CATCH IN MY CHIP x
(Autistic author)
♡. ᴏᴠᴇʀsᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀs ..
Plankton's gaze is
unfocused, lost in the
storm. His body is rigid, his
muscles tense like coils
ready to spring. The room
spins, the colors a blur
Karen's fear a tangible
entity in the room.
Her hand on his cheek is a
plea, a gentle reminder that
she's there, that he's not alone.
"Look at me," she whispers, her
voice a soft mantra. "You're safe."
But he doesn't hear her, not
really. He's too lost in the
sensory hurricane that
engulfs him.
Karen races as she
watches the man she loves
drift further away, his mind
trapped in the labyrinth
of his own making. She's
seen this before, the way his
autism can swallow him whole,
leaving only the shell of a man
behind. But this time is
different. This time, there's
Chip, waking up to
his dad's struggle.
Her eyes dart from Plankton's
panicked gaze to their son's
sleepy face, the innocence
in his expression a stark
contrast to the chaos in her
husband's eye. She knows
she must act fast, to
protect them both from
the storm.
With a gentle touch, she
lifts Chip's hand from Plankton's
arm, her movements as soft as
a leaf landing on a pond.
Chip stirs, his eyes fluttering
open to meet hers. The
concern in her gaze is a
question he doesn't understand,
but he accidentally brushes his
dad's shoulder as he sits up..
Plankton's body jerks, his
single eye rolling back in his
head. The room goes dark, the
colors swirling into a void.
The ringing in his ears is
deafening. Karen's hand is a flash,
catching him.
Her arms wrap around him,
supporting his weight as
his body goes limp. Chip's eyes
are wide with fear, his hand
suddenly empty. "Daddy?"
he whispers, the word a
prayer in the quiet.
Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, her hand
checking for a pulse. She
feels the steady throb of
life beneath her fingertips,
relief flooding her veins.
"Daddy?" Chip's voice is a
whisper of fear, his hand
reaching out to touch his
father's arm, but Karen
stops him.
"Let him be," she says, her
tone firm. "He needs space."
Her eyes are on Plankton,
watching for any sign of
returning consciousness.
The room is a tomb of
silence, the only sound
their mingled breaths.
Chip nods, his eyes wide
with worry. He can see the
fear in his mother's gaze,
feel the tension in the
air. But he trusts her. He
has to. Plankton is his
dad, and she knows him
better than anyone.
Chip watches, his own
breaths shallow with fear.
He opens his mouth to
speak, to ask what's wrong,
but Karen's hand is swift,
silencing his words with a
single finger to her screen.
The gesture is a soft
whisper, a command that
he understands without
explanation.
Plankton's body is limp in
Karen's embrace, his antennas
still quivering with the
aftershocks of his overload.
Her eyes are filled with
determination, her love
for her husband a fiery
beacon in the dark room.
With gentle care, she lowers
his head to the pillow,
his body trembling with
the last vestiges of panic.
Chip's eyes are wide with
uncertainty, his hand
poised in the air. "Is he
okay?" he whispers, his voice
small in the vastness of the
moment. With gentle
firmness, Karen takes Chip's
hand, leading him out of the
room.
"We need to give him some
space," she murmurs, her screen
never leaving Plankton's
form. "He'll come to when he's
ready. This only happens when
his overwhelm gets him dizzy
to the point of passing out,
which in itself has only happened
twice before. It's part of his
autism, Chip."
Chip nods solemnly, his
fear for his dad mingling with
his curiosity about this
new aspect of Plankton he's
never seen. "What can we do?"
he asks, his voice barely audible.
Karen squeezes his hand,
her screen never leaving
Plankton. "For now, we wait.
And when he wakes up, we
make sure to give him time
to recover. No loud noises,
no sudden movements." She
speaks with a calmness
that belies the storm
raging in her own heart.
They sit together on the
edge of the bed, their screens
locked on Plankton.
Karen's grip on Chip's
hand is tight, her knuckles
white. She's seen this before,
but it never gets easier. "Just
wait," she whispers, her voice
shaky. "Just wait."
They sit in silence,
the air thick with unspoken
emotions. The sun peeks
through the blinds, casting
slanted bars of light across
Plankton's unconscious form. Karen
aches as she watches
the man she loves, the man
who's been her rock, reduced to
this trembling shell. But she
knows he's strong. He's survived
worse storms than this.
Minutes tick by, each one
longer than the last. The room
seems to hold its breath,
waiting for Plankton to stir.
And then, slowly, his antennas
cease their trembling. His
eye flickers open, focusing
on the two figures beside
his bed.
The world is still a blur,
his thoughts scattered like
leaves in the wind. But Karen's
face is a beacon, her eyes
a port in the storm. He tries
to speak, his mouth dry as
sandpaper, but only a croak
escapes.
"I'm sorry," he manages, the
words a feeble whisper. His
eye meets Chip's, filled with a
swirl of emotions he can't
quite name. Regret, fear,
love. All fighting for
supremacy.
Chip's grip on Karen's hand
tightens, his own eyes
reflecting the same tumult of
feelings. He opens his mouth,
but no words come out. Instead,
he reaches out with his free
hand when Karen stops him.
"Let him recover," she says,
squeezing his hand reassuringly.
"He needs to process, Chip. Let
me talk to him first." With a nod,
Chip withdraws his hand, his
heart pounding in his chest.