PLANKTON GOING TO THE DENTIST Ii/Ii Plankton's eye dart around the room, trying to focus, confusion growing as the words won't come out right. "Th-th-the...th-the...th-th-th-th..." He stammers, his mouth working overtime to form the words. Karen's laughter subsides into a comforting chuckle. "It's ok, Plankton." "Th-th-then...why...why do I tawking wike thith?" He asks, voice a wobbly mess, each word a struggle. "I...I'm a g-g-genius!" He stammers, trying to sound defiant despite his speech impediment. "I'n noth s-s-suppothed to tawl wike thish!" Karen giggles. "It's just anesthesia, Plankton," she says soothingly. "It'll wear off soon." Plankton's eye widen further. "B-but...I nee, needff to...to think...think...think!" He stammers. "You'll be fine, Plankton," she says. The dentist pats Plankton's shoulder. "You're quite the charmer even with a mouthful of gauze," he quips, and the assistant snickers. Plankton's cheeks redden, indignation clear even through haze of anesthesia. "I caan...caan...can't...I caan't th-th-think!" Plankton splutters. Karen tries to stifle her giggles, shaking with amusement. "It's anesthesia," she repeats, her voice a gentle wave washing over him. "You're ok, Plankton. You're ok." He takes a deep breath, willing his tongue to cooperate. "G-got...it-t," he says. "Alright, Mr. Plankton, let's get you sitting up," he says. He tries to stand, but his body feels like it's made of jelly, his legs wobbling beneath him. "Whoa!" He exclaims, speech slightly clearer but still slurred. "Thish isn't goog." Karen and the dental staff help him to his feet, the nurse holding on to him as he sways slightly. His eye still glazed over, but there's a hint of the sharpness that she knows so well starting to shine through. "Steady there," she says supporting him. "Let's get to the car." Plankton nods. "Yeah...the...the...ca--" he says. He takes a shaky step. "Just keep taking it slow," she advises, her voice a beacon in the fog of his mind. Karen's supporting him as they navigate the hallway. "Where...wher's...wher's the...the...th-the...?" Plankton's words trip over each other, traitor to his usual eloquence. "The car, sweetie," Karen says, her voice a lifeline in the fog of anesthesia. She leads him through the hallway acting as a gentle guide. The receptionist waves with a smile. "Moth...thath...moth," he stammers. She fastens his seatbelt for him. "D-don't laug-fh at me," he mumbles, eye half-lidded with the lingering effects of anesthesia. "I'm not laughing at you," Karen says. "I'm just happy you're ok." Plankton nods. He tries to say "thanks," but it comes out as "thathks." "You're welcome, Plankton. You're going to be fine." She starts the engine. "Bh-buth...whath abou- the...the...th-the...the...teethies?" Plankton slurs, words a tangled mess. Karen laughs. "Don't worry about the teeth Plankton. They're out. You're all healed up." Plankton nods, his eye glazed and his speech still slurred. "Thath's...tha's good," he manages to say. "But I...I can't t-talk wight," he mumbles, frustrated. "Don't worry, honey," Karen says, patting his hand. "You're just a bit loopy from anesthesia. It'll wear off." Plankton tries to argue, but all that comes out is a series of garbled sounds. "Th-the...th-th-th..." "Your mouth is just numb, Plankton," Karen says, driving. "The anesthesia makes it hard to talk." But Plankton can't help it; he keeps trying, his slurred words a jumble of consonants. "Th-th-that's not ith’s," he protests, his voice bubbly. "I'm a g-g-gen-n-n...genius!" Karen giggles, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "You're a genius all right," she teases. Plankton's eye narrow in determination. "Th-that's not...noth fair!" He says, his tongue feeling like a thick sea slug. Karen can't help but laugh harder. "It's ok, Plankton," she says. "But I...I nee-f to...to...to th-th-think! I can't...can't th-think thish!" Karen's laughter bubbles up again and she squeezes his hand reassuringly. "You're ok, Plankton," she says, voice a warm current of comfort. "D-don't...d-don't leav-e me," he mumbles, his eye drooping. Karen glances over. "I'm right here, Plankton," she says. Plankton's head lolls to the side, and his snores become a soothing background to the hum of the boat's engine. His mouth hangs open, a stream of drool trailing down his chin, creating a small pool in the seat. Karen, noticing the gauze in his mouth has shifted, gently repositioned it, careful not to cause him any pain. He mumbles something incoherent, and she chuckles, shaking her head. "Rest my love," she murmurs. The drool continues to escape Plankton's mouth, creating a wet spot on the boat's upholstery, his slumbering form a stark contrast to the sharp scheming creature she's used to. She reaches over to gently dab at the drool, her movements careful not to disturb his sleep. As the boat docks at the Chum Bucket, Karen wonders how she'll manage to get him inside without him babbling incoherently and scaring off any passersby. But Plankton, in his anesthesia-induced haze, seems oblivious to the world around him, his snores the only sound. Karen helps him out of the boat, and she half-drags half-carries him through the door. They enter their living quarters and she gently lays him on their bed which feels like a vast ocean compared to his usual cramped lab space. She carefully takes out the gauze, watching his eye flutter open. "Where...where am I?" He mumbles. "You're home, Plankton," Karen says, her voice a soft wave of comfort. She wipes his chin clean with a warm, damp cloth. Plankton looks around, his eye finally focusing on the familiar sights of their home. "Home?" He slurs, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. "B-but...I..." "Just rest, Plankton," Karen says, pushing him gently back down. "You've had a big day." Home never felt so welcoming, Plankton thinks, as he sinks into the embrace of the bed. Karen fluffs a pillow under his head, her movements tender. "Th-thank youw," he manages to say, his speech still thick. "You're welcome," Karen replies, her voice a gentle caress. "Now, you just rest. I'll be here." He closes his eye, letting the numbness of his mouth and the heaviness of his limbs take over. Karen sits beside him, moving in a soothing rhythm against his arm. "You're going to be fine," Karen whispers, stroking his cheek. "Just sleep it off and by tomorrow you'll be back to your usual scheming self." Plankton tries to smile but his mouth refuses to cooperate. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a half-hearted attempt and he mumbles "I wove youw thoo." The next day, Plankton wakes up. The numbness in his mouth has subsided leaving only a dull throb. He opens his eye to see Karen. "How do you feel?" She asks. Plankton's eye blinked open, the room spinning around him. Karen came into focus. "Mmph; wha's? Wh-when..." "Your wisdom teeth," she says, her voice a soothing tide. "They're gone Plankton. You don't have to worry about them anymore." "Wis-wis-wis...?" He stammers, his tongue tripping over the word "wisdom." "Yes, Plankton," Karen says with amusement. "You had your wisdom teeth removed yesterday." Plankton's eye widen, and he tries to sit up. "Y-yesterday?" He slurs. "But I...I caan't...can't remember.." Karen nods, her smile full of mirth. "You were pretty out of it," she says. He tries to push himself up, but the pain in his mouth sends a shockwave through. "Mph-ow!" He flops back down, his hands flying to his cheeks. "What do you mean?" Karen laughs. "You were pretty loopy," she says, holding him down gently. "The anesthesia had you talking like..." she pauses, searching for the right words. "Well, like you've never talked before." "I hope I...I didn't say anything..." he starts, his voice trailing off. "Oh, you said plenty," she teases. "But don't worry, it was just the anesthesia talking." "Wh-wh-what did I say?" Karen chuckles. "You were worried about your 'teethies'," she mimics his slurred speech from the day before. "And you kept insisting you needed to think, even when it was clear you couldn't even talk straight. But don't worry; you're just fine."

PLANKTON GOING TO THE DENTIST i/Ii "You say you've tenderness in the back of..." "Aw!" Plankton interrupts, as the dentist examines his mouth. "I see your wisdom teeth haven't erupted yet, Mr. Plankton; luckily we can remove them today, if you've a ride home.." "My wife Karen's in the waiting room area, she drove me here." The surgery room is sterile and white, smelling faintly of disinfectant. Plankton's heart races as he sits in the chair, his tiny legs dangling over the edge. The large, looming figures of the dentist and the assistant hover around him, their faces obscured by masks and hats. They guide Karen to a small chair by the wall. "We're going to numb the area," the dentist explains in a soothing voice. "But since you're a bit nervous, we can also offer some to help you relax into sleep before so, not to mention teeth haven't even broke the surface of the gums yet." Plankton nods, gripping the arms of the chair. The dentist administers anesthesia. His grip relaxes. "Just breathe," the dentist instructs. "It'll be over before you know it." Plankton's eye grow heavier as the sedative takes hold. "It's time, Mr. Plankton," the dentist's voice echoes fading into the background like whispers in a distant tide. The chair reclines and he surrenders to dreamless sleep, eyelid shutting. Karen watches, clutching the chair's arm rest. She sees the mask of anesthesia descend over Plankton's face, his breaths slowing to a gentle sigh, matching the rhythm of the sea breeze outside. The assistant's gloved hands move with precision, placing a pillow securing him. Plankton's snores, a gentle rumble, give her some comfort, a sign that he's not in pain. The dentist inserts numbing agents into Plankton's gums. While Plankton remains oblivious to the world, Karen's watching. "Everything's going fine," he assures her. "You can hold his hand if you'd like." Plankton's sleeping mouth is a stark contrast to the towering world around him. Karen follows the steady movements of the dentist's hands, the syringe filled with anesthetic seemingly as large as a harpoon in the sea of Plankton's features. The assistant nods in approval, their expression hidden but the confidence in their stance reassuring. The surgical tools glint in the light reflecting the seriousness of the task at hand. Karen can see the reflection of her own tension in the chrome surfaces, but she forces a smile, trying to be brave for Plankton. It's a gentle gesture, a silent promise that she's there, that she's watching over him. The extraction begins. Karen flinches but Plankton doesn't stir. The dentist's movements are swift and precise, each action deliberate. Karen tries watching her husband's chest rise and fall with the steady rhythm of sleep. The assistant wipes some drool from Plankton's chin with a gentle cloth and Karen suppresses a smile, despite the bleeding. Her little Plankton, so fierce and cunning in his usual world, now so vulnerable. The assistant occasionally looks over to her, offering a reassuring nod as if to say, "Don't worry, he's doing great." The room falls into a quiet rhythm: the steady pulse of the ocean outside, the occasional murmur from the staff, and the soft hiss of the suction tool removing excess saliva. Plankton's snores become more peaceful, his body relaxing as the surgery progresses. Karen watches the blood ooze from the small sockets where the teeth used to be. The assistant quickly places gauze, pressing it down with firm yet gentle fingers, and the bleeding slows. The dentist nods, a job well done, and begins to stitch the wounds with a finesse that belies his size. The dentist starts to stitch up Plankton's gums, the needle moving in and out. The dentist steps back, wiping his hands clean. "Everything went perfectly," he says. "We're just going to keep him asleep for a little while longer, let him rest." Karen nods. The assistant starts to cleanup. Karen's glued to the gauze in Plankton's mouth, now soaked a deep red. She watches as the crimson stain spreads through the fabric, the evidence of his pain and endurance. The room feels hot, the pressure of her concern thickening the water around them. The dentist's assistant notices her distress and offers a kind smile. "He'll be ok," she whispers. Ignoring the instructions to remain silent, Karen leans in closer, reaching out to caress Plankton's cheek. "You're doing great, honey," she whispers, though she knows he can't hear. "You're so brave." She whispers to him again, her voice a soothing melody that fills the otherwise sterile space. "You're going to wake up soon, and it will all be over," Karen tells. The room seems to hold its breath. Karen can feel the gentle tug of Plankton's hand in hers, a silent response to her comforting words. She watches the slow rise and fall of his chest. "You won't remember this, Plankton," she whispers, "but I will. I'll remember how brave you are, even when you don't know it. You know how you always say size doesn't matter?" she says. "Well, I'm here to tell you that even when you're asleep and can't hear, you're still the biggest in my heart. You've got this, Plankton," she whispers. "You're going to wake up, and it'll all be over. And when you do, we'll go back to the Chum Bucket, and you can tell me all about your latest scheme. And I'll smile, and laugh, and pretend to be surprised, just like I always do." The dentist checks Plankton's vital signs and nods to the nurse, who starts to prepare him for waking. "The sedative will wear off soon," Karen tells him, voice low and soothing. "But for now, just rest, my love." She squeezes his hand gently. The assistant nods in agreement and begins to prepare the room for Plankton's recovery. Karen's watching as the sedatives keep him blissfully unaware of the world around him, his mouth slightly open and drooling in to the gauze and down his chin. The sight is both heartbreaking and comforting, a strange mix of vulnerability and strength. She finds herself lost in the rhythm of his breaths, the only sign of life in the otherwise quiet surgery room. The gauze in Plankton's mouth is only a hint of pink. The nurse enters with a gentle smile. "We're going to start bringing him around now," she says. Plankton's snores become less deep. "You did so well, Plankton," Karen says, stroking his forehead. "You're almost done." As the anesthesia begins to wear off, Plankton's eye flicker open but unfocused, lost in a world between sleep and wakefulness. "Hey Plankton," Karen says, her voice a warm embrace. "You're all done. You were so brave." "Mmf," he murmurs. "Whath's 'ppening?" The dentist chuckles lightly. "Just anesthetics wearing off, Mr. Plankton. Your mouth might be a bit numb." Plankton's eye widen, and he tries to speak again, but all that comes out is a series of unintelligible sounds. "Mmph...whath...whath's?" he stammers, voice muffled by the gauze. Karen laughs gently. "Your numb, sweetie," she explains with care. "You're slurring your words a bit." Plankton tries to speak again, his voice still a garbled mess. "Bh-but...my...my...moth," he mumbles. "You're just a bit sleepy," Karen giggles, reaching to gently wipe the drool from his chin. The sight of her husband, normally so sharp and scheming, now reduced to a blubbering mess.