𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 3
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ.
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ
The room feels smaller,
the air heavier. Karen can
see the turmoil in
Plankton's eye, the fear of
rejection and misunderstanding.
"It's okay, Plankton," she says,
squeezing his hand. "You're not
alone." But Chip's eyes are filled
with a mix of confusion
and concern, reaching
out tentatively. Plankton
flinches. "Dad," Chip says, his voice
small. "What's w---"
"It's nothing you
need to worry about!"
Plankton snaps, his voice
sharp. The words sting Chip,
and he takes a step back.
"Chip, your dad's just... tired,"
Karen says quickly, trying to
smooth things over. But the
damage is done. Plankton's
always been so good at hiding
his autism, but now it's out in
the open. "But, Dad..." Chip starts.
"I SAID, IT'S NOTHING!"
Plankton's outburst echoes
in the room, his antennae
twitching wildly. Karen sees the fear
in Chip's screen. She knows Plankton
meant no harm, but the
shame he feels is palpable.
"It's ok, Chip," she says,
trying to keep her voice steady.
"Dad just needs a moment."
Chip nods, his gaze
flickering between his
parents. He's never seen his
dad like this before, so...
vulnerable. He takes another
step back, giving them space.
Plankton's head jerks to the
side again, a tic, the
neurodivergence that Karen's seen
often, but Chip's only just
noticing it.
Karen sees the fear in Chip's
screen. "It's okay, Chip," she
says again, her voice a lifeline.
"It's just his body's way of dealing
with the aftermath." Plankton's
never wanted Chip to see
this side of him, the side that's
not so put-together. "Why does he
do that?" he asks, his voice still
trembling. Karen takes a deep
breath, ready to explain. "It's
called a tic, Chip. Sometimes
people with autism have these
small movements they can't
control. It's just
his brain's way of...
releasing energy. It's like
a reflex."
Plankton feels exposed, raw.
This isn't how he wanted his son
to find out. "Dad?" Chip says,
his voice tentative.
Plankton's antennae stop their
wild dance. "I tck tck... I'm okay,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible. Chip's screen filled
with unshed tears,
aching for his father. He
doesn't understand, but he
can see the pain in Plankton's
eye. "You don't have to hide.."
Karen's voice is a gentle
caress. "It's just who
your dad is, Chip. He's
always been like this." Plankton
nods, his gaze meeting hers.
They share a silent understanding,
a bond formed from years of
supporting each other through
his episodes.
Chip looks at Plankton, his
eyes searching for any
resemblance of the
dad he knows. But all he sees
is a man with a secret he's
carried alone for so long.
"But wh-"
"It's called 'masking',"
Karen says gently. "Your dad's
been doing it his whole life."
The word hangs in the air,
foreign yet somehow fitting.
Plankton's always been so
good at pretending, so adept
at hiding his true self. Chip feels
like he's peering into a part
of his dad's soul that's
always been veiled. "But
why, Dad?" His voice is
barely above a whisper as
he reaches for his hand.
Plankton's antennae quiver
under the weight of his son's
touch. He's never liked the
feeling of anything on him,
and is only comfortable with
Karen's touch.
The tactile sensitivity is
a part of his autism that
makes certain textures
and sensations unbearable.
Chip's grip is firm, and Plankton
flinches away from him.
Karen notices. She knows
how much Plankton struggles
with the simple act of being
touched by anyone but her.
But Chip grabs Plankton's
hand again, unyielding.
Plankton's antennae spike
with discomfort, his skin
crawling under the pressure.
He tries to pull away, but
his son's grip is tight.
"Chip, it's okay," Karen
soothes. "Dad's just...
sensitive." But Chip's eyes
are pleading. He doesn't
understand, doesn't know
that his simple touch can
set off a sensory overload
for his father. And so he
holds on tighter. "Dad..."
Chip starts. Plankton whimpers.
Karen's seen this
so many times before.
How Plankton's body reacts
to the slightest touch,
how his skin can feel like
it's on fire, his brain a
whirlwind of chaos. But this
time, it's Chip's hand, and
it's uncharted territory.
Plankton's antennae spasm,
his eye squeezed shut.
The room feels too hot, too
loud. He tries to focus.
He wants to scream, to shake
his son off, but he knows
he can't. Yet Chip's hand won't
let go.
Karen sees the panic in
Plankton's eye, the way his
body tenses like a coil about
to spring. She places her hand
over Chip's, trying to gently
pry his fingers from Plankton's.
"Chip, sweetie, let go," she
says softly. "Your dad's just
a bit... overwhelmed right now."
Plankton flaps his other hand
in a stim, which Chip doesn't
understand. So he also grabs
his other hand, too.
"Dad, please talk to me,"
Chip begs, his voice shaking.
The sensation of Chip's
hands on his is unbearable,
like sandpaper against skin.
He wants to scream, but
his voice is trapped in a
body that feels like it's not his.
"I... " he gasps, his eye darting.
Karen's screen is filled with
sorrow as she sees the
panic in her husband's gaze.
"Chip, let go," she says, her voice
firm yet gentle. "It's okay.
Your dad just needs some space."
But Chip's grip tightens.
"No; I won't leave you," he
declares, his screen wet with
tears. Plankton's unable to
take anymore, but Chip's grip
is to strong for him to pry
away from. Plankton can't
breathe, the pressure of his son's
hands on him too much to bear.
But Chip doesn't understand.
He doesn't realize his touch is
causing his dad pain. Suddenly
Plankton's legs buckle onto the bed.
Karen's eyes widen as she
sees Plankton's distress,
and she quickly takes action.
"Chip, let him go!" she says
more urgently, placing her
hands on Chip's shoulders.
Chip finally releases Plankton's
hands, looking from his
mother to his father with
uncertainty. Plankton gasps for
air, his antennae drooping as
Chip finally lets go, loosening his
grip on Plankton's hands.
The room is quiet except
for the harsh sound of
Plankton's ragged breaths.
Karen's seen this
hundreds of times, but it
never gets easier.
"It's okay, Plankton,"
she murmurs. "You're okay,
love."
Plankton is a maelstrom
of uncontrollable tics. His
eye blinks rapidly, and Chip's
never seen his dad like this.