𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 Pt. 4
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
"Mom, what can I do
to help?" Chip's question
was sincere, his eyes
searching hers for
answers. Karen took a
deep breath, her eyes
welling up with tears.
"The best thing you
can do," she said, "is to
love him just as you
always have. And to
learn about his autism.
That way, when he has
these moments, you can
help him feel safe." Chip
nodded, his mind racing.
He had never felt so
helpless in his life. Chip
thought about his dad's
stims, the convulsions, the
noises. He felt a sudden
desire to understand, to
connect with Plankton in a
way he never had before.
He looked up at Karen.
"Can I talk to Dad?" he
asked, his voice hopeful.
Karen squeezed his hand.
"Not yet, sweetie. He needs
some space to calm down.
But let's go check on him.
Together."
They approached the
closed door. "Plankton?"
Karen calls. "Can we come
in?" "Yeah fine," Plankton's
voice was tired. "Come in."
The room was a mess. The
pillow lay on the floor,
the wall was dented. Plankton
was sitting on the bed,
his head in his hands. Chip's
heart raced, his eyes darting
to the mess, then to his
dad. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said,
his voice trembling. "Dad, I—"
But Plankton didn't look
up. "I don't want to talk
about it," he mumbled, his
words muffled by his
hands. Chip felt his hope
shrivel. "But, Dad..."
"Just leave me alone,"
Plankton said, his voice
weak. Karen squeezed
Chip's hand, giving him
a look that told him to
give Plankton his space.
But Chip couldn't just
leave it at that. He had to
try. He took a deep breath
and stepped into the room.
"Dad," he began, his voice
quivering with emotion,
"I just want to help. I don't
know what's happening, but
I want to be here for
you." Plankton didn't move,
his head still in his hands.
Chip took a step closer,
his heart racing as his hand
reached out tentatively.
But as soon as his fingertips
brushed against his father's
shoulder, Plankton flinched
away, his whole body
stiffening. "Stop," he said
sharply. "Don't touch me."
Chip's hand hovered in
the air, unsure of what to
do. He had never felt so
rejected by his father.
"It's okay," Karen said
soothingly. "Remember,
dad's senses are really
sensitive, especially
after a seizure."
Chip nodded, his hand
falling to his side. He
stood there, feeling lost.
He didn't know what to
do or say. The room was
heavy with unspoken
words and untouched
emotions. Plankton's breath
was ragged, his body
trembling with the effort
of controlling his own
stims. "I'm sorry," Chip
managed to whisper. "I
just don't kno—"
But Plankton's voice
cut him off, harsh and
sharp. "I said, don't touch
me!" The pain in his eye
was unmistakable. Chip
took a step back, his heart
pounding in his chest. He
wanted to run, to hide,
anything. But he knows
that wouldn't help. He
looked at his mom, his
eyes pleading.
Karen's expression was
filled with understanding,
but also with sadness. She knew
this was hard for Plankton, but
she also knew that pushing him
too much right now wouldn't help.
"Chip, why don't you go to your
room for a bit?" she suggested.
"Let Dad have some time to
recover." She squeezed
his hand gently. "Let's just
give him some time. He'll
talk when he's ready."
Chip goes to his own
room. Karen turns to
Plankton. "Honey," she
says gently, "We gotta
explain this to Chip."
Plankton's shoulders
slumped. "I know," he sighs,
his voice filled with
resignation. "But I'm not
ready to be 'explained' to
him." Karen nods, her eyes
full of understanding.
"But maybe there's a way
we can help him feel closer
to you without making it
about the seizures," she
suggests.
Plankton looks up, his
interest piqued. "How?"
Karen's mind races. "How
about jigsaw puzzles?" she
says. "You know how you
are good at them. It can be
a fun way to show Chip the
analytical logistic side of
your autism. That, and it's
a good way to bring you
together." Plankton considers
this.
Karen goes to the shelf
in the corner of the room,
where they keep their
puzzles. She picks out one
with a picture of Nosferatu.
She brings it to Plankton.
"This one?" she asks,
holding it out. Plankton
nods. "Sure," he says, his
voice still tight.
They bring the puzzle to the
living room and spread it out
on the coffee table. Karen
starts laying out the pieces.
Chip comes out of his room
to see. Karen motions for
Chip to join in.
Plankton sits down with a
sigh, his eye scanning the
pieces. It's a familiar
comfort, something that
always made sense to him.
He starts to pick out the
edges, his hands moving
with a precision that was
second nature to him. Chip
watches, fascinated.
"You okay, Dad?" Chip
asks tentatively. Plankton
doesn't look up. "I'm fine,"
he mumbles, his voice still
sharp. "But I'm not going
to sit here and explain
my entire life to you." Chip
swallows hard, his eyes
prickling with tears. He
just wants to understand.
So he picks up a puzzle
piece.
The three of them sit in
silence for a while, the only
sounds the occasional clink
of puzzle pieces connecting.
Chip watches as Plankton's
hands move swiftly, placing
each piece with precision.
He's never seen his dad
do this, calculating the
puzzle's pattern with ease.
Plankton starts to relax,
his breathing evening out as
his mind focuses on the
task. The room feels less
claustrophobic, the pressure
of their conversation easing
slightly as they build
something together. Chip's
fingers hover over the pieces,
uncertain. "Here," Plankton says
without looking up, placing
a piece in Chip's hand that fits
perfectly into the spot he was
just eyeing.
Karen smiles at this small
gesture, hopeful that the
puzzle might serve as a
bridge between the two.
Chip's eyes widen as he
fits the piece into place.
"How did you know that
went there?" he asks, his
voice filled with wonder.
Plankton shrugs. "It's just
pattern. I find patterns.."
He trails off, his hand
picking up another piece,
his mind working through
the puzzle without barely
even looking at it. Chip
watches, a flicker of
understanding passing
over his features. "It's like
your brain sees things we
can't," he murmurs. Plankton
ignores this.
Chip tries again, his voice
soft. "Dad, I just wanna ask
you; why do you get so
upset when people touch
you?" He asks, placing a
piece with care.
Plankton's hand stops
mid-air, a piece of the
puzzle hovering. His
shoulders tense. "It's not
just you," he says, his
voice tight. "It's about me."
He places the piece down
and looks at Chip, his eye
full of frustration. "You
don't get it; you never will.."
Karen's eyes dart between
them, her heart racing. "It's
okay to not be okay," she
says gently. "We're here to
teach Chip together." But
Plankton's gaze remains
fixed on the puzzle, his
thumbs rubbing against
his fingers in a repetitive
motion—a subtle stim that
only Karen notices.
"Dad," Chip says softly,
picking up another piece,
his voice shaking slightly.
"It's just that, when
you have those moments,
I don't know what to do."
Plankton's hand pauses,
his breath catching. "What
moments!" he asks, his
tone defensive.
"The moments when you
shake and make noises,"
Chip explains, his voice
barely above a whisper.
"The moments when you're
upset or scared." Karen's
heart clenched at her son's
brave attempt to connect.
"Dad, I just don't get how
you can do something as
complex as a puzzle, but
yet you can't even make
eye contact.."
Plankton's hand clenched
around the puzzle piece,
his knuckles turning white.
He stood abruptly, the chair
scraping against the floor.
Without a word, he chucked
the puzzle piece onto the
coffee table, and then marched
to the bedroom, the door
slamming behind him.