Ableisms Emojis & Text

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 8 Chip took another step back, his own emotions a tangled mess. Guilt, fear, and confusion battled within him as he watched his dad's pain. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make yo--" "I SAID STOP!" Plankton's voice was like a whip crack, slicing through the air with frustration. Chip flinched, the force of his dad's anger palpable. "Dad," he began, his voice shaking, "I just-" "JUST?" Plankton spat, his eye blazing. "You just don't get it, do you?" His words were sharp as knives, each one cutting deeper into the silence. "You think you can just... touch me, hug me, and it'll all be fine?" He sneered, his body trembling with the effort to control his emotions. "Well, it's not that simple, is it?" Chip's cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "I didn't know it was such a big de-" "Don't tell me what I know, boy!" Plankton snapped. His voice was a whipcrack of sarcasm, each word a stinging rebuke. "I've been doing this dance my whole life, and now you think you can make me your little science project?" Chip's eyes filled with hurt, his hand dropping to his side. "That's not what I'm doing," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I just want to he--" "Want to help?" Plankton interrupted, his tone dripping with bitterness. "You think I need your help? Your pity?" His antennae twitched with anger. "I've managed just fine without you!" His voice was a storm, his words thunderous in the silence of the room. "So don't you dare act like you get to be part of this now!" Now Chip felt his own emotions flare up. "What the barnacles is your problem?" Chip snapped, his frustration boiling over. "You're always so... so sensitive. Can't I just show you that I love you without you throwing a fit? Don't you know that you're just being ridiculously over- dramatic? I can't have a father who's so autistic and so..." He trailed off, his eyes searching for the right word, and then it hit him; the slur is a term he'd heard use to describe someone acting unsmart, not knowing the impact it would have. The moment the insult left his lips, the room went cold. Karen gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Plankton's body went rigid, his antennae shooting straight up as if electrified. Chip felt a sinking feeling in his gut, like he'd just swallowed an anchor. He knew he'd crossed a line, but he didn't know where it was or how to get back. "Dad, I didn't mean-" "GET OUT!" Plankton roared. Chip had never seen his dad like this, his eye blazing with fury and hurt. He stumbled backwards, his heart racing as he tried to make sense of the horror on his dad's face. "I didn't know," he murmured, his voice small and lost. Karen's eyes were wide, her cheeks wet with tears. She'd heard the word, the one that cut deeper than any knife. The one that reduced her Plankton to a joke, a problem to be solved. "That's enough," she said, her voice firm but trembling. "You've hurt him enough, Chip." Chip's eyes were filled with shock, his mind reeling from his dad's reaction. He didn't mean to say it, didn't even know it was bad. "But I just..." He couldn't find the words. "I didn't know it was... I just wanted to tell him..." Karen's voice was firm, but underneath, Chip heard the sorrow. "Your dad's autism isn't something to be fixed," she said, wiping at her own tears. "It's part of who he is. And calling him that... it's like telling him that part of him isn't good enough." Plankton was still in his corner, his body taut with tension. Chip felt the weight of his mother's words, the gravity of his mistake. He'd hurt his dad, the one person he never wanted to cause pain. "I didn't mean it like that," he whispered. But Plankton was beyond words, his body trembling with rage. He'd been called that name before, by those who didn't understand, who didn't care. His antennae quivered with the effort to hold back the storm of emotions threatening to unleash. Karen stepped between them, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "Out," she said firmly, her voice a whip of authority. "Now." Chip didn't argue. He knew he'd done wrong, and he knew his place wasn't here right now. He turned and left the room, his heart heavy with regret. As the door clicked shut, the tension in the room didn't disappear. It grew thicker, like a fog that clung to their skin, suffocating them both. Karen sat next to Plankton, her hand hovering near his shoulder but not making contact. She knew better than to push, to force him to face his pain. Instead, she offered silent support, her presence a beacon of love in the storm. Plankton's body was a tight coil of anger and hurt as he rocked back and forth. "Plankton," Karen said softly, her hand still hovering. "I know we're upset, but Chip's just trying to understand. He didn't mean to be ableist." Her words were met with silence; she didn't push. The room felt like it was spinning around him, the words echoing in his head. He knew his son hadn't meant to wound him, but the sting was there all the same. "Why can't he just leave me alone?" Plankton whispered, his voice small and defeated. "Why does he have to make everything about him?" Karen's eyes filled with understanding. "It's not about him, Plankton," she said gently. "It's about love and connection. He just doesn't know how to give it in a way that doesn't overwhelm you." Her hand touched his shoulder lightly, and he flinched. She withdrew it immediately, her heart aching. "I know, I know," he murmured, his voice tight. "But it hurts." Karen nodded, her own eyes brimming with tears. "I know it does," she said. "And I'm so sorry." Plankton leaned into her, his body still shaking. "Why can't he just get it?" he whispered, his antennae drooping. "Why does he have to make everything so hard?" Karen wrapped her arm around his shoulders, holding him close. "Because he loves you, Plankton. And he's scared of losing you." Plankton's body stiffened at her words. He knew she was right. Chip had always been like that, so eager to please, so desperate for attention. And Plankton had always been there for him, his rock in a stormy sea. But now, the tables had turned, and he didn't know how to navigate these uncharted waters of vulnerability. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae drooping. "I know," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I know he loves me." Karen's grip tightened around his shoulders. "Then we need to find a way to help him understand," she said, her voice a soft caress. "We need to show him that love doesn't have to be loud or overwhelming." They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the steady rhythm of their breathing. Plankton's body began to relax, his tremors subsiding. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I just... I don't know how to do this." Karen leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "We'll do it together," she said. "One step at a time." Chip stood outside the door, his fist pressed against the wood. He could hear their muffled voices, the low tones of their conversation. He felt like a stranger in his own home, unsure of how to navigate the sudden shift in his relationship with his dad. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had gone wrong, how he'd missed the cues. He knew he'd hurt his dad, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than just a misunderstanding. He didn't realize how the ableist slur he'd used had pierced Plankton's armor. He leaned his head against the door, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps. The weight of his ignorance was like an anchor, dragging him down. He'd always thought of his dad as... well, his dad. Strong, capable, a little quirky. But now, he saw the cracks in that facade, the raw vulnerability beneath the surface. He knew he had to apologize, but the fear of making it worse held him back.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 9 "Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative, a question in the silence. He didn't know if Plankton could hear him, if he was ready to listen. But he had to try. Plankton didn't move, but his breathing had evened out, his antennae no longer quivering with anger. Karen gave Chip a small nod, a silent message to tread carefully. He took a step into the room, his eyes never leaving his father's hunched form. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "I didn't know... I didn't mean to..." The words trailed off, his throat thick with unshed tears. He didn't know what to say, but he knew he had to try. Plankton's body remained motionless, his antennae drooping. Karen watched them, her heart in her throat. "Dad, I didn't mean it," Chip whispered, his voice trembling. "I didn't know." Plankton's shoulders tensed, the anger still a living force within him. Karen watched the scene unfold, her heart in her throat. She knew this was a moment that could change everything, a chance for growth or a chasm that widened their divide. Plankton's silence was a walls, a barrier that seemed impenetrable. His antennae twitched, a silent language that spoke volumes of his pain. Chip felt the weight of his dad's disgust, like a lead balloon in his stomach. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do better." He stepped closer, his hand outstretched. But Plankton didn't move, his body a statue of anger and hurt. His antennae remained rigid, his eye unblinking. "I don't want your pity," he spat out, the words a slap in the face. "I don't want you to 'do better'. I want you to go away." Chip's hand fell to his side, his eyes wide with shock. The silence was a living entity in the room, a beast that fed on their pain. Karen could almost see the barrier between them grow taller, thicker, more impenetrable. "Dad," Chip whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry for saying you're so... so... autistic and slow. I didn't mean it like that." The apology hung in the air, a desperate plea for understanding. But Plankton remained motionless, his antennae still drooping with the weight of his hurt. "It's not enough," he said, his voice hollow. "Words don't change what you think of me." Chip felt a stab of guilt, knowing his dad was right. He'd used his autism as a weapon, not knowing the depth of the cuts it could make. "What do you want me to do?" Chip's voice was desperate, his hands reaching out in a silent plea for forgiveness. "I ca--" Plankton's head snapped up, his eye blazing. "You want to know what I want?" His voice was a whisper, but it felt like a shout. "I want you to see me," he said, his antennae trembling. "Not my autism, not my stims, not some problem to be solved. Me! Now get out!" The words were a knife to Chip's heart, but he knew his dad was right. He'd reduced his entire being to a slur, a label. Chip took a step back, his heart racing. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice tight with unshed tears. "I didn't mean it." But the damage was done. The room felt like it was closing in around him, the air thick with the scent of his own shame. Plankton's antennae twitched, his body a rigid line of anger. "You think you can just apologize and make it better?" he spat, his voice a whipcrack of pain. "You think it's that easy?" Chip's eyes searched his dad's, desperate for a spark of forgiveness. But all he saw was hurt, a deep wound that he'd unintentionally inflicted. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, his voice shaking. "I just want to be there for yo-" "No," Plankton interrupted, his voice like a shattered mirror. "You don't want to be here for me." He couldn't even bring himself to say the slur, the pain too raw, too fresh. Chip felt his throat constrict. "Dad," Chip's voice was small, his eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that was such a... a big deal." He didn't know what else to say, his mind racing to find the words that could mend the gaping wound his ignorance had created. But now Karen's feeling her own anger rising, fury at Chip's ignorance. "Chip, the only thing that's autistic and mentally reworded here is your understanding!" she snapped, the words slipping out before she could catch them. The moment they're in the air, she freezes, realizing what she's just said, the same slur a stinging slap that echoed in the tense air. She regretted them immediately, seeing the hurt flash across Plankton's face. Plankton's antennae drooped even further, the weight of his wife's words adding to his own pain. "K-Karen," he murmured, his voice thick with sadness and shock. Karen's face crumpled with regret. "Plankton, I didn't mean--" But Plankton was already backing away from her. Karen felt the sting of her own words, the cruel cut of her frustration. She reached out for Plankton, but he was already retreating, his eye filled with a mix of hurt and betrayal. "Plankton," she whispered, her hand hovering in the space between them. He flinched, his antennae quivering. The room grew smaller, their love shrinking under the weight of their mistakes. Plankton's eye searched hers, looking for something she couldn't give: absolution. "I'm s-sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean it-t." But the damage was done, a fresh wound to add to his collection of scars. Karen watched as Plankton's body retreated. She knew that look, the one that said he was shutting down, retreating into his own mind. "Plankton, please," she begged, her hand still outstretched. "Let me he-" But Plankton was already gone, his body a statue of sadness and fear. The room felt like it was closing in on him. He could barely breathe, his heart racing like a caged animal's. Karen's touch, once a source of comfort, now felt like a threat, a promise of more pain. "Plankton," she whispered. But he was beyond gentle whispers. His antennae twitched, his body braced. He couldn't look at her, couldn't bear the accidental harm. He felt the room spinning, his thoughts of anger, fear, and confusion. Her hand hovered near him, but it might as well have been a mile away. The love and comfort he'd always found in her touch now seemed like a looming specter, threatening him. Karen watched him, her own eyes tearing up with regret and sadness. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered, the words a futile offering to the storm. But Plankton couldn't hear them, not when all of his own emotions drowned out everything else. He felt the floor beneath him, the solidity of the world around him. But it wasn't enough. He needed to retreat, to find a space where he could breathe. He stumbled back into the corner. Karen's hand hovered near him, a silent apology. But he couldn't look at her, not yet. The sight of his wife, the woman who knew him better than anyone else, the one who should have understood, was too much. Her touch, once a balm for his soul, was now a potential minefield of pain. He felt her eyes on him, a silent plea for forgiveness. But he was to scared to give it.

Here are some idioms that use the word "chip": Chip on your shoulder An informal expression that means someone feels inferior or believes they've been treated unfairly. For example, "You will never make friends if you go around with a chip on your shoulder". Chip off the old block A person who resembles one parent in appearance or behavior. For example, "His son is just a chip off the old block". Chip in To contribute money, time, or advice to a cause or fund. For example, "Every member of the team chipped in to help pay for the coach's surgery". Cash in your chips To sell something, such as investments, to raise money. It can also be used as slang to mean to die. Bargaining chip Something that can be used to gain an advantage when trying to make a deal or an agreement. For example, "The workers used the threat of a strike as a bargaining chip in their negotiations". Blue chip A term that comes from poker, where chips used in gambling have different colors to represent different dollar amounts. A blue chip is typically the one with the highest value. call in (one's) chipscall in your chipscash (one's) chips incash incash in (one's) chipscash in chipscash in one's chipscash in your chipscheap as chipschipchip (away) at (something)chip and dipchip atchip awaychip buttychip inchip in for (something)chip in on (something)chip in with (something)chip in with (something) for (something)chip offchip off the old blockchip off the old block, achip on one's shoulderchip on one's shoulder, to have achip on shoulderchip shotchip upchipschips and dipchips are down, thechips with everythingcow chipcow chipsget a chip on (one's) shoulderhand in (one's) chipshas had its chipshave a chip on (one's) shoulderhave a chip on your shoulderhave had (one's) chipshave had your chipsin the chipsin the moneylet the chips fall (where they may)let the chips fall where they maymint chocolate chippass in (one's) chipspiss on (someone's) chipsput a chip on (one's) shoulderput all (of) (one's) chips on the tablespit chipsthe chips are downwhen the chips are down "All that and a bag of chips"---this phrase is usually a slam against someone who is conceited or arrogant. Perhaps the phrase originates in the concept of completeness; a meal complete with a "bag of chips".Aug 11, 2014

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TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 1 Chip, adopted at birth by Karen and Plankton, came home from summer camp an hour early since the traffic was better than originally expected. The house was unusually quiet, his parent's bedroom door ajar. He overheard Karen talking to Plankton in a hushed tone. "It's ok, sweetie. You're going to be ok." Chip decides to eavesdrop on them. He saw Plankton sitting in bed, his body still, eye unblinking. Karen was stroking his hand, looking to calm. Chip tiptoed closer to the door. Karen's voice grew clearer. "It's ok, just a little longer, and you'll be back with me." Plankton's hand twitched slightly under hers. Chip swallowed hard. It wasn't his imagination; something was off. Curiosity gnawed at him as he listened, his heart thumping louder than the ticking clock. Plankton's face remained frozen, his eye vacant. Chip had never seen him like this before. Was he sick? In pain? Chip felt his own body tense up as he strained to make sense of the scene. "Remember," Karen whispered, "it's like daydreaming, but your body is here with me." Chip leaned in closer, trying to make out the words. "It's ok," she repeated, her voice soothing. "I'm here. You're safe." Plankton's hand moved again, slightly, as if to squeeze hers back. It dawned on Chip that this was like a regular event for them behind closed doors. The mystery grew heavier in the air. Chip had heard of people fainting, getting dizzy, or even having seizures before, but never anything so... quiet. His mind raced with questions, each more confusing than the last. What was happening to Dad? Why hadn't his parents ever mentioned this? He watched, unnoticed, as Plankton's chest rose and fell evenly, but he was utterly unresponsive. Chip's curiosity turned to concern. He knew he should probably leave, but his feet were rooted to the floor. The room was dimly lit, the curtains closed to keep the afternoon sun from piercing through, as Plankton finally starts to stir. His eye blinks slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, and his hand grips Karen's firmly despite his grogginess. "Welcome back," Karen says with relief, her voice no longer a whisper. She kisses his forehead gently. Chip's eyes widened. He'd never seen his dad come out of such a strange state before. It was eerie, yet somehow comforting to see his mom's tender care. He felt like an intruder, but his worry for his dad overpowered his guilt. Plankton's voice was weak when he finally spoke. "Was it... I had another one didn't I.." Karen nodded solemnly, her grip on his hand tightening. "It's okay. You're okay now. I still think we should tell Chip abou–" "No," Plankton cut her off, his voice stronger now, but filled with a hint of fear. "Not yet." Chip held his breath, not wanting to alert them to his presence. The room remained silent for a moment, thick with the weight of the unspoken. Chip's heart raced as he tried to piece together the puzzle of his father's condition. He felt a twinge of guilt for not noticing anything amiss before, but the scene was so surreal, so unlike anything he'd ever witnessed. Plankton took a deep breath and shifted in bed, the sheets rustling beneath him. "We can't," he said, his voice gaining strength. "He's no-" "Plankton, your disability is a part of you," Karen interrupted, her tone firm but gentle. "Our son deserves to know, to understand." Chip's stomach clenched. Disability? Was that what this was? He felt a mix of fear and confusion. What kind of disability could cause this? He leaned closer to the crack in the door, his heart thumping like a drum in his chest. Plankton looked up at Karen, his single eye filled with a determination Chip hadn't seen before in such a vulnerable moment. "Karen," he said, his voice steady, "Chip might sta-" "We can't keep it from him forever. He's not a little kid anymore." He leaned in further, his ear pressed to the crack in the door. "Karen," Plankton's voice was insistent, "Chip won't understand. I don't want him to see me like this." Karen sighed, her hand stroking his arm in a comforting manner. "He's growing up." "He's not grown up," Plankton protested, his voice still weak. "What if he decides not to love me anymore?" Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, filled with sorrow and love. "Chip loves you for who you are, not for what you can or cannot do. You know that." The silence grew heavier, but Plankton's expression didn't ease. Chip's mind raced, trying to understand what he was hearing. Disability? How could his dad have a disability? He had always been so active, so strong, so...normal?

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 2 Chip notices his mom getting up, so he hurries to the living room. The floorboards creak as Karen enters, her eyes widening in surprise. "Chip? You're home already!" She tries to sound casual, but her voice wavers. Chip's face flushes, his heart pounding. "Yeah, the bus got here early." He glances away, his eyes unable to meet hers. "How was camp?" Karen asks, trying to keep the conversation normal despite the tension that now filled the room. She knew he might've heard them, but she isn't sure how much. Chip swallows hard, his eyes flitting from the floor to the ceiling. "It was fun," he responds, his voice not quite as cheerful as he'd like it to be. He couldn't shake the image of his dad sitting there, so still. "What was happening in there?" he asks, his curiosity and concern spilling over. Karen's face falls, and she sighs, sitting down beside him on the sofa. "It's something we've been trying to keep from you, sweetie," she says, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and regret. "But I think it's time you knew." With a gentle nudge, she stands and takes his hand. "Come with me to our room," she says, leading the way. Chip follows, his heart thumping in his chest. Plankton sits up in bed, his expression a mix of shock and confusion as he sees Chip. "Dad, what's going on?" Chip's voice is steady, but his eyes are wide with concern. Plankton's cheeks redden, his hands fidgeting with the bed covers. "Chip," Karen starts, her voice careful, "you know how sometimes people are just... different?" Plankton stammers, his eye darting between Chip and Karen. "It's, uh, it's nothing," he says, his voice strained. "I just had a little... quirk. That's all." But Chip can see the lie in his eye, the way his shoulders tense up like he's trying to shrink away from the truth. Karen sits down next to him, her hands folded in her lap. "Plankton, Chip heard us. It's better if we tell him ourselves." Plankton's face twists in a silent plea, but she continues, her voice calm yet firm. "It's time, sweetie." The room seems to shrink around them as Plankton's eye widens, his body stiffening in the bed. He's been hiding his autism for years, fearful of how Chip might react, of the misunderstanding he might face. "Chip," Karen starts, "your dad has something called autism." The words hang in the air, thick like smoke from a forgotten candle. Chip frowns, trying to grasp the concept. Autism? He's heard of it before, but never connected it to his dad. Plankton's face is a swirl of emotions - fear, guilt, and a desperate hope that Chip will still respect him. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We'll get through this together." She looks at Chip, waiting for his reaction. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his cheeks flaming red. He's flabbergasted, his mind whirling with fear and regret. This was the moment he'd been dreading, the moment he'd tried to avoid for so long. Plankton starts to rock side to side. This is his stimming, a behavior common among autistic individuals that helps them cope with overwhelming sensory input or emotions. Chip watches, his confusion deepening. "Don't stare, Chip!" Plankton snaps. "But what's that, Dad?" Chip points to the rocking, his voice tentative. "Is everything okay?" Plankton freezes mid-motion, looking angrily at Chip. "Dad, why are yo--" "It's none of your business, okay?" Plankton snaps, his voice harsher than Chip's ever heard. Karen steps in, placing a hand on Plankton's arm to calm him. "Chip, it's okay," she says soothingly. "Your dad's just trying to deal with things in his own way." But Chip can't ignore the anger in his dad's voice. It's a stark contrast to the dad he's always known, the man who would laugh at his jokes. "Mmm," Plankton hums. Another stim of his. "What's 'mmm' Dad?" Chip asks. "Is 'mmm' becau-" "Don't mock me!" Plankton's voice cuts through the air, his anger palpable. Chip's eyes widen, his heart dropping. He's never seen his dad like this. Karen intervenes, turning to Chip. "When your dad makes that sound, it's called 'stimming'," she explains gently. "It's a way his brain helps him process information and feelings. It's like a self-soothing technique. It's part of who he is, and it's something he doesn't always realize he's doing. He doesn't like for people to point it out because it makes him feel... different." Chip nods slowly, trying to understand. "But I..." Karen cuts him off gently. "It's important to respect your dad's boundaries, especially when it comes to his autism." She looks at Plankton, his rocking slowing down. "It's a part of him that helps him cope, not to judge or interrupt. Because when it comes to stimming, it's a personal and private moment for him. I don't even interrupt him when he's doing it, unless it's absolutely necessary." Chip nods, but he's still curious. "When do you know how he stims, then?" he asks his mom. She smiles gently. "Well, sweetie, it's all about knowing your dad," she says. "I've learned his cues over the years. When he starts rocking or making muttering sound, it's like his way of telling he needs a little space to sort things out. It's his private moment to cope." Chip nods, processing this new piece of information. "Does he always know when he's doing it?" Karen sighs, her gaze softening as she looks at Plankton. "Sometimes yes, sometimes no. It's like... it's like his brain is in a different place, and he needs these movements or sounds to bring him back to us." Chip nods, watching his dad's rocking slow to a stop. He looks back at Karen, his eyes full of questions. "But when he stims what do we do?" Karen's gaze meets Plankton's, and she smiles reassuringly at him. "Just give him space," she says, turning to Chip. "And if you're worried, just come find me. We'll talk about it, okay? Just don't push him when he's like this, because it can be really overwhelming for him." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad's face. He's trying to understand, trying to reconcile the image of his dad rocking back and forth in bed with the man he's always known. He's seen his dad as invincible, as a rock. And now, here he is, vulnerable.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 3 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, his tongue thick. He tries to form words. "Ma...ma..." he whispers, his voice a slur. Karen's eyes light up at the sound. "You're ok," she says, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You had your teeth out. You might feel funny for a little while." He looks at Karen, his eye searching hers. "Wh...wh...whath?" he stammers, his speech jumbled. Karen leans closer, her smile reassuring. "Your wisdom teeth, Plankton. They took them out so you won't have any trouble with them later." But the words don't make sense to him, his brain still fuzzy from the anesthesia. He tries to speak again. "Wi...wis...wis..." he stammers. Karen nods. "Wisdom teeth," Karen repeats slowly. "They're out now. You're all done!" The words swirl in Plankton's head, not quite making sense. He feels his mouth, the cottony feeling replaced by the pressure of gauze. He giggles. "My moufs fweel funmy," he says, his words slurred. Karen laughs softly. "It's because of the surgery, sweetie. Your mouth is healing." She coos. "I fink I sownd funny," he says, his eye glinting with mirth. The nurse returns, checking his vitals. "How are you feeling?" she asks. Plankton looks up, his eye glassy. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs, his speech a mess of sounds and syllables. Karen can't help but laugh, despite the situation. "You're doing great," she says with love for his confused silliness. The nurse chuckles, too. "It's the anesthesia," she explains. "It'll wear off soon." His gaze darts to his own fingers. "Wook at my fingews," he says to Karen, his speech slurred from the anesthesia. Karen nods, smiling. "Oh yeah?" Plankton nods, his cognitive abilities still under the fog. "Yeth," he slurs, trying to sit up. "Take it easy," she says. "You're still woozy." The room feels like it's spinning as Plankton tries to sit up, his brain struggling to keep up with his body's movements. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his gaze unfocused. But Plankton's curiosity wins out. He reaches up to touch a finger to his mouth, feeling the thickness of the gauze. "Fingews," he repeats, his voice still slurred. Karen laughs with affection. "It's ok honey," she says. "You're doing great." Plankton looks around the room, his eye still unfocused. "Wheh...wheah awe we?" he mumbles. The nurse explains patiently, "You're in the recovery room at the dentist's office. You just had your wisdom teeth removed." But the words don't quite register, and he nods slowly, his mind racing with confusion and curiosity with wonder, taking in the world as if seeing it for the first time. The colors, the shapes, the sounds—everything is fresh and new. He looks at his hands as if it's an alien appendage. "Wook ath dis," he says to Karen, his voice a mix of amazement and bewilderment. His fingers spread wide, then close into a fist, then open again. "Wook whath I can do!" Karen swells with love. It's like watching him discover the world anew, like a baby seeing his own hands for the first time. She can't help but smile at his innocent fascination. The nurse nods at Karen. "You can take him home now. Just make sure he rests and takes it easy." Karen nods, her smile never leaving her screen. She helps Plankton up. "Hi," he says, his voice a slurred mumble. As they make their way to the car, Plankton's steps are unsteady, his body still fighting the remnants of the anesthesia. He looks around with wonderment, as if seeing the world in a new light. "Mowah?" he asks, pointing to the sky. Karen laughs gently. "It's the sun, honey. It's ok." Plankton nods, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of his reality. "We're gonna pick up Chip from the park. He's with Hanna.." "Chip...Chip, Chip," he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue. The car ride is a blur of sounds and sensations that Plankton tries to filter out. He leans his head against the cool window, watching the world pass by in a haze. Karen keeps glancing back at him in the rearview mirror, amusement etched on her face. "You ok?" she asks. Plankton nods, his eye heavy. "Tiwed," he murmurs. "Try not to fall asleep," she says. "Because we're almost there." His eye drifts to the passing scenery. Trees whiz by. He counts the telephone poles, his slurred voice mumbling the numbers. "One, two, free, four..." "Almost there," Karen says. Plankton nods, his hand finding the seatbelt buckle, tracing its edges. "Five, sis, seb..." But alas, Plankton's efforts to stay alert are in vain. His lid flutters and his head nods. "Plankton, keep your eye open," Karen says, her voice a gentle reminder. But his body has other plans, succumbing to the sedative's embrace. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen says, a hint of laughter in her tone. She knows he can't help it. His slumber is deep, his snores a soft echo in the car. She watches him in the mirror, his face relaxed in sleep. It's a rare sight. Plankton's normally alert and active demeanor is replaced by a peaceful stillness that fills the car. The surgery was a success, yet the anesthesia has taken its toll. Karen pulls into the parking lot of the park, the sun casting a warm glow. "Wakey, wakey," she sings. Plankton's snores hitch, but his eye stays shut. She opens the car door and the chilly air fills the car, carrying with it the laughter of children playing. "Plankton," she calls, her voice gentle but firm. He stirs, his body protesting the interruption. "Chip?" he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen laughs softly. "Yes, we're here to get Chip. Time to wake up." She reaches over and squeezes his hand. His eye blinks open, the pupil dilating as he takes in his surroundings. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his brain still fighting the anesthesia. Hanna and Chip look up as their car approaches. "What happened?" Chip asks as he gets in the car. Karen starts to answer, but Plankton's slurred interjection stops her. "Dey hook my teefs!" he says, his words a jumble. Chip's eyes widen. "He had his wisdom teeth out," Karen explains. Hanna looks at Plankton, her expression one of concern. "How are you feeling?" she asks. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs. "Buh I dunno." Karen smiles. "So, we went to the dentist," she says, waving bye to Hanna. "They had to take his wisdom teeth out." Chip looks confused. "What does that mean, Mom?" He asks Karen. "Well Chip, your dad had some teeth that were gonna cause problems, so they took them out," Karen starts. "But the medicine they gave him makes him feel funny. It's like when you have a sleepover and wake up groggy." Chip nods. "What medicine?" He continues. Plankton tries to answer, but his speech is still slurred. "Dey gabe me sumpin' to sleep," he mumbles, his eye half-closed. "It's called anesthesia," Karen says, her voice calm and steady. "It's what helps people not feel pain during surgery." Chip nods, watching his dad with a mix of curiosity and concern. "But it makes him a bit loopy," Karen adds as they pull away. "Chip," Plankton starts. "Whath thad?" "It's my hand, Dad," Chip answers, confused. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton persists, his mind still fuzzy. Karen chuckles, seeing his curiosity piqued. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton repeats, his speech still slurred. Chip holds up his hand. "It's just a hand, Dad," he says. Karen laughs. "It's his hand, Plankton. It's ok. You're just a bit loopy." "Wook ath the clows," Plankton says, lazily pointing at the clouds. Karen smiles. "They're just clouds," she says. Plankton giggles, his eye glazed with a childlike wonder. Karen knows this phase won't last, but she cherishes it.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⠶⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣧⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⠿⣶⣿⡇⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⠷⠶⣶⣤⣤⣀⣀⡹⣷⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠿⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⡉⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠶⢦⣄⣠⣤⡤⠴⠶⠟⠋⠁⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡏⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠞⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠲⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣼⡇⠀⢿⣶⣄⣤⣴⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢟⣭⣶⣶⣽⣿⣄⠈⢿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡷⠦⣿⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠈⠛⠶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡇⠀⠀⢻⣍⡛⠛⣹⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢦⣤⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠚⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⠀⠻⠿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⢉⣾⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠞⠛⢁⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠻⢿⣍⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠈⠻⠶⠦⠤⠶⠾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠾⠉⠙⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⣰⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⡴⠶⠚⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣈⠉⣻⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣽⠛⠉⠉⠉⢉⣧⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣩⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⢠⡟⢀⡞⠛⠋⠉⣏⢣⡀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⠀⠀⢀⡿⠁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⣿⢀⡿⠁⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⢧⡆⠹⢄⢸⡆⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⢺⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣤⣤⠶⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⢹⡟⠁⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻⠀⡸⠃⢻⣤⣾⠋⠁⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠈⠁⠀⠘⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣀⠙⠻⠿⢿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠻⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⢷⣶⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡴⠟⢻⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻⠛⠻⠿⠿⠛⣿⠏⠉⠉⢡⣿⠿⣿⡗⠲⠶⠶⠶⢲⣶⠿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣧⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⣿⣀⣠⣴⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠛⠟⠛⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 23 Plankton sits stiffly on the couch, antennae twitching as he tries to make sense of the new environment. Karen sits by him with Chip as Hanna herself sits in front of the couch by them. "So," Hanna says, her voice high-pitched. "What should we do first?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting to Karen again. She squeezes his hand gently. "Why don't we take a look at the guest room?" Karen suggests, her voice calm. "Where we'll sleep and put all our stuff.." Hanna nods eagerly. "Follow me!" She leads them down a hallway, the floorboards creaking underfoot. Plankton's heart races. New places meant new sounds, new smells, new everything. He feels his body tense, his stims wanting to take over. But he holds back. The guest room is a riot of color, the walls adorned with various knick-knacks that Hanna has collected over the years. Plankton's eye widens at the visual stimulation, and his antennae twitch rapidly. He knows he needs to find a way to cope. "Well, that's is your shared room," Hanna says cheerfully. "I hope you like it!" Plankton nods, his eye taking in the whirlwind of color and patterns. It's a lot to process. "It's...vibrant," he says, his voice tight. Hanna cackles at Plankton's comment, her laughter too loud. "Oh, I just LOVE color!" she says, not noticing his discomfort. Plankton's antennae quiver, his hand clenching into a fist. He takes a deep breath, willing his stims away. He doesn't want to ruin the moment, doesn't want Hanna to notice. But his senses are on overload, his mind racing. "Thank you," Karen says with a forced smile, stepping forward to set down their bags. She can feel the tension radiating from her husband. Hanna sits, her smile not dimming. "Oh, I just know we're going to have so much fun together," she gushes. "AND I've got a whole drawer full of board games for us to play!" Plankton nods, his smile slightly strained, wondering how much longer he can keep up the façade. Hanna's chatter fills the room. "I've got special movies for us tonight! And I've got everything from classics to the LATEST SCI-FI!" Plankton nods politely, his antennae quivering. He's trying to keep up with the rapid-fire conversation. "Uh, sure." He responds. Hanna's eyes light up at his interest in science fiction. "Oh, I KNOW you're going to love them," she says. His antennae twitch with the effort to keep up with the conversation, his eye glazed over with overstimulation. But Hanna doesn't notice. She pinches his shoulder, her laughter bubbly. "You're just SO sweet!" Plankton flinches at the contact, his body wanting to retreat. He swallows hard, trying to find the words to express his discomfort without offending Hanna. But she's already chatting on, her energy unstoppable. Her hand lands on his knee, giving it a squeeze. "Oh, I'm just so thrilled to have you here," she says. But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, his vision starting to waver as his body fights the onset of an absence seizure. The room spins around him, and his heart races. He knows the signs all too well, the sudden disconnection from the world as his brain goes into overdrive. Karen's eyes dart to Plankton's face, reading the signs. She knows what's happening. "Why don't we give them a few minutes to settle in?" Karen suggests, interrupting Hanna's enthusiastic chatter. "They've got to be tired from the trip." Hanna nods, her smile slightly puzzled but understanding. "Oh, of course!" she says, backing out of the room. The door closes with a click, leaving the three of them. Plankton's antennae twitch faster, his eye unfocused. He feels the world slipping away. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his hand tentatively reaching out. Plankton's breathing quickens, his heart pounding in his chest. Karen's voice is calm, a beacon in the storm. "Plankton, remember your stims," she says gently. "Find something to help you ground." Plankton's gaze flickers, his antennae moving erratically. He searches for his sensory bag, his eye landing on it by the foot of the bed. Karen notices, her hand quickly grabbing the bag. "Here," she says, her voice calm and steady. "Use your noise-canceling blindfold." Plankton takes it, his hands shaking as he tries to put it over his eye. The darkness is immediate, his other senses intensifying. He can feel the fabric against his skin, his heartbeat in his chest. He breathes in deeply, his chest rising and falling as he fights against the seizure. Chip watches, his heart racing. He's seen this before, but it never gets easy. He wants to help, but his mom's words echo in his mind. 'Let him be'. So, he sits. Karen's hand finds its way to Plankton's, her grip firm and reassuring. "You're okay, sweetie," she says softly. "We're here for you." Plankton nods, his breaths shallow, his antennae twitching. The pressure of Hanna's touch and the sensory overload of the new environment had been too much. He'd felt the seizure coming, the world closing in on him. Yet Karen's voice, her touch, it helps. He closes his eye, his hand fumbling for the stim toy from the bag. It's a small, velvet-covered sphere, and he clutches it tightly. The texture is soothing, grounding. The room is quiet, save for their soft breaths and the occasional creak of the house. Chip's heart thuds against his chest as he watches his dad, willing him to be okay. Plankton's hand squeezes the velvet sphere, his other hand reaching out to find Karen's. Karen's eyes never leave his face. She's seen this so many times before, the battle he wages internally. Her heart breaks a little each time, but her expression remains calm. Chip watches, his own heart racing. He's seen this before too, the way his dad's body fights against his mind. He's learned that silence is often the best medicine in these moments. Karen continues to speak in low, even tones. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "You're safe." Her hand never leaves his, the connection unbroken. Chip wants to copy her, his hand going onto his dad's knee.. But Plankton's body only rejects Chip's touch, unable to handle any more stimulation. Karen's voice remains steady, her grip on his hand tight. "Breathe, sweetie," she whispers. "In, and ou-" Her words are cut off by the sudden silence. Plankton's body goes still, his antennae ceasing their erratic movement. Karen notices Chip's hand on Plankton's knee. "Chip, buddy," she says gently. "Let's give him some space." Chip nods, his eyes wide with concern. He moves his hand away. Chip sits, his eyes glued to his dad. "D-dad?" he whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton's hand moves to the blindfold, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. "It's okay," Karen repeats. "It's just a seizure, Chip. They're not uncommon." "Need," Plankton says, his voice faint, like it's coming from far away. "I need... I need... I don't know what I need." Karen knew that Plankton's still not with them yet when he talks like this. Karen nods, her voice still soft. "You're okay, Plankton. You're just having a seizure." Chip nods, trying to swallow his fear. He's learned that talking calmly helps bring him back. "It's okay," Chip echoes his mom. "We're right here." Plankton's eye darts around the room, his antennae still. "Need...Plankton," he murmurs. The gibberish isn't uncommon during these episodes, his mind trying to find comfort in familiar concepts. Plankton's eye, still unfocused and glazed, continues to dart around the room. "Yes?" he murmurs again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're okay," Karen says firmly, her voice a gentle anchor in the storm of sensory chaos. "We're all here for you." Chip nods in agreement, his voice shaky but determined. "Just breathe, Da-" But Plankton's grip on his sanity is slipping. His words come out in a jumble, nonsensical. "Wash... blue...cuckoo?" his voice is a distant echo, his mind searching for comfort in familiar things. Karen's heart aches, her thumb rubbing his hand. "It's okay, Plankton," she repeats. "You're safe." Chip watches, his eyes brimming with tears. He doesn't understand what's happening, but he knows his dad needs them.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 25 Hanna's voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry," she says, looking down at her hands. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's focus is solely on the pieces on the board. "Don't talk to me," he says, his voice cold. "You're the one asking personal questions." Karen's heart clenches, wanting to explain, but knowing that Plankton's current state of mind won't allow for it. "Let's just keep playing," she suggests, her voice a gentle nudge. But the damage is done. Hanna's smile is forced, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The game continues in an awkward silence, Hanna's laughter a bit too loud, her movements a bit too quick. Plankton's stims don't ease, his hands fidgeting almost angrily on the armrest. Chip watches, his stomach in knots. He knows his dad's behavior is because of his condition, but it's hard to see his mom's friend hurt like this. Hanna's eyes keep darting to Plankton's hands, confusion and hurt swirling in her gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmurs again, her voice barely audible over the clanking of game pieces. "I di-" Plankton's antennae swivel sharply towards her. "What part of 'none of your business' don't you understand?" his voice is harsh, his frustration palpable. Hanna flinches, her hands tightening around her cards. Karen's eyes plead with Plankton to stop, but he's too lost in his own world, his senses on high alert. "Why are you always in my space?" He snaps, his voice echoing around the room. Chip's stomach twists with anxiety. Hanna's cheeks redden, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice smaller than ever. "I just-" But Plankton's done talking. With a roar of frustration, he's knocking over the game board. The pieces scatter everywhere, a visual representation of their shattered evening. Hanna gasps, her eyes wide with shock. "What's going on?" she asks, but Plankton's already storming out of the room. Karen's heart sinks as she watches her husband disappear down the hall. She knew this was a risk bringing him to Hanna's, but she had hoped for a better outcome. The guest room door slams shut, the sound echoing through Hanna's house. Chip feels a knot tighten in his stomach. He knows that look, his dad's retreat to his sanctuary of solitude. "I'm sorry," Hanna tells Karen, picking up the pieces of the game. "I didn't mean to-" Karen's eyes are filled with sorrow as she shakes her head. "It's not you," she says gently. "It's just part of his condition." Her voice is tight, her smile forced as she tries to explain. "When Plankton was being born, something happened. It changed him. Pressure, lack of flow... we're not sure. But what we do know is that it left him with a type of autism." She pauses. "He's had it his whole life. It's a balancing act," she admits. "Some days are better than others. But we've learned to read the signs, to give him the space he needs. It was when his mother was giving birth, his brain developed differently because of the stress it faced. It's not something anyone could have predicted." Hanna nods, her eyes still on the closed door. "I had no idea," she murmurs, feeling guilty for her intrusion. "I didn't mean to-" "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soft and reassuring. "It's not something that's obvious, unless you know what to look for." Hanna nods, her eyes filling with understanding. "How does it affect him?" she asks, placing the game pieces aside. Karen sighs. "It's complex," she says. "His brain processes information differently, which means certain things can be overwhelming for him. Lights, sounds, even textures can be too much. And sometimes, it's just the way people interact with him." Chip speaks up, his voice small. "But he's super smart. He can build anything." Karen's smile is sad. "It's true. His mind is...unique. But sometimes, it's like he's trapped in there, trying to get out." Hanna nods. "What can I do to help?" she asks, her voice earnest. Karen's heart swells with gratitude. "Just be patient," she says. "And respect his boundaries. Don't push him to explain things if he's not ready." Chip watches as Karen takes a deep breath. "And if you see him getting overwhelmed, just...give him some space." Hanna nods, her eyes still on the door. Plankton sits in the guest room, his back pressed against the corner. The world feels too loud, too bright, too much. He squeezes his eye shut, his hands over his head, his antennae tucked, his body rocking slightly on the floor. He's learned over the years that this can help dull the world around him, but it's not enough tonight. "Plankton?" Karen's voice filters through the door, soft and gentle. "Can I come in?" There's no response, but after a moment, the door opens a crack. Plankton's eye peeks out, his antennae quivering. "It's okay," she says. "I just want to check on you." He nods, his body tense. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice muffled. Karen's heart breaks a little more. "You don't have to be sorry," she says, entering the room. "You know that." She sits beside him on the floor. He's in full shutdown mode now, his body's way of coping with the overstimulation. She squeezes his hand gently. The silence stretches out, only broken by the distant hum of the city. Karen knows that Plankton needs this, that he's retreated into his own world to recharge. Yet it's hard to watch, knowing that she can't just wave a magic wand and make everything okay. Slowly, she starts to speak, her words deliberate and soft. "Remember, Plankton," she says, "Hanna's just trying to understand. She didn't mean any harm." Plankton's breathing evens out, his body unclenching slightly. "I know," he whispers. "It's just...hard." Karen nods. "I know, love." The room is dimly lit, the sounds of the city a distant lullaby. Plankton's stims slow down, his antennae unfurling slightly as his body starts to relax. Karen's words wash over him, a gentle reminder that he's not alone. "You know, it's okay to be different," she says. "And it's okay for people to be curious. But we'll make sure to explain to Hanna." Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his head nodding in agreement. He's so tired, his mind racing from the adrenaline and the sensory overload. His body feels heavy, his eyelid drooping. Karen notices the change and shifts closer to him. "Why don't you lie down?" she suggests, her voice a gentle whisper. "You look ex-" But Plankton's already falling asleep, his body sagging against hers. "Hey c'mon Plankton, let's get you up into the bed befo—" His snores cut her off, his antennae fluttering with each breath. She chuckles softly, her heart swelling with love. He's always been a light sleeper, even when they first met. Karen gently shifts him so he's leaning against her, his head resting on her shoulder. His body relaxes into the comfort of her embrace, his stims ceasing completely. It's moments like these that make her heart ache, knowing how much he struggles with the world outside their home. But she's also fiercely proud of his resilience. Karen's thumb rubs gentle circles on his arm, the rhythmic motion soothing. Plankton's snores even out, his breathing deepening. She can feel the tension in his body slowly dissipate, his muscles loosening. She kisses his cheek, her hand still on his arm, her love for him as constant as his condition. The room's dimness is a comforting blanket, shielding them from the brightness that Plankton finds so jarring. Karen's mind races with thoughts of tomorrow, the conversations she'll have to navigate with Hanna. But for now, she focuses on the quiet breaths beside her, the steady rise and fall of Plankton's chest. Hanna, peeking in from the hallway, sees Karen cradling Plankton's sleeping form. Her eyes are filled with compassion as she mouths a silent apology to Karen. Karen smiles slightly, shaking her head, as if to say it's not Hanna's fault. The two women share a knowing look, the weight of the evening's events heavy between them. Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton, her love for him evident in every line of her face. And she knows they'll be ok.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 3 Plankton notices the shift in Chip's expression and his own face falls. He's been so scared of this moment, of being seen as less than. He's always tried to keep his stims under wraps, to appear as 'normal' as possible. But now it's all out in the open, and he can't hide anymore. Karen reaches for Plankton's hand, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, love. You don't have to be afraid. Chip's smart, he'll understand." She looks back at Chip, her eyes pleading. "Remember what we talked about, Chip. Your dad's stimming is his way of coping with the world, and it's something that makes him feel safe and comfortable. Yet we need to understand that when he's doing it, it's his personal time. It's just not for us to intrude on. Because for him, it's like a secret conversation he's having with himself." Chip nods slowly, his eyes flicking from his dad's face to his mom's, trying to digest the new reality that's being laid out before him. Plankton takes a deep, shuddering breath, his rocking coming to a stop. Karen stands up, walking over to Plankton, and kisses him on the cheek. "Why don't you go wash up, sweetie?" she suggests gently. "I'll talk to Chip." Plankton nods, his expression a mix of relief and fear. He slides out of bed, his legs shaky, and heads to the bathroom. The moment the door clicks shut, Karen turns to Chip, her eyes filled with a quiet determination. "You see, Chip," she starts, her voice softer now, "Your dad's stimming is like his private conversation with his brain. Sometimes, he'll start saying random things, talking to himself, working through his thoughts and feelings. So when you commented on it, it was like you interrupted a conversation he was having to himself, which can be upsetting." Chip nods, his eyes following the path his dad took to the bathroom. "But what if he's hurt?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do we know if it's okay?" Karen sighs, her expression softening. "That's a good question, Chip. We just need to be observant. If he's happy or upset, his stims might be different. And if he ever looks like he's in pain, or if he's distressed, that's when we step in, but first ask." She takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the next part of their conversation. "But it's also important to remember that even though we can't always understand what he's feeling or why he stims, it's his way of dealing with the world. So we need to be respectful, and not make him feel weird or uncomfortable." Chip nods, his gaze still on the bathroom door. "I don't want to make him feel bad," he says, his voice sincere. Karen sits back down beside him, her arm wrapping around his shoulders. "We know" she assures him. "You're a good kid, Chip. You'll learn to read him better than anyone else." As Plankton emerges from the bathroom, his face is washed clean, but the fear lingers in his eye. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, his posture rigid. Karen looks at him with love and patience, waiting for him to speak. "Chip," she starts, her voice careful. "You know how everyone has their own ways of dealing with stuff, right?" Chip nods, his gaze flipping between his parents. "Well, your dad's brain works a bit differently than ours. Sometimes, he needs to do things like rocking or making sounds to help him think and feel better. He may even repeat words or phrases, which is called echolalia. It's all part of his autism, and it's his way of navigating through the world." Karen's eyes are filled with a mixture of love and hope as she speaks. "These are his stims, and they're very personal to him. It's like his own secret language, a way to communicate with himself. So when you see him doing these things, it's important to remember that he's not doing it for show, or for attention. It's his brain's way of talking to him, of keeping him calm." Plankton nods slowly, his eye dull with the weight of his secret now out in the open. "And sometimes," Karen adds, "I've seen him come out of seizures while talking to his brain." "Seizures?" Chip asks, his voice laced with fear. Plankton winces at the word, but Karen nods. "They're not like the seizures you might think of, sweetie. They're a part of his autism. It's like his brain's way of restarting, of reorganizing itself when things get too much." Plankton finally speaks up, his voice shaky. "I don't like it when you saw me like that Chip," he admits. "Now I'm... exposed. So just GO AHEAD AND STARE." He throws his hands up in a dramatic gesture, his sarcasm clear. Chip flinches, feeling a pang of guilt. Karen puts a gentle hand on Plankton's knee. "Chip wasn't staring, sweetie. He was just trying to understand." She turns to Chip. "It's okay to be curious, but remember, Dad's stims are like his personal bubble. They help him feel safe when the world is too loud or confusing. So unless he's really upset or in pain, we respect that space." Chip nods, feeling a mix of understanding and awkwardness. He's never thought about his dad's quirks as being part of something so... significant. "Okay," he says, his voice small. "I'll try not to stare or interrupt." Karen smiles warmly at him. "That's all we ask, buddy. Just love him the way you always have. And if you have any questions, you can always come to us. We're a team, and we're all here for each other."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 4 Plankton looks at Chip, his eye searching for any sign of judgment or fear. But all he sees is confusion and concern. "I-I-I-I… I just..." Karen takes over, her voice soothing. "It's okay, Plankton. You don't have to explain everything right now. Chip just needs to understand that your stimming is private." "But why does he have to know?" Plankton asks, his voice tight with anxiety. "Why can't it just be our secret?" Karen's expression is one of compassion. "Because, love," she says, her hand still on his knee, "Chip is part of our family, and he deserves to know who you really are. And his knowing won't change how much we love you." Plankton nods slowly, but the fear in his eye doesn't dissipate entirely. Chip sits quietly, watching his parents interact. He's never seen this side of his dad before, and it's unsettling. But he doesn't want to make things worse. "I won't say anything, Dad," he promises, going to hug him. "And I'll try to underst--" "Don't!" Plankton recoils, his body stiffening at the sudden touch. Chip freezes, his arms outstretched, unsure of what just happened. Karen's face falls. "Chip, remember. Let him come to you when he's ready." She looks at Plankton, apology in her eyes. Plankton nods slightly, his cheeks reddening. "It's okay," Chip says, pulling away and sitting back down on the bed. "I just wanted to tell you that I love you, Dad." Plankton's eye softens, but he turns away, now talking to himself, his voice low and quick. "I told him not to stare," he mumbles. "Doesn't he understand." His eye darts around the room, focusing on nothing. Karen watches him, her heart aching. Plankton's stims had always been their secret, something they'd navigated together. Now, it was witnessed by Chip. Plankton's voice grew louder, his words a jumbled mess as he spoke to himself. "I shouldn't have let him see, no," he said. "Not. Today." Karen watched him, her heart breaking for her husband. She knew how much he valued his privacy, how much his autism was a part of his identity, and now it was out in the open for their son to see. Chip looked at his mom, his eyes full of confusion and concern. Karen squeezed Plankton's hand and turned to Chip. "Remember, buddy, sometimes Dad needs to talk to himself to make sense of things. It's his way of organizing his thoughts." Chip nodded, trying to understand. "But why can't I hug you, Dad?" he asked softly. Karen's voice was calm as she explained. "Sometimes, when people with autism get overwhelmed, physical contact can be too much for them to handle, even if it's from someone they love. And your dad's sensitive to certain touch Chip, okay?" Chip nodded, his throat tight with emotion. "It's okay, Chip," Karen said, her voice soft. "Dad's just talking to himself, like I said. It's his way of making sense of things." She watched as Chip processed this, his eyes never leaving his father. "But remember, it's his conversation. We should let him have it without interrupting. And right now, he's okay. He's just... thinking out loud." She glanced at Plankton, whose eye had stopped darting around and was now focused on the floor. Chip nodded, his curiosity getting the better of him. "But Mom, why does he need to st-" "I don't need to explain myself to you!" Plankton snapped, cutting him off. "You wouldn't understand anyway!" His voice was sharp, like a knife slicing through the quiet of the room. Chip's eyes widened, and he took a step back, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice small. "I just wanted to kno—" "Chip," Karen interjected, her voice gentle but firm. "Remember what you learned. Dad's stimming is his private time. We need to respect that." She turned to Plankton, her expression full of understanding. "It's okay, love. You don't have to explain." Plankton took a deep breath, his rocking starting up again. "But what if he doesn't respect me anymore?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Karen leaned in, her eyes filled with love. "Chip loves you, Plankton. And now he knows a little more about you. That's all." But Chip's questions didn't stop. He was like a detective piecing together a puzzle, his curiosity unyielding. "What about the sounds yo--" "Chip," Karen's voice was firm but kind. "Remember what we said. Dad's stims are personal. Let's give him space." But Chip's mind was racing, trying to make connections. "But does he make sounds wh-" "Chip," Plankton cut him off, his voice strained. "Just KNOCK IT OFF and leave me alone, okay?" Chip felt the sting of his dad's words, his heart sinking. He'd never seen Plankton so agitated. Karen's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Chip," she said softly, turning him to face her. "Your dad's had a lot to process today. Let's just give him some space, okay?" With a nod, Chip backed away from the bed, his eyes on his dad, who had resumed rocking. He retreated to his room. He'd always thought his dad was just quirky, a bit odd at times, but now it all made sense. The way he'd get lost in his thoughts, the way he'd repeat things, and how he'd sometimes need his space. It was all part of this... 'autism'. It was a lot to take in, but he was determined to understand. Karen sat beside Plankton, her hand resting lightly on his back. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispered, her voice soothing. "Chip just needs time to understand." Plankton's rocking slowed, his breathing returning to normal. "But what if he's embarrassed?" he asked, his eye still fixed on the floor. "Embarrassed?" Karen echoed, her voice gentle. "Why would he be embarrassed? You're his dad, and he loves you just as you are. This is just something new for him to learn." Plankton's shoulders slumped, and he let out a sigh.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 5 The next morning, Chip decided to go into his parent's shared bedroom. Karen was sitting beside Plankton, who was in his bed. Her hand was gently tracing patterns on his arm. Plankton's eye was closed, and the only sound in the room was his softly rhythmic snoring. The sight of his dad lying there, peaceful and quiet, was comforting. Plankton's chest moved up and down with each breath, and Chip felt his own anxiety start to ease. He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his dad sleep, his curiosity now tempered with empathy. Karen smiled at him, her eyes full of understanding. "It's okay," she whispered. "He's just resting." Chip nodded, watching Plankton's antenna twitching ever so slightly with each breath. He'd never seen his dad so still, so... peaceful. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun, and the quiet was almost sacred. Chip could see now how Plankton's stims were like a shield, how they protected him from a world that could be too much at times. And in sleep, that shield was down, revealing the vulnerable man beneath. Karen's hand continued to trace gentle patterns on his arm. Chip reached out, his own hand hovering over Plankton's arm, unsure if he should touch him. "It's okay," Karen mouthed, seeing the uncertainty in Chip's eyes. "He's sleeping." So Chip placed his hand lightly on Plankton's arm, mimicking his mom. The warmth of Plankton's skin under his palm felt surprisingly normal. For a moment, Chip forget about the storm of the previous night and the revelation of his dad's autism. He watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft snores that punctuated the silence. Karen's eyes remained on her husband, a tender smile playing on her lips. Her hand never ceased its gentle motion, the love in the action palpable. The sun painted the room in soft, warm light, casting a gentle glow across the crumpled bedcovers and the slightly open mouth of the sleeping Plankton. The rhythmic sound of his snores filled the space, a comforting symphony to Karen's ears. She'd heard it a thousand times before, each inhale and exhale a testament to his survival in a world that often felt too much for him. Chip sat silently, his hand tentatively resting on Plankton's arm. In sleep, Plankton's armor was down, revealing the softness beneath. His stims, the protective shells he'd built around his thoughts, had ceased. The tension in his body was replaced by a gentle relaxation, as if even in his subconscious, he knew he was safe. Karen's hand on Plankton's arm was a silent testament to their bond, a wordless conversation that transcended the barriers of his condition. The gentle movements, almost imperceptible to an outsider, were a soothing balm to Plankton's nervous system. Chip felt a wave of love and protectiveness for his father wash over him, a feeling that grew stronger as he watched his mom's caring ministrations. He studied the contours of Plankton's face, his sleep-slackened jaw and the soft snores that rumbled. He thought about the stims he'd seen the night before, the rocking, the muttering. Now, his dad's quietude spoke volumes about his need for space and understanding. Chip swallowed hard, his own thoughts racing. He knew his curiosity could sometimes be intrusive, but he couldn't help it. He wants to know everything about his dad, now more than ever. As the minutes ticked by, Plankton's snores grew softer, until they were just a faint whisper in the room. Karen's hand never stopped moving, her eyes never leaving his face. It was like watching a dance, a silent conversation that only the two of them understood. Chip felt a lump in his throat, the gravity of the situation starting to hit him. He'd always known his dad was different, but now he knew why. Autism was a part of Plankton that couldn't be fixed or ignored, it was a piece of him, as essential as his antennae or his love for Krabby Patties. He watched as Karen continued her silent vigil, her touch a gentle reminder of his dad's humanity amidst his neurodivergence. Plankton was still the same person, his quirks and tics a part of his identity, not a flaw to be hidden. Chip's mind was full of questions. How had his dad managed to keep this a secret for so long? Why did he feel the need to mask his true self? He knew his dad was different, but he'd never fully grasped the extent of it. Plankton had always been a whirlwind of energy, his brain firing on all cylinders. But now, watching him sleep, his body at peace, Chip saw the weight that Plankton carried each day. The effort it took to navigate a world that wasn't built for him. The stims were his crutch, his way of finding balance. And Karen, his rock, always there, offering comfort with just a touch. Karen looked up, her eyes meeting Chip's. "You know," she said softly, "your dad's always been like this. Since before you were born. And I fell in love with him knowing of it, not despite it." Chip felt his eyes sting with tears. He'd never thought about his parents' relationship in this light before, the quiet strength that must have been there from the start. He watched as Karen leaned forward and kissed Plankton's forehead. "He's always been my hero," she whispered. "And now, I want you to see him that way too." Chip nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He took a deep breath and moved closer to the bed, his hand still hovering above Plankton's arm. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you need from me?" Karen's eyes never left Plankton's face, but she squeezed Chip's hand. "Just love him, Chip," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Be his rock, just like I am." Chip nodded, understanding dawning. He leaned in and kissed his dad's cheek, his hand now resting gently on his arm. Plankton's snores hitched at the contact, and Chip froze, his heart racing as Plankton's eye fluttered open.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 6 For a moment, Plankton looked confused, his gaze fuzzy with sleep. But then recognition set in. "Chip?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Chip swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah, Dad," he managed to say. "I just came to say good mo-" Before he could finish, Plankton's eye widened, his body tensing. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his tone sharper than Chip had ever heard it. The room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with the sudden tension. "I-I just wanted to tell you I love you," Chip stuttered, his hand retreating from his dad's arm. Plankton's gaze searched Chip's face, looking for something, anything that would explain this invasion of his personal space. Karen stepped in, her voice calm. "It's okay, Plankton. Chip just wanted to show his love, that's all." But Plankton wasn't easily soothed. His eye narrowed at Chip, his mind racing. "But why?" Plankton's voice was low, almost a growl. "Why do you need to do it like that?" Chip felt the weight of his dad's question, the unspoken fear behind the words. It was a question about boundaries, about the unspoken rules that Plankton had always followed. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip said, his voice quiet. "I didn't mean to scare you." He looked to Karen for guidance, but she just nodded, encouraging him to find his own words. Plankton's eye searched Chip's face, looking for sincerity. "I just wanted to tell you that I understand now," Chip continued. "I know you have to do those things to feel okay. I promise, I won't make you feel weird about i---" But Plankton was already sitting up, his face flushed with anger. "Weird?" he snapped, his voice sharp. "Is that what you think of me?" He pushed the covers away, his body vibrating with agitation. "Is that how you'll tell your neurotypical friends?" Chip's heart sank, his words unintentionally striking a nerve. "No, Dad," he said quickly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just want to make sure I don't do anything that makes you uncomf-" "Uncomfortable?" Plankton finished for him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, how considerate of you." Chip felt a pang of guilt, his words sticking in his throat. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. "I just... I didn't know how to... " Plankton took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You don't get it," he said, his voice tight. "You can't just... touch me like that." His eye searched the room, as if seeking a retreat from the sudden onslaught of emotion. Karen stepped closer, her voice soothing. "Chip didn't mean to upset you, Plankton. He's just trying to understand." But Plankton couldn't hear her, his mind racing with a barrage of thoughts. He'd always been so careful to keep this hidden from his son, fearful of the rejection he'd faced in the past. Chip's eyes were wide with apology and confusion. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said again, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to show you that I care. I mean, you let Mom to-" "It's different," Plankton interrupted, his voice strained. "Your mom knows me. She understands me." His hand went to his chest, where his heart felt like it was racing. "But you... don't you DARE ever touch me again without asking," he spat out, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. Karen sighed, her heart heavy with the weight of the conversation. "Plankton, honey," she began, her voice gentle. "Chip just wants to support you. He's trying to be there for you in his own way." Plankton's eye narrowed, his body still tense. "But he doesn't understand," he said, the frustration evident. "No one does, except for you." Karen reached for his hand, but he pulled away, his movements quick and jerky. Chip watched, feeling like he'd just walked into a minefield without a map. He didn't know what to say, how to make it right. He just knew he didn't want his dad to feel this way. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'll do better. I'll le-" "Don't," Plankton said, his voice sharp. "Don't make promises you can't keep." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his body language closed off. "I don't want your pity, Chip." His words were like a slap in the face, and Chip felt his cheeks burn with shame. Karen stepped between them, her hand on Plankton's shoulder. "It's not pity, sweetie," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "It's love and support." Plankton's eye flitted to hers, then back to Chip. "I don't need Chip's help," he said, his voice quivering. "But Dad," Chip began, "I just-" "I SAID DON'T!" Plankton's voice boomed through the room, his face a mask of fury. His antennae quivered with agitation, and he retreats to the corner of the room. A sign Karen knew was his way of shutting down. But Chip doesn't realize this as he tries to go to Plankton's writhing body on the floor. "Chip," Karen's voice was firm, "He's not with us right now. Let me only." Chip stepped back, his eyes wide with concern as he watched. Plankton was in a pose that screamed 'don't touch me'. His legs were curled tight to his body, his arms wrapped around his knees, and his eye squeezed shut, his antennae pressed against his head. It was a position that spoke of overwhelm, a silent scream for space and solitude. Karen watched him carefully, her heart breaking into a million pieces. She wanted to go to him, to wrap him in her arms and tell him everything was okay. But she knew better. This was his retreat, she had to respect it. "Give him some space," she whispered to Chip, who was hovering uncertainly. "He needs time to regulate." Chip nodded, his eyes still glued to his dad's shaking form. He looked so small, so lost in his own little corner. Plankton's breathing was shallow and fast, his antennae twitching eratically. Karen knew this was his safe place, his retreat from a world that often felt too loud, too much. She walked over, sat down next to him, but not too close. She knew better than to invade his bubble. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "You're safe here." Plankton's body didn't react, but she saw his hand, which had been gripping the floor, relax ever so slightly. It was a small victory, but one she'd take.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 7 The room was silent, save for Plankton's shallow breaths. Karen could almost hear his thoughts racing, his mind a whirlwind of sensory input and emotions. She sat still, her eyes never leaving his form, her hand staying close but not touching. Chip hovered by the door, his hands clenched into fists. He wanted to help, to fix this, but his mom's words echoed in his mind: 'respect his space'. It was a concept that was hard to grasp, but he knew it was important. He watched as his dad's legs shook, his whole body a testament to the storm inside him. Karen's eyes never left Plankton's shaking form. Her heart broke for him, for the fear and frustration that she knew was churning within. She reached out a tentative hand, letting it hover just above his shoulder. "It's ok," she whispered. But Plankton flinched, his body stiffening at the uninvited contact as he turned his back to them, now facing the wall. She knew this look well, had seen it before. The room was suffocating with silence, the tension thick like a layer of fog. Chip felt his own anxiety rising, unsure of what to do. He'd never seen his dad like this, so... vulnerable. He took a tentative step forward, his hand reaching out. "Dad?" he asked softly. Plankton's spasms grew more erratic, his antennae quivering like leaves in a storm. He didn't look up, his breathing shallower with each passing second. It was as if he'd shrunk in on himself, retreating into his own world where no one could follow. Chip's heart ached, watching his dad's body convulse with silent sobs, his shoulders heaving as he tried to regain control. The room was a tableau of pain, each second stretching into an eternity. Karen sat with her back against the wall, her hand still hovering, but not daring to make contact again. Her eyes were filled with a blend of love and despair, the same look she'd worn so many times before when Plankton's autism had overwhelmed him. But Chip had never seen this side of his dad, had never known the depth of his struggle. Plankton's body was a maelstrom of movements, each spasm a silent cry for help. His antennae thrashed against the floor, his legs kicked out in a frantic dance. It was a sight that would have been terrifying to anyone who didn't understand, but Karen's eyes never left him, her expression calm and knowing. She'd seen this before, had held the line between panic and peace for her husband countless times. And then, through the chaos, a sound. Plankton's voice, barely above a murmur, speaking to himself. "My stims," he whispered, his hands moving in the air, mimicking his own motions. "They're just... they're just a part of it." The words seemed to hang there, suspended in the heavy silence of the room. Karen watched him, her heart breaking a little more with each word. She knew he was trying to make sense of it all, to reconcile his fear of being different with his need to be understood. Chip's eyes widened in surprise, his curiosity piqued by this unexpected moment of self-reflection from his dad. "They're just... they're just a part of it," Plankton murmured again, his voice a little louder this time. His antennae stilled, his body slowly uncoiling from the tight ball he'd curled into. Karen took this stimming as a sign that the storm is passing. "What's a part of it, Dad?" Chip asked, his voice tentative. Karen shot him a warning look, but Plankton didn't seem to hear. "My fidgets," Plankton said, his voice still barely above a whisper. "My autism... it is just part of it." His hand continued to mimic the movements, a silent conversation with himself. Chip's mind raced. "You're not to weird, Dad," Chip blurted out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. Plankton's movements stilled, his antennae dropping to his side. He turned to look at Chip, his eye filled with something akin to surprise. "What did you say‽" Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing. "I said you're not weird, Dad," he repeated, his voice slightly stronger. "Your stims are just part of who you are." Plankton's expression turned angry, his body taut with tension. "Don't patronize me, boy!" Plankton snapped, his voice sharp as a knife. "I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!" His body was a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment. Chip felt a flare of anger in response, but swallowed it down. "Dad, I'm not," he said, his voice calm despite his own turmoil. "I'm just saying that I see you, all of you. And I love you. I don't think your stims are weird. They're just... you." Plankton's body remained tense. "STOP talking about it!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. Chip took a step back, his eyes wide with shock. He'd never seen his dad like this. He didn't know how to fix it. "Dad, I-" he started to say, but Plankton cut him off. "I said stop!" Plankton's voice was a roar, his body trembling with anger and embarrassment. He didn't want Chip to see him like this, so vulnerable, so out of control. The room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls pressing against his skin. Karen's heart clenched at the raw pain in Plankton's voice. She knew this moment was about more than just his stims, it was about his fear of rejection, of being seen as less than. "Plankton, honey, look at me," she said gently, trying to cut through the maelstrom of his emotions. "Chip's just trying to understand. We all are." But Plankton's eye remained locked on the floor, his breaths quick and shallow. He felt like an exhibit in a museum, his private world laid bare for his son to see. The fear of rejection was a living, breathing entity in the room, wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket. He'd managed to hide his stims for so long, to keep that part of him hidden away. Now, it was out in the open, raw and exposed. Plankton's eye darted between Karen and Chip, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He wanted to shrink away, to disappear into the cracks of the floorboards. But he knew he couldn't. Not now. Not when Chip kept looking at him with such confusion and concern. "Dad, I just-" Chip started again, his voice filled with earnestness. But Plankton couldn't take it. The words felt like a knife twisting in his gut. "I SAID, STOP!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the room. The sound was like a gunshot, and Chip's words died in his throat. Karen watched the exchange, her heart heavy with sadness. She knew Plankton's anger was a defense mechanism, his way of dealing with the overwhelming emotions that threatened to drown him. But seeing her son hurt by it was almost more than she could bare. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the storm. "Plankton," she said calmly, moving closer to him, her hand outstretched but not touching. "It's okay, sweetie. Chip's just trying to be here for you." But Plankton's eye was wild, his body a coil of tension. He was in full meltdown mode, and Karen knew better than to push him.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 10 Plankton's antennae twitched with the effort to hold himself together, his body trembling. He wished he could retreat into the safety of his own world, where words didn't have the power to cut so deep. But he was trapped here, in a nightmare that felt all too real. Karen's eyes were a pool of sorrow, her hand hovering in the air like a ghostly specter, unable to find refuge on his shaking form. She knew she'd hurt him, and the weight of her mistake was almost too much to bear. She wanted to take back her words, erase the pain from his memory. But she knew that was a futile wish. The room was a maelstrom of emotions, each one a shard of glass in the air, sharp and glinting with the promise of more harm. Chip hovered in the doorway, his eyes wide and full of fear. He'd never seen his dad like this, never felt the chasm that seemed to be growing between them. Karen's hand remained outstretched, a silent plea for connection. But Plankton's body was a wall of defense, every inch of him screaming for space. The touch that had once been a comfort was now a source of distress, a reminder of his own vulnerability. He could see the love in her eyes, but it was tainted with the memory of her hurtful word. He felt a tear slip down his face as Karen inched closer. "Plankton, I didn't mean it," she said again. But it was too late. The word had been spoken, the damage done. "Please, I'm sorry," she whispered, her hand still hovering a few inches from his shoulder. Plankton's antennae quivered, his body tense. The room was spinning around him, the walls closing in. He didn't want her touch, not now. It felt like a lie, a mockery of the love they shared. He didn't know how to explain his fear, his hurt. He could only whimper and tremble. Karen's heart was shattered with regret. She knew she'd hurt him, but she didn't know how to fix it. Her hand hovered, desperate for connection. "Plankton." She knew she'd hurt him. "Are you ok?" Plankton didn't move. He didn't know how to answer, didn't know how to express the turmoil churning inside him. He felt like he was drowning in his own emotions. Karen's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt you." But Plankton's back was to the wall as she approached him in his corner. Plankton's antennae quivered, his heart racing. He knew Karen, his rock, his anchor, didn't mean to say it. But the pain was too fresh, too deep. The slur she'd used, even in anger, was a knife that had sliced through his soul. He felt the pressure building up inside him. "I-I-I-I… I lo-ove y-you, Karen.." Karen's hand was so close, yet so far. He wanted to lean into her embrace, to find solace in her love. But fear held him back, a cold, unyielding force that made his body tense. The room spun, the walls closing in. He was drowning in a sea of confusion, fear, and sadness. He watched her hand, so gentle, so loving. But the word still echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder that even those closest to him could cause him harm. Karen wanted to fix it. Karen took a step closer, her hand still hovering. "Please," she whispered. "Let me help." But Plankton was lost in the labyrinth of his emotions, his heart a cage of fear and pain. He couldn't find the words to explain, the strength to accept comfort. He whimpered. Her heart ached, her mind racing with doubt. Had she lost him? Had she broken the delicate trust they'd built over the years? Plankton's tremors grew, a silent symphony of distress that she could no longer ignore. Karen knew his fear of being seen as less than, the deep-seated anxiety that his autism could be weaponized against him. She needed to fix this, to rebuild the bridge between them. "Plankton, I'm not going anywhere," she murmured, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his fear. "I'm right he--" But her words were cut off by a sudden spasm that rippled through his body, his antennae convulsing violently. Karen's eyes widened in horror as she recognized the signs. "Seizure," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. The room swirled around them as she moved closer, her hand outstretched. Plankton's eye rolled back in his head as his legs start to buckle. Karen's hand shot out, catching him before he hit the ground. She eased him to the floor. Karen'd seen this before, too many times to count. "You're okay, Plankton," she murmurs. "I'm right here." Chip watched from the sidelines, his eyes wide with terror as his dad's body thrashed. He's never seen his dad like this before. "Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. Plankton's body jerked once, twice, three times, before stilling. His antennae flailed wildly, then fell limp. Karen's eyes never left his face. She knew he'd still be quite out of it. Chip hovered, unsure of what to do. "Dad?" Karen's voice was calm. "This happens, Chip. He is conscious, but not really with us yet. Don't be alarmed if he says or does something that's not quite right." Plankton's legs rolled his body onto his side as drool trickles from his mouth. His antennae twitched erratically, his eye fluttered open and closed. Karen wiped the drool away, whispering comforts to him. "You're okay," she said, her voice soothing. "You're safe at home." His body was like a ragdoll's, his muscles loose and his movements involuntary. He was present, but not quite there, unable to grasp the concept, the words a jumble of sounds that barely registered. "W-water... blue... s-sticks," Plankton murmured. He was lost in his post-seizure haze, his thoughts a tangled web of sensory input. Chip watched, his heart in his throat. Karen's eyes were fixed on her husband. "It's ok, sweetie," she soothed. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae twitched in response. "Cam... subs... s-sal-sal-sal?" Karen nodded, knowing better than to interrupt his stream of consciousness. "T-the it... makes... makes me dizzy! Yes; made me dizzy.." Plankton's words were a jumble of half-thoughts, his brain still trying to reassemble. Karen's heart broke at the sight of him, so lost in his own mind. "It's okay," she whispered, her hand stroking his back. Chip's eyes were wide, his own brain racing to understand what was happening. He'd never seen his dad like this before, his strength and certainty reduced to a quivering mass of confusion. "Dad?" his voice was small. Plankton clutched at the air, his hand then slapping the carpet beside him. "G-green... fishy... no, not fishy, fishy-fishy!" He giggled, his eye still unfocused. The words didn't make sense, even to him. Karen's hand continued to stroke his back, her heart aching at his distress. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispered. "You're okay."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 11 The nonsensical words spilled out. "Fizz-fizz-fizz..." Karen watched him, her heart in her throat. She knew this was part of the process, his brain recalibrating after a seizure. "D-daddy?" Chip's voice was tiny. "What's happening?" Karen took a deep breath, trying to calm herself enough to explain. "It's okay," she said, her voice shaky. "It's part of his autism. Sometimes, after a seizure, you dad's brain gets overwhelmed. He might say thi—" But Plankton's rambling cut her off. "Did? Might... m-m-mighty... mighty... no, not mighty... did!" He laughed to himself, his eye still unfocused. Karen knew that it was temporary, a side effect of the seizure. "Fizz-fizz-fish," Plankton says, his voice distant. Chip watched, his eyes full of fear and curiosity. He'd never seen his dad so vulnerable. Karen took his hand, her grip firm. "It's okay," she whispered. "His brain is just... reorganizing." Plankton began to steady. His eye focused on Karen's face, his voice a little clearer. "K-Karen?" Her heart skipped a beat. "I'm here, sweetie," she said, smiling through her tears. "You're ok." Plankton's antennae twitched as he slowly came back to his surroundings, the fear and anger of moments ago replaced by confusion and dizziness. Karen moved closer. "Dad, are you okay?" Chip's voice was tentative. Plankton's antennae moved in jerky, uncontrolled motions as he tried to make sense of his environment. "I... I think so," he murmured, his eye slowly focusing on his son. The room was a blur of colors, the sounds muffled and distant. He felt the weight of their stares, the unspoken apologies and fear. He knew what had happened, the searing memory of the slur, the painful reminder that he was different. Plankton's antennae twitched as his thoughts slowly coalesced, his mind fighting to find purchase in the chaos. "W-what... what happen'd?" he stuttered. Karen's eyes searched his, filled with a mix of love and apology. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember what happened before?" Plankton's antennae quivered of emotion. The argument, the slur, the pain... it all came rushing back. He nodded, his eye dropping to the floor. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I remember." Karen's hand hovered over his shoulder, but she didn't dare touch him yet. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "For everything.." Plankton nods. He knew she meant it, yet the sting of her words still lingered, like a shadow that wouldn't leave his side. "It's okay," he said, his voice a weak echo. "I know you didn't... but it still hurts." His antennae drooped, a silent testament to his pain. "Yet I forgive you, Karen." Karen's eyes filled with tears. "I know," she said. Chip nods. "I'm sorry too, Da-" But Plankton cut him off, his antennae jerking with irritation. "Don't," he murmured. "Don't say YOU'RE sorry. YOU don't understand. You're not like your mother." Chip felt the sting of truth in his dad's words. He didn't understand. He'd always thought he knew Plankton, but now he realized there was a world of experience, of pain, that he'd been blind to. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice desperate. "How ca--" But Plankton was already getting to his feet, his body shaky. "You can't," he said, his voice tight. "You can't make this right with sorrys." Chip felt the weight of his dad's words. "But I want to," he whispered. "I don't know what to do, but I wa-" Plankton's antennae twitched with agitation. "You don't know what it's like," he snapped. "You've never had to live with this, with people thinking you're less because of it." The room felt colder, the air heavier with each sharp syllable. "You can't fix this, Chip." Chip felt so helpless, so utterly powerless in the face of his father's pain. "But I want to understand," he protested, his voice a whisper of hope. "I want to help. I mean, you forgave Mo-" "I forgave her because she understood!" Plankton's voice was a whipcrack of anger. "You think your sorry fixes it?" his antennae trembled with agitation. "It doesn't. And don't compare yourself to your mother. She knows me, understands me, advocates for me. But you're not her, Chip. You're not even close." Chip felt the blow, the truth cutting through him like a knife. He knew Plankton was right. He didn't know what it was like, to live with autism, to fight against a world that didn't understand. He'd been blind to his father's struggles, his ignorance a wall between them. "What do you want me to-" But Plankton was already turning away, his body a rigid line of anger. "I want you to leave me alone," he snapped. "I don't need your pity or your half-hearted apologies!" Chip felt his world crumbling, his hope for understanding and reconciliation shattered by the coldness in his father's voice. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes brimming with tears. "But Dad..." Plankton's antennae jerked sharply. "I said leave me alone!" The words were a whip crack in the air, slicing through the tension. Chip didn't know what to do, how to make it right. Karen stepped in. "Chip, maybe you should give him some space," she suggested, her eyes filled with pain. Chip nodded, his heart heavy with defeat. He didn't want to leave, but he knew his presence was only adding to Plankton's distress. "Okay," he murmured, his feet dragging across the floor.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 12 As Chip retreated to his room, he couldn't help but feel the gap between them widen. He'd always thought they were close, that he knew his father inside and out. But now he realized there was so much more to Plankton. Karen's gentle touch was the only thing grounding Plankton to reality. He felt his anger dissipate, leaving a vacuum filled with exhaustion and sorrow. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her eyes never leaving his as he leaned into her embrace. His antennae stopped trembling as he allowed the warmth of her love to seep into his bones. "I know," he whispered. "I know." Plankton felt the exhaustion of the day's events settle over him like a thick blanket. The anger and fear drained from his body, leaving him weary and sleepy. His eye closed as he leaned into her touch. The room grew quieter. Karen held him close, her heart aching for his pain. Plankton's antennae drooped, his body heavy with exhaustion. His eyelid fluttered. He leaned into Karen's embrace, his body finally relaxing. Her hand stroked his back, soothing circles that seemed to lull him closer to slumber. "You're okay," she whispered. "You're safe." His breathing evened out, a gentle rise and fall that spoke of approaching sleep. "Rest," she murmured. "We can talk when you wake up." Karen felt the tension leave his body as sleep claimed him, her hand still moving in gentle circles. Her eyes searched his face, her heart a storm of emotions. She knew the seizure had taken a toll on him, knew the pain of his words was rooted in fear and hurt. As his breathing grew steadier, his antennae stilled, she felt the weight of his head against her shoulder, his trust in her a silent testament to their bond. Karen held him tight, his warmth seeping into her. She knew he needed this, needed to feel safe. His gentle snores filled the silence, a soft reminder that he was safe in her arms. Karen felt his body go slack, his antennae stilling as sleep claimed him. The anger had fled, leaving behind the fragile shell of his vulnerability. She held him closer, her heart aching for the pain he'd felt, the fear that still lingered. Her eyes searched his slumbering face, tracing the lines of his features with a soft touch. Plankton was her everything, her rock, her love. Gently, she picked him up, his body limp with the exhaustion. She carried him carefully as she laid him down, his antennae drooping in sleep. Karen tucked him in bed, her eyes lingering on his face. She made sure a favorite plushie was within reach. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his breathing deep and peaceful. With a soft sigh, she kissed his forehead. His antennae twitched but he didn't stir. Karen's eyes were filled with love and regret as she watched him sleep. The gentle rise and fall of his chest was a comforting testament to his resilience. The next morning, Karen knew she had to take Plankton to the dentist for x-rays. She woke Chip up. "Chip," she says. "Your dad has to go to the dentist today for a checkup." Chip nodded, his eyes still clouded with sleep. "Okay," he murmured. "Can I come?" "Yes." They arrive at Plankton's dentist office for the x-ray. The receptionist smiled. "Mr. Plankton, Dr. Coral will see you now." Dr. Coral greeted the family as they entered the exam room. "Good morning, Plankton," she smiled, her eyes kind. "So, today we're just going to do our usual x-rays. Can you open wide?" Plankton nodded, antennae twitching nervously. He sat in the chair, his legs swinging slightly as he tried to find a comfortable position. Karen held his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles in a soothing motion. "It'll be quick," she whispered. Chip sat in the corner, his eyes on his dad, his heart heavy with unspoken words. The assistant, a young clownfish named Penny, finished with taking x-rays. Dr. Coral peered at the images, her eyes flicking back and forth between the x-rays and Plankton's mouth. "Good job," Penny tells him. "Everything looks okay," Dr. Coral began. "Yet it looks like we have some wisdom teeth coming in. They're not causing anything right now, but we should go ahead and remove them as a preventative mea-" Plankton's antennae shot up. "No," he said firmly, his voice tight with anxiety. "I don't like... don't like poking... mouth... no." His stims grew more intense, his hands flapping at his side. Karen squeezed his hand, trying to offer reassurance. "It's okay," she murmured. "It's just a li-" "NO!" Plankton's voice was loud, echoing in the small room. Chip flinched. Dr. Coral's eyes widened slightly, but she remained calm. "Let's talk about this, Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "We can go slow." But Plankton was already spiraling. The mere mention of the procedure had ignited anxiety in him. His stims grew more intense, his antennae flailing wildly. "No poking, no poking, no poking!" he chanted, his body rocking in the chair. Dr. Coral's expression shifted, her gaze moving from the x-rays to Plankton. She knew he had special needs, had seen the signs of his autism before. But today was different. Today, the fear in his eye was palpable, his body a testament to the stress he was under. "Let's take it slow," she soothed, her voice a gentle wave. "We can talk about this, okay?" Plankton's antennae stilled slightly, his body tensing. "But no poking," he whispered, his eye wide with fear. Karen nodded, her eyes meeting Dr. Coral's. "We'll find a way," she promised. "A way that makes you feel safe." Dr. Coral nodded, her expression understanding. "We'll take it step by step, Plankton," she said, her voice low and calm. "We'll work together to find the best solution for you."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 13 "Okay," Plankton murmured, his antennae drooping. "Step by step." Karen nodded, her grip on his hand tight. "We'll get through this." Penny nods. "We've various ways to administer the local anesthetic," she says, her voice soothing. "Which one do you prefer?" Plankton's stims decrease slightly, his eye blinking rapidly as he considers. "The gel," he murmurs. She nods. "Okay. So after the gel, we'll give it a few minutes to work, and then we'll start the extraction process. So for that, we'll have you leave your mouth open as we get a tool used to cut the g-" He jerks back. "No," he says, his antennae quivering. "No cutting. No poking. No tools." His voice is desperate, his eye wide with fear. Karen's eyes searched Dr. Coral's, silently pleading for understanding. She knew his sensitivity to pain was exacerbated by his autism. "Is there another way?" she asks, her voice even. Dr. Coral nodded. "We can consider IV sedation," she said. "It's something we offer to patients with severe anxiety or sensory issues. But I think general anesthesia's our best bet. It's like laughing gas, nitrous oxide yet it'll simply keep him asleep during the whole procedure." Karen felt a weight lift from her shoulders. "Okay," she said. "We can do that." Dr. Coral nodded. "Good. We'll schedule you for general anesthesia. It'll be easier on everyone. Tomorrow morning works for you?" Karen nodded. "Yes, we'll make it here, bright and early." The drive home was silent, the tension in the car thick as the kelp outside. Plankton was curled in his seat, his body tight with residual fear. Chip's mind raced, trying to process everything that had happened. His dad, so strong and sure, had crumpled before his eyes like a discarded piece of paper. Once home, Karen helped Plankton to the couch. Chip hovered nearby, his eyes darting between his parents, unsure of what to do. "Why don't you go play in your room," Karen suggested, her voice gentle. "Let me take care of your dad." He nodded, retreating to his room with a heavy heart. The silence in the house was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos of the dentist's office. Karen helped Plankton pick out a blanket and a stuffed animal, comfort items, for the oral surgery tomorrow. Plankton's stims were more pronounced as he tried to process the information. "It'll be okay," she whispered. He nodded, his antennae still twitching. "We'll be there with you," she assured him. "Every step of the way." Early the next day Karen got up so she could take Plankton back for his wisdom teeth removal procedure. He was already awake, his antennae twitching with nervous energy. Chip also will go with them. Plankton sat up front with his blanket and plush. Karen squeezed his hand. "Remember, sweetie, it's going to be okay." He nodded, his antennae drooping slightly as he turned to look out the window. Chip sat in the back, his eyes glued to his father's reflection. They arrived at the dental clinic, and the receptionist looked up, her smile faltering slightly at the sight of Plankton's agitation. "Dr. Coral is almost ready, so have a seat in the waiting area." As they all sat, Plankton started rocking back and forth, his stims increasing with each moment that ticked by. "Hnnn," Plankton hums. Karen's eyes searched the room for anything that might help calm him, but the bright lights and the cacophony of sounds only seemed to exacerbate his discomfort. The fish flipping through magazines, the TV playing a children's show, the distant whine of a drill from a different room—each element a potential minefield for his sensitive senses. Chip watched his dad, his throat tight with anxiety. He'd never seen him like this, so vulnerable and frightened. Karen reached over and placed a tentative hand on Plankton's shoulder. "It's okay," she whispered, but Plankton flinched away, his antennae quivering. Karen understood. Plankton's in need of his space, and she wouldn't push him. She knew today's particularly overwhelming. Dr. Coral called them back, and Plankton's body stiffened. Karen stood up, her arm around his waist, guiding him toward the open door. "Let's go, sweetie," she murmured. "It's time. Chip will stay here in the waiting room, okay?" The surgery room was a stark contrast to the waiting area. The lights were dimmer, the sounds softer. The smell of antiseptic was faint, but it was enough to make Plankton's antennae twitch with anxiety. Karen noticed and whispered, "You can keep your plushie with you." He nodded, his grip on the stuffed animal tight. They approached the exam chair, and he allowed Karen to help him climb up. The nurse, a kind octopus named Octavia, smiled. "Hi! I'll make sure you're comfy and snoozing while Dr. Coral takes out the wisdom teeth. She told me about your needs and we've the gas, okay? And Karen will stay with you the whole time." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching momentarily, his eye blinking rapidly as he tried to process her words. "You'll stay?" he asked, his voice small, hopeful. Karen nodded. "I'll be here." He held out his hand for her to hold and she took it. The stuffed plush was in his other arm. The nurse, Octavia, prepared a mouth prop. "This is going to help keep your mouth open comfortably," she explained, her voice gentle. "It's soft, and it won't pinch." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye narrowing. It looked like a pair of plastic salad tongs. He opened his mouth and allowed her to place it gently. Dr. Coral entered, her smile reassuring. "Ready?" she asked. Plankton nodded, his antennae still. Karen took his hand, squeezing it tight.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 14 The gas mask was placed over his face, and he took deep breaths as instructed. The world grew fuzzy. His eye grew heavy, his antennae drooping. Karen watched as Plankton's body grew slack, his antennae finally still. The gas did its job, lulling him into a deep sleep. Dr. Coral smiles at Octavia's nod, indicating that the anesthesia had taken full effect. Plankton's body was now relaxed. Octavia then administered the IV as she removed the gas mask. "Alright, Karen," Dr. Coral began, her voice soft. "We're going to get started now. Remember, he's going to sleep through this, okay?" Karen nods as they also inject local anesthetic into his gums. Plankton's snores filled the room, a gentle rhythm that was a stark contrast to the precision of the surgical procedure. Dr. Coral and her team began the extraction. Karen's eyes never left Plankton's face, her thumb absently stroking the back of his hand. She watched as Dr. Coral carefully extracted the wisdom teeth. Octavia, the nurse, went to work with the suction device, keeping his mouth clear. Plankton's snores grew steadier, a testament to his deep sleep. Karen's grip on his hand tightened as the surgery progressed. The extraction was quick, each tooth pulled gently and with care. Plankton's face remained peaceful, oblivious to the world around him. His antennae twitched slightly as Dr. Coral worked, but he was lost in the depths of his slumber. Once the teeth were out, Dr. Coral turned to the stitches. Plankton's body remained still, his snores a comforting background noise. "We're using stitches that dissolve. Since he's prone to spasms, we're just putting more of them in just in case. It's our protocol for patients with a history of seizures or epileptic disorders." The removal of the IV was next, and Karen felt her heart race. She knew this could be a trigger for him, if he were awake. As Dr. Coral finished up, she looked to Karen. "Okay, now for the gauze." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. She knew the next part could be tricky, but Dr. Coral had assured her that they'd done everything possible to ensure his comfort. The nurse, Octavia, stepped back in with Chip, handing Dr. Coral the gauze. The room was quiet except for the soft snores of Plankton as they remove the mouth prop. Dr. Coral carefully packed the gauze into his mouth, the cottony softness melding with the contours of his gums. Each movement was precise, each touch gentle. Plankton's antennae twitched in his sleep, his body reacting to the foreign sensation, but he remained asleep. "Remember, Karen," she whispered, her voice soothing. "When he wakes up, he might be a bit loopy. It's normal with the anesthesia. He might not remember much, or he might say things that don't make sense. It's also ok if he takes a lot of naps. So, don't worry too much. It takes a little while. Oh, and his mouth has also been numbed." Plankton's snores grew even, the surgery now complete. Karen kisses his forehead. "You did so well," she murmured. Chip came to the doorway, his heart thudding in his chest. He'd never seen his dad so vulnerable. Plankton's mouth was slack, a thin line of drool trailing down his chin as he slept. Karen dabbed it away with a gentle napkin, her eyes filled with love and concern. "The drool is normal and ok," Octavia said. The surgery had been a success, yet she knew the next week of recovery could be a challenge. Plankton slept, his mouth open slightly, another trickle of drool forming at the corner of his lips. Karen watched over him, her heart swelling with relief and love. Chip hovered in the doorway, his eyes following the soft rise and fall of his father's chest. Karen's mind raced with thoughts of the coming week, knowing that Plankton would need around-the-clock care. He'd need his meals softened, his mouth cleaned, his pain managed. Yet she felt a sense of peace settle over her. They'd faced so much, and together, they'd navigate this too. The nurse, Octavia, noticed Chip's concern. "It's normal," she assured him, her voice soft. "The medicine makes his muscles relax. He won't be like this forever." Plankton's mouth remained open slightly, the gentle snores punctuating the quiet room. Karen sat in the chair beside him, her hand never leaving his. She studied his face, the peacefulness of his sleep a stark contrast to his fear earlier. She couldn't help but chuckle at the slight drool that had formed on his plushie. It had soaked through to the fabric, leaving a damp spot. The nurse, Octavia, smiled at Chip. "It's normal," she said. "The anesthesia can do that." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "But it's okay," she added, seeing the concern in Chip's expression. "He's safe. He's not feeling any pain." Chip nodded, his throat tight. He'd never seen his dad so vulnerable. He watched as a drop of drool slipped from Plankton's mouth, landing on the plushie in his arm. It was a strange sight, his dad, the man who always had everything under control, now lying here, defenseless in sleep. But the sight of Karen, so calm and loving, her hand in his dad's, gave him comfort. He knew that together, they could handle anything. Chip took a deep breath, steeling himself for the days ahead. He'd have to be there for Plankton, just like his mom.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 15 As the anesthesia began to wear off, Plankton's snores grew quieter. His antennae twitched slightly, a sign that he was coming back to consciousness. Karen was there, her hand still in his, ready to face whatever the waking world brought with him. His eyelid fluttered open, his pupil dilated and unfocused. "Mmph," he mumbled, his mouth filled with gauze. Karen's heart jumped. She leaned in closer, her voice soft. "Hey, Plankton, you're okay. You're back!" Plankton looked at her, his antennae twitching. "Wha...?" he mumbled, his speech slurred from the anesthesia. He tried to sit up, but the nurse, Octavia, gently pushed his shoulders back down. "Easy, Mr. Plankton," she said. "Take i---" "Wha... Whath...?" Plankton interrupts. Karen leaned closer. "You had your wisdom teeth taken out," she explained gently. "You're going to be a bit sleepy and your mouth is going to feel funny." Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in her words. "Teef?" he slurred, his voice higher than usual. "Owies?" Karen nodded, her smile soft. "Yes, but you're all done now." She gently stroked his cheek. "You were so brave." Plankton's antennae twitched as he tried to comprehend. The world was a blur, his mouth still numb and filled with cottony gauze. "Windom teef?" he mumbled. Karen's eyes filled with compassion as she nodded. "Yes, sweetie, they took them out to make sure you don't hurt." She held up his plushie, now wet from the drool. "Remember your friend here?" Plankton blinked, his eye focusing on the plushie. He nodded slightly, his antennae slowing their twitching. "Fwens," he murmured, his voice faint. Karen pressed the stuffed animal to his chest. "You did so good," she whispered. "Now, let's get you home so you can rest." Chip stepped forward, his own anxiety easing slightly at the sight of his dad's confusion. He reached for the plushie. "Da-" But Plankton's eye widened. "No!" he protested, his voice slurred. "Ith’s mime!" Karen's eyes met Chip's. "Let him have it," she whispered. "It's a comfort object." Chip nodded, stepping back. The nurse, Octavia, smiled gently. "Okay, Mr. Plankton, let's get you sitting up now." Plankton's antennae twitched as he complied, his movements slow and clumsy. Chip couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy at the sight of his dad so out of sorts. Karen helped him into a sitting position, his eye still unfocused. "Whewe am I again?" he asked, his voice small and lost. "You're at the dentist," Karen said, her voice soothing. "Remember the surgery?" Plankton blinked, his memory foggy. "Teethies?" He looked around the room, his antennae quivering. "Ith wath scawy," he said, his voice trembling. "Buth now it'th aww done?" Karen nodded, her smile reassuring. "Yes, sweetie, it's all done. You're okay." Chip watched, his heart swelling with emotion. His dad's confused speech from his numb mouth was a stark reminder of his vulnerability. "Buth I don't feew ith," Plankton said, his antennae drooping. "Mowf, funny." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "It's because the doctor had to make your mouth sleepy," she explained. "But we'll get you home, and you can take more naps to feel better." Chip watched his dad, his heart aching. The brave front Plankton had put on was gone, replaced by childlike bewilderment from the lingering anesthesia. "C-can go hone now?" Plankton mumbled, his voice still thick and slurred. Karen nodded, her eyes filled with pity. "Yes, we're going home right now." She turned to Octavia. "Can we go?" The nurse nodded. As they helped Plankton into the car, his movements were still clumsy, his coordination off from the anesthesia. He leaned heavily on Karen, his antennae drooping. "Thath way," he murmured, his eye pointing in the general direction of the car. Chip stepped aside, his heart heavy as he watched his dad's unsteady gait. Once inside, Karen buckled him in and put his blanket over. "Here you go," she said, her voice soothing. "Everything's going to be okay." Falling asleep as Karen drove, Plankton's head lolled to the side, his mouth open, drool pooling in the corner. His snores were low and rhythmic, his antennae still, and his mouth was slack. Karen giggled. "Plankton how you doing?" He stirred, antennae twitching slightly. "Mmf," he murmured. "Tham." Karen's eyes filled with love. "We're almost home," she said. "Just a little longer." Plankton nodded, his antennae still droopy. "Karen I'm tiwweeddd!" Karen couldn't help but laugh, her heart warming at his slurred speech. "Whewe's Chip?" he asked suddenly, his voice groggy. Karen looked in the rearview mirror. "He's right here, behind us," she assured him. "Keeping an eye on you." Chip felt his cheeks warm with the attention. Plankton's confusion was so innocent, like a child's, it was hard not to be drawn in by it. He leaned forward. "Hi, Dad," he said gently. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching the backseat. "Chip?" Chip nodded, trying to smile. "I'm here, Dad." Plankton's gaze was glassy, his voice slurred. "You...shay?" "Yes, Dad," Chip said. "I'm right here."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 16 "Wha...whath time ith it?" Plankton asked, his speech still thick. Karen glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "It's almost noon, sweetie," she said, her voice steady. "We're going to get you home, and you can take a nice, long nap." Plankton nodded, his eye half-closed. "Nan?" he repeated, the word almost a question. Karen nodded. "Yes, nap. And then we can make you something soft and yummy to eat." The mention of food seemed to rouse him slightly, his antennae perking up. "Puddink?" he mumbled. Karen laughed again. "Yes, sweetie, pudding." "Whewe...whath..." he slurred, his head rolling slightly. Karen chuckled. "You're so tired, aren't you?" Plankton nodded, his eye half-closed. "Home," he murmured. "Wan' home. Karen wiww make puddink?" "Yes, sweetie, we're going home," Karen said, her voice filled with warmth. "And can make pudding for you." She squeezed his hand. "Do you want chocolate or vanilla?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he thought. "Chocowate," he mumbled, his speech still slow. Chip watched his dad, his heart aching at the childlike way he spoke. It was both endearing and heart- wrenching, a stark reminder of the toll the anesthesia and surgery had taken on him. "Chocowate," Plankton repeated, his voice slurred. "Pwease." Karen nodded, her smile gentle. "Of course, sweetie," she soothed. "Chocolate pudding it is." Karen finally parked in their driveway. "We're home," she said softly, turning to face Plankton. His antennas twitched at the mention of home, his eye fighting to stay open. Karen helped him out of the car, his legs wobbly. "Come on," she coaxed, "Let's get you inside." Chip also followed them in. In the living room, Plankton stumbled to the couch, his stuffed animal still clutched in his arm. He looked around, his expression lost. "Bathwom?" he slurred. "No, Plankton," Karen laughed, helping him lay down. "You're home." Plankton's eye widened. "Chip?" he slurred. His son smiled, his own anxieties easing slightly. "Yeah, Dad, it's me." He approached the couch, his movements deliberate and slow. "Ith's sho bwight," Plankton whispered, his gaze flickering around the room. The normalcy of their home was overwhelming in his current state. Karen understood, her eyes filled with compassion. "Let's get you comfortable," she said, helping him adjust his pillows. "Do you need anything?" He looked at her with his one eye, so full of trust and confusion. "I needff Karen and-a Chip." Karen's heart melted at his words. "You have us," she whispered, brushing his forehead. "We're right here." Plankton nodded, his antennae finally still. "Thath's goob," he murmured. "Thath's vewy goob. Can Chip...can Chip thee me?" Chip's eyes widened slightly, his throat tight. He took a step closer to the couch. "Yeah, Dad, I'm here." Plankton's gaze found his son's, his antennae still droopy. "Tawk to me," he slurred. "Chip wanth tawk to me?" Chip nodded. "Of course, Dad." He took a seat next to him, his heart heavy. He wasn't used to seeing his dad so open, so... talkative. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he looked to Chip's voice, his mind still groggy from the surgery. "Wha...whath's wrong, Chip?" he mumbled, his words thick with the remnants of the anesthesia. Chip took a deep breath. "Nothing's wrong, Dad," he said softly. "I just want to be here with you." Plankton's antennae wobbled as he processed his son's words. "Wiww you thtay?" he asked, his eye half-closed. Karen watched from the kitchen, her eyes filled with love and concern. She knew his confusion was temporary, but it still tugged at her heartstrings. Chip nodded, his voice gentle. "Yeah, Dad, I'll stay." Plankton's antennae stilled. "Thath's good," he murmured. "Chip, can I... can I...hamv?" His voice was tiny, his one eye looking up at his son with hope. "Chip my hamg, hamv in youw hamv?" Chip felt a lump form in his throat. He knew that his dad was reaching out for comfort, seeking the safety of touch. Despite his initial shock, he nods. "Sure, Dad," he whispered, his voice thick. "You can have my hand." Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the offer, his eye still half-closed. He reached over, his movements sluggish, and grasped Chip's hand with his own. Chip felt his dad's grip tighten, his thumb stroking the back of his hand gently. The simple touch was a stark contrast to the firm handshakes and stern demeanor his dad usually allowed. Plankton's voice was barely audible as he whispered, "Than' you, Chip." Chip swallowed hard, his throat tight. "It's okay, Dad," he murmured back. "I'm right here." Karen watched them from the kitchen, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. The sight of his dad, so dependent and confused, was hard for Chip to process. Yet, he felt a strange comfort in it, a bond forming between them that transcended the typical father- son dynamics. Plankton's eye grew heavy, his antennae drooping. "Sowwy," he mumbled. "Wan' go...go sleep. No moreth of touch." Chip nodded, his heart swelling with emotion. "It's okay, Dad," he said. "You just rest." He gently removed his hand, his eyes never leaving his father's face. Plankton's antennae twitched one last time before his eye closed, his breathing evening out. The plushie was clutched tightly to his chest, his hand lying open on the couch cushion. Karen watched him, her love for him so clear. "He's going to be okay," she assured Chip. "The medicine will wear off by tomorrow. Just give him some space and quiet." Chip nodded, his concern still etched in his features. Plankton was usually so sharp, so in control. Seeing him like this was unusual. Karen smiles. "Here," she whispered. "Let's clean his mouth." They gently removed the blood-soaked gauze, replacing it with a fresh one. Plankton's eye flipped open for a second, his antennae quivering. "Wha...?" he murmured, his voice still slurred. Karen smiled, her voice gentle. "It's okay, Plankton. Just a little clean up." Plankton nodded, his eye half-closed again. "Mm-hmm, jush a wiww cweam up." He parrots via echolalia, despite his slurred speech and droopy antennae. "Than' you," he murmured again, his voice tiny. "Wove you." Karen's heart squeezed at his words. "I love you too, sweetie," she said. "Now I'll help you to your bed, so you can sleep off the rest of any anesthesia." Karen supported him to his feet, his legs wobbly. Plankton stumbled slightly, his antennae twitching in confusion. "Bed," he slurred. "Bed." She guided him upstairs, his steps slow and unsteady. "Careful, sweetie," she said, her voice soothing. "Just a few more." Chip trailed behind them. As they reached the bed room, Karen helped him onto the bed. "Wha...wha's fis?" he mumbled. "It's our room, Plankton," Karen said, her voice gentle. "You need to rest now." Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in his surroundings, his gaze focusing on the familiar sight of his bed. "Oh," he murmured, his speech still slurred. "Bed." Karen helped him lay back, his body slumping into the softness. His stuffed animal was placed carefully beside him, his hand still wrapped around it. "Comfortable?" she asked, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton nodded, his antennae still. "Mm-hmm," he mumbled. "Go night."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 17 The next morning Plankton groaned awake, anesthesia for his wisdom teeth having worn off during the night. He's in his bed, by Karen's. "Karen?" he mumbled. His antennae twitch as he looked around, trying to recall the previous day. Karen stirred beside him, her eyes opening sleepily. "You okay?" she asked, concern etching her face. Plankton nodded, his movements slow. "Mouth hurts," he whispered, his voice hoarse. Karen's smile was filled with sympathy. "It's normal, sweetie," she soothed, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. "The surgery was yesterday. It'll take a few days for it to feel better." Plankton's antennae twitched as he tried to sit up. The pain was sharp, a reminder of his ordeal. Karen knew his autism would make him impatient, knowing his sensory sensitivities. "Do you need anything, sweetie?" she asked, her voice gentle. Plankton was always particular, but now, his needs were magnified. He shrugged. "Not right now," he murmured. Chip knocked softly on the door, his heart racing. He hadn't seen his dad since last night. "Hey, Dad," he whispered, stepping into the room. Plankton's eye widened slightly, his antennas quivering. "Chip?" he said. Chip nodded, his expression tentative. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitched. "Mouth hurts," he mumbled. "But I'm okay." Chip nodded, his eyes searching his dad's. "Do you...do you rememb-" Plankton's eye darted to the side, his antennae quivering. "I...I remember," he said, his voice strained. "The de-" "Dentist," Chip finished for him, his voice gentle. Plankton nodded, his gaze flicking to Chip's face. "Yeah, the dentist." He paused, his antennae stilling. "It was scary." "But I mean, what all do you recall from yesterday, Dad?" Plankton's antennae drooped slightly as he searched his mind. "I...I remember the chair, the lights," he murmured, his voice faint. "And the...the...uh, the mask." His voice grew smaller. "And then... I felt myself waking up. Anything else after that I... I'm not sure; hopefully I've done nothing foolish.." Karen's eyes filled with understanding. "You were groggy, sweetie. It's normal. You didn't do anything weird." Plankton's eye searched hers. "I...I talked to you, right?" Karen nodded. "Yes, you talked to me." Plankton's antennae twitched. "And Chip?" he asked, his voice hopeful. "You talked to him too," Karen assured him. Chip stepped closer to the bed, his eyes on his dad's face. "You talked to me, Dad," he said softly. "You were just a bit out of it, but we ta—" Plankton's antennae shot up. "What do you mean I was out of it?" Karen sighed, her eyes soft. "You were a bit confused, darling," she explained gently. "The anesthesia can make people say things they might not usually say." Plankton's eye widened. "What things; Chip? What made you to believe I was out of it?" Chip's cheeks flushed, but he knew this was an important moment for his dad to understand. "Well," he began, "you talked about wanting pudding, and you held my ha-" Plankton's antennae shot up. "I did WHAT?" he interrupted, his voice sharp with alarm. "I held your hand?" Chip nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah, Dad, you asked if you could hold my hand, I guess looking for com--" "I did no such thing!" His face flushed with embarrassment. Karen's eyes filled with concern. "Plankton, it's okay. It was just the medicine. It was just because you were so tired and needed comfort." Plankton's antennae drooped with embarrassment in front of Chip. Chip knew his dad valued his dignity highly and his autism made social interactions difficult. He took a deep breath. "Dad, it's okay. It's just that you were really tired and the medicine made you say some things you might not have meant." Plankton looked up. "I kno— I said stuff? What stuff? What'd all I do?" Karen stepped in, her voice calm. "You just talked about being tired, and asked for pudding. That's all." Plankton's antennae twitched in relief. "Oh. Okay." He lay back, his breath evening out. "So I didn't look or ac-" "You were adorable," Chip interrupted, trying to lighten the mood. Plankton's eye narrowed, his antennae still. "What?" he asked, his voice skeptical. "I was what? How so, Chip?" Chip shrugged, his smile genuine. "In the car, you fell aslee—" "Chip," Karen warned, interrupting him. She knew his intentions were good, but she also knew that Plankton could become easily upset by perceived patronizing. But Plankton's always been stubborn. "No, no; Chip, how'd you know if I was asleep?" Chip stumbled, trying to explain without causing distress. "You, uh, your snores were...uh..." Plankton's antennae perked up, his eye focusing on Chip. "WHAT?" he asked. Karen chuckled. "Yes, dear, you snore. But it's nothing to be embarrassed about." Plankton's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. "I do not!" he protested. "You must have heard the engine, or something?" Chip couldn't help but laugh, his eyes sparkling. "No, Dad, it was definitely you." Karen's eyes crinkled with amusement. "It's just your snoring, Plankton," she said. "It's cute, and I've heard it numerous times before." Chip just grinned, unable to hold back his laughter any longer. Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye looking between the two of them. "Cute?" he murmured, his voice filled with doubt. Karen nodded, her smile warm. "Yes, cute," Chip told him. "It's just a part of who you are, like your stims.." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly at the word 'stims'. He knew about stimming, the way his body moved when he was nervous or overwhelmed. But to hear it from Chip, to know his son was still thinking of it, was mortifying. Chip, noticing his dad's discomfort, quickly changed the subject. "So, how about that chocolate pudding?" he chuckled, trying to ease tension. But Plankton's attitude remained. Karen, ever the mediator, stepped in. "You know what, let's give each other some space," she suggested, looking at Chip. She knew Plankton's limits and can tell when he's overwhelmed. Chip nodded, his laughter dying down. "Okay," he murmured, stepping back. Plankton's antennae twitched as he lay there. His hand began to move in small, repetitive circles. It was a stim, something he did when restless. "Why did I ask for pudding?" he whispered to himself, his voice tiny. "Why did I hold his hand?" His antennae quivered with the weight of his thoughts. He had always been particular about personal space, so the idea of holding Chip's hand was both confusing and disconcerting. "It was the medicine," he murmured. "Just the medicine. That's right. Just the medicine. It's just me, Plankton. I'm ok. Just a bit...different." He paused, his antennae still. "But I'm ok." "Dad," Chip said softly. Plankton's antennas shot up at the sound, his stimming hand freezing. He turned his head, his eye finding Chip's face. "What is it?" he asked, his voice sharp. Chip approached the bed, his gaze on his dad's hand, still mid-motion. Plankton's antennae twitched in irritation. "Is that a stim, Dad?" Chip said, trying to keep his tone neutral. "You know, like when you bounce your leg or I ta-" "I know what a stim is," Plankton snapped, his antennae waving in annoyance. "Why do you keep bringing it up?" Chip took a step back, his face falling. "I just...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye narrowing. "No," he murmured. "It's...it's because my mouth hurts." Chip nodded, his gaze focused. "But that's not all of it, is i---" Plankton's hand abruptly stopped moving, his antennae straightening. "What do you know, Chip?" he asked, his voice defensive. Karen could see the hurt in Chip's expression, but she knew this was a boundary Plankton needed to set.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 18 Chip took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving his dad's. "I know that stims can help yo--" "Chip," Plankton interrupts, his antennae stiff. "It's not your place to analyze my behaviors." His voice was firm, but there was a hint of sadness behind it. Curiosity getting the better of him, Chip's hand began to mirror Plankton's movements. He watched his own hand move in tiny circles, feeling the familiarity of it. "It's like how you do it, Dad," he murmured, his eyes wide. Plankton's antennas shot up, his gaze snapping to Chip's hand. "What?" he barked, his voice sharp. Chip's hand stilled, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I just... I wanted to-" Plankton's antennae quivered. "Why are you doing that?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion. Chip's eyes never left his hand, his mind racing. "I...I just wanted to understand," he murmured. "It's okay, Dad," he said. "It's just... it's something we can share‽" Karen watched the exchange, her heart in her throat. She knew that Plankton's autism was a complex, personal experience, and she wasn't sure how he'd react to their son's attempt to— But Plankton's eye burned with fury at the thought. It was his, his way to cope, his private struggle, not for others to address or copy. "Don't you DARE!" he shouted. Chip stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock and fear. In an instant, Plankton's anger spilled over into action. He threw his pillow across the room, the soft thud echoing through the silent house. Karen flinched, her hand flying to her mouth. Chip had never seen his dad so out of control. "Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It's okay, it's just-" But Plankton wasn't listening. His body was a whirlwind of emotions, his autism manifesting in a physical display of anger. He swung his arm, knocking knickknacks off the nightstand. Karen rushed over, her heart racing. She knew this was a meltdown, something they had worked hard to avoid, but she also knew that Plankton's boundaries had been crossed and that he's trying to recover from his wisdom teeth. "Plankton, honey," she said soothingly, her hands reaching for his shoulders. "It's okay." Her voice was steady, her eyes filled with calm. Plankton's antennas quivered as he looked at her, his chest heaving with deep, painful breaths. Chip walked up. "Yeah, Dad. It's okay.." But Plankton's antennae shot back, knocking Chip's hand away. "NO!" he shouted, his voice high-pitched. "Don't touch me!" Karen's eyes grew wide with concern as she saw the raw pain and anger in Plankton's face. She knew this was a meltdown, a direct result of the overstimulation and stress from the surgery, Chip's curiosity, and the invasion of his personal space. "Chip, give your dad some room," she instructed calmly. Chip stepped back, his heart pounding. Plankton's antennae whipped around wildly. He clenched his fists, the tension palpable in the air. He didn't understand why his son was mimicking his actions, didn't get why it felt so wrong. "Dad," Chip tried again, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to he-" But Plankton's rage was a storm, unyielding. With a snarl, he hit the bed with his hands. Karen's heart pounded as she watched from the sidelines, knowing that any wrong move could escalate the situation. The room grew smaller, his vision blurred. Plankton's mind raced, unable to comprehend why Chip would do such a thing. He felt invaded, his personal space, his way of coping, tainted by his son's curiosity. He clenched his fists, the urge to lash out growing stronger. The pain in his mouth was competing with the agony of feeling misunderstood. With a roar, Plankton pushed the bedside table, sending it crashing to the floor. Karen's eyes widened, her heart racing, but she remained still, knowing any sudden movement could fuel the fire. "Plankton, please," she said, her voice calm but firm. "You're scaring Chip." But her words barely registered with him. He was lost in his own world of pain and misunderstanding. "I'M NOT!" Plankton shouted. "I'M NOT SCARED OF HIM! I'M NOT CHIP'S CHILD!" Plankton bellowed. Chip swallowed hard, his body trembling. He had never seen his father like this, Plankton's breaths coming in heavy gasps. Karen stepped closer, her movements slow and calculated. "Plankton," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. "Look at me. Look at me, darling." Plankton's antennae slowed their frantic movements, his eye focusing on her. "You're not Chip's child," she said calmly. "You're my husband, and Chip's father. You're Plankton, and you're autistic. Your stims are a part of autism, but they're not for anyone else to take or mimic. It's okay to be upset. But you need to breathe." Plankton's antennae stilled slightly at her words, his eye focusing on her face. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding with the effort. He knew Karen understood, that she had always been his anchor. Chip watched, his heart pounding in his chest. He wished he could take it all back, make it right again. He had only wanted to connect with his dad, to show that he cared, but instead, he had hurt him. Plankton took another deep breath, his antennae twitching slightly. Karen's cleaned up the mess. "I'm sorry, Karen," he murmured, his voice low. "It's just...it's just that...I don't...I don't like it when people do that." Karen's eyes were filled with understanding. "I know, sweetie," she said. "And we're sorry for making you feel that way." She looked at Chip, her gaze firm. "Chip, you need to respect your dad's boundaries. Just because you see something and think it's ok to copy doesn't mean it is." Chip's face fell, his eyes welling up with tears. "But I just wanted to help," he murmured. Karen's gaze softened. "I know you did, Chip," she said gently. "But sometimes, helping means knowing when to step back or let someone else handle things." She turned to Plankton, her voice still firm but filled with love. "And you, Plankton, you need to tell us when you're feeling overwhelmed." Plankton's antennae drooped, his expression one of regret. "I'll try," he murmured.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 19 The room grew quiet, the tension slowly dissipating. Karen moved to sit beside Plankton on the bed, her arm wrapped around him. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip whispered, his voice shaky. He felt a heavy weight in his chest, knowing he had unintentionally hurt his dad. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his gaze focusing on the floor. He didn't respond to Chip, but his antenna twitched at the apology. After a moment of silence, Plankton's voice grew softer, his words barely above a whisper. "Why do I do this?" he murmured to himself, self-soothing, his voice echoing his thoughts. "It's just...it's just me, being me." Karen's grip on his shoulder tightened, her eyes filled with understanding. She knew his autism made certain situations unbearable, and that his stims were his way of navigating the overwhelming world around him. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispered. "You're okay." Chip watched, his eyes brimming with tears. He had witnessed his dad's pain, the flailing antennae and clenched fists, and felt a pang of regret. He had crossed a line without knowing it was there. Plankton's hand began to move again, the repetitive motion of his stim. It was a gentle rocking now, back and forth. His antennae had stilled, his gaze firmly on the floor. The room was thick with emotion, the air charged with the unspoken. Karen watched him, her heart aching. She knew that stimming was his way to self-soothe, to find calm in a world that often didn't make sense. She reached for his hand, her touch light and reassuring. "You're okay, Plankton," she murmured. "We're here for you." Chip stared at his dad, his heart racing. He had never seen him so upset, so lost. He took a step closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said softly. "I didn't mean to make yo-" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye snapping to Chip's face. "Don't," he murmured. "Just don't." His voice was tight, his body still tense. Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. He knew his dad needed space, but his heart was heavy with the desire to bridge the gap between them. He took a step back, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay." Karen looked at Chip, her face a mix of sadness and understanding. She knew that his intentions were pure, but his actions had unintentionally caused pain. "Chip," she began, "let's go to the kitchen and see what soft foods we have." Her voice was gentle, a clear sign that she wanted to give Plankton some space. Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he watched them leave, the door closing softly behind them. In the kitchen, Chip hovered nearby, his hands fidgeting. "Mom," he began, his voice tentative. "I didn't mean to...to make him upset." Karen's eyes meet Chip's. "I know you didn't, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentle. "But your dad's autism can make things complicated." "It's just...I wanted to connect," Chip murmured. "I thought if I did what he does, he'd see that I get it." Karen's eyes searched his face, understanding etched deep in her gaze. "Chip," she said, her voice soft. "You can't experience the world the way your father does. His stims are his language, his way to deal with overstimulation. They're not for us to imitate." Chip nodded, his throat tight. "But I just want to make him feel better," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Karen sighed, her eyes meeting her son's. "I know you do," she said. "But you have to respect his boundaries, his way of dealing with things. It's not about you connecting or not connecting; it's about supporting him in the way he needs it." She paused, her gaze thoughtful. "Why don't you ask him how you can help?" Chip nodded slowly, his thoughts racing. He knew his mom was right, but it was so hard to see his dad in pain and not do anything. But he also knew that Plankton wasn't just his dad; he was an autistic individual with his own unique experiences and needs. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation to come. He returned to the bedroom, his eyes on the floor. "Dad?" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "Can we talk?" Plankton's hand stopped stimming, his eye looking up at Chip. "What about?" he asked, his voice guarded. Chip took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I'm sorry for mimicking your stim," he said, his voice quiet. "I didn't think how it made you feel, and I see now that it wa-" "Why'd you do it?" Plankton interrupted, his antennae stiff with tension. "What's so fascinating about it?" Chip swallowed, his hands shaking slightly. "I just...I wanted to help you," he managed to get out. "To know what it feels like for you, to share in-" "It's not for sharing!" Plankton's antennae shot up. "It's for ME!" The words echoed through the room, his voice tight. He turned onto his side facing away from Chip. But Chip didn't stop there. He approached the bed, his steps cautious, eyes on Plankton's tense back. Chip's hand hovered over his father's shoulder before he thought better of it. "Dad?" he said, his voice tentative. Plankton's body remained rigid his eye glazed over now. Chip's gaze landed on his father's unblinking eye. A sudden realization hit him like a wave. "Oh no," he murmured, his hand flying to his mouth. "It's a seizure, isn't it?" This was the first time he'd recognized one without being told, where Plankton just zones out for a bit. But now what? Plankton didn't respond, his body completely still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Chip's heart raced as he recalled his mom saying to tell her whenever he sees something like this. He bolted out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he called for his mom. "Mom! Mom, come quick!" His voice was laced with fear. Karen rushed in, her eyes wide with concern. She took one look at Plankton, his body unnaturally still, his eye unblinking, and she knew. "It's okay, Chip," she said, her voice calm despite the panic rising within her. "It's just a seizure. He'll be okay." Chip's eyes searched hers, desperate for reassurance. "But what do we do?" he asked, his voice shaking. Karen's hand found his, squeezing gently. "We wait," she murmured. "We stay with him, and we wait."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 21 Chip took a step back, his eyes still on the floor. He felt a heavy weight in his chest, a mixture of sadness and determination. He knew he had made a mistake, but he was also aware that this could be a chance for him to learn and show his dad that he truly cared. Karen sat beside Plankton, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Why don't you tell us what you need right now?" she asked softly. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "I need...I need to be al-" "Alone?" Chip filled in, his voice gentle. "But Dad, we want to be here for you. I won't le-" Plankton's antennae whipped around, his eye narrowing. "Oh, I know," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Because you're just so good at understanding, right?" His tone was biting, a sharp contrast to the usual softness in his voice. Chip flinched at the harshness, his own feelings of inadequacy rising to the surface. "Dad, I'm tr-" But Plankton continued, his words coming out in a rush. "You think you know, but you don't. You don't know what it's like to have the world crash down on you every minute of every day, to be bombarded with sounds and smells that are too much, too intense." His antennae twitched erratically. "And then you come in with your 'let's talk about it' and 'let me see' and 'let me do it with you' and you think that's going to fix me?" The sarcasm in his voice was palpable, his antennae drooping with frustration. "You think I want to be a science project for you to study?" Plankton's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I'm not broken, Chip. I'm just different. And any stims, they're not for you to copy or understand or even acknowledge. They're mine, SOLELY mine!" Karen watched the exchange unfold, her heart aching for both her husband and son. Plankton was hurting, and his defensiveness was a clear sign of it. She knew his stims were a private, sacred part of who he was, and she saw Chip's desire to bridge the gap. But she knew when Plankton was like this, that it was time to let him be. "Why don't you go to your room, Chip?" she suggested gently. "Let your dad have some space." Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. He couldn't bear to see his dad in pain, but he knew that pushing would only make things worse. With a heavy heart, he turned and walked out of the room, his feet feeling like lead. Karen watched him go, her gaze then shifting back to Plankton. Plankton's antennae still twitched. Karen moved closer to him. "It's ok, sweetie," she murmured. "I'm here." He leaned into her touch, his body slowly relaxing. Her words were a balm, soothing his raw nerves. A week after Plankton's completely healed from wisdom teeth, he no longer having mouth discomfort. One evening Karen hangs up her phone from her friend Hanna. She lives far away, and they'll take a trip to stay and visit with her. Neither Plankton nor Chip met Hanna before. Hanna knows Karen's married to Plankton, but she doesn't know about his autism. Karen breaks the news gently. "Boys," she says, "We're visiting Hanna tomorrow. It's gonna be a day long drive and we need to pack. We'll be staying at her place!" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting around the room as he processes this sudden change of plans. The thought of traveling, of new smells and sounds, sends a shiver of anxiety through his body. "Now?" he asks, his voice tight. "But we...I need to prepare." Karen nods, her voice soothing. "We'll leave early, so we have time to get everything ready." She moves closer to him, her hand on his shoulder. "We'll pack together." Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae twitching with the effort to calm down. "Okay," he says. "Okay." He starts to pack, his movements methodical. Everything has its place, his suitcase organized with precision. Karen and Chip watch, knowing better than to interrupt. They've learned that when Plankton's in this mode, it's best to let him be. Karen also gets the special sensory bag for Plankton. His fidget toys and noise-canceling blindfold curtains are carefully placed in the bag. Chip decides to pack some favorite science books as Karen observes them, her heart swelling with pride and hope. Chip's come so far in understanding of Plankton's needs, not to mention their shared love for scientific trivia. Plankton, noticing Chip's packing, approaches with more books for their trip. "Here," he says, his voice slightly less tense. The next morning, Karen gets up early. They'll spend most of the day on the road and wanted to get a good head start. So she wakes Chip up first. "Chip," she whispers, shaking him gently. "Time to get going for our trip." Chip opens his eyes, sleepy but excited. He jumps out of bed, eager to start the day. Plankton, on the other hand, is still asleep. Karen approaches his side, her gaze soft. She knows waking him up can be tough, especially with his sensory issues. Gently, she places her hand on his shoulder. "Plankton," she whispers, keeping her voice low and even. "Wake up, sweetie. We're leaving for Hanna's soon." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly at the touch, his eye fluttering open. "We're leaving soon," Karen repeats. He nods, his body still stiff with sleep. She moves to the side, giving him space to sit up. Karen's going to drive and has Plankton's sensory bag in the front seat by her, so Plankton sits with Chip in the back.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 22 As they start the car and the engine rumbles to life, Plankton's hand starts to move in a repetitive motion, his thumb and forefinger tapping against each other. It's a stim. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, and she gives a small nod. "Remember, buddy," she says over her shoulder. "Just let him be." Chip nods, his eyes going back to his dad. Plankton's gaze is fixed on the passing scenery. Chip watches, his curiosity piqued but his respect for boundaries keen. He's learned so much about his dad's autism in the past weeks, but he knows there's still so much more to understand. The car's hum is a comforting white noise, and Chip can see the tension slowly draining from his father's body. Plankton's eye darts to the side, watching the trees blur by. Chip follows his gaze, seeing the world. "Dad," he says softly. "Can we see the science book together?" He holds it up, the one his dad had packed. Plankton's stimming pauses. He considers it, his antennae twitching. "Okay," he finally says, his voice a little softer. They spend time in quiet companionship, their heads bent over the pages, silently reading facts. Chip feels a warmth in his chest, a feeling of connection growing stronger with each page turned. The car's steady motion combined with the gentle hum of the engine begins to lull Plankton into a drowsy state. His antennae droop slightly, his eye blinking slower, and his breathing deepens. Karen glances in the rearview mirror, a smile touching her lips. She knows this look well. Plankton's autism often made him sensitive to the world, but now, with the familiar routine of the road trip and the soothing environment they've created, his body was finally letting go of the tension as Plankton's eye begins to drift shut. Chip felt his dad's weight shifting against him, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. The steady rhythm of the car's motion was a gentle lullaby to Plankton's overstimulated brain. His hand, which had been tapping out a steady rhythm, stilled. His antennae drooped low, his eye fluttering closed. Chip watched him, his heart swelling with a mix of love and sadness. It was rare to see Plankton so relaxed, his usual stoic exterior giving way to vulnerability. Karen kept her eyes on the road, a soft smile playing on her lips. She knew this was a victory, a sign that their efforts to create a safe space for Plankton were working. The trip was going better than she had dared hope. Chip felt a gentle pressure against his arm as Plankton's head grew heavier. He adjusted his position, careful not to disturb his dad. The book lay forgotten between them, their silent bond stronger than words. He watched as his dad's breathing grew deep and even, his antennae finally still. Karen glanced back again, her smile growing wider. "Looks like we've got a snoozing scientist," she whispered, hearing Plankton's gentle snores. Chip grinned, his own worries slipping away as he felt his dad's body relax against him. The road ahead was long, but the car was filled with a newfound peace. Plankton's snores grew softer as the miles ticked by. When they finally pulled up to Hanna's house, Plankton remained asleep, his body relaxed against Chip's side. Karen turned to look at them, her heart full. "Looks like he had a good nap," she murmured to Chip. Chip nodded, smiling down at his dad. "Yeah," he whispered. "I'm gonna miss this when we get out of the car. How are we gonna tell him we're here?" Karen chuckled softly. "We'll just have to wake him up gently, buddy." She opened her door, the crunch of gravel underfoot. The cool evening air was a stark contrast to the warmth of the car, and Plankton's antenna twitched as his eyebrow furrowed. "Hey, Plankton," Karen said softly, gently shaking him as she closes her car door. "We're here, sweetie." Plankton's eye snapped open, his antennae springing to life. For a moment, confusion clouded his gaze before it cleared, and he sat up with a jolt. "Oh," he murmured, looking around. "Hanna's?" Chip nodded, his smile gentle. "Yeah. We're here." Plankton realized he'd fallen asleep not only in front of Chip, but also leaning on him. Embarrassment flitted across his face, and he quickly sat up as he pulled away. Karen got their suitcases and Plankton's sensory bag in her grasp. The front door opened, and Hanna's bubbly figure emerged, lighting up at the sight of Karen. "Karen!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to give her a warm hug. "It's been so long! And is this your family?" Hanna asks as she let them in, closing the front door behind. Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye wide as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The sight of a different house, the sound of Hanna's excited voice, it was all to much. Karen nods. "Yes, my husband, Plankton, and our son, Chip." Hanna's smile broadens as she embraces Plankton in a tight hug. "So nice to finally meet you," she says, her eyes shining with excitement. Plankton's antennae flatten against his head, the sudden contact overwhelming. He swallows hard, his body stiffening. "Nice t-to meet y-you t—too," he mumbles, his eye darting to Karen for rescue. Karen laughs lightly, gently extricating Plankton from Hanna's enthusiastic embrace. "Why don't we get settled?" she suggests, guiding Plankton to the couch. "And you're quite the young man!" Hanna exclaims to Chip. "Hi Ms. Hanna," Chip says.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 24 "Coko, coo," Plankton murmurs, his eye unfocused, his antennae quivering slightly. Karen squeezes his hand tighter, trying to ground him. "Remember, we're at Hanna's." Chip's eyes widen, hearing his dad's strange speech. "What's coko?" he whispers to his mom. Karen smiles softly. "It's okay, Chip. Sometimes during a seizure, his speech gets...scrambled." Plankton's hand reaches out, searching for something to anchor him. "Go," he says. "The...the... the...what's called?" He's trying to find the words. "The...cow," he says decidedly. "Cow?" Plankton giggles, repeating himself. "Cow!" "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says gently. "You're just trying to find your words." Chip watches, his eyes filled with confusion. "But why is he talking like that?" he asks, his voice low. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she explains. "It's part of the seizure, Chip. His brain is firing differently, mixing things up." Plankton's giggle turns into a full laugh, his body shaking slightly. "Cow," he repeats, his voice louder now. Karen and Chip exchange a concerned look, but Karen smiles gently, knowing this phase can pass quickly. "Remember, Plankton, we're at Hanna's. You're okay." Plankton nods, his laugh fading into a smile as his gaze locks onto the spinning ceiling fan. "Fan," he murmurs, his hand moving to mimic its motion. "Fan-ny fanny fan." Karen knows he's trying to make sense of the world again, and she's here to help guide him back. "That's right," she says, keeping her voice steady. "It's a fan." Chip watches, his curiosity piqued but his concern foremost. He's knew not to laugh at his dad's strange speech, but it's hard not to find some humor in the absurdity of the moment. "Fan-ny," Plankton repeats, his voice taking on a sing-song quality. "The cow, says meow." Karen chuckles, her heart warming at the nonsensical sentences. It's a sign his brain is trying to reconnect, to make sense of the world again. "No, Plankton," she corrects gently. "The fan doesn't say meow. It's ju—" But she's interrupted by Hanna, who comes in to check on them. "Hey guys! So, what's the plan for movie night?" Her cheerfulness is a stark contrast to the scene she's walked in on. Plankton's laughter grows louder, his eye glazed over. Hanna's smile falters, her eyes wide with worry. "Is he okay?" she asks, stepping closer, confused. Karen knew Plankton's not gonna want Hanna to find out about his autistic neurodisability. "It's just something he does," Karen says quickly, as Plankton starts to crawl. "He'll be fine in a bit." Hanna watches as drool starts to dribble from the corner of Plankton's mouth. "What's happening?" she asks, her voice laced with concern. "It's like he's in a dream state, or someth-" Her words are drowned out by Plankton's chuckle, his body wriggling on the floor. "Cow!" he exclaims. Karen knew he's gonna come out of it soon, and she didn't want Hanna to be in his personal space right now. "Why don't we give a bit more time?" she suggests, her tone remaining calm. "We'll be ready for movies soon." Hanna nods, her smile forced. "Okay," she says, backing out of the room. The door closes, leaving them in privacy. Karen's heart thuds in her chest. She's seen this a hundred times, but it never gets easier. Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his antennae still. The room seems to come back into focus, the colors slowly solidifying from the blur they had been. "Karen?" he whispers, his voice hoarse. "I'm here," she says, her voice a comforting presence in the room. "You had a seizure, but you're okay now." Plankton's eye widens, his antennae shooting up. "Oh," he murmurs, his voice distant. He looks around the room, taking in the familiar yet foreign surroundings of Hanna's guest room. "What...were we talking? I feel like I was but I...I can't remember." Karen's hand is still clasped in his, her thumb continuing to rub his skin in a soothing pattern. "You were talking about a cow," she says with a small smile. "But it's okay. You're okay." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment. "A cow?" He repeats, his voice still weak. "Did I... did I say anything else? And why the barnacles am I on the floor?" Karen laughs, her eyes twinkling with affection. "You got a bit overwhelmed," she says, her voice gentle. "But you're okay now." Plankton nods, his antennae slowly rising. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to-" Karen shakes her head, her smile warm. "Don't apologize, Plankton. It's just part of who you are." She helps him to his feet, her arms supporting him. "Let's get you cleaned up." Chip watches, his heart still racing. He's seen his dad like this before, but it never gets easier. He wants to help, but he's learned that sometimes, the best thing to do is just be present. Karen leads Plankton to the bathroom, her arm around his waist, his hand in hers. "Let's get you cleaned up," she says, guiding him gently. The cool water feels good on his face, the sensation helping to ground him. Karen wipes his mouth with a washcloth, her movements careful and precise. He leans into her touch, his body craving the predictability. "Thank you," he murmurs. Karen hands him a towel, her gaze understanding. "You're welcome," she says. "Remember, Plankton, you're not alone in this." Karen leads Plankton and Chip to the living room where Hanna's waiting for them. "Are you okay?" Hanna asks, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching. "Of course," he says matter-of-factly. "Why wouldn't I be?" Hanna's gaze lingers on his still-flushed cheeks, his slightly unfocused eye. "You just...you seemed out of it," she says, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae quiver, his mind racing. "What are you talking about?" He asks Hanna, glaring at her. "You know, when you were laughing and talking about cows," Hanna says, her eyes still wide with concern. "And drooling a bit." Plankton's face reddens, his antennae springing up. Karen jumps in, her voice calm. "It's just a little quirk, Hanna," she says with a smile. "He's fine. Now, about that movie night?" Hanna nods, her expression still slightly puzzled, but she lets it go. "Right! Let's get cozy!" She says, clapping her hands together. Plankton sits back down on the couch, his antennae twitching as he tries to regain his composure. He knows he can't let his condition define him, but sometimes it's so hard to keep up the façade. He's grateful for Karen's quick thinking, for Chip's quiet support. Hanna starts setting up the board games, her energy seemingly boundless. Plankton's eye flits around the room, taking in the colors and the clutter. He can feel his anxiety building, his thoughts racing. But he takes a deep breath. "Do you want to play?" Hanna asks, her smile wide. "Sure," Plankton responds, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil. Chip and Karen knew of his competitive spirit.. The game starts, and Plankton's stims return. His fingers move over the armrest. "What's with your hands?" Hanna asks, watching Plankton's hand move. "It's okay, Hanna," Karen jumps in, her tone calm. "It's just something he does." She doesn't elaborate further, not wanting to make a big deal of it. But Hanna's curiosity is piqued. She's never seen anyone act like this before. Plankton's eye darts to his hand, his antennae twitching. He feels the weight of Hanna's gaze, his cheeks flushing. Karen squeezes his hand, her silent support reassuring. Hanna's eyes wander from the game to Plankton's hands, then back to her cards. She's curious. Plankton feels the heat of her gaze, his stims intensifying. He tries to ignore it, focusing on the game. But every time he glances up, her eyes are on him, watching his hands move, her brow furrowed. It's unnerving, but her curiosity doesn't wane. "So, what's the deal with the hand thing?" Hanna asks finally, unable to hold back. Plankton's antennae snap straight up, his hand stalling mid-stim. "What hand thing?" he says, his voice sharp. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, a silent warning. Hanna's eyes widen at his tone. "I just meant, why do you...you know, move your hands like that? What does it do for yo-" "It's none of your concern!" Plankton snaps, his antennae waving agitatedly. Karen's eyes dart between Hanna's shocked expression and Plankton's flushed face. She can feel the tension in the room spike. "Plankton, maybe we should-" But Plankton cuts her off, his voice rising. "I don't have to explain myself to her!" He says, his antennae waving wildly. Chip's heart sinks. He's seen his dad like this before, but it's always different, always worse when it's in front of someone new. Hanna's face falls, her smile replaced with hurt. "I'm just trying to understand," she says, her voice small. "I didn't mea-" But Plankton's not listening. "It's none of your business," he repeats, his voice cold. Karen's heart sinks. She knew this was going to happen, that Plankton's stress would boil over into something unpleasant. "Plankton," she starts, but he shakes his head, his eye focused on the game now. "I don't owe anyone explanations," he says, his hand resuming its erratic movements. Hanna's eyes fill with unshed tears, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's attention is fully on the game, his stims more pronounced than ever. Karen sighs, her heart aching for both Hanna and Plankton. She knows his behavior isn't intentional, but it's still painful to watch.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 20 Karen had seen this before, but it never failed to fill her with a deep ache. She sat beside Plankton, her hand on his back, her gaze on his unblinking eye. She had learned to recognize the signs, the subtle cues that signaled his retreat into himself. This was a common occurrence. But it never got easier. Chip hovered nearby, his body tense with worry. He had never seen his dad like this before, not really. The way his body went stiff, his antennae quivered, and his eye glazed over. It was like watching someone slip away. "How long does it last?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Karen's grip on his hand tightened. "It varies," she said. "Just try talking to him. It helps to keep him anchored." Chip's throat felt dry, his voice trembling as he leaned closer to Plankton. "Dad?" he whispered, his heart racing. Plankton's body remained eerily still, his eye unblinking. Chip's mind raced with thoughts, trying to think of anything to say that might bring him back. "You know, Dad, I've been thinking," he began, his voice shaky. "I know you don't like it when I talk about your stims, but I just...I just want you to know that I think they're cool. They're part of what makes you, you. And I promise, I won't mimic them again. It's not my place to understand without asking you first." Karen watched with a heavy heart as Chip spoke. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, the tension in his body not fully receding. "I just want to help," Chip continued, his voice cracking. "I want to be there for you the way you're always there for me." As the words hung in the air, Plankton's eye slowly blinked. The seizure was passing, the world reassembling before him. He turned up to look at Chip, his expression confused. "What's going on?" he mumbled. Karen felt relief flood through her as she realized the seizure had passed. "Chip," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "That was a beautiful thing you just did." Plankton's antennae twitched at that, his eye coming back to focus. He looked at them, his gaze confused. "What happened?" Chip took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry, Dad," he said. "And that I'll respect your space and your stims. They're a part of you, and I won't invade that again." Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. Karen watched, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. This was a pivotal moment, a chance for understanding and growth within their family. "That's right, Chip," she said softly. "It's about respect and love." Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze moving between Chip and Karen. He didn't know how to process the emotions swirling within him. He was used to being the rock, the one who provided comfort and support, not the one receiving it from Chip! Yet he heard the sincerity in his son's voice. "I...I see that," Plankton managed. Chip's eyes searched his father's face, looking for any sign of forgiveness. "Dad, I didn't know," he whispered. "I just wanted to be close to you." Plankton's antennae twitched again, his mind racing. He had never talked about his autism with Chip like this, had never explained the intricacies of his stims and seizures. It was a vulnerable place to be. "Chip, it's not for you to understand by doing." He paused, his antennae drooping. "It's just... I dunno." Karen watched the two, her heart aching. She knew this was hard for Plankton, to explain the unexplainable. "What your dad means," she said gently, "is that his stims are personal. They're his way to handle things. It's like when you have a bad day and you need to be alone. We all have our ways of dealing, right?" Chip nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. He could see the turmoil in his dad's gaze, the desire to be understood battling with the fear of being misunderstood. "Yeah," he murmured. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae stilling. "You're my son," he said, his voice hoarse. "I want you to understand." He looked away, his antennae drooping. "But it's hard." Chip nodded, feeling a wave of empathy wash over him. "I know it is," he said, his voice gentle. "But we're here to learn with you." Karen's eyes glistened with pride. Her son was growing up, understanding that empathy wasn't about fixing, but about being present and respectful. "Let's talk," she suggested, sitting beside Chip on the bed. "Let's talk about your stims, Plankton. Maybe if Chip knows more, he ca---" But Plankton cut her off, his antennae twitching with agitation. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, his voice tight. "It's personal." The room was suffocatingly silent, the tension palpable. Karen and Chip exchanged glances, both unsure of how to navigate this delicate moment. Chip's heart pounded as he tried to find the right words. He didn't want to push his dad, but he desperately wanted to connect, to show that he cared. He took a deep breath, his hand hovering over Plankton's arm before stopping mid-air. "Dad," he began, his voice trembling. "Can you teach me about your st-" "NO!" Plankton's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. His antennae whipped around, his body tense with emotion. "It's not a show, Chip. It's not for you to see and learn." Chip's hand fell to his side, his eyes wide with surprise. He had never seen his dad so agitated. But he knew he had to tread carefully, to respect his boundaries. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured. "I just wanted to kno—" "I know what you want," Plankton said. "They're not for you to analyze or learn from like a trick." Chip felt the sting of his dad's words, but he knew he had to back off. He took a step back, his eyes firmly on the floor. "Okay, Dad," he murmured. "I get it." Karen watched the exchange, her heart heavy. She knew Plankton's frustration all too well. It was hard for him to articulate his needs, especially when his stims were so deeply personal. "Plankton," she said softly. "Chip wants to support you, not to make you feel uncomfortable." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye focusing on his wife's face. He knew she was right, that Chip's curiosity was born from love, not a desire to control or change his behavior. "I know," he murmured. "But it's just...it's just that..." He struggled to find the right words to explain the swirl of emotions inside him. His stims were his lifeline, a way to cope with the sensory overload that often left him exhausted and overwhelmed. "I just need space," he finally managed. Karen's gaze was filled with empathy as she nodded. "Okay, Plankton," she said gently. "We'll give you space. But know we're here for you."

⡆⠀⠀⠙⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠾⠋⠉⣀⡴⠞⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠆⢀⡜⠁⣀⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣆⠀⠀⠈⠀⠰⠀⣀⣴⡾⠏⠁⣀⡴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠆⢠⣮⣠⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠋⣀⣴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠟⠉⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣷⡒⠀⠀⠀⠹⢾⡋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠶⠶⠚⠉⠉⠉⠛⠶⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣁⣤⡴⠶⠒⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠶⠞⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠶⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⣠⡾⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣟⣡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡤⠤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠳⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡸⢫⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣴⣿⣭⣾⣿⣿⣷⣦⣍⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣄⣰⠛⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣃⣴⠟⣩⣤⣤⣤⣌⠛⣦⡹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠘⡇⠻⣧⡀⠀⠀⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⠖⠋⢹⡿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠈⠙⠳⢤⣿⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢰⡏⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠴⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢹⣄⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢰⡿⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠞⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠹⣦⣉⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⣁⣴⠿⠁⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⡿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣷⣿⣆⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣴⠟⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠿⣆⠀⠀⠉⠛⠒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣆⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠙⠳⠦⣭⣉⣩⠶⠿⠉⠀⣶⠞⠉⣿⠀⠀⠹⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠙⢳⡶⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⡤⠶⠶⠒⠋⠉⠉⠉⠛⠶⢦⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣦⡀⠀ ⢦⣴⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡤⠶⠶⠚⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠓⠲⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠿⣆ ⣶⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⠶⠶⠶⣶⠶⠶⠾⢷⣦⣀⣀⣀⣴⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼ ⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿ ⣏⣀⣤⣤⣤⠶⠖⠛⠛⠋⠹⣇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣄⣀⣤⣤⡤⠴⠖⠚⠛⠋⢻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⠁⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡄⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⣠⣤⡤⠴⠶⠛⢛⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣛⡁⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⠏⣸⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠙⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⠟⠋⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿ ⣟⣣⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⡀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⣻⣿⣿⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡼⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣾⠃⢀⣤⡾⠋⣼⣿⣿⡟⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⡀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⡿⠿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⢺⣿⡀⠀⠻⣿⣿⡇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⣼⠃⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣷⣤⡀⠀⢠⣾⣿ ⣧⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣤⡟⠈⠁⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣧⡂⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⡶⠾⠿⠿⠛⠻⢿⣶⣿⠏⠙ ⠁⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠓⠶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⢀⣾⡏⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀ ⠀⠀⢀⣀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣏⡌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 6 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth moves, but the words come out as a jumble. "Purple...dog...car... no, not a car," he says, his expression vacant. Chip swallows hard, not knowing how to respond to the senseless words. Karen watches from the sidelines, her eyes filled with understanding and love. This is her Plankton—her quirky, lovable husband, whose brain operates on a different frequency. She sees the fear in Chip's screen and knows he's scared, but she also knows that understanding is key. "It's ok, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice trembling. Plankton's hands move erratically, as if trying to capture invisible objects. "Yellow...box... closed...open," he mumbles. Chip listens, his heart racing. "Dad, can you hear me?" he whispers. Plankton's hand darts out, flailing through the air. "Butterfly," he says, his voice a mix of wonder and frustration. "There are no butterflies here," Chip says. Karen smiles reassuringly. "It's ok. Let's just be with him." Plankton's words continue. "Plankton," Plankton murmurs, "the world is spinning—no, it's just me spinning." He laughs, his eye unfocused. Chip swallows a lump in his throat. "Dad," Chip whispers, "are you seeing things?" Karen sighs, knowing this is a way his brain copes with pain and overstimulation. "Sometimes his thoughts come out all mixed up," she says, her voice a gentle explanation. "It's like his brain's way of telling stories when it's overwhelmed." "Ball...bounce...high," Plankton murmurs, his hand mimicking the action of throwing an invisible object. "No, Dad," Chip says, trying to keep his voice soothing. "No bouncing here." He looks to Karen for guidance. "It's alright," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "Just talk to him calmly. It's his way of making sense of things." Chip nods, his voice barely above a breath. "Ball," he repeats back to his father, trying to enter his world. Plankton's eye snaps to him, a spark of recognition lighting his gaze. "Yes," he murmurs. "Ball...bounce." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with pride. Chip is learning, adapting. He's becoming a bridge between the worlds of the neurotypical and neurodivergent. "Red ball," Plankton says, his hand rising and falling as if tossing a non-existent sphere. "No, blue ball," he corrects, the words tumbling out in a rush. Chip nods, playing along. "You're playing catch, Dad?" he asks, his voice softer now. Plankton's gaze flickers to him, confused. "Catch," he whispers, his hand moving in slow arcs. "But it's not a ball," Chip says, his voice filled with gentle persuasion. "It's just a game you're playing in your head.." Plankton's hand stops, his gaze locking onto Chip, a hint of irritation flitting across his features. "What?" Plankton asks, his voice disoriented as his surroundings finally come back to him. Chip swallows, unsure of what to say. He wants to help, but feels frustrated by his dad's behavior. "You know, Dad, when you talk like that, it's hard to understand," he says, his voice carrying a touch of exasperation. "You're not really playing catch, are you?" Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his movements stilling. "It's not real to anyone else!" Chip exclaims, his voice louder than he intended. Karen gives him a sharp look, a reminder to keep his voice down. "Chip," she says, her tone a mixture of warning and patience. "You know his autism makes things different for him." But Chip's thinking of the fidget toy, of the way his dad snatched it from him. He feels a surge of anger, a feeling he's not used to having towards his dad. "I know, but why does he have to be like this?" Chip asks, his voice a mix of frustration and hurt. "Why can't he just be normal?" Karen's gaze softens. "Chip, everyone's normal is different. Your dad's brain just works in a unique way. It's not wrong, just di-" "But it's annoying!" Chip interrupts, his voice cracking. "Everything's always about his needs!" Plankton's hand, which had been still, starts to twitch again. Karen sighs. "It's not about needs, it's about his comfort, Chip. And right now, he--" "But what about my comfort?" Chip retorts, his voice loud in the quiet room. "What about when he yells or throws things or gets upset because of tiny stuff?" He's close to tears, his emotions a tangled knot. "Dad, everything's not about you," he says, not meaning to sound harsh. But the words hang in the air like accusations. "Everyone has to deal with things," he continues. "Why can't you? You don't really have it that bad. Do you honestly think your wife, my mother, actually enjoys all of this? I can't even play with my friends because you get too overwhelmed! And for what? Because someone might laugh too loud or because the TV's on too high? Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to leave because you can't handle a science fair?" Karen's face falls. She's heard Chip's frustrations before, but never so raw and out in the open. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind racing to understand. He's missed the context, but the anger in Chip's voice is clear. "Chip," she starts, her voice steady. "Your dad's brain is just wired differently. It's not his fault." But Chip's on a roll. "I know, I know," he says, his frustration mounting. "But it's like he doesn't even try to get better. Why can't he just ignore it like everyone else? Why can't we take him to a doctor who can fix him?" Plankton's hand stutters to a stop, his gaze focusing on Chip with a mix of hurt and confusion. "Fix me?" he repeats, his voice tiny. "What do you mean?" "I don't know," Chip says, his shoulders slumping. "Just... make it so you're not always in pain or scared or...weird." He can't look at his dad, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Living like this, with all your autistic stuff, it's just..." He trails off, his voice cracking. "It's not worth it." Plankton's hand starts to shake. "W-what?" He asks, his voice shaky. Karen's heart breaks for him, for the hurt that's clearly etched on his face. "Chip," she starts, but his words cut her off. "It's like you don't even see us," Chip says, his voice filled with pain. "You're in your own world, and we're just here, trying to figure out how to help you." Plankton's expression is a mask of confusion and sadness. "Did my mom marry you before or after she found out you're autistic?" Chip asks, his voice sharp with accusation. Karen's eyes widen in shock. "Chip!" She says, her voice firm. "That's not how we talk about it. And I knew before.." But Chip's hurt, has turned to anger, and he's not listening. "But it's true!" Chip insists, his voice rising. "You always have to be in charge, Dad, always have to have it your way. It's like you don't even see us!" Plankton's face pales, the words stinging like bees. "Chip, please," Karen interjects, her voice pleading. But Chip can't stop, the frustration of years boiling over. "Why can't you just be like everyone else? Why do you always have to be so difficult?" Plankton's hand drops to his side, his eye filling with sadness. "I'm sor—" Karen steps in, her voice firm. "Chip, that's enough. Your dad is doing his best." But Chip's anger is like a storm, unyielding. "Best? What about our best? What about us? It's always about you, Dad!" Plankton's face contorts, the pain in his heart as sharp as the pain in his mouth. "Dad, we don't need you," Chip says, his words a knife to Plankton's soul. "Chip," Karen says, her voice sharp. "You need to go to your room. Now." She points to the door, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. Chip's shoulders slump, but he doesn't argue, retreating to his room. Plankton's gaze follows him, his mind reeling. He's heard the frustration before, but never so bluntly. Karen sighs, exhaustion etching lines on her face. "I know it's hard, babe," she says, stroking Plankton's swollen cheek. "But Chip's just trying to underst--" But Plankton shakes his head, his voice a whisper. "No, no. He's right," he says, his eye brimming with unshed tears. "I'm the one who's always in the way." He pulls his hand away, his gaze dropping to his lap. Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of anger and despair. "Don't say that," she whispers fiercely. "You're not a burden." But Plankton's thoughts are racing, his stims abandoned. "Look at what I've done," he says, his voice breaking. "I've made you leave things, I've made him hate me." Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "He doesn't hate you," she insists, her voice firm.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 8 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! By the next week, Plankton's completely recovered from the wisdom teeth ordeal. And Chip's now ready to attend the new school. The first day of school is a flurry of nerves and excitement. Chip puts on his best smile, his backpack bulging with supplies. Plankton's in the kitchen, his usual self, rambling about his latest invention. Karen's voice floats from the hallway. "Remember, Chip. If you see someone who's different, don't stare or make fun. Just be kind." Chip nods before heading out the door. At school, Chip notices a boy in his class, Timmy, who flaps his hands and makes noises during storytime. Chip feels a pang of recognition—his dad does that too when he's excited. He watches as Timmy's classmates giggle, whispering behind their hands. Chip's heart squeezes with a mix of empathy and sorrow. He approaches Timmy at lunch. "Hi," he says, his voice tentative. Timmy looks up, his eyes wide. "You're new," Timmy says, his voice high-pitched. "Yes," Chip replies with a small smile. "My name's Chip." Timmy bobs his head, his hands still moving. "What's wrong with your hands?" Chip asks, his voice soft. Timmy looks down, his cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Chip adds quickly. But Timmy smiles, showing a gap in his teeth. "It's okay," he says. "I have autism." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing back to his dad's stims. "It's just how I show I'm happy." Timmy's words resonate with Chip, and he feels a sudden connection. "My dad has autism too," he confides. Timmy's eyes light up. "Really?" He asks, his movements ceasing for a moment. "Yeah," Chip says, taking a seat next to Timmy. "Sometimes it's hard, but he's pretty cool. But it's also really tough for him." Timmy nods, his hands resuming their gentle flapping. "It's not easy," he says. "But us autistics are like superheroes, you know? Our brains just work a bit differently." Chip can't help but smile at the analogy. "Yeah," he says, "like you guys have special powers." Timmy's face lights up. "Exactly!" He exclaims. "And sometimes, our powers can be really helpful. Like, I'm really good at math and remembering stuff." He beams with pride. Chip feels a twinge of understanding, remembering his dad's obsession with the Krabby Patty formula. "My dad's good at inventions," he says. "But sometimes, his brain can get really, really overwhelmed." Timmy nods. "Some days, my head does too," he says. The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Chip and Timmy quickly exchange numbers, promising to talk more. As Chip heads to his next class, his mind is a whirlwind. He's always known his dad was different, but seeing someone his age with the same challenges brings a new perspective. In the classroom, he can't concentrate. Plankton's words echo in his mind: "I'm not enough. I'll never be enough." He feels guilty for his earlier frustrations, for not understanding the depth of his dad's struggle. During recess, Chip finds Timmy alone. Timmy's eyes scan the playground, his hands still. "You okay?" Chip asks. Timmy looks up. "Yes. Hey you know what helps me?" Timmy asks, his voice hopeful. "I make fun of my autism, like it's a superpower. It makes me feel better when people laugh with me." Chip looks confused. "How do you mean?" Timmy grins. "I pretend my flapping hands are like wings, or my loud noises are like sonic booms. It makes the other kids laugh, and it helps me feel like I made them happy. And one called me 'Stimmy' instead of 'Timmy' which is okay, because it's a part of me! I also like it when people ask me about it. It makes me feel seen. Make it like a game, or something.." Timmy says. Chip thinks about this, his heart racing. He's never considered turning his dad's stims into something fun or cool. It's always been a thing to just ignore. But now, seeing Timmy's joy, he wonders if maybe there's another way. He makes a mental note to ask his dad about his favorite superheroes, thinking maybe they can find a way to make his stims more like superpowers. Timmy smiles. "For my birthday I got this book.. I've another copy!" Timmy says, interrupting himself as he gives Chip a book. "It's a fictional story about a guy like me, but he's got superpowers because of his autism. Maybe your dad will like it." Chip looks at the book titled "AUSOME AUsomeness" and smiles, his curiosity piqued. "Thanks, Timmy," he says, tucking it into his bag. "I'll show it to him." Timmy nods, his eyes bright with excitement. "You know, sometimes when I feel sad or overwhelmed, I just pretend I'm that hero. It helps me." Chip nods, his mind racing with ideas. He's never seen autism as a superpower before. Could this be a way to help his dad feel more like the hero he's always been to him? When Chip gets home, he finds Plankton in the living room. He sets his bag down by the couch as he greets his dad, and Karen, who's in the kitchen. "Hi, Mom; Hi, Dad!" Plankton's eye lights up at the sight of him. "How was school?" He asks, curious as to how Chip's first day went. "It was ok," Chip says, his mind still racing with thoughts of Timmy and his own father's autism. "I met a kid like you, Dad." Plankton's face falls slightly. "What do you mean?" He asks. "I mean," Chip starts, his voice shaky. "He had what you... I'll just show you the book!" He pulls out "AUSOME AUsomeness" from his bag, handing it to Plankton with excitement. Plankton looks at the cover, his eye narrowing as he opens it. "See, Dad?" Chip says, pointing to a part where the character uses his hand flapping to take flight. "It's like you w---" But Plankton's face is a mask of anger and hurt. "What's wrong?" Chip asks, his heart racing. Plankton slams the book shut. "Don't you dare," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't you dare patronize me, Chip." He stands up, his hands shaking. "I'm not some comic book character to be made fun of or turned into a joke!" His voice echoes through the house, the pain in it palpable. Karen rushes in, alarmed by the sudden outburst. "Plankton, what's wrong?" She asks, her eyes darting between the two. "This," Plankton says, waving the book. "This is what you think of me?" The anger in his voice is sharp. "How could you, Chip?" He asks, his voice trembling. "How could you think I'd want to be seen like some unrealistically childish hero?" The room is tense, the air thick with emotions. Karen's eyes dart between her husband and son, trying to gauge the situation. Chip's face falls, the joy from his new friendship with Timmy dissipating. Timmy's autistic and loved it, so why doesn't Chip's autistic father.. "I'm sorry," he stammers, his voice small. "I just thought...it might help." But Plankton's anger doesn't waver. "You thought turning me into a caricature would make it better?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what you think of me?" Chip's eyes fill with tears as he watches his dad's pain unfold. "Dad, I don't underst--" "No," Plankton cuts him off. "You DON'T understand. You think it's fun to play pretend with something that's a daily struggle for me?" His voice breaks. "You think making it a game will just make it go away?" He throws the book across the room, where it hits the wall with a thud. Chip's eyes follow the book, his heart sinking. He didn't mean to make his dad feel this way. "But a new friend of mine said--" "I don't care what some stranger said!" Plankton interrupts, his voice rising. "This is my life, Chip! My struggle!" His hands are shaking as he clutches the back of the couch. Karen steps in. "Let's talk this out," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We're all on the sa-" "No!" Plankton snaps, cutting her off. He turns to Chip, his eye boring into his son's. "You think my autism is a game? You think I can just pretend it's a superpower and poof, everything's fine?" His voice cracks with each word. "You don't get it. You don't get what it's like to have a brain that fights you every second of every day." His hands are in fists now, his knuckles white. Chip feels like he's been punched in the gut. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to...I don't know, make it better. Make you feel...happy." Plankton sits back down, his shoulders slumped. "Happy?" Plankton repeats. "You think making a joke out of it makes me happy?" Chip feels like he's walking on eggshells. "No, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just...wanted to share something that made us feel better." He looks down at his own hands, which are now trembling. "I just want you to be happy too."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 18 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip's screen flickers with determination. He'll learn. He'll do better. He'll show Plankton that he's not just a clueless kid. He's his son, and he cares. He'll be the support Plankton needs, even if it means changing everything he thought he knew. He'll read about autism, he'll watch videos, he'll listen to podcasts. He'll become an expert on his dad's condition. He'll find a way to bridge the gap between them, to understand what Plankton's really going through. So he went to his room but a disturbing sight awaited him. The photos of him and his dad have been torn where Plankton cut himself out of each picture of him and Chip. The science projects they've worked on are in the trash bin. Past Father's Day cards, crumpled into balls. It's like Plankton's trying to erase his existence from their shared memories of father and son. Chip sees Plankton in his parents bedroom on his bed. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his screen flickering with hope. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he doesn't turn to look at his son. The room is filled with a heavy silence, the weight of their last conversation pressing down on them. "Dad, I found some articles," Chip says, holding up his device. "They're about autism, and how to be there for someone who's going through what you are." His voice is tentative, his screen reflecting his fear of rejection. Plankton's antennae droop, his body tense. He's been in his room for hours, the door shut tight. The only light comes from the crack under the door, spilling into the hallway where Chip stands, his heart racing. He's read every word, every article, every story, desperate to find a way back in, to fix what he's broken. But Plankton's silence is a wall, a barrier he doesn't know how to cross. "I'll be different," Chip says, his voice cracking. "I'll learn." He takes a step forward. "I'll do anything." Plankton doesn't move. Chip's heart sinks. He tries again. "I brought some stuff for your sensory box. Maybe it'll help." The silence stretches on, each second a chasm between them. Chip's screen is a canvas of hope and despair, his mind whirling with all the ways he could have handled this better. He takes another step, his hand outstretched, holding the treasures he's collected. "I got some new putty, and a fidget cube," he says, his voice shaking. "And... and some of your favorite gummy worms." Plankton's antennae quiver, just a little, but he doesn't turn. Chip's heart leaps, then plunges again. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, the words tumbling out. "I didn't mean to hurt you." The silence stretches, a tightrope that Chip is desperate to cross. He holds out the fidget cube, his hand shaking. "Remember how this helped before?" he asks, his voice tentative. "I just want you to feel better." But Plankton's back remains to him, a wall of disappointment. "Dad," Chip whispers, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'll do whatever it takes. I know I can't change the past. Please." Plankton's antennae twitch, the only sign he's heard. But he still doesn't turn. Chip's screen flickers with desperation. He's seen his dad like this before, but it's never felt so final. "I brought your headphones," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the noise. To help." His hand trembles as he holds them out. "Please, Dad, take them." Plankton's body shifts slightly, but his antennae stay still. Chip's heart aches. He's never felt so small, so powerless. "Dad, I know I messed up," Chip continues, his voice cracking. "But I'm trying to fix it. I want to learn." He takes a deep breath, his chest tight with emotion. "I'll do better. I promise." The silence is a gaping wound between them, each second a stitch that won't hold. He steps closer, his hand extended. "Just tell me what you need. Anything." But Plankton remains still, his antennae drooping with the weight of his emotions. Chip's heart races, his screen flashing with fear and regret. He can't stand the thought of his father going through this alone. "Dad, please," he says, his voice thick. "I'm sorry for not understanding. For making fun without realizing." His hand holding the headphones shakes more. "But I do now. I'll be better." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he says nothing. Chip's eyes well up with tears, his screen a blur of emotions. He's never felt so alone, so misunderstood. "Dad," he says, his voice thick with desperation. "I know you're hurting. But so am I." Plankton's body remains still, his back a wall against his son's words. Chip's hand, holding the headphones, drops to his side. "Please," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Let me help you." The silence in the room is deafening, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip can feel his father's pain, his anger, his hurt. But Plankton's silence is a fortress, an impenetrable barrier that Chip can't seem to breach. He swallows hard, his throat tight with emotion. "I love you, Dad," he says, his voice barely audible. "And I'll always be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitch again, but he doesn't turn. Chip's heart feels like it's shattering into a million pieces. He's never seen his dad like this, so closed off. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "I know I hurt you. I'm sorry. But please, let me in." His hand holds out the headphones, his screen reflecting the desperation in his eyes. "We can get through this together." But Plankton's back remains a wall. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his screen flickering with the pain of rejection. He tries again, his voice trembling. "I won't give up on you," he says. "I'll learn. I'll change. I'll do whatever it takes." He takes a step closer. But Plankton remains unmoving, his antennae drooping. Chip's heart feels like it's breaking. "I'm here, Dad," he whispers. "I'm right here." The silence is a chasm, each second a step further apart. He takes another step, his hand still outstretched. "Dad," he says, his voice a plea. "You don't have to go through this alone." Plankton's antennae twitch, a tiny movement that gives Chip just a glimmer of hope. "We can learn together," he says, his voice stronger now. "We can figure this out." The room feels like it's closing in around them, the air thick with the weight of Plankton's silence. But Chip refuses to give up. He knows his father is in there, behind the wall of anger and hurt. He can't let him go. "Dad," he says, his voice steady. "I know you're in pain. But I'm not leaving." Chip says, sitting on the bed.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 7 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "Chip's just trying to understand. And so are you." But Plankton can't find the words, the weight of his son's accusations crushing him. He swipes at a tear that's managed to escape, his shoulders heaving. "I just want to be normal," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "To not be a disappointment." Karen's eyes are filled with love and sadness as she shakes her head. "You could never be a disappointment to me, Plankton. You're perfect just the way you are." But he stands up, turning away from her. "No, I'm not," he says, his back to her. "Look at what I've done. I've ruined our lives." His voice is thick with emotion. "I've made Chip resentful, and I've made you...sacrifice so much." Karen moves to his side, placing a hand on his arm. "You haven't ruined anything," she insists. "You're a wonderful husband, an—" "Don't," he snaps, turning to face her, the pain in his eyes like a physical force. "Don't lie to me. You deserve better than this. Better than a husband who can't even sit through a simple family outing without falling apart." His voice cracks, the weight of his words heavy in the quiet room. "You deserve someone who can give you a normal life!" Karen's eyes fill with determined love. "You are what makes our life normal, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "Our life is special because of you. And as for Chip, he's just confused. He'll understand when he's older." But Plankton shakes his head, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, stifling a cry as he leaves their bedroom. He moves through the house, his bare feet silent on the cool floor, his thoughts a cacophony of doubt and self-loathing. His mind replays Chip's words over and over as he opens the back door, to the backyard. The porch creaks under his weight, his eye unfocused. Meanwhile, Karen goes in to Chip's bedroom. "Chip," she says, her voice soft but firm. "You need to apologize to your dad." He looks up, his eyes swollen from crying. "But I just want him to get better," he whispers, his voice small. "I don't like seeing him hurt." Karen sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I know, sweetie. But your dad can't get 'better' from being autistic. It's not a sickness." She takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "What your dad needs is for us to understand him, to make things easier for him. And for us to be patient when things are hard." Chip sniffs, wiping at his nose. "But it's not fair," he says, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "Why does he get to be different?" Karen's eyes fill with compassion. "Because he is, Chip. And that's ok. We're all different, in our own ways. That's what makes us unique." She pauses, looking at him with a gentle expression. "But it's also what makes us a family." Plankton sits in the backyard. The stars twinkle above, their indifferent beauty a contrast to the tumult in his heart. He's heard the whispers before, the way people look at him—his inability to fit in, his strange behaviors. He's always known he was different. But to hear it from Chip...it's like a punch to the gut. His mind races, trying to make sense of it all. The world feels like a puzzle he can never solve, no matter how much he wants to. He's tried to be better, to do better, to be the husband and father his family deserves. But it's always just out of reach, like the elusive Krabby Patty formula he's chased for years. He looks down at his hands, still trembling slightly. In the quiet of the night, his stims come back, a comforting rhythm that soothes his frayed nerves. He starts to rock slightly, back and forth, his eye unfocused. It's a habit he's had since he was young, a way to calm the storm in his head. It's his brain's way of telling him he's safe, even when the world feels like it's closing in. He doesn't realize he's speaking until the words spill out. "I'm not enough," he whispers to the night. "I'll never be enough.." Back in the house, Karen holds Chip tight, her heart heavy with the weight of their conversation. She knows his frustrations are born out of love, but she also knows how much Chip's words sting Plankton. She needs to fix this, to mend the fracture in their family's foundation. "Come on, buddy," she says, wiping Chip's tears away. "Let's talk to your dad. He needs to hear you're sorry." Chip nods, his eyes red and swollen. Karen leads him to the back door, where they find Plankton, his gaze lost as he shivers uncontrollably. "Dad?" Chip says. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide with surprise. "What?" He says, his voice thick with pain. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his body trembling. "I didn't mean those things." Karen's gaze is firm, her voice steady. "We need to talk, Plankton," she says. "Both of you." She leads them back inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill outside. Plankton allows himself to be guided, his mind a whirlwind. In the living room, they sit, a tapestry of emotions. Karen starts, her voice measured. "Chip, your dad doesn't mean to make things difficult. His brain just interprets the world differently." Chip looks up, his eyes wet. "But why can't he just try?" He asks, his voice desperate. "Why can't he just be normal?" Plankton flinches, his gaze dropping to the floor. Karen sighs, her hand wrapped around Plankton's. "Chip," she starts gently. "You know autism isn't a choice. Your dad's brain is different. It's like asking someone to change their eye color." Chip frowns, his young mind struggling to comprehend. "But why can't he just ignore it?" He asks, his voice small. Plankton looks up, his eye filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "Because it's not ignorable," he says, his voice firm. "It's like you're asking one to ignore breathing." The room falls silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. "It's always there, affecting how he sees, hears, feels." Chip's expression softens, a glimmer of understanding dawning. "Your dad does his best every day. And so do we, to support him. It's not about changing for him, Chip," she says. "It's about meeting him where he is. When someone's in a wheelchair, you don't tell them to climb the stairs. You build a ramp." Plankton nods slightly, his gaze still on the floor. "Autism is like that," Karen continues. "It's part of who he is, and we love him for all of him."

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𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 16 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The room feels smaller, the air thicker with tension. Chip's eyes are wide, his screen reflecting his father's distress. "What did I do?" he squeals, trying to help. But Plankton's body can't take the loudness anymore. Karen's screens flicker with desperation. She puts her hand on Chip's shoulder, her eyes pleading. "Chip," she says, her voice urgent. "You need to lower your voice." But Chip's screen is a blur of confusion and hurt. He doesn't understand. "Why?" he asks, his voice still too loud. Plankton can't move, gasping for breath. The room seems to spin around Plankton. His antennae vibrate with fear, his body on the edge of a meltdown. The noise, the suddenness of it, it's too much. He can't escape. And then his body betrays him. He feels the world shrink, his vision tunneling down until all that remains is Chip's face. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice too loud, too close. His body seizes up. Plankton's mind fights to regain control, his eyes dilating. "Need... quiet," he gasps out, his voice barely a whisper. The words hang in the air, a plea for sanctuary. But Chip's screen is a chaotic storm of emotions, not understanding. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice shaking. But Plankton can't hear the words, only the deafening volume. With a strangled cry, Plankton's body goes rigid. His eye rolls back as the shutdown takes. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice high and panicked. He reaches out, but Karen stops his hand freezes mid-air. She's seen this before, the sudden loss of control, the way her husband's body can just... give out. Her screens flicker with a mix of sadness and resolve. "Chip, back up," she says firmly. "Give your dad some space." Chip's face falls, but he does as he's told. He steps back, his hands shaking. Karen's seen Plankton like this before, but it never gets easier. Another shutdown, another moment where she's forced to be the rock in the storm. "Is he okay?" Chip asks, his voice trembling. Karen's eyes are on Plankton, his body now limp on the couch. "It's okay," she says, her voice calm. "It's his brain's way of shutting down." She takes a deep breath. "We just have to wait it out." Chip's screen flickers with fear. "What do we do?" he asks, his voice high-pitched. Karen's screens light up with instructions. "Let him be," she says. "He needs quiet, no sudden movements. It'll pass." They sit in silence, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside, a stark contrast to the chaos that was just in the room. Chip watches his father, his mind racing. He didn't understand. He just wanted to be close, to help. Yet Plankton is still, his mouth slightly open, his eye still rolled back in his head. "Plankton, love," Karen says, her voice gentle. "Come back to us." Her hand moves to his cheek, her touch feather-light. Chip watches, his heart racing. "What's happening?" he whispers. Karen's eyes never leave her husband. "It's a shutdown," she says, her voice steady. "It's like his body's turned off, but he's still in there." Her screens flicker with experience. "It's his brain's way of protecting itself." Plankton's antennae are still, his body unmoving. Karen speaks to him in a gentle lullaby, her voice a soothing balm. "Come back to us, love," she murmurs. "We're here, we love you." Chip's eyes are wide with fear, but he remains silent, listening to his mother's calm words. "Remember, Chip," she says, not breaking the rhythm of her voice. "Patience is key." Her screens flicker with reassurance. "It might take a few minutes, but he'll come back to us." Chip nods. The room is quiet, the air heavy with unspoken words. Karen's screens dim with sadness, but she keeps her voice steady. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her hand stroking his antennae lightly. "You're safe." Her words are a beacon in the stillness, a gentle reminder that they're there, ready to support him when he's ready. Chip's screen shows his mind racing, trying to grasp the complexities of his father's condition. Plankton remains unresponsive, his body a silent testament to the storm inside him. Karen keeps her voice soft, her eyes never leaving his. "We're here," she says, her voice a promise. "I'm here. Chip's here. We're not going anywhere." She continues to whisper, her words a gentle breeze in the quiet room. Chip's screen flickers with fear as he watches his dad. "Dad?" he says, his voice barely a whisper. But Plankton doesn't stir, his body a statue. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's face, her voice a soothing melody. "It's okay," she says, her words a soft caress. "You're safe. We're here." Her screens are a picture of serene patience, her hand still gently stroking his antennae. "Chip, talk to him," she whispers, nodding towards the unresponsive body. Chip's eyes widen, his voice trembling. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry." His words hang in the air, each syllable a thread of hope. He's watched his mother's gentle touch, her calm demeanor, and tries to mimic it. His hand reaches out tentatively, his screen reflecting his fear of causing more harm. He touches Plankton's shoulder, his fingertips light as a feather. Karen's eyes never leave her husband, her voice a soft whisper. "It's okay, Plankton," she repeats. "We're here." Her hands move in a slow, rhythmic motion, a silent lullaby for his soul. Chip's hand joins hers, his movements tentative, seeking guidance. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his mind racing with questions and regret. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body unmoving. Karen's screens flicker with hope, her voice steady. "You're okay," she says, her voice like a gentle stream. "You're safe." Chip's screen reflects his mother's calm, his voice matching her tone. "Dad, can you hear me?" Then, ever so slowly, Plankton's antennae start to move, his body shifting. He blinks, his eye focusing on his wife and son. "What... happened?" he murmurs, his voice weak. He sees Chip's hand on his shoulder. Karen's screens light up with relief. "You had a shutdown, sweetie," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "But you're okay now."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 5 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Karen sits on the bed, her presence a comforting weight. "Would you like me to stay?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, his body still tight with pain. He closes his eye, his mind racing with the discomfort. He tries to focus on his breath, in and out, in and out. But the throb in his mouth is a constant reminder of agony that threatens to overwhelm. Then, Plankton starts to talk to himself to self-soothe. "It's safe," he whispers. "Can water's just fine." Karen watches him, knowing this is a way of regaining control, his mind trying to find peace in order to rest. She knows that the pain, the sensory assault, the confusion—it's all too much. But she also knows that he has the willpower to push through. "Was do it" Plankton whispers to himself. "I told him but he didn't listen," he murmurs, his thoughts racing with the memory of the fidget toy. "It's my fault," he adds. "Not my place to correct him, do not touch." His words are a jumble of regret and frustration. "It's okay," Plankton says again. "The healing safe. It's just a feeling." He repeats this mantra, his breath evening out. Karen can see the tension in his shoulders easing, his grip on the ice pack loosening as his body relaxes. "You're doing great," Karen whispers. "Just rest." And with that, Plankton's body gives in to the call of sleep, his breaths trailing off into soft snores. Karen watches her husband with a mix of love and sadness. Chip lingers by the door, his curiosity piqued. He wonders if his dad's autism is the reason behind it. With tentative steps, Chip enters the room. Karen takes his hand in hers, and he follows her out of the room and in to the hallway. "Mom," he starts, his voice barely a whisper. "Why is Dad autistic?" Karen looks down at him, her expression thoughtful. "Well, Chip," she says, her voice soft. "Your dad was born that way." Chip nods. "But w---" "Autism is something that develops in the brain before birth," Karen continues. "It's like how some people are right-handed and others are left-handed. It's just how his brain is wired." Chip looks at her with a frown. "But why did Dad...?" "Why did it happen?" Karen finishes his question. She takes a deep breath, preparing to explain. "You see, sometimes during pregnancy or childbirth, something small can change you. When his mom was giving birth, his brain might have gotten a little squeezed and then not enough oxygen. It's just the way his brain grew because of that, that's all." Chip nods slowly, trying to understand. "So as dad was being born..." "Yes," Karen says, her voice soothing. "His brain was forming its connections, and that little squeeze changed the way his brain makes those connections. It's like if you're building a Lego castle and one piece gets bent. It doesn't mean the castle can't be amazing, it's just a tiny part of it that's a bit different." Chip looks up at his mom, his eyes wide. "But does that mean I could be like Dad if I squ--" "No, Chip," she says, cutting off his words gently. "It's not that simple. Autism is just nothing you can catch or change, and it's not something you need to be afraid of." Chip nods, his gaze still fixed on her. "But why does he get so upset sometimes?" Karen sighs. "Because the world can be a very overwhelming place for him, Chip. His brain picks up on every little thing— sounds, smells, sights—it's all so intense. And sometimes, those things get too much, and his brain can't keep up. It's like when you're playing a video game and the screen is flashing too fast—it's hard to focus." "But why does he get mad?" Chip persists. Karen kneels down to look him in the eye. "It's not that he's mad, honey. It's just his way of dealing with it. Imagine if you had a headache and someone was shining a bright light in your face—you'd want them to stop, right? It's like that, but with anything." Chip nods, understanding dawning. "So, when the fidget was making noise, it was like a headache for Dad?" Karen smiles. "Exactly. And when he tells you something is too much, it's not that he's upset with you—it's his brain telling him he needs a break." Plankton's snores from the bedroom remind them of the present. "Let's let Dad rest," Karen says, steering Chip towards his own room. "But what about his teeth?" Chip asks, his voice laced with worry. Karen's smile is reassuring. "They'll feel better soon, and we'll have to be extra gentle with him. No loud noises, no surprises. Ok?" Chip nods. In the quiet of the living room, Karen and Chip begin to set up a recovery area for Plankton—a space free from the chaos that could easily overwhelm his fragile state. They gather his favorite pillows, a soft blanket, and dim the lights. Chip wants to make sure his dad feels safe. On the coffee table, they lay out a tray with a glass of water. Karen knows that it's important not to startle Plankton, that he might need help getting up without disturbing his mouth. "Let's go to see him." Karen says. As they enter the bedroom, Plankton's snores have subsided into a gentle rhythm. Chip tiptoes over, his eyes wide. He's seen his dad tired before, but this is different. He looks smaller, somehow, more vulnerable. Gently, he touches his dad's arm.. Plankton's eye snaps open, his body jerking upright. The movement sends a shock of pain through his mouth. "Agh!" he yelps, his hands shooting up to clutch his cheeks. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide with alarm. "Dad!" He says loudly. But now Plankton's even more overwhelmed, and Karen notices his somewhat distant gaze. "Chip, remember what we talked about," Karen whispers. "Use a quiet voice." Chip nods and speaks more softly. "Dad, are you ok?" Plankton blinks, his mind racing. "Dad?" Chip tries again, his voice barely a murmur. Plankton's breath hitches. "It's me, Chip! You're home. You had surgery. Remembe---" But Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind a swirling vortex of pain and disorientation as Chip talks to fast. Karen quickly moves to his side, her touch grounding him. "It's ok," she whispers. "You're safe. You're home." And then, he starts to talk to himself. "No...no...no...yes...yes...yes," he murmurs. Karen knows that he's retreated due to the overwhelm. It's happened before, where he's seemingly on autopilot. "Water's okay, can't talk right now," Plankton whispers to the empty space. His eye darts back to Chip, then to the ceiling. "No, no, no," he says again, his voice getting quieter. Karen's heart aches, seeing her husband so lost in his own head. She's seen this before—his autism taking control when the world was too much to handle. Chip however doesn't really understand. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton doesn't respond, his eye locked on the ceiling fan spinning above them. "It's ok," Karen says, her voice a soft reminder. "Sometimes his brain is on backup." She strokes his arm gently, knowing his semiconscious state isn't abnormal for him, as Plankton's monologue continues. "Need to count...one...two... three..." His voice trails off. Chip watches. "Is he ok?" He asks, his voice trembling. Karen nods. "This is his way of dealing with things," she whispers. "Let's just give him some time." Plankton's eye darts between them, his mouth forming words without thought. "Red...blue...green," he says, as if naming colors he's seeing in the air. "Big...small...far... near." Karen knows he's not really seeing anything, his mind a kaleidoscope of sensory input that's difficult to process. "Why?" Plankton asks no one in particular. "Will it be the one? It's just a feeling," he murmurs, trying to convince himself. Karen understands it's his brain's attempt to organize the overwhelming stimuli, but Chip looks on with a mix of concern and confusion. "It's ok," Chip whispers, his hand hovering over his dad's. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. Karen smiles at him, nodding. "You can talk to him, buddy. Just keep it low." Chip nods and sits on the edge of the bed. "Hey Dad," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's eye flips over to him, but he doesn't seem to see him. "It's me, Chip. We're here," Chip says, trying to provide comfort.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 9 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton stands up and storms off to the bedroom, his steps heavy. The door slams shut behind him, the finality of it echoing through the house. Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he sinks to the floor, feeling like he's failed his dad. Karen sighs. "Chip," she says, her voice soft as she sits beside him. "Your dad's just really sensitive about his autism." She takes his hand. "You have to remember, it's not just something he can turn on or off." Chip nods, feeling small. He didn't mean to upset his dad. He just wanted to help, like Timmy had helped him. He thinks back to their lunchtime chat, Timmy's hands flapping freely as he talked about his 'superpowers'. It had made his dad's stims seem less like a 'problem' and more like something unique, something to celebrate. But now, Chip isn't so sure. He looks up at Karen, his eyes wet. "But Mom," he says, his voice cracking. "Today at school, I met a kid named Timmy. He said he's autistic, and gave me this book. He said this book makes him feel like a superhero. He told me the book made him feel seen, understood." Karen nods, listening intently as Chip speaks. "And I thought...maybe it could help Dad feel the same way," Chip continues, his voice trailing off. Karen's gaze softens. "You had good intentions, Chip," she says, squeezing his hand. "But everyone's different, even those with autism. What might help one person might not be the same for another. It's like a fingerprint—each one is unique." "But Timmy said it helps him," Chip argues, his voice small. Karen nods. "And that's wonderful for Timmy," she says. "But your dad's experience is his own. He's not as comfortable with it as Timmy might be. Autism is like a mosaic, Chip. Each piece is different, and they all come together to make a unique picture." She pauses, searching his eyes. "You can't always assume what works for one will work for another." Chip wipes his screen with the back of his hand, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. He didn't mean to make his dad feel worse. He just wanted to share something positive. "What do we do?" He asks, his voice cracking. Karen takes a deep breath. "We need to talk to him," she says. "We need to tell him that we love him exactly as he is, without conditions." She stands. They approach the bedroom door, Karen's hand on the knob. "But remember," she whispers to Chip. "He's fragile right now. We have to be gentle." They step inside, the room dimly lit. Plankton's lying on the bed, his back to them, his body still. Chip's heart squeezes. This isn't the invincible scientist he's always known. This is his dad, a man who's been hurt by misunderstanding. Karen clears her throat. "Plankton, we need to talk." Plankton doesn't move. "I'm sorry, Karen," he says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just don't have the energy for this right now." Chip's heart aches. He's never seen his dad so defeated. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "Dad," he starts, his voice soft. "I'm sorry." Plankton's body tenses but doesn't turn around. "I didn't mean to make fun of you or make light of your autism. I just wanted to show you that someone else out there is just li—" "I don't want to be like someone else," Plankton says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just want to be me." Chip swallows hard, his eyes prickling with tears. "But Dad," he says, "you are like someone else. You're like my new friend. His name's Timmy, an-" "I don't know or care WHO Timmy is," Plankton cuts in, his voice sharp. "I'm Plankton." He rolls over to face them, his eye red. "I'm not a kid playing pretend. I'm a grown man trying to navigate a world that's always two steps ahead of me." Chip feels his heart crack. He'd never thought of it that way. "But what if you could see it as a strength?" He asks, his voice hopeful. "What if instead of trying to keep up, you could be the one setting the p-" "Setting the pace?" Plankton's voice is bitter. "How can I set the pace when I can't even keep up?" His words hang in the air, each one a sharp reminder of his daily battles. Chip feels his throat constrict. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking. "I just wanted to help, like, you see my friend Tim-" "I don't need to be compared to a child's book! And what does 'Timmy' have to do wi-" "It's not just a book, Dad," Chip says, his voice firm. "It's about understanding that autism isn't a flaw or a joke, it's just...part of who you are. And Timmy, he's like a superhero because he's found a way to turn his challenge into strengths, on account of he has autis–" But Plankton cuts him off with a sharp laugh. "A strength?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "What strength? My inability to not get overwhelmed by sounds and lights? My inability to read people's faces?" He sits up, his frustration palpable. "Don't you get it, Chip? This isn't something I can just 'turn on' or 'turn off'. It's my reality, my every day. And Timmy...Timmy might be fine with playing games about his, but I'm NOT." His voice is heavy with pain. Chip's heart feels like it's in his throat. He's never seen his dad like this, so raw and exposed. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Plankton's words hang in the air like a challenge, demanding to be heard. "Dad," he finally says, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry if I made it seem like a joke. I just...I just wanted to show you that you're not alone." He holds up the book, his hands shaking. "Timmy's not alone either. And neither are you." He takes a deep breath. "Maybe we could find our own way to make your autism feel like a su—" But Plankton's had enough. He stands, his small frame trembling with frustration. "I don't need your pity, Chip," he says, his voice sharp. "I need you to understand that this isn't some game. This is my life!" With a sudden burst of strength, Plankton snatches the book from Chip's hands. Chip's eyes widen in shock, watching his dad's anger manifest physically as he tears the pages one by one. "This is not who I am!" Plankton says, his voice shaking with each ripping sound. "I'm not a character for you to relate to or feel good about!" Karen stands there, frozen, her hand covering her mouth in shock as Plankton throws the book across the room. The silence that follows is deafening. Chip's screen is wet with tears, his chest tight. He's never seen his dad this way before— so raw and so hurt. He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. "Dad, I--" But Plankton holds up his hand. "Just...just go," he says, his voice hoarse. Chip picks up the torn book on his way out.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 15 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The contents are a treasure trove of textures and sounds: fidget toys, a squishy ball, a piece of fabric with different patterns. Chip reaches out to touch. "Can I try?" Plankton's antennae still, his eye watching Chip intently. "Careful," Karen warns, her voice a gentle reminder of the importance of respect. Chip picks up a smooth stone, turning it over in his hand. "This toy helps him calm down?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder. Karen nods. "Whenever his mind gets too crowded, he holds onto it, feels its coolness." "Mom, like this?" Chip says. "Just like that," she smiles. But Chip's curiosity gets the better of him. He starts to juggle the sensory items, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Look, Dad, I'm just like you!" he says, trying to relate. "I'm autistic too! Tick tick.." Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye wide with shock and hurt as he then abruptly leaves the room without a single word, slamming the door hard, his eye welling up with tears. Karen sighs, her screen filling with disappointment. Chip looks up, his screen reflecting confusion. "Chip," she says gently, "What you just did was not okay." Karen's eyes are on him, her expression a mix of concern and anger. "What you just did," she says, her voice firm, "is called bullying." Chip's screen flickers with shock. "What?" he asks. "You used your dad's autism as a joke," Karen says, her voice tight with frustration. "It's not funny, Chip." He looks down at his hands, his mind racing. "But I just wanted to be like him," he whispers, his voice small. "I didn't mean to hurt him, I wanted to relate, to make him smile.." Karen's screens dim, her heart aching for her son. "I know," she says, her voice soft. "But sometimes, our intentions don't match our actions." She pauses. "Do you know how that felt for him?" "No," he murmurs, eyes on the closed door. "I just..." But Karen's expression is unyielding. "You need to think about others, Chip. Especially those who can't always tell you how they feel." She sighs. "You're his son. You need to support him, not mock him." Her words are a gentle scolding, a lesson in empathy. Chip's shoulders slump, his screen reflecting his guilt. He looks at the closed door, his mind racing with regret. He didn't mean to hurt his dad. He just wanted to understand. Karen's voice is a gentle guide. "Chip, autism isn't a game or a trick to mimic. What you did was hurtful, even if you didn't mean it." Chip's eyes are on the closed door, his mind racing. "But I just wanted to..." his voice trails off. Karen's screens light up with patience. "I know, love," she says. "Yet we all make mistakes. It's how we learn from them that counts." Chip nods, his heart heavy. He didn't mean to bully his dad, but now he sees the error of his ways. "How do I fix it?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen sighs, her eyes on the closed door. "First," she says, "you need to understand that his feelings are real, even if you don't see them the same way." Chip nods, his screen reflecting his newfound understanding. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice earnest. "I didn't mean to..." Karen's screens dim, her heart full of compassion. "I know," she says, her hand on his shoulder. "But we all learn. The important thing is to do better next time." Karen says, going out into the living room to check on Plankton. Plankton is sitting on the couch, his antennae drooped, his body still. He's staring into space, his usual bubbly demeanor nowhere to be seen. "Plankton?" she calls out softly. He doesn't move. She approaches, her movements deliberate and slow, not wanting to startle him. "Plankton, honey," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Are you okay?" He doesn't respond, his eye fixed on a spot on the wall. Karen sighs, her screens reflecting a mix of concern and understanding. This isn't the first time he's retreated like this. She knows his mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, his senses overwhelmed by the world around him. "Plankton?" Her voice is a soft touch, trying to break through his isolation. She sits beside her husband. His antennae twitch, a tiny sign that he's heard her. "I'm here," she says, her hand on his back. "Do you want to talk about it?" Plankton's eye flickers to her, his antennae still drooped. He's silent, his mouth a tight line. Karen knows this look. It's the look of someone trying to find words that won't come. "You don't have to," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "But I'm here." He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. "Chip," he finally says, his voice strained. "I don't know how to explain it." Karen nods, her screens flickering with empathy. "It's okay," she says. "You don't have to." But Plankton's eye is on the floor, his gaze unfocused. "Chip, tick tick..." He starts again, his voice cracking. Karen's screens flicker with sympathy. She knows the pain their son caused. "Plankton," she says softly. "I know, love," she whispers. "I know." Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tightening. "Why?" He looks up at her, his eye pleading. "Why would he?" "Because he's still learning," she says gently. "And we're here to he--" Karen trails off as Chip meets them in the living room, approaching them. His screen is filled with apology. "Dad," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." Plankton's antennae raise slightly, his gaze shifting to Chip. "Chip hurt, no funny," he says, his voice flat. Chip nods, his screen reflecting his understanding. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton's eye stays on him, his antennae quivering slightly. "I didn't know it was like that for you. I'm just trying to underst--" But Plankton cuts him off, his antennae shooting up. "Don't," he says, his voice sharp. "Don't pretend you get it. You never will." His eye is cold, his antennae rigid. Chip's screen flickers with pain. Karen's screens dim, her heart heavy. "Plankton," she says softly, but her husband turns away. "I don't want him here," he says, his voice filled with anger. "He doesn't understand. He doesn't care." Chip's screen flickers with disbelief. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "That's not true." Plankton's gaze meets his son's, but the warmth is gone, replaced by a coldness Chip has never seen before. "I'm not going to give you closure Chip.." Karen's screens flash with alarm. "Plankton, no," she says, her voice desperate. But Plankton's solely on his son. "You think you can play games with me?" he says. "Yo--" But Chip's had enough. "I'm not playing games!" he yells, his voice startling Plankton. It's to loud. "I'm trying to he-" Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye wide with fear and anger. "Chip, please," Karen says, her voice urgent. But Chip doesn't realize the intensity of his father's reaction. "I just wanted to help!" Chip's voice cracks, not knowing he's being to loud. Plankton's body stiffens, his antennae quivering rapidly. "No," he says, his voice low and harsh. "Stop; please.."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 17 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Karen's eyes are filled with love and understanding. Plankton slowly nods, his antennae dropping. "I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice barely a whisper. But Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye cold. "You need to go," he says, his voice firm. Chip's screen flickers with hurt. "What?" he asks, his voice shaking. Plankton's gaze is unyielding. "I don't want you here," he says. "Not right now." His words are like a dagger to Chip's heart, but Karen's screens flicker with a message of patience. "Dad, what do you mea-" But Plankton cuts him off, his antennae rigid. "I mean it," he says, his voice hard. "I don't want you here." Chip's screen reflects confusion and pain. He doesn't understand. "But why?" he asks. "We're fa-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "Don't pretend to care." His eye is cold, his antennae quivering with anger. "You made fun of me. You think my world is a joke." Chip's screen flickers with confusion and guilt. "Dad, no," he says, his voice shaking. "That's not what I meant." But Plankton's not listening, his words cutting through the air like shards of glass. "You think you know," he says, his voice rising. "But you don't. You can't. You're not like me." Karen's screens are a swirl of emotions, her heart aching for both her son and her husband. "Plankton, please," she says, her voice a gentle plea. But he's not listening. He's too lost in his own hurt, his own frustration. "You think you can just play along?" he says, turning to Chip. "You think it's that easy?" Chip's screen shows his fear growing, his mind racing. He didn't mean to hurt his dad, but now he feels like he's being pushed away. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I just made a mis-" "Mistake? Hah. The only mistake was thinking you could ever understand!" Plankton's words are a harsh reminder of their earlier misunderstanding. Chip's screen reflects his hurt, his eyes filling with tears. "You think you can just pretend?" Plankton continues, his voice bitter. "You think you know what it's like to be me?" His antennae wave wildly in accusation. Chip's voice is barely a squeak. "I just wanted to help, Dad," he says, his screen a jumble of sadness and confusion. "But you didn't," Plankton says, his voice cold. "You hurt me. And I can't just shake it off." Karen's screens flicker with pain for her husband, but she knows Plankton's anger is a shield, a way to protect his tender heart. "You don't get it," Plankton continues, his antennae jutting forward. "You think you can just pretend to understand?" His words are a knife in the dark, twisting in Chip's gut. "Dad," Chip says, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I'll do better. I'll learn." But Plankton's eye narrows, his antennae waving. "It's not about you," he says, his voice harsh. "It's never been. You don't get to cry victim. I can forgive accidentally touching me and such, but this... I can't. I saw you mocking me. I heard you laughing." Chip's eyes widen. "No," he says, his voice desperate. "I didn't mean t---" But Plankton's not listening. "You think because you're sorry, everything's okay and make it go away? You don't get to decide that," he says, his voice shaking. "You don't get to tell me how I feel. Because right now, you don't understand a thing. You're not a part of this. You're not being a good son. And I don't think I can trust you." The words hit Chip like a wave, his screen flashing with disbelief. He feels like he's drowning, his mind racing for a way to make it right. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says again, his voice choked with tears. "I'll do anything. I'll learn, I'll change." But Plankton's antennae droop, his body defeated. "It's too late," he murmurs. "You had your chance. But honestly, I don't think you'll ever be the son I need." Karen's screens pulse with pain, seeing the rift between them grow wider. She knows how much Plankton values trust, how hard it is for him to give it once it's been shattered. Chip's screen flickers with desperation. "Dad, I'll be here," he begs, whimpering. "I'll try anyth—" But Plankton's antennae are rigid with finality. "No," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I now know better than to let you in again. I hoped we'd be closer, but now I... I don't think you belong in my life, Chip." The words hang in the air, each one heavier than the last. Chip's screen is a whirlwind of emotions: guilt, sadness, fear. "Dad," he says, his voice a broken plea. "Please, I'll do better. I promise." But Plankton's gaze is unyielding. "I'm letting go Chip. We're done now. You'll never be the son I adored again. You failed to accept me, so I won't accept your façade. So good bye, Chip. I hope you find peace.." Plankton then turns around, leaving Karen and Chip in the living room as he walked down the hall. Chip's eyes are wide with shock, his screen flickering with tears. Karen's screens dim with sadness as she looks at her son. "Chip," she says, her voice gentle. "It's not you. It's just his way of coping." But Chip's not listening. He's thinking about the moments his dad's eyes had lit up, the times Plankton had laughed, his antennae waving with joy. And now, it's gone, replaced by a coldness that scares him. He tries to imagine what it's like for Plankton, to live in a world that's too loud, too bright, too much. A world where even the smallest touch can send him spiraling. Where every interaction is a minefield of misunderstandings. And he wonders how he could have missed the signs. How could he have hurt his father so much without even realizing it?

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|:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::| |:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::| | | | | |:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::| |:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::| OREO

🕹️

🤕❤️‍🩹

* ੈ ♡ ⸝⸝🪐 ༘ ⋆

꧁ ༺chip ༻ ꧂🍬₊˚⊹♡

cisne 🦢

👿㊙

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⣿⠋⠈⠙⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⠋⠁⠙⣿⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⣾⣿⣅⠀⢠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⡄⠀⣨⣿⣷⠀ ⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇ ⠘⣿⣿⣿⠿⢻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡟⠿⣿⣿⣿⠃ ⠀⢿⣿⡀⠀⠘⢿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠃⠀⢀⣿⡿⠀ ⠀⠈⢿⣿⣄⣠⣼⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣧⣄⣠⣿⡿⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ 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⚛⚡⏚⎍ ⎓ ⎶ ⎇ ⎉ ⎌ ⏛ 🖥️

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kangaroo, reclycing 🦘♻

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