CONSOLE TONSIL i The anesthesiologist came in. Plankton looked at Karen for assurance. She managed a smile and a nod. "I'll be here," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I won't leave your side." Plankton nodded, his eye never leaving hers as the anesthesiologist began to prepare the equipment. The anesthetic took hold as Plankton's mouth was propped open. His eye grew heavy, his eyelid drooped. "It's ok," she whispered, stroking his arm. "You're doing great." The room grew quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. Plankton's breathing grew more regular, and the tension in his hand slowly released. "Just rest going to sleep now," she whispered. "I'm right here." His head lolled to the side and his grip on her hand went slack, and he was asleep as his eye went back in is socket, eyelid closing. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, whispering, "I love you." After surgery, Plankton's snore brought a smile to Karen's face, his mouth hung slightly open. Karen leaned closer, stroking Plankton's arm with her thumb. "Hey, Plankton," she murmured. "You made it through. You're going to be fine now." His snores grew quieter. "Remember the ice cream I promised you?" To her surprise, snores morphed into muffled words. "Ice...cream...Karen...love." "It's called somniloquism. Sometimes patients talk in their sleep as they're coming out of anesthesia. It's normal to mumble a bit after surgery, and it's also a sign they're coming around." Says the nurse. Karen nodded, feeling a mix of relief and amusement. She leaned closer, her hand wrapping around his. "You can have all the ice cream you want when you wake up," she said, her voice filled with warmth. The nurse checked his vitals, nodded in approval, and gave Karen a thumbs-up. "He's going to be ok," she said with a reassuring smile. "The surgery went well, and he's responding nicely to the anesthesia." Plankton's snores grew more regular, and his hand began to twitch slightly in her grasp. "You're ok. The surgery went well." Karen says. It was as if he was trying to respond, to squeeze her hand in agreement. "You're going to wake up, and we're going to get you the biggest ice cream sundae you've ever seen." Plankton's eyebrow began to twitch, and she leaned in closer. “That’s it..” He opens his eye. “Karen..” The nurse had assured her that his brain was just trying to make sense of the world as it woke up from the deep slumber of anesthesia. “You’re finished with tonsillectomy!” His speech was slurred and nonsensical. "Blabber...wha...wha...waffle?" Karen couldn't help but chuckle. The nurse stifled a laugh. "It's common for patients to have a bit of confusion post-op. It'll wear off soon. The nonsense talk is just his brain trying to piece things together." "Do you remember what happened?" Karen asked gently. Plankton's expression grew thoughtful for a moment, then he nodded. "Owies," he said, pointing to his throat. As the moments passed, Plankton's questions grew more frequent, each one a little slice of wonder. "Why is the floor so shiny?" "What makes the lights go?" "Can I have more ice cream?" Karen answered each one with patience and love, enjoying the simplicity of his curiosity. They arrived home, the ride a blur of instructions from the hospital and Plankton's sleepy nap. She helped him into bed, propping his pillows just right and placing a glass of water on the nightstand. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling hospital. The only sound was the occasional tick of the clock in the hallway. Karen settled into the chair beside his bed, ready to keep her vigil. Plankton's eye fluttered open and then closed. "Need...sleep," he murmured. "You go ahead," she said, her voice gentle. "I'll be here when you wake up." The room grew still again as Plankton's eye finally closed for good. Karen took his hand in hers once more, feeling the comforting weight of his head on her shoulder. The doorbell rang, a sudden and jarring intrusion into the quiet sanctuary they had created. Karen looked over at Plankton, whose sleep remained undisturbed. She leans him back on pillow and kissed his forehead gently. She whispered, "I'll be right back." She opened the door to see Hanna, her friend, who’s also a computer like Karen. "Hey," Hanna said, her voice filled with concern. "How's he doing?" "The surgery went well, yet he's still pretty out of it." Hanna's screen went straight to Plankton, who was snoring softly. She gave a small smile. "Looks like he's in good hands," she said. Karen nodded, a hint of gratitude in her voice. "Thanks for coming." A few moments passed in quiet contemplation before Plankton's eye fluttered open, any trace of anesthesia gone. "Wha...where am I?" he croaked, his voice raw and scratchy. "You're home," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You had surgery this morning." "Hi, Plankton! It’s nice to meet you. I'm Hanna, Karen's friend. I just came to check on you." Plankton's gaze drifted from Karen to Hanna, then back to Karen again. "You...told?" "You know I couldn't keep it from her," she said softly. "We tell each other everything." "What...did you tell her?" "Just that you weren't feeling well and had surgery. How you feeling?" "Sore," he managed to croak out. "And... confused." "It's normal," Hanna chimed in. "The anesthesia can mess with your head for a bit." Karen nodded in agreement. "Do you remember anything from the hospital?" Plankton's eye darted around the room, as if trying to recall the events of the day. "You were there, but nothing else at all." "You talked a bit when you were coming out of it," Karen said with a smirk. "Asked for ice cream and waffles." Plankton's eye widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. "Waffles?" Hanna laughed, earning her a glare from Plankton. "It's true," Karen said, her voice filled with mirth. "You kept asking for waffles." "I don't even like waffles," he grumbled, sinking back into the pillows. Hanna chuckled, her laughter a series of light beeps. "Well, maybe you've discovered a love for them." Plankton's glare sharpened, his cheeks flushing with a hint of anger. "I said I don't like waffles," he mumbled, his voice strained. Hanna raised her hands in mock surrender. "Ok, ok," she said, her digital eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'll take your word for it. It’s ok if you don’t recall." Karen felt a pang of worry, the room suddenly thick with tension. She knew Plankton's fiery temper well. "You don't know anything about me." "I just want to be here you know, ease Karen’s burden.." Hanna said. “BURDEN?” Plankton's eyes were on Hanna, his gaze piercing. "How could you say that?" he cried, his voice rising despite the pain. "I'm not a burden to her; I never meant to be burdensome!" Hanna's smile faded, and she looked at with a hint of concern. "I didn't mean it like that," she said quickly. "I just knew she'd be worried about you and I wanted to help." Karen squeezed Plankton's hand, her gaze flicking from Hanna to him. "It's ok," she said soothingly. "You're not a burden, Plankton. We're just looking out for you." But Plankton felt a tear slide down his cheek, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "Don't be," Karen said, her voice firm. "You're not a burden, Plankton. You're my... my everything." Plankton's eye searched hers, looking for the truth in her words. He could feel the weight of the unspoken between them, the fear and the doubt. But what he saw was unwavering love and care. He took a deep, painful breath and nodded. "Ok," he murmured. "But no more waffles." The tension in the room didn't dissipate immediately, but it began to ease as Plankton's gaze drifted back to the ceiling. Karen felt his hand tighten around hers, a silent plea for reassurance. "Look, Plankton," Hanna began, her voice tentative. "I'm sorry if I upset you. That wasn't my intent." He looked at her, and took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't want to talk to you about it!" Hanna's smile faltered, her screens flickering with confusion. "I just..." “It’s alright, Hanna. Plankton’s just really sensitive,” Karen replied, her gaze still fixed on Plankton. Hanna’s screens dimmed slightly, her concern evident. "I didn't mean to..." "I said No," he snaps, his voice tight with emotion. Hanna looked at him, her screens flickering with regret. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she said softly, now knowing her choice of words hit a nerve. "I think he needs some rest," Karen said, her voice low. "Why don't you let me take care of him?" Hanna nodded, her screens dimming with understanding. "Of course," she said. "I didn't mean to overstep." “You didn’t, you just wanted to support. He’s not overly affectionate, even with me. It’s hard for him, not necessarily about you. He doesn’t tend to open up to others, nothing personal. But thank you, Hanna.” Karen told her. “I just hoped I could make it easier for him, I know he’s been through a lot,” Hanna said with sincerity. “You did. Thank you for caring, really. But he’s always had a hard time letting anyone in, even me sometimes,” Karen explained, her gaze lingering on Plankton’s sleeping form. Hanna nodded, her screens swiping through various shades of blue. "I'll leave you to rest," she said quietly, moving towards the door.

CONSOLE TONSIL ii * As the door clicked shut, Karen noticed how Plankton's body stiffened, eye open but unseeing. "Plankton?" she called out, her voice a gentle prodding into his absent-mindedness. He didn't respond. His eye remained open, but it was as if the light behind it had gone out. This wasn’t the first time Karen had seen him dizzily scatterbrained from overload, yet it was eerie to witness such shock. His body remained still, his chest rising and falling with his shallow breaths, yet there was no response to her touch or voice. It was like he was there, but not there at the same time. The room grew quiet. She leaned closer. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she whispered. His eye remained unblinking. "Plankton, talk to me," Karen urged, her voice a gentle coax. His only ‘response’ was the shallow rise and fall of his chest, his eye unblinking. Karen realized the depth of his withdrawal; Hanna's words had triggered a sensory shutdown. The room grew colder as Plankton retreated into himself, his eye glazed over like a still pond reflecting the fear and confusion rippling through him. Karen knew she needed to tread lightly. She had seen this before, during moments of intense stress or overstimulation. "Plankton," she said, her voice a soft whisper. "You're not a burden, you know that." Her hand reached out, stroking his arm in gentle, soothing motions. "You're just tired. Let's focus on getting you better." The room was still, the only sound being the tick of the clock echoing through the silence. Karen's screen never left Plankton's unresponsive face, her mind racing to find the right words, the right touch to pull him back from the edge of his isolation. "Plankton," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're ok. You're home." Her hand continued its soft, rhythmic motion on his arm, a silent lullaby to his fractured thoughts. Slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, Plankton's eye blinked. The fog in his gaze started to clear, his pupil focusing on Karen's concerned face. He took a deep, shaky breath, wincing as the pain in his throat shot up like a warning flare. "You're ok," Karen repeated, her voice a soothing balm to his frazzled nerves. "You're home, and I'm here with you." Plankton's breathing grew more even, the tension in his body slowly seeping away as he focused on her voice, her touch. The pain in his throat was a constant reminder of the surgery, but it was the emotional pain that weighed heavier on him. Karen waited patiently, her hand never stopping its gentle caress, her voice a steady stream of comfort. "You're not a burden," she repeated, her tone soothing. "You're my best friend, Plankton. We’re home. I'm here for you, always." Plankton blinked again, the reality of his situation seeping in. "Home," he murmured. "Thank you, Karen." "You're welcome. I'm here for you." The words hung in the air, the silence thick and heavy. Karen could see the internal battle playing out on Plankton's face, the war between his pride and his need for comfort. His hand reached out again, this time with more intention, and he gently squeezed hers. "I'm sorry," he croaked out, his voice still raw. "I didn't mean to scare you." Karen leaned in closer, her screen filled with a gentle understanding. "You don't ever have to apologize for how you feel," she said softly. "We're in this together." Plankton's grip tightened, his eye finally focusing on hers with a hint of gratitude. He took another deep breath, the pain a stark contrast to the warmth in the room. "What...what is Hanna doing now?" he asked, his voice a whisper of curiosity. "I don't know," Karen replied truthfully. "But she's not here to bother us. You need to rest, ok?" Plankton nodded weakly, his grip loosening. Karen felt a twinge of sadness as she saw the exhaustion etched on his features. She knew he was trying to be strong, but the weight of the day's events was too much for anyone to bear alone. "Rest," she encouraged, her voice firm but gentle. "I'll be right here if you need anything." Plankton's nod was almost imperceptible, but Karen took it as his silent agreement. She pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucking him in as if he were a child, and sat in the chair beside his bed, her hand still in his. The warmth of their intertwined fingers was a small but significant comfort in the face of his overwhelming fears. The minutes ticked by. Karen watched him closely, waiting for his breathing to deepen, his eyelid to droop. It was a slow process, but eventually, the exhaustion won. She heard a faint snore, a sign that he had finally succumbed to sleep. His hand went slack in hers, and she carefully extracted her hand, placing it on the bedside table. She took a deep breath, her shoulders sagging with relief. Her mind raced with what had happened. Hanna's words had clearly struck a nerve, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger at her friend's thoughtlessness. Plankton had always been self-conscious about his size and his perceived weaknesses, and to hear such harsh words from someone Karen cared about had to be devastating. Karen felt a mix of anger and sadness as she approached Hanna, her mind playing back the haunting image of Plankton's lifeless stare. "Hanna," she began, her voice firm but measured. "We need to talk." Hanna looked up. "What you said in front of Plankton, though not meant to be malicious," Karen began, her voice low but steady. "It was hurtful and unnecessary. Plankton has...challenges. Neurodivergent challenges." Hanna's confused. "What do you mean?" "It means," Karen said, sitting down next to her, "that Plankton perceives and reacts to the world differently than we do. It affects how he processes information, how he interacts with people, and how he handles stress." "What happened after I left?" Hanna finally asked, her voice tentative. Karen took a deep breath, preparing to recount the events that had unfolded. "He had a...a reaction," she said. "He couldn't handle the stress anymore. His mind just sort of...shut down. He just...froze still. It's like his body was there, but he wasn't. He didn’t respond to anything I said or did." Hanna's hand flew to her mouth, horrified. "His eye were open, but he was...gone, somewhere else. I've seen it before, but never this severe. At first, nothing," Karen said, her gaze drifting to the floor. "It was like talking to a statue. But I didn't give up. I talked to him, whispered really. I tried to get through to him, to tell him he's not a burden, that he's important to me, that he's safe here. Just kept saying how much he means to me and that he's not a burden. He started to come back to me, little by little. His breathing changed, his gaze focused on me. It was like he was hearing me for the first time in hours." Karen paused, collecting her thoughts. "He apologized," she said. "For scaring me. As if it was his fault." Hanna's expression grew pained. "I never meant for this to happen," she murmured. "What can I do to make it right?" Karen considered her words carefully. "For now, let him rest," she said. "But when he's feeling better, we need to have a talk. All of us. Plankton deserves an apology." * * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

CONSOLE TONSIL iii Plankton's eye fluttered open just enough to see Karen beside him. He felt groggy and disoriented, the events of the day a distant, hazy memory. He then notices Hanna brimming with tears. He blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog. "Karen," he croaked, his voice hoarse from surgery and emotional turmoil. "Hanna?" "I'm so sorry," Hanna choked out with regret. "I didn't mean to...I didn't know." "What happened?" he rasped. Karen's gaze softens. "You had a bit of a shutdown, Plankton," she said gently. "You've had a long day, and everything just became too much." The word 'burden' echoed in Plankton's mind. "Burden?" he managed to croak. "Hanna said something she didn't mean," she began,. "She didn't understand what she was saying, but she hurt you, and she's sorry." The word 'burden' it seemed, that fear had been given a voice. He looked from Karen to Hanna. "Burden," he said, barely a whisper. "Is that what you think of me?" Hanna looked stricken. "No, Plankton, I just..." Her voice trailed off. He had always known that he was different, that his size and his quirks set him apart from others. "It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We all have moments where we say things without thinking. But what's important is that you know you're not a burden to me, Plankton. You never have been, and never will be." Plankton's word 'burden' ringing. "Hanna didn't mean it, she just didn't understand." But the word had already taken root in Plankton's mind. Burden. The word resonated through Plankton but to be called a burden was something else entirely. "Plankton, I'm sorry," she said again, "I didn't know." But Plankton could only repeat the word. "Burden," he croaked. Karen reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, Plankton, you're not a burden," she said, her voice steady and firm. "You're loved and valued, just the way you are." "Burden," he murmured agai. "I'm a burden." "Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle reprimand. "You are not a burden." But Plankton's eye remained fixed, voice a hollow echo. "Everything I do is a burden," he murmured. Karen squeezed his shoulder. "Plankton, please, don't say that." "Burden," Plankton whispered, voice barely a breath. Karen's heart broke at the sound of his self-loathing. "Plankton, you're not a burden," she insisted, her voice filled with compassion. "Am a burden," he repeated, the word sticking to his tongue like a sour candy. "What can I do?" Hanna asked, desperation seeping. "Listen," Karen said, turning to face her. "You need to understand that Plankton isn't just being dramatic. This isn't something you can just apologize for and expect him to get over. His brain works differently. He processes stress in a way that's unique to him. And when you said that..." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the right words to express the gravity of the situation. "I'm a burden," Plankton murmured. "You're not a burden, Plankton," she said, her voice a soft, steady rhythm. "You're my friend, and I care about you." "Burden," Plankton said, his voice a quiet rebuttal. He was stuck in a loop of pain and she wasn't sure how to pull him out. "Plankton, you're not," she began, but he cut her off. "Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain. "Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle plea. "You're not a burden." "Burden," Plankton replied, his voice a soft echo of despair, "is a burden." Karen tries to find the right words to cut through the fog of his pain. "Plankton," she said firmly, "you are not a burden. You're my husband, and my confidant." "But a burden," Plankton whispered, voice trembling. "I am burden." "Plankton, please," she said. "You're not a burden." "Burden," Plankton said, his voice a stubborn echo. "Everything I do is a burden." "No, Plankton," Karen insisted, her tone firm but filled with care. "You're not a burden. You're an essential part of this home." But the word 'burden' a heavy weight on his soul. "I'm not a burden," he murmured, the words barely a breath. "I'm not." "Right, you are not," Karen said. "You're so much more.." "Burden," his voice a quiet protest. "I'm just a burden." "You're not a burden," she said. "You're a companion, and a vital part of our lives." "But, burden," Plankton whimpered, his voice a sad refrain. "I is burden." Karen took his hand. "You are not," she said, her voice a gentle but firm declaration. "You're a unique and wonderful being, Plankton." "Plankton, burden," Plankton repeated, his voice a whisper of doubt. "I, burden." "Plankton," she said. "You are not a burden. You're a brilliant mind, and family." Plankton's word 'burden' still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. "But, Karen," he whispered, "I am burden." "No," Karen said firmly, voice unyielding. "You are not. You are treasure, a light in this world." Plankton blinked slowly, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a mournful chant. "But I burden," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper. "Burdens, Plankton." "You are loved." "Karen," Plankton said, his voice shaking with emotion, "I burden." Karen leaned closer. "Plankton," she said softly, "you're not a burden. You're someone who brings joy and laughter into our lives." Plankton's gaze searched hers, the word 'burden' still clinging to his every thought. "But I burden," he murmured, his voice a sad echo. "You're a part of this home, a piece of our lives." But Plankton's mind was a tumultuous sea, the word 'burden' a stormy island he couldn't escape. "Burden," he said again, his voice a sad admission. Karen's looking for a way to bridge the gap between his pain and the truth. "Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle reminder, "you're not a burden." "Burden," Plankton whispered, the word a sad acceptance in his mind. "I burden." "Plankton," she began, but he talked over her. "Burden," Plankton said, his voice a sad refrain. "Everything I do, burden." "Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle but firm counterpoint. "Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a quiet echo of despair. "Everything I do, a burden." Karen felt the urgency to reach him, to pull him out of the dark pit of his thoughts. "Plankton, you're not a burden." Plankton's eye remained unfocused, his voice a sad refrain. "Burden," he whispered, the word a painful acceptance. "Everything I do, I burden." "You're not a burden." "But, Karen," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain, "everything I do is burden." Karen's looking for any sign of the vibrant spirit she knew was there. But Plankton's gaze remained vacant, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a funeral bell. Karen knew she had to do something, had to find a way to break through the barrier that had been so carelessly built. She took a deep breath, reaching for the one thing she knew could always lift his spirits. "Remember the time we built that sandcastle?" she asked, her voice filled with the warmth of nostalgia. "The one with the moat that kept filling up with jellyfish?" Plankton's eye flickered with the ghost of a smile. "Jellyfish," a soft echo of a happier time. "Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge. "Remember how we laughed when they kept popping the bubbles in the moat?" A flicker of life returned to Plankton's eye. "Burden, Bubbles," he murmured. Karen clung to the glimmer of hope. "And the karaoke nights? When you sang that sea shanty about the Krabby Patty?" "Krabby Patty," the words a soft echo of happier times. Karen's seeing the first crack in the wall of pain he had built around himself. She took his hand, voice filled with warmth. "Remember pranks we’d play on SpongeBob?" Plankton's gaze flickered with a glimmer of amusement. "Jellyfish," he murmured. Encouraged, Karen pressed on. "And the time we accidentally turned the restaurant into a bubble bath?" "Bubble bath," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of the laughter they had shared. "Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "Remember how Mr. Krabs had to wear those ridiculous floaties because he couldn't swim in the bubbles?" Plankton's smile grew. "Floaties," he murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice. Karen squeezed his hand. "See, Plankton. You're not a burden. You're a partner in crime, and the best roommate I could ask for." The room remained still, the only sound the steady beat of Plankton's heart. Then, ever so slowly, his smile grew, pushing back the shadows in his mind. "Karen," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of gratitude. "Thank you." Hanna's pixel eyes widened with hope, the guilt still etched on her face. "Plankton," she said, her voice tentative. "I'm so sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. You're not a burden. You're...you're like family to us." Plankton's gaze shifted to her, the weight of her words a gentle nudge towards healing. "Family," he murmured, the word a tentative bridge over the chasm of his doubt. "Yes," Hanna said, her voice earnest. "I'm sorry for not understanding before. But I do now. And I'll do better." "You will?" he asked, a tentative thread of hope. "Yes," Hanna said with earnestness. "I'll learn, listen, and I'll be more considerate of how my words can affect." Karen nodded in approval, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "That's all we can ask," she said, her tone a gentle reprimand. "For you to understand and do better." Hanna's pixel eyes well up with tears. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she said, voice shaking. "I had no idea." Plankton's gaze softened, the word 'burden' slowly losing grip. Karen released a sigh of relief, tension in the room easing. "What's important," she said, her voice a gentle guide, "is that we all understand each other better now." Hanna nodded with remorse. "I'll do anything to make it right," she said, a solemn vow. Plankton looked from Karen to Hanna, the word 'burden' losing power. "Ok," he murmured. "I forgive."