PLUSH ONE xi
(By NeuroFabulous)
Hanna nods, her smile gentle.
"It's okay," she says, patting
his shoulder.
But Plankton flinches,
his antennae shooting up.
"NO TOUCH!" he cries out,
his voice piercing the quiet.
Hanna's hand jerks back,
surprise etched on her screen.
"It's okay," she murmurs,
trying to ease the tension.
Plankton clutches the plushie
to his chest, his body shaking.
"MINE," he repeats, his voice
quivering.
Karen understands his fear, his
desire for sameness. His
autism has turned a simple
act of kindness into a
threat to him.
"I'm sorry," Hanna whispers,
backing away. "I just di-"
But Hanna backed into
a desk of Plankton's
books, which now fall
misaligned to the floor
with a thud.
Plankton's eye widens
in horror, his antennae
twitching in fury. The
disrupted order sends
his senses into overdrive.
Plankton can't take it.
The loud thud, the mess...
He jumps up, the plushie
falling to the floor, forgotten.
He starts to pick up
the books, his hands
shaking as he hurls
them angrily at Hanna, who
gasps.
Karen sees the panic
in his eye, the overwhelming
sensory assault of the
unexpected noise and
movement. She moves to
intervene, racing.
"PLANKTON, STOP!" she
shouts, her voice firm but
not harsh. She doesn't want
to startle him further.
The books fly through
the air, one hitting Hanna's
arm with a thump. "Hey!"
she cries, but Karen's focus
is on Plankton.
His body is a storm
of jerky movements, his
autistic mind struggling
to cope with the sudden
chaos. Karen's eyes are
filled with fear and sadness.
This isn't the Plankton she
knows, not the one who
would actually hurt someone.
"PLANKTON!" she cries, her
voice a thunderclap in the
small room. He stops, his
body trembling with rage
and confusion. His antennae
quiver, searching for the source
of the disruption.
Hanna stands back, her arm
rubbing where the book had
hit. "What's happening?"
she whispers, her eyes wide
with shock.
But Karen's focus is on Plankton,
his body a taut wire of anger.
"It's okay," she says, her voice
steady, though her heart
is racing. "Let's just... let's
clean up."
Plankton's eye darts around the
room, his antennae still quivering.
He looks at her, his expression
a storm of emotions she can't
quite read. But she sees the fear,
the confusion. And she knows
she must act.
Karen moves towards him,
slowly, her hands up in a
non-threatening gesture. "It's
okay," she repeats, her voice
the calm in the storm. "Let's
clean up."
But Plankton's autism doesn't
understand calm. It sees only
the mess, the disarray. His body
shakes with frustration, his
eye wild. He throws another
book, this time it misses
Hanna but hits the wall with
a crack.
Karen's eyes fill with tears.
"Plankton," she says firmly,
but with love. "This isn't you."
But Plankton's rage
doesn't subside. He throws
another book, the spine
snapping with the force.
"PLANKTON, NO!" Karen shouts,
but he doesn't hear her. His
autism has taken over, his
brain unable to process
the sudden influx of stimuli.
He throws another book,
his body a blur of motion,
Karen's eyes never leaving
his face. She must get him
to a safe space before he
hurts someone, before he
shatters the fragile peace
they've built.
"PLANKTON!" she shouts,
louder this time. "STOP!"
Her voice pierces the chaos,
and his movements falter. His
eye finds hers, and she sees
the storm in his gaze, the
fear and confusion.
Karen's knowing she must act quickly.
With a deep breath, she
moves closer, her arms
outstretched, her voice steady.
"It's okay," she says, her
tone a gentle lullaby. "Let's
calm dow—"
But Plankton's fury isn't
easy to tame. He throws
another book, his aim
now erratic. The room
is a whirlwind of paper and
panic, the air thick with
his distress.
Karen's eyes never leave
his, her voice the only
constant in the chaos. "PLANKTON,
PLEASE!" she calls, her
desperation clear. She needs
to get through to him, to
the person she loves beneath
the tumultuous autistic rage.
But Plankton's autism
has hijacked his mind,
his body a vessel for fear
and anger. He throws
the last book, his arm
slinging it like a weapon.
It sails through the air,
headed straight for Hanna.
Karen's instincts take over,
and she leaps forward,
her hand catching it
mid-flight.
The room falls silent,
the book in her hand a stark
reminder of the chaos that
was just moments before.
Her eyes are on Plankton,
his body heaving with
frustration. Hanna's eyes are wide,
fear and confusion etched
on her screen.
Karen aches
for the man she loves,
his world now a minefield
of sensory overload.
Hanna stands frozen,
her eyes wide with shock.
"I'm sorry," Karen murmurs,
turning to her. "This isn't
usual for him."
But Plankton's fury
doesn't subside.
He lunges at her, his
tiny body a blur of rage.
Karen steps in, her arms
spreading wide to protect
Hanna. "PLANKTON!" she cries,
his name a plea.
His antennae slap her
face, stinging with the force
of his anger. She stumbles
backward, her eyes never
leaving his. "It's okay," she
whispers, though she's
not sure if it is.
Plankton's body convulses,
his legs flailing. Karen
moves closer, trying to
soothe him, but he's
beyond reason. His tiny
fists clench, his face
distorted with rage.
Hanna stumbles backward,
fear in her eyes. "What's
going on?" she asks, her voice
shaking.
Karen's a
drum of worry. "Plankton,"
she whispers, her eyes
pleading. "It's me, Karen."
But his autism doesn't
hear her words. It sees
only the chaos, the
invasion of his space.
Karen's mind races, searching
for a way to calm him.
"PLANKTON!" she says, her
voice firm but calm. "Look
at me." She holds out her
hand, her palm open, a silent
offer of safety.
But Plankton's anger
doesn't abate. He swipes at
the air.
Karen knows she must act
quickly before someone gets
hurt.
"PLANKTON, STOP!" she
says firmly, her voice a
steady drumbeat in the
chaos. She holds out her
hand, her movements slow
and deliberate. "Look at
me," she repeats, her screen
filled with love and
determination.
But his fury doesn't
abate. His body jerks,
his antennae slapping the
air as he tries to push
past her to get to Hanna.
Karen's eyes flicker to the
plushie on the floor, then
back to Plankton's wild gaze.
Her voice remains steady,
though fear tightens her
throat. "Plankton, remember
the plushie?" she asks, her
words a soft whisper. "It's
still here. It's still yo-"
But her words are cut off by
his shriek. Plankton's
tiny body is a tornado
of rage, his fists flailing.
Karen's eyes never leave
his.
Her mind is a blur, searching
for the right words, the right
action to soothe his distress.
Her voice is a lifeline, a
steady beat in the storm. "Look
at the plushie," she says,
desperation coating her words.
"Remember ho-"
But Plankton's autism doesn't
heed her pleas. His body
writhes, his eye wild with
fear and anger as he suddenly
swings his fist, catching Karen
off guard. She must get
through to him.
"PLANKTON!" she cries out,
but he's deaf to her voice.
Her eyes search his, looking
for the man she loves, but
all she sees is a tempest of
sensory overload and confusion.
With a tremble, Karen
drops the book she'd caught
and reaches out, her hand
slow and gentle, offering
comfort in the chaos. But Plankton's
autism interprets it as an assault.
He lunges again, his fists
a flurry of pain. Karen's
body is a shield, her eyes
filled with tears as she
tries to keep him from Hanna.
Her voice remains calm, a beacon
in the storm of his anger.
"PLANKTON, PLEASE!" she shouts,
but her voice is drowned by
his screams. But she won't give up,
not on him.
With a tremble, Karen reaches
for the plushie, her hand
shaking as she holds it out
to him. "Look," she says, her
voice a soft whisper. "Your plushie,
remembe---"
But the sight of the toy
doesn't calm him. Instead,
it fuels his rage. He snatches
it from her, his antennae
whipping around in a frenzy.
"MINE!" he shouts, the word
a battle cry as he swings
the plushie wildly. The room
fills with the sound of fabric
ripping, stuffing flying.
Karen's eyes widen with horror. This isn't
the Plankton she knows, the
loving man who cherished
his quiet moments with her.
This is someone lost in
his own world, a world of
overwhelming sensory assault.
The plushie, once a symbol
of comfort, is now a weapon
in his hands. He swings it
wildly, the fabric tearing
under his frenzied grip.
Feathers and stuffing fill
the air,
the chaos a stark contrast
to the silent tears sliding
down Karen's screen.
Hanna's eyes are wide,
her body pressed against the wall,
her mind racing with
uncertainty. Karen sees
the question in her gaze:
What's happening?
But there's no time
for explanations. Plankton's
autism has taken
over, his fear a wildfire
that she must extinguish
before it consumes them all.
Karen's eyes dart around
the room, searching for
something to help, something
that might bring him back
to her, to the reality where
his world isn't falling apart.
Her eyes land on the plushie,
now a sad, torn mess on
the floor. But
she won't give up, not on
the man she loves.
Karen's mind races, searching
for a way to break through
the barricade of his fear.
The room seems to spin, a
whirlwind of panic and pain.
Her eyes lock on the
plushie, now a tattered
mess at his feet. With a
quick breath, she crouches
down, her movements slow
and deliberate. "Plankton,"
she whispers, her voice
a lifeline in the tempest.