejection. Her heart, a moon in the tempest, knows his rage isn't for her, but for the pain and confusion that grips him. Plankton's antennae, a storm of regret, fall still. His eye, a solitary lagoon, watches as she retreats, his voice a crashed wave of apology. "Karen..." he murmurs, his speech a sluggish surf. The room, once a tranquil sea, is now a stormy ocean. Karen's moon-like eyes are wet with tears, her smile a sad moon. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle wave of reassurance. "I know you're just in pain." Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea of regret, quiver with the effort of understanding. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, his voice a tired wave. He feels a heavy burden of guilt, like a sunken ship on the ocean floor. "I just can't handle much right now.." Karen's smile is a gentle moon, her voice a calming surf. "I know," she whispers. "You're okay." Her eyes, a soft sea of empathy, hold his gaze. "You're still recovering. It's normal to be overwhelmed." Plankton's antennae, a storm of regret, still in the aftermath of his outburst. He nods, his voice a tired wave. "I'm sorry," he says, his words a sluggish surf. Karen's smile, a gentle moon, doesn't falter. "Don't apologize," she whispers, her voice a comforting tide. "You're in pain." Plankton's antennae, a sea of regret, droop. He knows she's right, but the guilt is a crushing wave. His mouth, a battleground, feels like an enemy territory. Each breath sends shivers through his swollen jaw, a constant reminder of the war waged within. Karen's eyes, a gentle sea, are filled with understanding. She sits at a distance, her moon-like smile a beacon in his storm. Eventually he falls asleep, his breaths a gentle surf against the shore of his pain. Karen watches him. The night, a vast sea, stretches out before them. Plankton's snores, a distant lighthouse, navigate the quiet. His antennae, a calm sea, rest against the pillow. Karen's eyes, a moon's soft glow, watch over his slumbering form. Her mind, an ocean of thoughts, worries about his pain. She knows the storm of sensory overload that his surgery has brought. Her heart, a moon in a cloudy sky, is full of love and concern. The night is a deep sea, the pain a distant reef, and Plankton's sleep a peaceful surface. Karen, his lighthouse, makes sure the room is a serene lagoon. She adjusts his blanket, a gentle surf caressing his form. Each movement is a whispered promise of comfort and care. The next morning, Plankton's antennae rise with the sun, a tentative sea of awareness. His mouth, once a battleground, is now a lagoon of lingering discomfort. Karen's eyes, a soft moon, watch him wake. Her smile is a gentle surf. "How's your mouth?" she asks, her voice a calm wave. Plankton's antennae, a sea of hesitation, twitch. "Better," he whispers, his voice a sluggish surf of tenderness. Suddenly, Sandy comes through the "Hey, guys. Oh Plankton you look swollen! What happened?" Her energy, a tornado in their peaceful sea, sends waves of discomfort through Plankton. Karen's eyes, a gentle moon, shine with a mix of amusement and concern. "Plankton had a dental procedure," she explains, her voice a steady surf. "He's okay." Sandy's energy, a whirlwind in the sea, fades to a breeze. "Oh," she says, her voice a soft wave. "How'd it go, Plankton?" Plankton's antennae, a sea of caution, stir. "It was... well, Karen helped me." Sandy's eyes, a sea of curiosity, narrow. "What do you mean?" Her voice, a gentle wave, shows genuine concern. "It's just... my mouth hurts a bit." Sandy's tail, a tornado of concern, slows. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, her voice a calming surf. "But why are you so tired?" Plankton's antennae, a storm of discomfort, wave in frustration. "It's because of the... the..." He struggles to find the words, his autism making it hard to explain the tempest in his mind. Sandy tilts her head. "The what?" she asks, her voice a curious wave. "Your mouth?" Plankton's a display of agitation. "Yes, my mouth!" his voice is a crashing wave. He's tired, his autistic sensitivity to pain and stress amplified by the surgery's aftermath. Sandy's eyes widen, a sea of confusion. "I didn't mean to upset you," she says, her voice a gentle ripple. "I just wa..." Plankton's antennae, a storm of irritation, wave wildly. "I'M NOT UPSET!" His voice, a thunderous wave, crashes through the room. "I JUST... I just..." His words, a stormy surf, fall apart as he tries to articulate his pain. Sandy, a confused sea creature, looks to Karen. Her eyes, a moon's gentle light, explain the tempest. "He's just sensitive right now," she says, her voice a calm surf. Sandy's eyes, a calm sea, reflect her concern. "I just..." she starts, but Plankton storm silences her. "I know you didn't mean it!" His voice, a tidal wave of frustration, slams into her words. "But it hurts, okay?" Sandy's eyes, a calm sea, show a surprise. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "I didnt..." But Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, interrupt her. "I KNOW YOU DIDN'T!" His voice, a roaring wave, echoes in the room. Sandy's tail, a gentle breeze, sweeps the floor as she approaches. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a calming surf. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Her eyes, a serene sea, hold no malice. But Plankton's antennae, a tempest of discomfort, don't respond to her peace offering. "JUST STOP!" he shouts, his voice a storm. "I don't need your sympathy!" His autism, a deep-sea creature in a hurricane, dictates his response, a fierce need for order and control. Sandy, a sea creature caught in the storm, backs away, her eyes a calm ocean. "I just..." she starts, but the words are swept away by Plankton's waves of anger, a turbulent current, have taken over. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of irritation, lash out. "I SAID STOP!" His voice is a hurricane's roar, his eyes a stormy sea. His autism, a deep-sea creature in distress, demands control amidst the chaos. Sandy's tail, a gentle breeze, stills. Her voice, a calm surf, speaks softly. "Okay, Plankton. It's okay." But her words are mere pebbles against the cliff of his pain. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, continue to whip about, his voice a tempest's roar. "I'm not a... a... a baby!" he shouts, his words a crashing surf. His autism, a deep-sea creature misunderstood, fuels his need for independence, his discomfort with perceived pity. Sandy, a sea creature navigating his storm, holds up her paws, her eyes a calm sea. "I know," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "But you're in pain. It's okay to need help." Her words are a soft rain, trying to soothe the tempest. But Plankton, a deep-sea creature in a storm, cannot be placated. His antennae, a frenzied sea, whip about as he sits up, his voice a thunderous surf. "I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!" Karen's moon-like eyes, a sea of patience, watch the tempest unfold. She knows his autism, a powerful current, can lead to moments like these. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle tide. "You're just in pain." But Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, wave in protest. "I'M FINE!" he shouts, his voice a crashing wave. His need for control, a lighthouse in a tempest, is being challenged by Sandy's concern. Sandy, a sea creature caught in the storm, doesn't know how to respond. She's seen his outbursts before, but never quite like this. Her voice, a soft surf, tries to navigate the turmoil. "You're not fine," she says gently. "You had surgery." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, wave wildly. "I KNOW THAT!" he roars, his voice a tidal wave of frustration. His autism, a deep-sea creature in a storm, makes his pain unbearable, his need for solace a siren's call he can't ignore. Karen's moon-like smile falters, her eyes a troubled sea. "Plankton," she says, her voice a calm surf, "you're okay." But her words are lost in the storm of his agony. His antennae, a whirlpool of anger, spin with intensity. "I'M NOT OKAY!" His voice is a tsunami of pain and frustration. "I'M NEVER OKAY!" Karen's heart, a moon in the storm, understands his distress. She's seen this before, his autism a powerful current that can whip up emotions into a typhoon. "I know you're not okay," Sandy says, her voicetentativet. "You're in pain." Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, snap towards her, a tempest of anger. "I DON'T NEED YOUR PITIFUL LIES!" His voice, a hurricane's fury, shakes the room. Sandy's eyes, a calm sea, hold a storm of confusion. "I'm not lying, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle surf. "I just care." But Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, don't see her empathy. "CARE? YOU DON'T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT ME!" His voice is a tidal wave of anger. He's lost in the tempest of his pain and misunderstanding. Sandy's eyes, a serene sea, reflect the sadness of his accusation. "Plankton," she starts, her voice a gentle wave, but he cuts her off. "I'M TIRED OF THE CONSTANT QUESTIONING!" Plankton's voice booms, a typhoon of aggravation. Each syllable a wave crashing against the shore of Sandy's good intentions. His antennae, a stormy sea, whip about in a display of his internal turmoil. Sandy, a sea creature caught in his tempest, recoils at the intensity of his words. "Plankton..." Her voice, a calming surf, is barely heard over his stormy shout. "You don't have to be so defensive," she says, her eyes a serene ocean. But her gentle approach only fans the flames of his agitation much worse. "I'M AUTISTIC, SANDY!" Plankton's voice is a typhoon's roar. "SO DON'T TREAT ME LIKE I'M YOUR LITTLE SCIENCE PROJECT!" His antennas, a stormy sea, slice the air with each word. His eyes, a tempest of pain, search hers for understanding, but find only concern and confusion. Sandy's tail droops, a gentle wave of surprise. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice a soothing surf. But her words, though sincere, are lost in the storm of Plankton's defensiveness. His autism, a deep-sea creature in distress, sees threats where there are none. Karen's eyes, a moon's soft light, intervene. "Sandy's just worried about you," she says, her voice a calming tide. "We all care, Plankton." Her words, a gentle current, attempt to guide him back to calm. But his antennae, a tempest of agitation, continue to thrash. "I DON'T NEED YOUR CONCERN!" Plankton's voice is a stormy sea. His pain and confusion have turned their tranquil world into a battleground. Sandy, a sea creature of kindness, shrinks back, her eyes a calm sea of sadness. "I'M JUST TRYING TO HELP!" she shouts over the tempest, only causing a worse problem for Plankton, forgetting anger as he suddenly gets triggered by her shouting. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, freeze mid-wave. His eye, a solitary lagoon, goes vacant, his voice a silent surf. His body, a drifting seaweed, goes still as the world around him fades. Sandy's eyes, a sea of confusion, widen in alarm as she sees Plankton's stillness, a sea creature caught in a storm of silence. "Plankton?" she says, her voice a gentle ripple. But there's no response, his antennae, a calm sea, not moving. His body, a motionless raft, is adrift in the tempest of his own mind. Karen's eyes, a moon's soft glow, spot the change in Plankton's state. Her heart, a moon in the storm, quickens. "Plankton?" she calls out, her voice a gentle wave of concern. But the sea of his consciousness does not stir. The room, once a stormy ocean, is now a silent lagoon. Plankton's body, a motionless raft, floats in the tempest of his mind. Sandy's eyes, a calm sea, watch in alarm as Karen rushes to his side, her movements a graceful surf. "Absence seizure," she murmurs, her voice a calm tide. Her eyes, a moon's soft glow, are focused on his vacant gaze. She knows this storm well, having weathered it before. Her hand, a comforting wave, reaches out to his antennae, gently stroking. Sandy's eyes, a serene sea, watch in confusion as Karen's moon-like presence takes charge. "What's happening?" she asks, her voice a worried ripple. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing surf. "He's having an absence seizure." Her eyes, a calm moon, are a beacon in the storm. She's been here before, his autism a deep-sea creature that sometimes leads to moments like these. Sandy's eyes, a sea of worry, watch the scene unfold, her tail a tornado of anxiety. "Is he... okay?" she asks, her voice a tentative ripple. Karen's moon-like smile is a gentle surf of reassurance. "It's a type of seizure common in autistic individuals like Plankton," she explains, her words a soothing tide. "It's like his mind temporarily drifts to a quiet cove." Her hand, a comforting wave, continues to stroke his antennae. Sandy's eyes, a calm sea of curiosity, watch as Karen's moon-like calmness envelops Plankton's stormy silence. "How do we help?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple. "Just give him space," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle surf. "Let the seizure pass like a tide." Sandy nods, her tail a gentle wave of compliance. She watches as Karen's hand, a moon's soft touch, continues to caress Plankton's antennae, a steady beacon in his stormy silence. The room, once a tumultuous sea, becomes a still lagoon. The only sound is Plankton's shallow breathing, a sluggish surf against the shore. Karen's calmness, a moon's tranquil glow, holds the tempest at bay. Sandy, a sea creature in the quiet, watches as Karen's gentle strokes guide Plankton's stormy silence into a serene calm. Her eyes, a calm ocean, are filled with questions, but she remains silent, allowing the moon-like calmness to prevail. Time, a gentle tide, ebbs and flows around them, unnoticed by Plankton's autistic mind, adrift in his own world. The room, a still lagoon, holds its breath, the air thick with unspoken worries and fears. Karen's hand, a comforting wave, is a steady presence, anchoring him to reality. Sandy, a sea creature in the calm, observes with quiet concern. Her eyes, a serene ocean, reflect her unspoken questions. "How long do they last?" she whispers, her voice a soft ripple. "A few seconds to minutes," Karen says, her voice a calming surf. Her hand, a moon's touch, continues its gentle dance on Plankton's antennae. She's a lighthouse in his storm, a beacon of comfort. Sandy's tail, a tornado of worry, stills. "And he'll just... come out of it?" Her voice is a cautious ripple. Karen's moon-like smile nods. "Yes," she whispers, her voice a gentle surf. "These seizures usually end on their own." Her eyes, a sea of patience, watch the tempest within Plankton. Sandy, a sea creature in the calm, tries to process this new knowledge. "What do we do after?" she asks, her voice a tentative wave. Karen's moon-like eyes never leave Plankton's still form. "We'll give him some space," she says, her voice a gentle tide. "Let him come back on his own terms." Her hand, a comforting wave, remains steady, her touch a lighthouse guiding his return from the depths. The seizure's grip loosens, a storm receding into the horizon. Plankton's antennae, a sea of tranquility, begin to stir. His eye, a solitary lagoon, blinks back to life, his consciousness a ship coming into port. The room, a quiet lagoon, holds its breath as he emerges from the tempest. Sandy's eyes, a calm sea of concern, watch his transformation with wonder. Her voice, a gentle ripple, asks, "Plankton?" His antennae, a sea of confusion, twitch. His voice, a sluggish surf, murmurs, "Where... huh?" The storm of his seizure has passed, leaving him beached on the shore of reality. Karen's smile is a gentle moon, her voice a calm tide. "You're home," she says. Her eyes, a soft sea of comfort, meet his storm-tossed gaze. The room, a lagoon of quiet concern, holds its breath as Plankton's antennae, a sea of confusion, slowly untangle. "What... happened?" His voice is a lost wave, searching for shore. Karen's eyes, a moon's gentle light, explain the tempest. "You had an absence seizure, Plankton," she says, her voice a calming surf. "It's part of your autism." Her words, a soft current, guide him back to reality. Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, nods gently. Her voice, a calm surf, soothes him. "It's okay, buddy," she says, her eyes a serene ocean of comfort. Plankton's antennae, once a tempest, now a calm sea, process the information. He looks around the room. Karen's moon-like eyes, a beacon of understanding, watch him carefully. Her voice, a gentle wave, reassures him. "You're okay," she whispers. "It's over." Plankton's antennae, a calm sea, slowly lower. His voice, a confused surf, mumbles, "What... what happened?" The storm in his mind, a tempest of confusion, has not fully subsided. Karen's moon-like eyes, a gentle surf, meet his lost gaze. "You had a seizure, Plankton," she says, her voice a soothing wave. "It's part of your autism, remember?" Her words, a lighthouse's beam, guide him through the fog of his disorientation. "Oh an 'overwhelming moment' you said to say instead." Plankton's antennae, a sea of doubt, wave slowly. "Yeah... I remember," he murmurs, his voice a distant surf. His mind, a deep sea, grapples with the sudden stillness. Sandy's eyes, a calm sea, watch him. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a gentle surf of regret. "I didn't mean to... I just..." Her words are pebbles thrown into the vast ocean of his misunderstanding. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, wave in frustration. "I don't appreciate you shouting and acting so... so... so... different around me!" His voice, a tempest's roar, echoes off the walls of their underwater abode. Sandy, a sea creature of innocence, backs away, her eyes a calm sea of surprise. "Different?" she repeats, her voice a soft ripple. "How am I different?" Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, wave in agitation. "You're treating me like I'm... fragile!" His voice, a crashing wave, carries the weight of his frustration. "I'm not!" Sandy's eyes, a calm sea of surprise, meet his tempest. "I'm just trying to help," she says, her voice a gentle surf. "I don't want to make things worse." Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, calm slightly. His voice, a tempest's sigh, admits, "I know." The room, a tranquil lagoon, holds their unspoken understanding. Sandy's tail, a gentle wave of regret, swishes beside her. "I just want to make sure you're okay," she says, her voice a soft surf. Her eyes, a calm sea, search his for reassurance. But Plankton, a deep-sea creature in a storm of frustration, doesn't see her intentions. "I'M FINE!" His voice is a crashing wave. His autism, a powerful current, has left his emotions raw and exposed. Sandy, a sea creature of confusion, swims closer. "But your surgery... your pain..." Her voice is a worried ripple, trying to navigate the tumult. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, wave in frustration. "I'M AUTISTIC, SANDY!" His voice, a typhoon's roar, echoes in the chamber of their friendship. Sandy, a sea creature of innocence, flinches at the intensity of his words. Her eyes, a calm sea of surprise, search his for understanding. "I know now," she says, her voice a gentle surf. "But I didn't know..." Her words are a soft current, unsure of its course. Karen's moon-like gaze, a beacon of calm, intercepts their conversation. "Sandy," she says, her voice a soothing tide. "Let's give Plankton some space." Her eyes, a sea of patience, implore understanding. Sandy nods, her eyes a serene sea. "I just don't want him to be in pain," she murmurs, her voice a soft ripple. Karen's moon-like gaze holds hers, understanding the depths of her concern. "I know," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "But sometimes, with autism, space is the best comfort." Sandy, a sea creature of emotion, nods. The room, a calm lagoon, allows Plankton's storm to subside. His antennae, once a tempest, now a serene sea, trace the contours of his environment, searching for order amidst chaos. Sandy, a sea creature of emotion, watches from the periphery, her eyes a serene ocean. She's seen his storms before, but this one, a typhoon of pain and misunderstanding, left her feeling adrift. Her voice, a gentle surf, offers a tentative apology. "I'm sorry, Plankton." Plankton's antennae, a calm sea, wave slightly. "It's not your fault," he murmurs, his voice a tired surf. The tempest in his mind slowly abating. His autism, a deep-sea creature of beauty and chaos, is a part of him, a part that needs patience and understanding. The room, a gentle lagoon, accepts his words, their concern a soft ripple in the water. Karen's moon-like smile widens, her voice a comforting wave. "Remember, Plankton, your body needs time to heal," she says, her words a gentle current. "And so does your mind." Plankton nods, his antennae a calm sea. He's aware of the storm he's just weathered, his autism a powerful force that can turn the calmest waters into a tempest. He takes a deep breath, his chest a rising tide of pain, and nods. "Okay," his voice a tranquil surf. Karen's moon-like eyes, a gentle surf of relief, watch him carefully. She knows the storm of his pain is not fully passed, his autism a deep-sea creature that demands routine. "Let's get you more comfy," she says, her voice a comforting tide. Her hand, a warm wave, gives Plankton a different blanket. Plankton, a beached sea creature, nods, his antennas a calm sea. The pain, a tempest of discomfort, is still present, but he's learning to navigate the storm with her help. His voice, a sluggish surf, murmurs, "Thank you." The room, a serene lagoon, holds its breath as he adjusts, seeking solace in his new surroundings. The blanket, a gentle wave of comfort, envelops him, the soft fabric a soothing surf against his sore gums. The scent of muffins, a distant memory, lingers in the water, a reminder of the comfort Karen provides. His eye, a solitary lagoon, close as he drifts into a much-needed rest, the storm of his pain slowly receding. His antennae, a calm sea, rest atop his newfound pillow, the fabric a gentle current that lulls him into a fitful sleep. The silence, a serene lagoon, is a stark contrast to the tempest of the day. The room, a tranquil sea, holds its breath as Plankton's body, a drifting raft, finds respite from the storm of his recovery. Sandy, a sea creature of curiosity, watches from afar, her eyes a calm ocean. She's seen his tempest, a fierce storm of pain and frustration, and she's learned the importance of giving space. Her voice, a gentle ripple, whispers to Karen, "What can I do to help?" Karen's moon-like smile, a beacon in the calm, nods. "Just be there," she says, her voice a soothing wave. "Your presence, a warm current, means more than you know." Her eyes, a sea of understanding, reflect the depth of her knowledge about autism. Sandy nods, her tail a gentle wave of agreement. She watches as Karen caresses Plankton's antennae, a moon's touch, and whispers, "You're okay," her voice a calming surf. Plankton's antennae, a calm sea of pain, respond slightly to her soothing words. His eye, a solitary lagoon, remains closed, his body a raft adrift in the deep waters of his exhaustion. Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, swims closer, her movements a soft ripple. Karen's moon-like eyes, a sea of knowledge, meet hers. "I want to help," she whispers, her voice a gentle wave. "But I don't know how." Karen's moon-like gaze holds hers, a sea of patience. "Just be here," she says, her voice a calming surf. "That's all he needs." Her eyes, a soft sea of comfort, watch over Plankton's slumbering form. Sandy's eyes, a calm ocean, nod. She understands now, the gravity of his condition. Her tail, a gentle wave of commitment, swishes as she moves closer, a silent sentinel in his stormy sea. Her voice, a soft ripple, asks, "How do you know what to do in order to show comfort? What works?" Karen's moon-like smile, a gentle surf, answers, "It's about knowing him, his routines, his likes and dislikes, his triggers." Her hand, a comforting wave, continues its dance on Plankton's antennae. "It's about being his lighthouse," she whispers. "Guiding him back to calm waters." Sandy's eyes, a calm sea of curiosity, study Plankton, his body a raft in the storm of his pain. She's seen his tempests before, but this one, a typhoon of agony and confusion, has left her feeling adrift. Her voice, a soft ripple, asks, "But how do you soothe?" Karen's moon-like gaze, a beacon of experience, meets hers. "It's about knowing his world," she whispers, her words a gentle surf. "Understanding his tides of comfort." Her hand, a comforting wave, demonstrates the soothing motion. Sandy, a sea creature of curiosity, watches, her eyes a calm ocean of focus. "But I want to learn how you do it?" she asks, her voice a cautious ripple. Karen's moon-like gaze, a beacon of experience, holds hers. "It takes time," she says, her voice a gentle surf. "But you're a quick learner." Sandy nods, her tail a wave of determination. "I'll do my best," she murmurs. Her eyes, a calm sea, watch as Plankton's antennae, a serene sea, rest gently against the fabric. "Can you show me..." Karen's moon-like gaze holds hers, a sea of patience. "Of course," she whispers, her voice a gentle surf. She demonstrates, her hand a moon's soft touch, the gentle strokes that comfort Plankton's antennae. "It's about consistency," she says, her words a comforting tide. "It's his anchor." Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, mimics the motion, her hand a tentative wave. "Like this?" she asks, her voice a hopeful ripple. Karen nods, her moon-like smile a gentle surf of approval. "Perfect," she whispers. Her eyes, a sea of patience, watch as Sandy's hand, a tentative wave, mirrors her soothing strokes. The room, a tranquil lagoon, holds the weight of their bond, the water still with anticipation. Plankton's antennae, a serene sea, respond to their combined efforts, a soft wave of comfort. Sandy's hand, a tentative ripple, begins to find its rhythm, her eyes a calm ocean as she watches Plankton's peaceful slumber. "I can feel it," she murmurs, her voice a soft surf. "His comfort." Karen nods, her moon-like smile a gentle wave. "You're doing well," she whispers, her voice a comforting tide. "Just keep going." Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, feels a sense of pride swell within her. Her hand, now a moon's touch, moves in soothing patterns, the rhythm of her strokes matching the calm surf of Plankton's breathing. The room, a tranquil lagoon, is a testament to their growing bond. Plankton's antennae, a serene sea, respond to her gentle touch, his body a raft on the tide of their shared care. Sandy's eyes, a calm sea of focus, watch his peaceful form. Her hand, a moon's tender wave, learns the language of his comfort. Her voice, a soft ripple, asks, "What about during his... seizure moments?" Karen's gaze, a gentle surf, meets hers. "Those are the storms we can't predict," she whispers. "But we can prepare." Her hand, a comforting tide, demonstrates a soothing technique. "During those times, just be a quiet lagoon for him. When he has an absence seizure, it's like his mind is adrift in the vast ocean of his thoughts." Her voice, a calming current, explains, "Just keep talking to him, reminding him that we're here. But during convulsive spasms, keep him safe and wait for it to pass." Sandy's eyes, a calm sea of determination, nod. She's ready to face the tempests with Plankton, her newfound understanding a lighthouse guiding her. "And when he's... when he's back?" she asks, her voice a tentative ripple. Karen's moon-like gaze, a sea of knowledge, holds hers. "When he returns, let him guide you," she whispers, her voice a soothing wave. "Ask him what he needs. It might be space, or maybe a familiar object. He may be confused, like he's just woken from a deep slumber in a strange sea." Sandy nods, her eyes a serene ocean. "I understand," she says, her voice a gentle surf. Her hand, a moon's tender wave, continues to soothe Plankton's antennae. "But during convulsions, what's the safety protocol when he's having a seizure?" Karen's moon-like gaze, a sea of knowledge, remains steadfast. "Clear the area of sharp objects," she whispers, her voice a gentle wave. "And keep him from harming himself, by first getting him down to the floor if possible." Her eyes, a soft sea of concern, meet Sandy's. "And don't restrain him. It can make things worse." Sandy's eyes, a calm ocean of understanding, nod. Her hand, a moon's tender wave, pauses in its soothing motion. "What do we do if his seizure happens during...?" Her voice trails off, a worried ripple. Karen's gaze, a gentle surf of patience, holds hers. "If it's during an activity, just guide him gently to the floor," she whispers. "Let the storm pass." Her words are a comforting current, easing their fears. "And as for the aftermath, he might need space, or a familiar item." Her hand, a comforting wave, pauses on his antennae. "After a seizure, using words like 'you had a little mishap' might help him understand. And he may or may not remember it happening. It's ok if he wants to talk about it, or if he'd rather not. Just make sure to take it easy." Sandy's tail, a gentle wave of resolve, swishes beside her. "I'll be his lagoon," she murmurs, her voice a soft surf. "And if he needs a hand, I'll be there." Karen's moon-like smile, a beacon of gratitude, reaches her. "You're doing wonderfully," she whispers. Her eyes, a calm sea of appreciation, watch as Sandy's hand, now a moon's steady wave, continues to bring comfort to Plankton. Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, feels a newfound kinship with Plankton. His autism, a deep-sea current, has become a shared experience, a challenge they'll navigate together. Her voice, a gentle ripple, whispers, "Thank you, Karen." Karen's moon-like smile, a beacon of comfort, nods. "We're all in this together," she murmurs, her voice a calming surf. "Now, let's let him rest." The room, a tranquil lagoon, holds its breath as Plankton's antennae, a serene sea, rise and fall with his gentle snores. Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, watches over him, her eyes a calm ocean. She's learned the delicate dance of support, a moon's graceful waltz in the tempest of his autism. Her hand, a tender wave, continues to stroke his antennae, the rhythm a lullaby to his storm-tossed mind. Karen, a beacon of knowledge, observes from a distance, her moon-like gaze a silent nod of approval. The bond between them, a deep-sea current, has grown stronger, their understanding of his needs a shared navigation map. Sandy next visits them after he's healed from the wisdom teeth removal, at a picnic with Karen. "Hi, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle surf, holding up a sandwich. "I made an extra sandwich." Plankton's antennae, a calm sea, wave slightly. He takes the sandwich, his eye a serene lagoon of contentment. The picnic, a tranquil lagoon, is a welcome change from the stormy waters of the previous week. Karen's moon-like gaze watches him, a sea of patience, as he takes meticulous bites, his routine a gentle current in the vast ocean of his day. Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, joins them, and asks, "How are you feeling?" Her voice is a comforting tide, steady and calm. Plankton, a beached sea creature, nods. "Better," he murmurs, his voice a sluggish surf. The tempest of pain has receded, leaving in its wake a serene sea of relief. He takes a tentative bite, his antennae, a calm sea, waving slightly with each chew. The picnic, a tranquil lagoon, is filled with the gentle chatter of friends, their voices a soothing symphony of care. Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, watches him, her tail a wave of comfort. Karen's moon-like gaze, a sea of patience, ensures the environment is controlled, avoiding any triggers that might stir a storm within him. Suddenly, Patrick, the boisterous starfish, startles Plankton. "HEY, GUYS!" His voice, a crashing wave, shatters the serene lagoon of their picnic. Plankton's antennae, a calm sea, erupt into a tempest. His body, a raft adrift, is overtaken by a seizure. His limbs, once a gentle wave, thrash about wildly, a furious sea in a storm's embrace. Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, gasps, her eyes a panicked ocean. Karen's moon- like gaze, a sea of calm, quickly assesses the situation. "Patrick, please, give us some space," she whispers, her voice a gentle surf. Her hand, a moon's steadying wave, guides Plankton to the ground, the fabric of the picnic blanket, a soft sea beneath him. Her eyes, a serene sea of knowledge, remain focused on Plankton's convulsing form. Sandy, a newfound sentinel, is right by Karen. Sandy now knows how to deal with seizures better, thanks to her talk with Karen on the previous visit. Sandy's eyes, a calm ocean of concern, watch as Plankton's body, a tempest of spasms, wrestles with the storm within. She whispers soothing words, her voice a gentle ripple. "It's okay, Plankton. We're here." Her hand, a tentative wave of comfort, reaches out to his thrashing arm. Karen's moon-like gaze, a sea of calm, guides Sandy's hand to Plankton's shoulder. "Just keep talking to him," she murmurs, her voice a soft surf. "And make sure nothing sharp is nearby." Her movements are a dance of protection, a moon's graceful waltz in the face of chaos. Plankton's body, a tempest of spasms, continues to thrash against the soft sea of the picnic blanket. His antennae, a stormy sea, whip back and forth, a silent cry for help. Sandy's eyes, a calm ocean of concern, follow Karen's lead. She carefully moves the picnic basket, a potential hazard in this storm, away from his thrashing limbs. Her hand, a tentative ripple of comfort, holds his shoulder, her voice a gentle lullaby. "You're okay," she repeats, her words a steady current in the tumultuous sea of his world. The world around them, a bustling ocean of life, seems to fade into the background, the crashing waves of chatter muffled by the serenity of their focused care. The picnic, now a tranquil lagoon of understanding, holds its collective breath as they navigate this latest tempest. Patrick, oblivious, inches closer. "Patrick," Karen's voice, a moon's firm wave, intercepts his approach. "Please, give us some space." Patrick's eyes, a confused sea, blink. "Is he okay?" he asks, his voice a worried ripple. Karen's moon-like gaze, a beacon of calm, meets his. "It's a seizure," she whispers, her voice a gentle surf. "Just give us some space." Her hand, a comforting wave, motions for him to step back. Sandy's hand, a moon's tender touch, remains on Plankton's shoulder, her voice a soothing surf. "It's okay, Plankton," she repeats, her words a comforting current in the chaos. Karen's eyes, a sea of guidance, watch Sandy's movements, proud of her newfound confidence. The seizure, a fierce tempest, slowly abates. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, begin to calm, their waves less frantic. His body, a raft adrift, relaxes as the spasms ease. Karen, a moon's soft light, checks his vital signs. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a calming surf. "You're safe." Her hand, a comforting tide, strokes his antennae, as Patrick moves closer. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, begin to calm. His eye, a serene lagoon, opens slowly, focusing on the tranquil horizon of the picnic blanket. His body, a raft after a tempest, slowly rights itself. Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, watches his regaining consciousness, her eyes a calm sea of relief. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle surf. Karen's moon-like gaze, a sea of patience, nods in agreement. Plankton's antennae, once a tempest, now a serene sea, rise and fall with his slowing breaths. His eye, a lagoon after a storm, blinks open, focusing on the familiar faces. Karen's moon-like smile, a gentle surf, welcomes him back. "Hey there, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a comforting tide. "You just had a little mishap." Plankton's antennae, a serene sea, quiver slightly, his mind adrift in the fog of confusion. His eye, a lagoon after a storm, searches for familiarity. Patrick, a starfish of good intentions but poor timing, blurts out, "Dude, what was that?!" Plankton's antennae, a serene sea, twitch in annoyance. His eye, a lagoon of confusion, searches for a familiar horizon. Karen's moon- like gaze, a beacon of patience, meets Patrick's. "Patrick," she whispers, her voice a steady surf. "Let's just give him some space." Patrick's eyes, a confused sea, blink. "But, I just wanna know what's up with my buddy!" "Patrick, it's ok," Sandy murmurs. "But Plankton needs some quiet now." Her voice, a gentle surf, washes over him, but the starfish's expression, a confused sea, doesn't change. "But what is up with him?" he asks, his words crashing through the serene atmosphere like a rogue wave. Plankton's eye, a lagoon of irritation, narrows. "Patrick," Karen's moon-like gaze intervenes, a sea of patience. "He's had a seizure. He needs calm." Patrick, a starfish of good intentions but poor social cues, frowns. "But what's wrong with Plankton?" The words, a tempest of misunderstanding, hang in the air, storm clouds gathering. Plankton's antennae, a sea of agitation, rise and fall in frustration. But the starfish's enthusiasm crashes through, a rogue wave against the shore of their calm. "Why did you do that?" he asks Plankton, his voice a confused sea. Plankton's antennae, a serene sea turned stormy, flick in agitation. But Patrick, a starfish of unbridled curiosity, doesn't get it. "I wanna know!" His voice, a crashing wave, echoes in the lagoon of his peace. "I don't get it," his voice a persistent ripple. "What's going on?" Karen's moon-like smile, a gentle surf, turns into a calm sea of firmness. "Patrick," she whispers, her voice a soothing wave. "Plankton is okay. He just needs some quiet time." But Patrick's confusion, a turbulent sea, doesn't subside. "But why'd he go all crazy like that?" His voice, a stormy wave, crashes against their serene lagoon. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of annoyance, wave furiously. "Patrick," Karen's voice, a moon's steady surf, intervenes. "It's not 'crazy.' It's his body responding to a neurological event." Patrick's star-shaped body, a puzzled sea, quivers. "But why doesn't he just tell us?" his voice a confused ripple. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, wave in frustration. "Because it's not something I can just 'tell,'" he snaps, his voice a tempest of irritation. Patrick, a starfish of innocent curiosity, doesn't understand. "But why not?" His voice, a confused ripple, disturbs the calm waters. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of frustration, wave in exasperation. "Because it's not something you can just 'get,'" he says, his voice a storm of aggravation. Patrick's eyes, a confused sea, blink slowly. "So you're... like... broken?" His voice, a concerned wave, carries a hint of sadness. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of annoyance, wave fiercely. "No, I'm not broken," he says, his voice a storm of frustration. "I'm just... different." The words, a tempest of emotion, hang in the air, the silence a vast, uncharted ocean. Karen's moon-like gaze, a sea of calm, watches as Sandy's hand, a tender wave of empathy, reaches for Plankton's arm. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle surf. "Let's just breathe." Patrick, a starfish of well-meaning but misguided questions, doesn't realize the impact of his words. "But why can't you just stop?" His voice, a wave of confusion, lapped against the shore of Plankton's patience. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, quiver in annoyance. "Because it's not like a switch!" he retorts, his voice a crashing wave of exasperation. Sandy's eyes, a calm sea of concern, study him, her tail a gentle wave of comfort. "Patrick," she murmurs, her voice a soft surf. "Let's not use words like 'broken.' Plankton is who he is." Patrick's star-shaped body, a confused sea, twists in thought. "But he's so... strange," his voice a worried ripple. His eyes, a confused sea, look from Sandy to Plankton. "But why can't you just be normal?" His voice, a wave of innocence, crashes against the shoreline of their understanding. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, rise sharply, a furious sea. "I'm not strange," he snaps, his voice a storm. "I'm just not like you!" Patrick, a starfish of pure heart but few social filters, looks at Plankton, his eyes a troubled sea. "But you could be like us," his voice a hopeful wave. "If you just tried." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, wave wildly. "I don't need to be 'fixed,'" he snaps, his voice a stormy crescendo. "I just want to be understood." Patrick's star-shaped body, a sea of confusion, quivers. "But it's just weird, right?" he asks, his voice a hopeful ripple. "Everyone else is fine, so why can't you just be like us?" His voice, a hopeful ripple, tries to bridge the gap of understanding. But Plankton's antennae, a tempest of hurt, wave in agitation. Patrick keeps going. "Why don't you just ..." But Plankton, a sea creature of complexity, has had enough. "Patrick," he says, his voice a tempest of frustration. "I can't just 'be normal' like you!" His antennae, a stormy sea, thrash the air. Sandy, a sea creature of empathy, intervenes, her voice a gentle ripple. "Patrick, let's talk about this," she says, her eyes a calm ocean. "Plankton's not 'weird' or 'broken.' He has autism." Patrick's star-shaped body, a confused sea, pauses. "Oh," he says, his voice a ripple of realization. "So it's like a... fishy thing?" His words, a tempest of ignorance, stir the waters of Plankton's patience. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, wave in frustration. "No, Patrick," he says, his voice a thunderous wave. "It's not a 'fishy thing.' It's a part of me, like your... your..." His voice falters, a sea of exasperation searching for words. "Your... being dumb!" The picnic, a tranquil lagoon moments ago, is now a stormy sea. Patrick's eyes, a sea of hurt, well up with tears. "Hey!" he protests, his voice a defensive wave. "That's not nice!" Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, wave in response. "You're the one who doesn't understand!" he says, his voice a crashing surf. "You're the one making it about you!" Patrick, a starfish of simple truths, looks hurt. "But I just wanna know," he mumbles, his voice a retreating wave. "I thought..." Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea of frustration, wave fiercely. "You don't get it," he says, his voice a tempest. "You can't help by making me feel like there's something wrong with me." Patrick's star-shaped body, a sea of hurt feelings, shrinks slightly. "But I don't mean to," he whispers, his voice a small wave of sadness. "I just don't get it." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of emotion, quiver in agitation. "That's because you're not trying to understand," he says, his voice a stormy crescendo. "You're just asking questions to make yourself feel better." Patrick's star-shaped body, a sea of regret, sags. "But I do wanna understand," he murmurs, his voice a wave of sincerity. "And you just need help." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of frustration, fall still. His voice, a stormy surf, is quiet but firm. "No, Patrick. I don't 'just need help.' I need respect." The words, a tempest of truth, hang in the moist air, a stark contrast to the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. Patrick, a starfish of good intentions but poor social cues, looks at him, his eyes a confused sea. "But you had a... threw a fit," he stammers, his voice a tentative ripple. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of annoyance, wave in correction. "It's not a 'fit,' Patrick," he says, his voice a firm surf. "It's a meltdown." The words, a stormy wave, crash against the rocky shoreline of misunderstanding. Patrick's star-shaped body, a confused sea, quivers. "But it's the same thing," he argues, his voice a stubborn ripple. "Just a different way to say that you're being a big baby, Plankton. You're acting like..." But Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, wave in his face, cutting him off. "No, Patrick," he says, his voice a storm. "It's not the same." His words, a tempest of frustration, hang heavy in the salty air. "A meltdown is when I'm overwhelmed." Patrick, a starfish of innocent curiosity, frowns. "But you looked like you were throwing a fit," he persists, his voice a stubborn ripple. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of frustration, wave in exasperation. "Patrick, you're not listening," he says, his voice a crashing wave. "It's not about looking strange or being weird. It's about feeling overwhelmed and not being able to handle it." Patrick, a starfish of good intentions, seems to shrink further into himself, his voice a whispering ripple. "But why can't you just... deal with it?" His words, a tempest of misunderstanding, wash over Plankton like a cold wave. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, wave in frustration. "Because, Patrick, it's not something I can just 'deal with,'" he says, his voice a thunderous crescendo. "It's part of who I am." Patrick's star-shaped body, a confused sea, twists in thought. "But everyone deals with stuff," he murmurs, his voice a hopeful ripple. "Why can't you just..." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of irritation, rise sharply, interrupting him. "Patrick," he says, his voice a firm surf. "I do deal with stuff. I deal with it every day. But sometimes, it's too much. And that's when I have a meltdown." Patrick's star-shaped body, a puzzled sea, quivers. "But you could just..." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of irritation, wave in his face. "No, Patrick," he says, his voice a steady surf of patience. "I can't 'just deal with it' like everyone else." Patrick, a starfish of good intentions but poor understanding, frowns. "But you make it our problem?" Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea of agitation, wave in frustration. "It's not that, Patrick," he says, his voice a tempest. "It's just that... sometimes I need more help than you do." Patrick, a starfish of pure intentions but misguided words, doesn't seem to get it. "But why?" he asks, his voice a persistent ripple. "Why do you need more help? If you need help then go get it and leave us all alone!" Plankton's voice, a tempest of frustration, rises. "You don't get it," he snaps. "I can't just 'get help' and 'not be a problem'." The words, a stormy crescendo, echo across the lagoon of their friendship. Patrick's star-shaped eyes, a sea of confusion, blink back at him. "But you could just try!" he protests, his voice a hopeful wave. "Why can't you just..." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, wave in frustration. "Patrick," he says, his voice a crashing surf. "I don't need to 'try' to be different. I need you to accept me as I am." The words, a tempest of truth, break against the shore of their friendship. Patrick, a starfish of innocence, looks at his friend, his eyes a confused sea. "But you could just..." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, wave in frustration. "Patrick, stop," he says, his voice a storm. "You're not listening." The words, a tempest of patience, are lost in the crashing waves of misunderstanding. Patrick, a starfish of good intentions, doesn't understand. "You're the one making it hard," he says, his voice a stormy ripple. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, wave in frustration. "No, Patrick," he says, his voice a thunderous crescendo. "You're the one making it hard." Patrick's star-shaped eyes, a sea of confusion, search for understanding. "But you're so... complicated," his voice a bewildered wave. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of frustration, wave in agitation. "You're not making it easier," he says, his voice a stormy crescendo. "I don't need you to fix me, Patrick.." Patrick's star-shaped body, a sea of confusion, doesn't back down. "But everyone else can just deal with stuff," he yells, his voice a crashing wave. "Why can't you?" Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, wave in the face of the storm. "Because, Patrick," he shouts, his voice a furious surf. "I'm not like everyone else!" Patrick, a starfish of innocence and frustration, doesn't yield. "But you could try!" His voice, a wave of hopeful protest, crashes against the cliff of Plankton's exasperation. "I'M DONE!" As Patrick storms off, Sandy and Karen notice Plankton's now unblinking eye, his body unmoving. The picnic, a once vibrant sea of life, stills into a silent lagoon. Karen, a moon of calm, checks her husband's pulse. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle surf. "Just a tiny seizure." Plankton's antennae, a serene sea, lie still. His eye, a lagoon of quiet, stares into the distance, unseeing. His body, a raft in calm waters, is a silent testament to his internal storm. Karen's moon-like gaze, a sea of calm, watches him closely. Her hand, a gentle tide, reaches out to touch his arm. "Plankton?" she whispers, her voice a ripple of concern. Plankton's antennae, a serene sea, do not respond. His body, a raft adrift, remains still. Karen's heart, an ocean of love, quickens. She knows the signs, the sudden stillness of the storm. Her hand, a gentle surf, reaches for his shoulder, her voice a soft ripple. "Plankton?" No response, his eye a lagoon of quiet, his mind a deserted island in the vast sea of consciousness. Karen watches his absent stare. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice comforting. Her hand brushes his antennae. The world, a vast ocean around them, freezes in the quiet of the seizure's wake. Their tranquil lagoon of understanding becomes a vast sea of worry. Karen quickly assesses the situation. "Honey," she whispers. "Come back to us." Sandy watches anxiously. Her hand reaches for Plankton's arm. "Is he okay?" she asks. Karen nods. "It's just a small seizure," she whispers, her voice a calm sea. "They're common with his type of autism." Her hand, a gentle wave, guides Plankton's still form to the picnic blanket, a soft shore in the tempest of confusion. Sandy's eyes, a sea of worry, watch as Karen's gaze remains fixed on her husband, her voice steady. "Just give him a moment." The silence stretches around them. Sandy's hand rests on Plankton's arm. "It's okay," she whispers. "You're safe." Karen nods. "We'll take him home," she says, her voice calm. "Where it's quiet." They carefully lift Plankton's unresponsive body and begin the journey home. Karen's grip is firm yet tender carrying her husband. Sandy follows closely as she watches Plankton's quiet form. In Plankton's room, Karen lays him down, her movements a dance of experience and care. She tucks his blanket around him, as Sandy sits by the bed. "It's okay, Plankton," Sandy whispers, her voice gentle. "You're safe." "I'll go get some stuff he likes to comfort him, for whenever he comes out of it. You stay with him." Karen tells Sandy. Sandy nods, watching Plankton's unresponsive form. She sits by his side, her hand on his arm. Sandy's heart swells with concern. She whispers softly, her calming. "You're okay, Plankton." Plankton slowly starts to stir. His eye begins to blink as the world around him slowly comes into focus. "Hi," Sandy whispers. "You're back." Plankton whispers, "What happened?" Sandy explains gently. "You had a small moment, buddy," she says. "But you're ok now." "But..." His voice trails off as he tries to make sense of the situation. Karen returns with a tray of comfort items. A muffin and a favorite book. "Hey, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. Plankton's antennae twitch in excitement. His eye locks onto the book. He opens it and turns the pages. Suddenly, as Plankton's finger traces a page's edge, a sharp pain pierces through his bubble of confusion. He jerks his hand back, a tempest of surprise. Karen's calm voice interrupts his shock. "It's okay, just a paper-cut," she says, her tone a gentle ripple. Plankton's body tenses. The pain, a barbed pirate's hook, pierces his finger, ripping through the calm sea of his recovery. He pulls his hand back, a tempest of shock, cradling it to his chest. The book, a treasure chest of words, slips from his grasp. "What's wrong?" Sandy asks, her voice a caring ripple. Karen nods to Plankton's hand. "Just a paper-cut." Her voice is understanding. She takes his hand, which makes Plankton flinch. "I'll go get a bandage; Sandy will stay with you." Sandy nods. Her voice, a comforting wave, whispers, "It's okay. It'll just be a little ouch for a bit." Plankton whimpers and starts to rock. Sandy reaches for his hand. He yanks it out of her grasp and flaps it. "It's okay, just a little cut, Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "Let me see." Her hand reaches for his as Karen comes back with a bandage. But Plankton's overwhelmed. He pulls away from Sandy. "NO!" he shouts, his voice a thunderclap. "Leave me alone!" The words, a storm of frustration, echo in the quiet room. Sandy tries to help. "Plankton, it..." But his voice, a thunderous crescendo, echoes through the room. "I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!" Karen goes and bandages him up. He flinches. "All done!" She says to her husband. "You're ok, Plankton." He sighs. Sandy then tries to offer comfort, her voice tentative. "Now, d..." "I SAID NO!" Plankton's voice booms, a stormy wave of frustration. Karen steps in. "Plankton, sweetie, you're safe. It's just Sandy and me." Karen's eyes meet Sandy's. "He's just overwhelmed," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle surf. "Just let him be for a bit." Sandy nods. She pulls her hand back, letting Plankton have his personal space. The room, a once serene sea, now a stormy tempest of Plankton's emotions, is quiet again. Karen, a moon of calm, sits beside him. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soothing surf. "You're safe here." Plankton's antennae, a sea of anxiety, twitch and wave erratically. He clutches the bandaged hand to his chest, his breathing a tumultuous wave. The pain, a tiny pirate's dagger, still stings. Sandy, a starfish of concern, watches his distress, her eyes a sea of compassion. "Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle ripple. "You're okay." But Plankton, a tempest in a teacup, can't be soothed. "GET OUT!" he yells, his words a typhoon of anger. "I JUST WANT TO BE ALONE!" Sandy's eyes, a sea of concern, look to Karen for guidance. Karen nods. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispers to Plankton, her voice a calm lagoon. "Sandy's just trying to help." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of anger, wave in frenzy. "I DON'T CARE I JUST WANT TO BE ALONE!" Sandy tries again. "But Plankton..." "GET. OUT. OF. MY. FAACE!" The words, a tempest of anger, crash against the shore of the room. Sandy's starfish eyes, a sea of concern, search for a way to help. So Karen mediates. Her voice, a gentle surf, intercepts Sandy's words. "It's okay. Give him a moment." Sandy nods, her eyes a sea of understanding. She retreats to the corner of the room, her body language a silent retreat. Karen's gaze, a moon's soft glow, remains on Plankton, her hand now on his shoulder, which he no longer can take. He jolts away, a tempest of discomfort. Plankton's body, a stormy sea of nerves, shrinks from her touch. His antennae, a tempest of agitation, wave in protest. "No!" he cries, his voice a crashing surf. "No touching!" Karen's hand, a retreating tide, pulls back. Her voice, a gentle sea breeze, whispers, "Okay, I'm sorry." She understands the intensity of his sensory overload, the chaotic symphony that can be a simple touch. Karen's presence is steady, her voice a soothing surf. "Do you want your muffin?" she asks, her tone a gentle ripple. But he's to caught up to answer. Sandy sees the turmoil in Plankton's eye, the tempest of confusion and fear. She wants to help but knows that right now, she must be still, a rock in the storm. Her heart, an empathetic sea, aches for her friend. Karen, a moon of patience, continues to talk to him, her voice a soft surf against the beach of his distress. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "You're safe here." But Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea of overstimulation, wave in protest. He turns his head away, his voice a tempest. "NO MORE WORDS!" Karen, understanding, nods. She knows his limits, the boundaries of his stormy world. Karen moves aside, next to Sandy. "Let's give him some space," she whispers. Her voice, a calming wave, is a beacon of understanding in the storm of Plankton's overstimulation. They stand in the doorway. Karen sighs. "Plankton was trying out some thing new, for dinner." Karen chuckles through tears. "And a pan, he hit his head. Hard. Bad enough to knock him out, unconscious. And I scanned him, and noticed the blunt force trauma gave him a neurodisability." She tells Sandy, explaining. Sandy's eyes, a sea of shock, widen. "Oh no!" she exclaims, her voice a concerned ripple. Karen nods, her gaze, a calm lake, never leaving Plankton. "It's okay," she whispers. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of emotions, gradually still. His eye, a lagoon of confusion, searches the room. He sees the muffin on the tray, a beacon of familiar comfort in the storm of his fear. His voice, a soft whisper, asks, "Can I... have it?" Karen nods, a moon of understanding. She hands him the muffin, her movements a symphony of care. The warmth of the muffin, a gentle surf, grounds him as he takes a small bite. His body, a stormy sea, starts to calm. The room, a tempest of moments ago, becomes a serene lagoon. Plankton's cheeks, a soft pink, puff out as he chews, his mouth a tiny harbor of comfort. Sandy, a starfish of patience, watches his progress, her heart a gentle sea. Karen's gaze, a moon of love, remains fixed on her husband. She whispers to Sandy, "It's okay." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of doubt, wave slightly as he chews. His eye, a lagoon of realization, looks up. "Karen?" his voice a tentative ripple. Karen's eyes, a sea of relief, meet his. "Yes, Plankton?" she whispers, her voice a soothing surf. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of doubt, wave in confusion. "Can I have a hug, now?" Karen's heart, an ocean of love, swells with warmth. She nods, her voice a gentle surf. "Of course." She opens her arms, her embrace a soft tide. Plankton, a tempest of doubt, slowly approaches. His antennae, a stormy sea of uncertainty, hover around her. His body, a raft adrift in the sea of confusion, leans into her warmth. Karen's embrace, a gentle surf, wraps around him. Her arms, a warm lagoon, hold him tight as he sobs into her shoulder. His sobs, a tempest of released fear, echo through the room. Sandy, a squirrel of understanding, watches the scene from the corner. Her heart, an empathetic sea, swells with compassion. She knows the storm Plankton faces daily, the internal tempest that makes simple moments monumental challenges. Plankton's sobs, a tempest of pain, subside into a quiet rain. His antennae, a stormy sea, rest against Karen's shoulder. Her embrace, a gentle lagoon, holds him tight, her love a steady tide. Sandy watches them, her eyes a sea of empathy. She knows this moment is between Karen and Plankton, a dance of love and understanding. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of doubt, slowly begin to still. His sobs, a storm's aftermath, subside into quiet sniffles. Karen, a moon of patience, holds him steady, her embrace the calm after the storm. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea of emotions, finally still. His body, a tiny boat in the vast ocean of his experience, relaxes into her. Karen, a moon of understanding, whispers soothing words into his ear, her voice a gentle tide that laps at the shore of his anxiety. "You're okay, sweetie," she says, her tone a calming surf. "You're safe with us." Sandy, a starfish of growing empathy, watches from the sidelines. Her heart, a vast sea of caring, reaches out to him. She understands that Plankton's world can be a storm of sensory assaults, where a whisper can feel like a shout and a touch like a tempest. "It's okay, buddy," she whispers, her voice a comforting ripple. "You're safe here." Plankton, a tempest of doubt, slowly nods into her shoulder. His antennae, a stormy sea of emotions, begin to still. Karen's embrace, a gentle lagoon, continues to hold him tight, her love a steady anchor in the storm of his world. Sandy, a squirrel of empathy, watches their bond. She knows that for Plankton, the world can be a cacophony of colors and sounds, a storm of sensory overload. Her heart, an empathetic sea, swells with admiration for Karen's patience and understanding. "Thank you, Sandy," Karen whispers, her voice a comforting surf. "For being here." Sandy nods, her eyes a sea of solidarity. "Always," she says, her voice a gentle ripple. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of exhaustion, droop against Karen's shoulder. His body, a stormy sea now calm, relaxes into the comfort of her embrace. Karen's hand, a soothing wave, strokes his back. His eye, a lagoon of weariness, blinks slowly. The muffin, a beacon of solace, lies forgotten on the bedside table, its warmth a distant memory. Plankton's breathing, a gentle surf, becomes rhythmic, a lullaby of rest. Sandy, a starfish of empathy, watches the exhaustion wash over him. His antennae, a tempest of fatigue, droop like weary sails. Her heart, an ocean of care, aches for her friend. "Plankton," Sandy whispers, her voice a concerned ripple. "You okay?" He nods, his antennae still. The storm of his overwhelm has passed, leaving in its wake a lagoon of quiet. His eye, a sea of tiredness, looks at her, the tempest now a gentle surf. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice a soft wave of relief. "I'm sorry I was so..." "Don't be sorry," Karen says, her voice a calm sea. "You're just feeling a lot." Sandy nods, understanding in her eyes. "It's okay to feel," she says. "We're here." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of emotions, start to still. His eye, a lagoon of relief, meets Sandy's gaze, a sea of acceptance. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice a soft surf. "I know you guys are just trying to help." Karen's eyes, a calm sea, meet his. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle ripple. "We know it's tough for you." Sandy, a starfish of empathy, nods. "And we're learning too," she says. "You don't have to apologize for being you." Plankton, a tempest of doubt, nods in Karen's embrace. "I'm just...tired," he murmurs, his voice a gentle surf of exhaustion. Karen, a moon of empathy, nods. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a lullaby of comfort. "You've had a big day." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fatigue, wave slightly. His body, a stormy sea now calm, sinks into the warmth of her arms. His eye, a lagoon of sleepiness, starts to drift shut. Karen, a moon of care, feels his weight shift as he surrenders to slumber's gentle pull. Her embrace, a warm lagoon, tightens slightly, cradling him like a baby jellyfish. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fatigue, come to rest. She holds him, her heart a beacon of love in the vast sea of his weariness. Sandy is concerned. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fatigue, remain still against Karen's shoulder. His body, a stormy sea now calm, breathes in the rhythm of sleep. But she sees the lines of anxiety etched into Karen's face, a moon of worry. "You should rest too," she whispers to Karen. Karen nods, a moon of gratitude. "Thank you, Sandy," she says. She gently shifts Plankton so he's lying down in Sandy's arms. His eye remains closed. Sandy, a squirrel of care, holds him steady, her embrace a gentle tide. "He's so small," she whispers, her voice a soft ripple. Karen nods. "But his spirit," she says, "is as vast as the ocean." Sandy's eyes, a sea of wonder, watch the quiet rise and fall of Plankton's chest. His antennae, a tempest of dreams, twitch slightly. "Just watch over him," Karen says. "Make sure he's safe." Sandy nods. Her hand, a gentle wave, rests on Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of dreams, twitch erratically as his mind sails through the vast seas of sleep. His tiny body, a raft in the ocean, lies in Sandy's embrace, her arms a soft coral reef. Sandy, a squirrel of vigilance, watches him, her eyes a sea of concern. Each twitch, a wave of his subconscious, makes her wonder what adventures he's having beneath the surface. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of dreams, continue their erratic dance, a silent sonnet of his slumbering mind. His chest rises and falls with the tide of his breaths, a gentle surf against the shore of her arms. Sandy, a squirrel of tenderness, watches him intently. Each twitch, a distant storm, tells a story she longs to understand. His tiny body, a ship in the vast sea of the bed, is anchored by her embrace. Then, a whisper, a soft ripple breaking the silence. Plankton's voice, a distant lighthouse, calls out in his sleep. "Karen?" Sandy, a squirrel of alertness, tenses. "What's he saying?" Karen, a moon of understanding, listens closely. "It's okay," she whispers to Sandy. "It's just his way of processing," she explains, her voice a calming surf. Sandy's eyes, a sea of curiosity, watch Plankton's antennae, a tempest of dreams. "What's he dreaming?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple. Karen's gaze, a moon of understanding, follows the erratic dance of his antennae. "It's hard to say," she whispers, her voice a gentle wave. "But it's his brain's way of working through the day." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of dreams, wave more vigorously now. "Karen?" he calls again, his voice a distant surf. Karen, a moon of patience, looks at Sandy. "It's okay," she whispers. "He does this sometimes." She moves closer to the bed, her eyes a sea of love and concern. Sandy nods, her embrace of Plankton, a gentle tidal wave of care. "What should we do?" Her voice is a soft ripple in the quiet room. Karen, a moon of experience, whispers, "Just let him be. Sometimes, when he's really upset or overwhelmed, he'll call out like that." Her words are a comforting surf. "It's his way of finding me in his dreams." Sandy, a starfish of curiosity, nods, her gaze a sea of wonder. She watches as Plankton's antennas, a tempest of slumber, dance in the moonlight. His voice, a soft surf, calls Karen's name again. "Karen?" Karen, a moon of empathy, strokes his forehead, her touch a gentle wave. "I'm here," she whispers, her voice a soothing breeze. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of dreams, quieten. His voice, a soft surf, still calls out in his sleep. "Karen," he whispers. Karen, a moon of reassurance, leans closer, her voice a gentle lullaby. "I'm here," she murmurs. "You're safe." Her words, a calming tide, wash over his slumber. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of slumber, slowly still. His voice, a fading surf, calls out once more, "Karen?" Sandy, a starfish of care, watches as his body, a stormy sea now calm, relaxes even more into her arms. She feels a gentle wave of relief. Karen's reassurances, a lullaby of love, seem to have reached him. The room, a tranquil lagoon, is filled only with the soft sounds of Plankton's slumber and the distant whisper of the waves outside. Sandy's embrace, a warm coral reef, continues to hold him steady. Her heart, an ocean of care, is filled with a quiet determination to protect and understand her friend. Karen, a moon of vigilance, watches them from her chair. Her eyes, a calm sea, study Plankton's sleeping form, her mind a tidal wave of thoughts about his condition. How can she help him navigate the storms of the world? How can she be the beacon of comfort when he's lost at sea? Sandy, a squirrel of curiosity, asks, "Does he sleep talk often?" Her voice, a quiet ripple, doesn't disturb the serene lagoon of their slumber. Karen, a moon of understanding, shrugs. "It's not every night," she whispers. "But when he does, it's like his mind is still out at sea." Her voice a gentle ripple in the quiet lagoon of the room. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of slumber, twitch and wave as he navigates the unseen currents of his dreams. His voice, a soft surf, calls out in his sleep, "Water...so much water." Karen, a moon of understanding, watches him from the chair, her eyes a calm sea. She knows the water is a metaphor for his overwhelming thoughts, his mind adrift in a world too loud, too bright. Sandy, a starfish of curiosity, leans in closer, her eyes a sea of fascination. "What does he mean by 'water'?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple in the quiet room. Karen, a moon of understanding, smiles sadly. "I guess it's his way of describing his sensory overload," she whispers. "The world can be like an ocean that's too deep, too vast, too much." Sandy, a squirrel of curiosity, nods. "So when he says 'water,' he means..." Her voice trails off, the unspoken question a ripple in the quiet. Karen, a moon of empathy, nods. "It's like his mind is submerged in sensory overload," she whispers. "And he's just trying to make sense of it all." Sandy, a starfish of curiosity, watches as Plankton's antennae, a tempest of slumber, wave and twitch. His voice, a soft surf, mumbles incoherently. "Water...too deep," he whispers, his voice a distant echo. Her eyes, a sea of empathy, meet Karen's. "What's he dreaming about?" she asks, her tone a gentle ripple. Karen, a moon of insight, nods. "It's hard to say," she whispers. "But he's probably replaying the events of the day, trying to make sense of them." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of subconscious, continue to twitch, a silent sonnet of his slumbering mind. His voice, a soft surf of dreams, murmurs words that seem to ebb and flow without meaning. "Chum...Krabs...muffins..." "It's his brain's way of making sense of the world," Karen explains, her words a soothing breeze. Sandy nods, her embrace a gentle tide. Her curiosity, a vast sea, is tinged with concern. "Does he ever get scared in his dreams? Like, what do we do if..." Karen, a moon of experience, smiles reassuringly. "He's safe," she whispers, her voice a comforting surf. "But if he gets upset, just hold him tight and tell him you're here." Sandy nods, her eyes a sea of resolve. She'll be the lighthouse for Plankton's stormy dreams, guiding him back to the safety of their embrace. Her arms, a gentle reef, hold him closer as his antennas, a tempest of subconscious, continue to dance. "Chum...danger...muffins..." His voice, a distant surf, weaves a mysterious tale of his submerged thoughts. Karen's eyes, a calm sea, watch him, her mind a moonlit horizon of understanding. "It's okay," she whispers to the slumbering form. "You're safe." Her voice, a gentle ripple, is a lullaby for his storm-tossed mind. She knows the water he speaks of, the depths of sensory overwhelm. She's been his lighthouse, guiding him through countless tempests. Sandy, a starfish of patience, learns from the moon of understanding that is Karen. She watches as Plankton's antennas, a tempest of slumber, slowly cease their frantic dance. His voice, a surf of peace, whispers her name again. "Karen..." Karen, a moon of reassurance, smiles at Sandy. "It's okay," she whispers. "He's just finding his way." Her words are a gentle lagoon, easing the tension in the room. Sandy, a starfish of empathy, nods, her eyes a sea of understanding. She watches as Plankton's antennae, a tempest of slumber, slowly still. His voice, a soft surf of peace, whispers her name again. "Karen..." Her heart, an ocean of care, reaches out to him. "What's he dreaming now?" Sandy's voice is a quiet ripple in the tranquil lagoon of the night. Karen's gaze, a moon of attentiveness, remains fixed on Plankton. His antennae, a tempest of slumber, twitch erratically. "It's like he's navigating through a sea of thoughts," she whispers. "He's probably thinking about the picnic, the seizure, everything." Sandy, a starfish of wonder, watches the dance of his antennae, a silent sonnet of his dreams. "What do you think he's seeing?" Her voice, a soft ripple, floats in the quiet. Karen, a moon of thought, considers. "It could be anything," she murmurs. "His mind is a vast sea of memories and fears." Her eyes, a calm lagoon, never leave Plankton. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of whispers, quiet their dance. His voice, a gentle surf, becomes a soothing murmur. "None," he whispers, "to many...many of them." Karen, a moon of interpretation, frowns. What does he mean? The water of his dreams, perhaps a metaphor for people, now a sea of confusion. "Many what?" Sandy whispers, her voice a ripple of curiosity. Karen, a moon of pondering, watches Plankton's slumber. "I'm not sure," she says softly. "But it sounds like he's trying to count something, or maybe people?" Her voice, a gentle wave, carries the weight of a thousand unspoken questions. Sandy, a starfish of curiosity, looks at Karen. "Could it be the seizures?" she asks. "Or maybe his fear of not being understood?" Her voice a soft ripple of empathy, echoing across the peaceful lagoon of the room. Karen, a moon of contemplation, nods. "It's possible," she whispers. "His mind is a deep ocean, full of mysteries we can't always fathom." Her eyes, a serene sea, reflect the shifting currents of thought. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of whispers, resume their dance. "Too many," he murmurs, his voice a soft surf of distress. "So many." Karen, a moon of empathy, rises from her chair, a gentle wave of concern. She moves closer to the bed, her eyes a calm sea of understanding. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a lullaby for his stormy slumber. "You're safe here." Her hand, a tender ripple, smooths his forehead. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of subconscious, quiver at her touch. His voice, a soft surf of distress, echoes through the quiet room. "Too many...so many of them..." His words, a mysterious current, hint at the depth of his anxiety. Karen's eyes, a calm lagoon, watch him closely. "What's too many, Plankton?" she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple in the stillness. "The waves, the fish?" But Plankton's antennae, a tempest of whispers, wave unresponsively. His voice, a soft surf, continues its mournful chant. "Too many...so many." Sandy, a squirrel of empathy, watches, her eyes a sea of concern. "What can we do?" she whispers, her voice a ripple of worry. Karen, a moon of patience, sits on the bed, her hand a comforting wave on Plankton's arm. "Sometimes he just needs to talk it out," she murmurs. "Let's wait and see.." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of whispers, wave slightly as he mumbles, his voice a distant surf. "Can't...find...them..." His words, a cryptic tide, leave them guessing. Karen, a moon of intuition, leans in closer. "Find what, Plankton?" she whispers, her voice a soothing surf. She gently squeezes his hand, a lagoon of comfort. But she touched right where the paper cut's on his hand, the pain making it's way into his dreams. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of pain, shoot up in alarm. His voice, a sudden wave of distress, cries out. "Karen!" Sandy, a starfish of alertness, nearly jumps at the sound, her embrace tightening around him. Karen, a moon of concern, is by his side in an instant. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle wave of comfort. "It's just a bad dream." But Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fear, wave wildly. His voice, a stormy surf, whispers, "The...so many of them!" His dream, a tumultuous sea, seems to crash into the quiet lagoon of the room. Karen's eyes, a calm sea, searched his sleeping face, her mind a moon of understanding. "It's okay," she murmurs, her voice a gentle lullaby. "You're safe here." "So many of them... can't find them..." He says, as the pain causes him to flinch in his sleep. Sandy, a starfish of worry, watches as Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fear, continue to wave. "What's happening?" she whispers, her voice a ripple of concern. Karen, a moon of experience, nods. "Oh," she murmurs, her voice a soft wave. "The paper cut from earlier is bothering him." Her eyes, a serene sea, never leave his troubled form. Sandy, a squirrel of concern, looks to Karen for guidance. "How can we help?" she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple. Karen, a moon of wisdom, smiles sadly. "Just hold him," she whispers. "And tell him you're here." Her words, a soothing tide, offer a simple solution for his stormy dreams. Sandy, a starfish of compassion, nods, her eyes a sea of empathy. She holds Plankton closer, her embrace a warm coral reef. "You're safe," she murmurs, her voice a gentle surf. "We're here." Plankton's body, a tempest of distress, twitches and convulses, his sleep a turbulent sea. His antennae, a storm of fear, shoot upwards as the seizure takes hold. Karen's eyes, a moon of worry, watch him closely, her hand a calming wave on his forehead. "S-sand...y," he gasps, his voice a desperate surf. Sandy, a squirrel of alarm, hugs tighter, her eyes a sea of panic. "Karen!" she whispers urgently. Karen, a moon of readiness, jumps into action, her eyes a calm lagoon of experience. She checks Plankton's breathing, her hand a gentle wave on his chest. "It's okay," she murmurs, her voice a comforting surf. "You're just having a seizure, buddy." Sandy, a starfish of anxiety, watches helplessly as Plankton's antennae, a tempest of distress, flail wildly. "What do we do?" Her voice, a panicked ripple, echoes in the silent room. Karen, a moon of calm, takes charge. "Set him on his bed.." Sandy, a starfish of compliance, moves swiftly, her eyes a sea of concern. She gently lays him down, his antennae a tempest of distress. Plankton's body, a storm-tossed sea, writhes and convulses. But the seizure's grip is too strong, his mind lost in the deep waters of his subconscious. His antennae, a tempest of pain, wave frantically as he whispers, his voice a distressed surf. "Can't... I can't find them!" Karen's eyes, a moon of understanding, fill with empathy as she watches his sleeping form battle the stormy seas of his mind. She knows these words, a cry from the deep. "The...so many...so much..." His voice, a desperate surf, echoes through the quiet lagoon of the room. The tempest in his dreams, a reflection of the world's overstimulation. Karen, a moon of calmness, reaches for the rescue blanket, its softness a beacon in the storm. She gently wraps him, a protective coral, whispering reassurances. "You're safe, Plankton," she soothes, her voice a gentle wave. "You're just experiencing a seizure." Sandy, a squirrel of panic, watches as the tempest of Plankton's seizure unfolds. Her eyes, a sea of fear, lock onto Karen's calm demeanor. "What do we do?" Her voice, a frantic ripple, is a stark contrast to the quiet lagoon of Karen's whispers. Karen, a moon of calm, nods. "We've got to ride this out," she murmurs, her voice a steady surf. "It's his way of processing the pain." Her hand, a comforting wave, rests on Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of distress, wave wildly as his voice, a stormy surf, fills the room. "Nooo...please!" he cries out, his words a tumultuous tide. Karen, a moon of calmness, quickly intervenes. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple in the chaos. "You're just dreaming." But the storm within him rages on, his voice a fierce wave crashing against the shores of his slumber. Sandy, a starfish of concern, watches as Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fear, wave erratically. His voice, a tormented surf, cries out in the quiet lagoon of the night. "Get me out!" Karen, a moon of calm, maintains her gentle grip, her eyes a serene sea amidst the storm. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a steady lullaby. "You're just dreaming." But Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fear, wave more frantically, his voice, a crashing surf, growing louder. "Get me out I just want...I just want..." His words, a tortured tide, are lost to the storm of his dreams. Sandy, a squirrel of distress, looks to Karen, her eyes a sea of helplessness. "What can we do?" Her voice, a panicked ripple, bounces off the walls of the quiet room. Karen, a moon of guidance, whispers instructions. "Keep talking to him, Sandy. It'll help him feel safe." Her voice, a beacon of calm, pierces the tempest of his seizure. Sandy, a starfish of fear, nods. She begins to murmur soothing words, her voice a gentle ripple in the chaotic sea of his slumber. "You're okay, Plankton," she whispers. "We're here." Her eyes, a sea of worry, watch his tortured form, her embrace a warm coral reef. But the tempest in Plankton's mind continues, his antennae a wild dance of distress. His voice, a stormy surf, calls out in pain. "So many...get me out!" His words, a desperate tide, crash into the stillness of the night. Sandy, a squirrel of fear, watches as Karen, a moon of calm, maintains her gentle grip. "Keep talking," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing surf. "It'll help ground him." Sandy nods, her voice a gentle ripple of comfort. "You're safe, Plankton," she murmurs, her words a lifeline in the storm. "We're right here." Her eyes, a sea of determined empathy, never leave his tormented face. Karen, a moon of experience, continues to whisper soothingly, her hand a calming wave on his forehead. "You're okay, buddy," she says, her voice a lullaby for his tempestuous mind. "It's just a bad dream, you're okay." Sandy, a starfish of fear, watches as Plankton's antennae, a tempest of terror, wave erratically. His voice, a tormented surf, echoes through the room. "Don't let them take me!" His words, a desperate tide, are a cry from the abyss. Karen, a moon of patience, squeezes his hand, her voice a gentle wave of reassurance. "You're safe," she whispers, her eyes a calm lagoon amidst the storm. "It's just a dream." But the tempest in his mind shows no signs of abating. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fear, wave with the fury of a hurricane. His voice, a stormy surf, shouts, "No, I don't want to go!" The room, once a serene lagoon, is now a tumultuous sea. Karen, a moon of calmness, watches him with sorrowful eyes. His words, a tormented tide, reveal his deepest anxieties. "You're not going anywhere," she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple. "You're safe here." But the storm in his mind rages on, unabated by her soothing words. Sandy, a starfish of emotion, holds him tight, her voice a gentle surf in the tumult. "You're okay, Plankton," she murmurs. "We're not letting go." Her eyes, a sea of worry, search his face, looking for a sign of peace. But his antennae, a tempest of panic, continue to wave in the chaos. His voice, a stormy surf, rises. "I need to get out! I, I can't breathe, just...just..." Karen's hand, a soft moon, soothes his forehead. "You're safe, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple. "You're just dreaming." Sandy's eyes, a sea of fear, watch the tempest of his antennae, the chaotic dance of his dreams. "It's okay," she murmurs, her voice a steady wave. "You're not alone." Plankton's voice, a tumultuous surf, battles the storm of his seizure. "I'll die...so much...can't breathe..." His words, a desperate tide, pull at their hearts. Sandy, a starfish of anxiety, clutches him closer, her voice a ripple of fear. "You're okay," she whispers fervently. "We're here." But the storm in his mind shows no sign of subsiding, his antennae, a tempest of pain. His voice, a tormented wave, cries out, "I'm trapped! Can't breathe, hurt!" His words, a desperate tide, echo through the room, a stark contrast to the calmness of Karen's whispers. Karen, a moon of empathy, her voice a gentle surf, tries to navigate the stormy waters of his dreams. "You're okay, Plankton," she soothes, her eyes a tranquil lagoon. "It's just a bad dream." But the tempest in his mind swells, his antennae, a chaotic sea, flailing wildly. Sandy, a starfish of panic, clutches Plankton's hand, her eyes a sea of desperation. "You're not trapped," she whispers, her voice a soft wave. "We're right here." Her words, a comforting breeze, fail to calm the hurricane in his slumber. His antennae, a tempest of distress, wave wildly. "Can't find, HELP ME!" he cries out, his voice a stormy surf. The room, once a quiet lagoon, is now a tumultuous sea of fear and pain. Sandy, a starfish of panic, holds him tighter, her voice a frantic ripple. "What do we do?" Her eyes, a sea of desperation, implore Karen for a solution. "It's just getting worse!" Karen, a moon of calm, nods gravely. "We need to wake him," she murmurs, her voice a soothing wave. "But gently." Sandy, a starfish of urgency, nods. Together, they lean over Plankton, their whispers a harmony of care. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice a gentle ripple in the storm. "Wake up, buddy." But the tempest in his mind is too strong, his antennae a wild dance of fear. "Can't breathe!" he gasps, his voice a desperate surf. Karen, a moon of calm, gently shakes him, her voice a soft dawn. "Plankton," she whispers, her eyes a calm sea. "Wake up." With a start, Plankton's eye, a tempest of fear, fly open. His antennae, a wild forest of distress, quiver. "Karen?" he chokes out, his voice a stormy surf. Karen, a moon of relief, smiles softly. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a soothing lagoon. Sandy, a starfish of emotion, exhales sharply. "He's awake," she murmurs, her voice a relieved ripple. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fear, slow to a tremble. His eye, a stormy pool, dart around the room, searching for the source of his panic. "Where am I?" he whispers, his voice a shaky surf. Sandy, a starfish of relief, strokes his arm, her voice a gentle wave. "You're home, Plankton," she murmurs. But Plankton's antennae, a tempest of fear, wave frantically. "Home?" he gasps, his voice a confused surf. His eye, a stormy sea, is lost in the aftermath of his nightmare. Karen, a moon of patience, nods. "Yes, buddy," she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple. "You're safe with us." But Plankton's antennae, a tempest of disorientation, tremble with uncertainty. His body, a storm-tossed sea, quivers with the residue of fear. "What happened?" he asks, his voice a weak surf lapping against the shore. Karen, a moon of understanding, strokes his arm, her eyes a calm lagoon. "You had a bad dream," she whispers, her voice a gentle wave of comfort. "And spasms." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of confusion, wave erratically as he tries to sit up. His voice, a fragile surf, trembles. "We're home," he murmurs, his words a tentative tide. Sandy nods. "You're safe," she whispers. "Do you need anything?" Plankton's antennae, a tempest of thoughts, pause their frantic dance. His eye, a stormy sea, focuses on Karen. "The science book," he mumbles, his voice a tentative wave. Karen, a moon of understanding, nods. "You want your science book?" she whispers, her voice a gentle ripple of curiosity. "It's right here." She reaches for the shelf, her hand a beacon in the dimly lit room. "How's the paper cut?" Plankton, a creature of comfort, nods slightly, his antennae a tempest of relief as he sees the book. "Better," he whispers, his voice a calming surf. The science book, a lighthouse in his tumultuous sea of thoughts, offers a familiar and reassuring presence. "Just hurts if I touch it." He uses his other hand to turn the pages. Sandy, a starfish of support, watches him with understanding eyes, her voice a gentle ripple of cheer. "You're doing great," she murmurs, her words a soft breeze caressing the waves of his anxiety. She notices the way he flinches at every sound, his antennae a barometer of his fears. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of focus, dive into the pages, his voice a calm surf. "Thanks, Sandy," he whispers, his words a gentle tide. The science book, a bastion of predictability in the chaos of his mind, grounds him. He turns the pages with the meticulousness of a moon waxing and waning. Sandy, a starfish of encouragement, watches him with a proud smile, her voice a cheerful ripple. "You're doing so well, Plankton," she says, her eyes a sea of warmth. "I see you turned the page all by yourself." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in frustration. Sandy's eyes, a sea of cheer, light up. "You turned the page!" she whispers, her voice a joyful ripple. "You're doing so great!" Plankton's antennae, a tempest of embarrassment, wave slightly. "It's just a book," he murmurs, his voice a shy surf as he turns another page. Sandy, a squirrel of enthusiasm, claps her paws together, her voice a cheerful wave. "But it's your favorite book!" she exclaims. "And you're focusing so well!" Her encouragement, a gentle breeze, fills the lagoon of the room. But Plankton, a creature of sensitivity, feels a storm brewing within. The patronizing tone, a nagging tide, crashes against the shores of his pride. "I know it's my book," he murmurs, his voice a surf of discomfort. Sandy, a starfish of oblivious cheer, doesn't notice the shift in his mood. "It's just amazing to see you fighting through," she says, her voice a ripple of encouragement. But her words, a gentle wave of misguidance, only stir the tempest within him. Plankton's antennae, a stormy sea, wave in agitation. "I don't need to 'fight' to read," he murmurs, his voice a surf of irritation. The pages, a serene lagoon of knowledge, become a battlefield under her watchful gaze. She fails to see the turmoil her words have stirred. Sandy, a starfish of good intentions, misinterprets his response, her voice a ripple of confusion. "What's wrong?" she asks, her tone a breeze of concern. But the storm in Plankton's heart, a tempest of misunderstanding, continues to build. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of emotion, wave agitatedly. "I'm not fighting, Sandy," he whispers, his voice a surf of frustration. "It's just reading." His words, a tortured tide, crash against the walls of the once-peaceful room. Sandy, a starfish of confusion, tilts her head. "I just meant it's great to see you managing, without hurting yourself.." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of frustration, wave wildly. "I don't need praise for reading a book," he says, his voice a stormy surf. The room, once a peaceful lagoon, now echoes with the crashing waves of his emotions. Sandy, a starfish of confusion, pulls back slightly, her voice a puzzled ripple. "But you just had a spasm," she murmurs, her eyes a sea of concern. "I thought you'd want to know you're okay." Her words, a gentle tide, fail to reach the shore of his understanding. Plankton's antennae, a tempest of irritation, wave in a flurry. "I know I had a spasm," he snaps, his voice a sharp surf. The pages, a calm lagoon, flutter in the storm of his frustration. "But I don't need to be babied." His words, a fierce wave, crash into the silence. Sandy, a starfish of shock, blinks rapidly. Her voice, a bewildered ripple, falters. "I didn't mean to patronize you, Plankton," she whispers, her eyes a sea of apology. Her tentacles, a gentle wave of regret, reach out to him. But Plankton, a plankton of pride, shrugs off her touch, his antennae a stormy rejection. "It's fine," he murmurs, his voice a resentful surf. But the turmoil in his heart, a tempest of emotions, is not so easily calmed. Sandy, a starfish of realization, pulls back, her eyes a sea of regret. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a contrite ripple. "I didn't mean to..." Plankton's antennae, a tempest of frustration, wave erratically. "It's not about the book," he says, his voice a surf of exasperation. "You're just so quick to jump in and...and I just want to be able to do this without being watched like a baby." Sandy, a starfish of understanding, nods slowly, her voice a ripple of realization. "I get it," she murmurs, her eyes a sea of empathy. "You want your space." Her tentacles, a soft wave of apology, retract slightly. Plankton, a plankton of relief, nods, his antennae a calmer sea. "Yeah," he whispers, his voice a gentle surf. The room, a lagoon of tension, gradually returns to calm.
Harp
Đừng Dí Em☹️
Quân Ka-Tút
Sun Line
Dương Quân
Tianlu
retrai
schizencephaly (deep clefts in brain tissue)
ướcthua
Gratttan
Tuấn Anh
Tuấn Ca
⋆Azalée·₊̣̇.
⋆Lézina·₊̣̇.
⋆Lodoïska·₊̣̇.
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Bonaventūra ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Artūra ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Arielė ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Anabelė ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Vitöia ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Marçello ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Tāle ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Pēters ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Nāra ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Madaļa ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Katrīne ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Karlīne ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Hipātija ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Gaļina ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Elžbeta ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Eloīza ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Elīze ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Āris ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Chéria ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Kílín ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Karól ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Kùnegùńda ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Léónarda ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Michalëna ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Nórberta ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Òrszula ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Paùlëna ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Placëda ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Prokòp ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Rómùalda ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Rómùôld ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Serafëna ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
☆⋆。˚♡˚ ♋︎ Agùst ♋︎˚♡˚。⋆☆
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