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.