𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 25
Once home, Plankton
collapses onto his
bed, unsure of how
to process the day's
events. His mind
spins with the
professor's cruel words
and Krabs' unexpected
defense. He'd never
felt so... seen. So
understood, even by
his sworn enemy.
So conflicted?
Tears stream down
his face as he clutches
his favorite pillow.
Karen finds him
later, her eyes
softening at his
distress. "What's
wrong?" she asks,
sitting on the edge
of the bed.
Plankton takes a
deep, shaky breath.
"Krabs," he says, his
voice barely a whisper.
"He... he was nice to
me.." Karen nods, her
hand reaching out to
his. "Okay," she says.
"It'll be fine." Plankton's
eye widens slightly.
"Wait, what?" Plankton
asks her. "What do you
mean? It's not like he
knows I'm autis–"
But Karen cuts him
off, her voice firm. "I
told him," she says. "I
thought it was time
he knew." Plankton's
body goes still, his
heart racing. "What?"
he repeats, his mind
racing. Karen nods.
"During Dr. Marla's visit
he came in and saw
you having a seizure
so I explained how
your birth was tough
and it affected yo-"
Plankton pulls away, his
body tense. "You told
Krabs?" he says, his voice
shaking. "Why would
you do that?" Karen's
expression is calm, but
her eyes are filled with
sorrow. "Because," she
says, "he's seen it and
asked me wh-"
But Plankton can't hear
her anymore, his mind
reeling. He sat up in his
bed. "Get out," he whispers.
"I-I can't... I can't have you
in here right now."
Karen's eyes widened,
her hand hovering in
midair. "Wh-"
But Plankton's voice is
firm. "I need to be alone."
Karen nods, her eyes
brimming with tears.
"Okay," she says softly.
"But if you need me-"
Plankton turns away,
his antennae drooping.
"I just... need space." Karen
nods, her heart aching. "I
don't want you upset with
me, Plank-"
He cuts her off, his
voice shaky. "It's not
you," he says. "It's just...
a lot. I'm disappointed
that you told him, but I
understand why. I just
need to be by myself."
Karen's throat tightens,
but she nods. "Okay," she
whispers, standing with
her palms open. "Can I---"
But Plankton's antennae
wave frantically. "No, please.
Just go." His voice is
desperate, his eye pleading.
Karen's heart breaks into
a million pieces, but she
nods, stepping back. "If
you need anything," she
says, "anything at all---"
But Plankton is
not in the mood.
"I SAID to leave
me ALONE!"
Karen's eyes widen
at his outburst, his
voice sharp, a stark
contrast to the softness
that usually laces his
words when with her.
But she knew that he's
not angry at her, but
his own situation. She
nods, her throat thick
with unshed tears. "Ok,"
she says, her voice
small. "I'll be out here
if you need me." She closes
the bedroom door.
Plankton's sobs fill
the room, his body
shaking with the
force of his emotion.
He's never felt so
alone, so exposed. He
pulls his knees to his
chest, his pillow damp
with his tears. And it
makes Karen's heart ache
even more, knowing she's
the one who told Krabs.
Karen sits outside
the door, hand hovering
over the wood,
wanting to go in,
wanting to comfort him,
but she knows he needs
space. She's seen this
before, the way the world
can overwhelm him,
crushing him under its
weight until all he
can do is withdraw into
his own little bubble.
Inside, Plankton talks
to himself, his words
tumbling out in a rush,
his voice a mix of anger
and sadness. "Why did
you tell him?" he whimpers,
his antennae quivering.
"Why did you tell him?"
He stims, his hands
flapping in front of
his face, his eye squeezed
shut. "It's not your
fault," he murmurs. "It's not
your fault." The words
are a mantra, a desperate
attempt to convince
his racing mind. He
knows Karen meant well,
but the knowledge feels
like a betrayal. "It's not your
fault," he repeats, voice
growing soft, eye squeezed shut.
"I can't help it." His voice
cracks. "It's not my fault,"
he repeats, antennae twitching. "I
just see things differently."
He rocks back and forth.
"But Krabs... Krabs
was nice," he whispers, his
voice filled with wonder. "Why?"
he asks his reflection in
the mirror. "Why
now?" His eye is
wet, his voice shaky. "Why
now?" He whimpers it again,
his stims increasing.
Outside, Karen
can't help but listen,
her heart in her throat.
Her hand is poised to
enter, but she knows
better. Plankton needs
this moment alone, to
process the tumultuous
storm of emotions. She
closes her eyes, her
hand dropping to her
side.
Inside, Plankton's
stims grow more intense,
his breaths shallow. "It's
not your fault," he whispers.
"Krabs is just... confused."
He flaps his hands, his body
rocking faster. "Why did
you tell him?" His voice
is a mix of anger and
desperation. "Why did
you have to tell him?" His
stims are a comfort, a
way to self-regulate, to
make sense of the chaos
that's overwhelmed him.
He opens his eye,
his gaze unfocused as he
stares at the wall. "But
he was nice," he murmurs.
"He said I'm not a mistake."
He pauses, his hand
stilling. "Maybe he sees me
now, maybe it's just pity,"
he says, his voice harsh.
He resumes his stims, his
thoughts racing.
His antennae twitch,
his mind trying to
process the kindness
from his enemy. "But
why?" he whispers. "Why
now?" His body rocks
back and forth, his hand
flapping in rhythm. "It's not
your fault," he repeats.
"It's not your fault."
He grabs a favorite
sensory toy, a soft, squishy
ball, and squeezes it
tightly as he rocks. The
pressure is comforting,
helping him to think. "He
was always mean," he
mumbles, his voice a
whisper in the quiet
room. "But today... today
he saw me," he says
loudly, his voice cracking.
"He saw me."
He throws the ball
against the wall, watching
as it bounces back.
"But why?" he asks
his reflection again. "Why
now?" The ball hits
the floor with a soft
thud, and he sighs, his
hands stilling. "It's not
your fault," he whispers.
"But he knows now." His
eye blinks rapidly, trying
to focus on the wall. "He
knows and he still...
he still talked to me.
Maybe he's just confused,"
he says to himself. "Or
maybe he just felt sorry
for me." His voice is
flat, his movements
mechanical. "But why
now?" he asks the wall.
He leans back, his hand
still clutching the pillow.
"But he knows," he whispers.
"He knows now." His antennae
twitch, his mind racing.
"What does it mean?
What does it mean?" he
repeats, his voice a little
louder. "What does it mean
for me?" More tears roll down his
face. "But he saw me at my
weakest." His body
shakes with sobs. "He saw
me at my lowest," he whimpers.
"And he didn't laugh. He
was... nice." His voice
cracks on the last word,
his fist tightening around
his pillow. "Why?" he cries out.
"Why now?"
The room is silent
except for his ragged
breaths and the quiet
thump of his pillow
against the bed frame.
"It's not your fault," he
reminds himself, his
voice a mere whisper.
"It's not your fault," he repeats,
his body stilling slightly.
He takes a deep, shuddering
breath, his antennae drooping.
"But why now?" he asks
his reflection, his voice
cracking. "Why did it take
this for him to see me?"
He squeezes his eye shut,
trying to keep the tears
at bay. "Why now?"
his voice is barely audible.
He's lost in his own
thoughts. "It's not your fault!
But what if it is? No," he
says. "I'm not."