Boook Emojis & Text

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.

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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 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 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."

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. 17 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "I-I just want to understand," Krabs says, his voice quavering. "I've never...I mean, I thought you were just being...you know, you." He fumbles for words, feeling the weight of his ignorance. "But now I see you're more than just a nuisance." But Plankton doesn't react, lost in his sensory cocoon. Karen watches the interaction with a sad smile. "Plankton, Krabs is trying to reach out to you," she says gently. "He wants to be a part of your world." Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't loosen, but his eye moves from the toy to Krabs, then back again. He's used to being misunderstood, his autism often a source of frustration and isolation. But now, here's his enemy, trying to understand? Krabs clears his throat, his eyes searching Plankton's face for any sign of acknowledgment. "What...what do you say when you repeat those words?" He asks, his voice careful, tentative. "Is there a pattern, or...?" He's desperate for a clue, a way to enter Plankton's world. Plankton's eye narrows, his body tensing. "It's not for you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He clutches the octopus even tighter, as if it's the only thing keeping him tethered to his own reality. Krabs leans back, his claws clutching at his chest. "I just want to help," he says, his voice earnest. "I've hurt you so many times, and I don't want to do it again." Plankton's gaze remains on his octopus, but his posture relaxes slightly. It's clear he hears Krabs, even if he doesn't respond. Karen smiles softly, recognizing the sincerity in Krabs' voice. It's a start, a tentative step towards understanding. Mr. Krabs watches him, his claws still hovering over the sensory box. "Plankton," he starts, his voice soft and cautious. "I know I've been a...well, not a good friend. But I want to be better." He selects a fidget spinner from the box, twirling it slowly. "Can you tell me what this does?" But Plankton doesn't answer. "I don't mean to pry," he says, his voice sincere. "But I can't help but wonder, Plankton. What's it like?" He twirls the fidget spinner again, his gaze never leaving Plankton. "To be...different?" Plankton's eye flickers to Krabs, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seems like he might speak. But then he shakes his head, his words lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts. "Echo...echolal... lal...la..." Krabs sets the fidget spinner down, his heart sinking. He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know how to bridge this gap. But he's determined to try. "What about the noises you make?" He asks, his voice gentle. "They're not just sounds, are th-" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharp. "It's not for you to use or to understand." There's a challenge in his tone, a barrier that Krabs feels he can't cross. He pauses, his gaze shifting to Karen. Her eyes are understanding, but firm. "Let him be, Krabs," she says. "This is his way of coping. It's not for us to interrupt." Krabs nods, his claws dropping to his sides. "I just want to help," he murmurs, his voice low. "To be there fo—" But Plankton's gaze is still on the octopus, his voice distant. "It's not for you to understand," he says, his tone final. "It's mine." Krabs' eyes fill with a newfound respect. He's always been so focused on his own gain, on his own needs, that he's never truly considered Plankton's perspective. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to..." He trails off, not knowing what to say. Karen nods, her hand resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's ok," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "We're all learning." Krabs sighs, his eyes never leaving Plankton's distant gaze, when Plankton starts to vocally stim. "Hmms.." "What's that you're doing?" Krabs interrupts. Karen's eyes widen, and she quickly intervenes. "It's Plankton's way of self-regulating. It's important for him to do this without interruptions. His stims are personal, and it's not our place to question them," Karen explains, her voice firm yet understanding. Krabs nods, his eyes still on Plankton's fidgeting fingers. "I just want to...connect," he whispers, his voice filled with longing. Karen nods, her expression softening. "I know, but when he's like this, it's best to let him be." She looks at Krabs, her eyes filled with understanding. "But there are other ways to connect, if you're truly willing to listen." Krabs leans in, his eyes bright with curiosity. Plankton's eye droops. "Just...be...quiet." Krabs nods, his claws still. The room is a cocoon of silence, save for the distant hum of Bikini Bottom. Plankton's hands still, and Karen knows he's getting exhausted. Plankton's head leans into her side, his antennae drooping. "I'm tired," he murmurs, his voice a tiny echo of its usual pitch. Karen wraps her arm around him, his body fitting into the comfortable curve of her embrace. "It's ok," she whispers, stroking his back. Plankton's eyelid flutters closed, his breathing deepening into the rhythm of sleep. His body relaxes against hers, his trust in her unspoken but palpable. She's his safe haven, the one who gets him in a way no one else does. Karen presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. His grip on the octopus loosens, the plush tentacles now lying limp in his hand. Krabs watches, his heart aching for the enemy he's come to care for. He can't help but feel like he's intruding on a sacred moment, one that's been building for years of missed understandings and hurtful words. As Plankton's breathing deepens into sleep, Karen whispers to Krabs, "You've tried to connect today. That's more than he's ever had from anyone outside this family." Krabs nods, his gaze still on the sleeping Plankton. "But I want to do more," he insists. "I want to be...I don't know, a...friend?" Karen looks at him, surprise and hope mingling in her expression. "That's a big step, Krabs," she says. "But if you're really willing to learn, to be patient and respectful, then maybe we can start there." Krabs nods, his heart swelling with a newfound determination. "I'll do anything," he says. Karen smiles, her screen shining with gratitude. "Then listen," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "Plankton's autism isn't a puzzle to solve or a challenge to overcome. It's just part of who he is." She strokes Plankton's antennae gently. "And his stims, his words—they're his way of saying 'I'm here, and I need you to be here with me.'" Krabs nods, his understanding growing. He watches as Karen carefully moves Plankton's head to his pillow, his body now fully relaxed in sleep as she tucks him in. The plush octopus is still in his hand. "Just be present," she repeats. "Learn to listen without judgment, to see his world without trying to change it." Krabs nods, his expression earnest. It's a concept that seems so simple, yet so profound. He's always been about the endgame, the victory. But here, in this small, dimly-lit room, he sees the true prize: connection. Krabs watches as Karen pulls the covers up to Plankton's chin, his eye still closed as he snuggles into the bed. Krabs' mind races with thoughts. Autistic Plankton. It's a revelation that shakes him to his very core, challenging every assumption he's ever had about his enemy. He's not just a nuisance anymore; he's a friend in pain, trying to navigate a world that doesn't always make sense. He looks at Plankton's sleeping form, the soft rise and fall of his chest, and feels a pang of regret for all the times he's laughed at or dismissed his behaviors. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I never knew." Plankton's only response is a soft snore, oblivious to the monumental shift happening in the room. Krabs sits back in the chair, his thoughts racing. How many times has he misunderstood, how many jokes at Plankton's expense were at the cost of his pain? It's a stark contrast to the loud, chaotic world of the Krusty Krab. He watches the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, the soft snores that punctuate the silence. There's a peace to him, a vulnerability that he's never seen before. It's humbling, frightening even, to think about the depth of emotions and experiences that Plankton has kept hidden beneath his bravado. Krabs' gaze moves to Karen, who's sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on Plankton's. Her expression is a mix of love and protectiveness, a fierce motherly instinct that makes his own heart ache. He clears his throat, his claws awkwardly fidgeting. "What about the seizures?" He asks, his voice hushed. "What can I do if he has one?" Karen looks at him, her eyes filled with appreciation. "You've already done the most important thing," she says, her voice soothing. "You've recognized his needs and are willing to learn." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with questions. He's never felt so out of his depth, but the desire to be there for Plankton is stronger than any treasure he's ever pursued. He watches the soft rise and fall of Plankton's chest, his snores a comforting background to their hushed conversation. Karen reaches out, her hand gently covering Krabs' claw. "If he has a seizure, stay calm," she instructs. "Make sure he's safe, nothing around to hurt him. And talk to him softly, let him know you're there." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton. He doesn't know what it's like to navigate a world where even the most mundane experiences can be overwhelming, where words can be a shield and a prison. But he wants to know. He wants to be a person who can offer comfort, who can make Plankton feel less alone.

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. 2 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Hanna leaned forward, her screen studying Plankton. "How can I he--" "Space," Karen said, cutting Hanna off gently. "Give him space. Sometimes, that's what he needs most." Hanna nods, leaning back. Chip watched his dad with a newfound understanding of his father's struggles. He felt a tug of guilt for not seeing it sooner, for not knowing how to support him. But he also felt a sense of awe at his mom's patience and knowledge. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of Plankton's rocking. Karen watched him, her eyes full of love and concern. She knew his brain was a maze of thoughts and sensations, trying to make sense of a world that was often too much. Hanna, now more cautious, observed from a distance, trying to understand the complexities of autism. She felt a newfound respect for Karen and the unspoken strength she had to navigate this life with her husband. "I'm sorry," Plankton finally managed to say, his voice still shaky. Karen looked over at him, seeing the turmoil in his eye. "You don't have to—" But her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and recognized the text from Plankton's dentist for a dental appointment to get his x-ray. "Hanna, I hate to ask," Karen started, looking apologetic. "But could you possibly keep an eye on Chip for a bit?" Hanna looked from Plankton to Karen. "Of course!" she said without a second thought. "What's going on?" Karen sighs. "I'll keep you updated, but Plankton needs to get x- rays at the dentist..." Plankton's eye snapped back to focus at the mention of dentists. Dentist visits had always been a challenge. But Karen was already thinking ahead. "It's ok honey," she soothed. "We'll make sure they know about yo--" She turned to Plankton to see an oncoming absence seizure. "Plankton, it's ok," she cooed, but it was too late. The world around him faded into a blur of lights and sounds, his body frozen in a state of overwhelm. Hanna watched, horrified, as Plankton's eye is now unblinking, his body unmoving. Hanna was still, gaze fixed on Plankton, fear etched on her screen. She'd never seen anything like this before. But Karen was in action, her movements swift and practiced. She knew exactly what to do. "You're ok, Plankton. You're just having an absence. It'll be over soon." Chip watched, his own fear mirroring Hanna's. But there was something else there, too: understanding. He knew his mom was right, that his dad would come back to them. The seizure passed, and Plankton blinked back to reality. "Let's get to this appointment." Karen says, helping him stand. When Karen arrives with Plankton to the dentist's office, the receptionist smiles brightly. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice chirpy and cheerful. Plankton flinches at the noise, his eye darting around the room, taking in every detail, every sound. The waiting room was a minefield of sensory assaults: the ticking clock, the humming of the lights, the rustle of magazines. Karen squeezes his hand gently, a silent reminder that she's there, that he's not alone. When they call his name, Plankton's grip tightens. The smell of antiseptic and the sight of the chair sends a tremor through his body. But Karen guides him through the door. In the sterile room, the dental hygienist is kind. "Hello, I'm Dr. Marla," she says, her voice measured and calm. "We're gonna take some pictures of your teeth, okay?" Plankton nods, his eye wide with anxiety. "Okay," he whispers. Karen squeezes his hand reassuringly, nodding at Dr. Marla. "He's nervous," she says quietly as he rocks in a stim. "But he'll be okay." The chair is cold and hard, but Plankton doesn't notice. He's too busy focusing on his breathing, counting the tiles on the ceiling. Karen stays close, whispering calming phrases. "In and out, honey. You've got this." His rocking slows. Dr. Marla moves with a practiced grace, her eyes watchful and understanding. "Open wide," she instructs, and Plankton obeys. The x-ray is over quickly, and Dr. Marla gently removes the tray. "Good job," she says, her voice soothing. Plankton's eye flutters as he tries to refocus on the room around him. But the calm is shattered when Dr. Marla delivers the news: "Mr. Plankton, you're going to need your wisdom teeth removed today." Plankton's eye widens, his breath catches. "Now?" he stammers, his voice squeaking with fear. Karen nods solemnly. "It's preventative, honey. It'll be easier now than waiting for them to cause problems later." Plankton's heart races as the words sink in. Surgery. Now. His brain spirals into overload. He feels Karen's calming hand on his shoulder, but it's not enough. The world around him feels like it's closing in, the sounds too loud, the lights too bright. "Breathe," Karen whispers. The room becomes a blur of masked faces and shiny instruments. Plankton's body tenses, his stims fading into the background as fear takes over. Karen remains a constant presence, talking him through the process. "They're going to put you to sleep, Plankton," she explains. "You won't feel a thing." The anesthesiologist enters the room, a gentle giant with a calming smile. "I'm Dr. Smith. I'll be taking care of y—" But Plankton's gone into overdrive, his body trembling with the intensity of his fear. "He's autistic," Karen interjects quickly. "He needs extra care. He's sensitive to sensory stimulation." Dr. Marla nods. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Smith, takes a step back, his face a picture of understanding. "It's ok," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "We'll make this as comfortable as possible for you." Karen nods gratefully. "Plankton has a hard time with sudden changes. Can you tell us what's going to happen?" Dr. Smith nods. "We'll start with a topical numbing agent, then move to a sedative. It'll help keep him asleep during the procedure." The anesthetic cream is cold against Plankton's gums and his arm, where the IV will eventually be. "It's just a tickle," Karen says, trying to soothe his nerves. Plankton nods, his body stiff as a board. He's already in fight or flight mode, his brain unable to process. The mask is placed over his face, and he inhales the sweet smell of nitrous oxide. "Breathe deep," Karen coos, her hand on his. Plankton's eye widens at first, then slowly glazed over as the gas takes hold. The room seems to spin around him, but it's a comforting, soothing spin. The lights dim, the sounds become muffled, and the sharp edges of the world soften. He feels himself being lifted into the chair, his body weightless. Karen's voice is the last thing he hears before everything disappears. Karen texts Hanna. "I'm letting you know, Plankton's getting a tiny operation to remove his wisdom teeth." Karen texts. When the surgery finishes, Plankton is still asleep with Karen holding his limp hand. The dental staff is extra careful not to startle his sensitive system. They wheel him into recovery, his chest rising and falling evenly with the rhythm of sleep. Karen watches him closely, their bond stronger than ever. Hanna's text lights up her phone screen. "How's everything?" Hanna asks. "He's in recovery," Karen replies in the text. Meanwhile, Hanna and Chip are at the park, trying to pass the time. Chip throws a frisbee to Hanna. As the frisbee arcs through the air, he thinks about his dad. He wishes he could be there, but he knows that his mom's calmness is what Plankton needs right now. He wonders how the surgery went, if his dad is ok. Now, the dentist turns to Karen. "The anesthesia will wear off soon. He'll wake up groggy, but he'll be ok." Karen nods, squeezing Plankton's hand as they remove the IV. "His mouth has been numbed, and he might act a bit loopy when he first wakes up." As the anesthesia wears off, Plankton stirs, his eye blinking open. "Hi, honey," Karen says softly. "It's over."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 4 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's words come out in a slurry mess, and Karen understands he's trying to share his thoughts with them. "Cwouds...hampy clows. Wheah's the moo...moo? Moo...moom," he mumbles. "Wha...whath's that?" he asks, his eye searching the sky for something that's not there. Karen's laughter fills the car, lightening the mood. "It's just the sun, sweetie," she says. Chip looks at his dad with a mix of amusement and concern. "You ok?" he asks, his voice tentative. Plankton nods, his smile little more than a twitch of his lips as drool starts to form at the corner of his mouth. "Mom," Chip says, his voice tinged with concern. "He's fine, Chip. It's just the medicine wearing off." Karen answers as they pull up into the garage, Plankton's speech still slurred. "Wheath we gothin?" Plankton mumbles. "We're going inside, sweetie," Karen says, helping him out of the car. His legs feel like jelly, his body moving in slow motion as they make their way into the house. The lights seem too bright, the noises too loud. "Mom," Chip whispers, his eyes wide. "Is he ok?" "He's fine," she whispers back, her voice a gentle reminder of their earlier conversation. "This is normal after anesthesia." Inside, Plankton leans heavily on Karen, his eye half-closed. "Bed," he mumbles. Karen nods, guiding him towards the bedroom. "Come on, honey," she says, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "Let's get you to bed." The bed feels heavenly under his weight, the covers a warm embrace. Plankton sighs contentedly, his body melting into the softness. His mind is a whirlwind of sensations, but the comfort of the bed grounds him. Karen watches him. The slurred speech and confusion are a stark contrast to his usual sharp and focused self. But she knows this is just the medicine wearing off. Gently, she starts to remove the gauze from his mouth. Plankton's eye opens a crack, his pupil wide with uncertainty. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice soothing. "Let's get this out of here." "Mm-hmm," he murmurs. The gauze is sticky and uncomfortable, but he trusts her. Karen's hands are careful, her movements precise as she works to free his mouth from the confines of the cotton. Plankton winces, his mouth feeling dull and tender. The room tilts slightly as he closes his eye, his body surrendering to the exhaustion that follows surgery. "Now, would you like some i---" But Plankton's already snoring softly, lost to the world. Karen's laughter fills the space between them. She knew he'd be sore later though, not to mention his autistic sensitivities to managing pain.. The next morning, Plankton wakes with a sore mouth and the anesthesia gone. He manages to open his eye. The room is a blur of light and shadow, his gums pounding with a dull throb. His jaw feels achy, his tongue swollen and uncooperative. He tries to sit up as Karen greets him. "How are you feeling, honey?" "Wisdom teeth?" he asks, his memory a haze. Karen smiles. "Yes, sweetie. You had surgery yesterday. Everything went fine." Plankton nods slowly, his eye searching hers for reassurance as Chip comes in to check on his dad. "Hey, Dad," Chip says, his voice soft. "How's the mouth?" Plankton's eye twitches. "Hurt," he manages, his words muffled by the swollen tissue. Karen brings Plankton ice packs. She knows his sensory sensitivities, and how this disruption can overwhelm him. "Thanks, love," he says, his voice a rasp. Karen knew that Plankton's autism means recovery will be more challenging, his senses heightened. "You have to stay calm," Karen instructs Chip, "He needs a quiet environment to heal." Chip nods as he sits on the bed next to Plankton. Plankton's eye opens slightly as the cold ice presses against his cheek. The chill runs through him, a stark relief against the heat of his swollen gums. "It's ok," Karen whispers, her voice a balm to his pain. "It'll help with the swelling." He nods, his hand gripping the ice pack tightly. The room is too bright, the sounds too sharp. His mind craves the familiar comfort of his routines, his stims, but his body won't cooperate. Karen notices his distress, her hand gentle as it brushes his forehead. "You need some space, Plankton?" she asks, reading his cues. He nods, his breath coming in shallow pants. She nods and goes to sit on her bed adjacent to his own. Yet Karen sees the struggle play out across his features with the effort to keep calm, his body tight with tension. Chip, still sitting by his dad, wants to help. He starts to fiddle with his fidget toy, the soft click-clack of the gears echoing in the silence. Plankton's eye snaps open, his gaze drawn to the movement. "Chip, stop," he mumbles, his voice a mixture of pain and irritation. But Chip, eager to distract his father from his own discomfort, doesn't hear the edge in Plankton's voice. The clicking grows faster, each movement a blur of colors and shapes. Plankton's heart starts to race, his body tensing. "Chip," he says more firmly this time. But Chip's fingers dance on the fidget, his eyes focused on his task. The noise and visual assault are too much for Plankton's sensitive system. His face contorts. "Chip, please," Plankton whispers, his voice strained. Chip finally looks up, his expression one of innocent curiosity. "What, Dad? I--" But he doesn't get to finish his sentence. Plankton's hand snatches the fidget toy, his movements jerky. The room seems to shrink, the air thick with tension. Chip's eyes widen, realizing his mistake. "Dad, I'm sor—" But Plankton's agitation has reached a peak. He thrusts the fidget toy away. The plastic clatters on the floor, a jolting sound that pierces the silence. "Too...much," he manages to get out, his voice strained. Chip's cheeks flush with embarrassment and guilt. He didn't mean to upset his father. He just wanted to help. "Sorry," Chip whispers, picking up the toy, which only makes Plankton's anger spike further. The sudden movement of Chip's hand, the sharp sound of the fidget— it's like a storm in his mind. "No!" Plankton yells, his voice raw. Chip freezes, his heart racing. "Dad," he starts, his voice shaky. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton's already flailing, trying to push away the chaos that's invaded his space. Karen quickly moves to intervene. "Chip," she says, her voice firm yet calm. "Remember what we talked about." Chip nods, understanding dawning on his face. He'd forgotten the rules of their world, the delicate balance that keeps Plankton's sanity intact. He'd wanted to help, but instead, he'd added to the storm raging within his dad. She takes the fidget toy from Chip, placing it on the nightstand. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his eye darting around the room. He's lost in his own head, the pain making it difficult to focus. "It's ok," Karen soothes, her touch gentle on his arm. "Let's dim the lights and make it quieter." She pulls the shades closed, the harsh daylight retreating to a soft glow. Chip nods, his expression solemn. "I'll go to my room," he says, his voice small. Plankton's gaze meets his son's, a silent apology passing between them. "Thanks, buddy," he says, his voice a gruff whisper.

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."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 10 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The house feels eerily quiet without Plankton's usual rambling. Chip sits in his room, his thoughts racing. He didn't mean to make his dad feel patronized or pitied. He just wanted to share something that had brought joy. He opens the book to where Plankton had torn it. The pages are jagged, but the message isn't lost. 'AUSOME AUsomeness'. It dawns on him how wrong he was to assume his dad's experience mirrored Timmy's. Autism isn't a one-size-fits-all, and he'd hurt his own father by not seeing him as an individual. Chip lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his mistake pressing down on him. He thinks about his dad's seizures, his stims, and the pain in his eye. What if he'd made his dad feel even more alone? The next day at school, Chip goes up to Timmy, his heart heavy. "Hey," he says, his voice low. "My dad, he saw the book I showed him, and he didn't like it." Timmy looks at him, his eyes full of concern. "Oh no, why?" He asks. Chip takes a deep breath. "He said it felt like I was making fun of him," he admits. "And I didn't mean to." Timmy nods, his hands still. "Everyone's different," he says. "Some of us can laugh about it, and some of us can't." He pauses. "But you tried, Chip. That's what matters." Chip nods, feeling a tiny bit better. Maybe he couldn't make his dad feel like a superhero, but at least he'd tried. "Hey Timmy, can you come over after school?" Chip asks. Timmy's eyes lit up. "Sure," he says. So after school Timmy follows Chip to his house. When they arrive, Karen greets them with a warm smile. "You must be Timmy," she says, shaking his hand. "I've heard so much about you." Timmy smiles shyly. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Plankton." They walk into the living room where Plankton is sitting, his gaze on the floor. Chip feels his heart race as Timmy enters. "Dad," Chip says, his voice shaky. "This is Timmy." Plankton looks up, his eye narrowing slightly. Timmy takes the lead, his hands flapping slightly as he speaks. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "Chip told me you're like me." Plankton looks between the two of them, his expression unreadable. "How so?" Plankton challenges. Timmy takes a deep breath, his eyes darting to Chip for support. "Well," he starts, "we're both autistic." Plankton's gaze sharpens, his posture stiffening. Timmy looks at his own hands, which are still flapping slightly. "It means my brain works differently," he says, his voice steady. "But that's not all bad. It's like having a superpower, sometimes." He smiles, his eyes finding Chip's. "Like, I'm really good at math, and I can remember things other people forget. What's your autistic powers, Mr. Plankton?" Plankton's eye widens. No one's ever asked him that before. "I...I don't know," he says slowly, his voice unsure and flustered. Timmy nods. "Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here," he says, his voice gentle. "It's not always easy, but it's not always bad either." He sits down next to Plankton, his hands now still. Karen watches from the kitchen with hope. Maybe Timmy could show Plankton that his autism isn't something to be ashamed of, but something that makes him uniquely him. Plankton's eye flickers towards Timmy, and for a moment, Chip sees a glimpse of curiosity. "I'm an inventor," he says, his voice still guarded. "I can create things that no one else can." Timmy nods, his face serious. "That's awesome," he says. "My superpower is that I never forget a face once I've seen it. It's pretty useful when you've got a memory like a steel trap." The two of them sit in silence for a few moments, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. Then, Timmy speaks up again. "You know, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "Sometimes, it's good to have someone else who gets it." He looks at his own hands, which have started flapping again. "Someone who won't stare or judge." Plankton looks at Timmy, his expression unreadable. Sensing an opening, Karen interjects, her voice soft. "Plankton, maybe talking to Timmy could help. You've always said you felt lonely in your own world, maybe he can shine some li-" "I don't need a support group," Plankton snaps, but his tone lacks its usual bite. "I need my family to understand me." His gaze meets Chip's, and the hurt in his eye is unmistakable. Timmy nods, his hands still in his lap. "I get that," he says, his voice calm. "But sometimes, it's nice to know you're not the only one with superpowers, you kn-" "Don't," Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharp. "Don't call it that." But Timmy isn't deterred. "Okay," he says, his tone respectful. "But yo-" "I'm not a child, Timmy," Plankton says, his voice strained. "I don't need to be told bedtime stories to make me feel better about my condition." Chip feels his chest tighten as he watches his dad's reaction. Timmy's eyes are filled with understanding. "It's not a bedtime story, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice calm. "It's a way to see th-" "I said DON'T," Plankton's voice rises, his frustration evident. Chip feels his stomach drop. This isn't going well. But Timmy doesn't back down. "But Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "You're not just a scientist, you're a person too. And people need to feel seen, understood, and valued. Maybe this book isn't for you, but it's for others like us-" "Like us?" Plankton repeats, his voice cold. "Don't you dare lump me in with you, young man. My autism is not a game or a gimmick. It's a part of me, yes, but it's not something to be used to make my son feel better about himself." Timmy's face falls, but his voice remains steady. "I'm sorry if it came across that way," he says. "That wasn't my intent." Karen steps in, trying to defuse the situation. "Plankton, maybe we're all just tr-" But Plankton cuts her off. "I'm tired of being the lesson," he says, his voice shaking. "I'm tired of being someone's 'project'. I'm not your science experiment because in the real world, people don't get it." He turns to Chip. "And you, thinking you can just fix me with a book? Some people don't get a happy ending, Chip." The anger in his voice makes Chip flinch. Timmy looks from Plankton to Chip, his eyes wide. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble," he says, his voice small. "I just...I just thought maybe we could learn from each other." Plankton's gaze remains on the floor. "Life's not that simple," he says, his voice weary. "You think a book can change how people see me?" He shakes his head, his frustration palpable. "Why don't we all just put on capes and pretend we're superheroes?" The sarcasm stings, but Chip knows he's not mad at Timmy. He's mad at the world, at the unfairness of it all. Timmy's hands start to flap again, his body responding to the tension in the room. "Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "I know it's not easy. But sometimes, finding someone who gets it ca--" "GETS IT?" Plankton's voice echoes through the room. "You might have autism, like I do, but we're not the same!" He slams his fist down on the table, the force of it making the china rattle. "You don't know what it's like for me! When I was in school, teachers tied my hands to my chair to make me stop flapping! Do you have any idea how tha-" "Plankton!" Karen gasps with shocked surprise. She never heard of that before. "You never talked about that," she says, her voice trembling as she approaches him, her hands reaching out in a comforting gesture. Plankton's eye meets hers, and for a moment, the anger seems to drain from his face, replaced by a deep sadness. But he's not done. "That was almost child's play compared to the time when a teacher had explained to the class that I was 'lesser', and that, because of my autism, I wasn't capable of living a 'worthwhile' life and also deserved to be institutionalized, since I was just a drain on society," Plankton says, his voice trembling with rage. Timmy's hands stop moving altogether, his eyes wide with horror. "That's terrible," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "But Mr. Plankton, you have so much to offer. You're smart and you have a son that loves yo-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice a warning. "Don't you dare try to erase my pain with your childish optimism." Timmy's eyes fill with understanding, his hands falling still. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice low. "I know it's not the same for everyone. But sometimes, finding strength in the way we're different can help." He looks down at his hands, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to share that wi-" But Plankton's had enough. He stands, his body rigid. "I don't need a pep talk," he says. "I need you to see me as I am." He walks away.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 11 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The room feels like it's shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip's chest tightens, his eyes stinging. He'd never wanted to make his dad feel like this. Timmy looks at him, his expression full of sympathy. "It's okay," he says, his voice soothing. "He's just scared." They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel. Chip's mind is racing, trying to piece together what went wrong. How could something that brought Timmy so much joy cause so much pain for his dad? Timmy breaks the silence, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's hard for people to accept help," he says. "Especially when it feels like you're trying to change them." He looks at Chip, his eyes understanding. "But you can't make anyone feel something they're not ready to." Chip nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. "But what do we do now?" He asks, desperation lacing his voice. Timmy shrugs. "Let's go apologize.." They find Plankton sitting on his bed in the bedroom. Chip's heart raced as they approached. "Dad," he starts, his voice shaking. "Timmy and I, we just want to say we're sorry." Plankton looks up, his eye twitching slightly. "You can't fix me." Timmy nods as Karen comes in. "But we can still be there for you," he says, his voice earnest. "And maybe, we can learn together." Plankton's gaze meets Timmy's, his expression unreadable. But before anyone can say another word, Plankton's body shifts. Suddenly, his eye glazed over, and he starts to rock back and forth, his hands flapping rapidly. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice filled with fear; but Karen understands. "It's okay," Karen says. "It's one of his seizures." Timmy's eyes widen, his hands stilling in mid-air. "What's happening?" He asks. Karen explains in a calm, steady voice. "It's called a non-motor seizure. Sometimes it's just his brain doing its own thing. We have to be quiet and let it pass. This isn't the first time." Chip watches as Plankton's body rocks back and forth, his eye unfocused. He feels a rush of fear and helplessness. This is his dad, his hero, reduced to this by something he can't control. Timmy nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton. Karen quickly moves to Plankton's side. "Remember, Chip," she whispers, her voice calm. "Just let it run its course. It's like a storm passing through." Chip nods, his eyes glued to his dad's trembling form. Timmy sits silently beside them, his hands still in his lap as Plankton's seizure unfolds. His rocking becomes more pronounced, his breathing shallow and rapid. Karen holds his hand, her expression a mask of concern. "It's okay, sweetie," she murmurs. "You're sa-" But Plankton's body jolts, his eye rolling back in his head. Chip watches his dad's autistic behavior take over in a way he's never seen before. Timmy's eyes are wide with shock. "Is he okay?" He whispers to Karen. She nods. "It'll be over soon," she promises. "It's just part of his autism." The minutes drag on, each second feeling like an eternity. Plankton's seizure subsides, his body finally still. His breathing evens out, and the color starts to return to his cheeks. Chip feels a weight lift from his chest. "It's over," Karen whispers, her hand still gripping Plankton's. Timmy looks at Chip, his eyes full of unspoken questions. Plankton slowly opens his eye. Timmy's eyes are full of concern. "Are you okay, Mr. Plankton?" But Plankton doesn't answer. He's staring at something on the wall, something only he can see. His hand reaches out, flapping slightly, as if trying to grab onto an invisible thought. But Karen's been through this before. She knows what to do. She whispers to Timmy, "It's okay. This is just his brain's way of handling too much input." Timmy nods, his eyes glued to Plankton. As Plankton's body slowly relaxes, his voice starts, a string of words that don't quite make sense. "The... the...the...spoons," Plankton says, his voice distant. Chip and Timmy exchange confused glances. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand. "It's okay, baby," she whispers. "You're okay." Plankton's eye moved around the room, his hands flapping slightly. "The... the...the...spoons," he repeats. Karen's face relaxes into understanding. "Echolalia," she whispers to Chip and Timmy. "It's a way his brain reboots after a seizure." Timmy nods, his gaze still on Plankton. "I know about that," he says. "It's like my brain's playing back a tape of everything that's happened, trying to make sense of it." Plankton's voice gradually gains clarity. "The spoons...they...they're..." Chip watches, his heart in his throat, as his dad's hand still flutters in the air, his eye unfocused. "It's a sensory thing," Karen says, keeping her voice low. "Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed." Plankton's voice grows stronger, the words more random. "The...the...did," he says, his hand moving in patterns that seem to have a rhythm only he can understand. "They were...were...were..." Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's, her gaze full of patience and love. "Just breathe, baby," she says, her voice soothing. "Take your time.." Timmy watches, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's he saying?" He whispers. "It's okay," Karen reassures both Timmy and Chip. "It's just his brain trying to find it's bearings. Just let him find his way back." Plankton's words become more nonsensical, his hand still moving through the air as his voice cracks. "They...they were...were..." His eye flickers, and he swallows hard. "They were always...always..." Timmy's eyes never leave Plankton's, his gaze filled with understanding and compassion. He's been here before, in his own way. His hands start to move slightly again, as if he's trying to connect with Plankton's thoughts. "It's okay," he whispers. "You don't have to push." But Plankton's voice doesn't listen. "They were always...always... were...were...pats," he says, his hand moving in a pattern that makes no sense to him. Chip feels his heart break for his dad. This isn't the first time he's seen a seizure, but every time, it's like watching a piece of Plankton get taken away, leaving behind a man who's lost in his own world. Timmy, though, seems to understand. He reaches out his own hand, mirroring Plankton's movements. "It's okay," he says again. "We're here for yo-" But Plankton isn't listening. "They were always...were...pats," he repeats, his voice getting louder. "They were always pats!" He starts to chuckle. "Pats, pats, pats!" His hand hits the bed. Karen smiles sadly. "Plankton, I see you," she says, her voice a whisper. "You'll come back to us." Chip watches, his heart racing. Timmy's eyes are wide with understanding. He's seen this before in himself. "It's okay," he says, his voice calm. "You can come back whenever you're ready." Plankton's hand still flaps. "I'm here, Mr. Plankton," Timmy says. "You're not al—" But Plankton's voice rose in pitch. "The...tck...tck..." He's ticcing now, Chip realized. Each syllable punctuated with a sharp, staccato twitch of his face. "Tck...tck...tck..." Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tightens slightly, her eyes full of love and understanding. "You're okay," she murmurs, her voice steady. "Just let it out. It's okay." Karen turns to them. "This helps him," she whispers. "It's like...like releasing pressure." Timmy nods, his own hands still in his lap. "I get tics too," he says, his voice barely audible. "But not like that." He looks at Chip. "Sometimes it's ju—" But then, with a blink, Plankton comes back to himself. He looks around the room, confused. "What...what happened?" He asks, his voice slurred. Karen smiles gently. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she says. "But you're okay now."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 12 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Timmy watches him, his expression a mix of empathy and curiosity. "Is that normal?" He asks, his voice soft. Karen nods. "It's part of his autism," she says. "And his seizures. Sometimes his brain just needs a moment to recalibrate." Plankton looks at Timmy, his eye searching. "Do you...do you ever feel like that?" He asks, his voice tentative. Timmy nods. "Sometimes," he admits. "But not like that. My tics are more... predictable." He shows them his hands, which have started to move again. "It's like...like a little dance my brain does." The room feels a little less heavy as Plankton's tics slow, his hand coming to rest. "It's okay," Timmy says, his voice gentle. "We're here." Plankton nods, his gaze flitting around the room before settling on Chip. "I'm sorry," he says, embarrassed. "You don't have to apologize," Karen says, stroking his arm. "It's just part of who you are." But Plankton's eye is still on Chip, his expression uncertain. "I don't want you to be scared of me," he says. Timmy looks from Plankton to Chip, his eyes thoughtful. "You know," he says, "I used to think my tics were something to hide. Something wrong with me." He pauses. "But then I realized, they're just how my brain works. And sometimes, they're even pretty cool." He grins, his hands moving in a complex pattern. "Like, if I flap just right, I can make things fall over." He laughs, his eyes sparkling. Chip can't help but smile at Timmy's candidness. Plankton, though, remains silent. Timmy's words hang in the air, a gentle reminder that autism isn't just about the struggles, but the unique quirks that make them who they are. Chip's mind whirls with the weight of his dad's apology. "You don't have to be sorry for being you," Chip says finally, his voice shaking. Plankton looks at him, his expression unreadable. "But I don't want you to be afraid," he says. "I don't want you to think I'm a monster." Timmy's smile fades. "You're not," he says firmly. "You're my friend's dad. And you're a person, just like me." Karen nods, her screen shiny with unshed tears. "He's right, Plankton," she says. "You're more than just your autism." But Plankton's gaze remains fixed on Chip. "I just want you to understand," he says. "I'm not like everyone else." Chip swallows hard, his throat tight. "I do," he whispers. "I see you." Timmy then shifts. "I've to go, but I'll see you at school, Chip!" Timmy leaves, and Chip moves closer to his dad. "Dad," he says, his voice quiet. "I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid f-for you." Plankton's eye blinks, his hand stopping momentarily. "You don't have to hide from me," Chip continues. "Your tics, your stims, your seizures...they're just part of who you are." The next day, Timmy goes to the Krusty Krab to get himself a Krabby Patty. Mr. Krabs, the owner of the Krusty Krab restaurant, sees Timmy waving his hands. Mr. Krabs, a burly red crab known for his love for money and quick temper, doesn't understand Timmy's behavior. "What's the ruckus for?" He barks. Timmy's eyes dart around, his hands flapping faster. "I-I-I'm just...just..." He stammers, his words tangling in his mouth. Mr. Krabs raises an eyebrow. "Ye okay, kid?" He asks, his tone gruff but concerned. Timmy nods, his hands still moving. "I'm just excited," he says, his voice quick. "I-I-I like Krabby Patties." Mr. Krabs' expression shifts. "What's wi-" "I have autism," Timmy says, his voice clear. "It makes me flap and talk fast when I'm excited." Mr. Krabs looks confused, his claws paused mid-air. "A- uh...what's that?" He asks, his usual gruffness replaced by curiosity. Timmy takes a deep breath. "It's like my brain works different," he explains. "Some things are hard for me, but I see things others might miss. It's a type of...neuro-diversity. My grandma has it as well, and they think I've inherited it. It can manifest in different ways, being why it's called Autistic Spectrum. I've always been this way! There's no 'cure' but I'm proud of who I am. Autism is classified as a disability, yet it's also a gift, really. And sorry for rambling on, sir.." Mr. Krabs nods thoughtfully. "So, what exactly is the autism spectrum? And what type of disability is it?" He asks Timmy. Timmy smiles, happy to explain. "The autism spectrum is like a rainbow of brains," he says. "Some people are at one end and others are at the other, and everyone's different. It's like we're all unique snowflakes, but with brains instead of snow." He pauses, then continues. "It means we process things differently. Some of us have challenges with social interactions or sensory overload.." Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his claws still. "So, it's like, sometimes you see a Krabby Patty and it's just so good you can't help but wave your hands?" He asks, his eyes twinkling with the beginnings of understanding. Timmy laughs, his hands stopping for a moment. "Sort of," he says. "But it's more than just being happy. Sometimes it's hard to communicate or deal with too much noise or touch." Mr. Krabs looks concerned. "What do ye mean?" Timmy takes a deep breath, his hands starting to flap again. "Well, if it's too loud or too bright, or if someone touches me in a way that feels weird, my brain gets overwhelmed. It's like my brain is a computer and it's trying to run too many programs at once. It can be really tough." Mr. Krabs' expression softens. "I had no idea," he says. "But you're still a good kid." Timmy nods, his smile genuine. "And it's okay to ask questions," he adds. "That's how we learn. And as for communicating, it can be hard for an autistic person to find the right words, but it doesn't mean we don't have anything important to say. But misunderstandings can happen because of it. And the big emotions can come out in ways that seem unexpected. So my flapping is a way to communicate my joy. And it's important to let us express ourselves without judgment." Mr. Krabs looks down at his claws, realizing their potential for harm. "I'm sorry if I made ye uncomfortable, Timmy," he says, his voice low. "I didn't mean to. I just...I don't think I've ever really talked to someone with autism before." Timmy's hands still. "It's okay," he says. "Lots of people don't know what it's like. That's why it's important to tell them. And it can be hard to tell, because everyone's experience is so different." Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes thoughtful. "I see," he says. "So, what can I do to make your dining experience here today more comfortable? I want to make sure you're happy." Timmy's smile grows. "Well, thank you, Mr. Krabs," he says. "Could I maybe sit in a quieter corner?" He suggests. "And maybe I could have my Krabby Patty without the pickles?" Mr. Krabs' eyes widen. "Of course, Timmy," he says, snapping his claws. "I'll get that taken care of right away." He turns to his staff. "Ye heard the boy!" He barks. "Give Timmy a VIP seat and get him his Krabby Patty, no pickles, and make it snappy!" The employees jump into action, and within moments, Timmy is seated in a quiet corner of the restaurant, his Krabby Patty steaming on the table in front of him. Mr. Krabs sits down opposite him. "So, tell me more about this autism thing," he says, his eyes genuinely curious. "How does it affect folks?" Timmy takes a bite of his sandwich, savoring the taste. "Well," he says thoughtfully, his chewing slowing down. "It's like we see the world through a different lens. Some of us have super senses—like I can hear the fryer sizzling from across the room, and noise can hurt my ears—but others might not notice at all." Mr. Krabs leans in with interest. "And what about stimming?" He asks. "Is that what you call it when you wave your hands around?" Timmy nods, swallowing his food. "Yes," he says. "Stimming is self-stimulating behavior. It helps us focus and deal with the sensory input. Like, when I'm excited about something, I flap. That's just my own way of stimming. But not all autistic people do." Mr. Krabs nods, his claw tapping the table. "And what about social stuff?" He asks. Timmy thinks for a moment. "Some of us find it hard to read social cues," he says. "It's like everyone's playing a game of charades, and we don't know the rules. And some people might not like to be touched, or they might not understand jokes right away. But that doesn't mean we don't have feelings or want to be friends." Mr. Krabs considers this, his eyes thoughtful. "So, it's like each one of ye has a secret handshake, but it's not really a handshake at all?" Timmy grins. "Exactly!" He says. "Everyone's got their own way of saying hello. And it's okay if we don't always get it right. What's important is trying to understand each other." Mr. Krabs nods slowly. "I see," he says. "I wanna make sure that everyone who comes here feels welcome. I mean, all the autistic folks." Timmy's eyes lit up. "Thank you," he says. "That means a lot!"

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 13 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Mr. Krabs calls over his top chef, SpongeBob. "SpongeBob!" He yells. "We're going to start an 'Autism Awareness Day' at the Krusty Krab!" Sponge Bob's eyes widen in excitement. "Oh, Mr. Krabs that's so nice! Wait, when did you figure out I have it?" Sponge Bob's revelation silences the room for a moment. Timmy looks at him with a new found respect. "You do?" He asks. "Yeah, I was diagnosed when I was a kid," SpongeBob says, his eyes shyly looking down at his spatula. "But for me, I can have a hard time telling when people are sad or angry. But I also feel like it's what makes me so good at my job. I've memorized the entire employee handbook!" He laughs. "I haven't met anyone that I know of, other than you now Timmy, who's autistic though." Mr. Krabs nods, his gaze thoughtful. "I had no idea," he says. "But you know what? That's a strength. And from now on, we're going to make the Krusty Krab a place where everyone feels welcome, especially our autistic friends. I'd no idea, Sponge Bob! But if ye ever feel like ye need to talk, me office is always open!" The next day, Mr. Krabs announces to the town that the Krusty Krab will be hosting an Autism Awareness Day, where the menu will have additions to cater to the sensory needs of autistic customers. The news spreads fast, and soon, families with autistic children are lining up outside the restaurant. So after Chip left for school, Plankton sneaks a peek at the rival restaurant. Krabs is outside, chatting with Sponge Bob, who's now wearing a neon badge that reads 'Autism Awareness Champion'. Plankton watches, his antennae twitching with confusion. He's not used to seeing his enemy being... nice? "Karen, do you see Krabs? The guy who's stepped on me is calling himself a friend to autistics! I don't know whether to laugh or cry.." Plankton says. Karen nods, her gaze following Plankton's. "Well, he doesn't know yo--" "I know," Plankton cuts in, his voice tight. "But it's still...it's just..." He can't find the words. "It's just weird. I'm sneaking over there." And without waiting for Karen's response, Plankton bolts. His tiny legs carry him quickly, his eye locked on Krabs. He decides to eavesdrop. Krabs is speaking to a mother with a young boy. "Your son is welcome here," he says. "I promise we'll do our best to accommodate him." She smiles gratefully. Plankton watches, his heart racing. Krabs, the man who has caused him so much grief, is now advocating for the very thing he's struggled with his entire life. It's unsettling. He sees Krabs gently guide a nonverbal child away from the noise and bustle of the kitchen. Inside, there's a quiet play area with fidget toys and weighted blankets. The menu now includes sensory-friendly options, and the staff is wearing pins with the same message as SpongeBob's badge. "Autism Awareness Champion." Plankton's mind whirs. He made sure Krabs never found out about his autism, so he can perhaps act like he also belongs, and watch Krabs hypocrisy when he taunts his secretly autistic enemy! Plankton chuckles as he goes to the register when Krabs spots him. "What are ye doing here?" Mr. Krabs barks. "Plankton, you know you're not welcome!" Plankton's antennae twitch, trying to hide the urge to smirk. "Gimme a patty," Plankton says, his voice deliberately casual. Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "I don't think so," he says, his tone cold. "You're just here to steal me formular!" Plankton's antennae twitch in annoyance, but he plays along. "No, Mr. Krabs," he says, his voice measured. "I just came for a bite to eat. Thought I'd support your...new initiative." His voice is heavy with sarcasm, but Mr. Krabs misses the cue. "Initiative?" He snaps his claws. "It's not just an initiative, it's about respect! Understanding! We're making this p-" "Yeah, right," Plankton says, forcing a smirk. "As if yo--" "Plankton, how many times do I have to tell ye?" Mr. Krabs sighs, his eyes flashing with frustration. "You're not welcome here; never will you get to taste the Krabby Patty!" But Plankton's mind is racing. He can't believe what he's seeing. Mr. Krabs, the man who's always dismissed his differences, now embracing autism? It's like a twisted joke that he's not in on. He watches as Krabs helps another child, this one with a headset to block out the noise. The sight makes him feel both angry and...envious? So he stayed stubbornly firm, wanting to see how far this can go. Mr. Krabs crosses his arms. "I'm just trying to do the right thing. I have a friend," he says. "Someone special. And I've learned that everyone deserves to be seen for who they are." Plankton's eye widens slightly, but he keeps his poker face. "Is that so?" He says. "Well, I des-" "But you," Mr. Krabs says, his voice hard. "You're just here to cause trouble." Plankton feels a pang of frustration. How could Krabs be so blind to his own hypocrisy? "Krabs, you don't kno—" But Mr. Krabs won't let him finish. "No, Plankton," he says. "You don't get to play this game with me today. This isn't about you. It's about autistics, who deserve a place where they can be themselves without worry." Plankton's smirk fades, his eye darting around the room, seeing the smiling faces of the customers. "I am a-" "You're just here to steal my recipe!" Mr. Krabs roars, cutting Plankton off. "I'm not stupid like you, and I'm not gonna let the likes of you ruin this for everyone else.." The claws come down, hard and sharp, pinching Plankton's arm. He yelps in pain, his eye widening. The room goes blurry around the edges as he feels the sting, the pain. Mr. Krabs' face is a mask of fury, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Get out," he says, his voice cold. "You're not welcome here." But Plankton is frozen, his body trembling with the sudden flare of pain. He tries to pull away, his voice a mix of surprise and anger. "What are you doing?" He stammers. "You're hurt-" Mr. Krabs' grip tightens, his claws digging into Plankton's skin. "I said, get out," he repeats, his voice like steel. "You're not welcome here." Plankton feels his cheeks burning with humiliation and rage. How dare this crustacean, who has never understood him, claim to be an ally to his kind? He wrenches his arm free, rubbing the red marks. But then Mr. Krabs' fist comes down, connecting with Plankton's already hurt arm. The pain is sudden and intense, like a bolt of lightning shooting through his body. Plankton's legs give out, and his vision swims, but his body won't respond. He can feel the overwhelm started happening in his brain, a sensation he's felt many times before. It's like the world is spinning around him, but he's stuck in place. He's gonna have a generalized non-motor seizure, and he knows it. The customers gasp, and Mr. Krabs' eyes widen. "What's going on?" He yells, his voice echoing in Plankton's ears. The world goes quiet, and Plankton can feel his body twitching, his muscles spasming in response to the electrical storm in his brain. Another seizure, another complete loss of control. He hits the floor, his body convulsing. He tries to call out for help, but the only thing that comes out is a garbled mess of sounds, his mouth not quite forming the words he needs. His vision flickers, going in and out like a broken neon sign. He can hear voices around him, but they're muted. Spongebob rushes over, his eyes wide. "Mr. Krabs, what's wrong with him?" He asks. Mr. Krabs is frozen, his fists still clenched. "I don't know," he says, his voice tight. "I just hurt his arm..." One of the customer's eyes widen with realization. "It's a seizure," she says. Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his spatula dropping to the floor with a clatter. "Mr. Krabs, we have to help him! I'll get a first aid kit!" He yells, his voice shaking. The mother with the flapping child kneels beside Plankton, her face a mask of understanding. "I've seen this happen before. It can happen to some autistic people, as a result of stress or sensory overload." She says, as Sponge Bob returns with the first aid kit. The mother sighs, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I've seen it happen to my son," she says gently. "It's part of his autism. It's called a non-epileptic seizure. It's not to dangerous, yet it can be scary for him." Mr. Krabs stammers; "I didn't know," he says, his voice small. "I just..." His gaze drops to the floor, as he finally realizes that Plankton is a part of the community he's supposed to be championing. The room is a blur of movement around Plankton as the staff and customers scramble to help, but all he can focus on is the pain in his arm, the embarrassment. Sponge Bob returns with a first aid kit, eyes wide with concern as he goes to bandage the arm. "Here, let me help," he says, his touch is surprisingly comforting as he carefully wraps the bandage around the injured area. Plankton can feel the warmth of his compassion through the cotton material. The mother nods. "It's just his way of dealing with it all. Sometimes, their bodies just...react." She pauses, her gaze flicking to Mr. Krabs, who is still standing frozen with shock. "But it's not always like this. Sometimes, they just need extra understanding." Mr. Krabs stammers, his gaze falling to Plankton's twitching form. "He's... autistic, too." "Yes, he's having a non- epileptic seizure," the mother says gently. "It's something that can happen to some autistics when overwhelmed." Mr. Krabs watches, his claws trembling slightly. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I didn't know Plankton, can ye hear me?" Plankton's body gradually stills, the storm in his brain passing. His eye flutters open, and he looks up to see Mr. Krabs and Sponge Bob hovering above him, the mother still beside him.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 14 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "Plankton, are you ok?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice trembling. Plankton blinks slowly, the world swimming into focus. He feels...exposed. Vulnerable. He hates that. But he nods, his voice a whisper. "I-I-I-I…think s-so?" Mr. Krabs looms over them, his expression a mixture of shock and regret. "I didn't know," he says again, his voice cracking. "I had no ide-" "Please" Plankton says, his voice hoarse. He doesn't have the energy to be angry anymore. His body feels like it's made of jelly, and his arm throbs where Mr. Krabs' claw had been. But he understands now. Mr. Krabs is trying, in his own way, to make things right. And maybe, just maybe, Plankton can show his enemy what it means to be an ally. Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes shiny. "I promise," he says. "I'll do better. For you, for all of you." Plankton looks up at his enemy. Mr. Krabs looks down at his own hands, now trembling. "I'm sorry, Plankton," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't underst--" But Plankton cuts him off, his tiny body pushing itself up onto his elbows. "You don't get it," he says, his voice shaking with anger. "You think you can just throw around words like 'respect' and 'understanding' and pretend to care about autism? After all you've done to me?" His words hang in the air like accusations, sharp and painful. Mr. Krabs looks at him, his eyes softening slightly. "Plankton, I-I didn't know," he stammers. "I just...I just want to help. I don't want to fight anymore." But Plankton's not having it. He glares up at him, his tiny fists balled. "Help?" He spits out the word. "You think this is helping? You think excluding me from your 'Autism Awareness' shindig makes you a champion?" His voice is hoarse from the seizure, but the anger in it is clear. "Well you're wrong, Krabs. You're not helping anyone by ignoring me!" Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws dropping to his sides. "I-I didn't know," he repeats, his voice now just a whisper. "I didn't know ye were autisti-" But Plankton isn't listening. With a grunt, he pulls himself to his feet, the pain in his arm fading to a dull throb. "You don't know anything," he says, his voice shaking. "You think you can just throw a party and call yourself an ally? It's not about you, Krabs." He turns to leave, his legs unsteady, but his determination firm. He's had enough of the Krusty Krab's insincere attention. He doesn't need his pity or their half-hearted attempts at inclusivity. He just needs to get out of there, away from the prying eyes and the whispers of concern. Walking home, Plankton's mind whirs with thoughts of Mr. Krabs' ignorance and his own fury. He's used to the taunts and the jokes, but this...this was different. This was supposed to be a place where autistic people were celebrated, not a stage for someone to play the hero. The irony isn't lost on him—his enemy, the man who has belittled him for years, now claiming to stand up for his community. When Plankton comes back, Karen greets him as usual. "Hey, Plankton," she says. But her smile falters when she sees his expression. "What happened?" Plankton shakes his head, his eye downcast. "It's...nothing," he mumbles, his voice tight. He can't bring himself to tell her about the seizure, about Mr. Krabs' finding out. But Karen's not so easily fooled. She takes one look at his bandaged arm and the haunted look in his eye and knows something's off. "What happened?" She asks again, her tone gentle but insistent. Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "Mr. Krabs," he says, his voice tight. "He...he found out." Karen's eyes widen in understanding. "And?" She prompts gently as he removes his bandages. Plankton's arm is a mess of red marks and bruises, a stark testament to Krabs' mistaken anger. "And he said he's sorry," Plankton says, his voice still tight with emotion. "He said he wants to help." But there's a bitter edge to his words that tells Karen all she needs to know about how Plankton really feels. She nods, her expression thoughtful. "Well, maybe this could be a good thing," she says. "Maybe it'll help him understand. Maybe it'll make things better between you two." But Plankton's not so optimistic. "Or maybe," he says, his voice a mix of anger and disappointment. "Maybe he'll just use it against me." Karen's expression softens, and she reaches out to gently pat his antennae. "Plankton," she says. "You can't control how others react. But you can control how you respond." Plankton sighs, his body slumping into the chair. He knows she's right, but it's hard to let go of the anger. He thinks back to the way Krabs' claws felt on his arm, the way his vision had swirled and his body had betrayed him. He's used to hiding his autism, keeping it a secret from those who wouldn't understand. But now, his deepest, most vulnerable part has been laid bare before his enemy. He shakes his head. "I don't know, Karen," he says, his voice small. "I just...I can't trust him." Karen nods, her gaze understanding. "I get it," she says. "But maybe, just maybe, he's trying to be better." Plankton stays silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor. He's not used to this, to feeling so exposed. He's spent his entire life hiding his autism from everyone, especially Krabs. And now, it's out there. His enemy knows his deepest vulnerability. With a sigh, he pushes himself up from the chair and heads to the bedroom, the solace of his small, controlled space. The doors clicks shut behind him, blocking out the sounds of Karen's kitchen and the distant laughter of passing fish. In the quiet, Plankton begins to stim. He rocks back and forth, his eye unfocused. The bedroom is a haven, his personal space filled with comforting items that help soothe his senses. He picks up his favorite fidget toy, the tiny plastic pieces clicking together in a rhythm that matches the beating of his heart. The repetitive motion calms him, centers him, as he tries to process the day's events. "Echo...echolal...lal...lal...la," Plankton murmurs to himself, his voice low and soothing. It's a word he heard earlier, a word that now holds a new meaning for him. He rolls it around his mouth, feeling the shape of it, the sound of it. It's a part of him now, a piece of his identity that he's still trying to understand.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 15 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! That same evening, Karen finds Krabs at the door. "What do you want?" She asks, her voice cool. But there's a desperation in his eyes that she's never seen before. "I-I want to talk to Plankton," he stammers. "I need to...apologize." Karen raises an eyebrow, surprise flickering across her screen. "What makes you think he'll want to talk to you?" Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws twitching nervously. "I know I've hurt him," he says, his voice cracking. "But I want to make it right." So he follows Karen in. Plankton sits in his room, his fidget toy clicking rhythmically. "Palilal...pali... lal...lal," he murmurs to the quiet space, as Karen and Krabs enter. The room's soft light highlights the intensity of his focus, his antennae twitching slightly with each word. Krabs watches him, his eyes filled with concern and curiosity. "What's going on, Plankton?" He asks. Plankton starts, his rhythm disrupted. He looks up, his face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "It's nothing," he says, his voice sharp. But Karen steps in, placing a gentle hand on Krabs' arm. "It's called echolalia," she explains softly. "It's a way for him to cope, to repeat words that have meaning to him. It's part of his autism." Krabs nods slowly, his expression still tinged with uncertainty. "I see," he says. "But I still need to apologize." Karen sighs, looking from Plankton to Krabs. "Fine," she says. "But you need to understand that Plankton's been through a lot today. Cut him some slack." Krabs nods again, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'm so sorry," he says, his voice quiet. "I had no idea that you were...going through this." Plankton's eye narrows, his grip on the fidget toy tightening. "What do you want, Krabs?" He asks, his voice low. "An award for finally noticing?" He snaps before turning his focus back to the fidget. Krabs steps closer, his movement slow and deliberate. "No, Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "I want to make amends. To learn. To do better." But Plankton seems to ignore him. "Echo...echolal...lal...la," Plankton whispers, his gaze fixed on the fidget toy. The words come out in a soft, soothing rhythm, a secret language that only he understands. Krabs watches, his heart heavy. He's hurt Plankton before, but never has seen this. The room is silent, the only noise the faint click of the plastic pieces in Plankton's hand. Krabs takes a deep breath, trying to find the words to bridge the gap that's formed between them. "I didn't know," he says, his voice tentative. "I never knew you...you had autism." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye snapping up to meet Krabs' but he looks back down at his fidget toy, the rhythm of his murmurs increasing. "Echo...echolal...lal...la." Krabs fidgets, unsure of what to say. He's never seen Plankton like this before—so lost in his own world, so vulnerable. It's a stark contrast to the usual bravado and sarcasm that Plankton wields like a shield. "What does it mean?" He asks, his voice tentative. Plankton doesn't answer, the clicking of his fidget toy the only sound in the room. Krabs watches, his heart heavy with regret. He's always seen Plankton as a nuisance, someone to be defeated and humiliated. But now, he's just a small, hurt creature trying to make sense of a world that doesn't always make sense to him. "Uh, what about your arm Plankton?" "Echo...echolal...lal...la," Plankton repeats, his eye fixed on the fidget toy. The words roll off his tongue yet Krabs doesn't understand. Krabs' confusion grows as Plankton's murmurs fill the silence. It's a strange, almost hypnotic sound, a secret conversation that excludes everyone else. "What are you saying, Plankton?" He asks, his voice soft, tentative. But Plankton doesn't look up, lost in his own world of repetition and comfort. The words echo in the silence, a testament to his internal turmoil. "Echo... echolal...lal...la," he whispers, the fidget toy still clicking away. It's a self-soothing mechanism, a way to calm the storm in his brain. Krabs watches, his own mind racing. He's seen Plankton's quirks before, but this is something different. He's seen the anger, the sarcasm, the endless schemes. But this...this is Plankton's true self, raw and exposed. It's a side of him that no one ever gets to see other than Karen. The words keep coming, a stream of nonsense that seems to calm Plankton's racing thoughts. "Echo...echolal... lal...la," he murmurs, the rhythm never changing. Mr. Krabs feels like an intruder, watching a private moment he wasn't meant to see. Karen sighs, her hand moving to rest on Plankton's shoulder. "It's okay, honey," she says. But Plankton's focus is elsewhere, his eye glazed over. Krabs watches, his heart aching for the enemy he's hurt so many times. He's never seen this side of Plankton—the vulnerable, scared side that's now laid bare before him. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice trembling. "I didn't know." Plankton's murmurs continue, his fidget toy a blur of motion in his hand. "Echo...echolal... lal...la." The words come faster now, a staccato beat of his thoughts. It's as if he's talking in code, a language that only he can understand. Mr. Krabs feels like an outsider, a clumsy giant in a delicate world of patterns and repetition. Karen's hand on his shoulder doesn't move, a silent offer of comfort that Plankton doesn't seem to notice. "It's ok," she repeats, her voice calm and steady. "You're safe here." Plankton's murmurs become louder, the words tripping over each other. "Echo...echolal...lal... la...echolal...lal...la..." His grip on the fidget toy tightens, his body rocking slightly on his bed. Mr. Krabs' heart clenches at the sight, his mind racing with questions and concerns. He's never seen Plankton like this—so lost in his own thoughts, so detached from the world around him. It's as if his mind has retreated into itself, seeking refuge from the pain and confusion. The words are a lifeline, a way to find comfort in the chaos. Krabs watches, his own mind racing. What does it mean? What has he done to make Plankton feel this way? He knows he's hurt him before, but this is different. This is deeper, more profound. It's not just about stealing a secret formula or winning a contest. This is personal. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. What can he say to make this right? He's never faced a challenge like this, one that can't be solved with money or brawn. This requires understanding, empathy, and a willingness to learn. Krabs' eyes fill with tears as he watches Plankton's silent conversation with his fidget toy. "I-I just didn't know," he stammers. "I'll...I'll do better. I promise." But Plankton is lost in his own world, the words coming faster and faster. "Echo... echolal...lal...la...echolal... lal...la..." His voice rises in pitch, a frantic symphony of his inner thoughts. Karen's hand tightens on his shoulder, but Plankton seems oblivious to her touch. Krabs feels a pang of sorrow, his heart aching for the tiny creature in front of him. He's hurt him, and he's not sure how to fix it. "Plankton," he tries again, his voice gentler this time. "I'm here." But Plankton's world is one of repeating patterns and sounds, a place where the pain of the outside world can't reach him. "Echo...echolal...lal...la," he murmurs, the words tumbling out in a rush. It's a self-soothing mantra, a way to regain control in a world that feels out of control. Krabs' claws clench and unclench at his sides, his heart racing. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. He's always been so focused on the material, on winning, on defeating Plankton that he's never stopped to consider what's going on beneath the surface. He's never seen Plankton like this—so lost, so desperate. Krabs decides to try and connect. He clears his throat. "Plankton, what are you saying?" His voice is gentle, tentative, a stark contrast to the usual bluster. Plankton's murmurs don't cease, the words tumbling out like a stream of consciousness that makes no sense to anyone but him. "Echo...echolal...lal... la...echo...echolal..." Karen's grip on his shoulder tightens slightly, but she doesn't interrupt. She knows this is his way of coping, his method of navigating the storm in his mind. But Krabs is an outsider to this world, a blunt instrument in a place that requires finesse. But Krabs still wants to ask. "What does it mean, Plankton?" He ventures, his voice soft. "What are you trying to tell me?" He pleads, wanting to be welcomed into the autistic life he doesn't understand. But Plankton's words are for himself, a cocoon of comfort in the face of his enemy's curiosity. "Echo...echolal... lal...la...palilal...lal...la..." The words tumble out in a pattern that makes sense only to his own brain, a dance of self-expression in the chaos.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 16 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Krabs watches, his claws opening and closing in frustration. He wants to help, but he doesn't know how to enter Plankton's inner sanctum. He feels like an intruder, a rudimentary creature in a realm of complex thought patterns. "Please, Plankton," he begs. "Tell me what you need." He leans closer to Plankton. Plankton's eye closed, his voice a soft whisper. "Echo...echolal... lal...la...palilal...lal...la..." The words roll off his tongue, a soothing incantation that seems to calm his racing thoughts. Krabs leans in closer, trying to make out the meaning in the nonsensical string of syllables. He's never heard Plankton talk like this before—his words a mesmerizing tapestry of echoes and repetitions. It's as if he's speaking in a secret code, one that only he can decode. The phrases come faster now, a stream of consciousness that's both fascinating and eerie. "Echo...echolal...lal...la... Palilal...lal...la...echolal..." Krabs watches, his own thoughts a jumble of confusion and regret. He's seen Plankton's quirks before, the repetitive movements and the occasional strange sounds, but he's never seen this intensity, this complete retreat into his own world. It's as if Plankton is trying to build a fortress around himself, one that keeps the pain of the outside world at bay. So, he tries to make his way in. "Palilal...lal...la...echolal..." The words keep coming, each one a puzzle piece that Krabs tries to fit into the larger picture. He looks to Karen, his eyes pleading for guidance. Karen's expression is a mix of concern and understanding. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "You don't have to explain." But Krabs can't let it go. He needs to know, to understand what he's done to his enemy that has brought him to this state. "What are you sa-" But Plankton throws the fidget across the room, the plastic pieces clattering against the wall; yet his eye remains glazed. Karen steps forward, her hand lifting to cup his cheek. "It's ok, sweetie," she says, her voice calm. "You don't have to talk if you don't want." She knows his stims, his silent mantras, are his way of navigating a world that often feels too loud, too bright, too confusing. She's been his anchor for so long, his interpreter of a language that others don't always understand. Krabs' eyes widen at the sudden outburst, his heart pounding in his chest. He's accustomed to Plankton's usual theatrics, but this is different. This is raw, this is real. He can see the pain etched into every line of Plankton's face, every twitch of his antennae. "What should I do?" He whispers to Karen, his voice desperate. Karen's gaze doesn't leave Plankton's face. She knows that his stims are a way to find peace in the chaos, a language that only she can understand. "Just give him space," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "He'll come back to us when he's ready." With that, Karen goes to the bedside drawer where the box of sensory items is kept. It's a treasure trove of textures and sounds, a collection that Plankton has amassed over the years to help him navigate the often-overwhelming world. She opens it with care, her eyes scanning the various fidgets and toys, each one holding a special place in Plankton's heart. She puts the box on his bed like an offering. "Here, sweetie," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Use something if it helps." Mr. Krabs watches, his eyes widening at the array of items. He's never seen anything like it—so many strange, wonderful things that seem to make no sense. Yet, they are a comfort to Plankton, a way to make sense of the world. He can't help but be curious, his eyes darting from one item to the next. What could these simple objects mean to his enemy? He reaches out a tentative claw, picking up a soft, squeezable ball. It feels strange in his grip, unlike anything he's ever held. "What does this do?" He asks, his voice a mix of wonder and ignorance. Plankton doesn't respond, his eye widening at the sight of Krabs taking his precious items without asking. Karen intervenes, her hand covering Krabs' claw. "These are for Plankton," she says, firm but gentle. "They're his tools for coping. Please, let him choose." Krabs withdraws his claw, his curiosity piqued but respectful. He watches as Plankton's eye flits from one item to the next. "Echo...echolal...lal...la... Palilal...lal...la...echo..." Plankton's murmurs slow, his breathing evening out. He reaches for a plush octopus from the sensory box, its tentacles a jumble of textures. He squeezes it tightly, the softness grounding him. "What...what is that?" Krabs asks, nodding towards the octopus. Karen smiles, a hint of pride in her voice. "It's a comfort object," she explains. "It has different textures to soothe his senses when things get too much." She watches as Plankton's fingers trace over the fabric, each a lifeline back to reality. "Everyone on the spectrum has their own way of dealing with overwhelm." Krabs holds his hand out to Plankton, palm up. "May I?" He asks, his voice hopeful. Plankton's murmurs fade, his breathing steady. He looks up, his eye meeting Krabs' with a hint of wariness before going back to his octopus without an answer. Krabs' heart skips a beat, his claws hovering over the box. He's desperate to connect, to show Plankton that he cares. He picks up a smooth, polished stone, rolling it between his fingers. "What's this one fo—" But Plankton's antennae snap up, his gaze sharp and fierce. "MINE!" He snatches the stone from Krabs' grasp, his voice a whipcrack of protectiveness. The room holds its breath, the tension palpable as Krabs' hand retreats, his eyes wide. Karen sighs, stepping between them. "Krabs," she says, her voice firm but kind. "These items are personal to Plankton. They help him regulate his senses. Please respect his space and his things." Krabs nods, his eyes never leaving the plush octopus Plankton clutches tightly. "I'm just trying to understand," he says, his voice thick with emotion. Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't loosen, but his murmurs have ceased. The room is silent except for the sound of his shallow breathing. Krabs swallows hard, trying to find the right words. "What can I do?" He asks, his voice cracking. "How can I help?" Karen looks at him, her screen filled with a mix of pity and frustration. "Just be there," she says, her voice firm. "Don't try to fix him. Just be present. That's what he needs." Krabs nods, his eyes still on Plankton. He doesn't know what that means, but he's willing to try. He sits down on the bed, his movements careful not to startle him. Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't waver, but his eye flickers towards Krabs. It's a tiny gesture, but it's enough to give him hope.

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

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 1 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! In the aftermath of Plankton's science fair episode, Chip didn't want his dad to go through that again, so he decided it was time for a change. He approached his mom with the idea of switching schools. Karen listened, her eyes filled with empathy, and nodded. "You know, sweetie, sometimes change can be good. We'll look into it." The next day, Chip accompanied his parents to Hanna's house. Hanna, with her infectious energy, was eager to help. Chip couldn't help but overhear their conversation. "So, Karen, what's really going on with Plankton?" Karen took a deep breath and began to explain. "Well, Hanna, Plankton's autistic. It's like his brain works differently. He has these things called 'stims' that help him focus and stay calm, especially when he's overwhelmed." Hanna's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh, like when he was sick aft-" Karen gently cut her off. "Yes, it was related. It's all a part of his condition. But it's more than just that. His mind works in ways that we can't always understand. Sometimes it's like he's in his own little world, but it's a brilliant one." Plankton was swinging his legs as he sat by Karen, feeling awkward. He knew his brain was different, but he didn't like it being talked about outside of Karen. Hanna leaned in, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, 'brilliant'?" "Well, you know how he can recall every single detail of his Krabby Patty recipe?" Karen said with a smile. "Or how he can fix anything in the restaurant with just a quick look? That's his autism at work. It's like he has these special powers, but sometimes it can be too much for him to handle." Chip watched Hanna nod, absorbing the information. He felt a mix of pride and protectiveness for his dad. "But what about the bad parts?" Hanna asked, her voice softening. "How do you deal with the... the tantrum..." The moment the word slipped out, Plankton's legs stopped swinging. His eye darted to Hanna, a flicker of anger crossing his face. Karen knew that look. Plankton didn't like the term "tantrum." It was a sore spot, something that made him feel less than. With a sigh, she turned to Hanna, placing a gentle hand on her friend's arm. "Let's call it a 'meltdown', okay?" "M-Meltdown?" Hanna stuttered, her cheery demeanor dimming. "It's a tantrum, right?" Plankton's eye narrowed, and his grip on his chair tightened. "It's not a tantrum, Hanna," Plankton spoke through gritted teeth, his voice low and firm. "It's a meltdown. There's a difference, you know‽" Hanna looked surprised, then embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to-" But Plankton was beyond apologies. He shot up from his chair, his tiny fists balled at his sides. "You think I throw tantrums? That I'm a child who can't control himself?" The room grew tense as his voice escalated, his body trembling with frustration. "I'm not like that. I'm not a toddler!" Hanna took a step back, her hands up in a gesture of peace. "Plankton, I didn't mean-" But he was beyond words, his autistic brain flooded with sensory overload from the misunderstanding. Karen could see the panic in his eye, his body poised for fight or flight. Her heart ached for him, for the way the world often didn't understand. Chip stepped in, trying to diffuse the situation. "Dad, it's okay. Ms. Hanna just didn't know the right word." Karen moved swiftly to Plankton's side, her voice calm and soothing. "Honey, I know you're upset. Let's go to a quiet spot." She guided him to the corner of Hanna's kitchen. Hanna, eyes wide, looked at Karen for guidance. "I didn't mean to-" she started, but Karen held up a hand, cutting her off gently. "It's okay, Hanna. It's just a misunderstanding." In the quiet corner, Karen knelt beside him. "You're right, Plankton. It's not fair. But remember, she didn't know." Plankton's eye darted back to Hanna, who was now silent, watching them with a mixture of shock and guilt. Chip stood there, torn between his dad's fury and Hanna's ignorance. Hanna's cheery persona was gone, replaced by a look of genuine concern. She approached them cautiously. "I'm really sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to upset you." Her eyes searched his for forgiveness. Plankton's chest heaved with anger, but he felt a twinge of compassion for her ignorance. He knew she didn't understand, but it didn't change the hurt she had caused. Karen's hand was warm and steadying on his shoulder. "Let's talk about this," she said softly. "You know Hanna didn't mean it that way." Plankton's breath was ragged as he tried to compose himself. He knew Karen was right, but the word had stung, bringing back memories of past judgments and misunderstandings. "I know," he managed to murmur, his voice strained. Hanna took another tentative step forward. "I'm here to learn, Plankton," she said with sincerity. "Tell me what I should kno—" But Plankton was already retreating into his own world, his eye glazed over as he tried to process the conversation. Karen stood up, her eyes never leaving his. "Why don't we give him a moment, Hanna?" She sat beside Plankton, who was now rocking back and forth. Hanna nodded, looking at them with a mix of confusion and remorse. "I didn't know," she whispered. "I just didn't know." In the quiet corner, Karen wrapped her arm around Plankton, holding him close. "It's ok," she repeated. "You're right, honey. It's not the same." Hanna leads them all to the couches in her living room. Plankton eased himself on a sofa opposite Hanna. He rocks back and forth in stimming. "Tantrum, tantrum, not a tantrum. Meltdown. Meltdown," he murmurs to himself. Plankton's voice grew softer. "Tantrum, no. Meltdown. Meltdown," he murmured, his eye unfocused. The stimming was a familiar sight by now, a comforting self-soothing technique that his brain needed in moments of stress. Hanna sat down beside him, mimicking the rocking motion in what she thought of was a silent offer of support. Plankton's gaze snapped to Hanna, his expression sharp. "What are you doing?" he demanded. The suddenness of his voice startled Hanna. "Just trying to help," she stuttered, unsure of herself. "Don't," he said firmly, his face flushing. "Don't mimic me." Karen stepped in, placing a hand on Hanna's shoulder. "It's ok," she assured her. "It can be uncomfortable when people do that. It's best to let him do his thing." Hanna nodded, her screen full of regret. "I'm sorry," she managed, looking at Plankton. But Plankton was already lost in a loop of words, echoing his own thoughts. "This isn't right, not right, not right," he whispered to himself. Hanna looks up, confused. "What isn't right, Plank-" "Don't talk to me," Plankton interrupted, his voice sharp. Karen took a seat next to Hanna, her hand resting gently on her knee. "Hanna, you see, stims are like Plankton's personal language. They're private, like someone's thoughts. It's how he speaks to his brain, how he tells it 'I'm safe, I'm okay'. It's not for us to join unless he asks us to." Hanna nodded slowly. "So, when I tried to... help him by doing what he does, it was like I was..." "Intruding. It's like if someone tried to finish your sentences or read your thoughts," Karen elaborated, her gaze softening as she watched Plankton. "It's his way of saying, 'This is how I process the world, and I need this space to do so.'" Hanna nodded, her screen reflecting the newfound knowledge. "I never thought of it that way," she murmured. "I just wanted to help." "I know you did," Karen smiled gently, patting her hand. "But sometimes, the best way to help is to give space. For him, stims are just as personal as a diary entry. They're his way of communicating to himself." Plankton's rocking grew softer, less frantic. Karen knew the signs of his brain starting to settle down. He was beginning to come back to them, but she didn't want to push it.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 18 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The silence stretches out, comfortable and filled with a newfound respect. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, as if even in his dreams, he's still trying to process the world around him. The next day, Krabs goes to visit Karen and Plankton again in the morning. The room is bathed in soft, early-morning light, and Plankton is still asleep. His breathing is slow and even, the plush octopus a comforting presence beside him. Krabs watches him, his heart swelling with a strange mixture of emotions—fear, sorrow, and a newfound respect. He turns to Karen, his claws fidgeting with a nervous energy. "How can I know when a seizure is coming?" He asks, his voice hushed so as not to disturb the sleeping Plankton. "What if I can't tell the difference?" Karen smiles, her eyes warm with understanding. "It's ok," she says. "You'll learn." She reaches over to gently touch Plankton's arm. "The signs can be subtle. Maybe his eye will glaze over usually. But the most important thing is to be patient and to listen." Krabs nods, his claws stilling. "What about his stims?" He asks, his voice soft. "When he says things or makes those sounds? I mean, does he-" Karen cuts him off gently. "It's important not to interrupt his stims, Krabs," she explains. "They're a personal way for him to self-regulate, to process the world around him." She looks at him, her screen kind. "But if you're really curious, the best thing to do is ask him, when he's feeling comfortable and ready to talk." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with questions. He's always been so focused on the now, on the chase for the next big score, that he's never stopped to consider the complexities of someone else's experience. But now, sitting here in this quiet room, watching his enemy sleep peacefully, he can't help but feel a shameful curiosity about the person Plankton is underneath the surface. "What about his obsession with the Krabby Patty?" He whispers to Karen, his voice barely above a murmur. "Is that part of it too?" Karen nods, a knowing smile on her screen. "It's not just an obsession, Krabs. It's a special interest. It's how Plankton's brain processes information. For some autistic people, it's a way to focus and find comfort in a world that can be chaotic." Krabs' eyes widen, his mind racing. "So...his quest to steal the recipe isn't just about greed?" Karen sighs, her gaze softening. "It's about more than that. It's about understanding something that gives him comfort, and having control over it." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with the depth of what he's learning. "So, his stims, his words, they're his way of...finding order?" Karen smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "In a sense, yes. Autism is a spectrum, Krabs. We all have our quirks, but for some, those quirks are their lifeline." She strokes Plankton's antennae. "His brain is wired differently, and these things are his way of making sense of the world." Krabs nods, his gaze firmly on Plankton. "What can I do to help?" He asks, his voice soft, earnest. "How can I be a better...friend?" Karen's smile blooms fully. "Just be there," she repeats, her voice a gentle caress. "Learn his cues, his triggers. Give him space when he needs it, and support when he reaches out." Karen's hand moves to Plankton's, their fingers interlocking. "And also, don't be afraid to enjoy the little things," she whispers. "His laugh, his excitement—those are just as much a part of who he is as his challenges." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton's sleeping face. "I'll try," he promises, his voice thick with emotion. "I just want to be there for him." Karen's smile is gentle, her eyes warm. "I know you do," she says. "And he'll know it too, in his own way." She pauses, considering her next words. "You might find that your friendship will change," she adds. "But if you're patient, it could be more beautiful than you ever imagined." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton's slumbering form. He can't help but feel a sense of awe at the strength it must take to live in a world that's not always understanding. "I want to learn," he murmurs. "I want to make things right." Karen looks at him, her eyes filled with warmth. "Then you already have," she says. "Just by being here, by asking, you're showing you care." Krabs leans forward, his curiosity piqued. "What else can you tell me?" He asks, his voice eager. "What types of things does he like? Or what sets him off?" Karen looks at him, her expression a blend of patience and understanding. "Well, he's quite sensitive to certain textures and sounds." Krabs leans in, his eyes shining with curiosity. "Like what?" He asks, eager to know more. "Certain loud, sudden noises can trigger his overstimulation," Karen continues, her eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "And some touches, like a pat on the back, might feel like a punch to him. But he's also quite fond of soft textures, like the one of this blanket," she says, running a finger over the plush material. Krabs nods, his gaze thoughtful. "I've noticed he doesn't like when SpongeBob squeezes him too hard." He chuckles softly, the memory of Plankton's exasperation at the overly-enthusiastic sponge still vivid. "But he doesn't seem to mind your touch.." Karen smiles, her eyes knowing. "It's all about consent," she says, her voice calm and even. "We all have our preferences, but for Plankton, it's more than just a preference—it's a need." Krabs nods, his gaze still on Plankton. He's always been so focused on his own desires, so used to getting what he wants that he's never really stopped to think about what others need. "How do I know when he's overwhelmed?" He whispers, his voice filled with a newfound respect. Karen looks at him, her expression gentle. "You'll learn his cues," she says. "It's about being observant, noticing when his breathing changes or his body tenses up." She pauses, her thumb stroking Plankton's arm. "But it's also about asking, Krabs. Communication is key."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 19 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "How do I know if he needs space or if he wants me to stay?" Karen's smile is gentle, her expression filled with patience. "Look for the signs," she whispers. "If he starts to repeat his words, or if his body language changes, it might be his way of saying 'I'm feeling overwhelmed.'" She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "And always ask before you touch him, or before you change anything in his environment." Krabs nods, his gaze intently on Karen. "What if he's in the middle of a...uh, stimming episode?" He stammers, his claws fidgeting nervously. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she looks at him. "Then you wait," she says, her voice soft. "Let him finish what he's doing, and then you can approach, gently. But always ask, 'Is it okay if I talk to you now?' Give him the power to choose." Suddenly, Plankton shifts in his sleep, his antennae twitching slightly. Karen's hand tightens around his. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice soothing. Mr. Krabs holds his breath, his heart racing. Mr. Krabs watches, his eyes widening. "Is he ok?" He whispers, his concern genuine. Karen nods, her smile reassuring. "He's just waking up," she says. Plankton's eye opens, slowly focusing on Krabs. His gaze is vacant for a moment, before recognition dawns. "K...Krabs," he murmurs, his voice slurred. Mr. Krabs nods, his heart racing. "I'm here, Plankton," he says, his voice shaky. Karen watches the interaction with hope. "How are you feeling?" She asks. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting to the side. "Tired," he whispers, his hand still clutching the plush octopus. Karen nods, her expression filled with understanding. "That's ok," she says. "You had a big day yesterday." Plankton nods. Krabs watches, his heart in his throat. He feels like an intruder in this intimate moment, but something keeps his claws from retreating. He wants to be a part of this, to understand. Plankton's gaze moves to him, his expression wary. "Krabs," he says. He pulls the octopus closer, as if it's a shield. Krabs' heart squeezes at the sight. He's always seen Plankton as a formidable adversary, not as someone who needs protection. But now, with his antennae drooping and his eye half-closed, he seems so... vulnerable. "I came to check on you," Krabs says, his voice gentle. Plankton's antennae twitch again, but he doesn't pull away. He's still wary, but there's something in his gaze that suggests he's considering. "Krabs is trying to be a better friend, Plankton," Karen says. "He's here to learn." Plankton's gaze lingers on Krabs, his antennae still. Karen's seen Plankton push people away, not out of spite, but out of self-preservation. Krabs nods, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "It's true," he says, his voice earnest. "I want to underst--" Plankton's antennae shoot up, cutting him off. "Don't," he murmurs, his voice tight. "Don't pretend." Krabs' eyes widen, his heart sinking. "I'm not pretending," he says, his claws spreading in a gesture of openness. "I just wan-" But Plankton's already turning away, his antennae drooping. "Please," he whispers, his voice small and scared. Krabs feels a pang of guilt. He's always been so quick to dismiss Plankton's behaviors, so eager to win their endless rivalry. But here, in this quiet room, he's seeing his enemy in a new light. "Ok," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "What can I do?" Karen's eyes are filled with warmth as she looks at Krabs. "Just be patient," she says. "Give him the time he needs to process what's happening." Krabs nods, his gaze on Plankton. He watches as his enemy shifts, the plush octopus still clutched tightly in his hand. He can see the exhaustion etched into his face, the weight of the world he's been carrying alone. "I'm here," Krabs murmurs, his claws hovering over the blanket. "I won't preten—" Plankton's antennae shoot up again, his eye snapping back to Krabs. "No," he whispers, his voice firm. "Don't touch." It's not a request, but a command. Krabs pulls his claws back, his heart racing. "Too much." Krabs freezes, his heart stopping in his chest. Karen's eyes are filled with sadness as she looks at her husband. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Mr. Krabs is just trying to be a good friend." But Plankton's eye squeezed shut, his hand tightening around the octopus. And then, without meaning to, Mr. Krabs' claw brushes against Plankton's hand. It's the lightest of touches, a mistake born of nerves and eagerness. Plankton's body tenses, his antennae shooting up as his eye snaps wide open. Krabs freezes. He's done it now—invaded the sacred space around Plankton. But then, something strange happens. Plankton's gaze goes glassy, his body still. Krabs' breath hitches, his mind racing. What's happening? Is this another type of seizure? He looks to Karen for guidance, but she's already leaning in. "It's ok," she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. "You're having a seizure, honey." Plankton's unblinking eye stares into space, his body still as a statue. Krabs has never seen him like this— so vulnerable, so lost. He wants to help, but he's not sure how. "It's an absence seizure," Karen explains, her voice a soothing melody. "He's not really here right now." Karen's voice is steady. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispers, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "You're having an absence seizure. It's going to be ok." Krabs' eyes widen as he takes in the scene. Plankton's body is rigid, his single eye unblinking, staring into nothingness. It's like his soul has left his body for a brief moment, leaving behind an empty shell. Karen's voice is calm and steady as she speaks to Plankton. "It's ok, sweetie. You're having an absence seizure. Just ride it out." Krabs feels like he's intruding on a sacred moment, yet he can't bring himself to leave. Plankton's unblinking eye stares through Krabs, his body unmoving. Krabs wants to get him out of this trance, so he leans in, his claws reaching out to shake his shoulder. But Karen's hand is quicker, her touch firm but gentle. "No, don't," she says, her voice firm yet kind. "It's not helpful to startle him." Krabs pulls back, his claws hovering in midair. "Let me handle this," she says. "Just...stay calm." Krabs nods, his claws retracting. He watches as Karen gently strokes Plankton's cheek, her eyes never leaving his. "Come back to us," she whispers. "You're safe here." The room seems to shrink around them, the tension palpable. Krabs can almost feel Plankton's brain racing, his thoughts a whirlwind he can't quite reach. He wants to shout, to break the spell, but he knows that would only make things worse. So he decides to try to interact with Plankton in a different way. He pulls out his pocket watch, the one with the tiny krabby patty charm. It's always brought him comfort, but he's never shared it with anyone before. "Look, Plankton," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a kinda like your Krabby Patty obsession, huh?" But then Krabs spots the octopus plush. "You like octopus, right?" Krabs asks, his voice shaking with nerves. "This one's...it's pretty cool. Do you see it?" He holds up the plushie, his heart racing, his eyes on Plankton's unseeing gaze. "Look at this, Plankton," he says. "It's like your Krabby Patty, but with more arms." He forces a chuckle, trying to infuse some lightness into the heavy air. Karen nods slightly, encouraging him to keep talking.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 20 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Krabs' voice wavers slightly as he holds up the plush octopus. "Look, it's got eight arms," he says, his eyes desperate for a sign of recognition. "It can hug you like the Krabby Patty does. Can you feel it?" For a moment, there's nothing. The room seems to hold its breath, waiting. Then, slowly, Plankton's hand unclenches, his antennae twitching slightly. Krabs' heart soars—it's working. "That's it," Karen murmurs, her voice a gentle coax. "Good job, Plankton." Mr. Krabs' voice is soft. "Do you see it?" He asks, his voice filled with hope. Karen's hand tightens around Krabs' claw. "Keep talking," she whispers. "It's helping him ground himself." Krabs nods, his throat tight. "It's got a smile," he says, his voice gentle. "Just like the Krabby Patty does." He watches as Plankton's hand twitches slightly, his antennae still unmoving. Krabs' heart leaps. "Can you feel the texture?" He asks, his voice hopeful. "It's all soft and fluffy, like your favorite pillow." Plankton's hand moves slightly, his fingers brushing against the octopus. Krabs feels a jolt of excitement. "That's it," he says, his voice filled with wonder. "You're getting there." Karen's grip on relaxes a fraction. "Good," she murmurs. "Keep it up." Krabs watches as Plankton's fingers twitch, the plush octopus's tentacles wrapping around his hand. He can see the effort it's taking to come back to them. "It's ok buddy," Krabs whispers, his voice barely audible. "You're ok." Plankton's antennae twitch again, and Krabs feels his heart clench. Is he getting through? Is Plankton hearing him? Krabs' claw is poised above the octopus plush, his breath shallow. "Just keep focusing on the octopus," he urges, his throat tight. "It's got a smile for you, waiting for you to see it." Plankton's unblinking eye doesn't waver, but his hand starts to move, the tentacles of the octopus slipping through his fingers. It's a subtle movement, one that speaks volumes in the silent room. Krabs' heart races. It's working. He's reaching him. Karen's eyes are glued to Plankton's face, her expression a mix of hope and fear. "Good job, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle coax. "You're doing so well." Krabs' heart races as he watches Plankton's hand start to move, the octopus plush coming into focus for his friend. "You got it," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "Just keep holding on." Karen's grip on his claw loosens, her eyes never leaving her husband's face. Mr. Krabs can feel her energy, but there's also something else—pride. "You're doing great, Krabs," she whispers, her voice barely a breath. "Keep going; it's helping him faster." Krabs' eyes never leave Plankton's unseeing stare. "It's ok, buddy," he says, his voice steady. "You're safe here; right, Mr. Octopus? Yes, you are." Plankton's hand tightens around the octopus, the fabric tentacles wrapping around his fingers like a comforting embrace. It's a sign, a flicker of connection. "Look," Krabs says, his voice a whisper. "It's ok. We're here. Mr. Octopus is here." Karen's eyes are filled with relief as she sees the tiny movements of Plankton's fingers, the subtle way his hand relaxes into the softness of the plush. "You're doing it," she murmurs, her voice a gentle cheer. "Come back to us, sweetie." Krabs' eyes never leave Plankton's. He doesn't dare to move, to breathe too loudly. He's scared of breaking the spell, of losing him again. But he can see the change, the way Plankton's body starts to soften, the tension draining from his frame. "Look, Plankton," he whispers, his voice filled with wonder. "Mr. Octopus is smiling at you." Plankton's antennae twitch, barely a centimeter. But it's enough. It's a sign of life, a crack in the wall of his unresponsive state. Mr. Krabs keeps his voice low, his movements slow. "You're ok," he repeats, his claw hovering over the octopus's head. "You're right here with us." Karen's grip on Mr. Krabs' arm tightens, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Keep talking," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Keep his mind here." Krabs nods, his throat tight. "You like Krabby Patties, right?" He asks, his claws holding the octopus steady. "Mr. Octopus here has a smile just for you." He watches as Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. It's a small victory, but it's enough to keep him going. "You know what, Plankton?" He says, his voice a gentle rumble. "I bet Mr. Octopus could make a Krabby Patty with all those arms. Can you let Mr. Octopus make you feel better?" Plankton's hand moves slightly, his fingers flexing around the plush. Krabs feels a surge of hope. "That's it," he whispers. "Let him help you." The silence stretches on, Krabs' heart pounding in his chest. Then, ever so slowly, Plankton's antennae begin to move, the unblinking eye finally blinking once, twice. Karen's grip loosens, a tear slipping down her screen. "He's coming back," she murmurs, her voice hopeful. Plankton's unfocused gaze is still distant, though settling on the octopus. Krabs nods, his own claws trembling with relief. He keeps his voice low, his words carefully chosen. "Remember, Plankton," he says, his voice a gentle wave. "Mr. Octopus is your friend." Plankton's single eye flutters, and Krabs can almost see the wheels turning in his mind. Plankton's voice, when it comes, is faint. "K-Krabby Patty," he stammers. Krabs' heart jumps at the sound, a flicker of hope igniting within him. He nods encouragingly. "That's right, buddy; Mr. Octopus has a Patty for you." Karen's eyes are filled with relief as she watches the interaction unfold. She knows how rare it is for Plankton to speak during his seizures, and the significance isn't lost on Krabs. "Tell us about it," Krabs says, his voice gentle. "Tell Mr. Octopus about the Krabby Patty." Plankton's voice is slurred, his words coming in fits and starts. "It's...it's octopus," he says, his voice a distant echo. "So...octopus." His hand tightens around the plush octopus. Krabs' heart swells with hope. He's getting through. "That's right," Krabs whispers, his voice a soft caress. "Mr. Octopus is an octopus, and waiting for you.." Plankton's eye starts to move, focusing on the plush octopus. "Octopus," he repeats, his voice slurred but insistent. "Waiting." Krabs nods, his claws gently stroking the octopus's fabric. "Mr. Octopus is waiting for you to feel better," he says. "You can do it, honey," Karen whispers. "You're almost there." Plankton's eye blinks slowly, coming back into focus. He looks down at the plush octopus, his hand still clutching it tightly. "Octopus," he murmurs, his voice a mere breath. Krabs' heart swells with relief. "You're ok," he says, his voice softer than he's ever heard it. "You're ok, Plankton." Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze flickering between the octopus and Mr. Krabs. "What...what's going on?" He asks, his voice shaky. Karen quickly steps in, her voice a soothing balm. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she says. "But you're ok now." Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind trying to piece together the fragments of the last few minutes. Krabs watches him, his heart aching. He's never seen his rival so vulnerable, so lost. "You're at home," Krabs adds, his voice careful. "We're all here for you." Plankton's gaze finally settles on him, confusion swimming in his eye. "What...what happened?" He stammers. Karen moves closer, her hand on Plankton's shoulder. "You had an absence seizure," she explains, her tone gentle. "Do you remember anything?" Plankton's eye blinks rapidly, his antennae twitching. "Tck tck," he tics. "It's like...it's like I was tck tck somewhere else." Krabs nods, his claws still trembling with nervous energy. "It's ok," he says, his voice a gentle wave. "We're here for you." Plankton's gaze is unfocused, his antennae twitching erratically. "Tck tck," he repeats, his voice filled with confusion. "But what...what?" Krabs takes a deep breath, his heart going out to his usually confident rival. "You had a seizure, buddy," he says, his tone as gentle as he can manage. "But you're ok now." He holds up the plush octopus. "You know the octopus here? He helped you through it." Plankton's antennae still, his gaze locking onto the octopus with a flicker of recognition. "Tck tck," he whispers, his voice still shaky. "Mr. Octopus." Krabs nods, feeling a wave of emotion he can't quite name. "He's your friend, remember?" Karen squeezes Plankton's shoulder, her eyes filled with reassurance. "You're safe," she says. "You had a seizure, but you're ok now." Plankton's eye widens, his hand tightening around the plush. "But...but I don't understand," he stammers. Krabs nods, his own claws tight around the plushie. "It's ok," he says, his voice steady. "It's just a toy, but it helped you feel better." Plankton's gaze flickers between Krabs and the octopus, his mind racing. "Why...why is Mr. Krabs being nice?" He asks, his voice filled with suspicion. Karen's smile is soft. "Because he cares about you, Plankton," she says. "We all do." Mr. Krabs clears his throat, his voice still gentle. "I know I haven't always been the best, but I'm trying to understand. I want to help." Plankton's expression relaxes, a hint of skepticism replaced by curiosity. "You...you do?" He asks, his voice growing stronger. Mr. Krabs nods, feeling his heart swell. "Yeah," he says; "I do."

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. 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.

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. 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. 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."

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.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

✰ ✰ ✰∘˙○˚.•

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."

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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